Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Utahime lay in a pool of her own blood, clutching her side and biting her lower lip to stifle her screams.

Gojo stood beside her with a scowl. He heard Mei shouting in the distance, her heels echoing loudly in the room as she ran towards them, but the urgency of the sound barely registered to him.

The sight of her dying slowed down time. A voice at the back of his mind told him to move. He had to do something. But the experience felt so surreal that he could only watch the color leave her face.

Move.

Utahime met his gaze.

Move.

Gingerly, he slipped his hand beneath Utahime’s head and the other behind her knees to lift her. Utahime winced and clawed at Gojo’s chest. She clutched and twisted the fabric of his jacket, all the while gasping as though she was running out of air, and all Gojo could do was stare at the blood seeping into his own uniform.

“Oh no.” Mei took one look at her wound and shoved Gojo towards the door. “Run!”

The rest of their journey to Jujutsu High passed in a blur. The manager and Mei ripped a section of Utahime’s kosode to see her injury and bandage it. Mei guided Gojo’s hand above the layers of bloodied gauze and ordered him to apply pressure on it until they reached the infirmary. Never in his life had he been in a situation that made his hands tremble so much.

Utahime kept her head pressed against Gojo’s chest and her eyes shut the entire time. She bit her lower lip so hard it was swollen and bleeding. Gojo would’ve told her to stop, but he couldn’t speak.

Shoko rushed to Utahime as soon as they reached campus. She stopped them by the torii and told Gojo to hold her still.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Shoko closed her eyes to concentrate on healing the wound. Once the bleeding stopped, they ran to the infirmary, where they managed to stabilize Utahime.

Shoko sat outside afterwards, staring blankly at the wall ahead. Gojo sat beside her with his head in his hand. The corridor reeked of blood. Nobody had come yet to clean the trail of red on the floor, and neither of them had bothered to change their uniforms or even wash their hands. Something about the experience knocked the wind out of them, and it was impossible to get up and do anything else now.

“What happened?” Shoko asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. Gojo was tempted to pretend to have missed it.

“She jumped in when she didn’t have to,” he said.

“In the middle of a battle?”

“She was just supposed to amplify my technique with hers. If she stayed behind me, there was no way the curse could get to her.”

“Then why…?”

“There were two special-grade curses. The other one appeared just as I was finishing off the first that showed up.” Gojo scraped the dried blood on his hand with his fingernails. “I could have handled them both, but she was reckless.”

“She knows better than to do that.” Shoko stood and paced the corridor. “If you came here a minute too late, she’d have bled to death.”

“That’s why I don’t like going on missions with others.” Gojo reclined on the metal bench and crossed his arms. He couldn’t stop replaying that moment in his mind. Her body skidding across the floor towards him, only stopping once she hit his Infinity. Her back sliding down to the floor while she kept her hand up and her mouth moving to finish her technique. The centipede with human heads along its sectioned body disintegrating into dust.

He knew from the moment the fight started that something felt odd about the curse’s presence. He just couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was while he got used to the surplus of cursed energy Utahime’s technique gave him.

Footsteps echoed from the adjacent corridor. Suguru appeared around the corner with a curt wave at them. “I heard what happened. Is Utahime alright?”

“She’s stable for now, but it’s a really bad injury,” Shoko said.

Suguru nodded. “Yaga-sensei wants me to check the residuals in the facility and capture any remaining curses I might find. I thought you should know.”

Gojo straightened up in his seat. “Check the residuals?”

“There were two special-grade curses. The faculty wants to know its nature and how it could’ve been overlooked during inspection. Also, there’s this.” He tipped his head towards the infirmary door.

Gojo could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he stood. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They want to know if Utahime was being careless or if it was the right call.”

Shoko turned to Gojo with a frown. “Didn’t Mei-senpai confirm

“She expressed her doubts and wants the scene examined too.” Suguru turned around and waved Gojo over. “You’re welcome to join us.”

The two of them sat in the back of the car with the manager and Ijichi in front. The car ride was silent for the most part, with Gojo killing time by scrubbing Utahime’s blood off the lines of his palm. The pulsating in his ears hadn’t stopped, and a part of him regretted going. Maybe he should have stayed to see if Utahime was awake. Taking out his phone, he messaged Shoko to request an update on Utahime’s condition.

“Try this.” Suguru handed him a small pouch of alcohol-wet wipes.

“Why the hell do you carry around wet wipes?”

“Because I’m assuming the scene will be bloody.”

Gojo took four sheets and rubbed at the lines of his palm. The sheets turned pink, and he had to swallow hard to keep from gagging. Most disconcerting was the fact that he’d been doused head-to-toe in blood before, yet this bothered him so much more.

The manager parked the car at the foot of the mountain. From there, Ijichi, Suguru, and Gojo trekked all the way up to the abandoned facility as the veil descended like black fluid around the perimeter.

The facility was an uncredited manufacturing building that had been the site of numerous illegal activities, including human trafficking. The exterior had deteriorated over time, so much so that the walls were pockmarked, and the grills on the upper floor windows were falling off.

Suguru motioned for them to stand back. “I’ll go in first to make sure that there are no more curses that can interfere with our work. Satoru, just stay back for now and guard Ijichi, please.”

Ijichi bowed. “Thank you, and sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Suguru patted his shoulder and went on ahead.

A gust of wind descended from the mountain and shook the trees around the clearing. Overhead, grey feathery clouds hovered near their fuller counterparts.

Gojo remembered the sky had been flat and blue hours ago when he entered the facility with Utahime. It had been a standard mission, although it would officially be considered his first solo one on the record. The reason Utahime was even brought along was because the place had some cursed energy-limiting seals hidden within the walls, and Yaga thought Utahime should be there to amplify Gojo’s technique just in case. As for Mei, she was always useful as a backup, more for Utahime than for Gojo.

Suguru poked his head out of the double doors with a smile. “Coast is clear. You may come in now.”

The place was even bloodier than Gojo remembered. On the wall at the far end of the room was a huge splatter of green and blue from the special grade curse he exorcised, and on the far right was a long streak of purple on the wall. It must be from the one Utahime exorcised.

Gojo stopped in front of the puddle of red in the middle of the hall.

Suguru stood beside him. “So, this is where Utahime was hit. Her residuals are quite strong.”

“She didn’t have to jump in.”

“She must know about your Infinity, right?”

“Of course."

Behind them, Ijichi hovered his hand above the green-blue blood that had pooled on the floor. Suguru did the same on the streak on the wall. As a curse spirit manipulator, tracing residuals and identifying curses came more easily to him.

“I doubt it’s as strong as the one you exorcised, but a special grade is a special grade,” Suguru said.

“I bet that was the first special grade she ever exorcised, and with my help, too.”

“Still an accomplishment.” Suguru stepped forward. A crunching sound disrupted the tense air in the room and made both Gojo and Ijichi jump a little.

Suguru’s eyes widened, knowing the sound came from under his left foot. Slowly, he raised his leg to see what it could be.

Gojo tilted his head to catch sight of the silver item on the sole of his shoe. “Is that a blade?”

Suguru pried it out with his thumb and forefinger and then whisked his hand away as though he had been electrocuted. “Damn, that cursed energy stings.”

Ijichi walked over to them to see what was happening. “Oh. Let me take that out for you.”

He pulled out the blade with a tweezer-like item that had strings of curse seals attached to it. After inspecting the blade closely, Ijichi looked around and pointed at the other end of the room. “There. That’s the rest of the cursed tool.”

Gojo raced the two of them to it. He picked up the dagger by the hilt and noticed how the cursed energy from it trickled along his barrier. The longer he held it, the thinner his Infinity became.

“Suguru, can you try stabbing me with this?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Still, Suguru took the dagger from him and slashed at him. The tip of the blade didn’t reach Gojo, but he felt the ripple of his Infinity along its course.

Gojo raised his forearm. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his mouth felt dry, but he had to know. “Stab me here. See if it will pierce.”

Suguru scowled at him, then at the blade. “Are you suggesting that-”

“Just do it!"

With one deft move, Suguru had pierced through Infinity and stabbed him in the forearm. The three men went stock still as they watched blood ooze from the wound and create dark patches on Gojo’s sleeve.

“Shit!” Suguru removed the dagger and used his own uniform to cover Gojo’s stab wound. “How the hell was that able to pierce you? Ijichi, tell the manager to prepare the first-aid kit. Satoru, hey, Satoru! We’re going back.”

Gojo blinked at him several times. “That actually hurts.”

“Of course it does! It’s imbued with heavy cursed energy. That’s probably what worsened Utahime’s injury.”

Gojo held his head in his injured hand and watched the blood drip to the floor. That dagger must have been launched in his direction at the same time that his Blue destroyed the first special-grade curse. Had he noticed it flying in his direction? Yes. His Six Eyes would never miss something so trivial. And yet, in his arrogance, he did not assume that a cursed tool like this truly existed. His family warned him about these things a couple of years ago, but he had gone and fought so many curses and curse users by then and never encountered one.

Gojo snatched the dagger from the floor and walked to the middle of the room. “Utahime didn’t save my life,” he said as he focused his cursed energy on the dagger. “But she probably spared me from a terribly inconvenient injury.”

The dagger shook violently and exploded. Shaking the dust off his hand, he put pressure on his wound and marched out of the facility.

He asked to be dropped off at the nearest convenience store. Ijichi had patched him up in the car, and even though his injury still stung, he wanted nothing more than to eat something sweet.

Suguru got out off the ca,r to,o and stalked him around Lawsons as he inspected all the pastries and ice cream flavors in stock. After half an hour of roaming, Gojo settled for a cone of cookies and cream, a bag of gummy worms, and a blueberry muffin.

“Don’t you ever get toothache from all the sweets you eat?” Suguru asked as he dropped on the chair next to Gojo’s. It squeaked under his weight, forcing him to sit only on the edge and carry most of his weight.

Gojo would’ve made fun of him, but he found he didn’t have an appetite for jokes. He stared at the fogged display glass in front of him, through which he could see blurred figures of office workers, families, and students passing by the convenience store.

They had no idea he just saved their lives.

“It’s not my fault, you know?” Gojo said.

Suguru took a sip of his iced tea. “Your sweet tooth or Utahime?”

“What kind of idiot does that, anyway? We’ve had close calls before, but you’ve never jumped between me and an enemy.”

“I’ve done that numerous times.”

“Your curses have done that numerous times.”

Suguru raised his hands, conceding. “Technically, that’s correct. But also, nobody’s blaming you for Utahime’s injuries.”

Gojo flipped his phone open once more to see if there were new text messages from Shoko. None. So he reread her last text. Utahime’s wound had reopened a third time. Shoko had to keep healing it to prevent further blood loss. Utahime was now getting blood transfused to her.

“It’s not that anybody would blame me,” Gojo said as he ripped open the ice cream cone’s paper packaging. “Haven’t you noticed? Just like how weak curses group together, so do weak curse users. She exhibited behavior that only weak curse users do for one another.”

Suguru sighed and hunched over the table. “Satoru, it’s okay to admit that your ego is hurt and that you’re worried about Utahime.”

“My ego’s not hurt. I wouldn’t be fighting for my life even if I’d been hit by that dagger.”

“And it’s not that Utahime is weak, per se,” Suguru went on as though Gojo hadn’t said anything. “It’s just the nature of her technique. We behave in accordance with it in battle, and hers was practically designed to serve others more than herself. If you really want to think about it in tactical terms, she did the smart thing by shielding you. If you had been incapacitated even for a bit by that dagger, she might have been killed before Mei-senpai could come to the rescue.”

Gojo stared at his ice cream. He should have gotten the vanilla flavor instead. “You might be right. Also, she amplified my technique at the last moment to extend it towards the other curse. That’s how she managed to exorcise it.”

“Okay.”

Gojo licked the melting ice cream. “Okay.”

Suguru reached out and placed his hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “But you know, the alternative is alright too. Utahime is the kind of person who puts others before herself. Maybe it didn’t matter to her that you’re stronger. She just didn’t want you to get hurt. Is that idiotic? Quite. But there’s nothing wrong with kindness, even in our world. If a cute older woman like her did that for me, I’d be quite flattered.”

A group of high school students entered the convenience store. Two of the guys yelled at the three girls to get them chips and soda, and the girls flipped them off. Outside, a woman carrying a small dog struggled to open her umbrella.

Lightning flashed. Gojo looked up at the same time that thunder boomed from the skies. He could see the fine lines of the next lightning as it formed.

“Thunderstorm on a clear day.” Suguru whistled. “Doesn’t sound good to me.”

Gojo gathered his purchase and stood. “Let’s go back to Jujutsu High.”

Chapter Text

She remembered the first time she met Satoru Gojo. It must have been only months ago. Another school year started, and the first-year students entered their classroom like a bunch of bored delinquents. Even Shoko was obviously in a mood (and had smelled of cigarettes). Suguru Getou forced a smile while wiping the sweat off his brow because really, it had been quite hot that day.

And then there was Satoru Gojo striding along the corridor with his sunglasses and his hands in his pockets. She knew judging merely from his pout that she would not get along with him, and she was right.

It wasn’t as though they had any pivotal confrontation or anything like that. She mostly steered clear of him, and he was too busy pestering Getou to mind her. The real issue was that in a school like Jujutsu High, word got around quickly about which sorcerer had which cursed technique and people could gauge from that who was strong and who was weak.

It was after her solo mission in which she exorcised a second-grade curse that Gojo first dropped the honorifics on her.

“You’re so worn for such a weak curse, Utahime,” he said after seeing her state the following day. “Maybe next time, you should bring me along with you.”

“Maybe I’ll ignore you until you remember to use honorifics!”

Gojo leaned towards Getou and stage-whispered, “She’s angry again. Only the weak get angry like that.”

“Utahime-senpai.” Shoko hooked her arm with Utahime and dragged her towards the vending machines. “Why don’t we cool off with a drink? Let’s leave those scum to themselves.”

Yes, she was annoyed, and she always yelled at Gojo that she wasn’t weak, but she knew deep down that it was true. Her technique served others more than it served her, and although she had useful offensive techniques, they weren’t anything as powerful as what the Six Eyes could achieve.

But if there was anything she knew coming from a long line of sorcerers that specialized in cursed energy manipulation, it was all techniques had blindsides.

“The Six Eyes is powerful, but it is up to its wielder to harness its full potential,” Utahime’s father told her on her last visit home. “Do you really think that in the centuries that the Six Eyes have existed, no one has tried to come up with ways to defeat it? Or at least come close?”

Utahime should have been relieved to hear that. One of these days, Gojo would be humbled by his own arrogance. Yet all she felt was trepidation. Her mother told her that it was her greatest weakness. She worried too much about the people around her, even when they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.

“Worry about yourself. You need to train harder in order to survive in this world,” her mother said just before she departed again for Tokyo.

Then the assignment came up. A special-grade curse lurking in an uninhabited facility in the mountains. Cursed energy-limiting seals packed in layers beneath the walls and floors of the building.

Gojo read the report once and tossed it back on the table in front of Yaga-sensei. “It won’t make any difference to me. At worst, I’ll just draw out this curse or destroy the entire facility.”

“You don’t understand,” Utahime said.

“What don’t I understand?”

“Cursed energy-limiting seals of this nature only grow stronger with time. Even if you destroy the facility, the effects would remain for at least another five years. Also, these seals are probably limiting the abilities of the curse too. It’s best if you defeat it inside.”

Yaga-sensei showed them another report written by the managers who had scouted the place recently. “Utahime is correct, Gojo. This is her specialty. The managers also theorized the same thing.”

Gojo shrugged like he had not a care in this world. “I guess that’s just how it is then.”

“Utahime, go with Gojo and assist him. Let’s just be on the safe side of things.” Yaga-sensei collected the documents on his table and made his way out of the classroom.

Gojo followed him stomping. “But she’ll only get in my way.”

Utahime had to jog just to keep up with them. “I won’t get in your way!”

“Mei will be your backup.” Yaga-sensei turned around and caught Gojo by the ear. “And use honorifics. You may be strong, but that doesn’t mean the people around you are worthless.”

Utahime stuck her tongue out at Gojo, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

It all seemed like a mean joke until the mission took place and she felt the blood leaving her body while she lay on the floor of the facility.

Gojo looked down at her with those sparkling blue eyes, his face ashen, and his mouth agape. She thought of two things at that moment. One was that she had never seen him look so scared before.

Second was that he had a handsome face.

Utahime opened her eyes and closed them again. The fluorescent light in the infirmary was blinding, and she had to blink her eyes several times before she could adjust to it.

A shuffling noise around her alerted her of someone’s presence. Shoko came into view as a slightly blurred figure, but she could see that she was smiling.

“It’s about time you woke up, Utahime-senpai,” she said. “You had us all worried.”

Utahime moved her hand to scratch her nose, but the action sent a jolt of pain riding up and down her left side. It didn’t help that the hand she moved was also connected to an IV drip. The needle beneath her skin only doubled her discomfort.

Shoko pulled the blanket down to Utahime’s waist and pressed her hands lightly on the bandage. “It’s best not to move so much yet. I may have healed you, but that doesn’t mean your body’s fully recovered.”

“How long was I out?”

“Well, it’s half past noon on a Saturday. So you must have been out cold for around twenty-two hours straight.”

“Ugh.” She used her right hand to scratch her nose instead. “Wait, if I’m here, then…is Gojo okay?”

Shoko startled at the question. “Of course he is.”

“Oh. I just thought----”

“Because of the special-grade curse that ambushed him? You exorcised that curse while shielding him from a cursed tool that would have pierced through his barrier. You kinda saved his life, you know?”

“I did?”

“Yaga-sensei had Getou and Ijichi study the residuals on the scene. Gojo came along and found the cursed tool. He even had Getou stab him in the arm with it to make sure it could really break into his barrier,” Shoko said.

“What kind of idiot does that?”

Shoko laughed and pulled the blanket up over Utahime’s torso again. “That idiot will surprise you. He’s been sulking since. Oh, and he also visited you, I think, but you were still unconscious.”

Utahime tossed her head back on the pillow. Her limbs ached and her flimsy hospital gown made her skin itch. If only she had acted more strategically, then she wouldn’t be in here at all. “What’s the point of shielding him from the cursed tool if he was gonna stab himself with it anyway?”

“That’s why I never try to defend him or Getou in any way.” Shoko patted her leg as she walked out. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake and bring you some food. You must be hungry.”

“Thanks, Shoko!”

Utahime tried not to, but she fell asleep soon afterward. When she came to next, she was only partly awake, and she had a vague recollection of the doctor updating her prognosis and Shoko leaving a tray of food on her bedside. She also thought she saw Gojo standing at the foot of her bed, but she was so groggy from the pain meds that she may have imagined it altogether.

She came to again at around ten in the evening. Hunger pangs sent waves of pain across her abdomen. Forcing herself to sit up on the bed, she saw the tray of food Shoko left her. The bento had gone cold, but she didn’t mind. She could probably eat an entire box of pizza and a large bowl of yakisoba right now.

The door to the infirmary swung open just as she was reaching for the tray. The doctor had probably come in to check on her again. As she was about to ask for help with her food, the partition parted, and there was Gojo in an oversized shirt, a pair of grey joggers, and his sunglasses. In his left hand, he carried a plastic bag of boxed food.

“Good, you’re awake. For a while there, I thought you might go on sleeping forever.”

Utahime pressed her lips together in a tight line. He was the last person she wanted to see, but it was difficult to complain when the aroma of meaty broth was filling the room.

“It’s called recuperating,” she said.

“Sounds foreign to me.” He saw the tray of food on her bedside and tossed the contents in the nearby bin.

“Hey! That’s still food.”

“No, this is food.” He unpacked the boxes of bento and the bowls of ramen from the plastic bag. Swinging the tray to her lap, he placed food in front of her along with some utensils. Then he paused to give her a once over. “You’re not so crippled that I have to feed you, right?”

Utahime grabbed the chopsticks. “I can feed myself just fine.”

“Great, ‘cuz I’m famished, and I’ll have to feed myself first before I can do anything else for you.”

She gripped her chopsticks to the point of cracking them. What she wanted to do was throw the steaming ramen at Gojo’s face, but now was not the time to waste good food.

The two of them ate in silence for the next couple of minutes. Gojo had laid out his bento and ramen bowl on the mattress next to her legs. He scrolled on his phone while blindly putting pieces of meat in his mouth, and every now and then, he’d spit them if they were still too hot.

Utahime would scold him, but she only had energy enough to eat. She was glad for the plastic utensils because with her fingers still tingling, she wasn’t confident that she could use chopsticks. No matter the discomfort, though, she pressed on with stuffing her mouth with food. The broth was so delicious and the meat just salty enough that she couldn’t help but moan in appreciation.

Gojo looked up at her from his phone. “Are you choking?”

“It’s so delicious. I feel so much better now.”

“There’s dessert.” He pulled out another box from the plastic bag and opened it. Inside sat four big slices of cheesecake with blueberries on the side. The scent of cream cheese with hints of sour notes filled her nose, and she sighed in satisfaction.

Utahime was about to grab one when she noticed, as he extended the box to her lap, that his left arm was injured. What she thought was a sleeve with red patterns had actually been bandages stiffened with dried blood.

“What?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “You stabbed yourself with the same cursed tool I shielded you from.”

He glanced at his injured arm. “Oh, this. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’.”

“Well, I had to check if the dagger could actually pierce my barrier.”

Utahime’s eyes stung. She told herself she wasn’t going to cry, but the frustration had been building up in her chest since she woke up. It must be the pain and the fatigue clouding her judgment and making her emotional like this.

Gojo peered at her from above his sunglasses, his eyebrows knitted in a scowl. “Are you crying?”

Swallowing hard, she wiped the tears off her eyes with the back of her right hand. “So to check if it’s true, you stabbed yourself?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“My technique makes me hyper-aware of the cursed energy in everything when it’s activated.”

“Huh?”

“I recognized the energy in that cursed tool and thought it might break through your barrier, and I’m your upperclassman so it’s my job to worry about your safety, and I also should have detected the other curse sooner.” Utahime, red-faced and still crying, tossed the cracked chopsticks at him. “But if I had known you’d just stab yourself like a lunatic, I’d have gladly thrown myself in the other direction!”

Gojo stared at her in silence for several moments. His fingers curled inwards to clutch the blanket, but aside from that, he did not move.

Footfalls sounded in the corridor, and she heard Shoko and the doctor enter the infirmary.

Gojo pushed his sunglasses up his nose bridge, cleared his throat, and left just as Shoko had swung aside the partition.

Shoko glanced at Utahime, at the food on her bed, and back at Gojo, who had just left the infirmary. “What’s wrong with him?”

Chapter Text

Gojo remembered the first time he saw Utahime. It was the year before he went to Jujutsu High. He visited the campus with his father to determine whether it was best for him to study in the Tokyo branch after all. His parents had been debating the case nonstop for months because his mother insisted he must go to the Kyoto branch, while his father believed the Tokyo branch would be better.

It had something to do with some powerful Kamo and Zenin students in the Kyoto branch at the time. His mother thought he should interact with them, and his father thought he might end up killing these boys before the school year ended.

To lay the matter to rest, they decided he should be the one to decide which campus he liked better. It was during the visit to the Tokyo branch that he saw Utahime for the first time, watering the flowers in the garden in her miko. She had shorter hair back then, and she looked so peaceful while she hummed a song to herself.

That same evening, he told his parents that he wanted to study in the Tokyo branch, and then left the dinner table to go watch Digimon.

Gojo saw her again at the beginning of the school year. She wore a Jujutsu High uniform similar to Shoko’s some days, and her miko on others. Her hair had grown longer, and based on what he heard, she had just received her grading as a sorcerer.

He didn’t think he was attracted to her. If they passed each other on the streets, he doubted that he’d spare her a second glance. Even when Suguru called her cute earlier, he was tempted to say that she looked average at best with her full bangs and pigtails.

So why was it that watching her cry in her disheveled state while she smelled of blood and antiseptic made him so nervous?

Gojo stood and left the infirmary as soon as Shoko swung the partition aside. There persisted a heaviness in his chest that he had never felt before, and if he stayed another second in there, he thought he might just burst.

He sat on the steps of the high school building and rested his head on his hand. The cool evening breeze did little to calm his nerves. It would have been better if Suguru had been correct all along, and Utahime shielded him for tactical reasons. But no, she threw herself in harm’s way simply because she felt responsible for him.

“It’s so stupid,” he muttered to himself while causing the tiny rocks on the ground to explode using cursed energy.

The more he thought about it, though, the less his disdain for her actions made sense. He might never tell Suguru outright, but he might be right. There was nothing wrong with what Utahime did, regardless of how idiotic it was. She realized her shortcoming as a sorcerer by not identifying the threat sooner, and she acted accordingly by taking on the consequences herself. In that battle, she hadn’t seen herself as a weak sorcerer. She knew her place and made her contributions. She didn’t let Gojo face the enemy alone, and perhaps that’s what got to him the most.

That wasn’t the way he knew sorcery to be, and with one fell swoop, Utahime made an irreversible dent in his worldview.

Gojo didn’t sleep well at all that week. He tried to nap in between classes and missions, but his mind was in overdrive, and he couldn’t quite get it to slow down. It got to a point where even Shoko was concerned and wondered if his stab wound was leaving him with side effects.

She inspected the scar during their break time and poked at the area around it. “Maybe we should tell Yaga-sensei to give you a break. It’s healing well, but you’re obviously not fine.”

Suguru flipped to the next page of the book he was reading. “You should really stop binge-watching Digimon at night.”

“Shut it, Suguru.”

“Utahime-senpai’s wound is healing at pretty much the same rate, but she isn’t as sleep-deprived as you are.”

Suguru put his book down and stood. “I think I’ll visit Utahime-senpai.”

Gojo perked up on his seat. “And why would you do that?”

“Because she’s my upperclassman and she’s injured. It must get pretty lonely being stuck in the infirmary for so long.”

Shoko pulled down Gojo’s sleeve and patted him twice on the wrist. “She was discharged this morning. I think she’s resting in her room, or maybe back in classes by now.”

Gojo kicked his chair back and announced that he was going to get some fresh air. On his way out the door, Shoko told him to buy her a pack of cigarettes, and Suguru requested for a turkey sandwich. He flipped them off and dragged his feet down the corridor.

He was considering going to town to buy food when he saw a flash of white and red from the corner of his eye. Taking five steps back, he entered the adjacent corridor and followed the light footsteps. It took another turn for him to spot Utahime pacing in front of Yaga’s office with a bunch of documents in her hands.

He felt some of the tension in his body alleviate at the sight of her. It had only been eight days since their mission together, and she was already upright and alert, although obviously still not in top form.

Utahime lifted her gaze and squeaked in surprise. “What are you doing standing there like some kind of apparition?”

“You’re the one pacing about like a restless curse. I almost exorcised you.”

“Ugh. I don’t have time for this.” She folded the sheaf of papers in half and tucked them under her arm. “I’m going.”

She turned in the opposite direction and stalked off. Gojo followed behind her with his hands in his pocket, whistling the opening theme of the Digimon anime.

At the end of the corridor, Utahime looked at him over her shoulder with a scowl. “Are you following me?”

“Why? Are you going somewhere fun?”

“I have a mission to do.”

Gojo walked up to her and held his hand out. “You’re not fully recovered. Are they trying to kill you?”

“It’s just some silly curse seal removals. Old talismans and that crap.” She slammed the papers on his hand. “See it to believe it.”

He scanned the mission order. The address was east of a graveyard. If he wasn’t mistaken, the building next to it was an old hospital, and across from it was either a morgue or a series of medical clinics. All prime spots for recurring curses and even undetected special-grade ones. He tucked the papers inside his pocket and went ahead of her.

“I’m bored. Let’s go.”

Gojo knew Utahime wasn’t well when she didn’t put up a fight regarding the matter. She simply followed him into the car with a menacing look, and then promptly fell asleep on the way to their destination. Breathing deeply and curled up on the car seat like that, he thought she didn’t look at all like his upperclassman. Others had made the mistake of thinking she was also a freshman because of how young she looked. Perhaps that was why she emphasized her maturity and tenure so much.

He recalled the face she made while crying in her hospital bed. Unlike their other upperclassman, though, she didn’t fixate on her seniority to boast. She really did feel responsible for him as her junior, and Gojo was finding it more and more difficult to loathe her for that.

Gojo shook her arm to wake her when the car slowed down in front of a dilapidated office space next to a hospital. With a big yawn, Utahime straightened up on the seat, combed her hair with her fingers, and ordered him to get out of the car.

“No curses here?” Gojo asked the manager once they were standing on the sidewalk.

“They’ve been exorcised prior, but curses can be recurring here because of its location. Nevertheless, we’re sure they’re nothing troublesome,” she said. “Are you entering the veil with Ms. Iori?”

Utahime was already opening the heavy door to the building and pointing her flashlight inside. He really shouldn’t intervene with her mission, but the unsettling feeling in his gut forced him to respond in the affirmative.

He followed Utahime into the building, and the veil went down around them.

“What are you doing?”

Utahime stopped from kicking aside the empty soda cans and magazines on the floor. She had created a circle free of debris around her in the short time she had been there. “The place reeks of old and carelessly made talismans. Just stand back there while I undo them.”

Gojo leaned on the wall with his arms crossed. “So you can reduce cursed energy from objects the same way you can amplify the cursed energy of people?”

“Not just reduce. I can eliminate the cursed energy in objects like talismans and cursed tools. Theoretically, I should be able to minimize the cursed energy of users, but I’m not that skilled yet.” She removed her boots and stood on the grimy floor on tiptoes.

“You’ll get a fungal infection after this.”

“Shut up, Gojo!”

With a deep breath, she started chanting and making hand motions to activate her cursed technique. While Gojo could not detect a single hitch in the flow of cursed energy around her, he did hear the crack in her voice. At one point, she clutched her side and bent over, as though she might faint, and Gojo stepped forward to catch her.

Utahime held her other hand out to stop him and continued chanting. Soon, rectangles of cursed energy lit up on the walls and ceilings. They burned so bright that the temperature in the building became uncomfortably hot, and then just like that, they dissipated.

Utahime fell to her knees at the end of the ceremony. She looked sideways at Gojo with a grin. “All done.”

She refused to be carried, so Gojo had to walk at her pace up the long staircase leading to Jujutsu High. The sky had darkened in the short travel back, and the manager gave them a single red umbrella to share in case it rained. In spite of the thunderstorm, the rain hadn’t fallen yet, and Utahime could instead use the umbrella as a cane.

“You can refuse further missions for at least two weeks on medical grounds,” Gojo said. He kept pace with her and held his hand behind her back just in case she tripped.

“I’m about to graduate. I need as many successful missions under my belt as possible.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll include those in your obituary after you’re killed in one of those missions.”

“Haha. That’s so encouraging.” Utahime stopped to catch her breath. “This must be what it feels like when you’re sixty. It’s a good thing sorcerers rarely live to that ripe old age.”

 “I bet you’ll be walking like that in just a few years.”

“I bet it’ll be because you won’t stop pestering me.” She made a move to punch his arm, and then realized it was the one with the stab wound. Unfurling her fist, she placed her hand below his forearm as though it were fragile. “By the way, how’s your injury healing?”

“There’s barely any scar. Yours?”

“Scarring real bad.”

Gojo looked up at the sky. Lighting flashed. “Utahime, why worry for someone who’s so much stronger than you? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re still thinking about that?”

“Any smart sorcerer would put themselves first. That’s how you survive.”

“Everybody talks about surviving. But what does it really mean? Personally, I don’t see the point of being alive if I’m dying of guilt deep inside,” she said.

“What would you be guilty of?”

Utahime scanned the trees behind Gojo as she thought about this. “I think I’ve always hated the idea of failing to save people. Not just the non-curse users, but my comrades too.”

“But even if that cursed tool struck me, I wouldn’t have died. I could still have exorcised the second special-grade curse,” he said. “So why be guilty about letting me get hurt in battle?”

She pressed the tip of the umbrella on his shoulder and shoved him lightly with it. “Satoru Gojo, you may be the strongest sorcerer around here, but you’re still only seventeen. There’s more to being a sorcerer than exorcising curses. At one point, you’ll realize that nobody else cares what happens to us, and we’re all we have, so we need to take care of one another. Got that?”

Gojo heard her, sure, but more than that, he saw her. At that moment, he realized that he liked the way she blushed when she got all worked up. He liked how her hair swayed with the smallest movements of her head, and that her voice was so demure even when she yelled at him.

Lightning flashed again, followed by the deafening roar of thunder.

Utahime shielded her head with her arms and bent her knees, as though doing so might save her from a lightning strike. Gojo laughed at her reaction, and before she could complain, he picked her up in his arms.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” Utahime grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it a tight squeeze.

Gojo started walking up the stairs once more. Utahime was as light as he imagined her to be. “Quit nagging. At your pace, we will both be sixty by the time we reach the top.”

She let go of his hair and crossed her arms instead. “Okay, but this is just between us! I don’t want you to go telling everyone tomorrow that I was so weak after the mission, you had to carry me like this.”

“What are you talking about? I’m telling everyone you just confessed your undying love for me and that you insisted on being carried.”

“Gojo, you asshole! Put me down!”

Chapter Text

Apart from bumping into each other in the corridors, Utahime and didn't see much of Gojo around campus. Not that she had been spending a lot of time inside campus to begin with. Jujutsu High had started sending her off to different cities for exorcisms, and although she was glad for the work, she soon discovered just how tiring business trips could be.

Most days, all she had to handle were low-grade curses in abandoned schools and commercial complexes. Other times, she would work with the managers to take care of centuries-old talismans and curse seals in areas that cultivated high amounts of cursed energy.

She would almost always be depleted by the end of the day, and her only comfort came in the form of drinking alcohol and watching the sports channel.

Before she knew it, months had passed by, she had graduated, and Jujutsu High offered her a place among its staff.

“Not the school staff, although I’ve recommended you for it for future reference,” Yaga-sensei said with a bit of an apology in his tone. He had summoned her to his office on short notice, and although Utahime knew the offer was coming, she still felt chills hearing it said aloud.

Yaga rubbed his eyebrow as he spread the contract across the table for Utahime to read. “We need more sorcerers in the field right now, and the higher-ups are pleased with your work.”

“Thank you.”

“The offer includes accommodation within certain parts of Tokyo, as well as any medical bills you may incur. Vacation leaves and bonuses are standard across the board for all of us. As usual, all of your expenses during business trips are covered by Jujutsu HQ, and we expect you to perform with the same vigor and efficiency in every mission. I’m sure you’re familiar with the details already.”

“Of course.”

Yaga held his hand out for her to shake. “Then welcome aboard.”

Utahime sat on the steps of Jujutsu High. A part of her missed being a student, but she also couldn’t resist the idea of leasing an apartment and furnishing her own place. She was running numbers in her head about the cost of living in Tokyo when she spotted a head of white hair in the distance, rising from where the stairs disappeared in the horizon. Soon, the sunglasses appeared,  and then Gojo’s annoying grin.

He raised his hand in greeting. “Fancy running into you here, Utahime.”

“Why are you even here? It's summer break."

He stopped a couple of steps below her. “I wasn’t aware that curses took summer breaks too. Is that confidential information that only school staff know?”

Utahime’s eyebrows twitched. “You’re still as annoying as ever. How did you even know that I’m staff now?”

“Well, the school only hires boring people like you and Yaga.”

“You mean capable people.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I mean boring.” He tossed a coin in the air. “I’m getting a drink from the vending machine. Want any?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Orange soda pop it is.” He patted her head as he walked past her. “Be right back!”

She had no idea why she stayed and waited for him. They had not seen each other in a long time, and she didn’t exactly miss being teased by him. Perhaps it was just the cool breeze and the nice shade that compelled her to stay. It was such a fine day to let it be ruined by Satoru Gojo.

“You have a scar on your wrist.”

“Huh?”

Gojo sat beside her and put the two cans of soda between them. Leaning back on his elbows, he stretched his legs with a sigh. “That scar on your wrist looks new. Is that from a mission or should I tell Shoko that she should be worried about you?”

Utahime raised her fist but decided against hitting him. She was a professional sorcerer now. It was unbecoming to hit a student, even if that student was a brat like him that needed the extra disciplining. “I stumbled and fell while being chased by a curse. It was a protruding nail on the ground that sliced my wrist.”

He burst out laughing. “Who trips and falls while being chased by a curse? What were you doing? Playing hide-and-seek with it?”

“I had to put distance between us so that its attacks would be less effective!”

“So, what? You were attempting to go lower underground?”

“It’s useless explaining these things to you!” Utahime opened her can of soda and took a huge gulp. The sugar rush helped calm her down. “And you? What have you been up to?”

“The usual. Exorcising special-grade curses left and right. Looking and failing to find anyone stronger than me.”

“Have you never tripped while on a mission?”

Gojo pointed at the sky. “Utahime, I fly.”

“Right. I forgot you’re a vulture.”

He tugged at her front ponytail. “You’re cute when you’re trying to insult me, you know that?”

“Hey, pay me a little more respect!”

He stood and finished his soda in one go. “How about I pay for something else instead? Wanna grab lunch with me?”

Utahime stood as well and dusted her hakama pants. Under the sun, the seams appeared more worn than she initially assumed. She would have to get a new one.

“Aren’t you supposed to go to Yaga first?” she asked.

“He can wait. I’m hungry.”

“Alright, but you’re not treating me. I’m older and I’m employed, so I’ll pay.”

“Won’t people think that you’re, like, my sugar mommy?”

Utahime’s face grew hot. “Do I look old and rich enough to be your sugar mommy?”

“Oh well, you do give off the vibe of someone who’s buried in mountains of debt.”

After bickering on the sidewalks for what felt like forever, they finally decided on a fast-food chain in Shinjuku. It was already one-thirty by the time they entered the restaurant, and the number of customers had already trickled to a few families and friends chatting over half-finished sodas and limp fries.

Gojo had taken off his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down to cool off, and this made Utahime want to change into something else too. She should not have worn her miko outfit to her meeting with Yaga-sensei in the first place. At least, not in this heat. With how the temperature changed so drastically, it was like Jujutsu High was in another country altogether.

As the queue was taking too long to progress, Utahime disappeared into the toilet to change into a dress she had packed in her bag. She always kept one with her in case her miko outfit got torn during an exorcism, and the habit stuck now wherever she went.

She tugged down her ankle-length dress, checked that the slit wasn’t too high, and put her hair up in a ponytail. With the strap of her bag slung across her chest, she exited the toilet and rejoined Gojo in the queue.

“Sorry for the wait,” she said.

Gojo gave her a once over. “This isn’t a date, you know.”

“I changed because I was hot.”

“Who lied to you?”

Utahime massaged her temple and reminded herself not to cause a scene here. He really knew how to stretch her patience. “Can I please have one decent conversation with you?”

“This is a decent conversation to me.” He dug his hands in his pockets and nudged her with his elbow. “So what are your plans now? I’m guessing it was Yaga’s idea to hire you. He’s always liked people who do things by the book.”

She stepped forward as the queue moved and dragged Gojo with her by the elbow. “Jujutsu High will get me accommodation in the city, so I guess after I sign the contract, I have to see what my options are and then get settled.”

“Find a place near campus. I’m sure Shoko would love that.”

The couple in front of them left and it was their turn. Gojo hunched over to speak to the woman who was taking their order, and Utahime could see based on her expression that none of Gojo’s words were registering to her. Just like the other girls in the queue, they were too taken aback by Gojo’s height and face.

Now she knew why Shoko hated eating out with Gojo. She could only imagine how it was when Getou went along with them.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” The girl behind the counter said.

Utahime leaned forward with her best smile. “He said we’ll be having two large sodas, two extra-large fries, one chicken burger, and one beef cheeseburger. Please give us extra packets of ketchup. How much will that be?”

“I want two sundaes,” Gojo said.

Utahime rolled her eyes. “Make that three.”

Gojo carried their tray over to the table beside the glass overlooking the sidewalk. The women (and some men) followed him with their gaze, and Utahime had to look back at them to get them to mind their own business.

Gojo, who was either too used to the attention or too self-absorbed to care, just took his seat and started talking.

The two of them shared stories about their most recent missions out of town while distributing the food amongst themselves. Utahime realized while talking to him that he was an animated storyteller. Which figured, because he was still a teenage boy, but then again, they weren’t talking about an action movie. He was telling her how he smashed a curse user’s head on the ground over and over until the man died.

“I’ve never seen a technique like it, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle.” He waved a French fry around. “The problem with older curse users is that they think their tenure makes up for their lack of skill.”

“Or they think they’re experienced enough,” she said.

“How about you? Dealt with any curse users lately?”

Utahime chewed on her chicken burger thoughtfully as she considered the missions she had undertaken in the past couple of months. “Only two. The rest were not in a combat set-up. The two I did fight were real perverts. Gave me nightmares for weeks afterward.”

Gojo lowered his burger on the tray and switched to his sundae. “Perverts?”

She glowered at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I doubt you killed them, so there’s a chance I’ll still run into them.”

“I almost killed them, though. One of them ruined my clothes intentionally so I had to walk out of there with the manager’s blazer over me. The other one had a feet fetish. He kept saying he’d cut off my feet and sleep with them or something.” Utahime shivered. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. They still give me the creeps.”

Gojo fell silent for several moments. He looked up at the menu display in the distance while scooping ice cream into his mouth. Utahime resumed eating as well. Of course, her battles weren’t interesting to him. Unless she could float and blast cursed energy through her fingers, he’d probably consider all of her missions a joke.

“So, did you tell Shoko?” Gojo asked all of a sudden.

The question caught her off guard. She paused from taking another bite of her burger. “No…not really. I didn’t want to scare Shoko. I’m sure she’d have handled them better, but I’d like to spare her for as long as I can.”

“You didn’t tell anybody?”

“The higher-ups know. I wrote a detailed and scathing report about it.”

Gojo slid a piece of napkin at her. “Draw them.”

Utahime almost spat her burger. “I really don’t want to think about them anymore.”

“What if they come after Shoko?”

Utahime cringed at the thought. Although trembling, she fished a pen from her bag and sketched a caricature of the two men. She made sure to add their most distinguishing features, like the one curse user’s spotted scarf, and the other’s eyepatch.

Gojo leaned in and watched the entire time, and once she was done, he took a photo with his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sending this to Suguru. Remember, we’re trying to protect Shoko.”

A little boy in the queue whined about wanting to go to another fast-food chain. Beside them, a couple argued about their spending habits.

Utahime squinted at him. Something was off with the way he was acting, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Gojo, by any chance, are you interested in Shoko?”

Gojo tipped his phone sideways to see her. “You mean Shoko Ieiri?”

“Who else?”

“If I tell Shoko that I’ll give her my heart, she’ll take it literally. The next time you see me, I’ll just be a lifeless body in the morgue with my heart mysteriously vanished.”

Utahime laughed so hard that the people at the neighboring tables threw her some dirty looks. She pressed her forehead on the table to hide her reddening face.

Gojo poked her head. “Hey, breathe.”

She wiped her tears with her hands and laughed some more. “Thanks. I really needed that. Shoko is more interested in dissecting bodies right now than she is about finding a boyfriend.”

“She’ll have a corpse as a boyfriend if it’s interesting enough.”

Utahime was on the verge of another laughing fit when a chill coursed through her entire body. She grabbed Gojo’s arm and stood, leaning over the table as though she might shield him by doing so. Her eyes swept the streets and saw, across the road, a man in a hoodie grinning at them.

Chapter Text

Gojo noticed the curse user watching them from the moment they sat down. He had wanted to transfer to another table, as Utahime was exposed in their current spot, but there was nowhere else to sit. Besides, if he made that suggestion now, she would surely take notice. The curse user was not exactly hiding his presence, and he assumed the only reason she hadn’t spotted him yet was because she was fatigued.

Her own cursed energy was faint, and he could guess by her bloodshot eyes that she hadn’t been getting much sleep. So they stayed where they were, and he let her eat in peace, but every time he could, he glanced at the curse user across the street.

The fact that he had not moved at all annoyed Gojo to no end. Sure, he was used to being targeted like this, but such thick-skinned sorcerers who didn’t know their place were quite rare these days. If Utahime hadn’t been there, he’d have marched out already and beat that asshole into a bloody pulp.

Gojo saw the exact moment Utahime noticed the curse user. Her expression darkened and she grabbed his arm. Utahime leaned forward, using her body to shield him like she was expecting an attack headed his way. It reminded him so much of the first mission they went on together, and how, after so many months, she still had the same instinct.

“Relax.” Gojo placed his hand on top of hers. “Sit. He’s not gonna do anything stupid here.”

“But-”

“You’re my sugar mommy, not my bodyguard.”

Utahime clenched her jaws, obviously torn between scolding him and addressing the threat. Silently, she resumed her seat and held his gaze.

“Did you piss someone off?” she asked.

Gojo dipped a French fry in the sundae. “I’ve been pissing people off since I was born. This is normal.”

Utahime propped her elbow on the table and cupped her face. “So we’re just going to pretend that there’s no one outside who likely wants to kill you?”

“Yup!” Gojo dipped another French fry in the sundae and offered it to her. “C’mon, try it.”

“Gojo, that’s disgusting!”

He ate the French fry himself. “Okay, I have a serious proposition.”

“This better not be perverted.”

He smiled at her. “Why not be an instructor at Jujutsu High instead?”

Utahime stared at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape. The color seemed to return to her face then, and he was guessing that she was partially distracted from the curse user now.

“What makes you think I’ll be a good instructor? Yaga-sensei said he’d consider it, and I’ve definitely thought about it, but I’ll need more experience before I can start teaching.”

“Not if you transfer to the Kyoto branch,” he said. “They’re in more need of staff, and I’m sure you can get a position as an assistant instructor while still booking some missions. Plus, the promotion might be faster. My cousin interned there last year, and I doubt the situation has changed much.”

She sipped her soda as she gave this some thought. “That does make sense.”

It would also mean she wouldn’t be assigned to dangerous missions, as being an assistant instructor would effectively shift her priorities in the eyes of the higher-ups. Good instructors were hard to come by these days, and they wouldn’t want to lose someone as talented and patient as her if they could simply assign a more combat-oriented sorcerer to deal with the risky tasks.

He slipped her drawing in his pocket while she wasn’t looking and checked his phone. Suguru had replied to him at last.

You’re really into her, huh? :D

Do you wanna go hunting or not?

I’m bored out of my mind. Will talk to Yaga about catching up on her slack and see if I can find those curse users.

Great

In exchange for your PlayStation >:D

Go to hell. >:O

“Gojo.” Utahime reached blindly for him, and her fingers landed on his wrist. She squinted at the people outside. “He’s not there anymore.”

“Yeah, he left around eight minutes ago.”

“You can tell?”

Gojo flipped his phone close and pointed to his eyes. “Duh.”

“How am I to know how your Six Eyes work?”

He glanced at her fingers on the inside of his wrist. The contact made him aware of his breathing, the warmth of her skin, and the difference in size between his hand and hers. He had no doubt Suguru would laugh at him if he saw him now. Never in his wildest imagination did he think he’d be so consumed like this, and by Utahime at that. He almost wanted to yell at her for being weak. If she was only as strong as Mei, then his mind wouldn’t be racing for ways to shield her from the risks of their profession.

He withdrew his hand from her touch and scratched the back of his ear. She was not even aware of the effect he had on her and was now typing on her phone like nothing happened.

“You should probably stay in Jujutsu High tonight,” he said.

Utahime looked up from her phone. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t trust you with anything except to pester me to death,” she said. “So unless you tell me why I should stay in Jujutsu High tonight, I’m going home.”

Gojo forced a smile at her. Every once in a while, Utahime could really push his buttons. “I’m just thinking that curse user from earlier might think you’re my girlfriend and target you, and that will be really annoying, so I need you to stay out of it while I deal with him.”

Utahime agreed to stay in Jujutsu High overnight. Before Gojo left the campus, she entered her number on his phone, and he did the same for her. He could tell from her frown that she was trying not to worry, but it was so clearly etched on her face that he laughed on his way out of campus.

As he roamed the streets of Shinjuku tracing the residuals that the curse user left behind, he wondered if she worried that way only about him. But did she worry because she didn’t actually believe in his strength, or because she, too, was infatuated with him and couldn’t quite express it any other way?

The residuals of the curse user stopped in an alleyway.  He couldn’t sense the curse user anywhere. Had he been tricked, or did that loser just run away?

Gojo’s phone rang. It was Suguru.

“I’m busy,” Gojo said.

“No, you’re not.”

The voice echoed from the end of the alleyway. Gojo walked towards it while speaking on the phone. “What are you doing back there?”

Suguru appeared at the mouth of the alleyway holding up a bloody man by the hair. Gojo recognized him as the curse user from earlier, and he appeared half-dead already. He flipped his phone close.

“How’d you get to him?” he asked.

Suguru dropped the man on the floor and stepped on his neck instead to keep him in place. “I came to find you earlier to interrupt your date, but then I spotted this man and thought I might as well beat him up for you.”

Gojo crouched next to the man. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and he was missing most of his teeth. He seemed to be the kind of loser who lured others into a trap because he wouldn’t win in combat any other way. Worse, he would probably go as low as taking someone hostage to increase his chances of winning.

“I don’t normally kill weaklings like you because I’d rather let you drown in your misery, but I have a feeling you’ll just come back and piss me off again,” Gojo said.

The man shook his head and whimpered. “Please. I was wrong. I won’t come after you! I’ll forget I ever even saw you!”

Gojo stood and raised his foot. “You all say the same thing.”

Suguru bought him a bottle of water to clean his shoes with. It didn’t even occur to Gojo to use his Infinity to keep his clothes from getting stained.

“It was the right call,” Suguru said as he watched Gojo pour the water on his shoes. “Anyway, Yaga-sensei said he’ll get back to me tomorrow on some cases related to curse users. I’ll find them for you if I can.”

Some people glanced at them from the street as they passed the alleyway. Gojo thought they probably looked to others like some delinquents hanging out in the dark to smoke something illegal.

“One of those monsters said he’d cut off her feet and sleep with them,” Gojo said.

Suguru made a face. “It could be true, or it could be that he was just trying to provoke her.”

“What would you do if you were in my place?”

Suguru drank from his own bottle of water and gave this some thought. “I’d have called you too and started the hunt already. Your reaction isn’t unreasonable, especially when you like someone that much.”

Gojo emerged from the alleyway, and Suguru fell in step with him. Shinjuku was as busy as ever, with the lights and sounds blasting from every possible corner of the street.

“It’s so inconvenient, feeling this way,” he said.

Suguru clapped him on the shoulder. “I never thought I’d see the day you actually fall in love with anyone other than yourself.”

He shrugged his hand off and flipped him off. Suguru only laughed in response.

“It’s not love,” Gojo said. “I think I want her in a way you’d want to possess something and keep it out of other people’s reach.”

“Isn’t that what you do when you’re in love?”

Gojo rolled his eyes. He hated that word. It painted a picture of someone who had lost all rationale and sense of self-preservation for another person. He was far from reaching that point. “Whatever. I might actually buy new PlayStation controllers today.”

“New titles might be out as well. Let’s check it out.”

Before Gojo entered the mall with Suguru, he received a text from Utahime.

Thanks for the chat today. I’ll look into applying for the Kyoto branch like you said.

Gojo smiled at this phone.

You owe me.

Another text from her.

I don’t. Not after you put your caller ID as Sugar Baby in my phone. Idiot.

Gojo flipped his phone close and put his arm around Suguru as they walked around the mall. It was difficult to stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Utahime wouldn’t hear about Getou until three months after his defection. By then, she had been working as an assistant instructor in Jujutsu High’s Kyoto branch for five months. The position was so tough that she hardly did anything else after work but eat and sleep. Her apartment remained furnished only with the barest necessities, and she had not bought new clothes or makeup since leaving Tokyo.

If only there hadn’t been an onslaught of issues with the black market in Kyoto, maybe she’d have heard the news about Getou sooner. As it was, they were too busy and too understaffed to mind the happenings in the Tokyo branch. In the back of her mind, she knew that as long as Gojo was there, everything would be alright.

Besides, she still kept in touch with Shoko, although their messages were few and far between. The last time they spoke on the phone, she sounded tired, and all she talked about was applying for med school and how she planned on getting her license sooner. Sometimes, she mentioned Gojo, but never Getou. Utahime should have taken a hint then because Shoko almost never talked about one without mentioning the other, but she was too preoccupied to make anything of these little inconsistencies.

Gojo texted her regularly when she first moved to Kyoto. There was hardly a morning when she wouldn’t be greeted by an infuriating message from him, and often those were unsolicited facts about himself and his recent accomplishments.

Then, one day, his name just stopped appearing on her notifications. No selfies inside cake shops, no unflattering candids of Shoko, and no random sceneries from his travels.

No new entry for the game they played too.

Spot the curse, Utahime!

Followed by a photo of a restaurant, a hotel corridor, or a dimly lit street.

Did you hit your head or do you now have a special camera that captures curses?

Look closer!

Then she saw it. A creepy-looking stuffed toy that must be no bigger than her hand, half-hidden behind a trash bin, a wall, or a centerpiece. The toy had bulging red eyes and frizzy black hair with a body that resembled an owl.

She would usually study the photos during her lunch break and send back the answers to him before the day ended. Soon, Gojo got so creative that it would take her hours of squinting at her phone to see the toy.

His texts stopped so suddenly that she assumed he just got busy. The next time she bothered to check their chat, it had been weeks since his last message. Perhaps he found someone new to pester, or else he grew tired of her. If something serious happened, Shoko would have brought it up already, right?

Utahime logged into the Jujutsu HQ portal and checked the general missions log from Tokyo. As she suspected, the higher-ups had given Gojo back-to-back missions again, and the most break he took between traveling was two days.

Were they trying to drive him crazy?

She saw familiar names on the log but never Getou’s. Looking back, she thought if she only cared to glance at their updated Bingo Book tab on the portal, she’d have known sooner that he was now a wanted man.

The only reason Utahime found out was because of Nanami.

She took the early morning Saturday train to Tokyo to bond with Shoko, as they had both been feeling lonely and deprived of friendship lately. While waiting to cross the street, she spotted a certain blonde man across the road from her. He cradled a bouquet of flowers in one hand and raised the other in a curt wave.

“Nanami!”

He crossed the street to get to her, and when she asked if he was going on a date, he turned his gaze down and shook his head.

“Haibara’s dead,” he said. “I’m visiting his grave.”

Utahime forgot all about her plans for the meantime and decided to join him in the cemetery. She knew Haibara only briefly given the years between them. Strangely, all she remembered were their first and last interactions.

The first had been in front of the vending machines at Jujutsu High when she couldn’t get the soda she punched in. The can had fallen off the shelf, but it had not dropped into the slot. Haibara hurried over and kicked the vending machine for her, and the soda rolled out onto the floor.

They sat on the bench talking about her latest mission. She remembered him fondly because of his sincere smile and upbeat energy. Unlike Gojo, Haibara thought her cursed technique was cool and that her missions were exciting. Nanami joined them soon after, and she was relieved to find younger students who finally respected her.

The last time she saw him was at a diner with Getou and Shoko, where they had taken several pictures together before she left for a mission in Hokkaido. When Gojo informed her of Haibara's death, she thought about those photos but didn't have the courage to ask Shoko or Getou for them. She knew at the time that compared to her and Gojo, the two of them had struggled worse with his gruesome passing.

Now she stood over his grave with goosebumps all over her body. It was not a chilly morning, but she found herself trembling.

That bright, cheerful boy was now dead, and only half of his body was buried.

“Thank you for joining me, Utahime-senpai.” Nanami dusted the top of Haibara’s tombstone. “I’m sure he’s happy to have visitors.”

“I’m sorry I haven't visited until now.”

“You were away.”

“Nanami.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”

His face grew even paler, and he looked at her with wide eyes, as though she had asked such a strange and foreign question. After an awkward pause, he forced a smile at her. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Utahime took out her business card. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you want to grab a drink or if you find yourself in need of a friend in Kyoto. It’s the least I can do.”

He glanced down at her card and tucked it in his pocket. “Thank you, senpai. Please don’t feel too bad about it. Haibara wouldn’t like that.”

“I know but…how are the others now?” she asked. None of them had brought up Haibara in any of their recent conversations, and she now worried that they were still quietly grieving like Nanami was.

“Well, it’s been a while. And to be honest, I think Getou-senpai’s desertion is a much bigger blow to them. Understandably so. Jujutsu HQ wants him executed after all.”

Utahime blinked up at him. “Huh?”

She booked a hotel room for her and Shoko that night. They were supposed to have a pajama party and drink all they wanted without worrying about flagging a cab and getting home. It was supposed to be a time to unwind.

Instead, she sat in the hotel lobby with her head in her hands, thinking the past couple of months through. Shoko was her best friend. She should have known that something was off.

“Utahime-senpai.”

She jumped to her feet and saw Shoko waving at her from across the hotel lobby. Her hair had grown longer in their time apart, and she had lost some weight. The blue dress they bought together last year hung loosely on her body, and the closer she got, the better Utahime saw the dark shadows under her eyes.

While it was tempting to crush Shoko in an embrace and force her to open up, she thought it best to avoid any confrontation for now. She would just have to wait for Shoko to bring it up in her own time.

“Utahime-senpai is so cool now,” Shoko said as they were seated in the hotel restaurant. “You should visit more often so I can take a break from cafeteria food. It’s been so long since I ate in a nice restaurant.”

“Sorry about that. I’m still not fully adjusted to my work, but once things settle down, you can spend weekends with me in Kyoto. I’ll take you shopping anywhere!”

Shoko laughed, but it lacked the sincerity it used to have. “I kinda miss the old days. Don’t you?”

Utahime smiled, but it was shaky. With trembling hands, she took the menu and told her to order anything she wanted.

She wanted nothing more than to get intoxicated so she could at least cope with her growing anxiety, but they had to wait until they got to the hotel room before they could get started. Thankfully, neither of them had much of an appetite, and they finished their dinner within an hour. As soon as they got to their room, they changed into their pajamas, opened several bottles of beer, and kept the sports channel on in the background.

Drunk Shoko could talk nonstop for hours. First, she went into great detail about her reverse cursed technique and the new methods of regeneration that she had been fine-tuning at Jujutsu High. She sounded just like a mad woman, throwing medical jargon left and right and applying complex sorcery into the mix. By the end of her lecture, she had made a collage of pillows, torn paper napkins, coasters, and bath towels on the floor that was supposed to help Utahime visualize her grand idea.

It was only after this lecture that Shoko reclined on the couch and said, “But I can’t seem to concentrate these past few months. I keep hearing Getou’s voice like he’s dead. Or maybe he did die. I don’t recognize the Getou who massacred an entire town and killed his parents.”

Utahime looked down at her can of beer. “Nanami told me.”

Shoko fetched her cigarettes and lighter from her jacket. “Did you know that asshole has insomnia? Tried to get me to cure it. Wait, I'm sorry, I did tell you about that. You were even worried that we were sleeping together. Ha. I wonder if he’s getting any sleep now.”

“How can anyone sleep after killing so many people?”

“How does one even kill so many people?” Shoko’s voice broke. She opened a bottle of beer and drank half of it in one go. “It’s been shitty back here. I’m glad you moved when you did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

After a couple of tries, Shoko finally lit her cigarette, and she tossed the lighter across the coffee table. “I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. Gojo and I hardly ever bring it up. He acts the same, but you know it hit him pretty damn hard.”

“What was Getou’s reasoning?”

“The bastard wants to create a world with only sorcerers in it.” She scoffed. "He talked to me about it, you know? I thought he was joking, that it was just the trauma making him think up this stuff. He’s always been the more sensitive one. Gojo’s just more expressive, but Getou’s always been the one to feel things more deeply.”

“I can’t believe it," Utahime said under her breath. She also couldn't believe that Getou did that in spite of his relationship with Shoko. It had mostly been a secret, and the relationship was brief, but she really thought it would last.

“Me too.” Shoko burst into giggles. She covered her eyes with her forearm, and then her giggles slowly faded into sobs.

Utahime sat beside her on the couch and held her free hand. It was almost amusing how Shoko still managed to take a drag of her cigarette while crying. It was like she couldn’t decide how best to cope with her sadness.

Shoko passed out at around midnight. Utahime collected her used cigarettes in an empty can of beer and tidied up the rest of the hotel room before calling it a night.  

Only she couldn’t sleep. She glanced at Shoko next to her, who was snoring away like a mean truck driver after a long day on the road, and considered everything she said. Between Getou and Gojo, the latter seemed to them the more likely to be the psychopath. Getou had more finesse, and he was the one always reprimanding Gojo about his lack of tact and respect.

Utahime sat up in bed.

If Getou could be misled into pursuing such horrifying ideologies, then what was stopping Gojo from walking down the same path?

She turned her phone in her hands several times before mustering the courage to call him. The phone rang and rang. She shrugged on her jacket and went out onto the balcony so she wouldn’t wake Shoko.

Still ringing.

Utahime lowered herself to the floor and leaned on the railing. The Tokyo cityscape was filled with blinking lights and neon signs. Several blocks away was a building with a karaoke bar. A group of friends sang and danced inside like they had not a care in the world.

The ringing ended, followed by subtle noises on the other end of the line.

“Gojo?”

“Miss me?”

“Don’t make me regret calling you.”

“But it’s such a treat to hear my voice.”

“The same way it’s a treat to get hit by a truck when least expect it.”

“Your humor’s getting darker as you age,” he said.

She bit her lower lip. He sounded as cocky as he always did. “Right, right. Enough about that. Shoko’s with me. I’m staying in Tokyo over the weekend.”

“Ah-huh. She told me.”

“Yeah? I also bumped into Nanami earlier.”

“Cool.”

“Are you okay?”

She heard some rustling on the other end of the phone, and then the sound of floorboards creaking. Where was he, and what was he doing?

Gojo cleared his throat. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just collected a cursed object from abroad. Yaga had no choice but to tell me I did a good job. The effort nearly killed the old guy.”

Utahime wiped her eyes. “I bet.”

“Are you crying?”

“I’m a bit drunk.”

“If Shoko’s not blabbering in the background, then she must have passed out by now.”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?”

She mopped her face with her hand. “Of course. I just called to tell you something.”

“Here we go. She’s confessing.”

“Will you shut it and let me talk?”

“I’m ready for it. Give it to me.”

Utahime hugged her legs closer to her chest and wiped her cheeks again. “Look, if one day I hear about you rampaging across the country or starting a cult or just losing your shit, I’ll be the one to beat you. D’you hear me? I’ll kick the sense back into you, and you’ll finally call me senpai again.”

A loud bang in the background. Utahime had to pull her phone away from her ear for a moment.

“Gojo, did you just answer my call in the middle of a mission?”

More footsteps on creaky floorboards, and then silence. His breathing didn’t sound labored when he picked up his phone again. Perhaps it was just an easy exorcism.

“Did you hear what I told you? Or do I have to repeat myself?”

“Utahime.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

He ended the call, and Utahime stared at her phone screen until her eyelids felt heavy. She was so drunk, she would not remember most of their conversation in the morning.

Utahime stood on the platform with her travel bag in one hand and her phone in the other. The commuters passed by her in clusters, all of them preoccupied with phone calls, chatty friends, and transit maps.

She lingered beside a pillar and stared in mid-air while waiting for the train to arrive. The discomfort in her stomach hadn’t subsided at all, and it was so bad she thought she might be having acid reflux, or otherwise an ulcer. It was only after taking meds and eating bland food that she realized the discomfort was more psychological than physiological. She was dreadful of something, but she didn’t know what.

“Utahime.”

She turned her head to the right and saw Gojo standing a few feet away from her with a wan smile and his hand raised in greeting. The bindings around his eyes made his hair stand up in spikes, and the people around them kept glancing at him.

“What’s with the new look?” She pointed at his blindfold.

“This? I’m just trying not to strain my eyes before my mission later. It’s better than the sunglasses most days.”

“Oh.” Utahime resumed looking ahead. The pit in her stomach only worsened. This was not the Gojo she was used to. By now, he should have insulted her at least thrice, and she’d have thought of jumping into the tracks just to get away from him.

“Going home?”

“Yeah. I’ve got work to finish before school starts tomorrow.”

“Ah.”

She glanced at him. “You look hideous, by the way.”

“Utahime, what’s it like being an instructor?”

The question made her face him completely. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his back slightly hunched, his chin level like he was watching something up ahead. Yet she had no doubt he had seen her reaction.

“Are you considering it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it for some reason.”

A child ran between them, followed by a mother yelling for him to slow down. Announcements blared from the speakers, and around three phones were ringing at the same time.

“Frankly, you won’t be the first candidate I have in mind. But I do think it takes a powerful sorcerer to raise a generation of powerful sorcerers. Students need someone to look up to. How you guide them can either build them up or tear them down,” she said.

He tipped his head left and right as though weighing her words in his brain. “Which do you think it’ll be for me?”

Utahime closed the distance between them and stood next to him. They were so close, their sleeves were brushing, and she could feel the steady hum of cursed energy flowing through him. “You’ll be annoying as hell, and I don’t think your students will respect you, but if you of all people fight for what’s good, then they’ll have all the assurance they need to keep walking the narrow path. You can be the person they put their faith in.”

The sound of the train echoed from the distance. The commuters began to fill the platform.

Gojo leaned down so his mouth was close to her ear. “To be honest, I’d rather be disrespected than sound like you. Is that how you teach your classes?”

Utahime pulled away from him. “I always regret being nice to you!”

The train slowed to a stop, and as soon as the passengers exited, new ones began to board.

“That was being nice?” Gojo brushed her bangs aside with his forefinger and chuckled. “I thought you were simply hitting on me.”

She slapped his hand away. “You wish! I’m going now.”

The cars were already half-filled by the time she got in. With nowhere else to sit, she slung her bag across her chest and held onto the grab handle. Turning, she realized she was standing exactly across from Gojo on the platform.

He undid his blindfold and held her gaze while the announcement went on about the train doors closing. Even through the glass, she had no trouble seeing just how clear and vibrant his eyes were. It was only now that she noticed how much taller and more muscular he had become. His shoulders were so broad and his stature so firm that she couldn’t quite take her eyes off him.

The Gojo before her was no longer the teenage boy she shielded in the facility in the mountain. As childish as he may still act sometimes, there was no denying that he was a man now.

As the train began to move and he went out of sight, she thought her heart might burst.

Utahime hid her reddening face in her hand. “Shit.”

Chapter Text

Yaga texted Gojo to be at his house at eight in the evening. That was how he knew he had messed up big time. For the past two years that he had been an assistant instructor under Yaga, he had left reports undone until days past their deadlines, missed trainings with the students, and caused two of them to quit, among other mishaps.

Not that any of those had been entirely his fault, or things he considered mistakes altogether. The matter with the two freshmen quitting was done intentionally. Just like Ijichi, these young sorcerers were more gifted in strategizing and coordinating than they were in manipulating cursed energy. He could tell just by the way they reacted to the sight of curses that they would be dead within the next three months. At the soonest possible opportunity, he told them they were talentless and suicidal for even trying, and set Ijichi as an example.

Gojo also didn’t feel bad about the delayed reports and the missed training. If he wasn’t following orders from Yaga in Jujutsu High, he was elsewhere in the country or abroad, fighting a deity. He’d come back to school jetlagged and burnt out with towers of paperwork waiting for him in his office, and all he could do was set them aside and take a nap.

He didn’t know how he could have survived his job if not for Shoko and Ijichi, who took turns filing the reports on his behalf whenever they had the time. Yaga had no qualms about the two of them stepping in to help him finish his work, partly because it got the job done, and partly because it got the job done for good.

Gojo could no longer count the number of times Yaga barged into his office with half-torn documents in his hands, demanding he redo the reports and file them at once.

Shoko had been there when Yaga last did this, and she took the reports from him with a curious arch to her brow. “It can’t be that bad,” she told him.

Then she read what he wrote. A single line in the middle of the page.

VENI, VIDI, VICI.

“I came, I fought, I conquered,” Gojo translated for her. “That’s all that ever goes on in my missions anyway.”

To his surprise, Shoko handed the reports back to Yaga and said, “But he’s right.”

If not for Shoko’s reverse cursed technique, Gojo was sure Yaga would’ve gladly sent her away from Jujutsu High after graduation. When they were students, she would follow only the rules that made sense to her, and if they didn’t, she debated him until he felt like punching the wall.

So Yaga telling Gojo to meet him at his house felt like the ultimate punishment for the past two years. Yaga was likely getting ready to kill him with his cursed corpses, and he’d come out of there the next day as a stuffed chimera. He would have to live with Shoko and hoped she didn’t experiment on him.

Gojo stopped in front of a two-story house and rang the doorbell. The amount of cursed energy inside made the sweat trickle down his forehead. That he was even sweating said a lot, as it was early December, and the evening breeze held hints of the incoming winter.

All those cursed corpses must be activated and ready to pounce on him.

“Come in!” Yaga yelled from inside.

He opened the door and squinted at the darkness ahead. A minor veil in the hallway limited the capacity of his Six Eyes. Intrigued, he stepped in and called out to Yaga.

All too quickly, the door behind him shut and the veil disappeared. The lights turned on and a loud popping noise resounded in the room, followed by confetti falling all over him.

“Happy birthday!”

Yaga, Shoko, Nanami, Ijichi, and some managers from Jujutsu High filled the living room. The cursed corpses scattered among them hid their presence well, and the veil must have been put up to prevent his Six Eyes from detecting them in the gloom once he entered the house.

The managers cheered and pointed at his face, and that was when Gojo realized what this was.

A surprise party, and they actually managed to surprise him.

Shoko slipped a party hat on his head. “You have no idea how much effort we put into this. Almost all of us were sure you’d figure it out as soon as you reached the house.”

Gojo spotted Yaga in the small crowd. “So there’s no work tonight?”

Yaga slapped him on the back. He was so strong that Gojo almost landed on all fours. “I’m giving you a break since it’s your birthday and everyone here planned this like they were taking down the king of curses.”

All the balloons, the food, and the festive spirit cheered Gojo up, but he was so tired that he could only sigh in relief at the idea of skipping paperwork tonight.

“How’d they even get you to use your house?” he asked Yaga.

Ijichi offered Gojo a tall glass of sweet tea with lots of ice. “Ms. Shoko was very persuasive.”

“I threatened to demand another pay raise,” she said. “I swear even the higher-ups would’ve come here instead of compensating me better.”

Yaga rolled his eyes and told everybody to settle down and start eating before the food got cold. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. There was no place else that they could’ve pulled off this surprise.”

The managers joined in with their own stories of how they planned everything and all the alternatives they came up with. There was the attempt to do it at Jujutsu High, and an elaborate discussion to break into Gojo’s apartment. A hotel room that would fit them all was too expensive, not to mention the corkage fee. Then there was the possibility that Gojo would blow them all up if they disguised themselves as curses.

Gojo tried to mask his shock with loud bursts of laughter. To think that they bothered with him in spite of the endless inconveniences he caused made him lightheaded. He had not felt this content in a while, and the food definitely contributed to it. They had picked out all of his favorites, along with a round table at the center piled high with desserts.

“Turning twenty-one is very special,” one of the managers said. “I don’t recall what I did on my twenty-first birthday, though, as that was a decade ago.”

“You probably got dumped by your girlfriend.”

“He’s never had a girlfriend!”

Gojo pointed at his beard. “I told you girls find that creepy.”

In between listening to the managers recount their twenty-first birthday celebrations and trying the vast variety of sweets on the dessert table, he noticed that Nanami kept glancing at the door and then at his phone.

“Are you trying to leave the party before we play the parlor games?” Gojo asked. He could already imagine the disdain on Nanami’s face while he competed with the managers in Musical Chairs.

Nanami only scowled at him. “There are no parlor games.”

“It’s my party, and my parties always have parlor games.”

“Nanami,” Shoko called from the other end of the room where she was drinking with a few managers. “Nothing?”

Gojo picked up his sixth macaron. “Okay, no parlor games if you invited a clown. Are you waiting for a clown?”

Shoko checked her phone and walked up to them. “No, we’re waiting for Utahime-senpai. She said she’d be here.”

“Should I call her?” Nanami asked.

Gojo put down his paper plate. “You have her number?”

“I’ll do it.” Shoko placed her phone to her ear and then pulled it back again. “Did she block me?”

Gojo pulled out his phone. He opened his chat box with Utahime and saw that he could no longer send her any messages. The last one she sent was about how happy she’d be if he tripped and cracked his front teeth, and that was in response to him telling her that a short hairstyle would make her face rounder, and to avoid it.

Gojo tried calling her, but his number had also been blocked.

Nanami’s phone rang. He showed them his phone screen. “It’s Utahime-senpai.”

Gojo snatched the phone from him. “Utahime, it’s Gojo.”

Silence. He could hear the announcement in the train station and a mixture of chatter and footfalls. Gojo entered the kitchen to get away from the noise of the party and continued listening to the sounds on the other end of the line.

“Gojo,” Utahime whispered.

“What happened?”

“I’m on my way back to Kyoto. I’ll make this quick. We can’t communicate right now through obvious means. Well, technically, we aren’t allowed to communicate at all-”

“Stay there, I’m-”

“Your family should be reaching out to you anytime now. Happy birthday, and I’m really sorry.”

The call ended. Gojo stared at her name on the screen, barely registering Shoko and Nanami’s questions as they stood beside him.

He could picture Utahime standing on the platform in her red coat, waiting to catch the train back to Kyoto. He wanted to race there to catch her, but something in her voice made him stay. He had never heard her talk that way before, and the mention of his family only worsened the anxiety brewing in his gut.

The music in the other room suddenly cut off, and Yaga appeared in the kitchen with a grim expression. “Gojo, someone’s here for you.”

Hanabi Gojo entered the kitchen in her usual pink kimono. The fact that she wore her hair up and had the white haori with the family insignia over her shoulders made him frown. She must have met with some important people in the Jujutsu society if she was donning that.

Hanabi ignored the managers piling in the corridor to get a glimpse of her. She nodded at Shoko, who promptly nodded back at her, and walked past Nanami to stand in front of Gojo.

She raised a blue envelope to his face. “Satoru, we have urgent business to discuss.”

Gojo sat in one of the rooms in his clan’s Tokyo estate. Hanabi sat across from him, and between them lay a coffee table covered in photos and reports. The blue envelope lay on top, with the summons poking out. One of the photographs in the middle captured a family of five sitting in front of a shrine. The father, the mother, the two sons, and the daughter, Utahime.

“Three minor clans were brought up to do the job, and both the Kamo and the Gojo elders picked the Iori clan. Of the three choices, the Iori has the cleanest track record when it comes to mediating between clans. They’re also the most experienced in dealing with the three big families,” Hanabi said.

Gojo ran his hand through his hair and tried not to make his relief too apparent. He initially thought Utahime had been in some sort of danger. Not that their current situation was trivial, but at least he could breathe easy knowing what it was about.

He moved some of the photographs around and picked up one. The photo was of a woman, probably in her thirties, who was sitting on a chair with her hands and feet bound. There was no blood on her, but he could tell that she had been beaten up. Her right eye was obviously swollen, and the visible parts of her neck and ankles showed discoloration.

“Are you sure this Miyo woman is a Gojo?”

“Positive. We traced her lineage and she’s your fifth cousin. Defected as a teenager and worked at an advertising company after college. Her parents kept in touch and did their due diligence with the clan, but she wasn’t any sort of liability, so we surveilled pretty loosely. A month ago, she murdered a member of the Kamo clan. They were in a casual relationship, and she accused him of beating her. The Kamo wanted to execute her, but she claimed to be of the Gojo clan and begged for protection.”

“It doesn’t matter if they proved the murder.”

“They have.”

“So why are we here?”

Hanabi opened a folder and showed him a medical report. Attached to it was an ultrasound. “She’s in her first trimester. Her request for protection isn’t for her, but for her child. I’ve sent out a representative to the Kamo clan’s Tokyo estate where she’s being held, and he confirmed that the baby shows signs of possessing cursed energy. The Iori clan will mediate the meeting between the Gojo and the Kamo to discuss our options.”

Gojo leaned back on the couch with his arms spread sideways and stared at the chandelier overhead. “The options are to kill Miyo or to let her live until she gives birth. Then they kill her. Whoever has the right to the child can’t be determined until they're at least six years old based on their cursed technique. What’s the advice of the elders?”

“We don’t want to upset the Kamo clan. They have the most say in the management of Jujutsu HQ right now.”

“What do you think?”

Hanabi mimicked Gojo’s pose. She, too, looked worn from being overworked by the clan. “Poor woman can’t catch a break, but what do you expect when you go sleeping around with someone from the three big families? He wasn’t anyone important, but a Kamo is a Kamo.”

“Those traditionalists are too hungry for drama.” Gojo picked the dirt off his fingernail. “All these theatrics when we could’ve just exchanged emails.”

“Satoru, take this seriously.”

“I am. Give them my work email.”

“Do you want to create a clan email?”

Gojo perked up at that. “Should we make one? I’m the head, so I can mandate those, right?”

Hanabi wrinkled her nose. “My father’s gonna chop my head off if I do that, though. He’ll think I’m too much of a pushover to be your second-in-command. Imagine being twenty-five and losing the most important position in the clan next to yours because I created an at gojo clan dot com email account for us all.”

“The elders will lose their shit. I should hold a seminar for them about how to use an iPhone.”

“I already did that! Half of them can now take selfies.”

Gojo laughed. “This is why the Kamo and the Zenin hate us. Those losers have sticks up their asses.”

Hanabi straightened up and cleared her throat  “Anyway, the meeting will be a week from now at the Iori’s Kyoto shrine. As per our correspondence with the Kamo clan’s representatives, the current head will appear with his two sons. It’ll only be a party of three.”

“Ah.” Gojo smirked. “So this is what it is. He just wants to test me.”

“Personally, I think this matter is valid, but it was escalated because he wants to know where the Gojo clan currently stands with you as its head.”

Gojo stood and adjusted his yukata. It was half past midnight, and he had presents to open. “Alright. I’m bringing only you and your father with me. We’ll discuss this further another day, and tell Uncle that I’m expecting a birthday gift from him.”

He wished he could say he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. The matter with Miyo had more political impact on the two families than he wanted to admit, and he spent the next couple of hours scouring his brain for a solution.

He tapped his phone screen and checked Utahime’s chat again. It was unlikely that she’d speak to him until after the matter had been settled between the Kamo and the Gojo clans. The mediating family should remain unbiased, and none of them were allowed to contact members of the concerned parties outside of official channels. Otherwise, the mediating family could be replaced and punished.

Gojo flipped his phone over and closed his eyes. He should really stop thinking about Utahime and start thinking of ways to save Cousin Miyo.

Chapter Text

Her older brother Kazuo picked up her from the train station as soon as she arrived back in Kyoto. The drive to their estate took two hours, and he had to shake her several times to wake her up once they reached the shrine.

Utahime checked her phone and saw plenty of new notifications, but none of them from Gojo. Then she remembered. Sliding down her seat, she grunted and tried to rub the sleep off her eyes. It was driving her mad not knowing whether she was disappointed because she liked him or because she was so used to him pestering her every single day.

“Have you reviewed the email I sent you?” Kazuo asked as he undid his seatbelt.

“I’ve pretty much memorized it.”

“What do you think?”

“The woman should be able to argue that it’s self-defense.”

“In an ideal world, the Kamo would consider that,” he said. “But they won’t because it’s not ultimately about her. I think the Kamo just wants to see if the Gojo clan is serious about maintaining peaceful relations with them, especially now that their head has the Six Eyes.”

Utahime diverted her gaze outside the window. She read her brother’s email again and again on the way back to Kyoto because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Gojo might possibly perceive this issue. While she had known him for years, she had little to no understanding of his doings inside the Gojo clan. He often joked that his cousin Hanabi made the important decisions on his behalf and he steered clear of the boring parts most of the time.

Just how much did Gojo know about the politics involved in matters like this one? She chewed on her thumbnail as she imagined him rolling his eyes while Hanabi briefed him on the matter. The one time Utahime met Hanabi, she said Gojo was pretty much useless in clan dealings, but no one could begrudge him for that.

“He does enough with the missions he undertakes, and the three big families have to respect him for that, even if they don’t want to,” Hanabi had told her. “The number of casualties among the non-lineage sorcerers and those that come from the big three have significantly decreased over the years, and that’s just because of Satoru.”

Still, it wasn’t as though Gojo could flake off his responsibilities as clan head forever. He was older now, and they would be expecting more from him than just blowing up deities left and right. He had to make the right call in this meeting or else risk enmity between the Gojos and the Kamos.

“And if Satoru Gojo decides to defend the woman?” Utahime asked.

Kazuo rubbed his forehead in frustration. At just twenty-eight, he had already developed deep wrinkles and crow’s feet from all the work he’d done in the past years. “There’s no way of doing that without upsetting the Kamo and coming off as a threat. The woman is like a peace offering. I bet Father sees it the same way.”

“So they don’t care about the baby at all?”

“I doubt it.”

Kazuo and Utahime exited the car and walked up the long stairways to the shrine. This estate had been designed particularly for mediating between families in the Jujutsu Society, which was one of the reasons they were considered the best and most trusted in this field. The stairs alone had a progression of cursed-energy limiting seals which decreased the sorcerer’s ability to summon any sort of technique. By the time they reached the shrine itself, fighting using cursed energy would be almost impossible.

The only exception might be Gojo with his Six Eyes.

The Iori family meeting tackled the issue with Miyo and her baby at once. Between her and Kazuo, he was the more efficient in reducing a sorcerer’s cursed energy output. He would have to do it to Gojo to fulfill their roles of fair mediators between the two clans. Utahime would make sure no cursed tools were smuggled in, and that any would be stripped of their cursed energy. Their youngest, Haruki, would document the meeting. He had not been blessed with any technique and wasn’t even admitted to Jujutsu High because of his poor cursed energy output. Fortunately, the Iori was such a minor clan that it barely had any bearing in their family's status.

Also, Haruki was just a boy of fourteen with a stronger inclination towards baking than battling.

At half past midnight, Utahime found herself seated in the kitchen at home eating the Japanese cheesecake Haruki had baked the other day.

“Is it good?” he asked. He was still in his middle school uniform, having been whisked away to the shrine right after his classes ended. Although he looked haggard, his gelled-back hair remained impeccable, and he reeked of men’s perfume.

Utahime washed down the cake with a glass of milk. It needed more work, but it was better than the last one for sure. “Maybe buy better quality cream cheese next time? Yeah, I think that’s it. What did mother say?”

Haruki lowered his head to the table. “Exactly the same thing. I’ve tried three different brands and none of them hits the spot.”

“Just move on to a different recipe.”

“I can’t. The girl I like is in love with cheesecakes. If I make the perfect one, then maybe she’ll fall in love with me!”

Utahime flicked his forehead. “Hey, you little runt. I don’t give you allowance just so you can feed some random girl cheesecakes whenever she wants.”

He covered his forehead. “You won’t know how it feels because you’ve never been in love.”

“You won’t know how I feel because you’ve never had to earn your own money!” She grabbed him by the hair and shook his head thrice. “Don’t forget that I beat curses for a living. Stop whining about your little crush and learn a new recipe. Why not make something for me instead?”

Kazuo entered the kitchen and clapped his hands twice. “Hey, hey! People are trying to sleep in this house. And clean those up yourselves. Stop giving the servants unnecessary work.”

Utahime grabbed a slice of cake for herself and told Haruki to start cleaning up. Kazuo scolded her for leaving the work to him, so she spilled the tea about Haruki’s crush, and now Kazuo was kicking Haruki in the shin and yelling at him about wasting his time and effort.

As she slid away to her room listening to Kazuo lecture Haruki, she realized their mother was correct. She was beginning to sound like her older brother. It gave her the creeps.

Utahime collapsed on her childhood bed with the plate of cheesecake next to her. She hadn’t been back here in a long time, but her mother kept it clean just in case she came home. The familiar white walls covered with baseball posters and sports memorabilia comforted her. It was also nice to see that all her books, sports trophies, stuffed toys, and photographs from middle school were still where she last left them. It was like going back to a time in her life when things were less complicated.

Reflexively, she opened her chatbox with Gojo as though she might see a new message from him. He had been abroad so often lately that she got used to him messaging her at ungodly hours. Their last chat had been about her getting a short haircut, and prior to that, he told her a random fact about sweet potatoes.

Her screen changed to an incoming call, and she had to read the caller ID twice in surprise before answering.

“Hello, Nanami,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Utahime-senpai. Apologies for calling this late. I should have messaged you first.”

“No, it’s fine. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Utahime sat up. “Yeah, thanks for asking, and sorry about all the trouble earlier. Did Shoko explain things to you?”

“Yes, but she was so upset that you blocked her, she threw my phone across the room. It was a good thing the managers dove to catch it.”

She could imagine it. Shoko chucking the phone and the managers trying to spare whatever could be spared. They probably had to start hiding the beer bottles after some time. “Well, that’s Shoko to you. Are you sure your phone didn’t get damaged?”

Nanami chuckled. “It’s fine, Utahime-senpai. And I thought I should let you know that Shoko-senpai went home safely. The managers made sure of that.”

“How drunk was she?”

“Really drunk,” he said. “Although to be honest, I don’t see why you would have to block her too.”

Utahime picked up a stuffed bear from her elementary school days and hugged it with one arm. “That’s because you underestimate Gojo. He would have used her phone to nag me. He knows her passcode.”

“Won’t he just try to use a different number?”

“I don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. He knows that.”

“He seems to know a lot about you.”

Utahime found herself unable to respond immediately to that. She fiddled with her earring, and then with her bracelet. “You know him, he likes to push my buttons. He’s practically made it his life mission, so of course he knows me well by now.”

“Right.”

“As for Shoko, I wouldn’t have done things this way if it weren’t so urgent, but rules are rules. I’m sure she understands.”

“I see. If there is anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

Utahime broke into a smile. Nanami had always been so kind to her. “I wouldn’t want to bother you anymore. University must be tough.”

“Not as much as sorcery. And coffee helps.”

She wanted to ask if he missed sorcery, but she knew it was still a sore topic after Yu Haibara’s death. “Just make sure not to abuse it. Too much coffee will do more harm than good.”

“The same goes for alcohol.”

“Alcohol is necessary if you want to stay sane in my line of work. Anyway, get some sleep now. I can hear you trying to hide your yawn.”

“Alright, alright. Goodnight, Utahime-senpai, and good luck.”

“Night, Nanami.”

Utahime ended the call, and the screen switched back to her chat with Gojo. She stared at their messages for a long time while taking huge bites of the cheesecake. No matter how much she wanted to trust him, she just couldn’t shake the idea that he would make the wrong move during the meeting. If only that idiot was a little more like Nanami, then maybe she’d rest easy.

Scrolling up on their chat messages, she stopped at the photo of his students that he captured after their first mission. The three students squeezed together to fit in the frame, and all of them were grinning in spite being muddied and injured. Gojo had one arm around them and the other extended towards the camera as he took the selfie.

The message below it read:

My students are the best!

She smiled at that. Shoko did say that Gojo was doing fine as an assistant instructor under Yaga despite being stretched thin by Jujutsu HQ.

Maybe Utahime should trust him more.

Utahime had not worn the haori with the Iori clan insignia for a while now. Only minor clans in the Jujutsu Society had been in need of mediation as of late, and her father and brother handled those without her help. It was only when the Big Three got involved that the entire Iori family was present, as it would be perceived as disrespectful otherwise.

She had gotten the shrine maidens started with the preparations around the temple this morning, and now she must attend to her other duties. As Haruki was not a sorcerer, Utahime had to serve as a messenger in his place. The Iori was obligated to provide a written agreement between the three parties pertaining to the rules of the upcoming mediation. Once it was ready, she sealed the inch-thick document in a red envelope and prepared to visit the Kamo estate.

Originally, she was supposed to represent the Iori to the Gojo clan, but Kazuo knew she had personal ties with Gojo, and so decided to go there himself.

“We just don’t want them to think we have any biases. With any luck, though, the man won’t be there himself,” Kazuo told her as they descended the stone stairway. Below, two cars waited for them. “I heard he still hasn’t left Tokyo because of his twenty-first birthday celebration or whatnot, so I’m only meeting with Hanabi Gojo. Is he really that obnoxious?”

Utahime pulled her coat close. Even in her kimono, haori, and winter coat, she still couldn’t help but shiver in this weather. Her gloved hands were starting to feel icy too. “He’s annoying, but I won’t begrudge him for wanting to celebrate his birthday. I would celebrate life everyday if I were fighting special-grade curses three times a week.”

“Imagine being that powerful,” he said. “By the way, you’ve also met this Hanabi woman, correct?”

“Yep.”

“And how did that happen?”

Utahime tucked the envelope higher up her arm and scowled at Kazuo. “Why the interrogation?”

“You have intel. Share it with me.”

“I only met her because she was there when I visited the Tokyo branch. Gojo introduced me and we all had lunch due to his insistence.”

“Well, tell me about her.”

Utahime reached out to her brother when she noticed the mild frost on the steps. “She’s straightforward and intelligent. If I remember correctly, she was in Jujutsu High that time to argue with Yaga about Gojo’s compensation. Seventy percent of what he earns from his missions goes to his clan, and his wages as an instructor are for his own use. She claimed that the higher-ups were penny-pinchers, but I saw the figures he was earning per mission and I felt bad for myself.”

Kazuo winced. “How much?”

“You would not believe the zeroes that go on his paycheck,” she said. “Anyway, at first I thought Hanabi was scary, but she kinda shares Gojo’s humor. She’s like a female version of him.”

He held her by the elbow to keep her from slipping. “Are you close with Satoru Gojo?”

“Huh?”

“You sound comfortable making that assumption.”

“I’m close to killing him. He goes to the Jujutsu HQ portal and writes my name in every volunteer activity.”

“So you are close.”

“He does that to everyone. When you imagine being that powerful, imagine being that bored of everyday life as well.”

Kazuo walked her to her car and opened the door for her. “I doubt you’ll be meeting with anybody important today. Lord Kamo likes to make everyone wait outside while he signs whatever needs signing. Keep your head low and return at once.”

“Right.” Utahime was about to get in the car when she remembered something. “Kazuo?”

He turned around with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Hanabi Gojo is really pretty. Try not to stare.”

Kazuo pushed her head down and forced her into the car. “I’m a respectable man. I don’t stare at pretty women. Now go.”

Utahime tried not to laugh at her brother, who was now stomping towards his car. He would totally have a crush on Hanabi. She was sure of it.

The Kamo clan estate in Kyoto was more modest than Utahime imagined. Unlike the Zenin and the Gojo, their primary estate had always been in Tokyo. Still, that didn’t mean their Kyoto estate was anything but humungous. It took at least fifteen minutes of driving from the start of the Kamo fence to the main gate, and inside was yet another winding path to the main house. Upon entering, she was greeted by a young man who took her coat and led her to the receiving area.

Noises from the rest of the estate intrigued her. There were the obvious sounds of servants rushing about, and then children chasing one another. Somewhere in the property, she heard the hiss of arrows and the clangor of metal on metal.

The cursed energy in this place was elevated, which meant the sorcerers in the family were probably busy training. She could already imagine the blood-imbued weapons flying in the air to follow their target. The Kamo technique was as awesome as it was terrifying, and she wondered how Miyo Yamamoto mustered the courage to fight back.

How did one kill a man who could manipulate their own blood? She realized just now that the reports never detailed this. Only that Miyo had been brutal, and the crime so obscene that the man’s parents would demand nothing less than her death.

The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts, and the young man who received her earlier entered with a curt bow. She thought he was simply going to take the envelope with him after hearing a few instructions, but instead, he asked her to walk with him to another room.

They traversed the long maze of corridors for several minutes, often passing women with their heads bowed and men carrying weapons. In a quiet corner of the house, the young man stopped in front of the only door and announced Utahime.

“Let her in.”

He opened the door and stepped aside with his head bowed low.

Utahime held her breath. It took only one glimpse at the room to realize where she had been taken.

Hajime Kamo, head of the Kamo clan, looked up from the documents on his desk and ordered her to approach. His dark eyes and well-trimmed mustache were just as intimidating as the rumors claimed, and in her mind she cursed Kazuo. For all she knew, he was just trying to steer clear of this man for his own sake.

Utahime kept her gaze trained on her feet as she approached, trying her best to appear modest without coming off as cowardly. The scent of cigars and herbal medicine filled her nose, along with the leathery musk of the furniture.

“Utahime Iori, am I correct?”

“Yes, Lord Kamo. I came to deliver the agreement on behalf of Master Iori, my father.”

He held his hand out, and Utahime lowered the envelope to him.

“How is your father?”

“He’s well. Thank you for asking.”

“His leg?”

“He still limps, unfortunately, but it does not cause him severe pain anymore," she said.

Kamo put on his reading glasses and scanned the pages of the agreement. “I’ve known your family for a long time. We always choose the Iori during the mediations, as our dealings tend to go better with your father present.”

“Those are kind words. Thank you.”

Kamo tossed his reading glasses aside. “I’ll have this reviewed and sent back to your shrine within two days. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rounded the table and motioned for her to follow him. Utahime’s eyes widened at his sheer height and built. He was taller than Gojo and maybe twice his breadth. She’d heard stories before that Hajime Kamo defeated four members of the Zenin’s Hei all by himself and decapitated them by simply pulling their heads off their necks. Why the Zenin and the Kamo even fought was beyond her. She just knew that the bad blood between the three big families had gone on for centuries, and clans like hers did their part in maintaining the peace.

“Come and meet my son, Iori.” He walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

She nodded at the young man by the door and hurried to catch up with Lord Kamo. It was difficult to move so fast in a kimono. Still, she did her best to stay close as they traversed wide corridors that opened to the Kamo’s vast garden. From there, she could see the training ground and the children in their archery gear.

He glanced at her. “You’re an instructor in Jujutsu High’s Kyoto branch, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I originally wanted to enroll Noritoshi in the Tokyo branch, but since Satoru Gojo is working there, I’ll have him remain in this estate and study under you.”

“That will be many years off. He’s only still a boy of ten, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Eleven this year.”

Lord Kamo stopped just before the courtyard. Immediately, the boys and their archery teachers stopped what they were doing to bow to Lord Kamo, who waved his hand in response as though shooing a fly. The hive of activity resumed at once.

“Noritoshi!”

The tallest boy in the group set aside his bow and quiver. He jogged towards them with his face flushed from exertion and his hair sticking to his sweaty neck.

Utahime had heard about Noritoshi Kamo previously from Kazuo. They called him the perfect heir for his good manners, promising sorcery skills, and unquestionable devotion to his clan. Even now, he presented himself like a little man who knew his place in this world.

Noritoshi stopped in front of Lord Kamo with his gaze fixed in the middle distance. “Yes, sir?”

“Meet Utahime Iori. She’s an instructor at Jujutsu High’s Kyoto Branch. You’ll likely be her student in the future, so I want the two of you to be introduced early.”

Utahime bowed. “Young Master Kamo, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Noritoshi bowed as well. He had the bearing of a Kamo heir, but none of his father’s boastful energy. “Likewise, Ms. Iori. And thank you for your service. I’ll be meeting you again in a week’s time for the negotiations with the Gojo clan.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Are you looking forward to it? These meetings can be quite tiresome for a boy.”

“It’s my duty as the heir. Also, I have to present myself before Lord Gojo. I’ve never met him, and they say he’s really powerful.”

If only Utahime could pat his head, she would. He looked so nervous just talking about Gojo, it made her wonder what tales the Kamo had been weaving about him. “Well, Lord Gojo’s not as intimidating as you might think. We hope you get along for the peace of your families and the Jujutsu Society as a whole.”

“Thank you, Utahime-sensei.” Noritoshi looked up at her with his droopy eyes in a mix of wonder and curiosity. “My father told us wonderful things about your clan. It’s very rare these days to find loyal subordinates like you.”

Utahime pressed her lips together and forced a smile at Noritoshi. She could tell without looking that Lord Kamo was watching her closely, and that the best thing to do was pretend to understand the implications of that statement.

Loyal subordinate.

What did Noritoshi mean?

Chapter Text

Utahime stood on the path leading to the shrine's worship hall. A cool breeze descended from the mountain, rustling the fabric of her miko outfit and blowing her hair over her shoulders. The loose white jacket she wore over her uniform flapped against her body, and the bells of her bracelets echoed in the open space.

She kept her left hand raised at shoulder height and her palm facing the top of the staircase as the seals activated. Violence during mediations was not unheard of, but in this case, the seals were more of a formality. Everyone present knew that if Gojo wanted to, he could eradicate them all even with his cursed energy curbed by the Iori family’s technique.

Utahime monitored the Gojo clan's ascent through the seals along the stone stairs. She looked back at her brother once they neared the top.

Kazuo nodded at her and went inside to announce the Gojo’s arrival. The Kamo had been sitting inside for around twenty minutes now, and although the Gojo clan was just on time, the Kamo loathed the wait.

Utahime lowered her hand as three silhouettes emerged from the horizon.

Satoru Gojo walked towards her in a formal kimono of all-white hakama pants, nagagi top, and a black haori jacket. His sunglasses hung low over his nose bridge, and the tips of his tousled hair hovered over his eyes.

Following him was Hanabi in a blue kimono, and her father, Akira in a similar attire as Gojo.

They stopped in front of Utahime, and the two parties bowed to each other. Turning around, she led them past the sacred fence, into the worship hall, and out to the inner fence where the paths diverged. One led to the main sanctuary, while the other led to the mediation hall. Once inside the hall, they turned to the corridor that would bring them to the right side of the semi-open grounds.

Utahime was keenly aware of Gojo’s heavy footsteps behind her and fought the reflex to turn around. He had pulled her hair and tugged at the sleeves of her white kosode so many times in Jujutsu High that she found it strange to walk with him now without any incident.

Stepping aside, Utahime gestured to the roofed dais in the semi-open grounds. She lifted her gaze just in time to catch Gojo glance at her as he walked past.

The brief eye contact made her hold her breath.

Once the three Gojo clan members were seated, she hurried into the room where her father, mother, and two brothers waited for her.

The setup was a convenient one. The Kamo sat on a dais to the Iori family’s left, while the Gojo sat on a dais to their right. In the middle was a round courtyard with manacles attached to the ground. Instead of a prisoner, however, there stood a large bonfire at the center to keep them warm.

Miyo Yamamoto remained in a separate room in the temple with a handful of shrine maidens. Utahime’s mother had exchanged words with Lord Kamo earlier, much to her father’s frustration. She insisted that Miyo Yamamoto was not fit to be exposed to the elements, and that if she was manacled to the ground and her baby endangered, the Kamo would certainly risk their chances of a peaceful negotiation with the Gojo clan.

Begrudgingly, Lord Kamo agreed. Before returning to his dais, however, he told Master Iori in everyone's hearing that he would not speak to an Iori woman for the rest of the mediation. Utahime, Haruki, and Kazuo had to take a breather after that, as they were convinced for a moment that their mother’s iron will would be the end of them.

The trees in the sacred forest rustled with the strong winds, and the flames of the bonfire danced with its urging.  

Already, the nip of the winter air was giving Utahime goosebumps, and it only worsened the deepening pit in her stomach.

Master Iori cleared his throat ceremoniously. “The meeting today between the Kamo and the Gojo clans aims to settle the dispute regarding the fate of Miyo Yamamoto, a defector of the Gojo clan who murdered Daiki Kamo in cold blood, as well as that of their unborn child. The Iori family mediates to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, promote peace, and act as witness to all the agreements that will be made between the two noble clans of the Kamo and the Gojo. Lord Kamo, if you may please state your case.”

Hajime Kamo was seated between his two sons, Hiroyuki and Noritoshi. They all wore the same black kimono with haori jackets bearing the Kamo insignia. While Hajime and Hiroyuki looked smug, Noritoshi appeared ill at ease. He glanced at Utahime, and she nodded at him in silent reassurance.

“Lord Gojo,” Hajime Kamo began. “The matter is quite simple. Miyo Yamamato is worthless to your clan, and she has caused trouble by murdering one of our own. If not for her unborn child which carries cursed energy, I’m sure you would not have any qualms about us executing her for her crime. However, we do not wish to disrespect you, as she is still your distant relative, hence the request for this formal mediation. To quench the outrage within my clan for what she did, we humbly request that you ignore her plea for her child and allow us to execute her. Or, if you so wish, we will also be glad to let you execute her here and now, even though she does not deserve the honor of even being in your presence.”

Gojo removed his sunglasses and set them down on the floor. He propped his elbow on the armrest of his zabuton and rested his cheek on his fist. “We understand your stance, but we retain our position on the matter. We do not wish to execute a pregnant woman. Her child should not have to pay for her sins.”

Lord Kamo shifted slightly on his zabuton to make himself comfortable, just like Gojo. “And how do you suggest we make that happen? The parents of Daiki Kamo are unwilling to let her go to be detained elsewhere during her pregnancy. Due to their sorrows, I cannot guarantee that this woman will be treated fairly on our grounds.”

“Isn't it true, Lord Kamo, that Daiki did not die in the Kamo estate?”

“That is irrelevant.”

Gojo smirked and turned to Utahime’s father. “Master Iori, isn’t it that a crime committed outside clan grounds means the criminal cannot be tried by the offended clan sovereignly?”

“Yes, Lord Gojo. Daiki was murdered in Miyo’s own apartment, which was paid for by her parents, who are still under the employment of the Gojo clan.”

“And since she’s not married to Daiki Kamo, she is not legally Kamo property,” Gojo said. "Clearly, you've mistreated Miyo after her crime and consequently endangered the life of her child, who is a potential asset to my clan. The Kamo has already disrespected us this way, so the least you can do is agree to care for her without incident until she gives birth."

Lord Kamo’s expression might be neutral, but Utahime knew by the way Kazuo’s hand was trembling that the cursed energy in the Kamo side of the courtyard was rising.

“Be straightforward with me, Lord Gojo. Are you claiming that Miyo Yamamoto is your property and that you have the power to decide her fate without any heed to the Kamo? Simply because we enacted justice for Daiki?” he asked.

Gojo shrugged as though he had just been asked by a school teacher whether he cheated on his homework. “Not at all. I’m just pointing out facts. What I’m trying to say is that the sovereign right to decide Miyo Yamamoto’s fate is unclear due to the circumstances of her defection and her crime. The only compromise we can agree to is the survival of her child and her execution after giving birth. I’m certain you’re also not keen on upsetting her parents, who are near kin of mine from my mother’s side.”

Utahime closed her eyes for a moment. She could not read Gojo or his intentions. Would he really hand over this woman to be ruthlessly murdered by the Kamo, all for the assurance of getting a child with a cursed technique? Was there no way for him to rescue Miyo on the grounds of self-defense?

“Alright,” Lord Kamo said. “I'll hear your suggestion.”

“Surrender Miyo Yamamoto to us and we will care for her until her baby is born. Afterward, we will give her back to you for execution,” Gojo said.

“That woman does not deserve eight months of reprieve after what she did to us.”

Akira Gojo spoke up. “I can assure you, Lord Kamo, that she won’t be lounging around in the Gojo estate as though nothing happened. She will be in isolation, with only enough luxury to keep her baby safe until birth. I will oversee her detainment myself.”

“I have faith that you’ll do what you say, Akira, but I cannot say the same for your master.”

“And why not?” Akira asked.

Lord Kamo lit his tobacco pipe. “Lord Gojo, haven’t you personally prevented the sale of Toji Zenin’s son? And doesn’t his son show signs of inheriting the Ten Shadows Technique?”

Utahime raised her eyebrows in question at Haruki, and then at their mother, as they were the ones in charge of collecting and dispersing knowledge to the rest of the family during mediations.

Haruki leaned sideways so his mouth was next to her ear. “I didn’t mention it in the briefing because it’s between the Gojo and the Zenin, and it was brought up with Jujutsu HQ, not with traditional mediation. The case details are not available to us. All I know is that a potential Zenin heir is Lord Gojo’s ward.”

Hanabi Gojo scoffed. “Toji Zenin was a defector. Like Miyo Yamamoto’s child, Megumi Fushiguro is not sovereignly owned by any clan due to his circumstances, and even Jujtusu HQ honored this fact by supporting the boy and his step-sister in exchange for his loyalty and service.”

Lord Kamo looked her up and down with a pinch to his brow. “Don’t speak on behalf of your master, woman. This is a personal affair of his.” To Gojo, he said, “The Zenin did not intervene because of you, but they made it clear that they wanted the boy.”

“Lord Kamo, the Zenin didn’t want to beg for the son of the man who wanted them all dead,” Gojo said. “And don’t gripe about it when I’m sure you voted against Megumi’s sale to the Zenin when I first presented the alternative to the higher-ups. After all, you still have not resolved your issues with the Zenin, have you? And you're worried that Megumi with his cursed technique will make them stronger.”

Lord Kamo blew smoke rings towards the bonfire. “What assurance do we have that if Miyo Yamamoto’s child possesses our Blood Manipulation technique, you will not hinder its sale to us by involving Jujutsu HQ’s higher-ups again? The Zenin is growing in influence in Jujutsu HQ, and they might retaliate for what we did. You see, Lord Gojo, you have created quite the precedent for this case by meddling with the Zenin boy’s fate.”

“Megumi Fushiguro.”

“Pardon?”

Gojo raised his chin, on his lips a small frown. “I’ve repeated it several times. His name is Megumi Fushiguro, and unlike in his case, no proper mediation was done. Because we are settling the issue of Miyo Yamamoto’s child through traditional means, I can't simply involve Jujutsu HQ in the matter.”

Lord Kamo scoffed. "It's not so reassuring when you're quite popular for breaking rules and traditions."

Utahime fiddled with her bracelet. She didn't know if Gojo looked pissed or bored. There was an absence in his gaze and a petulance to his pout that worried her. 

After a moment of silence, Gojo rolled his eyes and sighed. "This diplomacy crap is tiring the hell out of me. Let's not kid ourselves anymore. The only way you'll allow this to end is if I agree to all your conditions, right? We all know this meeting is just as much about Miyo as it is about you wanting me to pay my respects to the Kamo." Slowly, he rose to his feet and removed his jacket. “Unfortunately for you, I'm used to getting my way, so we might as well settle this as sorcerers. I’m sure we can all respect the outcome of any duel. It’s the age-old method of resolving such misunderstandings. The strong must have the final say, don’t you agree?”

Hiroyuki and Noritoshi looked at their father with ashen faces. They were both still boys, but they must know the meaning of this. Utahime could hear their whispered warnings from where she sat, and she was particularly worried for Noritoshi, who seemed to have trouble breathing with worry.

Kazuo whipped his head towards Utahime. The veins on his right hand bulged in an effort to suppress Gojo's rising cursed energy. Utahime transferred to his side and activated her technique to boost his. Still, Gojo didn't even seem to notice.

Lord Kamo stood and told his children to shut up.

“Lord Gojo, this in itself is an act of aggression.”

“But my victory won’t mean I will own Miyo Yamamoto,” he said.

Everyone in the hall looked confused. Even Hanabi and her father had to wipe the sweat off their foreheads, as it was apparent that Gojo had gone off script.

Gojo stepped down to the courtyard where the sun illuminated him. “This duel is not to the death. The first to draw blood or surrender wins. If you beat me, you can do whatever you wish with Miyo Yamamoto and her child, and I won’t bat an eye. But if I win, I relinquish her to the Iori family.”

Utahime released her technique and stumbled to her feet in surprise. Kazuo motioned for her to take her seat, but she ignored him. She had to see whether Gojo was being serious.

Lord Kamo glimpsed her from the corner of his eye. “By relinquishing ownership of her upon your victory, you are washing your hands of any guilt as to her fate. Is that correct?”

“Correct. We want to remain on good terms with you without hurting our own family, and I believe this is the best way to do it.” Gojo smiled at Utahime’s father. “Master Iori, what do you say?”

Haruki hurried to their father's side to help him stand. Utahime picked up his cane and guided his hand towards it. He had been partially blinded in a mission ten years ago, and his legs were weakened in an accident during a duel like this when Utahime was just thirteen years old. She wished they could stop any fight from breaking out, but if both parties agreed to a duel, then they had no choice but to concede to their wishes. 

“Lord Gojo’s proposal is legal and sound. If Lord Kamo has no objections, then I will allow it,” Master Iori said.

“Does this also mean that the Iori will have sovereign right to her?” Lord Kamo asked.

“Sure,” Gojo said. “They can give Miyo to whoever they want and do with her as they see fit. Should they allow her to live long enough to give birth, the child will remain with them until its cursed technique is determined, and then the Iori will again mediate its sale.”

Lord Kamo raised both of his hands in the air. “Then I surrender.”

“Oh?”

“You’re right, Lord Gojo. We should let the Iori family decide Miyo Yamamoto’s fate. It seems to be the best way to maintain the peace between our families.”

Kamo and Gojo turned to Master Iori at the same time.

“If you have come to an agreement,” Master Iori said, “Then I have no choice but to accept. With Lord Kamo’s surrender comes Lord Gojo’s victory. Miyo Yamamoto will now be the Iori clan’s property, and we will convene tonight to determine her fate. The news shall be delivered to your respective estates within the next two days, and both clans have to send a formal response indicating their full approval of our plans. With that, the mediation will end, and we formally resolve the matter.”

“Agreed,” Lord Kamo said.

Gojo shrugged his shoulder. “Sure.”

Master Iori spread his arms sideways. “I formally call an end to today’s mediation. Let us pay our respects to each other and remember that maintaining peace in the chaotic world of sorcery is of utmost importance. We are not each other’s enemies, no matter our differences.”

The Kamo and Gojo bowed to one another, and then to the Iori family, who kept their head down the entire time. The Kamo clan left first, followed by the Gojo clan.

Utahime could not bear to raise her head and watch Gojo leave. She felt numb all over, like she had just emerged from icy waters. Everything that had just transpired confirmed her suspicions, yet she didn’t have the strength to confront her father.

That Lord Kamo surrendered so quickly was all the proof she needed.

When did this happen? What dealings had her father made while she was away studying at Jujutsu High, and later working there as an instructor? Had she neglected her duties at home so severely that such things were being kept from her?

By sunset, Utahime found herself standing in the courtyard alone, still trying and failing to cope with the reality of their situation. It had been hours since the mediation ended, but her shock had not subsided one bit. Noritoshi’s words rang in her ears. Loyal subordinate. She turned her phone in her hands. Technically, she still wasn’t allowed to contact Gojo until the decision was announced.

She tapped her screen, unblocked Gojo, and called him. He picked up on the second ring.

“Rule breaker,” he said. “Miss me already?”

“Gojo.” She turned around to look at the second floor of the mediation hall. The men of the family were currently inside, discussing the matter of Miyo Yamamoto. She could see their silhouettes on the window, their figures hunched and their heads close together. “I think the Kamo has a hold on my father.”

“I’m aware.”

“What?”

“Your grandfather owed the Kamo money in order to retain your shrines across Kyoto. As of five years ago, your father has repaid the debt in full. The Iori still owe the Kamo for their supposed generosity, though, but that's subjective.”

Utahime turned her back on the hall and started walking away. She had no clear direction in mind. She simply had to keep moving. “Then why the hell did you relinquish Miyo Yamamoto to us? Don’t you care at all that she’s going to die along with her innocent child? I understand that you have to prioritize your family, but if you could not save them both, you could have at least saved her child!”

“Utahime.”

“She’s going to be tortured and executed!’

“Utahime, I-”

“Gojo, we just killed a pregnant woman today. Her fate is sealed.”

“Will you let me talk?”

She stopped walking. The bells on her wrist continued ringing as the breeze swept past her.

When Gojo spoke again, it was in a low voice. “Utahime, I don’t believe the person who recklessly saved me from a cursed tool when I was seventeen could have been raised by a monster. She must have gotten her compassion and selflessness from someone, right?”

The sound of footsteps running towards her forced her to end the call. Utahime clutched her phone to her chest as she faced Haruki.

“What? What happened?”

Haruki paused to catch his breath. “The messengers have been sent out. We were looking for you. Why are you all the way out here?”

Her blood ran cold. A decision had been made? This quickly? She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t quite form the question.

Haruki straightened up and put his hands on his waist. “Father decided to give Miyo Yamamoto refuge, and her child will be sold to the clan whose cursed technique it inherits. Miyo will serve in one of our shrines and live in isolation from the rest of the world until she dies.”

Utahime looked around and found a stone bench to sit on. Haruki sat next to her.

“There really wasn’t a discussion on it,” he said. “Father was set on helping Miyo. Utahime, are you alright?”

“I’m just a bit dizzy, that’s all.”

He scoffed. "Me too. What a day! Seeing Lord Kamo and Lord Gojo at the same time? And they almost fought? Man, those two could have destroyed the entire shrine even without cursed energy."

Utahime didn't want to think about it. She could only concentrate on the pounding of her heart as she replayed Gojo's words to her. It felt like forever since she shielded him from the cursed tool in that mountain facility. To think that it left such a huge impression on him.

“Was it the right call to make?” Haruki asked as he looked back at the mediation hall.

“I think it’s the best decision we could have made under the circumstances. I mean, we don’t really owe the Kamo anything anymore.”

“We owed the Kamo?”

Utahime waved him off. It was better if he didn’t know. Of the three of them, Haruki was the most delusional, while Kazuo remained brutally realistic. Utahime liked to saddle the fence, as there really was no better way to get through this life than with a balance of reality and delusion.

Haruki pointed at a firefly that hovered in the distance. Soon, more lights appeared in the darkness, and the small insects made the pathway come to life. It was a curious sight, as fireflies normally showed up in the summer. Even in winter, they might only come out in February and March, not this time in December.

“Do you think they’ll retaliate on the Gojo clan?” he asked.

“Not physically, and maybe not directly,” Utahime said. “Satoru Gojo is too powerful for them.”

Haruki held his hand out, and a firefly landed on his fingertip. “And us? They can’t touch us, right?”

She pressed her phone against her chest and blinked back tears of relief. “No, they can’t. No one ever touches the mediating family.”

Thirty-six hours after the decision regarding Miyo Yamamoto’s fate was announced, a non-curse user appeared in the Iori estate and slashed Utahime across the face.

Chapter Text

Gojo never bothered to address the popular misconception that Hanabi was his fiancé. It had been going on since he was fifteen, a rumor kindled by her father and tolerated by his own parents. His clan was not as severely traditional as the Kamo and the Zenin, but that didn’t mean they had turned away from practices like inbreeding. After all, that had yielded the highest chance of the Six Eyes reappearing sooner after the last one’s passing, and if he married Hanabi, it meant their children would retain the title of clan head until the next Six Eyes deposed them, and only on the off-chance that the Six Eyes appeared outside their lineage.

That he made her his second-in-command when he was just a teenager didn’t help the matter either. So, although nothing was made official, and everybody knew they acted more like siblings than lovers, to most people in the true blue sorcery scene, they were practically engaged.

That said, it wasn’t as though Gojo and Hanabi didn’t take advantage of this, or in some ways pushed this front. Gojo knew at an early age that he’d be talked into marrying whoever would benefit the clan the most. Likewise, Hanabi would likely be married off at a young age, forced to bear children, and sit still while the men pulled the strings.

So when Hanabi was nineteen and Gjojo, fifteen, she proposed that he made her his second-in-command.

“My family has been the primary advisor for the Gojo clan for centuries. If you elevate my position now, I’ll make sure you can go and enjoy the duration of your stay in Jujutsu High and that those old farts won’t take advantage of you,” she said.

They were dining in a private room in an upscale Italian restaurant on her invitation, and Gojo, having just returned from a mission, wouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to eat quality food to his heart’s content. He also knew that this was a trap, as Hanabi always proposed ideas to him when he was either too hungry or too exhausted to refuse her.

“Is that Kenji guy so ugly that you have to come begging to me?” Gojo asked.

Hanabi wasn’t fazed. She sat there like a doll in her pink kimono with her hands clasped in front of her, business-like as always. “I’m not marrying that man, and I’m not begging you to save me. Make me your second-in-command because I’m the only one in the family who truly knows you, and I’m the only one you actually trust to do things on your behalf.”

Gojo swirled the Bramble mocktail in his glass as he considered this. “Uncle will want me to marry you.”

Hanabi rolled her eyes. “Go along with it and then I’ll kill myself before the wedding or something.”

“Be dramatic.” Gojo pointed at the ceiling. “Hang yourself.”

“That’s so boring. How about I poison myself and then you leave my body floating in a pond?”

“They’ll know it’s fake. We pranked your father like that when I was eight.”

“We also did the fake hanging prank,” she said. “I almost really choked to death back then.”

“Alright, whatever, let’s think of the details later. But if I elevate your position, you have to be loyal to me first before you are loyal to the clan.” Gojo smirked at her. “I’m not like the other lords your family has served before. I’m the Six Eyes. I am the clan. Get it?”

Hanabi smiled back at him and offered to shake his hand. “Got it.”

Now, at twenty-one, as he sat across from Hanabi in the same private room at the same Italian restaurant, he realized just how naïve and immature they had both been. They had outsmarted their enemies in every hurdle they faced together, and they got too confident. They honestly believed the tides would never turn against them.

Now it had, and their biggest mistake was underestimating just how cruel the Kamo clan could be.

“It’s not unheard of, but no one has ever done that to the Iori clan before,” Hanabi said with her gaze lowered to her plate. "Father said that if I consulted him instead of going behind his back, we'd know that these things never go on record."

Gojo sat still on his chair. He could hear the quartet playing in the neighboring room and the footfalls of the waiters in the corridor.

“I should have guessed that they would stoop so low,” she continued. “I’m sorry, Satoru.”

There was not much to say since, when Hanabi broke the news to him, she had done so in a long speech. She had Shoko fetched from Jujutsu High to attend to Utahime, but the Iori clan had refused to let anybody in their estate since the incident. Shoko insisted on staying in a neutral property, so Hanabi booked her a hotel near the shrine.

Without her father's knowledge, Hanabi tracked down the agency that had worked with the Kamo clan for years to do their dirty work. This agency was the one that reached out to freelance assassins, both sorcerers and non-sorcerers, and fulfilled tasks on the Kamo’s behalf.

Each clan had its own ways of managing its transactions outside of Jujutsu HQ, after all.

The Zenin dealt with personal vendettas through the elite members of their Hei group, while the Gojo clan liked to dabble in polar opposite approaches. It was either they did things in complete anonymity or sent the Six Eyes himself. Ever since his birth, however, bad dealings with the Gojo had been few and far between. While that was ultimately for the good of his clan, it also meant he and Hanabi were less experienced in dealing with the underground society where the Kamo had some powerful connections.

“I've identified Utahime Iori's assailant, just in case you're curious," she said.

"Who is it?"

"You won't recognize the name. He's a non-sorcerer. Takes random jobs from the dark web and agencies in the underground society. The Kamo made sure they can deny any affiliation with him."

Gojo raised his gaze from his plate to her face. "I asked for his name."

"Asahi Sato." She slipped a folded piece of paper to him. "Here's all you need to know about him, but I suggest you flush that down the toilet without reading it. Any aggression towards the Kamo from you will put the entire Gojo clan in a delicate position. The Iori family may also be compromised further.”

“Why Utahime?”

“What?”

He rubbed the paper between his thumb and forefinger, the rasping sound of it reminding him of the time he ground a man's face raw against the pavement. That piece of trash actually apologized for having a feet fetish, and Suguru had wrinkled his nose in disgust before they ended him.

“They could have struck her father or her brothers. Why her, and why slash her in the face?” he asked.

Hanabi pressed her lips together in a thin line. After a tense pause, she brought out a folder containing a single photograph. “This is Daiki. They didn't release this until after...anyway, the killing blow was to the head. Miyo Yamamoto used a cast iron skillet. Then she beheaded him with a steak knife and mutilated his face.”

Gojo took one look at the photo and tossed it back to Hanabi. “So they did to Utahime what we prevented them from doing to Miyo. And they made their point by handing this to us after the attack."

“It's the most they can do to us in terms of retaliation. As for the Iori clan, it's more of a warning. Since Utahime is a woman, she is a property of the clan, and the Kamo is saying that while they’re not willing to start a formal feud, they won’t shy from damaging their property as retaliation for their betrayal.”

“Won’t the other clans hear about this?”

“Father is sure that Utahime will be ordered to say this injury is from a mission. It’s not like they can make a claim against the Kamo.”

He moved the food on his plate with his fork, but he no longer had any appetite. “It sounds like uncle doesn't care."

“The elders are happy. Formally, we managed to maintain the peace between us and the Kamo. No one else is going to bat an eye for what happened to the Iori clan. It was their decision, and they have to face the consequences by themselves.”

Gojo was mad, but not at her, and not for her saying that. They had all done their duties, and the Iori had been punished for having morals.

“So, what was the last update on her?”

“She’s being cared for by her mother and the other shrine maidens. Shoko is keeping in touch with me to get updates, but she hasn’t messaged you yet because I told her that I have to be the one to break the news to you." She sipped her wine but had to put the glass back down immediately because of how much her hand was shaking. "Satoru, I know Utahime's your friend and-"

“Hana.”

“Yes?”

“Can you leave me for now?”

Hanabi rounded the table, hugged him from behind, and left with her things. Once the door shut, Gojo took out his phone and pulled up Utahime’s number. He had no idea what to say and if she would even want to speak to him, but he had to try.

His thumb hovered over the call button, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it.

Gojo tossed his phone on the table and popped his knuckles. He clasped his hands together and minded his breathing. It seemed so long ago when she lay on the floor before him, covered in her own blood. At least then, he had the power to do something. He could pick her up and run to Shoko. He could sleep outside the infirmary and make sure she was alright.

This overwhelming helplessness made him tremble. He could feel his cursed energy rising, and he stayed as still as possible in an effort to control his emotions.

Hanabi was correct. Clapping back at the Kamo would only undo whatever victory they gained during the mediation. It might even put the Iori family in further danger.

Gojo reached for his mocktail, paused, and took Hanabi’s unfinished glass of wine instead. He tipped it back and downed everything in one go.

Once outside, he scanned the contents of the paper. At least Hanabi was true to her word. She was loyal to him first, and she knew that he wouldn't be able to let this go.

The noise of traffic and Christmas carols filled Tokyo's busy streets. Everywhere he looked, there were Christmas trees, garlands, and twinkling lights. The rooftop billboards showed holiday-themed advertisements, and the people passing by him kept themselves warm in thick coats while holding onto their loved ones.

Gojo shut his eyes and breathed in the icy air.

In another life, Suguru would only be one call away from going on the hunt with him.

Shoko stood in front of Gojo in a hotel bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. She held a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other.

“I want to see her. Make it happen.”

Gojo shoved a hefty travel bag at her. “Put some clothes on. I can’t exactly bring you there dressed like that.”

“Hanabi whisked me away from Jujutsu High without telling me anything. I thought you were injured and on the brink of death. I mean, I’m not sure how that can happen again, but that’s what I thought. You must be the problem. Then she drove me to the shrine and told me it was Utahime-senpai who was hurt, and I hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours by then, and nobody was letting me see her, so I threatened everyone in the shrine, and when they wouldn't budge, I marched out of there to find myself some cigarettes to smoke.” Shoko walked into the bathroom with the bag. “Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”

In spite of her effort to sound unaffected, her voice cracked here and there. The way she coped now reminded him of her blank expression when he told her about Suguru massacring an entire town. A part of him was grateful that Shoko was not the type to break down in tears in front of him, but the other part of him wished she would do just that, finally. So they could at least talk about Suguru. Reflect on what went wrong and what they could've done differently, because she was there too. They both noticed the changes in him and did nothing about it. Or maybe they thought they did enough.

The only problem was that neither Gojo nor Shoko was willing to be the first to break.

Gojo collapsed on the couch and tossed a second bag on the coffee table. Her medical instruments shifted inside with a bit of clangor.

“You threatened to bring me there and bazooka a path to Utahime,” he said.

“I can’t remember if it was red or green, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“There’s no green."

“Then you should really diversify. Wait, it’s blue, isn’t it?”

“You can’t go making claims in my name in places like that, you know? I can get in trouble.”

Shoko reappeared in a blue sweatshirt and pants. She unrolled a pair of socks and put on her sneakers. “Like you ever cared about getting in trouble.”

“Shoko, if it isn’t obvious already, I’m trying really hard to be mature right now.” He chucked a throw pillow at her, which made her lose her balance while putting on her shoes. “And it’s not bazooka!”

Shoko toppled to the floor, realized what he did, and threw her other shoe at him. It bounced from Gojo’s infinity and hit the remote control. The television turned on to the evening news channel.

Gojo and Shoko looked at each other and laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time they had been so childish with each other. Since they started working for Jujutsu High, the two of them had been either grumpy or tired, and it made him long for the old days when he could pass entire afternoons with Suguru and Shoko just making fun of people.

Shoko sat beside Gojo and put her feet up on the coffee table. “Sorry. I don’t understand the clan things you and Utahime are a part of, but Hanabi did her best to brief me.”

“It’s fine. And thanks for being here.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Look at us, acting like grown-ups all of a sudden.”

“Shoko, it’s probably too late to prevent her wound from scarring, right?”

“Well, it’s been three days. I can still minimize the nerve damage, but I can’t really guarantee anything apart from easing her pain.”

“I’ve already given her one big scar before.” Gojo made a slashing motion just below his ribcage. “Remember?”

Shoko reached for the last unopened can of beer on the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll do my best to get rid of the scarring. Happy?”

“One more thing.” Gojo handed her a folded piece of paper. “Call Nanami and tell him what happened. I know he’s not practicing sorcery anymore, but if my hunch is correct, he won’t be willing to let this go too.”

Shoko glanced at the paper’s contents, folded it again, and nodded at him. “Done.”

“Compensate him by paying his university fees directly. I’ll repay you in installments. Cash. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not for this cause, no.”

“And remind him to use a disguise,” he said.

“I’ll force him to wear a suit with a bright yellow necktie. Spotted. With a blue button-down.”

“I’ll pay you extra if he actually wears that outfit.” Gojo stood and stretched his arms overhead. “Well, I better go and find a way to convince them to allow you into the Iori estate. Just sit tight and wait for my call.”

Gojo knew he was exploiting Shoko’s vulnerability right now, but he didn’t have a choice. The deed had to be done, and ever since Suguru’s departure and Haibara’s death, Shoko had been especially afraid of losing her friends. If there was anyone who would want revenge as much as he did, it was her, and he trusted her to be clever about it.

Soon after he left Shoko’s hotel room, he received a new message from Ijichi.

Kazuo Iori’s next mission is in the Midori Wild Bird Sanctuary at 23:00 tomorrow. Special grade curse. General grounds sweep. Execute and withdraw. Likely corpse retrieval by non-Jujutsu org. Good luck.

He read the text again and then realized what was off about it. Ijichi never wished him good luck. He said it to everyone, but never to Gojo. Not out of spite, but because they both knew luck had no place in his battles.

Now, as he stared at the phrase, he thought he might actually need it. Ijichi may suck at sorcery, but among Jujutsu High’s managers, he had the best intuition.

The elevator doors opened, and Gojo stepped in with a strange feeling in his gut.

It was time to formally meet Utahime’s older brother.

Chapter Text

The Midori Wild Bird Sanctuary had received its fair share of exorcisms in the past decade for a good reason. Gojo had only been there for fifteen minutes and already, he had spotted a pair of shoes parked beside the pond. A few yards away, he saw another pair. No doubt there would be folded clothes somewhere too, and maybe even a note.

Even though it received little to no upkeep, an open space like this should be inhabited by small animals, especially birds, but it was eerily quiet. Ijichi had informed him prior to his visit that the volunteers who maintained the place left because all of the birds just died one day. One by one, they fell off the trees like pitter-patter of rain, and the volunteers and visitors ran out as fast as they could. When the experts came in to study the birds’ remains, they found the birds had been choked. It was like someone had wrapped their hands around the little animal’s necks and wrung them.

He continued walking along the swamp-like environment of the sanctuary with his hands in his pockets. The cursed energy rose mainly from the pond, where Gojo presumed the suicides took place. Unless the townspeople or the government managed the incidents that transpired here, there would be no end to the exorcisms.

He noted the pegs wrapped with cursed seals that had been hammered to the ground. They were similar to the ones he saw in the Iori estate during the meeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Gojo?” Kazuo walked past him with a hammer and two pegs in one hand.

It never ceased to amaze Gojo how similar Kazuo and Utahime looked. They had the same long, black hair, except he tied his back in a ponytail. His soft facial features were offset by his impressive height and strong build, and similar to Utahime, he moved with grace and precision. Likewise, he did not don the Jujutsu High uniform. Instead, he wore the traditional jōe, eboshi, and kariginu of a kannushi in black and white. That Kazuo would dress as a priest made sense to Gojo, not only because of his lineage but because of the Iori’s cursed technique.

“No need to be so formal,” Gojo said.

Kazuo screwed his eyebrows a little, but he appeared more concerned than annoyed. “With all due respect, but I’d rather not be chummy with you.”

“Funny. Utahime said something along those lines when we first met.” Gojo pointed his finger at a curse beyond the pond. A blast of energy shot across the water and burst the curse into pieces. “Oops. Was that your target?”

Kazuo hammered a peg in front of him and sat on the wet ground, unimpressed. “One of them. I must've missed it during the grounds sweep."

"Were there plenty?"

"Grade three and four curses. Nothing threatening," he said. "Since you’re here, do you mind standing guard?”

“Does that mean we’re friends now?”

“Not exactly.” Kazuo interlocked his pinkies and ring fingers on the inside, then raised his index fingers and thumbs to press them together. Next, he crossed his middle fingers over his index fingers, their tips curled back to touch the thumb's tips. Once his hand seal was secured, he started chanting.

The pegs around the pond lit up with cursed energy, causing the temperature to rise significantly and then drop in the next instant. The sensation reminded him of the ceremony Utahime performed to nullify the cursed seals in a building in Tokyo several years ago.

Gojo observed the steady thrum of energy coursing around the pond and making their way back to Kazuo. “Does that really lower the cursed energy of the special grade hiding in that pond?”

Kazuo extended his hand towards him. “May I?”

Gojo put his hand on top of Kazuo's. Nothing happened. He watched the trees swaying in the distance and the water rippling in the pond as he waited. Looking up at the sky, he recognized a constellation and then second-guessed its name. He made a mental note to take a picture and ask Hanabi, as he hated nothing more than being uncertain about something.

“You know, I’ve never even held Utahime’s hand for this long,” Gojo said. Just then, he had a sensation of falling, as though a black hole had just opened beneath him. His blood pressure dropped and made his vision sway for a moment. Gojo freed himself from Kazuo’s grip, and in the next second, his cursed energy shot up. He had to stand still while his body recovered.

“I see now,” Gojo said with a bit of laughter in his voice. “You can lower your target’s cursed energy to the same level as yours when they’re within your range.”

“Usually, the range is a specified radius around me, but I can also predetermine a range using tools like pegs and cursed seals.”

A deafening moan resounded from beneath the pond. The waters erupted and out came a special-grade curse with the head of a frog, the arms of a human, and the body of an eel. Gojo stepped away from Kazuo as he lowered his cursed energy output further. That Kazuo could still stand while pulling off this technique was nothing short of amazing.

Producing a dagger imbued with cursed energy from behind him, he pulled his arm back like a pitcher and threw it at the curse. The blade pierced the curse in the head, and with a shrill scream, it disintegrated in the air.

Kazuo barely caught himself when he collapsed on the ground. “That was strong.”

“You exorcised it with one hit.”

“I’m just about ready to pass out from that one hit.” Kazuo popped three sugar cubes in his mouth. “Curses have been getting so much stronger in the past couple of years.”

Gojo looked at the pond again. Clusters of bubbles appeared all over the surface, followed by dead body after dead body. They must have been stuck with that cursed spirit at the bottom since their drowning.

“I’m guessing it’s not this simple when the special grade curse isn’t partially dormant.”

“I prepare the vicinity beforehand for those cases. As long as they’re within my range, I can reduce the impact of their attack.”

Gojo pointed at the dagger, which now floated on the water. “And you put a different seal on that dagger to retain its cursed energy while you're using it?”

Kazuo chuckled. “No, Lord Gojo. The cursed tools I use nullify techniques. Their nullifying power is limited to a couple of seconds from activation, but as long as it hits the target, then it serves its purpose. What kills the curse is the impact of brute strength on their weakened state.”

Gojo walked on the water to fetch the dagger. The residuals felt similar to the one that Utahime shielded him from years prior. So that was how she knew.

He tossed the dagger in the air and caught it. “I’m guessing you either retrieve and maintain these weapons or create them yourselves.”

“Unfortunately, no one in the family can create them anymore. The technique has been lost somewhere down the line, but it’s usually inherited by the women. So retrieve and maintain it is.”

Gojo returned to Kazuo’s side and handed him the dagger. “I’ve never seen your sister use your technique before.”

Kazuo rose to his feet and dusted his pants. “Different Iori, different specialty. Mostly, it’s the men who can do this, because it takes a toll on the body, and men are just biologically sturdier. She’s training for it, though, but I expect a long-term hiatus given her present injuries. I’m assuming you’re here to inquire about that.”

“Tell me how it happened.”

“What for?”

“A non-sorcerer in a house full of sorcerers, and you with this powerful technique. You wouldn’t even need cursed energy to kill that man.” He smiled a tight-lipped smile. “So what happened?”

Kazuo looked straight at Gojo as he chewed on another sugar cube. “I let him walk away.”

The images that formed in Gojo’s mind made his fingers twitch. He knew what Utahime looked like covered in blood. How could anyone stand still after seeing that?

“I arrived there just after he attacked Utahime, and I let him walk away. You won’t understand, even if I explain it to you.”

“Give it a shot anyway.”

Kazuo frowned at him. “ You’re a powerful sorcerer from a powerful clan. You will never face a dilemma like ours. If I had killed that man, the Kamo will send more. Then the next target will be Haruki or our shrine maidens. The Kamo needs to have the final say, and we let them to save our lives. If I could, I’d murder the bastard with my bare hands, but I’m not at liberty to do so. As heir to the Iori clan, I know this will not be the last time I’ll have to shoulder the weight of such decisions.”

Gojo tapped on his phone a few times and turned it so the screen was facing Kazuo. “You can stop feeling so bad now. This is the man that attacked Utahime, correct?”

Even through the dimness of the park, Gojo could see the color leave Kazuo’s face. That was not exactly Gojo's reaction when Shoko forwarded the message to him, but then again, he had expected the brutality.

Nanami had taken a selfie of himself with the culprit in the background, lying on the floor of some abandoned office space with his head bashed in. Surprisingly, Nanami did wear the white suit, blue button-down, and spotted yellow tie that Shoko suggested. It made him look older and scarier than he already was.

Shoko also reported that Nanami did not use cursed energy at all to avoid leaving residuals. He simply located the assassin, dragged him to the nearest closed space, and beat him to death with his fists.

Kazuo stared at the photo with his mouth wide open in shock. “But—"

“This man is not under the Gojo clan’s payroll. Word simply reached a friend from high school who so happens to have a crush on your sister, and the next thing I know, the bad guy’s dead.”

“We cannot give you Miyo Yamamoto in exchange. This is not how it works.”

“I don’t want her.” Gojo slipped his phone back in his pocket. “I only want you to give Shoko Ieiri access to Utahime. She can heal her faster than your shrine maidens can with their dancing and chanting or whatnot. Make the call.”

Kazuo persisted with his stubborn frown at Gojo for a while before finally picking up his phone.

He saw Nanami’s blond head at once amidst the stream of university students leaving campus. Like the others, he had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a bunch of textbooks cradled in one arm. Unlike them, however, Nanami noticed Gojo at once. That was the thing about being a trained sorcerer. It was impossible to miss another sorcerer when they wanted to be seen.

Nanami removed his earphones as he approached Gojo, who was sitting on a bollard.

“Yo, Nanami.”

In their time apart, Nanami had grown taller and broader, and he had trimmed his bangs in favor of a clean haircut. It made him look older and, quite frankly, a bit more terrifying to the average person. Gojo wondered just how many people in his university had broken down in tears just because Nanami was Nanami.

He scanned the sidewalks. “Should you be meeting with me like this?”

“Relax! No one’s gonna know it’s you since you’re not connected to Jujutsu HQ anymore. Plus, you did wear that ridiculous outfit Shoko suggested. It suited you though.”

Nanami checked the road before crossing to the other side. Gojo followed behind him. It had just turned five in the afternoon, but the sky was already a bright orange with streaks of pink behind the clouds. The last time Gojo was on a crosswalk with Nanami, they were eating popsicles while running to Jujutsu High with the rest of the gang.

“I liked it, surprisingly,” Nanami said.

“Well, keep it for future use. You might return to sorcery one day.”

He glanced back at Gojo. “News?”

“Shoko’s with her.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

Gojo dodged two kids who were playing tag. The streets were becoming more crowded with customers leaving and entering shops and employees exiting their offices. He really wished he was back in Kyoto so that he could at least monitor the situation, but he could not ignore his duties.

“Not a good timing,” was all he managed. Also, he didn’t think Utahime would want to see him yet, if at all.

“I don’t understand clan business much, but Shoko-senpai made it pretty clear that it wasn’t your fault.”

Gojo fell in step beside him once the sidewalk cleared up a little. “I thought you were studying business or accounting, not psychology. Or have you changed courses?”

“Humor is a sign of denial. That one’s common sense. Didn’t have to learn that in university,” he said.

Gojo poked Nanami in the temple. “Being monotonous is a sign that you’re a sociopath.”

“And where did you learn that?”

“From you.”

Nanami stopped in front of a supermarket and faced Gojo. “Are we done here?”

“Why do you like her so much?”

He stared at Gojo like a child who had just been caught stealing candy but wanted to deny it. When it was clear that Gojo was staying for the answer, Nanami gave up the naïve façade and looked away with a slight frown. “For the same reasons you like her. Also, she still leaves flowers on Haibara’s grave every time she visits Tokyo. Everybody else seems to have just moved on.”

Gojo watched as Nanami joined the growing crowd of pedestrians and disappeared around the corner of an office building. He had not thought of Haibara in a while, not because he no longer cared, but because there was no point in looking back. What mattered was that he killed the deity that cut Haibara in half, and he was avenged. Yet with just a mention of Haibara’s name, he could already remember his childish laughter and the way he always made sure nobody got left behind. It didn’t matter if they were just buying ice cream in town or playing in an arcade. Haibara was the person who stayed behind with you while you counted your change or tied your shoelace. But just like what Nanami said, they had all moved on, and he became the person everybody left behind.

It was dark when Gojo finally found Haibara’s tombstone in the cemetery.

He crouched in front of it and wiped the grime that had accumulated over his name. Gojo pulled his coat closer over his body and blew on his hands. Cemeteries were never his thing. The curses hid from him, which was convenient, but it was all too depressing. He studied the wilted bouquet of flowers in front of the tombstone, wondering if it was from Nanami or Utahime. Maybe he should have dropped by a flower shop before coming here. 

His phone vibrated in his hand. Flipping it over, he saw Utahime’s name on the notifications bar. The message indicated that she sent an image, and for a second, Gojo hesitated. He imagined a photo of her bandaged face. Maybe she took off the bandage to show him the line where the blade cut her. A deep laceration from the right side of her face that stretched all the way to the left. Stitches pulling the skin together and keeping the wound closed. Blue thread on her soft face. Maybe it was just a scar now thanks to Shoko.

He unlocked his screen and tapped their chat bubble.

The photo was of the shrine’s pathway, the one leading to the worship hall. A pang of worry hit him at the idea that this was a cryptic message, and Utahime was in danger. But when he rose to his feet, he saw it—the purple teddy bear half hidden behind one of the guardian lion-dog statues.

He smirked and sent her a reply.

You’re not very good at this. >:/

Three dots.

Don’t be cocky. That’s just level 1. It’ll get harder the more you play. ( ง︡'-'︠) ง

Gojo licked his lips, cursed under his breath, and finally did it. He pressed the call button.

“Miss me?” she asked. Her voice sounded small and hoarse. Perhaps her injury made talking difficult, but she was doing her best to hide it.

“You really have no originality.”

“Well, what was I supposed to say? I miss you?”

Gojo shuffled his feet on the crunchy grass. “That won’t be so bad.”

He heard what sounded like blankets rustling and slippers hitting the floor. “To be honest, it is kinda boring when you’re not pestering me.”

“I’ve been busy. And Shoko said you needed the rest.”

“Thanks for sending her over. I’m not sure how you managed it. Father and Kazuo won’t say why they changed their minds, only that you were persuasive.”

"I threatened to dance the hula in front of them. Shirtless."

Utahime made a choking noise. "Don't make me laugh! Ugh, my cheeks hurt."

Gojo shoved his free hand in his pocket and crouched again to keep warm. He had a distinct memory of Haibara teasing him once that if the world froze over, he would be the first to go because he was so tall.

“I met with Kazuo. That's all you have to know."

"I thought so. The trauma on his face looked familiar."

"I'm the one he traumatized. Your brother’s even scarier than you are,” he said.

Utahime scoffed. “Wait ‘til you see my scar.”

Gojo lowered his phone briefly to squeeze his eyes shut and suppress a grunt.

Riko Amanai wrapped in a blanket smeared with blood from her gunshot wound. The endless red dripping from where Haibara’s body had been sliced off. Suguru standing on the sidewalk after he killed his parents and eradicated an entire town.

Not now. Not now.

“Bad joke, huh?” she said, rousing him from his momentary stupor.

“How bad’s the scar?”

“I’m coming around to it. If anyone asks, the story is that I beat the crap out of a special-grade curse.”

“You know what’s funny?”

“Me beating a special-grade curse by myself?”

He looked up at the clear sky. All black, no stars. “I'm the strongest, but I can't save you.”

“Gojo, it’s not your fault. Getting a scar on my face is a small price to pay for the lives of two people.”

“I passed the burden of those two lives on your family.”

“If you hadn’t, then I would have thought the worst of you. Sure, I think I look ridiculous, and my face hurts like hell, but I’ll recover. But if Miyo and her child died, there’s no going back from that. I’ve supported Kazuo my entire life. I understand your position, and I think you did really well."

Gojo rubbed his eyebrows in frustration. “You’re not really in a position to be comforting me right now.”

“I’m your senpai! It’s my job to—” Her voice broke, and there was an echo of a distant sob. A clicking noise indicated that she had put the phone down. When she picked it up again, he could hear her rapid, shallow breathing.

“Stop acting tough, Utahime. It’s just me.”

“Have you heard that when people know you’re sick and they start treating you like you’re sick, it actually makes your sickness worse? I feel like that right now, Gojo.” She coughed to hide the emotion spilling in her voice. “So I need you to act normal for me. Otherwise, I don’t think I can take it.”

Gojo nodded at Haibara’s tombstone. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He ended the call and hung his head low. At the back of his mind lingered the memory of Suguru sitting next to him in a convenience store, telling him that there was nothing wrong with Utahime wanting to protect others. She was just that kind of person. Now he was missing Suguru again, because he was the one who knew exactly what to say when he couldn’t quite find his way.

As Gojo left the cemetery, he thought he should have told Nanami that he did care. It was just that looking over his shoulder meant staring into the eyes of the people he let down, and he’d rather not remember.

Chapter Text

Utahime would wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

She could be dreaming of teaching in Jujutsu High, fighting a cursed spirit, or lounging in a karaoke bar with Shoko when suddenly, she’d see him. His face basked in darkness. The knife in his hand glinting. He’d slash her across the face and she’d fall on the classroom floor, the karaoke machine, the filthy carpet of an old commercial space. Shoko would scream, or the managers would rush to her.

Utahime relived the experience over and over while she slept. No matter how much she tried, she could not avoid the blade. She always turned to face him, and he always sliced her flesh like she was nothing more than an animal up for slaughter.

When she finally told Shoko, she wrote a prescription for sleeping pills. Utahime washed down two pills every night with beer against Shoko's warning. Maybe, at the back of Utahime's mind, she liked the risk. At first, the combination might just be a guarantee for dreamless slumbers, and then at some point, she wouldn't wake up at all. It would look like an accident, and wouldn't have to cope with this anymore.

These thoughts haunted her the most whenever she woke up clawing at her scar because of phantom pain. Blood and tissue clogged beneath her fingernails, and when she looked in the mirror, she had somehow widened and deepened the breadth of her injury.

Not wanting help from her family, she sent photos to Shoko, who yelled at her on the phone before giving instructions on how to deal with it. That was the first time Shoko dropped the honorifics on her. The two of them cried on the phone because Shoko was frustrated and Utahime hated making her worry. Utahime thought if only she had the presence of mind to tend to her injuries by herself, she wouldn’t bother Shoko so much.

That was another problem she had been facing lately, too. She kept spacing out.

Even as she stepped out of the train station and flagged a taxi to Shoko’s apartment, she could not help but wonder how she got there, and what she was doing.

The confusion lasted only for seconds, but they happened so frequently that it left her a bit disoriented for a while.

The flash of Christmas lights and the sound of carols blaring from the stores only added to her stress. She found a quiet corner to catch her breath and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Shoko had invited her and their common friends to her apartment for a Christmas celebration. It was short notice, and mostly spurned by a group chat conversation they had about working on Christmas.

Just a week ago, a fire burned down three buildings in Tokyo, and a serial killer at large left behind a trail of dead bodies in various apartments. Some of them were a decade old at most, and the growing anxiety among the non-sorcerers had birthed new curses for them to exorcise.

Not to mention the fact that December twenty-four was a day of either romance or heartbreaks, and the latter gave rise to a variety of twisted curses.

So when they discovered that none of them could spend Christmas with their families, Shoko volunteered to organize a celebration for them. Utahime originally did not want to go, but Shoko insisted. After all that Shoko did for her, she just couldn’t say no.

Utahime went to the nearest convenience store and bought two cans of beer. She hurried to the back and downed one can, shook her head to get rid of intrusive thoughts, and downed the other can.

With the alcohol in her system, she felt ready to go.

When she reached Shoko’s building, however, she had to loosen up her scarf and retreat to the nearest bollard to support her weight. Her scar throbbed, as though taunting her, and she remembered all of the strange looks she had gotten since the incident. From Kazuo, Haruki, and her parents. From the shrine maidens and the Jujutsu High staff. They all tried to be discreet, but she felt like it was all they saw of her now. That lone line from the curve of her cheek that extended across her nose to her other cheek.

On her worst nights, she wished the man had just hacked her head instead. At least then, she would not have to deal with this.

“Utahime-senpai?”

She sprang up and stumbled into the street. Nanami pulled her back to the sidewalk just as a car zoomed past.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked.

She almost didn’t recognize him. Nanami had bulked up since they last saw each other, and he had trimmed his hair short and gelled it back for the occasion. In his white button-down and grey coat, he looked more like the young CEO of a successful startup than a university student.

“Just one can,” she said. “To get into the spirit of things.”

He gave her a once over, as though to assess her inebriation with his own eyes. “Well, we better go in now before you get into an accident.”

“Right.”

The porter held the door open for them, and Nanami stepped aside to let her through first.

“I keep telling them that there’s no need to invite me since I’m not a sorcerer anymore, but they won’t stop messaging me," he said.

Utahime stayed close to Nanami as they crossed the lobby. A giant Christmas tree stood in the middle, and a family of three lingered around it in their matching checkered coats with fur trimming. The ambient lighting made them look like the poster family for a luxury brand patronized by old-money families in Japan.

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that Shoko would splurge on her living space like this.

“You mean Shoko?”

“Yes, and Gojo. Those two are more similar than I originally thought.”

The mention of Gojo's name made her swallow hard. She undid her scarf and the first two buttons of her coat, as though that would help her breathe easier. “You know, Nanami, you’re here because you’re our friend. It has nothing to do with sorcery.”

“To be honest, I was surprised that Gojo even insisted after our last encounter.”

“What did he do this time? Really, that guy. He’ll get an earful from me for giving you a hard time.”

Nanami chuckled. “No need, senpai. I simply thought I was being subtle about my interests, but he figured it out. I basically fell for his bait. To think Gojo is that calculating.”

“Ah, I get it. You’re going return to sorcery, aren’t you? He baited you with a mission and confirmed you’re still interested because you nailed it.”

Nanami stopped next to the elevator, his finger hovering over the button. He looked down at her with a soft gaze and pursed lips. “Something like that.”

The elevator opened. A woman in a black dress and stilettoes exited, her beauty so mesmerizing that Utahime had to stare, but Nanami didn’t even spare her a second glance. He held the door for Utahime before getting in and pressing the keys for the top floor.

“Is she a celebrity?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not been watching television much lately.”

Utahime watched as the numbers changed above the elevator door. Trembling, she scrolled back on their group chat and checked the address. “Are you sure we should be going to the penthouse? It says here that she lives on the thirty-second floor.”

“I received a text just now that they changed the location to the penthouse.”

She restarted her phone. Once booted up, a bunch of new notifications went in. Shoko sent her a message twenty minutes ago saying that they switched to the penthouse. Use the separate elevator. Then she gave them the keys to press.

“Shoko’s rich,” Utahime said.

“But this isn’t Shoko’s place.”

“Yes, it is.”

“She never said it was hers.” Nanami stepped closer to her and scrolled up to one of Shoko's messages on the group chat.

He was right. Shoko posted the address and that she would be organizing everything, but she never claimed that the venue was hers. Utahime just assumed it would be because Shoko had been planning on moving to a bigger apartment. She did think it strange that Shoko would have moved without flooding her inbox with photos of the place.

The elevator doors parted, and Nanami and Utahime stepped into the penthouse.

The floor-to-ceiling windows and crystal chandelier took her breath away. Nanami had to steer her toward where all the noise was coming from because she couldn’t stop gawking at the sleek furniture and rugs, as well as the Japanese artwork on the wall.

Nanami urged her on by pressing his palm on the small of her back. “Why so surprised? It’s exactly what you would expect from Gojo.”

They turned the corner and saw everyone loitering in the kitchen. Around seven managers were present including Ijichi, drinking cocktails as they carried food from the kitchen to the long dining table. Mei sat by the counter laughing at Yaga, who was probably telling her about Jujutsu High’s decision to alter the curriculum.

Shoko walked around in the kitchen in a blue apron asking who took the beef she was thawing in the sink. Gojo, in a matching blue apron and with his sleeves rolled up, told her that he was already frying the beef and could she please calm down.

“I told you we should have just hired a caterer,” he said.

Shoko sighed. “This is one of the few times I should have listened to you.”

Mei was the first to spot her. She slipped down from the high bar stool and grabbed a drink from the counter. “Utahime, I heard you were off fighting some really strong curses lately.”

Utahime could feel her cheeks burn. “Yeah. It’s a wonder I survived.”

“Well, that’s the only thing that matters.” Mei turned her attention to Nanami and swung her hip to the side. “And look who’s grown into a fine young man. You already look like a heartbreaker, Nanami.”

“Breaking hearts is not exactly part of my agenda in university.” He shrugged off his coat and motioned for Utahime’s. “May I?”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” She let him slip her coat off her, and he went back the way they came to find the coat rack.

Mei wrapped her arm around Utahime and dragged her forward with her. “Everyone, Utahime is here!”

The managers waved their drinks in the air and yelled their greetings from across the room. Some of those whom she had worked with during her high school years came over to give her a hug. Ijichi offered her a cocktail, and she took a huge gulp at once. The smiling faces of her peers made her dizzy, and she could not help but think that they were all avoiding her scar for her benefit. She wished someone would just bring it up once and for all so that she could move on.

Yaga joined their circle and clapped her back lightly. “I've received positive feedback on your performance from the Kyoto branch.”

“You’re not kidding?”

“I would never joke about something like that!”

“Thank goodness!” Relief washed over her and made her knees weak. Utahime had to grab onto the nearest side table just to support her weight. She had been working her ass off since returning from the mediation, and the result of her annual review was not supposed to come up until January. To hear that from Yaga meant that everything would go well, and she would probably be a full-time instructor by next year.

The crowd began to shift to Nanami when he returned, leaving Utahime room to breathe and find another cocktail.

“Utahime-senpai!” Shoko waved from behind the kitchen counter. She removed her apron and twirled once, showing off her green velvet dress.

Behind her, Gojo turned the heat up on the stove. He spared Utahime a glance before flipping the beef on the pan.

“I told you green suits you!” Utahime took the platter of sushi that Shoko placed on the counter. “Do I just put this on the table?”

“Yes, please. And can you also arrange the food that the others brought? I kept telling them to take the food out of their containers, but almost everyone just came off work and couldn’t wait to get a drink. This is our first official rest day in two weeks,” she said.

Utahiime glanced at Gojo’s back before lifting the platter. “The Kyoto branch really should have sent more sorcerers here to help.”

“No offense, but the Kyoto branch likes to gloat when it can. I’m not surprised they’re not offering any assistance.”

Utahime couldn’t deny that. Workplace politics was real even in the world of sorcerers.

She distracted herself by removing the store-bought food from their boxes and arranging them on the table. Nanami brought serving plates from the kitchen and dismantled the boxes for disposal. At one point, she caught him speaking to Gojo as he gathered more plates, and Gojo clapped him on the back while laughing manically. With the grimace on Nanami's face, she could tell he regretted the interaction.

When they finished, the table was a disarray of Western and Japanese food, but no one complained. This was a good effort considering the circumstances. Even Yaga, who was usually a stickler for dining etiquette and food selection, only exclaimed his thanks as soon as Shoko announced that they could start eating.

The next Utahime noticed Gojo, he had changed from his button-down shirt to a black turtleneck sweater and dress pants. He had his head bowed and his arms crossed as he listened to one of the managers, as she was only as tall as his chest.

Mei switched on the flat-screen TV attached to the wall and turned on the karaoke setting. She held out a microphone to the managers. “Who wants to go first?”

The dinner party descended into chaos after that.

Half drunk with alcohol and half with merriment, people came and went to the dinner table to eat while the rest danced to the singing. Two of the managers fought, and Gojo stepped in to break off the fight before it got physical. One of Yaga's cursed corpses popped open a bottle of wine, and the cork hit Ijichi in the eye. Shoko had him lie down on the floor as she healed him, and Yaga joked that Ijichi liked the attention.

Utahime hung out mostly with Mei and Nanami, who were deep in conversation about the economic crisis abroad and the rising financial opportunities in Japan. She was thinking of bailing on them when Shoko gave her a bottle of beer and a plate of sushi, and the conversation segued to where they hoped to vacation in the summer.

Mei had plans to travel to Greece with her little brother, and Nanami said the most he could manage was Thailand.

Mei draped her arm around him. “Aren’t you going to invite me?”

“Of course, you’re welcome to join me. But I don’t think I can accommodate your expensive taste.” He turned to Shoko and Utahime. “Senpai?”

Shoko groaned. “If I take a vacation for even just three days, there will be a pile of dead bodies waiting to be processed. I’d rather not deal with the backlog. Utahime-senpai, you should consider it. Traveling is so much safer with a man, even for sorcerers like us.”

Utahime’s gaze shifted to Gojo, who was lingering somewhere behind Mei and Nanami with a mocktail while riling up Yaga. She had crossed paths with him several times now, but he always turned his head away or changed directions just to avoid her.

“If the shrine isn’t busy and I won’t have to assist in any mission, why not?”

Akari Nitta, a Kyoto graduate who was interning as an auxiliary manager in Tokyo, ended on a high note on the Karaoke to much applause. Utahime cheered for her, as she was one of her first friends in Kyoto during her own internship as an instructor. Nitta was in her final year in high school when they met, and it had been a huge disappointment to Utahime when she decided to transfer to the Tokyo branch.

Nitta pulled Utahime up from the couch and shoved the microphone to her face. “Your turn!”

Utahime swallowed the sushi she was chewing on and squinted at the screen. Someone had gone and put on a mix of Christmas carols, pop songs, and rock n’roll music while nobody was looking, and now they just had to go with the flow. After a couple of seconds, the screen changed, and the name of the song flashed in gold letters.

Dear by Kana Nishino.

Great. Utahime loved Nishino, but she really wasn’t up to singing a love song on Christmas Eve. At least it was a little upbeat and within her vocal range. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad.

“Utahime-senpai will outsing you all,” Shoko yelled at the managers, as they were the most invested in singing karaoke. The managers dared Utahime to hit all of the high notes, and Utahime had to stop Shoko when she started making claims that Utahime's voice was even better than Nishino's.

"Sober Shoko up!" someone said, and everyone laughed.

Through the corner of her eye, Utahime noticed Gojo step over the other couch’s backrest and walk to the kitchen while downing the rest of his mocktail.

What was wrong with him?

The crowd hooted as soon as Utahime started singing. The managers paired up in a goofy romantic dance, but there were two couples who might be sincere about slow dancing. Yaga called on two managers who were sitting a little too close to one another on the couch. “Get up and join them! I know you two are dating!”

“It was supposed to be a secret,” Shoko said.

“Secret my ass! I’ve caught them making out more times than I’ve exorcised curses!”

Even Utahime laughed on the microphone. The two managers, red in the face with drink and embarrassment, finally held hands in front of them all.

Utahime rubbed away the budding tears in her eyes on the pretense that they were irritated. For some reason, she remembered the time Gojo went to the Kyoto branch to meet with the higher-ups and ended up taking her out to dinner. They talked until closing time, and she wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the ambiance, but she remembered having a good time in spite of his teasing.

“Aren't you a little too washed out, Utahime?” he had asked. “That’s what happens when you spend all night ogling at photos of me."

“I’d sooner look at cat vomit.”

Oddly enough, they did see a cat vomiting outside her apartment building later that night. He pointed at it and said, “Well, aren’t you gonna look?”

She hit him so hard that she hurt her wrist, and they had to detour to the convenience store to buy a cold compress. He then joked that maybe her wrist was just fat, and she was so sick of him that she shoved his ice cream cone to his face while he was licking it.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she did miss him.

Mei turned on the flashlight of her phone and waved it in the air, and Nanami started taking a video of Utahime.

She pulled the microphone away for a second to clear her throat. Shit. The back of her eyes stung, and she really didn’t want to be teary in front of everyone. Not when this was the most fun they’ve had in a long time.

By some miracle, she managed to finish the song to much cheering, and Shoko tossed the microphone across the room to Ijichi, who had been avoiding it for the entirety of the party.

The next song played, and the party continued.

Shoko stood next to Utahime and sent her a text. “Utahime-senpai, do you mind running errands for me in the nearby supermarket? I’m sure they’re still open, and we need more food to sober up all these fiends. I underestimated just how much these people can eat and drink.”

Utahime scrolled up and down at the list on her phone. “This is a lot.”

“Don’t worry, Gojo’s coming with you. I would ask Nanami or Ijichi, but they’ve been drinking.”

“But I’ve been drinking too.”

“Don’t be offended, but you have the alcohol tolerance of two grown men, and that’s my professional opinion as a medic.” She raised her hand and whistled. “Hey, you! Come over here.”

Utahime froze. She could feel Gojo standing close to her as Shoko gave him instructions. Where he would’ve griped and grunted before, he just stayed silent, and once Shoko was done, he turned to leave.

She walked a couple of steps behind him as they made their way to the elevator. Utahime had never been scared of Gojo before, even when she saw him blasting away curses with his technique. The Gojo that appeared before her during the mediation intimidated her, yes, but that was it. This Gojo, however, with his back turned to her and his silence, was the most unnerved he had ever made her feel.

What are you thinking, Gojo?

It bothered Gojo more than he dared to admit.

After his first glimpse of her face that night, he couldn’t quite manage to look again. The scar was bigger than he imagined it would be. At once, he thought of all the daggers in Jujutsu High’s armory, of the thick blades and their cutting edges. He assumed her injury had been grave, mostly because it was on her face, but he had not considered the size of the blade that must have been used on her.

Perhaps as a means for him to cope, he assumed it was a push knife. A weapon the assailant revealed just as he was about to attack her. Maybe a karambits. Two to three-inch blades. It was more likely, however, that the man walked in there with a steak knife that had a four to five-inch blade, maybe even the same one Miyo used on Daiki.

It was either he twisted the blade mid-cut or Utahime moved just as he sliced her face, as the scar was not uniform in breadth. The width of the scar on her right cheek meant the blade likely scraped her flesh. At worst, he may have sliced off a section of her cheek.

Gojo told himself that there was no use thinking about it now, but he couldn’t stop.

They passed each other in the dining room several times, and although he tried, he couldn’t stomach her scar. He had seen too much blood and gore not to know exactly what that scar looked like as a fresh wound, and on her of all people.

There was also the matter of Utahime's demeanor. She acted as she normally did, but she kept spacing out. She could be in a conversation with Mei and Nanami one second, and then staring out the window the next. Lost in a stupor. Detached. Nanami and Mei had to call her twice and even touch her shoulder just to snap her out of it. Once, Shoko had to save Utahime from spilling her cocktail on her skirt.

"Really, senpai," Shoko said. "I know how expensive that skirt is. Don't get it stained."

When they ate, she stuck to the finger foods and appetizers. Fries, burgers, gyoza, and yakitori. Nothing that would require her to pick up a knife and cut through the food. Twice, he saw her close her eyes and clench her jaws at the sound of the metal utensils clangoring, so he went over to the stereo and turned up the music.

That she managed to pick up the microphone in her state and sing karaoke was a wonder.

He sat at the very back with his mocktail just as she began singing. Listening to her now reminded him of the time she drunk-dialed him and sang on the phone. The Kyoto branch held a celebration for reaching the ten thousandth-exorcised-curse milestone, and she drank too much again, possibly because her superiors had overworked her, and she needed some sort of reprieve.

Her call came in at half past midnight while he was asleep in his apartment. When he picked up, she told him that she thought of a song just now, and began to sing a fairly decent version of Us by Milet given her intoxicated state. He had always liked her speaking voice, and he knew that she could sing well, but that moment hit differently.

Her voice in his ear. The midnight sky visible from his bed. The very lyrics of the song.

It made him feel something he'd never felt before, even if she drifted off to sleep in the middle of the chorus and he had to be the one to end the call.

Now that they had been sent off by Shoko on an errand, he was unsure of where they stood. She had not made any attempt to speak to him, and he had been avoiding her all evening. It wasn’t as though they could give each other the cold shoulder while on this quick supermarket run.

Gojo opened the hidden closet with the coat rack and spotted hers at once. It was the red double-breasted coat with the folded cuffs and black buttons. He handed it to her and, from the corner of his eye, saw that she had put on a beanie and a face mask.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Utahime paused from adjusting the straps of her face mask. “What do you mean?”

“Get rid of that mask.”

“No.”

“We look like we’re going to rob the supermarket.”

“Nobody robs supermarkets like this.”

"Like this?" He pointed at his sunglasses, and then at her beanie and mask.

She hesitated before stuffing the mask in her coat pocket. With their scarves and gloves on, they made their way out of the building and onto the chilly sidewalks of Tokyo. Thankfully, the snow had stopped and the few inches that gathered on the pavement did not stick. Still, it could be slippery, so Gojo held his arm out for Utahime on reflex.

She glimpsed his arm with a pout. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you. That doesn’t mean I was ignoring you.”

“That’s the very definition of the word.”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to underestimate how clumsy you can be.” He snatched her hand and placed it on the nook of his arm. “And for your information, if I’m ignoring someone, I typically let others in on it.”

“That’s not ignoring, that’s bullying.”

“It’s only bullying if someone dies.”

“Gojo, that’s murder.”

“There’s a vague resemblance, but the difference is quite clear to me. The point is that I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“There’s no winning an argument with you,” Utahime muttered to herself.

Even at this time of night, a lot of people still roamed the streets. Store employees bundled in layers of clothes after their shift, couples wrapped up in one another for warmth as they ran errands for their own Christmas Eve parties. More than once, Gojo glanced down at Utahime to see if she was alright and saw that she had spaced out again. She had a blank look on her face and a lightness to her movement that suggested a certain degree of absence.

He wondered what she saw, and whether her scar bothered her in this weather.

The supermarket had only one cashier open and around a handful of customers loitering about. Utahime lowered her head when they stepped under the harsh fluorescent lights, and kept it down on the pretense of checking the list Shoko sent her.

Gojo didn’t even bother. He threw whatever prepackaged food he saw into their cart. He just hoped that none of the managers had thrown up on the furniture or the rugs, because he had no doubt Hanabi would make him pay the cleaning fees.

Utahime returned to the shelves some of the food in their cart. “These are not what’s on the list.”

“Food is food. And I’m paying.”

“We’re splitting the bill.”

Gojo threw a jumbo bag of chips into the cart. “You won’t be saying that once I’m done shopping.”

Utahime glowered at him. “Fine. I’m getting my own cart.”

Just as she turned around, a group of men and women in their twenties stumbled into the supermarket while laughing and teasing one another. She froze in her place and lowered her head again. The group had spotted them, probably because of his height, and their conversation mellowed into whispers as they made their way to the next aisle.

Gojo bit his glove off, removed one of Utahime’s gloves, and held her hand. The contact of flesh on flesh startled her, but she did not pull away. It seemed to be exactly what she needed to stay in the present.

“What’s on the list again?” he asked.

She tapped her phone screen with her free hand. “Coffee beans, lots of sandwiches, preferably ones stuffed with bacon or other red meat. She also wants cleaning detergents, cheese, butter, ice cream, and eggs.”

“That sounds like her grocery list.”

She squinted at her phone. “Is Shoko scamming us?”

He tugged her hand so they could resume walking down the aisle. “Nevermind. I owe her anyway, and that stuff is probably for breakfast. Hanabi lent us her penthouse because she expects no one will be sober enough to make it home. My apartment wouldn’t have been able to accommodate everyone.”

“Oh. I thought the penthouse was yours.”

“Technically, it is. She bought it with my money.”

“And where is she spending Christmas?”

Gojo grabbed a large pack of burger buns. They might have to make their own sandwiches after all. “With her boyfriend in Osaka, maybe. We only gather as a clan on New Year’s. Makes more sense for us. What about your family?”

Utahime tossed box after box of cheese on top of the bread. “We celebrated early since Kazuo needs to go to Hokkaido for a mission.”

“Did your brother tell you that we held hands in a haunted park? It was quite romantic.”

“Don’t hit on my brother.”

“You look so alike, it was easy to imagine it was you.”

Utahime grunted. “Your perverseness knows no boundaries.”

“Says the woman who keeps refusing to let me pay for stuff. You’re really embracing the role of my sugar momma, huh?”

She elbowed him in the rib. “For the thousandth time, you’re not my sugar baby!”

The group from earlier entered their aisle. Utahime fell a step back from Gojo and loosened her grip on him. Without letting go of her hand, Gojo moved his arm over her head and rested his elbow on her shoulder. This pushed her body against his in a mild embrace, but she didn't pull away like she normally would. If anything, she seemed to lean into him more.

“People only mind if you do,” he whispered in her ear.

Utahime exhaled quietly. She nodded. They resumed walking down the aisle while studying the shelves, and for good measure, Gojo locked eyes with the group as they crossed paths. The men and women, some of them probably older than him, looked away and pretended to spot something further down the aisle that excited them. Gojo could still feel the light tremor of Utahime's fingers, but she did not flinch when they passed by the group.

“Then who’s your sugar baby? Is it Nanami?” he asked, just to keep diverting her attention

“Stop it with the sugar baby. And what’s with Nanami?”

“It’s either you’re this naïve or you enjoy playing with the hearts of delicate young men.”

She reached for a bottle of ketchup on his side of the aisle. “Nanami doesn’t like me. I doubt that I’m his type.”

Gojo made a face at her while she wasn’t looking. This woman really had no idea of the appeal she had on men like him.

He first had a hunch about Nanami’s feelings for her during his surprise birthday party. It wasn’t only the fact that Nanami had her number. The way he waited for her arrival and hovered over him to know why she couldn’t come was enough to rouse his curiosity. If Gojo hadn’t known Nanami from school, he’d have thought nothing of it.

Except Gojo had a fairly good idea of Nanami's character, and he knew that Nanami hadn’t shown that much interest in people since Haibara’s death. He especially did not care for Gojo and was set on distancing himself from the world of sorcery. So at once, he thought it must be Utahime. Nanami was subtle about it, but he came to the birthday party for Utahime, and he came to this party for her too. He may be a no-nonsense man, but he was still a man, after all.

Gojo confirmed his suspicions when he saw how brutally Nanami murdered Utahime’s assailant. He left the face untouched to confirm the kill, but the rest of the man’s head had been bashed in. Pieces of his skull exposed. Brain matter scattered everywhere. His dominant hand likely stepped on until it was flat like paper.

For doing what Gojo couldn’t, he made sure Nanami would see her tonight.

But that was it.

“Don’t string Nanami along,” he said. “He deserves a nice young girl his age who can find his sense of humor—well, just find his sense of humor.”

“Since when did you care about Nanami’s relationships?”

“We’ve taken different paths, but I was his upperclassman. It’s difficult to shrug off the sense of responsibility I feel over him.”

Utahime hit him with a box of biscuits. “Like hell will I believe that.”

At some point, they removed their other glove to sustain the contact. The switch of hands happened almost reflexively as they reached for a box of chocolate chips on the bottom shelf or a packet of biscuits they had already passed.

Utahime gripped his hand like she was clinging to a lifeline, and although Gojo had long lost feeling in his fingers, he didn’t mind. If this worked for her, then he’d gladly oblige. She was making the effort to resume her life as though nothing happened. He had no doubt that part of it was to make him feel better, to drive across her conviction that he deserved no blame for her scar. He’d really rather talk things through, but she made her stance pretty clear a while ago. She wanted normal, and he couldn’t find the heart to deny her this.

Besides, he didn't want to ruin this moment.

Gojo didn’t know how, even after their recent dilemma, this felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. To hold her hand while roaming the supermarket and arguing about which brand of milk to get. To hear her laugh at her own jokes and then yell at him for not laughing with her. They were almost back to their old selves, but not quite. Something had shifted, but as he looked down at her slender fingers intertwined with his, he thought this was alright.

He liked this too.

Gojo’s phone rang. Utahime whipped her head in his direction with a horrified look on her face. He grinned at her and held his phone out of reach.

“Is that my voice?”

“Yeah, when you drunk-dialed me.”

“Satoru Gojo, you monster! You recorded that?”

He waved his phone in the air to let her drunk singing echo in the supermarket. “Wait ‘till the end. Your snoring is such a great outro.”

“Answer that call!” She gripped his sweatshirt while standing on tiptoes to reach the phone, pressing her front against his in the process. “People are staring, you asshole!”

One of the supermarket clerks was already headed in their direction, and the group of friends from earlier had piled on the mouth of the aisle to watch them.

“Help!” Gojo said to the clerk. “This woman is groping me! Ah, my nipple!”

“Ma’am, sir.” The clerk slashed his hand in the air, fingers pointing straight at the exit. “Public display of affection in a supermarket is highly inappropriate. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Gojo and Utahime stood in front of the supermarket, shivering and empty-handed. The snow had started to fall again, and they both dreaded returning to the penthouse without anything to show for their absence.

Gojo watched Utahime with her head tipped back and her gaze following the snow precipitate over the supermarket parking lot. He once told Suguru that he didn’t love her. What he felt was something akin to possessiveness, a want to keep her to himself and out of everybody else’s reach. Only now, he wasn’t satisfied with simply being a dominant part of her world. He wanted her in his, too. 

“Utahime,” he said, and she turned to him with her eyebrows raised. “Would you like to meet Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro?”

Chapter Text

Utahime had no idea what to expect.

When Gojo asked her if she wanted to meet the Fushiguro siblings—the very children that had been pivotal to the negotiation on Miyo Yamamoto’s child—she hesitated. Not because she didn’t like children, but because this was a part of Gojo’s life he had not even hinted at before. That it had been going on for years stunned her, and she wondered what else he might be hiding behind his annoying grin and endless teasing.

Above all, she wondered what he was like with children.

The two of them walked the streets of Saitama carrying three bags of groceries and a box of Christmas cake. It was seven in the morning, and the place was quieter than usual due to last night’s festivities. Still, evidence of the celebration lingered. Tinsel strands scattered on the pavement. Posters for shows and Christmas markets hanging precariously on display windows. Trash bins brimming with takeout boxes and gift wrappers. Heart-shaped cutouts peeking from crumpled paper bags.

She tried not to look at Gojo. This was the first time she'd be spending Christmas Day with a man.

“Are you sure you don’t have a hangover?” he asked as he typed away on his phone.

“Do I look like I have a hangover?”

He glanced at her, and while still typing on his phone with one hand, he adjusted the scarf around her neck with the other. “It’s just that you’re irritable. Ah, wait, you’re always that way.”

“I’m not irritable!” Utahime kicked him on the calf, but he didn’t even stumble. “I didn’t drink that much last night.”

“You know, that would be a cool Domain Expansion. Trap curse users in your Domain and beat them in a drinking competition. Even I would end up dead.”

Utahime pressed her lips together to refrain from kindling this would-be argument. It was too early in the morning to be doing this with him. At some point, she would have to learn to stop taking his bait.

“How do you have so much energy after last night?” she asked instead.

He pocketed his phone. “It’s the power of youth.”

They turned the corner to the next block and entered the first apartment building on the street. The white façade with balconies displaying laundries and potted plants gave off a friendly ambiance. She imagined middle-income families living here with their toddlers, kind neighbors greeting each other in the corridor, and the perpetual smell of baked cookies lingering in the air.

“Jujutsu HQ pays for their living expenses,” Gojo explained as they crossed the lobby. Sloppy Christmas decors had been plastered on the ceiling, and a Christmas tree standee lay on the floor beside the entrance. “Since they’re not even ten yet, an elderly guardian was assigned to watch over them. She lives in the next apartment, but she knows I’m coming, so she’s taking the day off to be with her family.”

Utahime stepped over a party hat outside one of the apartments. “Curse user?”

“Non-combat. She can induce anesthetic-like effects with her touch. I think she was in the medical field in her prime.”

“Shoko must know her then.”

“They’ve met before. I brought her here the last time Megumi was sick because he didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

They climbed the stairs to the fifth floor after seeing that the elevator was out of order. She hoped it was temporary, because while children had much energy to burn, five flights of stairs were still too much for them. Apart from that, the interior and the atmosphere were exactly what she imagined they should be. She wondered if Gojo had any say in the selection of this place, or if he even cared.

“Gojo?”

“Hm?”

She climbed the stairs two steps at a time to catch up to him. “Why have you not mentioned them before?”

Gojo stopped on the landing to look at her. He had opted for his round sunglasses again today, paired with a knitted white sweater and grey pants. When they met up this morning, she thought he looked more like he was going on a date rather than visiting his wards. If ‘ward’ was even what these children were to him. He wasn’t exactly clear about the nature of their relationship.

He glanced at the last flight of stairs they needed to climb. “Because I fought a man who nearly killed me some years back, and before I finished him off, he told me about his son who was scheduled to be sold to the Zenin. I wasn’t exactly sure how to tell that story.”

Utahime shifted the bags in her hands for the sake of doing something while she thought about this. “Does Megumi know?”

“I told him that he’s free to ask about his father, but the boy doesn’t seem to care at all. His father ran away with Tsumiki’s mom when they were both young, so you can imagine how little paternal love there is in that relationship.” Gojo brushed the tip of her nose with the nook of his forefinger. “Don’t get upset about it. Those kids are alright.”

Utahime covered her nose, partly as a means to hide her blush. She had no idea why that simple gesture felt so intimate. “Let’s just go before the icing on this cake melts.”

Gojo knocked on the third apartment from the staircase with a cheeky announcement that ‘Uncle Gojo’ was there, and a little girl swung the door open at once with a grin.

“Uncle Gojo! Merry Christmas!” She wrapped her arms around his leg. Somewhere in the apartment, a boy yelled that Gojo was not their uncle.

The Fushiguro apartment was a lot nicer and cleaner than she anticipated given that it was mostly managed by two kids. From where she stood behind Gojo, she saw that a four-foot-tall Christmas tree had been set up in the corner of the living room, and the television was on in the background playing some kind of cartoon show.

Tsumiki was about to say something else when she finally noticed Utahime.

Gojo crouched to her level. “Tsumiki, this is my friend from work. You can call her Auntie Utahime. Just like me, she gets rid of the scary stuff that Megumi sees.”

Utahime bent forward on her waist and showed Tsumiki the cake. “I hope you don’t mind me spending Christmas day with you. I brought presents!”

Tsumiki studied her face. With a look of dismay, she ran into the apartment and yelled for Megumi to show himself.

“You’re not popular with the kids, are you?” Gojo said.

“Shut it. I’m great with kids.”

Megumi appeared just as they had closed the door behind them and lowered the bags on the kitchen counter. Gojo ruffled the little boy’s hair and introduced Utahime again as their new auntie. Unlike Tsumiki, who was now peering at them from behind the couch, Megumi bowed slightly at her. He had that precautious aura to him, and he studied her as though sizing her up. Even then, he maintained that childish glaze in his eyes, like he was as equally daunted as he was mesmerized to see another sorcerer.

“Ms. Utahime, you exorcise curses too, right?” he asked.

Tsumiki climbed the backrest of the couch. “You’re not uncle’s girlfriend, are you?”

Utahime's lips parted in a quiet gasp. Oh. That was why Tsumiki reacted that way to her.

Gojo wrapped his arm around Utahime’s shoulders. “Actually—"

She smacked the back of his head to cut him short. “I’m his senpai. He brought me here to put talismans in your apartment so that no curses can ever enter this place! Uncle Gojo told me he didn’t want you to be scared anymore and begged on his knees for my help, and I was moved because he cares so much about you.”

Gojo adjusted his sunglasses on his face. “That’s not exactly what I imagine doing on my knees.”

She laughed some more for the children’s sake and hit him again.

Tsumiki brightened up after that. Utahime couldn’t really blame her for having a crush on Gojo. To the naïve mind, he seemed like the most fun adult a child could ever have for a guardian. Add the fact that he was handsome and powerful, and a little girl like Tsumiki could easily mistake him for the perfect man.

The way Gojo was so gentle around her probably contributed to that idea too. When they got busy in the kitchen, he took special care with Tsumiki as she peeled the vegetables. It must have been uncomfortable for him to stay hunched so low just to accommodate her small stature, but he didn’t seem to mind at all as long as she was happy.

This left Utahime with Megumi, who watched as she pan-fried the chicken for their lunch. While he was tall for an eight-year-old boy, he still needed to stand on a stool to safely prick the chicken. He watched with silent awe as the juice spilled from the flesh and the aroma wafted towards him.

“We had KFC last night,” he said. “And Mr. Gojo sent us strawberry cream cake. We still have lots in the fridge. You can have my share if you like.”

Utahime poured the teriyaki sauce over the chicken, tilted the pan, and then spooned the sauce over the chicken again. “You know, I don’t remember ever having strawberry cream cake before.”

Megumi gawked at her. “Never? Ever?”

“Nah-uh.”

He climbed down the stool and poked his head in the fridge. When he returned, he had a spoonful of the cake in his hands. He stood on tiptoes to feed her. “You have to taste it, then we can decide if you’ll have my share.”

Utahime was just about to eat the cake when Gojo raced her to it. He took the spoon from Megumi and licked it clean.

“Utahime, we should have ordered this instead of the Christmas cake!”

Megumi froze, on his face a look of both shock and disbelief. “But that wasn’t for you!”

Tsumiki appeared with the rest of the cake from the fridge and held her arm out to keep Gojo away. “It’s okay! She can still have a taste, Megumi!”

Megumi grabbed the nearest fork and cut a huge slice for her. Although he was scowling, he looked like he might cry in frustration, as Gojo was being playful behind Tsumiki and pretending to grab at the cake again. Utahime kept spooning the sauce over the chicken as she bent down to eat the cake that Megumi held out on the fork. Once the cake was in her mouth, Megumi’s shoulders slumped in relief. She would have laughed if not for the sympathy she felt for him.

This kid was too young to be this stressed because of Gojo.

Utahime had their dynamics more or less figured out by the time they settled around the dining table. Tsumiki was the one in charge, not only of the household but of Megumi. He may pout and answer back, but he always listened to her. Even Gojo, who wanted to keep the television running in the background, had to relent when Tsumiki stomped her foot and said ‘no’.

This meant, as a guest, that Utahime was at Tsumiki’s mercy.

So, when Tsumiki refused to let Utahime set the table, as it was something she considered her prime duty, she had to surrender the plates to her. When she pointed where everybody would sit, Utahime had to follow.

Tsumiki sat next to Gojo, who sat next to Megumi, who sat next to Utahime. She made sure that Utahime was as far away from Gojo as possible while still being polite.

“This seat has the fluffiest cushion,” Tsumiki told her with a pat of the said cushion. Utahime had to sit and affirm this to make her happy.

Megumi, on the other hand, pretended to dislike Gojo while still pining for his praise. Whenever he could, he’d show him how fast he could do hand signs and the things he could move around using cursed energy. With Tsumiki’s urging, Megumi summoned a bunny to the dining table, and they all shrieked when it landed straight on the chicken teriyaki.

The bunny hopped off the table with the sauce dripping from its white fur. None of them had even taken a bite of the food, and now everything they cooked had spilled on the table, and the serving plate was cracked in the middle.

To save Megumi from embarrassment, they all pretended that Utahime’s cooking was bad, and that they were planning to eat out anyway.

So that was how they ended up in the streets of Saitama in the afternoon, huddled in their coats and holding hands. Megumi kept a tight grip on Utahime while Tsumiki clung to Gojo’s arm. The two kids talked over each other about the cartoon they watched that morning, and as soon as Megumi grew quiet in annoyance, Tsumiki quickly changed her tune to avoid upsetting him further.

“Megumi has a short temper just like Utahime,” Gojo said. “That’s why the two of you get along so well.”

“I’m only short-tempered with you,” Utahime said.

Megumi looked up at Gojo with a scowl. “You’re annoying.”

“Uncle Gojo is just trying to be funny,” Tsumiki defended.

“It’s not funny if he’s the only one laughing,” Megumi said to her.

Gojo put his hand on Megumi’s head. “I’m building your tolerance. When you enter Jujutsu High, you’ll realize I’m the nicest sorcerer of them all.”

Utahime swatted Gojo’s hand from Megumi’s head and pushed him closer to her side. “Don’t listen to this idiot. Jujutsu High has a lot of nice, sane people, and he’s not one of them.”

“If you mean weak people like you, then yeah, there are plenty. Too many actually.”

Megumi tugged on Utahime’s coat. “How are you friends with him?”

“How are you sure we’re just friends?” Gojo raised his eyebrows twice and smirked.

“Hey!” Tsumiki placed her hands on her hips. “You said you’re just friends!”

“I keep telling her that but she still takes advantage of me.”

Utahime resisted the urge to scream into her hands. Their little riot had attracted the attention of the other families and couples roaming the sidewalks of Saitama, and it embarrassed her to consider how they appeared in front of these people.

Spotting a restaurant at the corner of the street, she pointed there and said, “Alright, enough of this. We're going to walk into that restaurant like a normal family and have a peaceful lunch. Does everybody understand?” She turned to Gojo with a frown. “Gojo?”

He picked up Tsumiki so that she was sitting on his left arm and walked ahead of them. “Now she wants people to think I have children with her.”

Tsumiki gasped. “But I don't want you as my father.”

“Why not? I think I'll make a cool dad.”

Megumi stopped walking, forcing Utahime to stop as well. They watched as Gojo and Tsumiki disappeared into the restaurant.

“Ms. Utahime?”

“Yes, Megumi?”

He looked up at her with a concerned pinch to his brow. “Please don't end up with him.”

Utahime prodded him to keep walking with her. “Trust me, the only thing I'll end up doing is killing him.”

They found Gojo and Tsumiki roaming the aisles in search of the perfect booth to occupy. The elderly people and families dining there peered out of their own booths to look at the duo, probably because Tsumiki was overly enthusiastic and Gojo was good-looking. If she didn’t know them, she’d look too, more to wonder who the mother could be. And then Utahime realized that she would likely be the wife and mother in everybody else’s eyes. It gave her the chills, especially since she knew people would be questioning how someone like Gojo could be with her.

Her with her hideous scar.

Gojo raised his hand to catch Utahime’s attention, as though she could possibly miss someone as tall as him. Megumi pulled her along the maze of tables and chairs to get to them.

By the time they reached Gojo and Tsumiki, they had already decided on the booth at the back with a view facing a huge Pokemon billboard advertisement across the street.

Gojo grabbed Megumi by the head and steered him towards his side of the table.

“Do you have to be so rough?” Utahime asked.

He slid in next to Megumi. “This one's a picky eater so he's sitting with me.”

Tsumiki climbed on the bench beside Utahime. “Last time, we stayed so long in the restaurant because he wouldn't finish his food. I always finish mine.”

“No, you don't,” Megumi said.

Utahime held her hand out. “Okay, no bickering.”

Gojo passed her the menu. “It’s true, though. She doesn't finish her food.”

“What did I just say?”

He had the decency to look remorseful. “Yes, ma’am.”

Utahime only had to glance at each page of the menu once. As a creature of habit, she tended to select the same types of food to avoid a disappointing meal. She wasn’t sure if this had something to do with her upbringing as a sorcerer and the many life-and-death encounters she’d had since. In high school, especially before a mission, she told herself every meal might be her last, so she might as well make sure she enjoyed it.

This was clearly not the case with Gojo, who flipped back and forth the menu at the same pace Megumi did. Sure, he was sent out on more risky missions, but his strength meant he could look forward to a nice meal afterward. Utahime could never think of planning that far ahead in case it was bad luck.

So now, in casual settings like this, she wasn’t surprised that she was the only one who had an order ready.

Tsumiki ran her finger down the menu to consider each appetizer and main dish, while Megumi sighed and shook his head while debating the choices in his mind.

Gojo checked Megumi’s menu to see which picture he had fixated on.

“No.” He poked the photo of the ginger pork Shoyu ramen. “You ordered that last time and you hated it.”

“I liked the broth.”

“That's the only thing you ate because of the ginger. Order something else.”

Megumi squirmed a little in his seat. “I'll eat everything this time.”

Gojo flipped his menu. “Pick something else and we'll order both. If you don't like it then we'll switch. How about I get tonkatsu and kaarage?”

Megumi chewed on his bottom lip as he studied the pictures Gojo showed him. “Deal.”

“I want the kushikatsu and the okonomiyaki and the omoriasu.” Tsumiki threw her arm up to call the waitress. “And lemon iced tea and onigiri!”

“Tsumiki, that's too much,” Utahime said.

“I'm a big girl with lots of chores. I can eat all these.”

Utahime tried to lower her arm while smiling at her. “How about we order one at a time? Try the kushikatsu first, and then if you’re still hungry, we can order the okonomiyaki.”

Tsumiki dropped her hand to her side and stared at the menu, suddenly somber.

Megumi cupped his mouth. “She's gonna cry.”

Gojo waved at a nearby waitress. “Let her order what she wants.”

“Are you sure?” Utahime sighed and held her pinky out to Tsumiki. “Okay, but promise me that if we order it, you’ll eat it.”

Tsumiki hooked pinkies with her. “I double swear! I swear it on my favorite dress”

“Don’t worry, Tsumiki, if you really can’t finish everything, then we’ll eat the rest,” Gojo said. “I've seen Utahime eat when she’s drunk.”

Utahime kicked him under the table. “I'm not drinking in front of the children.”

“Ah, I forgot we don't want the kids to know you're an alcoholic.”

He engaged the waitress in conversation before Utahime could answer back, and in consideration of Megumi and Tsumiki, she decided to just let it go. Of the three children here, Gojo was the one really cutting her patience short.

Annoyed as she was, however, she couldn’t deny him credit where it was due.

While waiting for their order, he allowed Megumi and Tsumiki to go on and on about their school experiences and who did what at home. Eventually, they asked about her technique and where she worked. Gojo surprised her by saying that she was the Kyoto branch’s best instructor and that she came from a respectable family of sorcerers that had shrines all over the country. Megumi ended up gawking at her in amazement, and Utahime had to stop Gojo from exaggerating before Megumi came up with an overpowered version of her in his head.

They only gained a semblance of peace when the food arrived, and everybody realized how hungry they actually were.

Gojo kept an eye on Megumi as he scooped the noodles of his Shoyu ramen with his chopsticks and put them in his mouth. Utahime was so busy helping Tsumiki manage her plate that she didn’t notice Gojo turn Megumi to face him.

Apparently, Megumi had stopped chewing and wouldn’t swallow his food. Gojo removed the ramen bowl and told him to swallow.

“You can’t keep throwing up food you don’t like,” he said.

Megumi picked at the small crack on the table with his fingernail. Noticing Utahime, he bowed his head and chewed the food slowly.

Utahime passed her tall glass of sweet tea to Gojo, who then pressed the rim against Megumi’s pursed lips so that he could wash down the rest of the food.

“Here, to get rid of the taste.” Utahime picked up a piece of kaarage and held it in front of his mouth with her chopsticks.

Megumi took a small bite, liked it, and then ate the entire piece.

Gojo ruffled his already disheveled hair. “You only act nice when there’s a pretty lady around.”

“Megumi,” Tsumiki whispered. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” he muttered.

Utahime could only smile at him. It was hardly a shock that someone so mature for his age would still act up in some ways. She was almost relieved to him show signs of being a kid and to know that he was receptive to discipline in spite of having little to no parental care for most of his life.

Thankfully, Tsumiki had no issues with her food, but she did cheat. She managed to keep her promise not by finishing her orders by herself, but by distributing them to Gojo and Utahime while she ate. By the time she was full, there was not a single crumb left on her plate.

Meanwhile, Utahime and Gojo had to stuff themselves until they felt like throwing up. They were both determined not to carry take-out to their next destination because clearly, with the kids energized, they were not about to go home yet.

Gojo gave Megumi and Tsumiki one envelope each of money and told them to roam the market while the adults rested. “But don’t stray out of sight or else I’ll scream your name and cry in the middle of the park.”

Megumi grimaced as he pulled Tsumiki away from Gojo. “Hurry before he embarrasses us.”

Utahime found a bench under a tree that gave them a nice view of the small Christmas market. Even though the air was chilly, it still carried the sweet smell of mochi and dorayaki from the first row of stalls, as well as the citrusy scent of beer from the groups of friends lounging in their picnic mats nearby.

She watched Megumi and Tsumiki peer at each stall while holding hands, their faces lighting up at each new toy and street food they came across.

Gojo sat next to her and stretched his legs. “Kids tire me out more than special grade curses do.”

“Tell me about it.” Utahime rubbed her gloved hands together for warmth. “I wish there’s more that I could do for them though.”

“Just because their childhood is kinda messed up doesn’t mean they’ll turn out badly, especially Megumi. Some sorcerers have been through worse.”

“I guess so. Did you hear? The Kyoto branch took in a kid who has heavenly restriction. His body’s all shriveled up and he’s missing one forearm. Can’t even get up because his legs can’t support his weight. But in exchange, he has an immense reservoir of cursed energy, and his cursed technique allows him to control puppets.” She sighed, as just the thought of Kokichi often left her with a heavy feeling in her chest. “But what is that all for if he can’t be a normal kid, right?”

“That’s where we can’t fault Jujutsu High. It’s the only organization with a semblance of fairness that can give these children a good chance at life.”

“Still.” She leaned back on the tree branch and elbowed his arm. “What was your childhood like?”

Gojo thought about it for a moment. “Can’t complain, but after taking Megumi in, I realized it was fucked up in its own way. I feel like I’m almost doing to him what they did to me.”

“What do you mean?”

The Christmas carols playing in the background changed into a corporate jingle, and a mascot resembling a hamster walked in to the children’s delight.

“I was never just my parent’s child,” Gojo said, leaning sideways so she’d hear him above the noise. “Since the second I opened my eyes, I belonged completely to the clan. My mother and father had no right to decide things for me by themselves, and the elders controlled the amount of time we spent together. They thought they were preventing one party from having too much influence over me. Every decision, from my diet to my training was decided by voting. I wasn’t a child. I was a commodity. Now I’m doing the same to Megumi. Where he lives, how much allowance he gets, who sees him, and how he’s trained—we vote for it in Jujutsu High. There’s a committee that manages these things.  I can’t take him and Tsumiki in and raise them, but sometimes I wish I had more freedom to decide what’s best for them. I’m beginning to understand what my parents felt.”

Utahime spotted Megumi and Tsumiki at the edge of the crowd, the two of them standing on tiptoes to watch the mascot dance with two women in scanty Christmas outfits.

“You’re not close with them?” she asked.

Gojo shrugged. “Not really, but I guess things are better now. They fought the elders to have a say in some major factors in my life, like which branch of Jujutsu High I went to, but that’s when I was a teenager. The elders thought I was spoilt rotten by the clan and had to develop some kind of healthy attachment to them to grow a conscience.”

“Geez, I’m glad that crossed their minds.”

He elbowed her. “How about you?”

“I can’t say it’s as intense, but we’re still a family of sorcerers, so the usual problems came up,” she said. “Kazuo inherited one of the best that our clan technique had to offer. I spent most of my life trying to be as good as him. I think I’m still doing that, but it’s much better now thanks to Haruki.”

“I sensed he has cursed energy, but he’s like Ijichi.”

“Yeah, so you can imagine how that went down.” She waved over a woman who was carrying a box of snacks and bought a cup of coffee for herself and a cup of hot chocolate for Gojo. After a satisfying sip of the steaming coffee, she continued. “My parents were disappointed to the point that they almost neglected him. To be fair, they’re always busy, and our heritage and livelihoods kinda hinge on Kazuo being a successful sorcerer. So I was mostly left to raise Haruki. Things only got better between him and my parents after I left for Jujutsu High and Kazuo made a name for himself.”

Gojo removed the cover of his cup to let the beverage cool down a little. “Knowing all these, would you consider being a mother?”

Utahime squinted at him. “I’m not used to you asking such serious questions.”

“Why? I’m a very serious man.”

“You’re probably going to say something about me giving birth to alcohol-dependent babies.”

“We should sign you up for rehabilitation soon if you think it’s a possibility.”

She punched his thigh, and he jerked enough that his hot chocolate spilled a little on the bench. “I’m not that far gone yet. And I’m making sure my future children don’t come anywhere near you. You’ll just bribe them into calling you their favorite uncle.”

He scoffed. “Papa Gojo is more like it.”

“Like hell will you be Papa Gojo.”

“What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did you just call me ‘daddy’?”

“I’d rather hang myself than say that.”

“You mean hang on to me like you did yesterday?”

Utahime felt the blood rush to her face. She tried to kick his knee but he had turned on his Infinity.

“You blushin’?” he said with laughter in his voice. “I don’t mind cuddling again if my favorite senpai is feeling cold.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable.” She had to pull up her scarf to hide her face, especially when he brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone, as though to indicate that he was only joking. Yet it wasn’t entirely false,  and she had that coming after being so familiar with him in the supermarket last night. Never in her wildest dream did she imagine she’d behave that way, but letting him hold her had been so reassuring that she gave in. And to be frank, she wished she could have held onto him for much longer.

“Seriously, though, are you cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Utahime was scanning their surroundings to make sure they hadn’t bothered the nearby park-goers when a thought struck her. “Wait, do you actually want to be a father?”

“These excellent genes need to be passed down.”

“The face and the height, maybe. Everything else—no.”

“What are you talking about?” He motioned to his body.  “This entire package is a blessing to humanity. Besides, it’s easier for a male sorcerer to start a family. It’s the women who usually end up miserable.”

Utahime couldn’t take it anymore. He moved his arm around so much that the hot chocolate kept spilling.

“Gojo, you'll hurt yourself and stain your clothes. That’s such a nice sweater too.” She lowered her coffee between them and put the cover on his cup herself. Once secured, she picked up her coffee again. “And to answer your question, I’m not sure yet. I think if the circumstances are right, I might consider it. But that would mean giving up everything I’ve worked for my entire life and then risking the possibility that my children would die in the hands of some nasty curses.”

Gojo took a small sip of his hot chocolate, decided the temperature was right, and downed half of it. “Well, it’s in our blood.”

The crowd in the Christmas market had somehow multiplied while they were busy talking. Utahime grabbed Gojo’s wrist in her panic. “Hey, where’s Megumi and Tsumiki?”

They scanned the stream of people coming in and out of the stalls. After a minute, he spotted Megumi and Tsumiki exiting a shop with paper bags in their arms.

“Don’t worry.” He petted her hand to reassure her. “Half of my attention is on them.”

Utahime took the opportunity to study him while he was preoccupied with watching the kids. He was leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees, the cup hanging precariously from his thumb and middle finger. This might be the most mature and at peace she had ever seen him, and she found it oddly attractive.

“Megumi will be taking on missions as early as fifteen years old,” she said. “How would you feel if you lose him to a curse?”

Gojo didn’t move. She almost thought he wouldn’t respond, but then he brushed his hair back from his forehead and said, “I just hope I’ve made the world a better place for him by then.”

Tsumiki and Megumi emerged from the crowd and raced each other to the tree. Megumi was so fast, Gojo had to catch him before he collided with the bench, and Utahime likewise eased Tsumiki into a full stop by scooping her up by the waist and twirling her once, much to her glee.

Their paper bags had long been dropped and their contents spilled on the grass. Megumi kicked and punched so Gojo would let him go, but he evaded each move and pinned both of Megumi’s hands behind him.

“You fight like a kid,” Gojo said before letting him go.

“I am a kid!”

Gojo clapped his hand once, ignoring Megumi. “Alright, first up, Tsumiki! What did you buy?”

Tsumiki collected her purchases on the ground. She showed them the pink apron with the duckling print in front, and then the silver bracelet with charms that jingled around her wrist. Finally, she held up a round container to Utahime.

“What’s that for?” Gojo asked.

Tsumiki put the container in Utahime’s hand before lifting her leg to reveal the scar behind her calf. “I remember this hurt so much when I got it, and that cream is what the doctor gave me to make the pain go away. He gave me something else to make the scar disappear, but I said it was fine, because the scar made me look tough. Megumi, show Ms. Utahime yours!”

Megumi rolled up the sleeves of his coat and his sweatshirt. A thin, brown line from his elbow to his wrist marred his pale complexion.  “It’s okay now, but it kinda hurts when the weather is cold, so it’s good to use the cream.”

Utahime stared at the two children. They had been the first people since the incident to bring up her scar without any hesitation or guilt, and that alone made her weak with relief. Perhaps she had been wrong all along. It only hurt more to act like everything was the way it used to be when it clearly wasn’t. This was her new normal now. Her new face. Her new identity.

And that was fine.

She held the cream against her chest and gave them a shaky smile. “Thank you, but it doesn’t really hurt that much anymore. Remember Ms. Shoko? She healed the wound for me.”

“See?” Tsumiki hit Megumi’s arm lightly. “I told you not to worry. Ms. Utahime probably didn’t even cry when she got hurt.”

Megumi pouted a little. “Promise it’s not painful?”

“I promise,” Utahime said. Shoko had killed the nerve endings in the area of her injury, and the only pain Utahime really felt from it was in her mind.

“Okay!” Gojo exclaimed, diverting the attention from her. “Megumi, what did you buy? Is that another beef jerky? How are you even sure that Divine Dog likes those?”

The four of them stayed in the park until sunset, by which time both Megumi and Tsumiki were so tired, they fell asleep on the grass next to each other. Gojo offered to carry them both, but Utahime insisted that she could manage Tsumiki on her own.

So with Megumi passed out in Gojo’s arms and Tsumiki half-asleep and mumbling in Utahime’s, they began to make their way back to the apartment. She assumed that in a year, or maybe even just a few months, these two kids would grow so much, it wouldn’t be feasible to carry them like this anymore. So Utahime made sure to hold onto Tsumiki well and let her head rest on her shoulder, just so she would remember that even though she had no parent in her life, someone cared enough to carry her home like this once.

Gojo slipped his hand beneath her scarf to touch the back of her neck. “What are you thinking?”

Utahime peered at him above Tsumiki’s head. “My family will be raising Miyo’s child. He or she will be just like them.”

“So why so sad?”

She blinked back her tears. His reassuring grip on her didn’t help at all in suppressing her emotions. “I was sure before, but I’m even more sure now. I don’t regret getting this scar.”

They walked in silence in the sidewalks of Saitama under an orange sky.

For the first time since her attack, she felt like the world was right again.

Utahime stepped closer to Gojo and clutched the side of his sweater.

Not perfect, but right.

Chapter Text

It snowed heavily in February.

Utahime liked to watch the snow gather on the rooftops as she drank a can of beer on her window bay. What once was a cityscape brimming with color and light was now almost pure white. It had not snowed this heavily in Kyoto in a long time, and while she could not wait for summer, she also liked the quiet calm this winter brought.

She pulled her legs up and hugged them for warmth. The heater was already on blast, but she felt like she might have to wear socks and throw on a sweater soon. Twice now, she thought about changing and putting an effort for Gojo since it was still the evening of her twenty-fifth birthday, but she was too tired to move.

The staff at Jujutsu High connived with her students to surprise her with a small celebration. They ate and played games in one of the classrooms, and although there was no alcohol, she had such a good laugh with them that she might as well have been drunk on happiness.

The only reason she had to grab a can of beer as soon as she got home was because Gojo texted her during the party that he would be dropping by with food and a gift. He did not exactly say what time or if he would be coming alone. She just assumed this because if Shoko were tagging along, she would have texted her too. Besides, Shoko had greeted her in the wee hours of February eighteen like she always did, and her present already came in the mail two days ago.

Utahime checked her phone. It was nine-thirty. After a bit of dawdling over her beer, she booted up her laptop and got some work done while waiting.

It was at ten o’clock sharp that the doorbell rang. Utahime set her reading glasses aside and opened the door.

Gojo stood outside with snow on his hair and the shoulders of his puffer jacket. Even with his blindfold on, she could tell that his eyes were fixed elsewhere, looking at something above her head but not really seeing. There had been so few times that she had seen Gojo this way that it unsettled her, and she couldn’t scold him or say anything witty to break the ice.

After a few more seconds of awkward silence, he pushed the door wider and squeezed past her to enter the apartment with the bags of food he promised. Lowering them on the coffee table, he collapsed on her couch and did not move. He did not even remove his jacket or his shoes.

“Hey, this isn’t your house, you know?” Utahime stood in front of the couch with her arms on her hips. “Gojo?”

With his back turned to her, he fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. “Happy birthday. What are you today, thirty-five?”

She snatched the necklace from him. “Twenty-five.”

“You should probably reheat the food.” He reached back to grab her wrist. “Sorry, Utahime. I just need to take a nap.”

She winced at his icy fingers. Reaching inside her pocket, she produced two hand warmers and wrapped his fingers around them. “Better?”

“Yup.” He pulled his hand back while clutching the packets of warmers.

She took the bags of food to the kitchen and sifted through them. There were three boxes of Pad Thai, two boxes of Chinese egg fried rice with Kung Pao Chicken, and two containers of Greek salad. The last box was a birthday cake with a written greeting, and of course, the candles were thirty-five instead of twenty-five.

Utahime could imagine Gojo making calls to three different managers to have all these food ordered for him, or else he had Ijichi hop from one restaurant to another. Gojo wasn’t the type to do so himself unless he was getting desserts, and if it were up to him, he’d have either traditional Japanese or Italian food.

She peered at his sleeping figure on the couch before heating the Pad Thai on the pan. Once done, she transferred everything onto a plate and tossed one container of Greek Salad into a bowl.

It was now eleven in the evening and Gojo still hadn’t moved.

Utahime placed the food and the eating utensils on the coffee table, sat on the edge of the couch next to his knees, and shook his arm. “Hey.”

His breathing had evened out, and the more she leaned in, the better she saw the pallidness of his complexion and the dark lines around his eyes. It took no more than a quick check on Jujutsu HQ’s portal to see that he just returned from four consecutive days of exorcising curses. Utahime was about to close her laptop when she felt the urge to check on the Tokyo students’ mission log.

With a couple of clicks she saw, on the updates list five hours ago, that the freshmen’s latest mission had been completed by Gojo, and the students’ names were highlighted in red.

Swallowing hard, Utahime picked up her phone and went into her bedroom. Shoko answered her call at once.

“Gojo’s students died?”

“All three of them,” she said. “I just finished with their bodies. How did you know?”

Utahime hunched over her knees with her head in her hand. “He’s here. Sleeping on my couch. I thought it was just because he was tired from work, and then I checked the mission logs. Are you alright, Shoko?”

Drawers opening and closing. Papers rustling. “Sure. I’m just about used to it by now.”

“What went wrong?”

“The usual. It was a grade one curse, not a semi-grade two. The students were grade two sorcerers caught in an ambush.”

“And Gojo was away?”

“He’s been finding ways to keep his students from being sent out in those kinds of missions. We all want to do it the standard way, with instructors like you on standby outside the veil.”

Utahime knew what she meant. Every time her students were sent out on missions, she tagged along to facilitate any necessary retreat or intervention. The first few missions were always tricky, and she had gotten injured plenty of times saving her students. If this small action had decreased the student death toll in the Kyoto branch, then surely with an instructor as strong as Gojo, the results would have been better in the Tokyo branch.

“’What is Yaga doing?” she asked.

“Yaga’s hands are tied. There are just too many curses here after the holidays. Winter blues are too real.” Shoko yawned. “Anyway, don’t worry too much about Gojo, senpai. He’s not the emotional type, but I bet this got to him a bit because he’s exhausted. Let’s not ruin your birthday.”

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"As okay as I can ever be. Thanks for always checking in on us."

Utahime ended the call and took the necklace out of her pocket. She was so worried for him that she didn’t even take the time to appreciate the birthday present he got her.

Under the weak light of her bedside lamp, she studied the infinity pendant that hung on a thin silver chain. She wondered if he gave this to her out of pure narcissism or the fact that the last time she drunk-dialed him, she mentioned that she wanted his Infinity.

She put the necklace on and stood in front of the couch again, wondering what to do with Gojo. The reheated food had long been transferred to airtight containers and stored in her fridge. The only thing she could think of was to help him get comfortable, except she wasn’t sure how.

“Stop overthinking things,” she muttered to herself and got started on his shoes. She undid the laces of his leather shoes and slipped them off. Squeezing his socked feet, she realized he must still be cold, so she took out her electric blanket. Only the blanket didn’t even reach his shoulders.

Damn tall person.

She produced another blanket from her bedroom and put it over him. It was tempting to leave his blindfold on, but she worried he might get uncomfortable later in the night, so she slipped it off his head. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead to check if he was feverish. He had grown warmer since he entered her apartment, and he had not stirred at all with the contact.

Utahime let her fingers brush back the hair that had fallen over his brows. How come this idiot had such fine hair? He probably had a professional do his hair weekly. Even with all the products she used on hers, it was never this soft and tangle-free.

Gingerly, she grazed her fingers against his cheek. Asleep like this, he looked nothing like a sorcerer capable of killing special-grade curses with just a blast of his cursed energy. He was just twenty-two, not really a child anymore, but still too young to have seen and done everything that everyone expected of him.

She crouched beside him and pressed her forehead on his back. It was a wonder that he was still sane, at least in the sense that he was rational and had a reliable moral compass. Sometimes, she worried that he’d reach his breaking point and that nobody but her was keeping watch.

Utahime woke up to the sound of the morning news and the pan sizzling. She dashed to her bedroom door, ready to apprehend the intruder she had pictured in her still-hazy mind, and saw only Gojo’s back in the kitchen.

The events of the previous night crashed on her at last, and for a second, she didn’t know what to think. Gojo was in her apartment cooking, and he would probably overstay his welcome. Not that she minded, but if she had only thought this through better, she would have cleaned her apartment more meticulously and maybe bought indoor slippers that fit him.

She changed into an oversized shirt and fleece-lined leggings and made a beeline for the bathroom while making as little noise as possible. Putting on her bunny headband, she sped through her morning skincare routine and brushed her teeth.

The sweet, nutty fragrance of the Pad Thai soon reached her, making her stomach grumble. After a second, she picked up another scent. Hints of caramel and something smokey. She hurried out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to see how he was doing.

Gojo glanced at her over his shoulder. “Look who’s one year older and aging rapidly.”

She stood beside him and glared at the Pad Thai he was stirring on the pan. “You’re overdoing it.”

“What?”

“You'll overcook it. Just go make coffee.” She nudged him aside and took the wooden spoon from him. “I bet your back aches. You barely fit in my couch.”

He found the coffee filter in one of the drawers and took out the can of ground coffee. “I slept like a baby. An overheated baby, but I slept, so that’s what matters. Were you trying to fry me or something?”

“I was making sure you were comfortable.”

“Ah, I thought you were just trying to get me to strip.”

“Gojo, you pervert. Even a stray cat won’t want to see you naked.”

“So you’ve imagined me naked.”

She turned to him with her nose wrinkled in disgust.

He wrapped his arms around himself and stepped away from her. “Stop looking at me like that. I feel exposed.”

“You’re fully clothed!”

“It’s too early for naughty things, Utahime-senpai,” he said in a whiny voice.

Utahime tried to hit him with the wooden spoon, but he was too fast for her. “Next time, I’m strangling you in your sleep.”

“Utahime-senpai has a violent kink.”

"I don't have a violent kink."

"There's no need to deny it. I can sense it in you."

“For once, can you please behave yourself?”

He smirked at her as he grabbed two coffee mugs. “Or what? You’ll spank me?”

She turned off the stove and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Gojo, shut up and set the dining table before I kick you out.”

The two of them ate their breakfasts with their chairs inclined towards the television. The morning news covered updates about the traffic, the weather, and some new innovations in commercial heaters thought up by college students.

Gojo had long tuned out and focused on the newspaper, bringing the pages so close to his face one would think he was near-sighted.

Utahime sipped her coffee while watching him. What could be so interesting that he was basically making out with the newspaper?

“Six months’ time. Grade one curse.” He folded the newspaper around a certain article and passed it to her. “Patient attacks his doctor. The doctor has been sued for malpractice numerous times. Eight deaths in that clinic. Better keep an eye out for your students.”

She scanned the article. “Do you normally do this?”

“The formation of curses is predictable to some degree. For the past seven months, I’ve had Ijichi and an assistant supervisor track cases like those that appear in the newspaper. Sixty-two percent of the time, our predictions turned out correct.” He took a huge bite of the cake and skipped the Pad Thai altogether. “The more heinous the crime and the history of a place, the stronger the curse. The more fear that develops around that place, the better the birthing ground for more curses, or for letting the curse evolve to a higher grade. The same goes for problematic areas in both Tokyo and Kyoto.”

Utahime nodded and wrapped her hand around her coffee. “Gojo, I know about your students. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Jujutsu HQ won’t bother with prevention since the government won’t pay if there’s no threat. The bigger the threat, the tighter the hold the Jujutsu society has over the country. They treat these deaths like a reminder to those sitting in power that we’re needed. We’re dying for the weak. The government cashes out and Jujutsu HQ does its due diligence in assigning the correct curse user to exorcise the curse.”

She had lost her appetite. They all knew this. At the end of the day, Jujutsu High was a business, and the higher-ups had to feed their greed for money and influence. The sorcerers needed to earn a living to protect the weak, and the weak would always need protection.

Gojo ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “You talk about such depressing stuff, Utahime. We should be having fun and celebrating your birthday.”

She kicked him under the table. “I wasn’t the one making a speech. And just in case you forget, that doesn’t make our job pointless. We’re the only ones standing between the next generation and the people who will do everything to take advantage of them. Got that?”

Gojo shivered. “You’re so scary when you’re like that. I bet your students are terrified of you.”

“They should be. Clownery won’t get us anywhere.”

“I’ll say I’m the exception to the rule.” He reached forward and touched the pendant sitting between her collarbones. “Like it?”

She tucked her chin to see the necklace. “Yeah, it’s just my style.”

“I wanted something that would remind you of me.”

“Gojo, you send me selfies every other day.”

He cut his slice of cake in half and pushed the smaller one onto her plate. “Yeah, but that one sits closer to the heart. Besides, I killed a grade three curse just to have the money to buy that.”

“Gee, thanks. How did you exorcise that poor curse? Said ‘boo’ to it?”

“Nah, I did this.” Gojo lifted his cup of coffee to his lips and winked at her.

Utahime slid down her seat while pinching the bridge of her nose. “Somebody kill me already.”

They spent the rest of the morning in relative peace and quiet. Utahime kept the sports channel on the in background while she vacuumed the apartment and tossed her laundry in the washer. Gojo returned after two hours of shopping with a change of clothes and some toiletries. She should have confronted him about the number of clothes and personal hygiene kits he bought but chose not to, as she didn’t want to be teased about making assumptions. Instead, she asked about the abundance of snacks he stacked in her pantry. She would’ve been upset with all the sweets she saw if not for the beer and the salty chips he shoved at her face to shut her up.

In the afternoon, Gojo and Utahime took turns using her laptop to log into the Jujutsu HQ portal to finish some reports. She was wiping down the kitchen when she saw that he had put on her bunny headband to keep his hair away from his eyes. He sat hunched over her coffee table, typing away at her laptop with one leg folded against his chest. He kept around four juice boxes nearby while he worked, and she wondered whether he was dealing with a serious sugar addiction.

When it was her turn to use the laptop, Gojo put his clothes in the washer and played games on his phone. He answered a couple of calls too, the first being from Hanabi, who briefed him on her latest dealings. At one point, he put her on loudspeaker as he minded the washer, and Utahime could hear their conversation from the living room.

“Satoru, read your emails. I need the contracts approved by tonight.”

“Ah-huh.”

“Are you listening?”

“Didn’t the elders die in a fire recently?”

“Unfortunately, no. I had a really pleasant dream about that the other night, though,” she said.

“Well, dreams do come true, so fingers crossed.”

A few minutes later, a call came from Megumi, who sounded like he needed help with releasing all the rabbits he had summoned. Gojo used a firm tone on him without being discouraging, and he only dropped the call once Megumi succeeded.

“Megumi’s training hard?” Utahime asked once Gojo returned to the living room.

He dropped on the couch beside her and put his feet up on the coffee table. “He’s beginning to sense the rest of his Shikigami, but unlike Divine Dog and the rabbits, they all need to be tamed first. It’ll take some time.”

Utahime submitted her last report for the week on the Jujutsu HQ portal and closed her laptop. “I bet the Zenin will try to entice him into joining them once he’s older.”

“That’s his decision to make.” Gojo transferred her laptop to the coffee table, placed a pillow on her lap, and lay his head on it. “I doubt everyone will want him as head, though, what with my influence over him. How’s Haruki and Kazuo?”

Utahime leaned back on the couch and combed his hair with her fingers. The strands were even softer now that he had showered, and for some reason, the repetitive motion soothed her. “Haruki’s in the baseball team of his high school.”

“What position?”

“He’s already their star pitcher.”

“Does he wanna go pro?” he asked.

“Maybe not. He doesn’t like the attention.”

“And Kazuo?”

Utahime rubbed her fingers in circles on his scalp. “I think Kazuo has a boyfriend.”

Gojo chuckled. “Called it.”

“Really?”

“Told you it was romantic when we held hands.”

“Ah, well, I thought you just liked hitting on everyone.” She gave his hair a light squeeze. “Still tired?”

“Don’t stop.” He yawned and stretched out on the couch as much as the space would allow him.

Utahime felt her eyelids grow heavier the longer she played with Gojo’s hair. As she was falling asleep, she reminded herself to talk to Gojo about this. Over a year now of seeing each other regularly and spending holidays with Megumi and Tsumiki. Chatting in the mornings and talking to each other on the phone for hours in the evening. Knowing intimate and trivial details about each other’s lives.

Now the two of them were in her apartment, his head on her lap, her hand in his hair, his arm draped over her knees. Eating together and falling asleep on the couch like this.

She was happy, yes, but she had to know.

Where was this going?

Gojo stayed until Sunday, but they didn’t lounge in her apartment like she wanted to. On his insistence, they went to the Nishiki market to eat some sweet potatoes and roasted chestnuts. The two of them stood on the side of one of the stalls as they bit small portions of their food and watched people stream past them.

Utahime had no idea how Gojo managed to eat so fast considering the sweet potatoes were incredibly hot. She took her time nibbling off the top, coping with the heat by breathing through her mouth and rolling back and forth on her heels while she ate. Beside her, Gojo munched nonstop, saying ‘hot, hot, hot’ but still going like time was running out. He finished his sweet potato with a satisfying sigh, wrapped his hands around hers, lifted the sweet potato to his mouth, and took a huge bite.

If only Utahime hadn’t been busy chewing, she’d have yelled at him already. Gojo didn’t even realize that he had pissed her off. He kept using her hands as a buffer against the heat so he could eat faster. In the end, she let him, because she knew by now that there were only a few things in life he enjoyed more than eating his favorite food.

He turned to her once he was down to the last bite. “Are you gonna eat this?”

She glowered at him. “What do you think?”

Without breaking eye contact, he put the sweet potato in his mouth and grinned.

They spent a while scanning each stall and trying out the vast variety of snacks offered there. If Gojo liked something, he’d buy one for her too, and she’d force herself to eat it even if it didn’t suit her taste. In return, he let her talk on and on about work without teasing her, only interrupting when he wanted her to take a bite out of the meat skewer or bun he was enjoying.

The number of tourists in the market doubled at one point, and Gojo held her arm so they would not get separated in the crowd. It was a firm but comfortable grip, and he mostly stayed behind her to shield her from the push and shove of the shoppers.

“So, how’s Principal Gakuganji? Isn’t he too old to still be working?” he asked as he steered them towards another aisle because a group of American tourists was passing by.

“He’s…” Utahime bit her lower lip. Principal Gakuganji was of retirement age, but she didn’t have the heart to speak badly about her superiors. “He gets the job done. And you know what the Kyoto branch is like. Everything is more conservative.”

He scanned their surroundings while he chewed. After swallowing, he exhaled sharply and said, “Come back to Tokyo.”

She looked up at him, startled. “What?”

“The Kyoto branch is too conservative for you.”

“I believe in conservative values.”

“Not to the extent that they do.” He peered around the corner to check if the tourists had gone and the main aisle was no longer brimming with people. “I can get you back there in two months tops. Shoko will be thrilled, and the two of you can get drunk every night. I know that’s like a dream of yours.”

They returned to the main aisle and followed behind the tourists, who were now exiting the market.

“Gojo, I can’t just leave Kyoto. I have friends here and my students need me,” she said. “Besides, you were the one who told me to transfer to Kyoto, remember?”

“It was advantageous at the time, but not anymore. There’s a shift in Jujutsu High’s management, and Gakuganji isn’t really my favorite guy.”

Ahead of them, a family of four was laughing along with a few vendors. Three stalls down, a group of Chinese tourists inspected the food that the vendors were cooking.

Gojo and Utahime squeezed past the shoppers while being careful not to knock down any of the nearby merchandise. He lowered his grip from her elbow to her wrist, pulling her in front of him and using his shoulder to shield her every time men passed by them in narrow aisles.

"But you don't like any of the higher-ups."

"Gakuganji has a special place in the dark, dark side of my heart."

“He’s been good to me, and I have no complaints about him doing things by the book.” She looked down at his left hand, which he had placed on her waist.

Should she tell him? She had no idea he had such an aversion to Gakuganji until now, and she didn’t want to upset him so much since his students just died. She already knew that this would be a point of contention between them, but she had hoped that it would only be because she was making a drastic decision.

Utahime slipped her arm inside his coat so she could cling to his waist. If she told him in public while holding him like this, would their impending argument be less explosive? They had never really fought before. Not seriously, anyway. She worried that she might not be able to handle Gojo when he was truly mad.

Utahime couldn't help but frown. This was getting too complicated, and they hadn't even discussed the nature of their relationship.

“Gakuganji is not just a principal like Yaga. He’s one of those mean clan leaders with lots of decisive power,” Gojo said.

“I’m aware.”

“You are and you aren’t.”

She pulled them into the small space between two stalls. “What does that mean?”

“It’s safer if you aren’t involved with any of the higher-ups. They’re messed up.”

“I can take care of myself, Gojo.”

He pursed his lips like he was getting ready to debate her, but he gave her a disgusted look instead. “You’re not into older guys, right? I mean, at least not the wrinkly type.”

She pinched his waist, which caused him to giggle instead of wince. “You asshole. He’s in his seventies.”

“Good, ‘cause I was getting kinda nervous back there.”

She stepped away from him, but he pulled her back with a laugh.

“Aw, don’t be upset. Okay, tell me one of your lame jokes and I promise not to make fun of you,” he said.

“My jokes aren’t lame.” Utahime let him hold her by his side again, but she kept her head turned away from him. “You just don’t have a good sense of humor.”

“Give it a shot. It might be good today.”

“What do you get if you’re inducted into the serial killer hall of fame?”

“Utahime, why are all your jokes about serial killers? That’s the third one this week," he said.

“Just answer the question!”

“I don’t know, but make it good.”

“A lifetime dismembership.”

Gojo glared at her. “This is why I want you to go back to Tokyo.”

Light snowfall greeted them when they exited the market and stood under the awning of a coin locker. The temperature had dropped considerably, and Utahime could feel the cuts and bruises she had been hiding throb beneath her clothes. Her throat, too, ached from overuse, so she put on her mask and pulled her scarf up over her mouth.

Gojo also appeared chilly, because as soon as they were in the streets again, he began shuffling his feet and raising his shoulders to his ears. Utahime rolled her eyes, as he was underdressed for the weather here in Kyoto, and she pulled out warm packets and a pair of earmuffs from her bag.

She passed on the warm packets to him and motioned for him to bow his head. Even with him bent on his waist, however, she still had to stand on tiptoes to put the earmuffs on him.

“Better?” she asked.

He stepped closer to her and buried his face in her scarf. “Better.”

“You okay?”

“Just give me a moment.”

Utahime hesitated before patting his back in what she hoped was a soothing manner. She wondered whether, by ‘better’, he was referring to the cold or the effect that his students’ deaths had on him. Maybe even both. All she really knew to do was be there for him, because it seemed lately that he needed more and more for someone to notice that he could get tired too.

If he only knew how much she cared, then he’d surely understand what she was doing with Principal Gakuganji.

Chapter Text

Hanabi Gojo sat cross-legged on an armchair in her pink yukata, twirling a strand of her pink-dyed hair around her finger while reviewing documents on her laptop. She smelled of lavender and herbs, and her skin was still flush from having just come out of the hot spring.

She had requested to meet him in her family’s onsen in Kyoto instead of their clan estate. In usual Hanabi fashion, she had the entire facility closed to the public for their arrival and the staff heeding their every beck and call. Well, mostly hers. Gojo only asked for an additional slice of cake for his dessert.

Frankly, the extravagance of it all was ridiculous to him, but only because he wasn’t willing to play the game. Hanabi, on the other hand, thrived in it. She knew that as a Gojo, she had to maintain the image of a woman drowning in excessive lavishness and narcissism. Doing so achieved two things. First, it reminded people of their status in society. Second, it made everybody believe that she was nothing more than a rotten brat with a pretty face.

“It’s so much easier to win when your enemies underestimate you,” Hanabi told him once after leaving a meeting dominated by men.

Gojo stretched out on the reclining chair next to hers, crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them in place. He had just taken a dip in the hot spring himself, and although he was exhausted, he could not sleep. He was normally able to nap in the time it took Hanabi to finish reading everything he sent her, but now his eyes were wide open and his mind was racing.

For once, he was actually worried about Hanabi’s feedback.

“I never thought you’d be the type to use your influence like this.” She hit the down button on the keyboard several times. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re beginning to understand the extent of your power. Just don’t get overly enthusiastic about it.”

“I’d give it up if it means never speaking to the elders or any of the higher-ups in Jujutsu High again.”

She reached sideways at him and patted him blindly. “Hey.”

“What?”

She turned the laptop on the table so he could see the screen. “Utahime Iori?”

“What about her?”

“Are sure about this? It’s the second time.”

Gojo tipped his head back and tried to get comfortable. “It wouldn’t be there if I weren’t.”

Hanabi skimmed the document again. “Satoru, would you like to discuss this with her first?”

“Hana, I don’t question your decisions, so don’t question mine.”

“I only care because you obviously like her. The first time you requested me to file this, I thought maybe it was purely professional,” she said.

“From a purely professional standpoint, my decision makes sense.”

Hanabi closed the laptop and walked over to the mini-fridge. “But your relationship with her isn’t purely professional, is it? Imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I won’t be able to get her to return to Tokyo if have this argument with her first.”

She tossed him a bottle of water. “There are so many things I need to discuss with you about this.”

“Please don’t start. I'm too zen to be scolded.” Gojo finished the entire bottle with an exaggerated sigh of contentment to drive his point across.

She stood in front of him with her arms crossed, in one of her hands a bottle of hard cider. He could tell by the way she swung her hip to one side and tilted her chin up that he was going to get a scolding anyway.

After a few tense moments, however, Hanabi merely shrugged.

“Why should I waste my breath? It’s not like she’ll want to be with you once she finds out what it’ll mean for her. At least I hope she’s not that crazy. You do intend to discuss it with her, right? Because if you’re sleeping together—"

Gojo held his hands up to stop her. “I’ll talk to her.”

Hanabi pointed the bottom of the hard cider bottle at his face. “I’m still your psuedo-fiancé. Don’t make a mess that I’ll have to clean up for you, okay?”

He moved the bottle aside as he stood. “Maybe don’t get knocked up by your boyfriend while we’re engaged. Have you considered what your baby with him will look like? Stubby nose and droopy eyes?”

Hanabi giggled as she reseated herself on the armchair, her hair hanging at the back. “Hideki does have the most ridiculous combination of eyes and nose.”

“So why him?”

“He’s rich and he’s funny,” she said with a smile. “If shit hits the fan and you die—which means the Gojo clan might be done for considering the number of people that will want us dead to eradicate the chances of the Six Eyes reappearing—I have a backup plan. I can secure the bloodline from a safe distance. Utahime is doing the exact opposite.”

He originally wanted to stay over, but the talk of babies and relationships had dampened the atmosphere of the onsen for him. He also didn’t want to go to his clan estate and butt heads with the people there on a Friday night. It was only recently that Jujutsu High had started honoring his weekends, and a lot of that was thanks to Yaga, who primarily did this because he also didn’t want to deal with Gojo on his days off. Not that this was a certainty, but with the scale of the assignments he had been taking on recently, he would take any opportunity for rest that he could.

Gojo considered simply transferring to the farthest room in the onsen from hers, but he knew Hanabi would find a way to hound him again in the morning. She claimed it was none of her business, but that was exactly what she did best—make his business hers. And if he was being totally honest with himself, he just didn’t want to doubt his decisions, or even feel bad about the matter with Utahime right now.

The first time he did this to Utahime was two years ago, and Hanabi was correct. He did it mostly for professional reasons. Now he comforted himself with the fact that the same decision was still sound from a professional standpoint, even if it would hurt her personally.

It would also be an argument he would have to be strategic about, as he had never been in any serious fights with Utahime before. The closest to a real fight they had ever had was about baseball, when he said that Hideki Matsui was better than Ichiro Suzuki, and she recited Suzuki’s accomplishments off the top of her head to prove him wrong. Even then, she felt bad for yelling at him too much and bought him sweet dumplings.

He wondered whether this was the one thing that would push her to the edge, and how bad it would make him feel to upset her so.

But that was all in the distant future. By any luck, there wouldn’t be any need to tell her at all.

Once he was in the Shijo Karasuma area, he took out his phone and called Utahime. The last of the winter chill could still be felt in the air, but the temperature was more bearable now, and he found himself looking forward to Spring here.

“Gojo?”

“You home?”

He heard the faucet squeak as she turned it. The sound of the water in the background stopped.

“Are you coming over again?”

“I’m on my way now.”

“You can at least tell me in advance,” she said.

“That’s why I called.”

“Maybe days in advance. Not minutes.”

Gojo crossed the street. He could already see her building at the end of the block. “But then you’ll be so worked up with excitement to see me.”

“You’re not Ichiro Suzuki.”

“Ichiro Suzuki won’t want to come to your cramped apartment.”

“If it’s so cramped, then don’t come here.”

“Too late. I’m almost there.”

He heard a distant sigh and the echo of his surroundings from her end. She had put him on speakerphone, and he picked up the sound of the fridge opening.

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked.

He already ate, but he liked it when she fussed over him. “Can you make curry rice?”

“You like it with more honey, right?”

Gojo stopped. He retraced his steps and turned to the right. The flower shop was just about to close, but the lady behind the counter stopped minding the till to look at him, as though to ask if he was interested in buying anything.

“I gotta go.” He ended the call and entered the shop. It was a pastel-colored space with gilded mirrors and glass vases. A soft, piano instrumental played in the background, and the woman stepped out from behind the counter to assist him.

“Are you buying flowers for your girlfriend?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m just about to head over to her place to have dinner.” Gojo studied the variation of roses on display. He’d go for red, but he didn’t think she liked anything too flashy and upfront. “I thought I’d buy her flowers because she’s cooking for me after she had a busy day at work. Also, she has a bad temper.”

The woman raised her fingers to her mouth as she giggled. “That’s so sweet. Women only really make that effort for men they love. I’m sure she’s going to appreciate the flowers. You don’t like the roses?”

He picked up a peony, felt the petals with his fingers, and then put it back down. Not this. Not the sunflowers either. “I need something sturdier in case she decides to hit me with it.”

“Oh.” She glanced around the room. “We have carnations in multiple colors. I can make you a bouquet in red and pink. They’re pretty sturdy and can last up to three weeks with proper care.”

He walked over to the group of vases she pointed him to. He smiled. It was perfect.

Gojo stopped in front of Utahime’s door. He almost winced at how cliché he looked, standing there with a fresh bouquet, too hesitant to knock. He knew exactly what he’d feel once she opened that door. Relief and longing. A nagging desire to touch her skin and kiss her senseless. But he had to be sensible about this and move at a reasonable pace. They weren’t even an official couple yet—mainly due to their unspoken hesitation to put a label on it—and keeping their relationship was already hard enough. Sure, they talked every day, but one of them usually fell asleep in the middle of the conversation, or else there was not a lot to talk about except work. Not that they couldn’t think of anything else more interesting, but because their work dominated their lives, and there were so few people to talk to about it.

That was another thing, too. Gojo wanted to make sure that she talked about her missions and her encounters with other sorcerers. He needed to know what was running through her mind, especially now that she was working closely with the very people that could make one’s resolve in the Jujutsu world waver.

The last thing he wanted was for her to deteriorate like Suguru.

If she would only move back to Tokyo, then it would be easier for him to look out for her in an official capacity. To make sure she wouldn’t break under the pressure of being a sorcerer and being with him, because truth be told, Hanabi was correct. She would be crazy to want this if she truly understood what it would mean for her.

The door opened, and bright light from inside spilled into the corridor. Utahime stood in the gap with an apron over her oversized cream sweater and black leggings, frowning at him. “How long are you going to stand there? The food will get cold.”

“For you.” He passed the bouquet to her as he entered her apartment. The scent of curry hit him at once, and he felt the beginning of hunger pangs clawing at his stomach. This would only be his second meal of the day, and the first had been just three hours earlier. No wonder he was starving.

“The lady assured me that it’s strong enough to withstand a woman’s bad temper." He raised his arm reflexively when she moved, thinking that she might just hit him with the bouquet as he predicted. Instead, she cradled the bouquet in her arms with a soft smile on her face.

“Utahime, you okay?”

She looked up at him. “Huh?”

“Those aren’t edible, so stop staring at them like you’re about to eat them.”

“You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?” She stomped past him while ripping apart the wrapper. Retrieving a ceramic vase from under the sink, she filled it with water and put the carnations inside. Then she stepped back to study them. “They’re so beautiful.”

“Of course they are. They’re pricey. Those were shipped from abroad.”

Her smile disappeared in an instant. “What? Do you want me to reimburse you?”

“The curry rice is enough repayment.” He took a sit and stirred the meat and vegetables with the steaming rice. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

She undid her apron and sat across from him. “Gojo, thank you for the flowers. It’s been a long time since I've received one.”

The rice and meat slipped from Gojo’s spoon as he was about to put it into his mouth. “Who gave you flowers before?”

Utahime added a dollop of honey to her tea. “Well, when I moved back here, I had this childhood friend who reconnected with me and asked me out. And then there was this manager who—”

He held his hand up to stop her. “Don’t give me too many details.”

“You asked.”

Gojo chewed his food slowly. He knew Utahime was popular with men, but it hadn't quite crossed his mind that she actually entertained them. “So why didn’t you end up with them?”

Utahime stirred her tea as she thought about it. “I don’t know. They were boring? Too nice? And I guess they don’t really understand what it’s like to be a sorcerer. Then, when I became an instructor, it was a whole other ballgame. It’s different from just exorcising curses. Some people can't fathom doing that while also raising a new generation of sorcerers. They're not messed up enough to grasp it."

“Sounds like what you need is therapy, not a boyfriend.”

“That’s rich coming from someone like you.” She leaned over the table to pick a piece of rice from the corner of his mouth. “Gojo, you’re such a messy eater.”

“Only when I’m enjoying the food." He was about to say something more when Utahime put the piece of rice in her mouth and left the table.

“Want tea?” she asked.

He pressed his knuckles against his lips and grunted in response. More than anything, he wanted her to stop being so oblivious to the effect he had on her. How could she expect him to have self-control when she did things like those so innocently?

“Utahime.”

“What?”

“Transfer to Tokyo.”

She set the electric kettle to boil and turned around with her arms crossed. “This again?”

“Jujutsu HQ is sending me out on more and more business trips. My students need someone to take my place while I’m out, and you’re the only person I can think of who’ll do the job well.”

Utahime shut her eyes for a moment, obviously conflicted. “I would if I could, but now isn’t the best time.”

“Why?”

“I want to be a grade one sorcerer, among other things. I just got recommended for it, and I’m sure I’m going to nail it this time.”

Gojo walked over to her. He stopped when they were only a foot apart and he was basically looming over her small stature. It was in moments like this that he became painfully aware of the huge difference in their powers. Even with just their physique in consideration, Utahime would be easy to break. Too easy. It would take a grade one sorcerer or curse no longer than a second to snap her neck. Even less if they were special grade like him.

“From one sorcerer to another, tell me this: are you that desperate to die?”

Utahime stared up at him, undaunted. “You think I can’t handle grade one curses.”

“Your skills aren’t suitable for assignments like those. If you had Kazuo’s skills, then maybe you have a chance. But your specific technique puts you at a disadvantage on the battlefield.”

“I’m working on those disadvantages,” she said.

“How?”

“I’d tell you but I don’t need the discouragement.”

Gojo bent down to her height and placed his hand on the counter behind her. “You do understand that I’m your superior in Jujutsu High, right?”

She pulled her head back a little but continued to frown at him.  “If you put it that way, then I can say this is sexual harassment.”

“I’m sure HR won’t see it that way.”

“I’ve got friends in HR,” she said.

“Who all have a crush on me.”

“Your ego infuriates me.”

“And yet you’re not pushing me away.”

She turned around to unplug the electric kettle and bring out the chawan bowl. “Pass me the Hojicha.”

Gojo retrieved the tin can from the cabinet to his right and placed it next to the kettle. She scooped a spoonful of Hojicha powder into the chawan bowl and dissolved it in hot water. With a chasen, she whisked the tea until foam formed on top.

“Gojo,” she said, holding the chawan bowl out to him. “I know you mean well, but you can’t stretch yourself thin trying to protect everyone. You have to start trusting other people too. Maybe have a little faith in me.”

“Utahime, I trust you, I just don’t agree with you.”

“What exactly do you want to happen?”

He took the bowl from her and set it aside. “Move back to Tokyo.”

“We’re talking in circles now.” She stepped around him but then stopped to face him again. “Do you even care about what I want?”

The question struck him. He rubbed his knuckles against his forehead briefly. “Okay, what do you want?”

“I want to stop arguing with you.” She motioned to the bowl. ”And drink your tea.”

Gojo leaned on the sink and took careful sips of the Hojicha.

She took her cup from the table and perched on the counter across from him. “Are you staying over?”

He shrugged. “Do you want me to?”

“I know you’d rather stay here than in your fancy estate with your clan.”

“Just tell me if you want me over or not.”

Utahime blinked up at him with her cup raised halfway to her mouth. There was a look of alarm in her eyes, something he had learned to recognize after spending so much time with her. “Are you upset?”

“No.”

“Then stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” He was, and he wasn't subtle about it too. Gojo couldn't help it when she was being a tad bit mean to him, mainly because he knew it tugged on her heartstrings.

“Why do I have to say it when it’s obvious? I even cooked for you.” When he didn’t respond to her, she put her tea aside and stood in front of him with her hands on her waist. “Alright. Please stay over. Happy?”

He put his sunglasses on his head and squinted at her. “Without the sass.”

Utahime rolled her eyes.

“I’m waiting.”

Gojo thought she’d hit him and walk away, and that would be the end of it. He had always been more direct with his feelings, and that was fine with him. Utahime just had a different way of showing her affection, and he had grown to like the way she blushed whenever he teased her to reciprocate verbally. Frankly, that was all he intended to do. Tease her. But the mere fact that she hadn’t yelled or walked out made him raise his eyebrow at her in question.

She shifted her weight from one leg to another, her gaze glued to the floor, worrying her lower lip like she was being forced to confess to a crime.

“Hey.” He grazed the tip of her nose with the nook of his forefinger. “I’m joking, you know?”

“I’m sorry if I make it sound like I don’t want you here.” She cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck, still unable to look up. “I actually sleep better when you’re around. Makes me feel safe. I also didn't mean to be grumpy. I'm just tired from work."

Gojo stared at her with his mouth open.

Her entire face turned red. “Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“You always look at me all weird when I say something nice to you.”

He did have the tendency to do that. While he liked it when Utahime touched him, he found a different kind of pleasure in hearing her say how she felt about him.

He brushed his fingers down her hair and rubbed the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, I won’t report you to HR if you kiss me.”

“No. You just ate curry rice.”

“The cheek is fine too.”

“You’re going to turn your head if I kiss you on the cheek.”

He removed his sunglasses altogether and presented his face to her with a grin. “I swear I won’t.”

“Says the pervert.” Utahime stepped forward and slammed her hands on either side of his face. The sheer force of the action stunned him, and when she pulled him down, he thought she would really do it. Kiss him on the lips just because she felt sorry for their argument. He had half the mind to grab her shoulders to stop her, not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t trust himself to stop. His willpower wasn’t so reliable when he was exhausted from work, and he literally just had fantasies about making out with her prior to coming here.

Utahime turned his head to the side. “Don’t move.”

She leaned in to peck his cheek, but he turned his head as soon as she got near. She tightened her hold on his face to stop him. “Gojo!”

He puckered his lips, making kissing sounds to annoy her, but Utahime was determined not to lose. With every attempt she made, he overpowered her just enough to narrowly miss her lips, and it soon became a game of who was faster.

“Just stay still, will you?” Utahime yelled, but she had on a wide smile, and every now and then she giggled when she managed to evade him. Gojo couldn’t help but laugh with her as she tried and failed to time the kiss correctly. He was torn between keeping this up and veering away from temptation. The very scent of her was driving him crazy. At the back of his mind he knew that if he didn’t end this soon, he might just kiss her for real. But it was also comforting to hold her close and laugh with her after a long, arduous week of exorcising curses. She was warm and slender beneath her thick sweatshirt, and if he spread his fingers around her waist, it would be enough to encircle it completely. He could already feel himself trembling with the effort to restrain himself, as just holding her loosely by the waist was enough to make him swallow hard.

He swung his head towards her again, not too fast that she wouldn't be able to dodge him. “Stop trying to kiss me on the lips, senpai!"

“I said stop moving!” She pushed him further against the sink, pinning him in place with her hips and digging her fingers into his face to hold him steady.

Gojo had just lowered his hands to her hips to keep her from moving the wrong way when a guttural meowing erupted between them, startling them both. They blinked at each other, confused at the noise, then looked down at his jacket pocket.

“Is that your phone or should I call Shoko?” Utahime asked as she extracted herself from him.

Gojo took out his phone and stared at the caller ID. He almost forgot that he assigned this ringtone to his uncle. “I should probably answer this.”

“Go ahead. I’ll just clean up here.”

He pulled Utahime towards him and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

“Satoru Gojo!” Utahime grabbed him by the hair to stop him, but her cheek was already shiny with his saliva. “You’re disgusting!”

Gojo chuckled as he walked around her with his phone pressed to his ear. From the corner of his eye, he saw her wiping her cheek with the cuff of her sweatshirt.

“This better be good, uncle,” he said.

“Satoru, we’ve secured a location. Get here now. I’ll text you the address.”

The call ended, but Gojo did not move. It was only when his phone dinged again to notify him of a text message that he pulled it away from his ear and exhaled.

“Something wrong?” Utahime called from the kitchen.

Gojo opened his uncle’s text message. Just as he suspected. The address was in Nishinotoin-dori Street in Kyoto, just a couple of blocks away from this building. From his previous research, he knew there was a non-Jujutsu High affiliated shrine there, and that most of the old buildings in that street had undergone renovation or complete reconstruction in the previous years.

He flipped his phone in his hand before pocketing it. “My uncle wants to meet up real quick. Do you mind waiting up?”

Utahime dried her hands with a dishcloth and took out a key from one of the drawers. “Here. Just let yourself in later in case I fall asleep.”

He held his hand up, and she tossed the key to him. He took one last glance at her before leaving. It was just as well that he came here before receiving that call. Even on Utahime's grumpiest days, she could cheer him up just by being there.

Gojo opted to walk the entire way to Nishinotoin-dori Street to scope the area. He did not detect any significant curses or cursed energy nearby, and the facilities surrounding their location of interest didn’t look suspicious. The only area of concern was the nearby temple, which might or might not be affiliated with the address his uncle sent him.

A bored-looking teenager texting beside a signpost looked up as soon as Gojo entered Nishinotoin-dori Street. He made eye contact and then disappeared into the alley beside a newly constructed commercial building. Before following the teenager in the alley, Gojo noted that the grocery store on the ground floor had recently closed down. All of the shelves had been emptied, and the paper notice on the display window announced its new location.

The teenager opened a side door in the alleyway. “Master Akira is waiting for you downstairs, sir.”

“How many are keeping watch?”

“Twenty from the Fugen unit’s third tier and three sorcerers from the second tier. We’ve encountered no trouble since arriving here, sir.”

He had detected all three sorcerers from his clan miles away, but only around eighteen of the men and women of the Fugen's third tier, which were the non-sorcerers. They were all in civilian clothing, trained to camouflage in every setting. He would have to know later who those two persons were just to satisfy his curiousity.

It had been his uncle’s family’s idea to create the Fugen to rival the Zenin’s Kukuru and solve the problem of the increasing defection prior to his birth, especially among the non-sorcerers and sorcerers in the family without innate techniques. It was difficult to keep the clan morale up without the Six Eyes, but the Fugen had made it possible. It was also the reason why the Gojo clan did not need to outsource like the Kamo did. By training the non-sorcerers in the family, they could execute jobs with as much anonymity as they wanted.

Gojo took it one step further two years ago when he decided that the non-sorcerers in the Fugen should train with the sorcerers, which was the first time the hierarchies in the unit had fully intermixed. Toji Zenin was a bitter memory, but there was always something to be learned in every battle. Besides, anything that would mess up tradition and infuriate the elders was a welcome idea to him.

The boy led him down several flights of stairs and into a narrow corridor lit up only by the emergency exit light. From here, Gojo could sense the residuals, mostly from curses, and then around three from powerful curse users, one of which he was extremely familiar with.

Another member of the Fugen bowed his head at Gojo and opened the double doors for him. Gojo stepped into the large hall with stark white walls and polished floors. A curved staircase to his right led up to the second floor, which showed corridor upon corridor that was semi-basked in darkness. Soft white light from rows of fluorescent tubes suspended from the ceiling illuminated the open space of the hall. Every now and then, one of the tubes flickered, giving the hall an eerie ambiance. It didn't help that the entire place reeked of incense and blood.

“You took your time," Akira Gojo said from the steps of the dais.

“I walked.” Gojo looked up at the high ceiling and the large pillars that stood in two columns to their left and right. “The residuals are fresh. Did they just evacuate?”

“The meeting places are never used for more than a month at a time, and the main locations are so well-hidden, they’re probably in use for at least a year,” Akira said. “Regardless, there’s no way to determine when Suguru Getou himself would make an appearance. I believe the suspense among his followers keeps them invested. Just like gambling, in a sense. You’ll never know when you’ll hit the jackpot, so might as well keep going.”

Gojo crouched next to the dark stains on the floor. Blood. There wasn’t even an attempt to clean it. “Suguru executed people here.”

“Put up quite a show too.”

“How would you know?”

“Satoshi told me.”

Gojo picked up his presence then, just seconds before he heard the clap of Satoshi Gojo’s zori sandals on the staircase. Like Akira, he wore black hakama pants over his white yukata. A white string cinched his long dark hair just below his nape, but strands had already escaped the loose ponytail to frame his face. His left sleeve flapped in the air with every move, and Gojo tried not to look at it for too long. The story about how Satoshi lost his left arm had been reiterated in his childhood enough times for him to know the details by heart.

A dozen sorcerers from the underground Jujutsu society had tried to assassinate Gojo a few days after his birth, and Satoshi saved his life at the cost of his arm, and therefore his career as a sorcerer. Akira claimed that the entire time Satoshi fought off the assassins, Gojo lay still in Lady Sayuri's arms, his blue eyes roaming as though to scrutinize the battle. Afterward, the clan had to demolish the rooms where the fight took place, as the blood and gore were impossible to remove, and the stench got so bad that it fouled up the estate for days. 

“I’m done upstairs,” Satoshi said as he made his way to them at the center of the hall. He stopped between Gojo and Akira with a sharp sigh. “Lord Gojo, long time no see.”

“Father,” Gojo said under his breath.

“I hope you’re not sending our men to this suicide mission just because Jujutsu HQ won’t.”

“All I know is that they’re monitoring Suguru, but they won’t share the information. Regardless, I’m the only one who can deal with him.”

Satoshi put his hand on his waist and moved his head from side to side as though weighing something. “I’d love to disagree, but it looks like it.”

Gojo turned to face him completely. His father was a full head taller than him, with an imposing presence and sharp facial features to go with it. Gojo may have inherited his mother’s looks, but every time he saw his father, he wondered whether the intimidation he felt was the same intimidation everybody claimed to feel about him.  

“You used your technique?” Gojo asked.

“I’d hate for you to waste your time if it turned out to be a false lead. You’re a busy man now.”

“Can I see?”

Satoshi knelt on one knee and placed his palm flat on the blood stain. “I might as well be useful to my lord.”

Gojo lowered his hand on top of his father’s head. Almost at once, the entire place turned black. The use of cursed energy and the transition into his technique was so smooth that Gojo felt like a child again, discovering his father’s abilities for the first time.

But now they were no longer training in their clan estate. The images that surrounded him like stills from a movie were not of his cousins running in the courtyard or his mother watching him from afar. They were of crowds in all white, people of every age watching in awe as Suguru Getou stood in their midst. Five images. Ten images. And then fifteen. A cursed spirit emerging from the void behind Suguru, and then twelve bodies dropping dead on the floor. Blood splattering everywhere. Believers with their jaws slack in either joy or pain, their hands up in the air. A multitude of people on their knees with their foreheads to the ground. Suguru dressed like a monk, looking down at them in disgust. Forty. Forty-five. Fifty images.

Darkness zoomed past them to replace the still images, eventually receding to reveal the hall where Akira stood with them.

Satoshi bowed his head lower as he reached for his blood-stained handkerchief to wipe his face with. Gojo stepped back and diverted his gaze, waiting for his father to finish cleaning himself up. Like most prominent techniques in the Gojo clan, the effort to use them often caused grave physical strains. For Satoshi, it meant bleeding from his eyes, nose, and ears due to the information overload. Because it was his innate technique, he could comprehend around seventy percent of the information he retrieved from the recent history of a place. It was only with the Six Eyes, however, that the full breadth of the information he collected could actually be comprehended, each image seen in full color as though he was standing there when it happened.

It was in moments like this that he remembered Satoshi telling him before that he was born to be his father. Even his technique was designed to be fully utilized only with the Six Eyes.

“You okay?” Gojo asked when Satoshi still hadn’t moved.

Satoshi swung his arm back to touch his lower spine. “I think I hurt myself.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Akira grabbed Satoshi by his right arm to help him stand. “Be nice to old men like us, Satoru. We’ve dealt with our share of curses and sorcerers back in the day, you know?”

A couple of Satoshi’s joints popped as he straightened up, and with a twist of his hip, a loud cracking sound from his spine resounded in the hall. “Ah, that’s better!”

“That’s just a poor excuse for letting yourself go.” Gojo pointed at his uncle’s stomach. “That yukata is not doing a good job at hiding your beer belly.”

Akira pulled his haori close over his stomach. “Satoshi, your son.”

“Your friend has made himself a kind of god.” Satoshi slapped Akira’s belly as he walked past him to stand on the dais. He spread his arm sideways in a grand fashion, mimicking Suguru. “They believe he’s cleansing the world and elevating their humanity. Must feel good when you’re that powerful.”

“I doubt it,” Gojo said. The snarl on Sugurus' face during the execution made that clear. “He thinks all non-sorcerers are monkeys.”

“I didn’t mean it felt good to be worshipped. But to be in a position where you can look down on people that way.”

Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned at his father. “Don’t make me have to deal with you too.”

Satoshi chuckled, raising his hand in surrender. “You won’t have to worry about me defecting into your friend’s cult. The world he wants is a world where your mother cannot exist. I’d rather die.”

“Did you at least see anything that might lead us to their next location? Or what their plans are?” Akira asked.

“They’re sticking around Kyoto for now. Maybe establishing a base here, either because they’re stable in Tokyo or they need to lay low,” Gojo answered.

Satoshi sat on the steps of the dais. “Moles?”

“Jujutsu HQ has tried that. Unless we can bribe one of his patrons or current members, we’ll always be chasing after crumbs.” Gojo scanned the place once more, but this time with brand new eyes. He could place every person in that crowd thanks to his father’s technique, but that also meant he could see with painful clarity how monstrous Suguru had become.

Satoshi made a dramatic sigh. “It seems we’ll have to make do with crumbs for now. Akira and I will check possible locations. Hanabi will pass on any useful information to you. And Satoru? Don’t show up unless you’re actually needed. If the elders find out, they’ll give you hell for this. No clan wants to sacrifice themselves to battle a monster like Suguru Getou.”

Gojo gave him a sidelong glance. ”You’ll get the heat for it.”

“That’s fine. I’m bored. I need a little drama in my life.”

“They’ll still know the orders came from me.”

He made round motions with his hand as he spoke. “I’ll tell them I’m being parental and I don’t want my son to have to kill his friend, blah, blah, blah. Just leave it to me and don’t get too much on their bad side. Political affiliations within our clan and Jujutsu HQ can be useful for you. Let the dispensable ones like me take the fall.”

Akira reclined on the steps beside Satoshi and nodded his agreement. “Your father can rile the elders up better than you. Where do you think you got that talent?”

Satoshi poked Akira’s shoulder, smirking. “Remember when the Gakuganji clan mediated for us and the Zenin fifteen years ago and we bribed one of the servants to break the AC before the meeting?”

“Gakuganji and those Zenin fools were sweating like a hooker in church.”

“It’s safe to say Gakuganji lost his cool.”

The two men slapped each other’s backs while cackling at the memory. Gojo watched them with disbelief. They looked like two kids gloating about their long history of giving other people bullshit for their amusement. No wonder the Fugen unit didn't take either of them seriously.

Gojo cleared his throat to get their attention. “Speaking of Gakuganji, do you know why he got reinstated as principal in Jujutsu High’s Kyoto branch?”

Satoshi, red-faced and eyes glazed from laughing, snapped his fingers after a moment of thinking, “Ah, that. I think the Kyoto branch wants to balance out the influences on campus, so they’re favoring employees without lineages and those from minor clans, specifically mediating families like the Fujioka, Tenou, and Iori.”

“The Gakuganji clan is quite influential in and out of the Jujutsu world because of their shrines," Akira added. "Even the Kamo is hesitant to butt heads with that old fart."

Satoshi moved closer to Akira like an auntie with a hot gossip. “I crossed paths with him lately in Jujutsu HQ, and as he was getting up from his seat, I asked if I could lend him a hand, but he had to return it because I only had one left.”

They broke out laughing again, and Gojo could only shake his head as he exited the hall. At the back of his mind, he knew what Satoshi was doing. He had met Suguru on numerous occasions and had even joked about adopting him to infuriate the Kamo and the Zenin.

Imagine having two special-grade sorcerers in your clan.

Now the very same clan that would’ve welcomed him was tracking him down, and Gojo was at the head of it. Satoshi making light of the situation with Akira was just another one of his indirect kindnesses. But as he climbed the dimly lit stairs up the building, the only thing he could think of were the times he and Suguru laughed so hard at the stupidest things that they had trouble breathing. The two of them getting scolded by Yaga and then being healed by Shoko. The three of them roaming the streets of Tokyo with Nanami and Haibara, trying out new cafes and making a ruckus in arcades.

Satoshi and Akira's brotherhood only reminded him of what he would never share again with Suguru. They would never be the two cackling idiots that made fart jokes until they were sixty like Shoko once predicted.

At this rate, they would be lucky if they even turned thirty without cursing one another.

Gojo clung so tightly to Utahime’s spare key the entire walk back to her building that when he opened his fist, the metal was covered in blood. He wiped it clean with the inside of his jacket and healed the cuts on his palm before entering her apartment.

Inside, he saw Utahime passed out on the couch with her reading glasses still on. The towel around her head had come undone, her damp hair leaving dark patches on the throw pillow. Her laptop sat discarded on the coffee table along with a can of beer.

He smiled to himself. She gave him the key so she wouldn’t have to wait up for him, yet there she was.

He thought this was probably how it would be moving forward. She wasn’t going to return to Tokyo, which meant he would need to keep traveling to Kyoto to somehow make this relationship work. He wanted to discuss their relationship soon, but he had a nagging feeling that they both wanted to skirt around that for a little bit longer.

Utahime might not know the specifics of the Gojo clan’s inner workings, but having been raised in one of the most prominent mediating families in the Jujutsu world, she surely couldn't be naïve about their traditions. If they were both satisfied with what they had now—and if they made sure they were careful—this long-distance relationship might work for a while. He wouldn’t need to scare her away with any label or promises of commitment, and they could both enjoy this relationship at her pace.

Give her the time she needed to know for certain that she wanted this.

Him.

Gojo removed her reading glasses, put her feet up on the couch, and draped a blanket over her. He sat on the opposite end of the couch with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. The light from her laptop illuminated the living room in blue.

If only she knew how much he needed her, she’d understand the lengths he was going through to keep her by his side.

Chapter Text

Utahime should have spoken up sooner, but she never got around to it.

Perhaps it was the idea that confronting him would end things, or worse—confirm her fear that he didn’t want this as much as she did. Labels might scare him away. Demanding him to commit to her might be too much. Didn’t he already have so many people vying for his attention, asking them to be his priority for their own gain?

She told herself this was okay. She didn’t need a name for their relationship or the things they did. After all, why would she risk losing this just for the sake of conforming to norms, right? She was in too deep now and, frankly, it was hard to imagine going through her week—hell, going through her day—without Gojo in it.

Utahime would never say it to his face, but she liked waking up to him opening and closing drawers in the kitchen. She liked the sight of him crouched in front of her fridge, stuffing it full of dessert and beer.

Every Friday evening, if he was not on a mission abroad, he’d waltz into her apartment with take-out and stories about what happened that week. And it wasn’t as though they didn’t call or text every day, for that matter. Gojo just never ran out of things to say, and if she was too tired to listen, she either nodded on reflex or begged him to shut up.

He could still get on her nerves, especially when that was his intention. They would be eating dinner and he’d brag about how his students could probably beat hers easy-peasy, or complain that it wasn’t attractive that she yelled at him too often.

“If you stop being annoying, then maybe I’ll stop yelling!”

“There you go again.”

Unlike her, he let the dirty dishes pile up in the sink until it was full, and he left all of the house chores undone until it was almost time to sleep. There were nights when she woke up to him doing his laundry while talking to Ijichi on the phone or simply playing video games on his console, because yes, he brought his console to her apartment so that they could ‘enjoy it together’.

Four months into it, she could no longer remember what her bathroom looked like without his personal clutter. She couldn’t imagine seeing her toothbrush by itself in the cheap pink cup she had bought in the supermarket some three years ago. His travel bag was perpetually parked beside the couch, and he had his own coffee mug waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

Then, one day, they even bought a new couch.

Not that they planned to, or that it had ever crossed her mind. It just happened after they watched a baseball game in the stadium one Saturday—during which she got so enthusiastic that Gojo had to hold her down to stop the others in the crowd from heckling them—that they passed through a mall and saw a furniture shop holding a sale.

At first, all she wanted were new pillows, and then she added blankets to her cart. Gojo just got whatever she did but in a different size and color, and then somehow, they ended up standing in front of a modular sleeper sofa in grey with black throw pillows.

The first thing that caught her attention was its length. Gojo would probably fit there without curling in a fetal position or propping his feet up on the armrests. When a sales clerk approached them, she asked about how they could turn it into a bed and what the maintenance would be like.

Gojo watched all of this unfold while talking on the phone with Ijichi, probably for a mission briefing. She made some computations in her head, considered how she might rearrange her entire living room, and then told the sales clerk she would take it.

“I’ll have to get a smaller coffee table,” she told him with a sigh once he put his phone away.

Gojo crossed his arms and peered at her above his sunglasses, but didn’t say anything.

“What?” she challenged. “You’ve been complaining about your back.”

He took out his card and placed it on her hand. “Get a coffee table too. I have to make a couple of quick calls.”

At the check-out, the woman assisting her glanced at Gojo, who was standing outside the store, and said, “Your boyfriend is so tall, it must be difficult to fit in the couch with standard Japanese sizing. It’s a good thing we have more styles available now, and they’re customizable too. The same goes for our beds. Would you like to see them?”

Utahime opened her mouth but didn't know how to respond. She couldn’t say that Gojo was her boyfriend, but she also couldn’t deny it. The only thing that snapped her out of her bemused state was the catalog of beds the lady had pushed toward her. Utahime's face grew so red, she basically shoved Gojo’s card into the woman's hand and lied that they were in a hurry.

As she waited for the purchase and delivery order to be finalized, she sat on one of the chairs and watched Gojo pacing beside a double bed on display.

He was technically her boyfriend, right?

But he had not addressed the issue of his supposed engagement to Hanabi. Utahime, in return, hadn’t told anyone in her family that she was practically roommates with Gojo. No one in Jujutsu High, either the Tokyo or the Kyoto branch, had any clue about their relationship. Even Shoko only knew that Gojo dropped by her apartment every now and then, not that they spent entire weekends together.

There was also the matter of him touching her. If they were outside, he’d put his hand on the back of her neck, on her waist, and sometimes pull her in an embrace without any inhibition.

Inside the apartment, however, things were a bit different. He made a lot of pervy jokes, which were nothing new to her, but she had noticed for some time now that he made an active effort not to touch her for too long, or at all.

Not that he always succeeded. Once, they had fallen asleep on the couch together while watching a poorly-made horror movie. Bored and exhausted, Gojo slumped sideways against her, which meant her only option for comfort was to lie on her side and move his head to her lap. They woke up the next morning with Gojo hugging her waist and Utahime's legs hanging over his hips as he lay curled like a hedgehog. Neither of them could get up for a while, as they both had cricks in their necks and pain in their joints from sleeping in such uncomfortable positions.

They had also gotten into arguments that ended up in wrestling matches on the floor. The first time ended when she accidentally kicked him in the groin, and the second concluded with them sparring for real and breaking a lamp.

If Gojo was upset, he played with her hands, tracing the lines of her palm and pressing her knuckles on his cheek as though for comfort. Likewise, she buried her face on his back if she wanted a good cry, because crying was the only way she could relieve her stress aside from drinking, and Gojo had been telling her to cut back on the beer.

Utahime did this just two weeks ago, when the tests for her promotion were postponed for the nth time, and then canceled altogether. As soon as she got home, she hugged him from behind and bawled against his jacket. He stopped chopping the carrots and potatoes and enclosed her hands with his. They stood there for a long time until she calmed down, and when she was finished, his jacket was stained with tears and snot.

But these were the exceptions. Any other day, she could trust him to keep his hands to himself when they were at home and vice-versa. His struggle was more obvious, though, as it often came with a grunt and him interlacing his fingers behind his head. 

He must know it was hard for her too, but they were not so lovestruck with each other yet that they could abandon all reason. If they gave in now, it would be too hard to turn back, and there were still so many things they needed to settle between them before they took any risk.

That was the most infuriating part about this for Utahime.

The two of them would rather be in a life-or-death situation than hash out the intricacies of their relationship. In that respect, it was fair to say they were both special-grade cowards.

The sales clerk handed her the receipt and the papers for the delivery, but when she turned to call Gojo, he was talking to a woman beside the office chair section. For a second, she thought it was Hanabi, as the woman was just as tall, and her hair was dyed a faded pink color too. Except Hanabi always donned long dresses and stilettoes, if not her signature pink kimono, and the woman had on a ribbed turtleneck top and high-waisted pants so tight they hardly left anything to the imagination.

She gestured around the store and then said something that made Gojo laugh.

Utahime shoved the papers into her bag and made her way out of the store. If he was having so much fun, then he could go home with that woman instead. Except Utahime had turned around before she could think about it and marched towards them with a frown.

Gojo saw her approaching and called to her. “Utahime, this nice lady mistook me for a movie star.”

Utahime stopped next to him and faced the woman, who was still smiling at him as though she did not exist. For a brief moment, she felt small in her navy jumpsuit with wide-leg pants and her threadbare denim jacket. The baseball cap on her head felt silly, and the bow that held her hair together needed tightening. The only thing she was relatively proud of was her combat boots, which at least allowed her to see eye-to-eye with this lady.

Utahime pointed at the far end of the store, where the princess and superhero beds for children were displayed. “The kid’s furniture is over there.”

The woman placed her hand on her chest in a dramatic show of surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Oh? You weren’t looking for furniture for your children? I’m sorry, it’s just that you look like a respectable young mother.”

The woman stepped back, waved her hand as though shooing Utahime, and stalked off. Utahime stomped away in the opposite direction, keenly aware of Gojo following her.

“Utahime.”

“I’m going home.”

“I’m coming too,” he said.

They reached the apartment in silence, and Utahime slammed her bedroom door shut to change her clothes. She knew she was being silly, but she couldn’t help it. All the way home, she thought about that woman’s hair and clothes, and how she looked more put together compared to Utahime. She had never been one to wear revealing clothes, even when she was younger. Yes, she had tight tops and short skirts, but she preferred to be covered up, especially now. It wasn’t just her scars that made her conscious about showing off. She had fresh bruises, deep greens and purples that she wasn’t eager for Gojo to see for many reasons. Apart from wanting to look attractive to him, she worried that he’d overreact. After all, these bruises weren’t from any of her recent missions.

Once changed, Utahime let down her hair and went to the living room, where she found Gojo working on his laptop. She sat on the couch and opened her laptop too, not to work, but to browse for clothes in the online store Shoko mentioned to her the other day.

Gojo stretched his arms overhead and yawned. He had changed into his white shirt and blue shorts, and his sunglasses lay discarded across the coffee table. “Want strawberry shortcake? There’s some left in the fridge.”

Utahime added a pair of black drape pants to her cart, then realized she already had two in her wardrobe. “Got a toothache.”

“Want medicine?”

“No, thanks.”

“You mad at me?”

“Nope.”

Gojo closed the lid of his laptop and cupped his face, grinning. “I never would’ve guessed you were the jealous type.”

Utahime schooled her expression to neutral. She clicked on a floral maxi skirt with a knee-length slit. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“So you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Which part? The one where you were so flattered about being mistaken for a movie star?” The words just flew out of her mouth, and now it was too late to take them back. Her phone vibrated beside her. A message from Kazuo. She ignored it.

Gojo was unfazed. “It always happens. I’ve just learned to play along.”

How many times did he play along when he was by himself in Tokyo? She wanted to ask him just to drive her point across, but instead, she closed her laptop and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to be irrational about this. If she brought up Tokyo now, they would just circle back to their old argument about her transferring to the Tokyo branch. Now she understood why he had been so insistent.

“I’m just stressed and I’m taking it out on you. It’s so hard to get promoted to grade one sorcerer when you’re a non-combat style curse user.” She stood and rounded the coffee table. “I’m getting cake. And beer.”

“Get me some too!”

She rolled her eyes as she took the cake out of the fridge. Really, she barely ate cake until Gojo started bringing them home every week. Now it was starting to become a bad habit.

Utahime took a small slice for herself and put the rest of the cake on Gojo’s plate, as she knew he’d be returning for the rest of it anyway. She lowered the plate in front of him and sat to his right on the floor. Switching on the television, she turned to the evening news channel and listened to the anchor talk about some government scandal.

Gojo slipped his hand beneath her hair and splayed his fingers on the back of her neck. She tried to ignore the contact, but his hand was so big and warm, she couldn’t help but relax her shoulders and sigh.

“Still mad at me?” he asked.

She ate a huge bite of the cake and made a dismissive noise.

"Really?" He kneaded her shoulder, easing the knots in her muscles and causing her eyes to flutter close in relief. "How about now?"

"Hm."

Gojo pulled her towards him and wrapped his legs around her. With one arm, he pinned her against his chest, and with the other, he held up her can of beer.

“I’m spilling this on your carpet unless you answer me properly.”

“Satoru Gojo, don’t you dare!”

He tipped the can slightly. “Say you’re not mad at me anymore!”

She struggled to free her legs, but his were so long that he had no trouble subduing all of her efforts. “Deep cleaning is expensive, you idiot!”

“It’s gonna spill!”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think you’re getting away with this!”

Gojo straightened the can but still held it out of her reach. It was only when he stopped moving that she realized the intimacy of their position. His forearm rested just below her breasts, and his ankles were clasped around hers in a way that made her legs rub against his. Consequently, she became aware of where she had placed her hands—on his bare thighs, as his shorts had hiked up, and she could feel his coarse hair and the ridges of his muscles shift beneath her palm with every subtle movement.

With his face inches from hers, she could hear his breathing in her ear and feel each exhale on her cheek. She wanted to create a little bit of distance between them, but her back was arched against his firm torso, and he was, in turn, hunched over her like he intended to envelop her completely. 

Neither of them moved or spoke for several moments. She worried that he could feel her heart battering away at her ribs or hear her trying to control the pace of her breathing. Which was growing faster. And faster.

“Utahime,” he whispered, his lips centimeters from her ear. “I don’t travel all the way to Kyoto so frequently just to waste my time with other women. Do you understand?”

She diverted her gaze to the television. “There are a lot of things I don’t understand about this.”

“Like?”

“We haven’t exactly defined what we are.”

“Well, what do you want us to be?”

Utahime looked at him from the corner of her eye. All she could see were his lips, which were smeared white with cake icing. She hated how vulnerable she felt whenever he spoke in a lower register. “Isn’t this a decision for two? And aren’t you holding me hostage like this?”

He chuckled and loosened his grip on her just enough so she could sit up properly. She grabbed the beer from him. Alcohol would definitely make it easier for her to have this conversation.

Gojo leaned back on his hands but refused to remove his legs around her. “I want you.”

She almost choked on her beer. Slamming down the can on the coffee table, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and scowled at him. She doubted if she looked as menacing as she intended, though, because her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “How can you say that with a straight face?”

“If we put a label on this, then we’ll be in it for the long haul. If not, then you can walk away from this anytime you want.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “As if you won’t come chasing after me anyway.”

He smiled. “It’s nice that you know me so well.”

“I don’t get you,” she said, shifting on the floor so she could face him completely. “Relationships don’t work like that, Gojo. Even if I commit to you, something might happen down the road. You could get tired of me, too. You might even be the first to walk away.”

“This relationship will be more complicated for you than for me. So you have to want it as much as I do.”

“I have a vague idea of what you mean.” His clan, of course. She had heard rumors, and she had read the facts. Not that she would ever admit to him that she already snooped around. She was just not the type to enter into something unprepared. Still, that he should warn her made her anxious all over again.

“And?” He nudged her with his knee.

“I can’t make promises, but you know me. I won’t walk away unless I have a good reason to.”

“Say you won’t.” He brushed her bangs away from her face and tucked the longer strands behind her ear. “No matter how crazy it gets. Say you won’t walk away. I’m convinced I won’t want anybody else after you.”

Want. The word struck Utahime as odd. It was supposed to give her butterflies in her stomach, but instead, she found herself trying to read between the lines. She felt she was supposed to know what this meant, but the idea kept eluding her.

She reached out and clutched his face, her nails digging into his jaws and the length of her forefinger pressing hard against his lower lip. His breath was hot on her skin, and she could tell that he liked this. Her hand on him, holding him like she was claiming him. Claiming a possession.

How could she tell him? It wasn’t just want that she felt for him. She worried herself sick whenever he went out on dangerous missions, especially when he was thousands of miles away with no way to contact her for days. She hated the geographical distance between them, and the smallest, most selfish parts of her resented her sense of duty to Jujutsu High and her clan that kept her rooted in Kyoto.

It was with the same passion that she liked hearing his voice and holding him close after nearly losing her limbs or her life in a mission—facts that she would never confess to him no matter how shaken she would be afterward. She liked that she could call him for anything, and he’d have something funny or irritating to say just to change her mood. That he only had to stand next to her, and somehow everything would feel better. Safer.

She liked him, but she didn't just want him.

Gojo leaned forward, and Utahime used her grip to control their proximity.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, urging her to tighten her hold on him. A hundred other thoughts crossed her mind at once, all of them precautionary, all of them little voices reminding her why they had been so careful these past four months.

Why she kept her training a secret from him. Her motivation to strike a deal with Gakuganji before her relationship with Gojo progressed into more serious territory. The many questions she had about how it would affect him and if there were repercussions to his clan.

Except all of them seemed to vanish as she brushed her thumb across his lower lip, gently at first, and then with force, pressing down against his teeth until the flesh turned red. He trembled with the effort to stay still, and she realized she liked it too. Being in a position of dominance, holding him with all her strength, knowing that it would take so much to even hurt or subdue him, but trying anyway.

Utahime tilted her head and pressed her lips on his. His lips were soft and warm, with the icing giving the kiss a sweet taste. Gojo hadn’t moved or returned the kiss at all, though. He shut his eyes and groaned, almost as if he was in pain. Then, after a thundering heartbeat, his mouth was on hers. His fingers slipped to the back of her head and clutched a handful of her hair, keeping her steady as he kissed her with bruising pressure.

The sound of him moaning against her mouth was enough to wipe her mind clean, and then there was no longer any thought, just action.

Gojo pushed the coffee table aside as he lowered her to the carpet. Their lips and tongues moved clumsily, wildly, with too much urgency and passion that it left no room for tenderness. She tried to push his face away so she could catch her breath, but he wouldn’t budge. If anything, he seemed to go deeper into her until she felt dizzy with both want for him and for oxygen.

When he did lift his head to catch his breath, he tipped her head back so that her neck was arched and her throat was exposed. He sucked on her sensitive skin, his thumb pushing her chin up as though he could stretch her neck further. She kicked the floor and clawed at his shoulders, so unused to the thrum of excitement coursing her body the lower his kisses went.

The very sounds she was making were enough to make her face go red, but she couldn’t suppress them. As he kissed the base of her neck, his hand traveled down to the back of her thigh and squeezed. His sheer strength made her feel weak to the bones.

“Gojo,” she said, cringingly slightly at how it came out like a mewl.

He raised his head just enough to look at her, his breathing fast and his eyes glazed. “Did I hurt you?”

Utahime shifted on the floor, acutely aware that one of her legs was between his, and that it would not be the best time to accidentally hit him in the crotch. “You’re really heavy, and the floor is really hard.”

Gojo kissed the corner of her mouth and chuckled. “I thought you were going to tell me to stop.”

“No, no, I just don’t want to hurt my back. Imagine how I’ll explain that injury to Shoko.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up as he stood. She was not even properly on her feet yet when he lifted her so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. The swiftness of the movement made her squeak in surprise, especially since he was holding her up with one arm, the hand of which was clutching her ass.

“Just tell her I was really, really—” his lips hovered over hers while he spoke “—into you.”

He coaxed her mouth open with his, and Utahime pressed herself harder against him, her legs tightening around his waist as though their bodies could possibly get any closer.

This was not how she imagined their first kiss would be—or their first anything, for that matter. But she realized now how unrealistic her expectations were. Those four months of quiet tension had built up to this sudden burst of intensity, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on. The pleasure of his hot skin on hers, her hands beneath his shirt, caressing his bare back while he did the same to her. The wet sound they made when their lips parted and they moved in for another kiss, the little grunts and gasps here and there.

This felt so good, she could only hate herself for not doing it with him sooner.

Utahime broke away, breathless, and covered his mouth with her hand. “Wait, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Gojo lowered her to the couch and hovered above her on all fours, red-faced and panting. He pulled his shirt over his head with one hand and tossed it on the floor. “To be honest, there’s something I need to tell you too.”

Utahime shut her eyes, a soft groan escaping her before she could stop it. The mere glimpse she had of his physique was enough to shake her resolve. “How are we going to talk if you take off your clothes like that?”

He teased the hem of her shirt. “Maybe it’ll be easier if we balance things out.”

A banging on the door forced them to separate. She raised herself to her elbows, shaken. Gojo motioned for her to stay back as he pulled his shirt on and walked over to the front door. They were both flushed and breathless, too caught up in each other to have noticed the presence outside until it made itself known.

Gojo looked through the peephole, paused, and then turned to Utahime with a nervous smile.

“Utahime, open up!” Kazuo yelled from the corridor, then knocked three more times at the door. “It’s urgent. Master Tengen has requested us.”

Chapter Text

Jujutsu High booked them first-class seats on the bullet train to Tokyo. Even on the Nozomi, it would take them around two hours and twenty minutes of travel time, which meant two hours and twenty minutes of concentrated fury from Kazuo as he sat across the aisle next to Utahime.

Gojo's only reprieve was the fact that he finally broached the topic of his relationship with Utahime earlier. She had no idea how much self-control he had to muster to keep his hands to himself when they lived in such close quarters over several weekends. The last thing he wanted was to start something intimate with her without knowing for sure that she felt the same way. Obviously, she was attracted to him too, or else she would have kicked him out the morning after her twenty-fifth birthday. But being cozy with each other was different from knowing for sure where they stood, and in that arena, Utahime had perplexed him to no end.

There was a particular incident in her apartment that involved her standing on a chair to put up new curtains that struck him the most.

“They look like something you stole from a grandma’s house,” he said as he stepped on the edge of the chair to keep it from tipping over. That she wanted to do this herself instead of asking for his help baffled him. He wondered if it hadn't crossed her mind that he only had to reach up to pull the rod down. Instead of pointing this out, however, he simply watched her struggle while stuffing his mouth with chips.

Utahime put one foot up on the backrest to reach higher. “Moss green is trendy right now, and it’s supposed to make your space look calmer or something. I read an article about it online.”

“It’s a blackout curtain. That’ll make your apartment look so dim and small. Smaller than it already is.”

She tapped the curtain rod with her middle finger, causing it to fall off the hook and into her hand. “I thought you liked it to be completely dark when you’re sleeping?”

Gojo could only sigh in response. It was difficult to be annoyed with her when she did things like this. Get him orthopedic pillows for his neck pain. Rearrange her fridge to make space for his desserts. Buy a small cabinet for his clutter. Gojo griped about these things as a joke, because he liked the faces she made when she was trying to be patient with him. That she took them seriously and minded his comfort made him want to kiss her until she forgot her name.

Utahime finished hooking on the moss green curtain. When she stretched her arms to return the rod, her shirt hiked up, and he saw it. The long diagonal line that started from her rib and ended just above her navel. The slightly bulging flesh was brown and thin, with skin that looked elastic around the edges.

Without thinking, he touched the scar, and Utahime dropped the rod in surprise. Gojo traced the length of it from tip to tip, remembering exactly what the dagger looked like and how her drying blood felt on his skin.

She grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away from her. Then she stepped down and announced that she had to drop by the convenience store. Gojo stood there for a while with his empty bag of chips, curious about her reaction. When he prompted her later to talk about it, she simply ignored him.

So for days afterward, he wondered whether it was the scar itself that bothered her or the fact that he touched her. If it was the first, then he’d take full accountability. If the second, then he would just have to let her make the first move.

Even when he was shaking earlier from the effort to stay still, to keep from kissing her first when she was holding him exactly the way he wanted her to, he managed to wait. To restrain himself and watch with agonizing patience as she ran her thumb over his lips and pressed down until it hurt. To see her subtle fascination with control in the way her eyes glazed and her breath hitched in her throat. To recognize through the shiver that coursed her body that dominance turned her on, and then to watch her eventually give in to her urges.

All of these transpired within seconds, but those seconds stretched out for too long and almost caused him to snap. Still, he managed to rein in his desires and wait.

And it was so worth it.

The first contact of her lips on his had his heart drumming in his ears. She made him feel alive, awake, with electricity pulsing through his veins in a way that was so addictive. Whatever sober part of his brain that remained told him to stop. Only it was difficult to listen to reason when she was breathing hard against his skin, squirming under his weight, and making the most obscene noises.

Her response to every swipe of his tongue and stroke of his hands was even better than he imagined, and he had imagined this moment way too hard, way too many times. She had no idea how often he thought of bending her over the kitchen counter and pulling her pants down, of waking her up in the middle of the night by moving in and out of her,  of interrupting her evening shower to eat her out against the cold tiles. He would have wet dreams of fucking her in the most salacious positions, and in the most indecent places too. Public restrooms. Movie theaters. Jujutsu High. Preferably in her tidy little office, just so she would never forget how good he was to her. She would always come first, and she would scream his name and scratch his skin as she orgasmed.

He was horniest when they were apart, as though the distance itself was triggering a desire for her that was so carnal, the only way to cope was to touch himself over and over. Sometimes, they would be in the middle of a phone call at night talking about the least sexual things and he'd get a hard-on. He suspected that she had an inkling of what he was doing with his hands but simply let it pass. He didn't want to think she was that oblivious, but her innocence was so arousing too.

By the time he would arrive in her apartment on the weekend, he had exhausted himself and his fantasies enough to keep his urges at bay.

The propriety of their relationship was slowly driving him crazy, so finally getting to touch her earlier was a reprieve. He hated that he had to stop, but if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was grateful for Kazuo’s interruption too.

He would have regretted it if he had gone all the way with Utahime, because sleeping with her had so many repercussions. Unplanned pregnancies weren’t the crux of it either. Utahime deserved a secure relationship, and if they could just smoothen out the few wrinkles in their path, he could give her that.

He was determined to.

After this mission with Master Tengen, he would sit her down and talk things through with her the way Hanabi had been nagging him to do. And then things would be official.

But first, they had to survive Kazuo.

It had been thirty minutes since the bullet train took off, and if not for Utahime staring daggers at him, he would’ve already cracked a joke to break the tension.

Eventually, Kazuo touched his forehead and sighed. It was the kind of sigh that was obviously intended to communicate his distress. “Now that I’ve calmed down, can someone please explain to me what I saw earlier?”

“It depends on what you actually saw,” Gojo said as he typed away on his phone. He did a quick Google search on how to manage a girlfriend's angry older brother. All of the results thus far were blog posts encouraging him to be humble, quiet, and penitent. These were clearly written by the aggrieved girlfriends, so he visited forums and found more interesting answers from men's real-life experiences.

“Behave,” Utahime hissed at him.

“We can start with you, Gojo,” Kazuo said.

“Didn’t you say you preferred Lord Gojo?”

Utahime grunted and held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. He stays with me over the weekend. Has been. Since February.”

“Like a married couple?”

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Exactly, but not quite.”

Kazuo turned to him, his expression half-aghast, half-bemused. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“We haven’t done the kiss-kiss thing in the dark because Utahime’s a prude.”

“It sounded like it was happening earlier.”

“Oh my god.” Utahime hid her face in her hands.

“Not the full extent of it,” Gojo replied. "Anyway, it's a matter of perception."

Kazuo took another deep breath in an effort to remain calm. “Utahime, maybe it’s better if I just talk to you. Obviously, you’re not a child anymore, but I was expecting you to be a little more responsible and transparent about these things.”

“How do you think that would’ve played out? I’d just walk up to you and say ‘hey, I’m dating Satoru Gojo. Yes, the same one with the Six Eyes and the head of the Gojo clan, and he sleeps on my couch twice a week’?”

Kazuo swept his hand sideways to indicate the two of them. “So you are dating. And you’ve moved in together?”

“To be honest, we were hashing that out when you interrupted us,” Gojo said.

“So you’re not dating? You’re just playing house?”

Utahime stood and tried to squeeze past her brother. “I have to talk to Gojo for a bit.”

“No.” Kazuo used his leg to block her path. “You’re not going near that man until I’ve understood this thing. Whatever it is. “

She hit his leg. “We can’t until I talk to him. Don’t be a kid, Kazuo. Or I’ll tell father about your boyfriend. And your boyfriend about your girlfriend, you two-timer.”

Gojo whistled. “Master Iori doesn’t know about your boyfriend? And your boyfriend doesn’t know about your girlfriend?”

It was Kazuo’s turn to be embarrassed. He crossed his arms and glowered at the seat in front of him. “We’re not here to talk about my open relationships. Besides, neither of them is a sorcerer and is of any consequence to our family.”

“You should be married and with children by now.”

“I can say the same thing to you, Utahime.”

“I think I’m one step ahead, seeing as I’m pretty serious about one person.”

Utahime stepped on Kazuo’s stomach to go over him. He jolted so badly that she lurched forward, and Gojo had to catch her in the aisle before she hit the floor. Once she was upright, she fixed her miko outfit and ordered Gojo to scoot over so she could sit between him and Kazuo.

“That was the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me, senpai,” Gojo said.

She smacked him on the head. “Now isn’t the time to call me ‘senpai’ you idiot. You're getting on my nerves too.”

“Quiet, you two.” Kazuo tapped his phone screen and held it against his ear. “Yes. We’re almost there. Perhaps another hour. Master Tengen’s chamber is fine for the ceremony. No, it will be Utahime that will take the lead. Right. Goodbye.”’

Gojo hunched over his knees to see past Utahime. “Mind briefing us on Master Tengen’s request?”

Kazuo texted while he spoke. “Jujutsu High has acquired a cursed object that Master Tengen wants to seal. The problem is that it’s covered in talisman constraints that need to be removed first.”

“I’m pretty sure Tengen is powerful enough to remove those constraints themselves,” Gojo said.

Utahime shook her head. “It’s not about ability. Talisman constraints can serve multiple purposes. If this cursed object is so powerful and problematic that Master Tengen has to deal with it, then it’s better if someone else removes the constraints.”

“You mean the cursed object might adapt to Master Tengen’s cursed energy while freeing it?"

“Therefore making it more difficult to seal the object itself afterward,” she said.

“Some talisman constraints are designed as such to make using cursed objects more difficult,” Kazuo added. “Utahime’s technique is more fine-tuned for dealing with talisman constraints than mine is. For this task, I’ll simply be providing guidance and boosting her output.”

Gojo knocked her knee with his elbow. When she looked at him, he nodded at her arms.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

He intertwined their fingers and held them up just enough so that the sleeve of her kosode rolled down, revealing her bruises. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Utahime pulled her sleeve up and glanced at Kazuo to make sure he hadn't seen them. “The mission was two days ago. I’ve recovered. And how did you even notice? I’ve been covering them.”

“You normally hit me the way I imagine Ichiro Suzuki hits a ball with his bat, but earlier, it actually felt like you were flirting with me.”

Utahime bit her lower lip to keep from laughing, but she couldn’t stop it. She made a choking noise and then let out short bursts of giggles in an attempt to be subtle with her amusement.

Gojo kissed the back of her hand while laughing at the little snorting sounds she made. He knew Ichiro Suzuki references always worked on her.

Kazuo scowled at them. “Can the two of you have some decorum and not do that in front of me?”

"Sorry." Utahime leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes to take a nap, the smile lingering on her lips.

Gojo did the same, except he didn’t want to take a nap. He wanted to stay awake to let this moment sink in.

They arrived in Jujutsu High at eleven in the evening. Yaga met them at the torii with pleasant greetings to the Iori siblings and a mild scolding for Gojo. He had made one of the new students quit again, and she was now working under Ijichi to be an assistant supervisor.

Ijichi, who was the one who fetched them from the train station, defended Gojo by saying that the student was better off as a manager than a sorcerer.

“I observed that she's more skilled in sensing curses and scoping out the vicinities of concern than in performing exorcisms,” Ijichi said with a slight blush.

Gojo slapped Ijichi on the back. “See? We demote to promote.”

Utahime urged Kazuo to keep walking just as he was about to respond to Gojo. “Asking will only make it more confusing. Let’s go.”

Gojo hung back with Ijichi to receive updates on his students' upcoming missions. There was no other means to prevent their deaths and keep them from incurring grave injuries except through micromanaging their missions. Jujutsu High's enrollment was at an all-time low, and not just in numbers. The quality of the sorcerers they were cultivating was less than impressive, with most of them incapable of surpassing grade two at most. The higher-ups had been intent on promoting them to semi-grade one, but he opposed this, as there was no surer way to get them killed than to promote them.

That also meant, however, that he was taking on more missions than he ever had before.

Ijichi finished his report just as they were entering prohibited grounds. Gojo waved him off and joined the rest of the group, finding them immersed in conversation about the Kyoto branch and the quality of the curses in their vicinity.

Their chatter ebbed and flowed the closer they got to Master Tengen. The anticipation hung heavily in the air, but they tried to ignore it until the very last moment, when Yaga pulled the elevator door close and their slow descent to the Tomb of the Star Corridor began.

Gojo noted the deep breaths Utahime took the entire way down. She had that neutral expression on her face, her gaze fixed in the middle distance and her cursed energy level growing steadier the closer they got to the bottom.

“It’s more accurate to call it a taboo object, although Master Tengen will not disclose why. My instructions are to escort you out as soon as the ritual is done. Master Tengen will remain out of the way to keep the object from getting familiar with their cursed energy,” Yaga said and turned to Utahime. “I’m assuming you’ll need to study the object first?”

“I’ll have to read the visible scripts on the talisman constraints to know how I should go about the ritual,” she said.

“I'll set up the pegs around the object once you're done.” Kazuo produced a smaller version of the pegs that Gojo saw in the Midori Wild Bird Sanctuary. He saw him looking and said, “What will you be doing? You’re lucky Master Tengen even allowed you down here with us for this confidential assignment.”

“Master Tengen is a good sport. They want me to cheer for you from the sidelines. A little moral support goes a long way, I’m sure.”

Yaga scowled at Gojo as though realizing for the first time that he was there without having been summoned. “Satoru, why were you even in Kyoto with them?”

Fortunately, the elevator screeched to a halt at that moment, and Utahime was in such a hurry to leave that Gojo could just ignore Yaga’s question. He, too, wasn't keen on discussing their relationship with their former teacher.

Yaga walked ahead of them through the gloomy corridor that ended in an illuminated archway. The sight beyond it was basked in dim, orange light, and the closer they were to Master Tengen's presence, the thicker the cursed energy in the air became. It also held a distinct smell, something akin to wild citrus and heavy incense. Not exactly repugnant, but not really pleasant either. Gojo thought this must be what aging smelled like, especially when drawn out by a cursed technique.

The four of them crossed the archway and were greeted by the sight of a massive tree with giant ropes woven around it. The loop of tiered corridors surrounding the tree in the middle may look eerie, but the ambiance of the place was generally peaceful. It was the same serene air in the entire campus, only denser, as Master Tengen was likely watching without making themselves known. It then occurred to him that this was precisely why they requested Kazuo and Utahime.

Master Tengen had to deal with the taboo object in a secure place, but that would mean placing it in the barrier that was already rippling with their cursed energy. By introducing new energy, the talisman and the object would be caught off-guard, and then Master Tengen could reintroduce their energy anew to achieve maximum efficiency.

As he walked behind the siblings, he also realized that the Tomb of the Star Corridor resembled a traditional shrine, and that Utahime and Kazuo fit right in. Beyond their outfits and bearings, the very core of their techniques resonated with the sanctity of this place.

Utahime stopped, and the rest of them followed.

A box covered in white paper seals sat in the middle of the corridor, elevated by a small platform that seemed to have been produced solely for the ritual.

“Stay back for now,” Utahime said as she approached.

Yaga retreated to a corner and crouched against the wall, probably hoping to nap while waiting for the ritual to begin. Kazuo motioned for Gojo to walk with him, and they retraced their steps to give Utahime the space she needed to do her job.

“She’s not in top form,” Gojo said once they were out of Utahime’s earshot.

Kazuo looked over his shoulder at his sister. “I noticed.”

“You told me before that she was training to adopt your technique.”

“We stopped a while back. Our techniques are the same at the very core, but it was apparent that her specialty lay elsewhere.”

“And elsewhere is…?”

“There are a couple of varieties. We’re thinking hers is linked with melody. Singing. But it’s a lost technique.” He paused to consider his own statement. “Well, almost. The history of our clan is complicated, and too many techniques have been lost down the line. She will have to resort to trial and error to discover her real strength, and when she does, she may even surpass me. She hasn’t discussed this with you?”

“I know her injuries aren't from her missions, so I assumed she's training with you."

"She's training, but not under my supervision. If she hasn't told you yet, then I'm not in the position to say who her teacher is."

Gojo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The online forums advised against cockiness towards the older brother. "That's fine. I would've confronted her about it, but she's been overworked lately. I didn’t think I should push it.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

They passed the archway where they came through and was now a good distance from Utahime and the cursed object. The two of them watched her from across the circular corridor while they walked. She was now moving her palm over the box while holding the sleeve of her kosode back with her other hand, completely oblivious to them.

Gojo couldn't help but smile a little. He loved the look of concentration on her face. She had always been a hard worker, and he wished he complimented her worth ethic more often.

“So, you’re letting her go through with this?” Gojo asked.

“This is her specialty, and we cannot refuse Master Tengen.”

“I’m sure she can pull this off, but if this affects her negatively, I’m rushing her to Shoko.”

Kazuo slowed to a halt. “You’re serious about my sister, aren’t you?”

Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked. “I’m not the type to do things half-heartedly.”

“But do you understand the implications of being with her? It’s not as simple as the two of you holding hands and being happy.”

“I’m not forcing her into anything. I’ve told her that she gets to decide whether she wants this relationship or not.”

“Clearly, she wants to be with you.” Kazuo grimaced, as though acknowledging that left a bad taste in his mouth. “But what the two of you want is not the issue here. You are engaged to Hanabi Gojo, correct?”

“A front. It keeps power-hungry families away.”

“But that’s not common knowledge. If your relationship with Utahime becomes public, people will take notice. She’s not Hanabi Gojo. She’s a shrine maiden from a minor clan with a primarily non-combat-type cursed technique. It will affect my family’s affiliations and her career trajectory.”

Gojo dropped his cool facade. He tried to play this lightly for as long as he could, but Kazuo was too intent on brandishing the cons of their relationship for him to keep it up. “If it comes out, then I’m willing to put the Iori clan under my protection.”

“Master Iori will decline. So will I.”

“It’s no longer sustainable to be neutral.”

“You don’t understand our values then.”

“Let me rephrase that." Gojo turned to face him fully. "It’s no longer safe to be neutral. All the minor clans are forming alliances with major clans. Your attempts to be noble will only hurt you.”

“Like I said, you don’t understand.”

“Exactly what do I not understand?”

“I’m her older brother and the future leader of my clan," Kazuo said. “My clan is my family. If you were an ordinary sorcerer, I would have no qualms about your relationship with Utahime. You’re a capable young man who seems sincere enough about your affection for my sister. Marry her. Have children with her and secure my clan’s lineage. In an ideal world, it would be as simple as that. But this is reality, and you’re Satoru Gojo.”

“That's precisely why I'm the best person to protect her. This doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Kazuo stepped forward so he was almost chest-to-chest with him. “Lord Gojo, you’re placing a target on my sister’s back, and after the Kamo attacked her once, I’d very much like to avoid further encounters with the three major clans that might endanger her life.”

Gojo pursed his lips to refrain from clapping back. That was the one incident he hoped Kazuo wouldn't bring up, and now he felt his composure slipping.

Kazuo stared into the distance somewhere above Gojo’s shoulder, on his face a look of quiet apprehension. “Please. I can’t just stand back again and watch her get hurt.”

Gojo placed his hand on Kazuo's shoulder, applying just enough pressure to communicate his authority. “I understand where you're coming from, but it’s her decision to make. I also don't want to be in a position again where I have to move in the shadows to keep her safe. This time, if they so much as think about laying a finger on her, I won't hesitate to end them."

Kazuo didn't move or say anything for a long time. Gojo was just about to pull away when, all of a sudden, Kazuo drew a long, weary sigh. “Alright, then let’s make sure it’s an informed decision. Does she know what you did to her?Twice?”

For a second, Gojo was too stunned to speak. He scoured his brain for how Kazuo could've possibly known, and the only thing he could think of was his open relationships. Kazuo may just be fooling around, or he could be forming alliances with the lower-ranking and often disregarded members of Jujutsu HQ to get valuable intel. After all, these things were confidential, and the only people outside the tight circle of Jujutsu HQ's higher-ups who had access to this kind of information were the staff who processed Hanabi's formal requests.

Gojo clenched his jaws to keep his distress from showing on his face. The only thing he could do now was stand by his decisions. “My feelings aside, it was perfectly reasonable. She would've gotten killed by now if I hadn't intervened."

Kazuo chuckled, but it came out more pained than amused. “You’re so out of touch with the reality of weaker sorcerers like us. But you’re so young too, I can’t exactly begrudge you for it.” He patted Gojo’s shoulder in a mock gesture. “Tell her and see whether she will still want to be with you after that.”

Chapter Text

Utahime learned how to read cursed energy from a young age. There was more to it than the accumulated negative air around a person, many of them so dense, they could almost be a second skin.

Cursed energy was like a heatless flame, and the power of this flame depended on the nature of the experience that kindled it. In general, it was the same across the board for both curse users and non-curse users. Their negative emotions. Trauma. Bad events recorded on objects in what was popularly known as Stone Tape Theory. But not all negative events and experiences translated to the same level of cursed energy. The greater the grief, the loss, the hatred, and the need for revenge, the more monstrous the energy that they created.

The difference was that for non curse-users, this energy bled out of their systems and accumulated into curses, their combined negative power creating a new being that was designed to destroy. Spirits that enacted the deepest, darkest desires that humans could normally curb on the basis of moral ethics.

When she was a little girl, her father had told her that humans were the real gods of destruction. Death in human disguise, and they didn’t even know it.

“We can’t break down the cursed energy of spirits and determine who’s responsible for them,” he once said to her during her training. “They’re the collective effort of non-shamans, with too many of them having varying degrees of contribution over the creation of a single cursed spirit.”

For curse-users, this energy was concentrated within a vessel, giving the flame a signature, something that could almost be considered their second DNA. Some of her first official assignments as a shrine maiden had been to study residuals and determine on the spot whether it belonged to a male or female, a strong sorcerer or a weak one, and how long the residual had been there. The Iori’s hyper-sensitivity to cursed energy was so powerful that she could tell through residuals alone whether a sorcerer was blood-related to another.

Cursed objects, however, were different.

Utahime held back the sleeve of her kosode with her right hand while she used her left to study the box.

Most of the cursed object that were worthy of Jujutsu HQ’s attention were made from notable sorcerers of past centuries, their cursed energy and technique trapped within body parts or objects. Utahime could gather crucial information about the composition of an object and the magnitude of its power. However, these were typically useless if the intent was to destroy an object of this complexity and strength.

Whatever this box was held the DNA of someone powerful, and it would take brute force to even place a dent on it.

The cursed technique that made this object so potent long after its creation gave Utahime goosebumps.

And yet something was amiss.

Its cursed energy felt both near and far. Its flames burned in front of her and spread out in all directions, like small hands reaching for something.

“Yaga-sensei, is this cursed object a part of a whole?" Utahime asked. "Or is it supposed to have something to complete it?”

Yaga stood and shook his head, as though whisking away his lethargy with the action. “Master Tengen said it’s some kind of back gate to something. They sent sorcerers abroad to search for the other half. If we acquire it, we’ll likely be performing the same ceremony to seal it away for good.”

“A gate?” Utahime tilted her head to read some of the texts on the talisman. “That must be why it feels like there’s a void inside, some kind of vortex of energy. Ugh. It’s so creepy.”

“Just be glad it’s Master Tengen who has to deal with whatever is beneath those constraints.”

“I know.” Utahime shivered for good measure. “I can start the ceremony now. Where’s Kazuo?”

She saw her brother standing a bit far off with Gojo, the two of them so close, they looked like they were in a stand-off. Even from where she was, she could feel the bite of hostile air between them, and she clapped her hands twice to break off whatever was happening.

“If you don’t mind helping me here, I’d be grateful,” she yelled.

Kazuo glimpsed Utahime, muttered something to Gojo, and then walked away. She squinted at Gojo, who, despite his blindfold, was obviously upset. She started to make her way towards him when he turned to face her with a smile.

That stopped her in her tracks. If there was one thing that surprised him about Gojo in the course of their relationship, it was his secretive nature. He hid it well behind his endless babbling about the most nonsensical topics, giving him the air of someone who had no filter, and therefore no secrets.

Whenever he smiled like that at her, she knew not to push a matter. It was a sign. A warning. The one time she ignored it, he stared down at her with a blank expression, silent. It was only when she stopped nagging that he reverted to his old, cheerful self. A couple of weeks later, he brought it up without prompting. The matter had been about a Zenin sorcerer abroad who died under his supervision. Even though the Zenin acted recklessly, the investigation still showed negligence on Gojo’s part, and his clan paid the Zenin clan handsomely for the loss.

It was all clan politics, and the matter was not escalated because the Zenin lost a sorcerer, but because they still hated Gojo for interfering with their acquisition of Megumi Fushiguro.

Whatever this was, Utahime thought, she trusted him to confide in her in his own time.

She transferred her gaze to Kazuo, who was approaching her with heavy steps. Just because she wouldn’t nag Gojo didn’t mean she wouldn’t nag her brother.

“What did you say to him?” she asked.

“You’ve got a job to do, Iori.” Kazuo shoved a peg into her hand.

Well. It was worth a shot.

Utahime glanced at Gojo one last time before slipping the peg on the front waistband of her scarlet hakama. She produced a silk chihaya from her bag and secured it in place with the vermilion chest cord. Once Kazuo was done surrounding the box with pegs, he helped her put on a floral headdress and fasten the bells around her wrists.

He was correct in telling her to dress up for this ritual, as each of her accessories had been embroidered with seals to help concentrate her technique.

Kazuo unzipped her boots for her and set them aside, and she could tell by the force with which he did them that he was just as upset as Gojo.

She really thought they were getting along on the train ride to Tokyo despite Kazuo’s slight reservations. But then again, he was never as stern with her or Haruki as he was with other people. So when the Iori shrine priests and maidens reported jokingly that Kazuo had a bad temper, she never thought they were actually frightened of him.

Utahime never thought she could be frightened of him.

“Have you decided on the words?” he asked.

“It’s pretty straightforward. I’m just reversing the keywords on the talisman constraints.”

Kazuo nodded and raised his forefinger, elevating the pegs to the box's level. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Once the pegs started circling the cursed object, Utahime felt Kazuo’s technique activate in the peg pinned to her hakama. He raised her cursed energy slowly to match his, and since she no longer had to worry about regulating hers, she could focus on unraveling the talisman constraints one layer at a time.

Utahime moved her hands forward like smoothing down a fabric, and as she upturned her hands she began her song. It had only been in the past eight months that she learned how to replace chanting with singing. Under Principal Gakuganji’s tutelage, she mastered the use of vocal melodies as a replacement for the musical accompaniment of traditional ceremonies. This allowed her to overcome the weaknesses of chanting, which was the staccato effect of beginning and ending each word. Singing smoothed out the delivery of each key element in the verbiage of the ritual, and the flow of her cursed energy became fluid, and her technique unraveled the layers of the seals much faster.

With each twirl, bow, and hand movement, the box shook more violently, and the talisman constraints that had ripped away began to dissolve.

Kazuo sat behind her holding the hand seal of his technique while chanting. Every now and then, she glimpsed Gojo standing by himself some way back.

The repetitive clicking noises that came from the box interrupted her singing. Kazuo hissed for her to continue, and although hesitant, she did as she was told. Only now, she knew she had to finish the ceremony faster. Whatever this cursed object was did not like that she was flooding it with foreign energy.

Utahime felt the sweat dripping from the back of her neck to her spine. Even with Kazuo’s help, her fingers numbed, and parts of her body throbbed with the immense tug-of-war between her and the constraints.

A single strip of paper remained on the box. As it peeled away, she saw a singular eye on its surface, the pupils of which roamed frantically until it landed on her.

A surge of energy backfired from the box and knocked the wind out of her. Before she passed out, she saw a robed figure with a cylindrical head seize the box. Then she picked up the scent of Gojo’s jacket and felt his strong hands lift her from the ground. Knowing she was perfectly safe, she allowed herself to lose consciousness.

Utahime dreamt of a room. White floors. White ceiling. She couldn't tell where it started and where it ended. Even the solidity of the ground beneath her felt unreliable, like it might give way to a pit at any moment. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and told herself she was okay. A dream was a dream, even if it was imbued with hostile cursed energy. If she could find her way out, then this would be nothing but another bad experience to learn from.

Utahime dusted her clothes as she straightened up. Walk. Just keep on walking and studying the cursed energy. This space was not another dimension, but an illusion. If it were real, then her body would be rippling with cursed energy as well, and she could use her technique to get out.

She hadn't even walked a kilometer yet when the muscles in her legs started aching. Her movements slowed down, and she felt like she had been running a marathon this entire time. She sucked in air, a cry for help forming on her lips, but was impeded by her foot striking something solid on the ground. Pulling her foot back, she saw the cursed object with its singular eye, staring at her.

Utahime stumbled backward and slipped, landing hard on her lower back. Raising herself on her elbow, she felt warm fluid streaming beneath her fingers. Her kosode and hakama grew heavy with wetness. It took her a moment to process that the red staining her skin and clothes was blood. So much blood slithering like a living being toward the cursed object.

The clicking noises resumed, startling her so much that she stopped trying to get up from the floor. Only when the ache in her jaws intensified did she realize that the noise wasn’t coming from the box, but from her own chattering teeth. She raised her hands to touch her face. Her fingers sank into her skin and caught pieces of her flesh as they fell off.

Her scarlet hakama deflated, and the fabric fell over the outline of her bones. Utahime screamed and screamed as the flesh on her torso ripped away in huge chunks. The skin of her forehead melted, dripping over her eyes and rendering her blind.

“Utahime!”

Utahime opened her eyes and sat up.

The room was empty again, devoid of blood. Devoid of the box. She was trembling so badly that she could not manage to stand up. The most she could do was go on all fours and crawl forward, wary of what might suddenly appear. Or disappear. She checked her arms and legs now and then in fear that they might wither.

Sweat seemed to ooze out from every pore of her body. She panted as she dragged her arms and legs forward.

“I have to get out,” she told herself. Somehow, her voice sounded like it was coming from a distance.

She was surveying the white void around her when her fingers came into contact with something soft and familiar. Looking down, she saw Gojo’s still figure beneath her.

“Gojo?”

Blood spilled from beneath his blindfold. The contrast of red on his pale skin made her hold her breath. She took the edge of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger and pulled the blindfold over his head.

His eyes were nothing but hollow concaves, the insides so dark and deep, they seemed to extend into a void. Blood trickled from the inner corners of his eyes, first in thin streams, and then in volumes that turned his entire face red.

“No, no, no.” She covered his eyes with her hands. “Wake up. Wake up. This isn’t real.”

The figure beneath her hands softened and shrank. The next she looked down, Gojo was gone, and she was holding up the cursed object. The eye, now the same vibrant blue as Gojo’s, blinked at her.

Utahime closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw a sky full of stars above her. The midnight breeze blew past her body, and the chill of the earth beneath her made her shiver. Her mind raced to remember what she had been doing and how she got there, but her thoughts kept returning to the box.

“Utahime!”

Kazuo entered her field of vision. Before he could lift his technique completely, he picked her up from the ground and wrapped her in an embrace.

His cursed energy pulsated around her like electrical currents, helping her regain sensation in the rest of her body. She flung her arms around him and bit her lower lip to suppress a sob. It took her several moments to register her surroundings, to acknowledge that the nightmare had ended, and she was back in reality. They were outside the Tomb of the Star Corridor, but she couldn't place where on campus exactly. The fog in her brain was just beginning to recede, and the longer her brother held her, the more grounded she felt.

Peering up from Kazuo’s shoulder, she saw Yaga, Shoko, and Gojo approach the ritual circle. She couldn't make out their expressions, but she judged based on their postures that they were waiting anxiously to approach.

Kazuo pulled away and held her by the shoulders. “Master Tengen is currently sealing the cursed object. We think it retaliated. I had to break whatever it did to you by forcing my cursed energy onto your body."

“But we did it, right?”

“Yes. Master Tengen sends their thanks.”

She slumped forward in relief. At least the terror she suffered wasn't for nothing.

"Can I approach now?" Shoko yelled, her hands cupping her mouth. "Senpai, are you okay?"

Kazuo and Utahime gave them two thumbs up.

Yaga punched the air. “That’s my favorite student!”

“I thought I was your favorite,” Shoko said as she walked past him to Utahime.

Gojo clapped Yaga on the back. “Don’t be shy, old man. I know it’s me. It’s my accomplishments that made you principal, after all.”

“Utahime’s the only one who never broke the rules. The both of you made me dread going to work the entire time you were my students.”

Shoko crouched in front of Utahime and felt her forehead, leaving Yaga and Gojo to bicker in the background. ”Utahime-senpai, do you feel any stinging behind your eyes or inside your ears?”

“Just a little lightheaded. Otherwise, I’m fine. I actually feel like I’m on some sort of high.”

“Oh, alright. But just in case, I don’t want you to panic. You were bleeding from your eyes and ears, but it seems to have stopped. We’ll get you washed and cleaned up in the infirmary as usual, then I'll make sure that there's nothing else to worry about." Shoko smiled at her. "Gojo said you were awesome earlier."

Utahime bowed her head and pretended to scratch her nose. She didn't want Kazuo to see her blushing.

“Kazuo!” Yaga waved at him. “Follow me. We might as well finish the paperwork on this one before sunrise. Leave Utahime to Shoko for now.”

Kazuo nodded at him before turning back to Utahime. “I’ll see you later.”

“Right.”

Utahime didn’t miss the look Kazuo and Gojo exchanged as they passed one another. Gojo caught her staring and broke into a grin, deflecting the tension with his playful manner. She couldn’t call him out on it, though, as Shoko was prodding her here and there and wiping the dried blood on her face with wet wipes.

Gojo crouched next to Shoko. “Can you stand or shall I carry you over my shoulder?”

A tingling sensation coursed her body, and all at once, she was hyper-aware of him. His proximity. His breathing. Every minuscule movement he made that sent a ripple of energy in her direction. The feeling was so foreign that she had to pause to gather her wits. “I’m not a sack of potatoes.”

“Gojo,” Shoko said, drawing out the last syllable in a tired manner. “Don’t rile up my patient.”

“I’ve been riling her up all night.”

Blood rushed to Utahime's face, but instead of scolding him, she burst into giggles. The laughter just bubbled out of her, and it was so strange even to her that she could only shrug in response to Gojo's questioning look. 

Shoko shoved the used wet wipes into her latex gloves as she slipped them off. “She’s high, alright.”

“I feel like I’m floating," Utahime said.

“That's cute, but I want my snapping, snarling Utahime back,” Gojo said. In one fell swoop, she was off the ground and cradled in his arms. Utahime gripped the front of his jacket, startled by the sudden change of altitude. Gojo tucked his chin to see her as he adjusted his grip around her knees and shoulders. “You okay there?”

Utahime allowed herself to sink into his arms. Now that he was holding her, the sensations from earlier had lulled. A quiet contentment washed over her. “It’s better than being drunk.”

Shoko patted her leg. “Let's not think about beer right now, senpai.”

Utahime pressed the side of her face on the curve of Gojo’s neck, relishing in his warmth and masculine scent. Gojo, in turn, nuzzled his nose in her hair briefly, and she almost purred in pleasure. It was as though her body and her emotions were completely detached from her mind and she didn’t have the correct filters in place.

Gojo smiled at her reaction, and she smiled at him in return.

"You like my cursed energy, huh?"

"What?"

"Your power peaked tonight, and like a magnet, you're attracted to the most powerful sorcerer within your reach," he said. "That's why the strongest sorcerers in history sought each other out to battle. Whoever wins reaches another high."

"It's like a sorcerer's drug," Shoko added.

Utahime looped her arm around his neck and buried her nose in the exposed flesh above his jacket's collar. It made sense now. Her output had never been this close to his, and although the gap was still immense, the desire for more lingered. Gojo was the epitome of power in modern times. To hold him like this was to take power itself in her grip.

Gojo flinched. He tipped his head to the side to distance the flushed skin of his neck from her nose. "Utahime, not there."

Shoko pushed apart the partitions in one section of the infirmary and motioned for Gojo to lay her down on the bed. Panic overcame Utahime, and she clung to Gojo, fighting his effort to extricate himself from her. Shoko intervened by rolling up the sleeve of her kosode and injecting her with a mild relaxant. Slowly, her limbs fell limp, and Gojo lowered her to the edge of the bed without difficulty.

He scrubbed a dot of dried blood off her cheek with his fingernail. "How long do you think it'll last, Shoko?"

"Probably a couple of hours, but there's no definitive way to tell."

"I'm scared," Utahime muttered. "My body's acting on its own."

"That's why I injected you with a relaxant." She pulled out a two-piece hospital gown from a cabinet. "The last time Gojo was high, he stripped and tormented Yaga around campus."

Utahime laughed so hard, her head rolled back and she fell on the mattress. She was vaguely aware of Gojo suggesting that they tie her to the bed and Shoko slapping his arm. Then she told him to step out so she could change her clothes.

Getting out of her kosode and hakame pants proved to be a challenge in her current state. The relaxant had affected her coordination, and despite her mental high, she was aching so much in certain parts of her body that she almost gave up. Shoko chuckled and said she couldn’t possibly stop now, as she only had one leg inside the flimsy pants, and she had nothing on top except for her camisole.

To ease her struggles, Shoko fetched the traditional hospital gown that closed at the back and put that on her instead. Then she half-carried Utahime to the bed, where she readily draped the blanket over her exposed legs. "Better?"

Utahime pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and got comfortable. The euphoria was ebbing, and now she felt like a feather swaying in the wind as it made its way down from the sky. "Much. Thanks, Shoko."

"Anything for you, senpai."

She must have drifted off for a couple of minutes, because by the time she opened her eyes again, Shoko was already healing the bruises on her calves. Utahime inspected her arms and peered beneath her hospital gown to check her torso. All the cuts and bruises from her training—gone.

Gojo returned at that moment with a can of soda for himself, a cup of coffee for Shoko, and a bottle of water for Utahime. He set them all down on Shoko's desk and offered the bottle of water to Utahime. "Still on cloud nine?"

Utahime gulped down the bottle's contents at once. She didn't realize she was this thirsty. “A bit, but I think I'm starting to come down from it."

“Enjoy it while it lasts, because you’ll likely feel the crash after you wake up." Shoko flashed a penlight on Utahime's left eye, then her right. Satisfied, she did the same to her ears. "I’m attaching an IV drip on you to make sure you’re not dehydrated. Gojo, are you staying here?”

“Just for a little while.” He dragged a folding chair to her bedside and watched as Shoko attached the IV drip to her.

Utahime reached for Gojo. He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb back and forth over her knuckles, soothing her.

Shoko glimpsed them. “Okay, lovebirds, that’s fine, but no making out in my clinic.”

Gojo gave a dramatic sigh. “You know I’d never do that, Shoko, but Utahime-senpai likes to take advantage of me in my most vulnerable moments. She was practically kissing my neck earlier.”

“Shut it, you.”

"Ah, she's back," Gojo said with a pout.

Shoko rounded the bed with a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know how you fell for that, senpai, but good luck. I’ll pretend to run some errands to give you privacy.”

Gojo threw his hand up to wave at her. “You’re the best, Shoko!”

“I know, I know.”

As soon as the door closed, Gojo sank into his seat, his mood suddenly somber. Utahime scowled at him, baffled, and he gave her a wan smile to ease her worries.

“Seriously, I thought I lost you for a moment back there,” he said.

“That’s because you keep underestimating me. I've overcome so many life-threatening assignments over the years. Most of them worse than you can imagine.”

“An even surface is threatening to a clumsy person like you.”

She pulled her hand away. She was beginning to feel more like herself now, but her annoyance was still disingenuous. It was like she was simply going through the motions with him. “Don’t you have a mission to do? You’re ruining my recovery.”

Gojo leaned forward on his seat and propped his elbow on the edge of her bed. “Now doesn’t this feel nostalgic? Utahime-senpai in Jujutsu High’s infirmary with me looking after her.”

“You’re just pestering me as usual.”

“Actually, I have something important to tell you.”

She patted the space next to her. “Come here first.”

Gojo sat beside her so that their thighs were touching through the blanket. He swung his hand across her body and placed it on the space beside her hip, leaning his weight sideways so that he dominated her field of vision. Utahime's fingertips ghosted over his cheeks as she studied his face. Gingerly, she slipped her fingers beneath his blindfold and pulled it up, revealing his left eye.

His smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw something while I was unconscious. I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

“Tell me about it.”

The languid, rapturous feeling in her chest gave way to a heavy pressure on her heart. She swallowed hard and forced herself not to blink, but the stinging at the back of her eyes intensified. The next thing she knew, the tears had already fallen, and she was trying to suppress her sobs.

“You cryin’?”

She shook her head. Yes, she was crying, but no, she didn’t mean to. The cocktail of emotions that hit her was so strong, so confusing, all she could do was give in. “You were dead and I removed your blindfold and your eyes were gone. I wanted so badly to wake up.”

Gojo took off his blindfold. “Look at me. That’s never going to happen.”

“I know, but still.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “It felt so real.”

Gojo sighed. He brushed the nook of his index finger under her eyes. Then he was holding her head and kissing away her tears, catching them as they slid down the curve of her cheeks. “Hate it when you cry,” he murmured as his lips trailed her jaws, and then landed softly on her mouth.

Utahime parted her lips, welcoming him. He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, so differently from how he had done it just a couple of hours ago. There was still neediness in how he nipped at her lips and coaxed her mouth wider, but it was now laced with a gentleness that made her shiver. Partly with desire, and partly with relief.

She liked this side of him too. The side that treated her like she was fragile, like each press and slide of his lips and tongue against hers was done with the awareness that he might hurt her.

Utahime held him by the neck to make sure he would not pull away. Likewise, he gripped her waist to keep her steady.

“Shoko’s gonna kill us,” he muttered, then captured her lips again in another lingering kiss.

Utahime giggled, because if ever Shoko caught them, only Gojo would get the brunt of her anger. Whatever amusement she felt, however, was cut short when he changed the angle of their kiss, and they lost themselves in the act again. Now the desperate edge to his touch returned, and she felt the warm air leave his nostrils heavily as his breathing hastened.

The familiar thrum of pleasure was just beginning to course her limbs when she groaned in pain. The pleasure left, replaced by fatigue that clamped onto every muscle in her body.

Gojo’s kisses slowed, his eyes fluttering open to see her, and then he stopped. “Crashing?”

“I think so.” The tears had returned, and now she was sobbing, clutching his shoulders to anchor herself to the present.

He brushed a kiss to her brows, her eyes, her cheeks, and then her swollen lips. Meanwhile, his hand ran up and down her sides in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay. They’re just emotions.”

Utahime whimpered when she met his gaze again. He had such clear, blue eyes, it was like looking at the perfect sky. “I keep thinking to myself that you’re the most annoying person in the world.”

“Alright, take it out on me. I can handle it.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re probably the most egotistical too, and diabetes has a higher chance of killing you than any curse or sorcerer does, and it’s probably unhealthy for me to be worrying over you this much, because who the hell can ever beat you, right?”

“There’s a compliment there somewhere, I’m sure.”

“But I feel these things all the same, and I tried not to because I’m not sure how it’ll go, or if it’s the same with you, but, Gojo, I think I might be in love with you.”

Gojo’s hand stilled at her side.

A tense silence fell between them. She held his gaze, waiting, waiting. Not a muscle in his face moved. He didn’t even blink. He merely stared back at her as though waiting to catch her in a lie, and when she did not take it back, he lowered his eyes to the space between them.

“Please say something,” she whispered as her hands slipped from his shoulders.

Gojo licked his lips. He picked up his blindfold and pulled them over his eyes. “Utahime."

"You think I'm not myself right now."

"That's not—"

"—I didn't mean to say it this way, now, like this, but the dream felt so real, I was convinced I lost you." Her voice was getting smaller and smaller, and she couldn't stop crumpling the blanket on her lap. "I thought I should let you know. After all the things you did for me."

"I blocked your promotion twice.”

She looked up at him.

“I said I want you. Do you think I’ll let you get killed by a grade one curse in some filthy location in Kyoto?”

Her head hurt. She touched her temple to acknowledge the pain, and then let her hand fall on her lap again. “Gojo.”

“If you somehow get recommended after this assignment, I’ll just block it again. It’s what’s best for you.”

“Satoru,” she said, her voice breaking at the end.

He cupped her face and swiped his thumb across her cheek to remove the tear trails that remained. “Say you understand. You know I’m right.”

Utahime glanced around the room. Her lungs expanded and contracted, but it was as though no air was entering her system. At once, her tears dried up, and her skin felt hot with the new emotion rising within her.

She closed her eyes to focus on her breathing. One. Two. In. Out. She raised her arm and pointed him to the door. More deep breaths. When she opened them again, she was relieved to see that Gojo was gone, because she had never felt more furious in her entire life.

Chapter Text

It went horribly wrong.

He stood outside the infirmary, looking at the blank wall ahead as though it might reveal a path. An escape. Maybe a way to reverse things so Utahime never found out. He would stop himself before he could say it, and he would still be by her side now, probably holding her hand. Maybe kissing her face. He would sit at her bedside and watch over her, making sure nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

Only that was not how things went down, and that was not how things would’ve gone down had he withheld the truth from her.

If he had not admitted to blocking her promotion, what would he have said instead?

That he loved her?

Suguru had insisted on many occasions that this was what he felt for Utahime, and he had denied it over and over. From the very beginning, Gojo knew that his feelings for her stemmed more from a sense of possessiveness than affection. He wanted to hold her and keep her for himself. Suguru had retorted that it was a kind of love in itself. He wouldn't be so possessive if he didn't love her. What would be the point of owning something you felt nothing for, right?

So Gojo thought he did love Utahime. Over the years, he told himself that if he loved her, then he owned her. He had never thought or said this idea explicitly, but he realized now that it had been motivating his actions from the very beginning. Vaguely, at first. And then after she got her scar, his urges grew stronger. He would check on her mission logs multiple times a day and keep tabs on the happenings in the Kyoto branch. Often, this led to conversations about work where Utahime was simply elaborating or confirming things he already knew, but pretended to be oblivious of. He minded the shift of power in the higher-ups and tried to get her to return to Tokyo. When that didn't work, he kept returning to her apartment. Showing up with her in places she frequented. Marking his territory as best as he could without being fully aware of it.

Now the issue at hand—blocking her promotion.

Maybe he could have said he loved her, but loving her meant he’d have to give it up. He would have to relinquish whatever control he had that kept her out of harm’s way. She could say no to him—and he was sure that she would on many occasions, on a variety of issues that concerned her safety—and he would have to acquiesce. Didn't love, in its purest, most cliche form mean compromise? But that wasn’t how he wanted to do things. No, that wasn’t how he felt he needed to do things.

Gojo needed her exactly where he could manage her. It took seeing her silent fury for him to acknowledge this fact about himself. And then he had to swallow another hard truth—he had no future with Utahime this way. She would never agree to sit still like Lady Sayuri did for Satoshi, and he might just lose his mind if he entered a relationship where he could not be in perfect control.

He made his way to Yaga’s office. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridors of Jujutsu High. Whenever the trees outside swayed with the breeze, their shadows danced across the floors and the walls, bringing to life the darkness that surrounded Gojo. Suddenly, this place felt claustrophobic, and he had to loosen his collar to breathe easier.

Perhaps he was overthinking things. Or maybe he had not thought about it enough.

Gojo tried to reach for whatever reason he could scour in his brain, but again and again, all he felt was the dread of her loss. He could survive not being with her. But her death—that would be a different kind of hell entirely.

He sat on the couch in Yaga’s office and settled into the darkness. He thought he would find comfort in the silence and the gloom, but it was there that Suguru appeared before him again. He stood unmoving on the busy sidewalk of Shibuya, and all Gojo could feel was loneliness. He brought his hands up to strike him, but his anger was fleeting. And when real, untethered anger did consume him later on, it was directed only at himself.

If only he had been less selfish, less consumed by the immensity of his power, he would have taken Suguru’s descent into madness more seriously. Shoko had brought it up with him in their last winter together, and he assured her that Suguru would get over the chaos in his mind the same way he did.

After all, didn’t Gojo also want to kill all of those people? He found them so utterly revolting and worthless that he would have wiped them out without any remorse. Suguru, who dissuaded him then, fell for the same mistake eventually.

If Gojo had just paid more attention. If he had just used his influence to control the flow of Suguru’s missions. If he had been there to tell him no when he wanted to eradicate that entire town, then he would still be here now.

Gojo didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at the silhouette of the desk, the chair, and the clutter of cursed corpses before Yaga returned.

He stopped at the threshold, as though unsure whether he wanted to enter. Or maybe he was unsure of Gojo. He always knew his old sensei was wary of him and Suguru to a certain extent, and rightly so.

“I’ve been searching for Suguru,” Gojo said as an invitation.

Yaga closed the door behind him and flicked on his desk lamp. “And you’re telling me this now because?”

“That’s one of the reasons I was in Kyoto. I have men in my clan actively hunting him down, as it seems he’s been gathering more and more followers there. I need to know what Jujutsu HQ has on him right now that they’re not disclosing.”

Yaga collapsed on his reclining chair with a sigh. “The search for him has halted. We’re too understaffed, and efforts to even gain intel on him for surveillance purposes have cost us too many auxiliary managers.”

“I’m being kept out.”

“Jujutsu HQ is being cautious. They know your relationship with Getou, and frankly, they don’t trust you to deal with him unless they have no choice. I think they’re limiting the risk of him sweet-talking you into changing sides.”

“How stupid do they take me for?”

“And they’re not certain you’re up for the task.” Yaga removed his glasses and set them down on the table. He looked straight at Gojo the way he used to when he was still a devious teen who had to be kept in check. “You don’t want to kill him. That’s a fact.”

Gojo couldn’t help but scoff. It was supposed to be scathing, but it ended up sounding pained. “That’s the irony of it. I’m the only one who can.”

Yaga shook his head at nothing in particular. After a tense moment, he moved to the front of his desk and perched himself on the edge. He grabbed one of his favorite cursed corpses and tugged and squeezed it like a stress ball.

“Your clan’s movements are independent of Jujutsu HQ's influence. I suggest you keep it that way for the time being. The higher-ups aren’t ready to do much unless Getou  wreaks havoc somewhere. Right now, it appears he’s just collecting curses and making money.”

“Do they actually think Suguru is doing us a favor by collecting those curses?”

“That worries me also, but the higher-ups won’t move a finger without any incentive,” he said. “No trouble for the people, no money for the business. The most we probably have is an extensive list of all the religious organizations that have even the smallest relation to Jujutsu and curses, as well as the underground sorcery society. Which ones Getou is controlling can be difficult to identify. Most of them will change names and distribute their members to be as off-the-radar as possible. Unless he announces his next move or we somehow figure it out, the higher-ups won’t bother with him.”

Gojo thought as much, but the small part of him that wanted to believe in the Jujutsu High he had idealized in his youth hoped otherwise. This was the last straw. He would never be able to trust this institution again. Not with Suguru. Not with Utahime. And not with his students.

“Whatever,” he said. “It’s going to be my battle to fight anyway.”

“Satoru, are you really up for it?”

“The longer we let Suguru pursue his plans, the less choice I have. If he’s being clever, he will try to catch me with my defenses down.” Gojo stood and made his way to the door. “Once I’m gone, all of you are his for the taking.”

Yaga stretched the cursed corpse to its limit, causing it to whine. “You sound like there is something he might use against you.”

That stopped him. He recalled an old memory of him glancing over his shoulder and catching Suguru’s eye. They were at the train station, probably skipping classes, and Suguru just stood there, watching him. “He’s not the type to blackmail or take someone hostage,” Gojo said. “He’s more likely keeping an eye on me too and waiting for a vulnerable moment.”

“And what do you picture that might be?”

Gojo turned just enough so he could see Yaga. “Do you know what his was? Loss. Over and over. Loss of trust in his ideals and loss of the people he loved. To the point that he’d kill millions not to lose another one he considered of actual value to him.”

Yaga didn’t say anything for a long time. When he seemed to finally process this information, he merely nodded. “Satoru, one more thing.”

“What?”

He moved some of the documents on his desk. “There’s no use trying to get Utahime transferred here. I’d like her to be part of my staff too, but Principal Gakuganji will never allow it. The Kyoto branch is more prone to power-tripping between the three clans, so keeping neutral minor clan members as staff is integral to them. Also, Utahime is an Iori, so I’m guessing Gakuganji will use their family ties to make an ally of her.”

“Huh?”

Yaga arched his eyebrow. “You didn’t know? The Iori clan came from the Gakuganji. The Iori broke away a long time ago, but they’re relatives. With Kazuo and Utahime’s talents, Yoshinobu Gakuganji will want to renew their clans’ bond for sure.”

Just like that, it clicked.

Utahime refusing to return to Tokyo. Defending Gakuganji when he spoke poorly about him. Her insistence on wearing long-sleeved shirts to hide her cuts and bruises from training, which she somehow thought she could keep from him. Kazuo admitting the nature of that training, and that he was not involved in it.

Melody.

Of course, it had to be Gakuganji.

Gojo had just exited Yaga’s office when his phone rang. It took only one glance at the caller ID for him to know what this was about. He clutched his phone and stood stock still for several seconds. It was either he faced Utahime now and advised her against Gakuganji or rushed out of Jujutsu High in the hopes of catching Suguru.

The phone kept ringing and vibrating in his hand, and after turning it in his palm once, he finally picked up. “Father.”

“I’ll meet you at the entrance of Jutjusu High. We’ve just secured a location here in Tokyo, and I’m pretty sure you’ll want to see this,” Satoshi said.

Gojo stared down the corridor that would lead him to Utahime. Then he turned the other way. “I’m on my way.”

He found Satoshi waiting for him at the bottom of the long staircase that led to Jujutsu High. Instead of his usual kimono and hakama, he was in grey dress pants and a white button-down shirt. His hair, which he normally kept in a loose ponytail, was braided over his shoulder. He raised his hand in a curt wave once he saw Gojo, and then got into the driver’s seat of the car that was parked behind him.

Gojo climbed into the passenger’s side. The car reeked of stale coffee and air freshener. “Where in Tokyo?”

“Golden Gai.”

Just east of Shinjuku. Gojo had been with Suguru and Shoko there before. It was a small sub-neighborhood with two-story houses clumped together in a disorganized and almost hazardous kind of way. Six major alleys ran across the Golden Gai, and they branched out to narrower alleys that should make navigation easier, but had become too narrow to pass through over the years. Surprisingly, the ramshackle buildings there also held at least a hundred different kinds of drinking establishments. It was a place stuck in the early history of the Tokyo they knew today, before all the skyscrapers, malls, and attractions took over the city.

“It’s clever if you ask me,” Satoshi said as they navigated the road down the mountain. “Golden Gai might resemble a slum, but it has bars that the rich and peculiar frequent.”

“Peculiar?”

“Artists. Intellectuals. That bunch.”

“Ah.”

“You have to be a regular before you’re allowed to enter some of the establishments there. If Getou is indeed getting his funding from rich investors, that’s a damn good place to make transactions.” He steered the car into the livelier parts of Tokyo. It was still the wee hours of the morning, and while traffic and activity were low, the city never truly felt asleep. Things only slowed down but never stopped.

“The residents there might also be involved,” Gojo ventured. “Desperate conditions. Curses pestering them everyday. Suguru would only have to cleanse the place once and he’d be seen as a god.”

“Exactly. We have our Fugen’s third tier infiltrating the neighborhood. Akira dropped by briefly to confirm the absence of cursed spirits, and then we went in to find a likely meeting place. As we suspected, it’s underground, and it’s also abandoned. By the time we managed to get our forces in, the place was empty, and about a fourth of the residents had fled.”

“Did you interrogate the neighbors?”

“They’re hostile to outsiders. What information we gathered tells us that they have no idea, and these people were likely considered by the rest of the neighborhood as hikikomori. Modern recluse. A few youngsters, but mostly men and women in their forties and fifties.”

“Of course they are.” Gojo could still remember the faces of the people who had clapped at the sight of Riko Amanai’s dead body. They were probably the same demographic.

He raked his hand through his hair and called Hanabi. He thought he could set his other concerns aside for now, but it was driving him crazy not to know.

She picked up on the third ring. “What do you want, Satoru?”

“Has Gakuganji forged any deals with the Iori?”

A shuffling in the background, and then a man’s voice. It was probably her boyfriend.

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t think I should care,” she said.

“Find out for me.”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” When Gojo failed to respond at once, she said, “Trouble in paradise?”

“Call me when you find something. Thanks.” He ended the call and tried not to think too much about it anymore. He should focus on finding Suguru, but his mind kept fleeting back to Utahime in Jujutsu High’s infirmary. Kazuo would likely take her back to Kyoto as soon as he could.

Satoshi glanced at him. “Gakuganji causing you trouble?”

Gojo took the iced coffee beside him, removed the cap, and took a drink. It was one of the things he liked about his father. They had the same sweet taste in coffee. “My upperclassman is an instructor at the Kyoto branch. Utahime Iori. Her family mediated between us and the Kamo over a year ago.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about that one. They—” He made a slicing motion across his face.

Gojo ignored it. “She’s a great instructor, and I wanted her transferred to the Tokyo branch, but she kept refusing. I’m worried Gakuganji might have a hold on her, or else might be twisting her views on sorcery. She didn’t tell me they were relatives.”

Satoshi nodded slowly at the road ahead, and he was still nodding when he glanced at Gojo again. “Are we doing this?”

“What?”

“Being cryptic?” He took the cup back from Gojo. “You’re treating me like I’m not a man who knows how another man talks about the woman he likes.”

Gojo slid a little lower on his seat and looked out the window, a grunt barely suppressed in his throat.

Satoshi had started chewing on the ice, and it made loud cracking noises in the car. “If you’re not calling her to ask about it, then you had a fight.”

“Should you be drinking coffee while driving?”

“I’m trying to stay awake.”

“Just put the cup down and hold the steering wheel,” Gojo said, on the verge of grabbing the steering wheel himself.

Satoshi lowered the cup in the center console and placed his hand on the steering wheel with a flourish. “Happy? You’re even more jittery than Akira, and he has nerve problems. You know I can drive well even with one hand."

"As long as that hand is on the wheel."

"I don't like your tone."

“Sorry.” Gojo checked his phone again. A part of him wished Utahime would lash out at him. Send a litany of text messages cursing him to his death. That would be better than the silence she was bound to give him. “I’m not really in the mood right now.”

Satoshi patted Gojo’s shoulder. “Bad fight?”

“Hand on the wheel.”

He did what he was told. “Don’t want to talk to me about it?”

“Nope.”

They slowed down as they approached the intersection. Ahead of them, the stoplight quickly turned from yellow to red. “Gakuganji was my instructor at Jujutsu High.”

Gojo turned to him, wide-eyed and gawking. “You never told me that.”

“I had no reason to until now. Besides, you know how the elders are about my influence on you. If not for me wanting to please Lady Sayuri, you would’ve known everything about Gakuganji by now.”

“So tell me.”

Satoshi straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat, as he always did when he was about to go on a lengthy speech. “Gakuganji has been in the top management of Jujtusu High since before I was born. That's how ancient the guy is. He has immense decisive power, but he’s more of a field player. He’ll take orders and execute them for the brass. I’m thinking that with his reinstatement, he’s placing minor clan members and non-lineage sorcerers as his staff so he can move more freely. Your senpai is surely of interest to him, because the Iori is like the other side of the Gakuganji. What Gakuganji seals, the Iori can unseal. Ultimately, though, that old fart is more sensible than most. He did make sure Akira and I survived our missions and refused to let us undertake assignments that were beyond our grade level just like any good instructor would. We hated him mostly for how uptight he was with tradition.”

“You mean he could use Utahime to execute orders from the brass. She wouldn’t have a choice.”

Another stoplight. Party-goers crossed the pedestrian lane, with night-shift workers hurrying behind them, in their hands a few plastic bags of convenience store snacks.

It was more than a year ago now since he and Utahime went to the supermarket at Shoko’s prompting and crossed the same road. Yet he could still remember what the weight of her arm looped around his felt like that night, and how, even when he was the stronger one, she made him feel safe. Like all he had to do was be in the present, and somehow, the past and future would resolve themselves in their favor.

“Not exactly,” Satoshi said, stepping on the accelerator the soonest the light turned green. “Gakuganji will ask her price, and if it’s a fair bargain, then Utahime is his puppet. And being the traditionalist that he is, he’ll do it with a binding vow.”

Gojo flipped his phone in his hand again. He should just ask her outright, but aggravating her now might only worsen her health. Crashing from a mental high like that was no joke, and he had already done enough damage earlier.

They cruised along the perimeter of Golden Gai, taking in the bright lights, neon signages, and colorful characters going in and out of the establishments. A variety of songs spilled into the streets with each opening and closing of doors, and here and there stood clusters of men and women, chatting and laughing.

It was three in the morning now, and he spotted only one foreigner ambling in the narrow alley, garnering hostile glances from locals as he slurred words in his thick Australian accent.

Satoshi reached into the backseat and chucked a balled-up hoodie on Gojo’s lap. Then he dropped a baseball cap on Gojo’s head. “Get rid of that blindfold too. Try to blend in.”

Gojo took off his jacket and pulled the hoodie down over his black shirt. It was two sizes too big for him.

Satoshi gave him a once over and plucked at the sleeve. “Satoru, why is the world’s strongest so lanky? I’ve been the size I am now since I was your age.”

“You’re not even sure how old I am.”

“How can I possibly forget twenty-two of the most traumatic years of my life?” He pulled out his wallet and tore off three coupons. “Here. Go feed yourself after this.”

Gojo skimmed the coupons. They were thirty percent discounts for an ala carte meal in a fast food restaurant. He waved them in the air. “Really?”

Satoshi looked at him in disbelief then tore off two more coupons. “Here’s fifty percent. What more can you want? You can treat your shrine maiden too. Fix that trouble of yours.”

“Do you seriously think I treat Utahime to fast food chains using coupons?”

Satoshi slipped his wallet into his back pocket with a frown. “Well, judging by the state of your relationship, treating her with coupons is the least you can do, since you can’t even treat her right.”

“What makes you think it’s my fault?”

He held his hand up to brandish his wedding ring. “I’m married, you little idiot son of mine. If you’re this worked up about it, then it’s your fault.”

Gojo removed his blindfold and pushed his hair into the cap. If only Satoshi wasn’t his father and he had no love for Lady Sayuri at all, he’d have kicked him senseless in the head already. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Satoshi parked the car and cut the engine off. “It’ll be quick. We’ve done the heavy lifting for you.”

“Why can’t we just go directly to the lair?”

“I’ve got something for you to see.” He picked up the blindfold on Gojo’s lap with the nails of his thumb and forefinger. “And stop wearing this thing. You look like a dominatrix. Lady Sayuri will disapprove.”

Gojo put on the sunglasses that Satoshi passed on to him. Even they were a tad bit bigger than what he usually wore, and he had to keep his head level to prevent it from sliding down his nose bridge.

After alerting the Fugen through text that they had arrived, the two of them ventured into the many narrow alleys in Golden Gai. Signages crowded the streets, making navigation more difficult, especially when groups of drunk customers filed out of eateries and bars. Cigarette smoke flitted out of the windows in some establishments, while punk music boomed from others.

Gojo trailed behind Satoshi, who made his way through the alleys in a nonchalant manner. They ducked below low-lying signages and stepped around wooden blocks with scribbled announcements that were leaning haphazardly on doorframes. He didn’t miss how the men and women spared Satoshi a glance, sizing him up before moving on to Gojo, who looked like an uncooperative lackey to his father.

Without warning, Satoshi leaned on one of the quieter establishments. It looked more residential than its neighboring structures, with half-open windows on the second floor decorated with drying socks and shirts.

Gojo stood next to Satoshi and placed his hand on his shoulder first, and then his head. To onlookers, it might look like Satoshi simply had one too many drinks, and Gojo was checking on him. In truth, Satoshi had his palm flat on the wooden slats of the establishment, and he was now showing Gojo the place’s recent history.

The alley they were in sped past Gojo at a high speed, only to be replaced by the same image, but in daylight. The signages were turned off, the streets all clear, and the bar entrances closed. Three inconspicuous-looking women emerged from the door behind Gojo.

They looked like they were in their early thirties, and they all carried bulky bags across their chests. The women moved quietly, as though scared to disturb the peace in the alley.

Suddenly, the noise of chirping birds infiltrated the images. And then the sound of shoes on the pavement. And then the women’s voices, saying 'may the Blood Maiden protect you' to one another.

The last woman to leave unzipped her bag a little, revealing a white satin fabric inside. She struggled to stuff it back in without the seams catching in the teeth of the zipper.

The sounds disappeared first, followed by the images. The scene before him dissolved, giving way to the present, where two men in suits walked past them while drunkenly singing a pop song.

Satoshi ducked his head and wiped his face with a damp handkerchief. He was bleeding from his eyes and nose again. “Got that?”

“Blood Maiden,” Gojo said. “What’s that?”

“No idea.” He stuffed his bloodied handkerchief in his pocket and rolled his shoulders back. Joints popped, making him wince. He started jiggling his right leg afterward, saying that he tended to lose feelings in his extremities whenever he revisited places with the sounds on.

The best Gojo could do was pretend not to worry. Catching the visuals of a place’s recent history was tough enough for Satoshi. Adding elements like sounds, textures, and sensations took a different kind of toll on his body. Besides, Golden Gai was mostly a membership-only place. He assumed Satoshi had been frequenting the bars here and using his technique all over the place just to catch leads. Gojo could only hope Akira was with him during these escapades, as Satoshi had been known to pass out cold from over-exertion. Maybe the iced coffee was there as a stimulant, just like Gojo kept candies in his pockets during long-haul missions.

“Isn’t there a Shinto shrine nearby?” Gojo asked.

“Yes, but that blood maiden thing has nothing to do with them. I've checked. A lot of the buildings here have been rebuilt over the years too, similar to the other locations we’ve secured in the past couple of months,” he said. “We’re thinking it’s an old religious group. Or a cult, to be more precise. The white thing that woman was stuffing in her bag? It was a robe.”

They continued on their way to the outskirts of Golden Gai, where more and more of the Fugen Unit appeared to guide them.

The same teenager who greeted Gojo in the first location they secured in Kyoto nodded at them at the entrance of a rundown house. Gojo remembered his name as Minato. Hanabi had mentioned him before, as he had stood out in the third tier of the Fugen Unit for his excellent hand-to-hand combat skills.

Minato led the way to a backdoor and used the flashlight of his phone to light their path.

“Master Akira is downstairs. All of the items left behind have been documented upon discovery and removed for safekeeping. The second tier is now checking them for residuals, but we think none of them are sorcerers,” he said.

“Return to your post.” Satoshi waved him off once they reached the bottom.

Minato bowed to Gojo first, then to Satoshi before running up the stairs.

They opened the steel double doors to a spacious room, but unlike the one in Kyoto, it was damp, dark, and dirty. The yellowing floors were cracked in places, and the walls had marks that suggested extensive water leakage. Candle wax coated the floor in intervals, as though a ceremony had been performed there by candlelight.

The clammy air hit Gojo so hard, he had to pause by the entrance. “Is this a different cult?”

“Looks like it,” Satoshi said, picking at the hardened candle wax on the floor with the sole of his leather shoe. “A lot less hygienic too. Maybe they have funding issues.”

Akira emerged from the darkness. “About time you got here. This place looks like it will collapse any moment now.”

“Have you explored the passages?”

“All of them were blocked off, but I undid them and confirmed that they led to the nearby Shinto shrine at some point. It’s not Jujutsu-affiliated though, and the shrine itself doesn’t have any suspicious activities. No residuals. No fishy priests.” Akira shrugged. “Not in the past couple of years, at least.”

Satoshi sighed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to go with my theory.”

Gojo crouched beside the hardened wax. There were smudges of black ink on the floor, and the way the markings went around the wax across the hall reminded him of the ritual circle Kazuo used earlier. “And that is?”

“At least give me time to do more snooping around before you plant ideas in your son’s head,” Akira said.

“I have a feeling I’m spot on with this one.” Satoshi touched the grimy wall. “Satoru, when I told you about Gakuganji earlier, it wasn't just to be fatherly.”

Gojo hesitated to touch his father. Whatever it was, he knew it would impact Utahime. The idea that he had overlooked Gakuganji made his fingers twitch. It was so easy to point and destroy something right now. Blow up this place. Give in to his impulses just this once and relieve the stress that had been building up inside of him.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Ready?” he asked.

Satoshi presented his head as an answer.

Gojo placed his hand flat over his father’s head, and at once, his technique activated. The scenery before him moved sideways several times before finally stopping in a corridor as yellowing and murky as the hall they were in. Figures in white robes walked in a single file to the end of the corridor, their hands clasped together at their stomachs and their heads bowed, hiding their faces.

Suguru stood in front of an alcove, looking bored and impatient. Another robed man appeared behind him, holding up what appeared to be a whistle. Half-hidden in the darkness, it was impossible to make out his face and identify him. Gojo guessed that this vision was soundless because Satoshi found nothing useful in whatever was said there.

As soon as the man put the whistle to his lips, tentacles from the wall appeared and pierced each of the robed persons. Five in total keeled over on the ground. Their hoodies slipped from their heads, revealing mouths gagged with white cloth. Their wrists, too, appeared to have been bound with silk ribbons.

The tentacles, rounded in the body and pointed at the tip, dripped with ink-like liquid. Now and then, something like white paper appeared beneath its slime, but Gojo didn’t have enough time to look. The spirit retreated as quickly as it came, and without even revealing its full form.

A smile crept up Suguru’s face. He moved his foot back as the blood filled the cracks on the floor and forged a path toward him. The hooded man said something that made Suguru shift his gaze to the curse that was hidden behind the wall. After a moment, he shook hands with the robed man and left.

The image lagged for a brief second before crumbling like a wall of ashes. Gojo knew based on this that Satoshi was at his limit. What further information he had, he would have to pass on verbally.

Once his vision returned to normal, Gojo transferred his hand from Satoshi’s head to his arm. His father smiled wanly at him as thanks for the support, but preferred to lean his weight on the wall instead while he recovered.

“That robed man,” Gojo said. “Is he another cursed spirit manipulator?”

“Talisman constraints. That was a tamed spirit.” Satoshi wiped his face and winced. “The Gakuganji clan executes orders from the higher-ups because of this, precisely. On his own, Gakuganji can kill people with his music, but he can also use it to control curses that have been tamed by his clan’s talisman constraints.”

“I’m pretty sure that man wasn’t Gakuganji.”

“No,” Akira joined in. “But it’s likely someone from his clan. He has a few surviving members who inherited their bloodline’s technique, but we can’t account for some of them through official channels. Gakuganji’s son and daughter did not attend Jujutsu High and never worked for HQ. Getting intel on them has been tricky thus far.”

“So he was asserting his independence and HQ brought him back into the fold to keep him in check.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Gojo remembered the triumphant smirk on Suguru’s face after the curse killed the robed people. It didn’t make sense. “Suguru doesn’t need tamed curses. He can do that himself, and through more convenient means.”

“One thing at a time, son. If you want answers, focus on clearing Gakuganji’s name first.” Satoshi placed his hand on the back of Gojo’s neck, his grip firm and painful. “And if you want to protect Utahime Iori, act discreetly and be strategic about it. We can’t confirm Yoshinobu Gakuganji’s role in this yet, but if he’s personally involved in a transaction with Getou, then a binding vow between Gakuganji and your girl is the least of your problems. Remember that she may very well be killed for what she knows. A woman in this world is too easy to dispose of.”

Chapter Text

Shoko said it was normal. Crashing from a mental high like that would leave her miserable for days. If she needed help managing any symptoms of anxiety or depression that might show up, Shoko could recommend some pills.

Utahime declined. There was no anxiety or depression. She could not feel anything at all. When she got dressed in a fresh pair of kosode and scarlet hakama pants, she knew her body was just going through the motions. Wash her face. Brush her teeth. Put a section of her hair up in a ponytail and secure it with a bow.

Kazuo kept asking if she was alright, and all she could do was nod. Yaga stood in front of them with a concerned look directed at her, and where she would normally go out of her way to reassure him, she now remained silent.

Outside Jujutsu High's corridor, the sunlight illuminating the grounds was so bright, it was blinding. Rays seeped through the windows and danced on the floor, rendering a calm to the place that would have been soothing any other day, but currently did not affect her.

“We’ll reach out again when we receive the next round of cursed tools that will need maintenance.” Yaga tapped her head lightly with a rolled piece of paper. “You did well. Make sure to rest on the train.”

“Where’s Gojo?” she asked.

“He may have gone on the first available mission on the roster. All I’m sure of is he’s not on campus.” Yaga used the roll of paper to scratch the back of his head. “That man. I don’t understand him most days, but he gets the job done.”

“Utahime.” Kazuo angled his body towards the exit. “Let’s go.”

“Can you wait for me outside? I have something to discuss with Yaga-sensei. It’s confidential among staff.”

Kazuo glanced at Yaga. He looked hesitant, like he might protest this, but eventually nodded his agreement. “I’ll tell Ijichi to wait.”

“Wanna take this to my office?” Yaga asked.

“Yes please.”

They walked back the way they came. The long corridor traversed numerous classrooms, all of them unoccupied. She still remembered the places in Jujutsu High where she used to practice her incantations and hand movements, the very same ones that Gojo teased whenever he saw her. There were rare moments of peace between them those days, though. She would draw ritual circles on the ground with chalk while holding up yellowed texts from the Heian period for reference, and he would sit under the tree, watching her in silence.

“Sensei,” Utahime said, but didn’t know how to continue.

“You’re the only one of my former students who still call me that. I can’t say I’m not flattered by your respect.”

She stopped walking. They were just outside his office now, but she couldn’t wait. “Did Gojo block my promotion?”

Yaga turned to face her. Instinctively, she lowered her gaze to the ground.

“How did you know?”

Utahime pressed her lips inwards and tried to control her breathing. She had never been emotional at work, and this would not be the exception. “If I say that he did it for personal reasons, can you undo it?”

“Personal like what? The two of you dating?”

She finally raised her eyes to look at him, startled.

“He checks on the Kyoto branch’s mission logs several times a day. Your profile, specifically. He thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“It was wrong for him to do.”

“Technically, no,” he said. “He's your superior, in a sense, and it's his responsibility to dispute these decisions if he thinks they're wrong. The higher-ups won’t care that you’re a non-combat style curse-user. They’ll assign you to a curse that might not match your skill set. And unlike when you were a student, we can’t send you out in pairs anymore. Grade one is grade one. It’s either you can handle it alone or not. Who do you think will clean up after you if it turns out that you can’t? Based on how quickly and brutally you’re killed, they’ll send a better grade one sorcerer, and if that fails too, Gojo will be their final bet.”

“Still.”

Yaga held his head as though he had a headache. “Utahime. Gojo’s got it bad for you, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t care. He’s manipulative. He knows how badly I want this promotion.” Utahime stopped herself. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”

“Do you love him back?”

She felt the blood leave her face. "With all due respect, but it's none of your business, sensei."

"I asked you a question."

"My feelings don't count, and that man doesn’t love me.”

“I’m not asking if he said the words.” Yaga lowered his voice, and somberness overcame him. “Utahime, I’ve known the kid personally since he was fifteen, and I've been keeping an eye out for him even before he went to Jujutsu High. The last time he was like this, it was with Suguru Getou. But you weren’t here when he was dealing with Getou, were you?”

She opened and closed her mouth, trying and failing to find the right response. She had given Gojo a call as soon as she found out. They never talked about Getou, but Shoko didn’t bring him up either. She thought they were past that.

“Listen to me,” Yaga said, crossing his arms and ducking his head as though he was about to confide a secret with her. “When you’re the most powerful sorcerer in modern history, your sanity is hinged on a few things. I don’t doubt that his was hinged on Getou, and then the man massacred an entire fucking town and started a cult. You have no idea how relieved I was that the idiot didn’t go waltzing straight into Getou’s arms soon after. I’d have died trying to kill my two students if that happened. Now here you are, the new apple of his eye, and you think that after everything that’s happened with Getou, Gojo won’t make sure he doesn’t lose you too?”

Utahime clutched her chest. Feeling had returned to her, but she couldn't understand what it was yet.

“The loss of you probably won’t turn him psycho, but it’ll definitely bring him one step closer. Make him vulnerable enough to attack. Getou is moving in the shadows, Utahime. The time will come when Gojo will have to kill him. I don’t want to be another misogynist in your life, but you have to make a choice. Is your promotion more important than keeping Satoru Gojo in check? Because I reckon that’s what your relationship will be like. Someone has to keep that man grounded, and in return, you’ll be sparing the rest of us from getting killed by a version of him we don’t ever want to see.”

Utahime had so many things she wanted to say that she ended up saying nothing. Yaga waited, and when it was apparent that the conversation had ended, he entered his office and shut the door to her face.

They took the Nozomi back to Kyoto.

Utahime tried not to, but she kept recalling how Gojo had kissed the back of her hand and made that Ichiro Suzuki joke on their way to Jujutsu High. How he knew that she was bruised and made sure she was up for the task Master Tengen had for her. She imagined him checking her mission log in his office and fighting the temptation to text her again, because he had already asked about her mission earlier that day.

He had mentioned it once before in her apartment while whisking eggs in a bowl. She could still picture his disheveled hair and the pillow marks on his cheek as he leaned against the counter with the bowl pressed against his stomach. “Do you have any idea how many candies I eat while I’m waiting for your mission report?”

Then she remembered hugging him from behind, crying to him after she lost another chance to be promoted. At the time, she thought it was okay to be that sad, to be that disappointed in her career. The warmth and strength of his body alone had been enough comfort. When he held her hands and let her cry for as long as she needed, she thought that coming home to him might be better than a promotion.

But now she knew better. The knowledge of him blocking her promotion tainted the memory, and she shuddered at the idea that he knew. While he held her and soothed her, he knew all along that it would happen.

Yaga's words came rushing back to her, and she shuddered.

Was that how Gojo saw her? Something to put in a cage and hinge his sanity on?

The more she thought about him, the more she wondered about his intentions. About his relationship with Suguru Getou, and whether she was just a weak replacement for him. Another apple of his eye, like Yaga said, but maybe easier to control. More manageable—maybe like a docile plaything to a god-like creature—simply because she was several lifetimes away from being as powerful as he was.

“Utahime.”

She jumped a little in her seat. “What?”

“Still feeling unwell?” Kazuo asked. He had been quiet since they boarded the train, busying himself instead with eating a meal and responding to emails for the better half of their travel. Now he sat across from her like they were in a performance review, with his feet flat on the ground and his hands clasped on his lap.

“I’m going straight home after this. I don’t think I can drop by the shrine today.”

“I told him to leave you alone.”

The lady with the food cart offered them snacks. Utahime asked for a bottle of water and a can of beer. She opened the can as soon as the lady left, took a long swig, and then looked Kazuo in the eye.

He frowned at her, the urge to berate her for her drinking habits probably on the tip of his tongue. “The man may be obnoxious, but I respect his sincerity towards you. Too bad he’s a Gojo. I would’ve rooted for the two of you.”

“Do you think I never considered the repercussions of being with him?”

“Yes. You planned to let our family come under his protection.”

“That wasn’t my plan.”

“In three years, Noritoshi Kamo will be your student. That kid will kill you with just one word from his father, and will Gojo attack the Kamo for you? You are no one from an insignificant clan, but you are my responsibility. What do I tell Father if something happens to you again?”

Utahime finished her beer. “It doesn't matter. He blocked my attempts to get promoted to grade one.”

Kazuo nodded. “That makes sense. Jujutsu High doesn’t normally override recommendations and cancel tests like they did with yours.”

The stiffness of his response made Utahime squint at him. “You knew.”

“I confronted him about it earlier. I’m assuming he did as I suggested and told you the truth.”

“How long have you known?”

“A day or two. I was looking for a chance to speak to him about it.”

Utahime bit her lower lip as she sifted through the hundreds of thoughts in her mind. So many questions, so many harsh responses that she had to temper. “What did you expect to get out of that?”

“The Gojo clan rarely ever uses its influence in Jujutsu High that way,” he explained. “When Satoru Gojo started actively interfering with the higher-ups, I perceived it to be more out of precaution than a desire to boost his status. Every formal request that Hanabi Gojo has filed in his name has been to prevent his students and yours from getting promotions if he saw that they were undue.”

“I’ve supported those recommendations.”

“Were those recommendations made under duress?” he asked.

Utahime hesitated. “No. The Kyoto branch is understaffed, yes, but that’s why Principal Gakuganji agreed to take me in as his apprentice. I’ve been a semi-grade one for a long time now, and if I manage to find the essence of my technique, then I can finally complete my promotion to grade one. Gojo doesn’t seem to get that. With my promotion, I can protect my students by taking on missions that they’re not qualified for."

“You don’t have to preach to me. I only brought that up to explain why I wanted to speak to him first. I’ve known since the mediation that he has a personal interest in you, but I had no idea that—” moving his hand around as though shooing a fly “—you were a thing already. So I’m not defending him, okay? Do you realize what Father will do to me if he finds out about you fooling around with the head of the Gojo clan? It’s enough burden on me to keep your training with Principal Gakuganji a secret from him.”

“Why do you make it sound like I’ve done nothing right as a sorcerer and as an Iori?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Utahime. As for your promotion, we can reverse that.”

“How?” She gripped her wrists, the sleeves of her kosode hiding the scratch marks that she was making on her skin. “I’m no one from an insignificant clan, and he’s Satoru Gojo.”

He had the decency to look away and stay silent for the rest of the train ride.

Utahime loved her older brother, and she understood where he was coming from, but he had taken it too far this time. In fact, he and Gojo had. Now more than ever, she felt like a mere property of her clan, a pawn to be moved, a commodity to the men in the Jujutsu world.

Utahime didn’t even say goodbye to Kazuo once they got off the train. She went in the opposite direction while clutching her phone close to her chest. She had just sent an important text message, and now she had trouble breathing. Everything was too loud, the advertisements on the walls too colorful, the lighting on the stairs too bright, the station itself too busy.

She had just reached the top of the stairs when her phone vibrated, and when she checked the notification, it was from Principal Gakuganji’s secretary.

Utahime gripped the railing as she read the message over and over again. It was only one line. Four words.

Come to the shrine.

She found the nearest restroom, washed her face, and fixed herself as best as she could. Her reflection in the mirror showed someone a little too pale, with dark lines around her eyes that suggested a severe need for rest. But she looked worse than she felt, and although she may not be in the best condition to be doing this, she felt she had no choice.

Her phone rang again, startling her so much that she nearly dropped it. When she saw the caller ID, she wished she had dropped and broken her phone for good instead.

It was Gojo.

Utahime rejected the call. Not long after she did, a new message popped up from him, but she didn’t even spare it a glance. She turned off her phone and found a cab that would take her to the Gakuganji shrine.

The ride took around an hour, and the entire time, Utahime sat in the backseat with her head in her hands. The driver asked if she was dizzy, and she waved him off, saying that she was just tired. To her surprise, he turned off the morning news broadcast and switched to spa music. She would’ve laughed if only humor had a place in her thoughts. The closer she got to the shrine, the more she felt the rush of adrenaline in her veins, the quickening of her heartbeat, the heightening of her senses.

She had to be smart about this.

From the moment Principal Gakuganji offered to train her, she knew he had an agenda in mind. Kazuo warned her against accepting the offer, but even he understood why she was tempted. All her life, her technique felt incomplete. Unpolished. All of this cursed energy misdirected and underutilized. Then she met Yoshinobu Gakuganji, and the second she witnessed him in battle, she knew right away that he held the answers to all of her questions.

Melody.

Gakuganji had the resources and the experience necessary to teach her the lost technique within their clans that could be the one she inherited. And while he had shared so much and trained her plenty, he also withheld information that could easily let her maximize her output. She would’ve held it against him had he not made one thing clear from the very beginning.

He wasn’t a generous man. Everything was a bargain, and she had to give up something of equal value for her to access the essence of her technique.

The cab stopped at the steps of the Gakuganji shrine. Utahime paid the driver and smoothed down her clothes as she stared up at the long expanse of stairs behind the torii.

This was it.

She was going to give him what he wanted, but she would make sure that she’d benefit from it too.

Utahime ascended the stairs. Unlike the Iori estate, the Gakuganji did not have seals guarding the place. Instead, what they had were chimes, something so trivial that if one did not know the Gakuganji’s inherited technique, they would consider the bell-like sound soothing rather than alarming.

Except the music itself triggered a seal. The Gakuganji could translate into music commands that the Iori could only achieve through traditional paper and ink.

The closer she got to the top, the lower her cursed energy became. To any other sorcerer, this might be threatening, but to her, it was like coming home.

Utahime passed the purification fountain and walked the long path to the second torii. Beyond it, standing between two large guardian fox statues, was Yoshinobu Gakuganji in his usual white nagajuban and dark hakama pants. This time, however, he wore a red haori over his shoulders that bore his clan insignia.

She stopped a few feet away from him and bowed deeply. “Master Gakuganji.”

He turned his wooden cane in his hands while he regarded her. “I’m assuming the lack of communication between my clan and yours means that you have kept Master Iori in the dark."

“I believe I meet all the requirements to make this decision by myself.”

The breeze blew in, rustling the trees in the sacred forest and causing their leaves to flitter into the shrine. The whistling of the wind got so loud, they had to wait for it to abate before they could carry on with their conversation.

Utahime glanced up at the sky in this brief interlude. The blue reminded her of Gojo’s eyes. She was looking at them when she first considered doing this. His students had just died then, and he was spending more and more time in her apartment. The closer they became, the more she realized just how worn and overworked he was. The toll that sorcery took on him, and the memory of how badly he handled the attack on her during the mediation forced her to consider this drastic measure.

Maybe, if she could somehow make herself safe, then she would be one less person for him to worry about. She would be doing him a favor, and he wouldn’t have to fight her battles for her.

Utahime realized too late that they had very different definitions of safe. What she understood to be a state where she could manage the risks, he understood to be a state where he could eliminate all of them without even telling her.

“I’m not sure you have a good grasp of what you’re signing up for,” Gakuganji said, breaking her trance. “There will be no compromises when this contract is signed. You cannot perform services for the Iori clan as a sorceress in any capacity for as long as the contract is in effect. Your accomplishments will be accredited to us, as well as a percentage of your earnings, and I will dictate the course of your career according to what’s best for my clan’s needs. If I need you in any of our shrines, you will be there.”

“That’s a small cost if you agree to my one condition.”

Gakuganji tilted his head enough so that his right eye was visible. “You’re convinced the Kamo is not done with you yet?”

“Miyo Yamamoto’s child will be turning one this year. By the time Noritoshi Kamo enters Jujutsu High, we should be able to determine what the child’s inherited technique is, if any.”

“And you fear for your life.”

Utahime almost flinched. Even now, she could still recall the night she was slashed across the face in her own estate. “Personally, I’m afraid that Noritoshi Kamo will be told to do something he doesn’t want to. The Yamamoto boy has cursed energy, but there’s still a chance that, like with previous cases of noble clans interbreeding, he might not have inherited anything at all. That makes him disposable, but he is still our ward, and it’s our duty to protect him if neither the Kamo nor the Gojo will take him in.”

“You talk to me like I’m new to Jujutsu politics. What you really mean is that the Kamo is incapable of letting grievances go, and if the boy has no value, they will kill him the same way they cut your face.”

She bowed her head as a show of humility. “My family won’t stand for it, and fighting back means we'll...we are extremely vulnerable right now, but we won’t be if we are under your protection.”

Gakuganji sighed. He turned around and beckoned for Utahime to follow him.

“The wise are the only ones humble enough to seek help when they need it. Your father would rather die than lend you to us. If only my clan did not need your specific skill set, I wouldn’t agree to this. The Kamo, Zenin, and Gojo may hesitate to come against my family, but that’s all. They will hesitate, and then they will act.”

They crossed another gate. From there, she saw the worship hall, which was much older and grander than that in the Iori estate, looming over them like a monstrous creature. Jujutsu-affiliated shrines may be patterned after Shinto shrines, but their purpose had shifted drastically since sorcery took over Japan. For sorcerers, these shrines stood for peace and neutrality. A sanctuary for the weak, an endless source of knowledge for Jujutsu society’s history and everything it had lost, from the clans and their techniques to their very battles and crimes.

For someone like Utahime, however, whose blood jumped at the sight of the worship hall, it meant sheer, unadulterated power.

“Even a second of hesitation on the battlefield can mean the difference between victory and defeat,” Utahime responded, breathless with awe at the simple grandeur of the hall. “That’s all I ask.”

“Very well.”

Gakuganji led them to the inner sanctuary, where, at the threshold, he added, “It’s too late to back out now anyway.”

Utahime stopped in her tracks. The sanctuary was bigger than she anticipated, with polished wooden floors and large columns wrapped in hemp rope. On the ceiling hung similar ropes with paper talismans and red lanterns, which swayed with the gusts of wind that blew in from the open windows.

Principal Gauganji struck the floor twice with his cane, and two doors at the far end of the sanctuary opened. Two long lines of priests and shrine maidens emerged with their heads bowed. In practiced order, they formed several rows facing the head of the sanctuary, leaving a spacious center aisle for Gakuganji to walk through.

Utahime watched this procession in both wonder and dread. All of the priests and shrine maidens wore white. No blue or purple vestments for the priests, and no scarlet hakama for the shrine maidens. They descended to the floor as Gakuganji passed them, and from where Utahime stood, they almost looked like dominos falling. Except the priests and maidens were not prostrate, but sat upright with unnatural stiffness, their hands palm-down on their laps.

Gakuganji positioned himself at the dais at the head of the sanctuary, where two shrine maidens stood on either side of him.

Slowly, Utahime made her way down the aisle towards him. She was midway when he began to recite the stipulations of their agreement. The Gakuganji clan would provide all of the necessary physical protection to every member of the Iori clan and its wards for the duration of Utahime Iori’s servitude. In the next five years, she would hone her skills under the Gakuganji's supervision and utilize these skills for the benefit of the Gakuganji clan. She would execute orders without hesitation, may it be against curse or curse users.

“We seal this in the form of a binding vow between two honorable sorcerers, with the intention to see it to its end to the best of our abilities, and accept thereunto any punishment that comes with breaking this vow.”

Utahime stopped in front of Gakuganji. She felt a hard, quick pulsing in her throat, and she wasn't sure if she could respond. It wasn't too late. She could change her mind. This moment would define the next five years of her life and may very well destroy her dearest relationships in the process. Her family would hate her. Gojo would surely be seething with rage. Even then, she thought at least they would be safe from their enemies and free from any responsibility they might feel towards her wellbeing.

Utahime stared into Gakuganji’s eyes and nodded. “I agree.”

The shrine maiden to his left produced a scarlet haori. Together with the other shrine maiden, they slipped the haori on Utahime and smoothed out the fabric over her miko outfit. It was so big that the front panels hid her kosode completely so that it looked like she was in all red.

Gakuganji motioned for her to turn around. The second she did, her breath caught in her throat, and a wave of terror and excitement rushed across her body, sharp and cold.

The priests and shrine maidens, once sitting upright, now bowed with their foreheads pressed to the ground.

“Utahime Iori, head priestess of the Gakuganji shrines in all of Japan," Gakuganji proclaimed ceremoniously. "Everybody you see is your responsibility, and each one is at your beck and call. Together, we will reinforce our shrines with the traditional seals used by the Iori, and you will be in charge of equipping our sorcerers with everything they need to deal with seals and talisman constraints that fall into our responsibility. They have skills akin to yours, with no one to teach them the techniques that the Iori have been gatekeeping for centuries. It’s about time the Gakuganji reclaim our seat of power.”

Utahime drank in the sight of them and bowed.

"Seal the darkness, and cast upon us new light," the priests and maidens intoned, their voices reverberating throughout the sanctuary. "Purify the impure, and let the blood maiden protect us." 

The shrine assigned her three maidens to prepare her office and new vestments. Throughout the afternoon, fittings were done, and the vestments of the previous priestess, Himari Gakuganji, were given to her to wear in the meantime. When she asked her maidens where Himari was, none of them would answer her. They exchanged looks, bowed their heads, and went about their business as though she had said nothing at all.

She would have asked Gakuganji himself, but she was flooded with ancient texts to study soon after the fittings. Now she was in the back of the shrine's black Lexus SUV, being driven home by a chauffeur. One of her maidens, Sakura, sat to her left with her temporary vestments and all of the texts she had to study packed in a bag. 

When they reached her building, Sakura insisted on carrying her things for her, but she declined with a sharp tone. The girl flinched, and Utahime apologized. It wasn't that she didn't want help. More than anything, she just wanted to be left alone.

But when she was left alone, she did not know what to do.

Utahime stood in the middle of her apartment, too tired and too overwhelmed to move. After a while of staring at the darkness, and flicked on the light and looked at the mess they left behind. The sink overflowing with dirty dishes, half-finished cups of tea and cans of beer on the coffee table. His laundry still in her washer.

She went to the bathroom and bent over the toilet seat, just in case she had to throw up. When the nausea passed, she washed her face and slapped her cheeks to bring back their color.

As she was dabbing the towel on her face, her eyes traveled to the items left on the vanity counter. Gojo’s shaving cream, razor, deodorant, a brand new electric toothbrush, and a tube of scent-free toothpaste. Utahime picked all of these up and tossed them in the trash bin. She washed her hands, dried them, and retrieved the items from the trash. With trembling hands, she set them down on the vanity counter exactly the way she found them.

She was debating whether to get rid of them again when the doorbell rang.

Utahime answered the door and came face-to-face with the delivery people from the furniture shop. The men came in to remove her old couch and assemble the new one. She went through the process in a daze, so much so that by the time they finished, she didn’t even thank them. She closed the door as soon as the last man left, and she stared at the couch like it was some kind of curse.

That was when she felt it.

This must be what people called heartbreak.

Chapter Text

He was too late.

At some point in the conversation, Hanabi’s words on the phone became gibberish to him. Gojo stepped out of the Nozomi with his hand pressed over his blindfolded eyes, trying to calm himself when all he wanted to do was storm the Gakuganji shrine in search of Utahime.

The implications of her subservience to that nasty old man crashed on him all at once. He could imagine Utahime receiving orders she wasn’t fit to carry out to completion and accepting assignments that went against her values. At least as sorcerers under Jujutsu High, they had some level of control over the missions they risked their lives for. If they argued their point well enough, it was possible to avoid tainting one’s morals unless pressured by the higher-ups, or the mission they received was classified as completely non-negotiable. Even then, those kinds of missions were few and far between, and they were almost always assigned to Gojo.

A few passengers behind him asked him to move, and that was the only time he realized that he had been blocking the door. Gojo promptly made his way across the platform with the phone still held up to his ear.

“Are you listening?” Hanabi asked. “If you’re thinking of dueling with your girlfriend, I suggest postponing it for when their agreement is no longer in effect. Her status on the Jujutsu HQ portal has been officially changed. She’s now under the Gakuganji clan. It’s public.”

“They move fast.”

“I’m guessing Principal Gakuganji is doing it for his benefit as much as hers. I’ll let you know if he includes the stipulations of their agreement in the documents they submit to Jujutsu HQ. Hopefully, it’s not a binding vow.”

“Satoshi thinks it’s Gakuganji’s style.” Gojo patted his pockets for the spare key to Utahime’s apartment. By some luck, she would be there, and they’d be able to talk about this like proper adults. Given their personalities, some yelling was inevitable, but surely, she'd concede to him once she knew about Suguru's involvement. “I’ll be in the estate tonight to meet with Akira and the Fugen about their findings in Golden Gai. Hopefully, I get answers before you do.”

“Satoru, maybe you should give her space to—”

Gojo ended the call. He really didn’t want to be lectured about that right now. Under any other circumstance, he would gladly give her space, but not when her life was in danger.

He climbed the stairs of her building three steps at a time and rang her doorbell. He knocked on her door. Nothing. He also couldn’t feel her presence inside. With a huge sigh, he used his spare key and entered her apartment.

The place was pristine, with the coffee table righted and the rug that used to be under it now rolled and tied up to the side, probably for deep cleaning. A tangy lemon scent wafted in the air—a little too much than what she normally used. The floors looked too shiny, and he almost slipped when he finally entered in his socks.

Utahime had gone on a cleaning spree and got carried away. He hoped she didn’t slip on these floors, and that the polish didn’t stain her clothes. She hated it when her miko uniform got dirty outside of missions.

Gojo picked up his mug from the kitchen counter and set it down again. A quick peek at the bathroom showed him that his toiletries were still where he left them.

So she wasn’t kicking him out, or at least, she hadn’t gone around to doing it yet.

Light streamed from the parted drapes, the rays landing softly on the new grey couch like a divine finger was pointing his attention to it. He touched the upholstery, remembering the day they bought this in the furniture shop. Against his better judgment, he sat down and surveyed the place.

Should he wait for her here? He had sent her several text messages, and all of them had gone through. Except for the time that she turned off her phone, all of his calls went through as well, although she answered none of them. At first, he thought this was a good sign, but as the days dragged on, he realized that she was punishing him this way. Instead of blocking him, she was actively giving him the cold shoulder. 

Gojo flipped his phone in his hands multiple times before sending her a text message.

I know about Gakuganji.

Then he sat back and waited. It hadn’t been five minutes when his phone vibrated, notifying him of her response. He tapped on the icon at once.

Good.

Gojo squeezed his thumb inside his fist, debating whether he should call her. He wasn’t in the best mood, and the last thing he wanted was to risk saying mean things to her, but he couldn’t resist it. He pressed the call icon and listened to the phone ring and ring.

When it became apparent that she would never pick up, he pocketed his phone and went to the fridge. All of his desserts were still there. He popped in three pieces of chocolates with caramel centers and scanned the other compartments for food.

Had she been eating take-out? Utahime usually brought her groceries on the weekend to avoid ordering food, as she was determined to eat healthier this year. Yet there was nearly nothing in there except for his desserts, a carton of half-finished milk, a Tupperware of leftover rice, and six cans of beer. He removed the beers and cradled them in his arms while checking the pantry. Three bowls of instant ramen, a can of tuna, and an unopened pack of nori. Even the rice container was empty.

Perhaps she was staying in the Gakuganji estate. That would make sense if she was training and serving as a priestess too. Still, she would have to go home now and then, and it didn’t sit well with him that she would be returning to this.

Gojo stuffed the beer cans in a garbage bag and tossed it in the chute on his way out of the apartment. Within the next hour, he was back with groceries. He had lived with her long enough by then to know her preferences. Except for the beer—which he replaced with hard cider instead—he got everything in the amount and brand she normally did.

Then he wiped the excess polish off the floor and left the apartment. His spare key, he slid under the door. At this point, even he was confused about the message he was sending. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be tempted to enter her home again while they were on bad terms. This was as much space as he could grant her given the urgency of the situation.

He checked the time. He was already ten minutes late for his next appointment.

Nanami fetched him in a rented car outside of Utahime’s apartment building. That he was available on such short notice was a miracle considering he just graduated from university and was in the middle of job hunting. Then again, Gojo did give him a compelling reason to come.

“Did you get it?” Gojo asked as he strapped on his seatbelt.

Nanami reached into the backseat and dropped a bag of McDonald’s on the center console. “Pay me back.”

“I’ll give you extra.” He took out a piece of French fry and held it in front of Nanami’s mouth. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Your senpai’s being nice to you.”

Nanami promptly slowed down as the stoplight ahead flashed yellow and then red. He swatted Gojo’s hand away, sending the French fry flying towards the window. “Please don’t be insolent. I only got two hours of sleep.”

Gojo offered him the soda next. “That’s why I told you to buy these. D’you think I’ll eat them all by myself?”

Nanami glanced at the soda, checked the stoplight, and then grabbed it from him. He took a satisfying swig. “So Getou-senpai is making a move?”

“I know you got along well with him, but he doesn’t deserve your respect after the things he’s done.”

“But it doesn’t bother you that I don’t use honorifics on you.”

“I don’t mind that you don’t respect me, but I mind that you insist on respecting a murderer,” Gojo said. He took the pickles out of his burger and ate them first. “We all understand where he’s coming from to a degree, but it doesn’t warrant committing genocide. You have to be clear on that since you agreed to be a part of this.”

Nanami fell silent. He steered the car to the left, taking the shorter road to the outskirts of Kyoto towards the Gojo clan’s estate. Gojo unwrapped the burger for him, and he took it without complaint.

“Why me?” Nanami asked and took a bite of his burger.

“Two reasons.” Gojo held up three fingers just to annoy him. “You’re capable. And you know Suguru and Utahime.”

The mention of Utahime made him frown. He glanced at Gojo. “You were vague about her involvement in all this. Is she alright?”

“She’s mad at me, and I’m not sure when her blazing fury will end, so I need someone she likes to reason with her on my behalf,” he said. “It’s for her safety. I can’t believe she made a deal with the very clan that could be working with Suguru’s cult.”

“I’ll get second-hand hate from this.”

“Relax, Utahime’s much too nice to hate you. And that’s just in case shit hits the fan. Mainly, you’ll be working with the Fugen.”

“Won’t your clan feel like you mistrust them by putting an outsider like me on your team?”

“A level of mistrust is needed in these kinds of situations. Besides, it’s my father and uncle who’s adept at working with the Fugen. Personally, I like to work alone, but if I have to go tap dancing into this hell with someone, I’d choose you. Ijichi too, but I keep him busy enough at Jujutsu High as it is.”

The flashy establishments grew sparse as they exited Kyoto City. Overhead, the sky was blood orange, with a few scattering of clouds that helped tone down its eeriness.

“The feeling’s not mutual," Nanami said. "But I appreciate that your mind is in the right place.”

He poked Nanami’s cheek. “And you think I’m just clowning around all the time.”

“I’ll throw my soda at you if you don’t stop.”

“Then you’ll stain this car and you'll be charged extra for that.”

“You said you’re paying for this.”

“Did I?” Gojo laughed. He really couldn't remember saying that.

They were now outside Kyoto City and traversing the roads to the suburbs of Uji, which had picturesque mountain views and the Uji-gawa river to boast of. Leading up to the Gojo’s estate were numerous tea plantations, over eighty percent of which they owned. He could see Nanami taking in the sights and conjuring an image of Gojo’s childhood home. The judgment was apparent in his scowl, but Gojo couldn't chide him for it. Even he thought his upbringing was a little too lavish. There was nothing he could do about it, though, because that was his clan's brand.

“So you’re sure that Getou is laying a base in the Kansai region?” Nanami asked.

“In the neutral parts of it, yes. My estate is closer to Uji city than Kyoto city, with numerous properties and businesses in-between belonging to the Gojo clan in some capacity. Having established our roots here faster and better, we pushed the Kamo to keep within the bounds of Arashiyama and eventually transfer their main estate to Tokyo. At the height of the Gojo clan’s power, the Zenin did not possess the Ten Shadows Technique and kept themselves to the Nara prefecture, close enough to the heart of Kyoto without encroaching on the Gojo’s properties and our allied clans.”

“Do you mean to say you can’t survey those areas or it’s impossible for Getou to have established bases there?”

“Both. Unless he has infiltrated the Zenin and the Kamo somehow, he won’t have access to those parts. Big clans like mine are icky about our properties, which is a good thing in this case.”

“And Principal Gakuganji?”

“The Gakuganji clan maintains their headquarters in the boundary between Shiga prefecture and Kyoto City. The predominantly rural ambiance in Shiga makes it easier for the Gakuganji to preserve their influence over the population. So, if Gakuganji is on our side, then Shiga prefecture is clear of Getou. Otherwise, we may have just found his base.”

They had been driving across backroads for around twenty minutes now, with green tea plantations to their left and right spanning several hectares. Gojo pointed to the narrow alley up ahead between two decrepit buildings, where he knew several of the Fugen unit’s fourth tier were guarding the entrance to the Gojo property.

After a bumpy ride, they exited to a road lined with trees on either side, their canopies so dense that little sunlight could break through. It was a smooth drive from here onwards, and despite the tall fence surrounding the compound, Gojo could see the roof of the main house from the hill they were descending from.

“Hey, do you live in the Byodo-in temple or something?” Nanami asked, spotting the main house too.

“It kinda has a similar vibe to that, but lots of unholy things happen where I grew  up.” He couldn’t help but frown at the many executions he had witnessed as a child. Traitors. Thieves. Assassins targeting him and his mother. It was like a nation of its own, and once you were in, you were at the mercy of the clan’s laws.

Gojo directed Nanami to a back entrance where his uncle should be waiting for them. Since the unit he formed to hunt down Suguru was covert, meeting in an official capacity within the estate was difficult. The best they could do was utilize the resources in the Fugen's headquarters, where Satoshi was pretty much revered as king. If he told everybody to turn a blind eye to something, they would.

Akira waited for them under the awning of the back gate. Nanami and Gojo left the car on the gravel pathway and entered the Fugen’s base, which was basically a small town at the south end of the estate.

Nanami marveled at the traditional houses where the Fugen and their immediate families lived, but there was a pinch to his brow, an indication of displeasure. Knowing him, Gojo was sure that he was irked at the lavishness of clan life. Yet this was all necessary, because the better they provided for their kin, the better they could control their activities. That meant fewer defectors with innate techniques running amok in the underground Jujutsu societies or simply causing havoc in non-shaman vicinities.

Akira glanced at Nanami over his shoulder before turning to Gojo. “You’re an hour late.”

“Nanami’s a slow driver.”

Nanami glowered at him but did not clap back. Instead, he apologized for the inconvenience and promised never to be tardy again.

The team gathered in one of the training rooms in the Fugen’s headquarters. Satoshi’s booming voice reverberated throughout the corridors, and although his words were muffled, Gojo thought the fact that he was speaking so loudly made the ‘covert’ part of the operation less covert.

Akira announced Gojo’s arrival, and the room fell into silence at once. Their team was composed of two dozen experienced sorcerers, fighters, and intelligence specialists, excluding Gojo, Satoshi, Akira, and Nanami. All of them rose to their feet and bowed, but Gojo only waved them off. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

Satoshi rolled his eyes before directing his pointer at the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. He recounted the three locations they had secured in the Kansai region in the past four months and how the residuals, items, and memories found in these places pointed to one cult. However, the location secured in the Golden Gai area pointed to a different cult altogether, which meant Getou could be affiliating himself with numerous religious organizations at once.

The confirmation of a Jujutsu-related cult meant their priority was now the one that could involve the Gakuganji clan. Akira took over the discussion from here. A photo of a middle-aged man in priestly vestments appeared on the screen. This was Ryosuke Gakuganji, heir to the Gakuganji clan. He had stopped all contact with his father and their shrines for exactly one year and ten months now.

A new photo. This time, a middle-aged woman in the female version of priestly garments. Himari Gakuganji, the former head priestess of the Gakuganji shrines. She went missing one year and seven months ago, and soon after, Yoshinobu Gakuganji returned to Jujutsu High as the Kyoto branch’s principal. The running theory was that he did this to prove his alliance with Jujutsu HQ and spare his clan, which would in turn mean that he was aware of any illegal activities his children could be up to.

Emi, a member of the Fugen’s intelligence, went in front to present the findings on Ryosuke and Himari. Since neither attended Jujutsu High, the only intel they could gather about Ryosuke was that he utilized his technique using a flute. At best, his technique was similar to his father’s, which was a mid-range one that amplified the melodies he played on musical instruments and produced waves of cursed energy. Himari, on the other hand, was known for sealing things. Jujutsu HQ passed along cursed objects to the Gakuganji shrine for sealing, but this stopped when Himari disappeared.

“What about the cult from Golden Gai?” Gojo asked from the back of the room. Unlike the others, he chose to remain standing by the wall. Being a part of a group felt claustrophobic.

“Y-yes, about that.” Emi cleared her throat and moved several slides ahead. They passed what appeared to be a profile on Utahime as Gakuganji’s new head priestess, which was exactly what Gojo wanted. He knew Emi to be pedantic at worst, and there was too much available information on Utahime for her to discuss with the team. He just wasn’t willing for Utahime to be painted as any sort of villain, even to people who were unlikely to have a direct impact on her life and career.

Nanami glanced at Gojo from the corner of his eye, but he ignored him.

New images appeared on the screen. Photos of dingy rooms with mattresses on the floor, their linens stark white against the yellowing walls and cracked floors. A bare kitchenette with dirty dishes, some metal trays, utensils, and plates piled high on the side. Wooden cabinets full of white robes, then drawers brimming with red and white candlesticks.

“Our findings point to at least ten people living permanently in these cell-like rooms. The blood stains around the underground lair are a bit tricky to date, but we’re certain that some of them were recent. The most prominent ones appear in the middle of the ritual circle—” switching to a photo of the main hall with the melted candle wax and black ink on the floor “—which suggests blood sacrifices. We haven’t traced the markings and ritual items to any known cults yet. While the presentation is pretty generic, the markings are unique. If we manage to retrieve the bodies of the five people murdered by the cursed spirit as per Master Satoshi’s vision, then we could narrow down our search much faster.”

Gojo recalled the inky exterior of the tamed curse and the talisman constraints on its tentacles. “Was the cursed spirit housed there?”

“Yes, sir. The residuals it left behind suggest that it’s been dormant there for a long time,” Emi said. “Apart from retrieving the bodies, we are also attempting to locate the missing residents of Golden Gai that we suspect are members of the cult. We’re doing our best with the limited number of people in our team.”

“Don’t sweat it. Slow progress is progress, and I’d rather have that than attract unwanted attention. By the way, I forgot to introduce you. This is Nanami Kento.” He jabbed his thumb at Nanami, who was standing erect at his side like a soldier in attention. “He’s a friend from Jujutsu High. I want him on the field securing locations with the main team. He’s familiar with Suguru Getou’s residuals, so refrain from summoning Satoshi unless Nanami confirms that Suguru has been there. He can also help you avoid detection by Jujutsu HQ, as he’s more familiar with how the current managers work.”

Akira continued moving the slides. More photos. And then a map of the Kansai region and the next locations they would be surveying. “Any help is welcome at this point. We’re discussing strategies for securing sites we’ve scouted. Wanna join?”

“Nanami will brief me later.” Gojo patted his shoulder as he walked past him. “Satoshi and I have important matters to discuss. Oh, and good job, everyone! Akira will treat you to some expensive beef tonight.”

The team laughed and hooted at Akira’s protests, and Satoshi only exacerbated the matter for him by suggesting a fancy restaurant in Uji City.

As he and Satoshi traversed the zigzagging corridors of the Fugen’s headquarters, the noises from the training room became mere echoes. Then silence. They entered the paternoster lift at the end of one hall and watched as the lower levels passed them. Before any person waiting to use the lift could bow at them, they waved their hands to do away with the formality.

“Have you spoken to your girl?” Satoshi asked once they exited to the ground floor and made their way to the back, where there was a shortcut to the bridge that connected the Fugen town to the main house.

“She’s officially under the Gakuganji clan. It’s up on Jujutsu HQ’s portal.”

“Well, shit.”

Gojo opened the door for his father and let him out first. From here, they had a clear sight of the rippling river and the red-arched bridge above it. “That’s encouraging.”

“I tell it as it is. Best guess? Gakuganji lured her to replace Himari. Now your girlfriend is one of the most influential sorceresses in the country.”

“She’s in danger. Can you request a formal meeting with Gakuganji in his shrine so we can find out for ourselves how much trouble she’s in?”

“When?”

They crossed the bridge, nodding at a few female servants along the way.

“Tomorrow. Just the two of us. Tell him that we know about his son and have information he wants. If he accepts, then there’s a chance he’s not involved.”

Satoshi led the way to a secret passage behind a thick row of hydrangeas that were as tall as his shoulders. They ducked through a small doorway that opened to a dark corridor. “He doesn’t know about you and Utahime, right?”

“I doubt it. Besides, he won’t use her against me. Not if she’s replacing Himari like you said.” He wrinkled his nose at the heavy, rusty smell of the passageway. “Why are we using this again?”

“No reason. I just thought it would be nostalgic. I taught you these passages as a child so we could spend more time together before the elders took you away.”

Gojo followed behind Satoshi in silence. He told Utahime once that he could not complain about his childhood, as he was well provided for in every respect. Food, clothes, education, and this massive estate. Even as a child, he understood that he had a privileged upbringing and was better off than most. Still, he wondered what the point was when every meeting with his parents was timed and chaperoned. The decision to give Satoshi and Lady Sayuri more say in his rearing came on his thirteenth birthday, and by then it was too late. His relationship with his parents was awkward at best and too formal at worst, and it was only in the past couple of years that the tension had thawed between them.

It was moments like this that reminded him his parents did try their best. Satoshi, especially, with his many antics that got them into trouble. They once got so lost in these secret passages that they had to break a wall to get out, and it just so happened to open into the women’s bathhouse.

Satoshi shouldered a door open, and they exited near a bridge that led to a small tea house above a massive pond. The shoji windows and sliding doors of wooden lattice and washi paper glowed yellow from the inside. As they rounded the tea house to enter the main room, he saw the silhouette of a woman preparing tea in the mizuya.

They removed their shoes and sat on the tatami mat in front of a chabudai, a short-legged table that was cramped with several of Satoshi’s drawings in charcoal. Gojo wasn’t sure if his art skills came with his technique. Regardless, they were invaluable in investigations like this, because he could provide a frame-by-frame recreation of his visions with stunning detail and realism.

He was so busy flipping through the drawings and studying them that he didn’t quite notice when the rest of the paper had been transferred to the floor and replaced with tea. From his periphery, he saw a plate of senbei and konpeitou being lowered to the table, and he grabbed at them on reflex.

Gojo was still munching on the senbei when a woman spoke, and it took him a moment too long to recognize her voice.

“The set-up suggests that the five robed men were held against their will, but the choice of binding and the state of their clothes also point to how well they were treated. None of them appear gaunt or injured. That’s important.” Lady Sayuri rolled away the drawing she had just referenced and spread a new one in front of her and Satoshi. “If their bodies are retrieved, Emi should also check families that have mysteriously disappeared or may be affiliated with cults. There have been instances of families giving away their infants to these cults before they were even registered.”

Satoshi presented her with another drawing. He was seated with one leg behind Lady Sayuri and the other bent inward on the floor as a makeshift table. Lady Sayuri, in her blue tomesode kimono with the eba moyo pattern, knelt beside him with her back straight and her head tilted to the right as she studied his drawing.

“If these are accurate—"

“They’re accurate,” he interjected in a tone that was almost whining.

She splayed her fingers on his cheek to calm him down without removing her gaze from his sketches. He pulled away a little, pretending to be offended when he was clearly pleased to be touched.

“The nature of their rituals seems to have its roots in ancient sorcery.” She pointed at the details on the paper. “The use of candles, robes, ritual circles, and possibly blood sacrifices. These are similar to activities non-sorcerers used to participate in to summon spirits. But if a sorcerer is involved, then it doesn’t make sense. The occults of the olden times believed they could summon an existing curse to use against their enemies. But the truth was that their negative energy and blood sacrifices were providing the necessary components to create the curse. Sometimes a weak vengeful spirit, if they happen on a sorcerer. But with no one to control the curse, these cults often resulted in numerous deaths and more spirits for sorcerers to exorcise.”

“Not if someone was there to tame the curse,” Gojo managed to say while staring at his mother.

Lady Sayuri looked up, finally, and caught his gaze. “Exactly. Curses need masters to be useful. I can provide you with the cases we have of the Gojo clan’s encounters with occults that affiliated with sorcerers in the past. I’m sure one of them would mention the Gakuganji. They were the leading clan in dealing with religious fanatics. Satoru, stop gawking at me. It’s disrespectful.”

Gojo broke into a wan smile. He hadn’t seen Lady Sayuri in a long time, and not for a lack of trying. She remained an ever-powerful force in their clan’s political dealings, often to the displeasure of the elders. To appease them, he limited his interactions with her. Now he couldn’t remember when exactly he last saw her soft grey eyes. Her hair was a lot longer now, and this was the first time he saw her wear it down without any elaborate ornament. She didn’t look at all like her thirty-nine years, even with the lines around her eyes.

Lady Sayuri still took his breath away, just like she did when he was old enough to finally recognize her as his mother.

Without putting much thought into it, he transferred to her side and embraced her. Her buried his face on the shoulder of her kimono, which smelled like medicinal herbs with hints of vanilla. She had probably been working with the healers all day.

Lady Sayuri didn’t respond at once to the embrace. Just when Gojo was about to pull back and apologize, she placed her hand on his back. The contact made him feel small and childlike, and he wished he could stay like this for a long time.

“Satoru, what’s wrong?”

Satoshi scooted closer to her and stage-whispered, “He’s heartbroken.”

“A heartbreak here and there is healthy. Suck it up. You’ve got work to do.”

“The girl is kind of involved in this mess.”

Gojo pulled away to frown at Saotshi. “Can you not do that?”

“Do what?” he challenged. “Be helpful?”

Gojo descended to a cross-legged seat to Lady Sayuri’s right. “We don’t have time for this. We need to find out as much as we can about Gakuganji so we’re prepared for tomorrow. Have you even passed along the request yet?”

“How could I? I’ve been with you the entire time.”

“Can the two of you speak without spitting on me?” She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her kimono. With a discarded charcoal on the mat, she wrote a series of numbers on the corner of a paper and tore it away. “Satoshi, can you please pass this along? Mr. Kaede should still be around to fetch me these files.”

Satoshi promptly stood with the piece of paper and went away. He was likely going to find one of Lady Sayuri’s servant girls to get the order discreetly sent to the library, where Mr. Kaede would collect the files without logging them out.

As soon as Satoshi left, Lady Sayuri arranged the drawings on the floor, overlapping some and writing notes on the others. Gojo watched her work from beside the table, tea on hand. Like him, teamwork wasn’t her forte. He had heard stories about her being a recluse as a child, wanting only to be in the company of a select few, and claiming to need hours to herself with her books.

Watching her now, he had no doubt these stories were true. She appeared to be in her element, so much so that she had forgotten her son was in the room.

Gojo cleared his throat to catch her attention.

Lady Sayuri set aside a drawing and flicked her gaze up at him. “I’m offended that you didn’t personally ask for my help.”

Now he wished he had stayed silent. “I wasn’t sure you would approve.”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean you’re being unwise. I would have disapproved only because I don’t want you to go through this. That doesn’t change the fact that you must, because no one else can.”

Gojo spotted a platter of kintsuba on Satoshi’s side of the mat. He was probably hiding it for himself. He grabbed one and nibbled on it while staring at Lady Sayuri. Now she was nodding at the arrangement she made.

“Do you mind if I ask something personal?”

She began collecting the papers in a heap. “Go ahead.”

“Was it hard not being able to raise me yourself?”

“Yes, because now you’re asking me stupid questions.”

Gojo pouted. “Seriously, mom.”

Lady Sayuri gave the papers a smart shake on the tatami mat before resuming her seat beside him. “Let’s see. You know the answer to that is a resounding yes, so I’m tempted to assume that the question is not whether it was hard, but how I managed it without setting the entire Gojo estate on fire. Unless, of course, you’ve somehow concluded that my non-violence is directly proportional to how strongly I feel for you as your mother?”

“Both.”

She took a sip of her tea, her movements light and dainty. Her hair, thick and pale like Gojo’s, caught the orange glow of the lamp and appeared a blazing red. “I was given options, and I took the one that allowed me to be your mother in any capacity. Satoshi handled it differently, but one of us had to be sane.” She wrapped her bony fingers around Gojo’s. “Sometimes, you have to take the cards that you’re dealt and manage it with grace. You won’t get it right, and you won’t always be in control, but imagine the alternative. A life without the person you love. You’re all grown up, but you’re still the love of my life.”

Gojo felt himself blush at the sentiment, and he looked down at her small hand on his.

“Is she pretty?” she asked.

He took out his phone at once and showed her a photo of him and Utahime. It was the most recent one they took at the baseball game. Gojo had pulled her in for an embrace, and she was so overjoyed by her team winning that she grinned at the camera while half of her face was pressed to his chest.

“Oh.” Lady Sayuri zoomed in on Utahime’s face. “It’s the same girl.”

“Yup. It’s still her.” The first time he showed her Utahime’s photo had been after their winter trip to Kanagawa over Christmas. It had been Suguru and Shoko’s idea, and he couldn’t remember now how long they actually stayed there, but he was sure that it was their best Christmas together. On their final night at the beach house, they took several photos next to the Christmas tree, and the one he showed Lady Sayuri was a snap of Utahime laughing while Gojo covered her in Christmas lights. She was half-drunk by then and hadn’t realized what he was doing. Right after that photo was taken, she tried to bite Gojo’s hand in annoyance.

Lady Sayuri swiped right. The next media was a video of Utahime singing while cooking breakfast, and the one after that was a recording of their lunch date in a newly opened café in Kyoto. Utahime was taking a photo of the cake to send to Shoko, but he ruined her shot by stabbing the cake repeatedly with a fork. She yelled at him, and the video ended in a blur as she slapped the phone out of his hand. After a series of photos of her in the most unflattering angles was a lengthy video clip of her carrying her laundry from the washer. He remembered taking it because she had worn shorts that day, and she had a cut on her leg that was still an angry red three days after her mission. Utahime insisted that the ointment was working, but Gojo wanted to show it to Shoko just to be sure.

While he was zooming in on the cut on her calf, she stubbed her toe on the coffee table and fell forward. The laundry softened her fall, but the basket had overturned on her head, and Gojo barked out laughing. He hadn’t actually watched this video before, so it surprised him that it went on even after he put his phone down. He must have propped it against the books on the coffee table, because the frame still caught them bickering as he tried to help her up.

She was so mad at him that she just lay curled up on the floor like a child, holding her pinky toe. Gojo sat behind her, folding her shirts and pants and placing them on the laundry basket while lecturing her on her clumsiness.

Lady Sayuri returned the phone to him. “You’ll get her pregnant just with the way you look at her. You and your father really aren’t subtle when you’re in love.”

The chimes at the Gakuganji shrine had been replaced with the Iori’s traditional curse energy-cancelling seals. Fresh paper rectangles covered the boulders that lined the stone staircase on either side. He had been here plenty of times as a child, and not once had he looked forward to the experience. Whereas the Iori shrine had a calming ambiance, the Gakuganji shrine held a foreboding gloom around it, as though whatever awaited them on top intended to swallow them alive.

Beside him, Satoshi exclaimed at his phone. The losing tune to his favorite mobile game sounded too loud in this place. “Damn it! I can’t beat your mother’s high score.”

“You got her playing that stupid game?”

“We made a bet.” He stashed his phone in the pocket of his kimono sleeve. “Anyway, the stakes aren’t for little boys like you to hear.”

He didn’t know how to tell him nicely that she won because she had two hands. Lady Sayuri could be cruel that way. “Very subtle, dad.”

Satoshi pinched his ear. “Don’t call me that. It makes my heart melt. By the way, are we playing good cop, bad cop?”

They were halfway up the stairs now, and he noticed the sag in Satoshi’s shoulders. The seals were significantly heavier here, so much so that Gojo was feeling a minor change in his cursed energy levels. He hoped this wasn’t Utahime’s doing, because such a feat would be too taxing for her

“What for?” Gojo asked.

“We can’t both be bad cops. He has to hate one more than the other.  Since he knows me better, I’ll play the good cop.”

Gojo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“No, he just hates you for existing,” Satoshi said. “There was one time that I used my influence in his favor, and I’m also one of the reasons he became principal, so I already have a rapport going on.”

“Fine.”

Bright light greeted them at the top of the staircase. While Satoshi had to blink several times to adjust to the brightness, Gojo stared straight ahead to the long path that led to Utahime. He didn’t take his eyes off her as they crossed the second torii and continued on the long pathway to the worship hall.

Gone were her modest white kosode and scarlet hakame pants. In their place were intricate layers of vestments that brandished her new station as a priestess. Over her black hakama pants was a yellow-green hitoë, and layered over that was a purple awagi. A scarlet karaginu completed her outfit, and when she ordered away the shrine maidens that stood behind her, he saw the Gakuganji’s insignia embroidered on the sleeves.

The gilded metal of her saishi headdress glinted in the sunlight, and the white threads that hung at the sides swayed with the gentle breeze that blew in from the scared forest.

She looked ethereal. A fictional sorceress drawn up by one of his wet nurses to entertain him before bedtime. The very way the sun landed on her appeared staged, or maybe his vision was deceiving him. Perhaps his emotions were amplifying everything, because it took seeing her so detached and dignified in her new station for him to acknowledge just how much he missed her. And while Gojo would never admit it, he knew she belonged here. Utahime had never looked more at home than she did wearing those priestly vestments and standing in front of the most important shrine in the Jujutsu world.

Gojo stopped in front of her.

Utahime, perfectly cool and collected, looked up at him to meet his gaze. “Lord Gojo.”

He resisted the urge to brush back the strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. The effort to stand still in her presence turned him numb. This was unnatural. This hurt. But he had to heed Lady Sayuri’s words and endure it. He had work to do.

Gojo regarded her with a small smile. “Priestess.”

With that, they bowed deeply to one another.

Chapter Text

Gojo tried not to grimace.

The main sanctuary reeked of accumulated cursed energy, the oldest layers of which sputtered like embers from the hemp ropes that snaked the columns. Some flickered from behind the walls, but the majority of them smoldered from beneath the floorboards. An average sorcerer would spot around forty percent of them, but with his Six Eyes, he could see each one with glaring clarity.

It was easy to imagine the priests and principal maidens of this shrine reinforcing these hidden seals every few days. A bunch of novice sorcerers in various vestments feeding their cursed energy to these tactfully placed seals. Gakuganji inspecting the place and ensuring that everything was fortified against cursed spirits and unauthorized sorcerers.

Satoshi glanced at him as they stepped into the sanctuary, and he nodded to confirm that he was aware.

They were like idiots waltzing into an obvious trap, but if they wanted answers, they had to soldier on and be like sitting ducks for the duration of their meeting.

The paper seals and lanterns overhead swayed with the gentle breeze that blew in from windows, and the distant sound of chimes filled the tense silence of their group. Wafts of incense smoke did a poor job of masking the charred stink of the seals.

Up ahead, Gakuganji stood in the middle of a dais. He beckoned Utahime to stand beside him.

“Principal Gakuganj, long time no see.” Gojo stooped down so they were face-to-face. “Looking older already, are we?”

Satoshi ducked his head and whispered, “Lord Gojo, at least wait until we’re spoken to.”

“Why be so formal? It’s not like we’re strangers to one another.” Gojo plopped on the zabuton cushion in front of the dais. “Father told me you were his instructor in Jujutsu High. I was shocked when he insisted that you're one of the good guys.”

Gakuganji descended to his zabuton, and then Utahime and Satoshi followed. “If not for me, your father would’ve died before he got the chance to be with Lady Sayuri. Imagine what the Gojo clan would be today if the Six Eyes hadn’t reappeared already.”

Satoshi forced himself to smile. The strain of it deepened the lines on his face. “Yes, my being alive was crucial for his conception. Please accept my belated thanks.”

“How’s your wife?”

“Busy being a grievance to the elders. You know how she is.” Satoshi cupped his hand beside his mouth and whispered, “Are you serving tea? I’m thirsty.”

Utahime reached behind her and tugged on a rope. A bell rang somewhere in the back rooms.

Gakuganji regarded the father and son. “Pestering others is a bad habit that runs in the family, I see.”

“It’s more of a talent. We didn’t even have to teach Satoru.”

Gojo propped his elbow on the armrest of his zabuton and cupped his face. That this old geezer knew his parents so well unnerved him. “How exactly are you acquainted with Lady Sayuri?”

Satoshi shook his head, more at Gakuganji than Gojo. “That’s a story for another time.”

“Poor boy!" Gakuganji slapped his knee as he laughed. "You know so little about your parents.”

“Point made,” Gojo said. “Spill the tea.”

“I mediated for the many attempts to get her married outside of the Gojo clan.” Gakuganji straightened up and stroked his beard, proud of this revelation. “She’s a non-shaman who’s too smart for her own good. So smart, in fact, that she negotiated with me before the mediations started. In exchange for giving me compromising information about the Gojo clan, I prevented her sale. She was fifteen. By the time she turned sixteen, we had stretched our luck thin, and she resorted to your father as her permanent solution.”

Gojo schooled his expression to neutral. True, he was not on good terms with Utahime, but this was not how he had hoped to introduce her to Satoshi or to tell her about Lady Sayuri. He only insisted on knowing because he assumed it would be something wholesome, but blackmail was exactly the kind of thing his mother would resort to. At this point, he could only be disappointed in himself for expecting anything less.

Satoshi hissed as he drew in a sharp breath, clearly embarrassed as well. “Now you’re just airing out gossip in front of your pretty new priestess.”

Gojo lowered his voice in a stage whisper. “Don’t bother her. She just activated her technique, and she needs to concentrate.”

Utahime’s eye twitched, but she did not take the bait. Instead, she put on a pleasant smile and turned to Satoshi, purely angelic even as her cursed energy coursed through the seals engraved throughout the sanctuary. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Satoshi. I’m Utahime Iori, the new head priestess of the Gakuganji shrine.”

“You’ve replaced your daughter already?” Satoshi affected shock at Gakuganji. He even placed his fingers over his gaping mouth, demure as a maiden. “How long has she been missing? Two years?”

A shrine maiden interrupted their discussion with a large tray of tea and snacks. Utahime helped her serve the tea and the small plates of Daifuku, Dango, Yokan, and Manju. The last one, she intentionally placed as far from Gojo as possible because he liked it best. He frowned at her pettiness, and she pretended not to notice.

Gojo half-rose from his zabuton to reach for it, but she transferred the plate in front of Gakuganji. Undeterred, he took the two pieces of Manju for himself and smiled coyly at Gakuganji.

“My favorite,” he said, presenting the treat in his hand like playing cards. From the corner of his eye, he saw Utahime sneer.

Gakuganji ignored him, thanked the maiden for their tea, and shooed her. Once she was gone, he said, “You requested this meeting to speak to me about my son, no?”

“I thought we might as well ask about Himari too, since, like Ryousuke, she’s been out of the radar for a while.”

“And you’re looking into my children’s activities because…?”

Satoshi removed the poster tube that was slung across his back and retrieved the drawings inside. Gojo took them from him and flattened them out on the floor in front of Gakuganji. “That vision is at least a week old. I couldn’t see his face or hear his voice, but the technique used is innate to your clan. He murdered five people with a tamed curse, and we suspect that he’s in cahoots with a special grade menace and his cult.”

Utahime squinted at the drawing. Her lips parted in a quiet gasp, and she mouthed his name.

Suguru Getou.

She locked eyes with Gojo, and in that brief moment, they were in a truce. Then the dash of sympathy on her face left, overcome by startling fear, and she paled. She touched the sleeve of her karaginu, her fingers brushing the embroidery of the Gakuganji’s clan insignia as the reality of her situation dawned on her.

Now they could only wait and see if she had sided with the devil.

Gakuganji studied the drawings in silence. After flipping through a couple of them, he sighed. The action seemed to push his shoulders lower, like a weight had been dropped on him.

“Yes, I can confirm that’s my son. The tattoo he has on his arm—that’s the same incantation tattooed on mine.” He pulled his sleeve up to show a tattoo of an ancient incantation on his forearm. “He was supposed to take over for me.”

“You’re unusually obliging with the information.”

“Why not? I see where this is going, and I suspect you already know the reason I returned to Jujutsu High. The absence of both my son and my daughter has raised concerns within my clan, and to spare us from the consequences of any possible mischief they may do, I re-established my alliance with Jujutsu HQ. Knowing who your mother is, I don’t doubt she’ll recommend selling me off to the higher-ups if I don’t cooperate with you.”

Satoshi blew on his tea before taking a sip. “So you do have an idea of what they’ve been up to.”

“I had my suspicions, but no means to act. Besides them hunting down and possibly collecting the Gakuganji’s tamed curses, it hadn’t crossed my mind that they would join a cult.”

Utahime radiated tension. Gojo could feel it in the subtle shift of the cursed energy she was feeding the seals across the room. Still, the feat she was pulling off in her current emotional state was impressive. It took seeing her in action for him to realize how much stronger she had gotten. The stability of her technique was not at par with Kazuo’s yet, and would likely never be since it wasn’t her forte, but it was efficient. The way she tempered their cursed energies was almost calming, and anyone weaker might've already fallen asleep.

He could only guess that Gakuganji ordered her to take this precaution because he wasn’t sure what their real intention was, and if he hadn’t signaled her to stop yet, then the uncertainty was still translating to them as a threat.

“I’m heading a covert operation to hunt down and eliminate Suguru Getou,” Gojo said, interrupting the discussion between Gakuganji and Satoshi. He had to cut to the chase, or else Utahime would burn out. “Jujutsu HQ won’t lift a finger until he becomes a much bigger threat, and I’m not keen on waiting for that to happen. We need whatever information you can give us to track down his cult and zero in on his location.”

Satoshi didn’t look like he approved, but shifted gears anyway to support him. “In exchange, we will help keep your clan’s name untainted by whatever activities your son has been doing in relation to Getou.”

Gakugani bowed his head in deep thought. Beside him, Utahime shut her eyes briefly to manage her cursed energy output. She had changed her hand seal, and this time she was no longer leveling their cursed energies. The paper seals on top of the doors and windows lit with a subtle green flame, and suddenly, they were like in a bubble. The background noise from the rest of the shrine disappeared, and the silence deepened.

Gojo assumed it wasn’t a technique, per se. At least not hers. She was simply activating the seals that were already around the room, presumably to make it soundproof. The cursed energy output this required appeared to be less demanding, and Gojo relaxed a little on his zabuton. Even Utahime slouched a little as the strain on her body alleviated.

Gakuganji nodded his approval at her before turning to Gojo and Satoshi. “I would give you information as gratitude for doing what Jujutsu HQ can’t at the moment. Suguru Getou is our responsibility, and I agree that we should do more to resolve this matter, but we simply do not have the resources. I’m sure my secretary can also send you the current findings on Getou that Jujutsu HQ won’t freely hand over.”

“You scare me when you’re this cooperative. What’s the catch?” Gojo asked.

“In exchange for your silence and manpower, I will disclose the locations of the tamed curses and lend you Utahime to either relocate or reclaim them. I have no doubt you’ll find useful leads this way in the hunt for Getou. What’s more, we can prevent him from utilizing these curses to our detriment.”

“Why are you not aware that Ryosuke’s accessed them, gramps? Those are dangerous curses.”

He turned the wooden cane in his hands. His grip on its body revealed his growing frustration. “Only I know their locations. It's a secret passed down only to the head of the clan. However, Ryosuke and Himari may have zeroed in on some of them using their techniques. As I fear that they have someone in the clan spying on me, I cannot go to these locations myself or entrust the task to anyone from the shrine. Besides, there’s no point. I’m a believer of the Divine Hymn, but my technique cannot harness its power. I would not be able to move the curses myself.”

“Divine Hymn?”

Gakuganji pointed his cane to the mural behind him. It depicted a woman in red, standing between two monsters and a man. Directly below them was a shrine, and around it was a city that resembled Kyoto in the Kamakura period.

“Our founding family, the Sasaki, once saved Kyoto from three vengeful spirits using hymns. Music has always been a big part of our inherited technique. The eldest daughter of the Sasaki’s main family, Masuyo Sasaki, could seal curses with her singing. Her technique translated the words of the Divine Hymn into seals that attached themselves as scorch marks on the curses, much like paper talismans on cursed objects today, and restrained them by curbing their cursed energy. Aoi Sasaki, her older brother, tamed them enough to confine them secret locations, which Masuyo blocked again with her seals. However, the strain was too much on her, and she died. She was later called the Blood Maiden, as it was through her death that Kyoto was spared. She had two sons. From her bloodline came the Gakuganji and the Iori, which seemingly split her technique. My clan specializes in sealing, while the Iori unseals. In rare instances, we get someone like the blood maiden herself. Himari.”

Satoshi looked grim. He had forgotten all about his tea. “That’s why you didn’t let her go to Jujutsu High.”

“No one but our clan knows that she can unseal, but since the Iori—” throwing his hand in Utahime’s direction “—gatekeeps the secrets to the technique, she has not maximized it. If Jujutsu High knew, they would think that we’re growing too powerful, and restrictions would be made. The Sasaki cult started by the original Blood Maiden’s brother nearly turned the entire non-shaman population against the Jujutsu world while it was still active. Aoi Sasaki made everybody believe that curses are sent by gods to give them power through select individuals, and the Jujutsu society should be eliminated for exorcising their god-given weapons. The Sasaki, with their ability to tame curses, was a prophet to them.”

Utahime pointed them to the mural to her left. The faded artwork showed a man standing above a sea of people in white, using them to separate himself from what appeared to be groups of sorcerers. Some of them had the Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo insignias on their backs. “The truth is that Sasaki wanted to control the Jujutsu world by using non-shamans as human shields. The sorcerers of that era could not be rash in eliminating Sasaki, because that would mean getting rid of a huge percentage of the Japanese population. The alliances that formed then became the foundation of Jujutsu High. Eventually, Sasaki was defeated, and the cult was disbanded. Knowledge about curses and sorcerers dwindled over time, and the government decided that it's better to keep their existence a secret from the general populace.”

Satoshi went over to the mural, no doubt memorizing the details for recreation later. “We’re sure of that?”

“As far as the records go,” Utahime answered. “Jujutsu HQ should have a list of religious organizations that have anything to do with curses. They would be among the first to know if it has resurfaced.”

Gakuganji pinned the corner of the drawings with the end of his cane. “Whatever you saw in that vision, it was Himari that unsealed it. Ryosuke’s skills lie in controlling, and that’s what Utahime has been training for."

Gojo removed his sunglasses and looked at Utahime with wide eyes, barely able to conceal his surprise and acrimony. First, her subservience to Gakuganji. Now a massive new technique. “You can tame curses?”

She avoided his gaze. “The theory is that I can control tamed curses with song, but whether I can tame new curses with talisman constraints is…we’re not sure yet if it’s within the range of my technique.“

Satoshi, who was stooped next to the mural, turned on his heels to see her. “But you’re sure you can control them?”

“Normally, doing so would require an instrument, and maybe something to mark the target with. But if I master the Divine Hymn—the same seals the Blood Maiden used on the tamed spirits—it could be a catalyst for controlling them directly. Anyway, they can’t be controlled without first breaking the seals that keep them imprisoned.”

Gojo sighed. The rush of information and deductions in his brain was giving him a headache. “So, gramps, if I have this right, you’re sending Utahime on a suicide mission.”

Utahime started to refute this, but Gakuganji held his hand up to stop her.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I made her our head priestess because I need to set my clan in order before I tell Jujutsu HQ about my children. With the proof that you’ve provided me, I can come to the higher-ups now and propose that Ryosuke and Himari be put in the Bingo book.”

Satoshi opened and closed his mouth in false starts, so struck with disbelief that he eventually had to pause to gather his thoughts. “Gakuganji, you want your children executed?”

“That’s the only way to get the resources to hunt them down. With Jujutsu HQ's help, I wouldn't be sending Utahime on the hunt alone," he said. "I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I have a duty to the Jujutsu world, and my children have betrayed their vows as sorcerers by endangering the lives of innocent people through the release of those tamed curses.”

It was hard to question his sincerity, even for Gojo. Utahime bowed her head to hide her distress, and Satoshi chose to attend to his tea while letting the news settle. From where Gojo sat, he could still see the sketch of Suguru standing next to Ryosuke. He didn’t know what to say. It was not easy to have the name of someone you loved be placed in the Bingo book.

“I’m sorry it has come to that with your children,” Satoshi offered.

“Don’t be,” Gakuganjii said with a sharp shake of his head. His lip rings swayed with the movement. “We cannot be sorry for making the right call, no matter how hard they may be for us.”

“As of now, you’re not sure if they’ve collected all of the curses?”

“I’m sure they haven’t. Unsealing takes a toll on Himari because it doesn’t come as naturally to her as sealing. Besides, she was already in poor health by the time she went missing.” He paused and cleared his throat. Emotion was seeping into his voice, but he managed to repress it. “If you give us the resources to reclaim the tamed curses, I will provide you with their locations so you might ambush Getou. You might just encounter him or my children while they’re moving the curses to their hideouts. I will also support you with all of the information we have regarding the religious organizations our clan has subdued.”

“It doesn’t make sense why Getou would want the tamed curses,” Utahime said.

“That baffles me too.” That baffled Gojo the most, if he were to be honest. He traced the rim of his teacup with his finger as he stared at the drawing of Suguru. “He can subdue even a deity if he wanted to. Why go through all this trouble?”

Utahime switched back to her first hand seal, releasing the sanctuary from its soundproof bubble.

Gojo looked at his father from the corner of his eye, startled by his sudden change of demeanor. Satoshi may come off as brash and irrational, but Gojo knew him to be one of the most cunning people in his clan. That he was purposely increasing his output baffled him.

“Master Gakuganji,” Satoshi said, his voice thick with warning. “You’re not telling us everything, are you?”

Gakuganji raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act stupid. You think I’d miss it? Masuyo Sasaki saved Kyoto by taming and sealing away three vengeful spirits. Not exorcise. Tame.” He darted a look at Utahime. “What happened to them?

“If we ever speak of those vengeful spirits, it’s mostly to scare our enemies. Those spirits are just legends now.”

“So was the Six Eyes until it appeared again. Unless you’re intent on securing those vengeful spirits and are actually equipped to make sure they’re not exploited, I suggest you let the Gojo clan lend you a hand in dealing with them too.”

Gakuganji laughed and hit the floor with his cane thrice. “Do you think if I know where these vengeful spirits are, Jujutsu HQ would put me in a position of power? I would be a threat to them. I would be so powerful, I wouldn't fear Jujutsu HQ's judgment."

Utahime switched hand seals again, but this one simply amplified the first by inverting the sign and placing her other palm flat on her knuckles.

Satoshi rose to a crouch. “Perhaps that’s why they’re keeping you close.”

Utahime copied his pose and switched to a third hand seal. The seals around the room reverted to their neutral state. Gojo noted that she was no longer distributing her cursed energy, but concentrating it all in her fists. Slowly, she inched her foot closer to Gakuganji, ready to spring up and shield him if she had to. “Master Satoshi, please calm down.”

“Yes, Master Satoshi,” Gakuganji intoned, raising his cup of tea as though to toast him. “You’re no longer the punk I taught at school. Be a good example to your son and know your limits.”

Satoshi, grinning, flexed his fingers in front of him. “Don’t make me take the information from you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

In a flash, the two of them had made their move. Satoshi clamped his hand on Utahime's head, while she stood her ground between him and Gakuganji with her legs far apart and her knees bent forward. Her palm landed firmly on Satoshi’s chest, and upon contact, he dropped to his knees in front of her. He dragged her down by her bangs, and Utahime winced but did not withdraw.

“Fuck,” Satoshi said with a bark of laughter. “You shot up my cursed energy so fast, I thought I was gonna faint!”

Utahime pulled her headdress off and tossed it to the side, but Satoshi refused to let go of her even when the metal cut him.

“Stand back!" She raised her other palm in warning.

Judging from Gakuganji’s smile, he could tell the old man was proud of this little exhibition.

Gojo stood slowly. He would’ve acted sooner to prevent Satoshi from even coming close to Utahime, but he wasn't sure of her state of mind. He worried that any sudden movement from him would force her to resort to something reckless, and he didn't want to hurt her by accident.

With one hand, Gojo held Satoshi’s forearm, and with the other, he restrained Utahime by the wrist. She had boosted Satoshi’s cursed energy too high, too fast, and left it in the air unsupported. The sensation would’ve been disorienting at the least. Another blow from her might induce paralysis. 

“Utahime,” he whispered. Her skin was hot against his. She was burning up. “Drop your technique. We’re not going to attack.” If Satoshi wanted to, he would have already used his technique on her, and she’d be lying on the ground in a state of catatonia. Satoshi had touched her first, after all.

Although panting and flushed from exertion, Utahime did not take her eyes off Satoshi. Gojo had never seen her so feral before.

Gakuganji struck the floor with his cane once. “Utahime.”

Like a puppet responding to the tug of a string, Utahime withdrew her technique and let go of Satoshi.

Gojo moved away from them with his hands in the air.

Gakuganji stood. “If you retrieve all of the tamed curses and make sure that no harm comes to Utahime, I’ll tell you what I know about these legends. Whether you’ll believe them is up to you. Utahime, see the father and son out.”

Utahime rubbed the root of her bangs as she stepped around Satoshi. “This way, please.”

Gojo pulled Satoshi to his feet and kept a firm grip on his arm as they ambled behind Utahime. He could tell based on his father’s blundering movements that Utahime’s technique had been strong and efficient. The physical toll of it would be immense on her target, but it was hardly useful on the battlefield if she did not have the stamina to endure it.

Her gait remained slow and graceful as she walked ahead of them, but the measured rise and fall of her shoulders betrayed her physical state.

Satoshi slapped his face once with a grunt. “I’m okay now. I think I'm okay now.”

“Sure?” Gojo thought he still looked dazed and uncoordinated

He pushed aside his kimono to see the bruise on his chest. He mouthed ‘ouch’ to Gojo.

Gojo only wrinkled his nose in disapproval. What did he want him to do? Scold Utahime for hurting him?

Glaring heat and humid air hit them as soon as they stepped into the courtyard. The wind played with the leaves that had collected on the ground, and in the far left of the worship hall, a maiden was sweeping them away.

Utahime stopped beside the torii and turned to face them. She kept her gaze down and her hands clasped loosely in front of her. “Thank you for your time. We will keep in touch.”

Satoshi and Utahime bowed at one another. She was about to bow to Gojo when he stepped forward, making her double back in surprise.

“Relax,” he said, not used to her being so jumpy around him. “I just want to talk.”

Utahime surveyed the grounds. “I can’t attend to personal matters while I’m at the shrine.”

“It’ll be quick.”

“I said I can’t.”

Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaws in frustration. Before he could deliberate his next actions, he had already grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. Utahime struck his chest with the palm of her hand, her head tipped back to look him squarely in the eyes.

“I will fight you,” she hissed.

From this close, he could see that she was depleted. Her abilities had significantly improved in a short period, but at a cost. “With your new technique? Just because it’s within the scope of your abilities doesn’t mean you should abuse it. You can barely stand. Now you’re burning up.”

“It’s mine.”

“What?”

“What he’s teaching me is mine. I didn’t have access to it until now because we broke off from them.”

Gojo lifted her arm higher so that her sleeve rolled down. The bruises on her skin resembled written incantations. He checked the inside of her sleeve and saw that every inch of the fabric had been embroidered with it. This was the cause of her bruises from before. He was stupid to not have realized sooner. “So you’re going to kill yourself to get this technique?”

Utahime made a tight noise in her throat. Her eyes were glazed and red-rimmed, and her neck was a deep shade of pink, either from frustration or her rising temperature. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Lord Gojo, we have to go now,” Satoshi called.

Utahime refused to back down. So did he.

In the middle of their quiet stand-off, and just as his anger peaked, he realized with a start what he was doing with her. He had been appalled at the sight of Gakuganji ordering her around with the strike of his cane, yet here he was, handling her as if he owned her.

He could hear Lady Sayuri’s voice in his head.

These were the cards he was dealt with, and he had no choice but to handle them with grace. What was the alternative? A life without the person he loved?

Gojo slipped his hand from her wrist to her palm, letting go of any tension as his muscles remembered how to hold her. Tenderly. Softly. He was angry for what she had allowed herself to become, and that he had probably pushed her to do this, but he could not imagine moving forward without her. In his mind, there was no alternative. He’d do it even if it meant compromise. He would acquiesce. He would even change.

Utahime relaxed in his grip as though responding to the change in his bearing. She wrapped her fingers around his. “Gojo, please let me go.”

Gojo found solace in Gakuganji's innocence and Utahime's safety in this shrine. He reminded himself that they would see each other again, so instead of charging head-on, he would walk away and let her be, because he did not own her. Maybe to possess her was not the goal, after all.

Maybe he just wanted to be with her.

“Utahime,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She stared at him without any of her earlier animosity. In its place was her usual concern for him, because as Suguru told him so many years ago, she was just that kind of person. Utahime was just too good.

Gojo kissed her knuckles, stepped back, and bowed. He turned to leave.

Satoshi let him lead the way across the grounds and down the staircase.  The tunnel of flourishing trees cast their path in mild darkness, and here and there, leaves floated down and landed on them.

“Your girlfriend is promising,” Satoshi said once they were halfway down the stairs.

Gojo reached back to support him by the shoulder as he hobbled down the steps. He had been so dazed after his interaction with Utahime that he forgot about his state.  “You pushed her to her limit when you threatened Gakuganji. That’s not how you usually do things.”

Satoshi shrugged. “That was the quickest way to know how much she is in Gakuganji’s confidence.”

Gojo stopped, forcing Satoshi to do the same.

“So you think she doesn’t have vital information that can compromise Gakuganji?” he asked.

“Yes,” Satoshi said with a childish grin. He looked like a child that had just been caught outsmarting the adults. “Otherwise, Gakuganji wouldn’t have let me touch her, more so lend her to us. That’s good news for you. And with the concern he’s showing for her safety, I’d say he’s not going to use her like you think he will. It’s more likely that he just needs her skills to deal with the tamed curses. That, and if there’s an eligible bachelor in his clan, he’ll want to get her genes in the family again. So better kiss and make up with her, son.”

Despite the dull ache in his chest, he managed to smile back at his father. Satoshi had a strange way of showing he approved of Utahime.

Utahime rushed to her office and removed her priestly vestments. The sash around her waist floated to the floor as she ripped away the many layers of clothing that both shielded her from the effects of her technique and amplified that technique.

In a matter of seconds, she sat panting on the floor in her hakama pants and silk camisole, letting the cool air touch her bruises. They stung like fresh burns, so much so that even breathing hurt.

Sakura entered her office with a bowl of ice, a jar of balm, and a few rolls of bandages. “We have to ice them now so they don’t get worse. Otherwise, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

All Utahime could do was nod. She had assigned her other two maidens, Kanae and Inori, to monitor the training of the new maidens in reading ancient Jujutsu inscriptions. She left Sakura to attend to her more personal needs because she seemed the most learned in the healing arts. It would be the third time in her short stay here that Sakura had seen her barely clothed and writhing from the side effects of her technique, but she couldn’t care.

Sakura had just applied ice on her shoulder when Gakuganji knocked on the door, and she threw the nearby kosode over Utahime to cover her up. Utahime overlapped the flaps across her body and tucked them beneath her hakama pants as best as she could before calling him to enter.

With her level of fatigue, getting dressed was the most she could do. Sakura bowed to Gakuganji, and Utahime merely nodded from the floor.

“Injured?” Gakuganji asked as he motioned for Sakura to leave. She left through the side door.

“Mildly.” She reached for an ice cube and rubbed it across her wrist. “When were you planning to tell me about Ryosuke and Himari?”

Gakuganji sat on the chair near the bookshelf. “The less you know, child, the safer you are. Satoshi Gojo’s technique lets him see into a place’s recent history and a person’s recent memories. In his prime, his domain expansion would play your memories backward before your eyes to the day of your birth, and in the end, all you’ll want to do is kill yourself from the overwhelming stress of the experience. Now that he has only one hand, I’m guessing he can paralyze a person with just two seconds of contact.”

Utahime shivered. She had no idea she had come against such a beast. “With all due respect, but I don’t see how I can be efficient if I’m kept in the dark.”

“I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.” He pointed at the red envelope on her table. “First, return to your shrine and present yourself to Master Iori. Your actions were wise but disrespectful. Aim to make amends. You remind me so much of Himari when she was your age.”

“Master Gakuganji,” she called just as he was about to leave.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about Ryosuke and Himari.”

Gakuganji gripped the doorknob and sighed quietly. “Me too.”

Although inappropriate, Utahime decided to return to the Iori estate in her patterned black hakama pants and white kosode. Her skin hurt too much, and she didn’t think she’d survive removing her kosode to put on her priestly vestments once more. Besides, she didn’t want to appear fancier than Kazuo. He had always hated the lavishness of the Gakuganji priests and shrine maidens.

Once she was there, though, she wished she had endured instead. It wasn’t only her immediate family that sat in the sanctuary waiting for her, but their three elders and the rest of the shrine’s priests and maidens. The only person absent was Haruki, who must still be at school playing baseball.

For a long time, none of them spoke. The rest of her clan sat on cushions facing her, while she sat on a cushion alone in front of them, feeling like a deer cornered by a pride of lions.

The red envelope lay on the floor between her and her father. A sign of her treachery.

“Thank you for bringing this,” Master Iori said, reaching for the envelope and spreading the documents in front of him. “I will have to review this with your brother and the elders, and we’ll be sending a formal response to Principal Gakuganji in a few days. Will that be alright?”

Utahime kept her gaze down on her hands. Even in the dim lighting of the sanctuary, the deep bruises forming on her fingers looked alarming. So this was what Gojo saw. This was why he was so upset.

“Utahime?”

“Huh?” She raised her head and made eye contact with her father. By then it was too late to look away. “I mean, yes. That’s alright. Principal Gakuganji won’t mind.”

Kazuo glared openly at her, while her mother maintained an impassive attitude. Utahime felt all she could do was put her hands in front of her and bow low. Low enough that her nose was touching the floor and they wouldn’t see the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. “My binding bow ends in five years. I ask for your forgiveness and understanding. When I return, I will be fit to serve our shrines better.”

From the back of the room, the elders of the family suggested disowning her. Relegating her to a minor shrine maiden upon her return. Punishing her for letting their rival clan benefit from the Iori’s innate technique. Now what would be their advantage? What reason would Jujutsu HQ and the other clans have to choose them over Gakuganji?

The infinity pendant slipped from her kosode and hovered over her lips. She watched it swing from its silver chain as she tuned out the voices in the room. In many ways, wasn’t she just like Gojo? Wasn’t she doing to her family what he did to her?

Warm hands lowered on the back of her neck, followed by the weight of his father’s head on top of hers. From this proximity, she could smell the incense, ointment, and tobacco smoke on his skin and clothes.

The voices stopped, and for a few seconds, all she could hear was his breathing and the drumming of her heart in her chest.

“Utahime,” he whispered, his voice shaky and tired. “Forgive me for being weak, but with my strength as the head of the clan, I promise you will always have a home to return to. Preferably every Saturday evening when your mother cooks your favorite dish and Kazuo is not here to scold you. Or let’s go out for sushi.”

Utahime bit her lower lip to suppress her laughter. She transferred her hands from the floor to her neck, covering Master Iori’s wrinkled fingers with her bruised ones.

She wouldn’t let herself cry in exhaustion until she reached her apartment. The tears spilled from her eyes one after another even though she felt completely numb. It was as though her body had reached its limit and was sending her a message. Giving her a warning. Wave the white flag and collapse. Please.

Utahime had pushed herself to her limit, testing each relationship until they reached their breaking point, and in the end, she was alone and unhappy.

The first thing she saw when she opened the front door of her apartment was the spare key on the floor. Picking it up, she surveyed the place and noted the signs of Gojo being there. He had moved his coffee mug and left the bathroom light open. A slight wrinkle on the couch suggested that he had taken a seat there.

Well, he bought the damn thing. He had every right to.

Utahime opened her fridge. She checked her pantry. Returning to the fridge, she scoured every compartment and discovered that the bastard had discarded her beer. That was premium fucking beer.

Dejected, she collapsed on the floor and settled for the hard cider Gojo had been insisting on her. It was four percent ABV, which was three less than what she normally consumed, but right now she would settle for anything that had alcohol in it.

While lounging in front of the open fridge in her camisole and cycling shorts to cool her bruises, she opened her chatbox with Gojo.

He hadn’t blocked her, and she hadn’t blocked him either. Their last conversation before all hell broke loose was about his addiction to sweets and whether he was using RCT to keep himself from getting sick. He retorted that his sweet tooth was nothing compared to her obsession with alcohol.

Too bad you can’t use RCT for your liver. >:O

I’m not an alcoholic, so.

And I’m not addicted to sweets, so.

This is going nowhere :|

I’m going nowhere. Even if you’re an alcoholic.

Utahime kept rereading that last message, then remembered him tucking her hair behind her ears, asking her to say that she would not walk away from him.

A part of her wished she had remained docile. Let the men take control of her and wring her dry until she had nothing left to give. Perhaps that would've been the easier, less painful choice. To sit pretty and receive orders instead of paving her own path in this world.

Utahime touched the pendant, cool and soothing between her collarbones.

She did not know what Gojo meant earlier when he apologized. Was he sorry that he handled her so roughly, or sorry that he did not love her back? Then her thoughts drifted to Satoshi’s sketches. This covert operation to hunt down Suguru Getou was nothing short of cruel. Getou might've lost his way, but he was still Gojo's best friend, and she hated that he had also kept this a secret from her. He did not have to go through this alone. She didn’t want him to.

Utahime wiped her face dry and swore under her breath. It was so hard to be in love, and with Gojo of all people.

She downed the rest of the hard cider and opened two more. Docile be damned. She would make the first move and talk to Gojo, but before that, she would consult with the other man in her life whom she loved more.

Chapter Text

Utahime sat on the bleachers and watched Haruki walk to the mound in his muddied uniform, baseball in one hand and glove in the other. Under the blinding glare of the sun, his features looked more refined, and she remembered seeing a photo of their father when he was around that age, holding a baseball bat and smiling shyly at the camera.

While all three Iori siblings shared their father’s passion for sports like it was a stubborn genetic code, it was Haruki who resembled him the most.

Growing up, Utahime rolled her eyes whenever people pointed out that her brothers were carbon copies of their parents. Kazuo got their mother’s determination and silky black hair. Haruki got their father’s mild temperance and meek features. They were each parent reincarnate, faithful almost to the tee that it was eerie.

As for Utahime—well, she was a strange mix of both. She could be yelling like her mother one day and forgiving offenses easily like her father the next. She had his bearing and her pride, his wisdom and her passion. Yet even with them as references, she could not understand herself. On her worst days, she felt like a misfit or a traveler without any map or gear to complete her journey.

Utahime did not expect to have everything in her life figured out at twenty-five, but she at least thought she'd be on her way to something stable. Maybe something permanent, even. If not marriage, then a secure partnership with a man who loved her. A fulfilling job that fortified her clan's standing in the Jujutsu world. The respect of her superiors and her peers. The mastery of her technique.

Now, as her relationships lay in probable ruins and her career progressed in a less-than-promising trajectory, she only hoped she could salvage something. Anything.

It was with this in mind that she sought out her little brother. She hoped that being a high schooler hadn’t dampened whatever affection he had for her yet, and he could give her the nugget of wisdom that would help her survive this mess.

Haruki threw a curveball. The batter missed. Players fidgeted on their bases. Haruki ignored the cheering and focused on his next pitch. For half a second, his eyes darted to Utahime, and when he pitched, the batter hit the ball.

She smiled apologetically at him, knowing that she had distracted him enough to affect his performance. Yet Haruki didn’t seem to mind. As soon as training ended, he jogged to the bleachers and took his cap off.

“Here to criticize my pitching skills again?” He climbed the bleachers and dropped to the seat next to her. The metal groaned at his weight, startling Utahime. She knew Haruki was enjoying a significant growth spurt, but it took seeing him this close to notice how much he had changed. He was almost Kazuo's height now, with nearly the same build and depth to his voice. Still, he maintained a boyish air about him as he smiled at her, like he could not help but revert to the role of baby brother in her presence.

She fished a bottle of water from her bag and handed it to him. “Your cursed energy output and control are much better now.”

“Well, don’t let Kazuo know, or he might transfer me to Jujutsu High.” He stretched his neck left and right and poured the water over his head.

“Is it fair that you’re using your cursed energy, though?”

“I was given an advantage, and I plan to use it in any way I can.” He shook his hair out at Utahime, and she yelled at him to stop. Haruki winced and motioned for her to keep her voice down, as he didn't want to attract attention. That was the key to getting Haruki to do anything, especially in public. Threaten to create a scene, and he would go as far as to eat a bug just to prevent people from noticing him. Haruki did that once when they were younger, all to stop Kazuo from performing a mock ritual in front of his friends.

“Ugh, now I smell like your sweat!” she said.

“You’re my sister, so our sweat smells the same.”

“In what biology class did you learn that lie?”

He laughed. “Stop being so cranky with me already. I was just trying to lighten your mood."

The school bell rang, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear boys and girls starting a riot. A pang of nostalgia hit her, because while Jujutsu High never had many students at one time, it still suffered from the occasional uproar and vandalism. Once, Gojo and Getou arranged a game of tag for all of them that resulted in much exterior damage to the main building. Half the training ground turned into a crater, and Gojo got so carried away that Getou took Shoko and her on his cursed spirit to escape from him. Mei hit him with Bird Strike to get the message across that none of them were having fun anymore, and Yaga wanted to expel him for attempted murder.

"So," Haruki said as he mopped his face with the front of his shirt. "How did the meeting with the clan go?”"

Utahime shrugged. “Too easy.”

“That bad, huh?”

“No, really, it was much tamer than I imagined,” she said. “Father was kind and generous as usual. Kazuo would’ve pulled my hair out if he weren’t there. I’m sure Mother wanted to scold me, so it’s a good thing she isn’t a hypocrite.”

He put his hand on his chest and sighed deeply. “Man, I still feel like getting a heart attack every time I remember her standing up to Lord Kamo last year. You and Kazuo get your brazenness from her.”

“I hate Kazuo right now. I don’t even want to hear his name.”

Haruki could only nod his understanding, having received the brunt of Kazuo's temper for most of their childhood. After a beat, he scooted closer to Utahime. “Wanna talk about it?”

Utahime brought out a paper bag of burgers and fries. She didn’t need bribes when it came to Haruki, but life as a sorcerer was so transactional that she couldn’t kick the habit. Haruki accepted the offering with much thanks and looked at her expectantly, like a child waiting for the movie to finally begin after an endless succession of trailers.

She had rehearsed her monologue countless times on the way here, so much so that her plight with Gojo sounded like a cheesy rom-com novel. The points were clear. She was right. He was wrong. How could she make him see that?

Except when she started speaking, none of her rehearsed sentiments came out. In their place was a raw retelling of when she realized she liked Gojo, and how the past couple of months led to her falling in love with him. That she never thought heartbreak hurt this badly, and she hated that she still worried so much about him even though he didn’t love her back. Why did he have to block her promotion? Why was it that men like him felt the need to dominate and control? Kazuo was no different. And now she was sacrificing more than what she might be willing to give just to gain an advantage. To get the message across to the people that mattered to her that she was her own person. They could not trifle with her just because she was a woman with inferior sorcery skills.

Haruki, being the engaged listener that he was, did not even take a bite of his burger until she was done. Even then, he simply sighed, and the wrapper of the burger in his hands drooped as though in sympathy. “Power really got into their heads, huh? That’s why I’m glad I’m not a sorcerer.”

Utahime opened packets of ketchup on a tissue paper and pushed them towards him. “Does it not get to you anymore? People judging you for not being one?”

“Not after I’ve seen you struggle to rise in the ranks. Sorry, sis, but I personally think it’s all a farce. Your grade is just an easy way to match you with a curse. It doesn't ultimately mean you’re at the same level as a grade one curse or sorcerer. It definitely isn’t a sure way to tell who’s stronger."

“But I have to function in the world I choose to live in. Many say the grading system should be updated, but Jujutsu society isn’t exactly adaptable.” She stared down at her half-eaten burger, no longer hungry. “Besides, my ranking helps not only me but our shrines as well.”

Haruki dipped the burger in the ketchup and bit off that portion. He pondered this while he chewed. “Isn’t there a special grade sorcerer that’s a complete waste of space? Yuki something? Anyway, lots of good she is for her rank. I think you do more good than she does even if you’re only a semi-grade one sorcerer. You’re teaching young sorcerers, protecting the clan, and you still find time to criticize my pitching skills. I can’t ask for a better sister given the circumstances.”

She ruffled his wet hair. “Stop it. I don’t want to cry.”

“Satoru Gojo shouldn’t have blocked your promotion without telling you," he said. "I think that’s his biggest mistake. The man has poor communication skills.”

“He’s too used to getting his way.”

Haruki shifted on his seat so he was facing her completely. “I’m gonna say something, but promise you won’t be mad at me. And by mad, I don’t just mean yelling. Don’t hit me too.”

Utahime narrowed her eyes at him. This was his usual opener whenever he was sure he’d offend her. Still, her curiosity was piqued, and she was going to take the bait. “Okay, I promise.”

Haruki studied her with wide eyes, as though waiting for her to take it back. When she frowned in impatience, the corners of his lips curled in a placating smile. “I’m kinda relieved he did that. Sure, Gojo may have been selfish about it, but he was also being realistic. You’re not made for combat the way most grade one sorcerers are, and you have no idea how much anxiety it gives me whenever Mother calls me out of nowhere. I always feel like that’s it. Either you or Kazuo was killed on a mission, and that’s one less Iori in the clan. I don’t think Father would be able to take it, really. You two are his gems.”

Utahime’s heart sank. She remembered all too well how a much younger Haruki would wait for her and Kazuo on the steps of their shrine, his tear-streaked face glistening in the moonlight. After they discovered that he could not become a sorcerer like them, he resigned himself to the task of waiting. During each mission, he would station himself at the shrine’s entrance with a first aid kit cradled on his lap, and although he had minimal training in the healing arts, he did his best to patch them up. She even had an ugly scar on her shoulder that resulted from his poor stitching at thirteen years old, and she only let him do it that time because their mother was busy saving Kazuo’s life.

This was another facet of her promotion that she had not considered. In her mind, snagging a higher ranking would result in celebration. Or at least, in her clan as a whole being appeased. After all, another grade one sorcerer in the family would boost their collective status in the Jujutsu world and make them the more enticing choice for certain jobs.

Yet here was her younger brother, the one person in the family to treat them first as human beings before anything else. It broke her heart that while she griped about missing out on another life-or-death mission for the sake of status, he was here counting it as a blessing.

Utahime turned away from him. She knew she would tear up if she looked too long in those big brown eyes of his. “My options are just so few, Haruki. I’m a woman, and the only way I don’t get stepped on is if I become stronger. Strong to the point that I’m not afraid of the Kamo targeting me again, or of Gojo taking extreme measures to protect me.”

Silence settled between them. The soccer team hollered in the distance, and the coach blew his whistle. The students from earlier now chased each other on the perimeter of the baseball field and back to the building.

“You know how I became okay with not being a sorcerer?” he asked with a boyish lilt to his voice. “It’s because you and Kazuo never make me feel like I’m a disappointment, even though everybody else does, including Father and Mother. Maybe you only have to care about the opinion of the people who love you the most. If you’re still an instructor and your students trust you, then you must be doing something right. And let’s say you get so strong that you’re at par with Gojo. Doesn’t he piss off so many people too just by having the Six Eyes?”

“Well, he’s also kind of a jerk to the higher-ups.”

“Maybe because he understands that people-pleasing in the Jujutsu world only gets you so far. Also, it kinda sounds like the easiest way to die.” He waved around his half-empty bottle of water as he spoke. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for the promotion. I just mean it doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. Not to the people who love you anyway.”

Utahime rubbed her left hand with her right to soothe herself. “If you put it that way.”

“Maybe talk to him about it? I can’t imagine you two being in a healthy relationship if you can’t even fix this.”

“It’s not that easy, Haruki.”

“Sis, you have poor communication skills too. He blocked your promotion. You made a binding vow with a clan the Gojo might be at odds with."

“He wouldn’t understand, and he’d never have allowed it.”

“Same reason he didn’t tell you about your promotion,” Haruki said matter-of-factly. “At least he tried to dissuade you from it. You didn’t even tell him that Gakuganji was training you.”

Utahime sneered at him. “Are you taking his side?”

Haruki raised his hands in the air. “No, ma’am, I’m just saying. Both of you want control. You want a sure win, so you leave the other without a choice. You left our family without a choice. Call it quits and make up already. You’re obviously still head-over-heels for the guy.”

She crossed her arms and tried to look glum to disguise her reddening face. Since he kissed her knuckles in the shrine before leaving, not a single thought she had about him ended without recalling the night they finally kissed. “You should’ve seen him without his shirt on. It’s hard to get over that.”

Haruki curled his lips in disgust. “Why be a grade one sorcerer when you’re already a special grade perv?”

“Hey, you.” She poked his temple repeatedly. “I still control your allowance.”

His demeanor changed at once, and he leaned toward her with his chin propped on his fist. “So was it a six or an eight-pack?”

She was mid-laugh when she noticed it. Two familiar cursed energies closing in on them. Jumping to her feet, she saw Akira Gojo and Nanami as they turned the corner of the chainlink fence and appeared on the other end of the baseball field, the two of them donning black dress pants and white button-downs. The dust swirled around their leather shoes, and the sunset sky cast an orange glow on their frowning faces.

Haruki stood in front of Utahime with his arm held out. Then he got a better look at Nanami and quickly retreated behind her.

"Very manly, Haruki," she said.

"I'm just a lowly non-shaman."

She turned him in the opposite direction. "Don't worry, they're friends. But not a word to anyone, okay?"

Haruki took one last look at the two men before nodding. He gathered his things along with their food and climbed down the bleachers, making a beeline for the school building while glancing several times over his shoulder.

Akira Gojo stopped in front of the bleachers and bowed his head at Utahime. "We're sorry to intrude. It's a bit of an emergency."

Utahime remained standing three benches away from them, as the distance and difference in altitude helped her feel superior and more in control of her rising emotions. "If you needed me, you could have called. This is my brother's school. I don't want him to feel unsafe here."

Akira produced a flip phone from his pocket and tossed it to her. "We prefer to use this to contact you. Just as a precaution."

Utahime studied the phone. Old and pink. This was the exact model she used in high school. "A burner phone?"

"All of us use it." Nanami raised the same pink model in his hand to show her.

She suppressed a grunt in her throat. No doubt this was Gojo's idea. "You're working for him, Nanami?"

“At his request," he answered.

Akira climbed the bleachers and presented her with a folded map of Uji. Colors popped from the glossy paper of the tourist map, with printed names in both English and Japanese scattered all over. In the center of the page, a bright blue square was circled numerous times with a red marker.

She took the map from him to get a better look and jolted.

"Too close, isn't it?" Akira said in a sympathetic tone. "We've already secured the location. It's an abandoned mall. Due for demolition soon. Principal Gakuganji is lending you to us to take care of the tamed curse in the underground lair."

Ritsumeikan Uji High School was only five blocks away from the commercial mall in the address. If the Gojo clan had not discovered this location before the demolition date, Haruki would have been in mortal danger. “So this location is related to the cult?”

“Yes. Gakuganji has released three hidden locations in Kyoto, and we’ve secured all of them, along with the lair the Fugen discovered. Two of the three hidden locations have curses. This lair has a tamed curse sealed in one of its rooms. We’re already investigating all four locations for leads. To honor our agreement with Gakuganji, we have to assist you in reclaiming and relocating the curses.”

Instinctively, her hand went to her bruised arm. The mere thought of unsealing the tamed curses, moving them, and then either attempting to seal them or tame them with her own talisman constraints made her stomach clench. She could already feel acid welling up in her belly at the immensity of the task. Still, she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin to affect confidence. This was her job. She wasn’t about to let them down.

“Take me to the curse,” she said.

Utahiime finished changing into an altered version of her miko outfit while Nanami and Akira waited outside the car. Gakuganji provided her with this reinforced kosode and hakame pants to help her control her technique. The fabrics themselves were heavy, but the embroidered incantations inside made them feel like every inch was weighted. She reclined in the backseat for around fifteen minutes as she adapted to her vestment, and then exited the car with as much poise as she could muster.

She entered the mall through the side door with Nanami to her right and Akira to her left. Faint sunrays streamed from the skylight to the grimy floors, illuminating the torn posters and receipts from the mall's glory days. Rusty shutters and padlocks kept intruders out of empty store spaces, and on every corner stood mummified plants on cracked clay pots.

Akira steered them towards the south side of the mall, where a series of open doors guided their way to the basement. Members of the Fugen marked their path, some of them in casual outfits while the rest wore the same black dress pants and white button-down as Nanami and Akira.

Once they reached the basement, another Fugen member opened a secret door that led to a barely lit staircase. Cool air swept up from the gloom and crept beneath her hakama pants, raising the hair on her ankles. A dank smell intermixed with something metallic wafted to her nose and landed unpleasantly on her tongue.

Akira produced a thin, blue face mask. “You might need this if you’re queasy.”

She took the mask gingerly, holding it up by the string with her thumb and forefinger. “Why? What’s down there?”

Akira and Nanami exchanged a look. Nanami motioned for her to put it on. “Senpai, unless you’re used to the stench of blood and fresh corpses, you’ll want to wear a mask."

She was glad she listened to him, because as soon as they entered the cult’s abandoned lair, the stench smacked her in the face with unforgiving strength. She rushed out of the hall and ventured a little way down the dim, narrow corridor to compose herself. Holding onto the wall for balance, she swallowed several times as she processed what she had just seen.

Bodies, around twenty of them, piled on top of each other with varying shades of red streaked across their pristine white robes. She ripped the mask off her face and took lungfuls of putrid air. The muscles in her stomach contracted, but with a sharp shake of her head, she forced herself to take control.

Nanami appeared in front of her, the soft pinch to his brows relaying his concern. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”

She waved him off. Now that the nausea was subsiding, she could feel the subtle energy emanating from the tamed curse inside the lair. “I'm fine. Thanks, Nanami.”

Utahime had to breathe through her mouth to last inside the hall with the bodies. From the entrance, she watched Hanabi Gojo at the far end of the room in a pink kimono with her thick hair coiled up artfully in a bun. At her feet lay three naked corpses, two female and one male, which she turned and probed with her gloved hands. Once done, she collected their bloodied robes from the floor and spread them over their bodies.

Hanabi waved at Utahime, her latex-gloved hand shimmering bright red under the harsh light. “Stinks, doesn’t it? I almost threw up too.”

Satoshi emerged from behind the pile of corpses. “Imagine slicing your own throat. What kind of brainwashing makes you do that? Right, Utahime?”

Utahime didn’t know how to respond. She knew Hanabi and Satoshi were being nice, and these dead people likely did horrible things, but she expected a little more ethicality from the team. After all, these non-shamans probably had no idea they were mere pawns to sorcerers that the Jujutsu society as a whole failed to put under control.

She angled her body away from the corpses and swore under her breath. Stop trembling. Stop trembling.

Nanami placed his hand on the small of her back, tearing her from her trance. He ducked his head to speak to her in a low voice. “Senpai, stop fixating on the corpses. Notice the markings on the floor. Inspect the arched entryways that lead to the inner rooms. The hardened candle wax on the floor suggests repeated rituals. Be present and take account of every trivial thing. Otherwise, you won't be effective here.”

Utahime looked around. He was right. Blurred markings in black ink stained sections of the floor, and next to them sat mounds of melted candles. Her gaze moved to the darkness behind the arched entryways, and for a brief moment, she was distracted. Inner rooms? People lived here? Then she saw the dead bodies again, and she couldn’t do it. The feet sticking out of those robes were still a little pink. They could still be warm.

Hanabi stepped on some of the bodies to pull down the woman on top of the pile. Several corpses tumbled over others on their eroding hill. “Here’s the freshest of them all.” Grabbing the woman’s stark white arm, she dragged her across the floor and dropped her in front of Satoshi. "Go as far back as possible to look for signs of sexual assault or any other abuse. The bodies I examined don't show any. No ligature marks too."

Satoshi flexed his fingers and touched the dead woman’s head. His pupils darted side to side so quickly that for a few seconds, his eyes appeared completely white. Then he jolted back to the present and shook his hand at the wrist as though he had been electrocuted.

“Get anything useful?”

Utahime whipped around at the sound of Gojo’s voice.

He sauntered into the hall in a pair of black pants and a black long-sleeved shirt, his sunglasses perched low on his nose bridge as he surveyed the place. The sight of him made her skin warm and her heart flutter despite her inhibitions. Even haggard and a little pallid like that, he still possessed a natural charm that she could not ignore and a huge presence that filled the room like a blast of pure oxygen. Yet once the initial excitement of seeing him again ebbed, she noticed the tiny changes in him.

The way his cheekbones appeared more prominent, his clothes hung loosely over his tall frame, and his brows fell heavy over his eyes. His bad posture had worsened too, and she had to stop herself from asking if he was eating and sleeping enough. Gojo's response to major stress fell on two extremes. Either he overslept or did not sleep at all. There was also the matter of his sugar addiction, which tended to spike with sleep deprivation.

“It seems they were living there,” Satoshi answered. “This guy has never been outside. Lady Sayuri was correct. These people might have been brought here as offerings from family members who participated in the cult. We might not find any legal record of these people anywhere."

Gojo continued walking in her direction but with his gaze fixed on Satoshi as he relayed a few more observations. Utahime steeled herself, certain that he would ignore her.

"We should still try to find their family members." Gojo squeezed her shoulder as he walked past her, the contact light and brief but enough to make her breath hitch in her throat. "Some of them might be connected to the missing residents of Golden Gai."

"Uncle, did you see if any of them were abused?" Hanabi asked.

"None that I saw. They all seemed like they got along together."

“What lies were they fed?” Gojo asked.

“They were told they exist to guard their god-given weapons.”

“The tamed curses?” Utahime guessed. She hated the way her voice quivered, but she couldn't keep cowering in a corner while everybody else worked.

Satoshi nodded at her. “Yeah, they believe these tamed curses were the Blood Maiden’s gift to them, and they had to wait for the time when they will be used to rid the world of sorcerers. With their blood sacrifice—” sweeping his hand towards the pile of corpses “—they were paving the way for the Blood Maiden’s ultimate gift to them. Apparently, there's this grander thing they're waiting for.”

Hanabi sprayed disinfectant across her body. “That’s the most cultish thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve watched too many true crime documentaries with Lady Sayuri.”

A low growl from behind the walls interrupted their conversation. Utahime squinted at the spot to her left. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent to her that the symmetry around the hall vanished at this point, as though someone had hastily plastered cement over a huge space.

Akira approached the wall she was studying and touched it. The cement retreated with lots of dry scratching sounds and billowing dust. The rest of the structure around them seemed to shift and settle to their original design.

Reconstruction, Utahime thought. Akira could reconstruct matter, but given the warped look of the wall earlier, it was probably limited to the original components of the source material. He had to be particularly careful when reconstructing parts of this underground lair, as that would mean compromising the structural soundness of the entire mall.

An alcove appeared where the strange wall had once been, and she came face-to-face with her mission. Long strips of talisman constraints crisscrossed the mouth of the alcove. The spaces in between allowed them a limited view of the curse hidden inside. It looked like a giant worm with moth wings and eyes so huge they might fall off its face at any moment.

“Won’t Getou know that you’re after him?” Utahime asked. That he even left this curse here was perplexing. What was the point of stealing them from Gakuganji if he wouldn’t even guard them?

Akira joined their circle and admired the sealed curse. “If he’s smart, then he’s already aware. Besides, we’ve only been able to secure abandoned hideouts so far. The active ones are too damn hard to find. Hopefully, we can gather enough clues here to secure a location that is not already in the process of being deserted.”

“When he leaves a place, does it usually involve so many dead cult members?” Utahime extended her hand towards the constraints to feel for their age. “And with a curse?”

“This is the first.”

“I thought Getou wanted to build a world with only Jujutsu sorcerers?" Satoshi asked. "Why the hell is he leading a cult that worships curses and plans to destroy all sorcerers then?”

Gojo stood still, staring in the middle distance with such a somber face that Utahime thought he did not hear the question at all, as it was obviously directed at him. If anyone could dissect Getou's mind and predict his plans, it was Gojo. Only he didn't look like he wanted to be here at all. Utahime felt the urge to say his name and ask what he was thinking, but she wasn't sure if he wanted her help. They had avoided all discussions of Getou in their time together, and she couldn't decide whether Gojo was in denial of his grief or he didn't think it was any of Utahime's business.

“I doubt he’s changed his tune since he massacred an entire town. This might just be a means to an end.” Gojo answered, finally, and got distracted by Hanabi spraying another bottle of disinfectant on herself. “Look who’s being useful on the field. Or are you trying to impress Nanami because you’re tired of your boyfriend?"

Hanabi gave him a once over, as though he was a child who was speaking out of turn. “Father asked me to be here.”

"We need someone with medical expertise," Akira explained. "Besides, Ms. Utahime might feel uncomfortable being the only woman here."

Utahime shook her head and laughed nervously. "Please don't feel the need to make changes for my comfort." 

“Utahime." Gojo stood beside her and tipped his head towards the alcove. “You’ll have to return that to Gakuganji and transfer it to a new location, yes?”

“Do you have the container ready?”

“Gramps lent us one that’s filled with seals.”

Utahime walked over to the mouth of the alcove and read the ancient scripts on the constraints. Peering between the gaps, she saw that the curse had detected her. Good. It might already recognize her thanks to the inscriptions in her vestments. “This one’s old. By my estimate, it’s a semi-grade one. Still, controlling more than one curse at a time consumes too much cursed energy, even if Ryousuke were to use musical instruments.” She walked backward until she was standing beside Gojo again. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Explain the constraints to me.”

She pointed to the far left corner where the main talisman constraint started and traced its length down to the lower right corner of the alcove. “The seals that keep the curse locked in the room are the same ones that are on the curse's body. You can break the seals with a powerful technique, but that also exorcises the curse. See that broad strip of paper? That contains sections of the Divine Hymn. The other constraints are tangled with it to make unsealing harder. Hit the main constraint even a little while undoing the others, and you hurt the curse.”

Satoshi flicked his fingers over the talisman constraints. Flashes of bright red light flickered in the air like electricity. “So your new technique unravels these constraints without killing it?”

“Yes. It’s the Gakuganji clan’s guarantee that no one else can control the tamed curses.”

“Gakuganji can create an army with this,” Akira said.

“And we’re up against the two people who were trained to control that army.” Satoshi scoffed. “What joy.”

Gojo shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked down at her. “So what do you need?”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to break that seal and proceed immediately to control that curse. I know it’s easier for you if you can perform the entire ritual instead of resorting to shortcuts.”

His thoughtfulness made her stare. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she snapped out of it and busied herself with her bracelets and boots. “I need five seconds to transition.”

Satoshi cleared his throat. “Need backup vocals? Akira and I were in a band once.”

“Oh stop being so embarrassing, uncle!” Hanabi reached beneath her obi, and the entire thing fell from her waist like a cuff. She shrugged off her kimono as she approached, revealing a black juban underneath that seemed oddly suited for battle. The hem fell below her knees, and beneath them, she sported thick black tights that disappeared into long leather boots. She produced a push knife from under the sleeve of her juban and tested different vantage points facing the alcove. “I’ll keep the curse from moving until Utahime is ready. But I can only hold it for around ten seconds, okay? Less if it turns out to be more powerful than we think. Father, maybe you should physically restrain it too.”

Utahime paused from drawing a ritual circle on the floor to tug at Gojo's sleeve. “Hey," she whispered. "What’s Hanabi's technique again?”

“Totally boring,” Gojo whispered back, but it was so breathy that he obviously wanted Hanabi to hear. “She can stop your movement through eye contact.”

Hanabi let down her hair with a flourish and glared at him. “I’ve developed useful variations, you know?” Turning to Utahime, she said, “I can freeze anyone as long as I maintain eye contact, but the stronger they are, the shorter the time I can stop them before I suffer from temporary blindness. And somebody please move me out of the way if that happens.”

Satoshi pointed at her as though catching a thief in the act. “You can fight even when you’re blind. What do you need help for?”

Hanabi smiled at Nanami. “Mr. Kento.”

Gojo wagged his finger. “No, Nanami guards Utahime. Father, just help Hanabi out, will you?”

Satoshi stuck his tongue out at Hanabi, and Nanami positioned himself just outside of Utahime’s ritual circle.

Gojo removed his sunglasses and hung them on his collar. Under the stark white lighting of the hall, his irises appeared a deeper shade of blue around the pupil. “Utahime, if you have to let go of your technique, Nanami will get you out of the way and I’ll deal with the curse. You ready?”

Utahime popped her knuckles. “To be honest, no, but I’ll pull it off.”

Gojo hesitated beside her, and she worried that he would change the plan. Say he didn't trust her and break the agreement with Gakuganji. Call the entire thing off and usher her out before she could even try. A reprimand was on the tip of her tongue when Gojo exhaled loudly, as though fed up with something. Then he stepped out of the ritual circle to allow her to begin.

"On your cue," he said with a nod.

She nodded back at him, shocked that he was letting her proceed. It felt nice to be trusted, and by him of all people. Maybe it wasn't wholehearted, and he still found her technique lackluster, but his effort to respect her work was enough to thaw the remaining irk she felt toward him.

Utahime held both of her arms out and unfurled her fingers towards the ceiling. The first wave of her technique flowed towards the talisman constraints, causing flickers of cursed energy to spark. Static made the hairs on her arms stand and her fingertips tingle. Once she had grasped the order in which she would remove the talisman constraints, she began her song.

The Divine Hymn was not a singular song with fixed lyrics, but rather a reading of the constraints to be unsealed using a specific melody. Her hypersensitivity to cursed energies made this part easy for her, as she could feel the shape of the words on the constraints as though they were written in the air before her.

The bells on her wrists accompanied her singing, and she moved her arms and feet in the physical translation of the song, similar to sign language, but with larger movements. This was as ancient as ancient could get in the Jujutsu World, because most sorcerers would only ever know the shortened versions of the commands that summoned their techniques. Their desire for power often led them to stop their studies at mastering the hand seals, which in turn resulted in many forgetting that hand seals originated from ritual dance. Ritual dance was a language—the most efficient way to communicate through cursed energy in the world of spirits.

One by one, the strips of paper seals fell away from the perimeter of the alcove and dissolved into dust. The smell of burning paper overpowered the reek of blood and corpses in the hall.

In three consecutive twirls, Utahime undid the main constraint, and the curse inside surged forward with a deafening growl.

Hanabi overtook Utahime and activated her technique. She hit the curse on its broad forehead with her knife to get its attention. Immediately, the large, dark pupils of the curse fixed themselves on Hanabi, and it froze.

Akira touched the wall again, and the entire hall shifted and groaned as cement wrapped itself around the curse like fingers, giving it no leeway to even struggle. Utahime noted the dust raining on them from the ceiling. While the cement’s grip on the curse was strong, it probably wasn’t enough to restrain it for an entire minute. The struggle could affect the nearby walls and cause even the ceiling to collapse on them. Collectively, they might be able to give chase up to the surface, but the corridors were narrow, and destruction would be imminent. This building, while abandoned, still sat in a busy district and was merely five blocks away from Haruki’s high school.

This must be why all of the lairs were underground. The only safe and inconspicuous way to collect the curses would be through the Divine Hymns.

Utahime shrugged off her red outer vestment, which was keeping her cursed energy output in check and prevented it from going out of control due to the tug of the constraints. The white vestment under it amplified her taming technique by giving her hyper-awareness of the curse she was controlling.

On the fourth second since the cursed spirit's release, Utahime began her next ritual. Hanabi dropped her technique. Satoshi carried her over his shoulder and retreated to a corner. Akira, sensing the curse’s struggle abate, reverted the wall to its original design.

“Everything okay?” Gojo asked.

Utahime saw the scorch marks around the curse light up with her cursed energy as she sang. In a series of slow movements, she went through several hand seals and settled for the final one without incident.

The curse lowered in front of her, and she smiled. Great. This was great.

“I’ll begin leading it out.” She walked ahead of the curse, and it followed several feet behind her like an obedient pet. Despite the stabbing pain along the length of her arms, she maintained her pose with confidence. It would be a long trek out of the mall, but she was going to make it.

Her first reclaimed curse.

Utahime stopped before the entrance of the hall. She looked down at her hand seal and felt her skin begin to cool down. What? She performed her hand seal again.

Nothing.

In one fell swoop, Nanami carried her out of the curse’s way, and they rolled on the ground with harsh gusts of wind chasing after them.

When they skidded to a halt, she was face-down on the ground with Nanami lying partly on top of her. She raised her head just in time to see the curse back away from the now-crushed metal doors, only to be met with a blast of Gojo's cursed energy.

Nanami pushed her head down as the curse blew up and debris flew in all directions. Around them, the smoke and dust continued to exacerbate to the point of lowering the visibility to zero. Breathing became hard. The ripple of Akira’s technique around them was their only assurance that the hall wouldn’t collapse just yet.

Once the building sighed for the final time and the dust settled, Nanami sat up to check on her. She lay there on the floor, depleted to the point of mild disorientation, and she could only give him a thumbs up when he asked if she was alright. Even muttering a 'thank you' felt like too much work right now.

What had happened? Did she use up all of her cursed energy so quickly and so suddenly that her technique deactivated without warning? It didn’t even stutter. It just came to a full stop.

Hanabi emerged from the settling smoke with her sleeve pressed over her nose and mouth. She handed a first-aid kit to Nanami and pointed to his temple. “Gash. Stop the bleeding.” Then she leaned over Utahime and felt her face. “Your cursed energy is so low. How are you still awake?”

“Kinda sturdy that way,” she muttered. Her throat was so dry, it hurt.

Gojo appeared in her field of vision, blocking the scant amount of light that seeped past the smoke and dust. She remembered having seen him from this perspective before, and then it hit her. All of those years ago in the forest, when she supported him in exorcising a special grade curse and ended up shielding him from a cursed tool. Maybe he was correct after all. She wasn't strong enough to be a grade one sorcerer yet. Not if she found herself lying on the floor like this again, helpless and needing his rescue.

Gojo crouched next to her and lifted her to a sitting position. When he realized that she could not hold her weight, he sat on the floor and let her lean on his folded leg. Her skin stung so much that she recoiled at the slightest contact. Still, she grabbed his hand, and he let her hold him as tightly as she needed while her aches persisted.

Akira's hacking cough echoed throughout the hall. He slammed his hand on his chest several times to ease his discomfort. “Even with a veil and my reconstruction technique, the location of this hideout is too tricky. The alternative would be to burst through the roof and allow Utahime to control the curse once it’s outside so she can lead it straight to the container, but that’ll attract Jujutsu HQ.”

Nanami flinched when Hanabi poured water on his bleeding scalp. “So they were planning to just relocate the curses to get them out of Gakuganji’s reach?”

“Possibly to hype up the idiots that subscribe to this cult’s bullshit,” Satoshi said. He had turned completely grey from the dust, and of all of them, he looked the most unhappy about the situation. He waved at the silhouettes that were making their way through the debris. "We're all okay. Prioritize the retrieval of the corpses for examination."

Utahime let go of Gojo. Biting back a sob, she folded her legs beneath her and bowed low to everyone. "Please accept my apologies. My incompetence put everybody's lives at risk."

All five of them fell silent. On the other end of the room, the Fugen began collecting the cult members' corpses.

“Don’t be so humble! That was a mean feat you pulled,” Satoshi said with a laugh. “Besides, you were efficient enough to make me dizzy that one time. Akira, did I tell you about that?”

“What?”

Utahime raised her head. Hanabi winked at her, and Nanami offered his handkerchief, mustard yellow and neat, to wipe her face with. Up ahead, Satoshi beckoned Akira over to him, the two of them coming together like fish wives craving gossip. “So Gakuganji was being an asshole and used this pretty maiden as his bodyguard. She dropped my cursed energy so low that I thought I would collapse. It’s like that ride we went on at Disneyland where you threw up on a bunch of people.”

Akira facepalmed himself. “Ah, I remember. My blood pressure went through the roof.”

“Are you still on maintenance?”

“Unfortunately. I keep the meds handy.”

“Good, good.”

“Can you not do that here?” Gojo interjected. Gently, he pulled Utahime up to stand and wrapped her arm around his shoulders to support her weight.

“Why?” Satoshi challenged. “Are you embarrassed of your father and uncle? We’re complimenting your girlfriend.”

“Hanabi, see to it that Nanami gets proper medical care, but don’t flirt with him. You’re not his type.” Gojo turned towards the door, ignoring his father completely. “Utahime, let’s go.”

Akira huffed. “Satoshi, look what you’ve done.”

Hanabi ran after them and slipped a balm into Gojo's pocket. “Satoru, get Utahime home. She’ll need the rest and probably lots of food to refuel. Use the balm on her bruises. I’ll clean up here for you, even if you’re an asshole to me.” To Utahime: “I’ll file an initial report to Gakuganji and update him on your condition. Just focus on recuperating for now.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Hanabi. I owe you.” Utahime looked over her shoulder at Nanami and raised his handkerchief, and he smiled back to acknowledge her quiet gratitude.

Satoshi sidled up to Akira and stage-whispered, “She’s so cute, isn’t she? Like a little porcelain doll! She was the girl we saw when Satoru visited the Tokyo campus for the first time. He probably thinks I forgot.”

“We can hear you!” Gojo yelled as they crossed the wrecked entrance.

Utahime poked his rib. “What does he mean when you visited the Tokyo campus?”

Even under the dim lighting of the corridor, the blush on his face was obvious. “They made me choose. You were there when I chose to study in Tokyo. You were watering some flowers in your miko outfit.”

“I’m quite aware that there weren’t any girls in the Kyoto branch then. Don’t tell me you went to Tokyo just to have someone to flirt with.”

“Just because I fell for you doesn’t mean I’m that shallow. So what if I thought you were pretty?” He bent down to lift her in his arms, as she expected he would when they reached the staircase.

Although reluctant at first, she eventually settled and leaned her head against his chest. “Listen, Gojo—"

“We should talk." He gave her a pleading look.  “I can’t do this anymore.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, tired but relieved. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Gojo knocked on the women’s restroom and asked if Utahime was alright. She had insisted on changing into her casual clothes and cleaning up before getting into his car because she didn’t want to get it dirty. He, in turn, insisted that it was fine, but she gave him a look, and he thought he might as well agree before it resulted in an argument.

Fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring at the faded sign of the women’s restroom, wondering if he could just barge in there to check on her. It was an abandoned mall, so he wasn’t intruding on strangers, and even in pain, it shouldn’t take Utahime this long to get changed.

“Utahime? I’m coming in if you don’t answer.”

“Get in here."

Gojo pushed the door open with his foot. Poking his head in, he found Utahime sitting on the blue-tiled floor, the top portion of her overalls bunched around her waist and the sleeves of her shirt hanging limp at her sides. Her arms poked out from underneath the shirt, and she looked like a dejected little girl who was just beginning to learn how to put on her clothes.

“Is that a new fashion trend?”

“Shut up.”

“Looks weird, but you pull it off well.” He crouched in front of her and set down the plastic bag of water bottles he brought with him. “What happened?”

Utahime averted her gaze. “I wore it backward and then lost feeling in my arms while I was turning it around.”

“Need help?”

She blushed but tried to conceal it with a frown. “Kinda.”

“Want me to get Hanabi?”

“She’s busy with Nanami, and you’ve bothered her enough.” She wriggled her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. “I have feeling in my legs and my fingertips, but my arms are like lead.”

Gojo inspected her shirt and considered his options. “I’ll turn it around and reach under your shirt to get your arms through the sleeves. Is that alright with you?”

“I just really want to put this shirt on and leave.” She noticed the bottles of water. “And maybe wash the dirt off my hair first.”

“Alright.” He pinched the shoulders with his thumb and forefinger and stretched it sideways, making it easier to turn without the fabric rubbing on her surely bruised skin. Once the shirt was in the right direction, he reached underneath to find her arm and guide it into the sleeve.

Even with Utahime hunched forward, it was impossible not to lift the hem high enough to expose her bra, which was fortunately just a plain sports type that had enough coverage. Not that the situation warranted arousal, but he could not ignore what was in front of him.

Midway to tugging the sleeve down her arm to make the process easier, a glint above her cleavage caught his eye, and he stopped to stare.

Utahime lowered her head to catch his eye. “Really, Gojo?”

He finished getting her arm through one sleeve and let go to pick up the infinity pendant. “You’re still wearing it.”

“Oh.” She tucked her chin to see the pendant. “I changed the chain, though, so it’s longer. I’m not allowed to wear accessories while serving in the shrine.”

Gojo smiled to himself as he slipped her other arm through the sleeve. “Breaking the rules for me?”

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I just like the pendant, okay?”

“If you say so.”

He pulled up the front of her overalls and worked on buckling the straps together. “Can you wash your hair by yourself?”

“If it’s not too much to ask…”

“Not at all.” He helped her to her feet and guided her to the sink. “I’ve always wanted to work as a hairdresser.”

Utahime swatted his shoulder. Gojo pointed at her arm, stunned, and she realized what she had done. She flexed her arms, punching up and down to test her strength. “You annoy me so much that my body decided to cooperate.”

“It’s like you’re fueled by rage.” He lined the three large bottles of water on the sink and motioned for her to bend over. “Or were you just acting all cute for me?”

“When the hell have I ever acted cute for you?”

He pointed at her face. “There, you’re doing it again.”

“Let’s just get this over with!” She bent on her waist and tossed her hair down, brushing the tangled strands at the back and gathering those that had clung to her nape. “Make it quick. I’m gonna be dizzy this way.”

She really should stop saying things like that. He was glad to be so close to her again, and without the animosity that had built up between them since their falling out in Tokyo. But she should know that this made it more difficult for him to not push her up against the wall and kiss her, or at least lock her in an embrace. As he poured water on her hair and watched the strands clump together, he wondered whether this was normal. To have such a visceral reaction to a person that it hurt to be near them without holding them the way he wanted to.

Utahime twisted her hair and squeezed, forcing out the grime that had fallen on it during their ordeal. Brown liquid with black spots swirled down the drain, and he helped her repeat the process until the water turned clear. Then she wrung her hair dry and straightened up, but not too quickly that she would be dizzy. Still, he placed his hand on her back to steady her, as the last thing they wanted was for her to fall and hit her head.

She clung to his arm as she blinked at her reflection on the cracked mirror. He pulled the cuff of his shirt over his palm and used the streams of water dripping from her hairline to wipe the dirt off her face. When she saw the brown streaks on his cuff, she reached for the front of his shirt and mopped her face with it.

“Utahime, you really have no shame sometimes, don't you?” Still, he helped her by holding her hair back from her face.

“You didn’t bring a towel.”

“I didn’t think I would be providing personal shower assistance in an abandoned mall today.” He gestured to his shirt. “But please continue. This shirt isn’t that expensive.”

“If you really hated it, then you would have activated your Infinity.”

“I never use my Infinity on you.”

She looked up at him. They held each other’s gaze, and the longer they did, the louder his heartbeat sounded in his ears. It was like all the blood was rushing to his head, but not to help him form coherent thoughts. If anything, it seemed to blur his judgment until it felt right to move his hand from her hair to her face, to brush his thumb across her cheek and assure himself that while she was hurt, she was alive. Most importantly, she was with him.

Utahime didn’t lean into his touch, but she didn’t pull away either. She appeared to be taking it all in with measured breaths, as though she couldn’t quite decide how it made her feel. Eventually, her eyelids fluttered close, and her shoulders dropped as she exhaled.

Gojo couldn’t help it. He closed the gap between them and scooped her up in an embrace. They staggered forward and back a little as they found their balance and Utahime managed the strength to stand on her toes. She clutched the sides of his shirt first, and then snaked her arms around his back until it was almost like she was hanging from him.

They had kissed and touched each other before, but Gojo thought it had never been more intimate than this. He could stay like this for hours, just holding her, taking in her warmth and her solidity and everything she represented in his life.

“I missed you,” he whispered against her wet hair.

She ran her nails back and forth his undercut.  “We should really talk first.”

“Yeah.” He tightened his hold on her. "Just one more sec."

Utahime allowed him to hold her for longer than that. Then, with a pat on his shoulder, she broke away first. She fixed her bangs and straightened her clothes, her cheeks bright red from his attention  She cleared her throat. “I think we should go now.”

Gojo stepped back and passed his fingers over his hair. The loss of contact was like a slap to his face, and now he was wide awake and alert. He licked his lips, a little shaken but nodding his agreement.

Although limping, Utahime managed to gather her miko outfit from the floor and exit the restroom. Gojo watched the door swing from its hinges. After swallowing hard, he poured the remaining water in the bottle over his face and gave himself two slaps on the cheeks.

It rained almost as soon as they got into his car. The digital clock on the dashboard blinked seven thirty-eight, but with the rain and occasional thunderstorm, it felt closer to midnight.

As he reversed out of the parking space, Utahime strapped on her seatbelt and folded her legs up to her chest. He told her to recline her chair, and she obliged with a moan once she was lying more comfortably on her seat. Soon, she fell asleep, and he draped his spare jacket over her body.

His phone vibrated, and he clicked on the notification to see Satoshi's message.

Is your girl okay? (｡◕‿◕｡)'

She's fine. Thanks. Driving.

Okay, don't sex and drive.

Gojo scowled at his phone. A new text message from Satoshi came in.

I meant text and drive.

No you didn't

Best be careful. Protection is cheap. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Why are you doing this to me

I was your age once ¯\_(ツ) <--- that's me btw

Gojo pocketed his phone. He wanted to ignore it when it vibrated again, but he couldn't. He opened Satoshi's message.

Also, Utahime is a respectable woman, and I'm scared of her father. Tell you story next time. Look, tis you ---> ⌐■-■

We're just gonna talk. Might use coupon.

Hoorah

Gojo made a mental note to buy his father something expensive, or else treat him to a Broadway show, because nothing quite excited Satoshi these days more than musicals. While Lady Sayuri found joy in playing detective with dead bodies, Satoshi considered it pure bliss to sit in a corner and obsess over his favorite Broadway songs.

It was the least Gojo could do after Satoshi shrugged off a near-catastrophic incident earlier. Had they not been equipped with the correct set of cursed techniques, the tamed curse would’ve gone on a rampage and probably caused the mall to collapse on them. The entire operation would have come to the attention of Jujutsu HQ and the Gojo elders, and there would be hell to pay.

Just as Gojo suspected, Utahime’s current skills were too novice for the task Gakuganji entrusted her with. But what choice did the old man have? Utahime probably realized it herself when she bowed and apologized to everyone. Gakuganji was willing to sacrifice all of them to get his tamed curses back, and the only way to spare them was for her to master her new technique.

Gojo glanced at her as he entered the traffic.

That was another matter that worried him. With enough practice, he had no doubt Utahime could become an excellent grade one sorcerer. A tamed curse would be handy in battle, and her technique would be something like a cross between Suguru’s and Megumi’s. She would have a limited arsenal of tamed curses like Megumi’s Ten Shadows, but she would have her pick of which curses to tame like Suguru did. Of course, these were all useless if she couldn’t develop the stamina to sustain them.

Satoshi made light of the incident, probably for Gojo’s benefit too, but he knew these thoughts had crossed his father’s mind. Future encounters with tamed curses would require the presence of carefully selected team members, and since Gojo would surely miss a lot of them, Satoshi would see to Utahime’s safety himself.

As soon as the stoplight turned red and the traffic slowed to a halt, Gojo texted Nanami to ask if he was alright. This was one of the reasons he wanted Nanami on the team. Satoshi was no longer fit for action, and even if he was, his technique worked best on sorcerers, not curses. In his father’s prime, he could deal with powerful curses using cursed tools, but how efficient could he be now with just one hand? Gojo had to be able to entrust the hard labor to another skilled sorcerer, and Nanami was the best man for the job.

After all, Satoshi might be a babbling idiot most of the time, but Gojo didn’t know what he would do if something were to happen to his father.

Nanami replied that he was fine. A boring response with a period.

I’m fine.

Gojo called him, and Nanami answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

“Nanami, you alright?”

“I already said that I am.”

“Hana hasn’t tried to kiss you yet?”

“Fortunately, she’s not like you.”

“Aw, were you hoping that I would—” The call ended, making Gojo chortle. He sent Nanami a series of kissing emojis to annoy him further and belatedly realized that he was turning into his father. Gojo shuddered. Maybe he would tone down the teasing in the future.

The traffic moved again, and Gojo steered the car left to a nearby burger joint. He entered the drive-thru lane and ordered five burgers, extra-large fries, lots of ketchup, large sodas, nuggets, and ice cream. The woman asked if he had a coupon, and Gojo handed the glossy stub to her. After checking it, she suggested supersizing everything at a small additional cost, and he agreed simply because he knew Utahime would need as many calories as possible to function.

Hungry Utahime was also irrational and scary, and the chances of them making up would be significantly lower if he underfed her.

He had just received their order when Utahime woke up. Immediately, she grabbed the paper bags and rummaged inside, taking into account all of his orders while chewing on a piece of French fry.

He stabbed the straw into the soda cup and passed it to her. “I need to park here. It doesn’t look like the rain will let up anytime soon.”

“Is there a storm?” She took a huge slurp and collapsed back on her seat. “Wow. That was amazing.”

“Eat up.” He found a parking space at the back of the burger joint. Around them, the lights appeared like unfocused orbs, shifting and dispersing with the worsening downpour. He didn’t even try to turn on the radio. The rain was battering the car so hard that it was difficult to hear even the crunch of the burger wrappers.

Utahime put on his jacket and presented her burger to him. “Gojo.”

He checked the top of the burger patty and removed the pickles. While she ate the now-pickleless burger, he inspected the others and ate the pickles for her. Then he put down their drinks on the center console and laid out their feast.

They spent the next thirty minutes stuffing their mouths. Gojo didn’t realize how hungry he was until he was chomping down his second burger and eyeing the third. They both sat cross-legged on their seats facing one another, one hand holding their sodas while the other attended to their mouths.

“Feeling better?”

Utahime finished her burger and patted her stomach, too busy chewing to answer. He smiled at the sight of her, so messy and grateful for the food.

“How’s Megumi and Tsumiki?” she asked.

“Megumi got into a fight. Tsumiki said I didn’t have to go there to scold him because she already did.”

Utahime chuckled. “That’s normal. Even I got into fights when I learned to master my cursed energy.”

“Pulled the hair of some girls in your grade?”

She shook her head. “The batter in our school’s baseball team couldn't hit a ball during training so I yelled at him from the bleachers. He yelled back and tossed the bat at me. So I picked up the bat, hit a home run, and then beat him with it.”

“I’ll buy you a signed Ichiro Suzuki bat if you let me see that memory through Satoshi.”

“Your father can do that?”

“Depends on how strong the memory is for you. Usually, he can’t go all the way back if he’s just retrieving information, but if it’s traumatic or has a strong emotional impact, he might be able to find it.”

Utahime pouted as she considered this. “I don’t think an Ichiro Suzuki bat is worth risking your father see us make out.”

“You’re right. Don’t let him near you.”

She finished the rest of her soda with a satisfied sigh. She laughed. “I’m supposed to be angry at you, but I’m too tired.”

“I’m supposed to be angry at you, but then you laughed. I kinda miss that.”

“Thanks for stuffing my fridge, by the way, even if you threw away my premium beer.”

“It was the least I could do. And the couch looks great. You should’ve bought a coffee table too. I told you to get one.”

“I got distracted because you were flirting with another woman.”

Gojo held up his hand. “Okay, one fight at a time. Do we tackle that again, or do you want to talk about your binding vow with Gakuganji?”

“How about you blocking my promotion?”

“I can undo that. You can’t undo your binding vow. How long is it supposed to last?”

“Five years.”

“Five years.” Gojo bit back the angry words on the tip of his tongue. Once he had reined in his emotions, he added, “You’ll be thirty by then.”

“Great math skills.”

“Haha. That’s better than your serial killer jokes.”

“Why does it matter now, anyway? I’m still at your mercy while we’re hunting down Getou. You have Gakuganji’s express permission to do with me as you will.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“Utahime, that’s five years of our lives together.”

A tense silence stretched between them. Utahime didn’t seem to know what to do with her food anymore, and Gojo had lost his appetite. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but what was he supposed to say? It was the truth. Five years was a long time for sorcerers. That they even made it this far alive and whole was a miracle. He had to clench his jaws to stop himself from going on a furious litany about why the numbers mattered, especially in light of their relationship. He didn’t want to scare her with the implications so he remained silent, but it felt like the longer none of them spoke, the more those implications crystalized in their minds.

Five years was a long, long time. They could be so much more by then.

“I’m sorry for blocking your promotion,” Gojo said, just to reset the conversation. This was where he should have started anyway. “I stand by my decision, though. At least on a professional level. I don’t think you should risk it for the sake of status.”

“One day, I might.”

“Once you've perfected your technique, I might recommend you myself. Until then, just please don’t. And when were you planning to tell me about Gakuganji?”

She picked at the flap of cheese hanging from her burger and nibbled it like a mouse. “Right before you took off your shirt.”

That stopped him. “Oh.”

“Then I got really distracted.”

Gojo flexed, straightening his back and pumping out his chest as casually as possible. “Well, who wouldn’t be?”

“Don't gloat. Just be flattered.”

He relaxed. “I got distracted too, so.”

Utahime turned red. She scratched the back of her ear, suddenly shy. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, really. I was very distracted.”

“I get it, now move on.”

“Okay, moving on to your apology.” He held his fist in front of her mouth, as though holding up a microphone to her.

She slapped his hand away. “What do you want me to apologize for? Making a deal with Gakuganj?”

“Why? Have you been making deals with other men?”

“You weren’t going to listen to my reasons. I’m sorry it led to this, but like you, I stand by my decision. You would’ve insisted on putting my family under your protection, and I would’ve given in. That would’ve complicated matters.”

“I still don’t agree with it.”

“Gojo, you’re not the only person in this relationship. You can protect me but I can’t protect you?”

“Utahime, you shouldn’t have to put yourself in a compromising position to help me. Gakuganji can order you to execute orders from the higher-ups, and you wouldn’t be able to say no because of that binding fucking vow.”

“It has limits. I thought about it before agreeing to it.”

“Explain it to me.” Gojo snatched the cup of ice cream and waved his spoon at her like a wand. “Please.”

She took her ice cream too and busied herself with removing the tape that secured the cap. “He has to protect the Iori while the vow is in effect. I’m still an Iori, which means he won’t make me do things that are guaranteed to kill me. He’ll be cautious with my assignments. I may not be as strong as you, Gojo, but I’m not stupid.”

“It’s not foolproof,” he said with a mouth full of ice cream.

“Nothing is foolproof.” She pointed her plastic spoon at him. “You’re not foolproof.”

“He’ll make you take on jobs you don’t want. That’ll do nasty things to your mind, Utahime.” He tapped his temple twice. “It might mess you up.”

“They make you do things you don’t want. That hasn’t messed you up.”

“I can take it.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.” Utahime huffed. She put down her spoon and ice cream and held her hands out parallel to one another. “Let’s say it’s your job and you have no choice, but I’m not your employer. Our relationship is not like that. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to test your limits, okay? I want to be the person who eases the burden or makes things easier for you however I can or—fuck! How are you different from them if you just want to control every decision I make?”

“I’m not trying to control every decision.”

“You were getting me to move back to Tokyo.”

Gojo slammed his ice cream cup down on the center console. “Because Suguru is in Kyoto. Also, if we’re pushing through with this relationship, your brother is correct. There will be a target on your back.”

“No one will try to go against you.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t hurt me.”

Utahime opened and closed her mouth. After a few false starts, she hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “Yaga scolded me.”

Gojo took a napkin and dabbed at the ice cream splatter on his pants. “About?”

“Satoru,” she said, looking up at him.

He promptly met her gaze, as she rarely used his first name.

“Do you love me or do you just miss Getou?”

The question hung in the air. It had never crossed his mind that his relationship with Suguru might impact his relationship with her. He wondered what he had said or done that might’ve given her that idea, and why she sounded convinced that his feelings for either of them were somehow at par.

When he had stretched his window to answer too far, all he could do was shake his head and say, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You want me to stay with you and not walk away because Getou did?”

Gojo was still shaking his head. He could feel his frustrations rising, the sleep deprivation and stress mixing and making his hands clammy and his throat tight. “Why are you bringing him up all of a sudden?”

“You’re on the hunt for him. There are so many things you’re not telling me.”

“Because my clan is involved.”

“Not officially.”

“It’s not workplace gossip that I could’ve just shared with you over coffee.”

“Stop it, Gojo. You know what I mean,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me? And were you ever planning to?”

“Utahime, it’s not that simple. I couldn’t tell you because—” He looked past her. At the water swirling on the window, at the lights focusing and blurring in the distance. At the time when Suguru was the one sitting in her place, telling him that the world was starting to feel claustrophobic. That it was too full with non-shamans releasing negative energy that would form into curses. The very same curses that would kill them and their friends. Suguru scoffing and saying that his insomnia was getting worse, but maybe he was just overthinking things. Right, Satoru? And what did Gojo say in response? Yeah, Suguru. I know how you feel.

You’ll get over it.

Gojo’s throat closed up and he thought he tasted blood on his tongue. Still, he had to say it. He had to tell her, even though he was afraid that everything that came out of his mouth was wrong.

“Gojo.” Utahime moved closer and held his hand. “It’s okay.”

He made a noise, as though testing his voice. His mind scrambled to find the words, to form the sentence, to get them out. He squeezed her hand repeatedly as his eyes roamed the car. After a couple of tries, he managed something. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest.

“I knew. I could’ve prevented this.” He turned his head towards the windshield, wanting to hide his face after admitting the truth. Yes, he could’ve prevented this. Suguru had warned him. Shoko had asked for his help with Suguru’s PTSD. Now he wanted to dive headfirst out of the windshield and scream it for the world to hear. This was his fault. His doing. He couldn’t say the words because it would mean admitting that all of these would not have happened had he been less callous, less consumed with his power and accomplishments. Now look who was paying the price. If it were just him, he would be able to swallow it. But there was Satoshi and Utahime, two of the most precious people to him risking their lives to correct his mistakes.

“Shoko was there too. Would you blame her?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Shoko loved him too. That’s unfair to her. Does she even know what you’re doing?”

Gojo dropped his head and shut his eyes to hold the pain in. He had tried, over the past couple of months, to sit Shoko down and tell her his plan. They had gone on several dinners together, and he had interrupted her work on numerous occasions for this purpose. They could no longer pretend that Suguru’s defection was not leading up to this moment. She had to know, and she had to be prepared for it. But Gojo lost his nerve each time, and he ended up talking about Utahime instead to comfort himself.

It scared him how Shoko would sometimes look at him as though she knew anyway but was just waiting for him to confess. To open up the chance for her to finally blame him for convincing her that Suguru was okay. He imagined that once he mustered the courage to share his plans with her, she would point her scalpel at his face and reveal that she had always hated him.

To that, Gojo had only one thing to say: “I don’t want to kill him.”

Utahime stepped over the center console and landed on his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and dropped her head on his shoulder. He returned the embrace, glad that she couldn’t see his face, and did his best to suppress the sobs that threatened to rise from his throat. He clung to her, small and fragile as she was, and let his emotions pass. The weight of her body helped him feel grounded, like his fears and shame couldn’t possibly take his soul and toss it in a limbo of despair again. He didn’t want to go back to those dark days when all he could think about was his final encounter with Suguru, and how one changed sentiment or one small action could’ve changed the trajectory of their friendship.

“I can’t imagine,” Utahime whispered.

Gojo brushed her hair, soothing himself by soothing her. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more when Getou defected.”

Gojo surprised himself by chuckling. He remembered her calling him in the middle of his mission, months after Suguru had officially landed himself in Jujutsu HQ’s Bingo book. A part of him had been thinking of throwing himself at the curse, just to punish himself for letting Suguru and Shoko down. If he regretted it, then he could always heal himself with RCT. If not, then that was the end of him. He would have done it had his phone not rang, and the only reason he answered was because it was her. All of his selfish thoughts vanished at the idea that she might need him, and he wasn’t about to let another one of his friends down.

Eventually, his trembling subsided, and his thoughts drifted to safer places. He leaned back, letting the car door carry his weight as he examined her tear-streaked face with a smile. She was even the one crying for the both of them.

“You know, Suguru knew before I did that I liked you. Remember our date in Shinjuku? When a sorcerer appeared and you were worried for me?”

Utahime sniffed and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe her nose. “That wasn’t a date.”

“It was.”

“I didn’t like you then.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Moving on.”

Gojo squeezed her shoulders and then ran his hands down the length of her arms. “Suguru got rid of that man for me. We also kinda hunted down the two sorcerers you fought. The ones with the feet fetish and the eyepatch, remember?”

Utahime’s lips parted as realization dawned on her. “You did that?”

“When Kamo sent that non-shaman assassin to attack you, I thought if only Suguru were there, I wouldn’t even have to ask. He’d have hunted down that man on his own.”

“Huh.” Utahime slid to the space beside him. She had to recline the seat all the way down so they would fit. “I thought so.”

Gojo stretched his legs over to the passenger’s seat and wrapped his arm around Utahime, who leaned against him and folded her legs up to her chest.

“I keep thinking that I have to let him go,” he said, softly. “The Suguru I knew, the one I keep listening to in my head is gone now. Every time I see him in Satoshi’s visions, I keep thinking that's no longer him.”

“He’s not your fault, Gojo. Getou knew the consequences of his actions, and he did them anyway,” she said. “You might have been able to delay it, but you couldn’t have stopped it. That’s just how it is, because you can’t control a person no matter how much you love them, and I know you love him most.”

His eyes stung. He tipped his head back and breathed out slowly. Then he took her hand and kissed it. He kissed the top of her head. He kissed her temple. “When I said I want you, it’s because you’ve been the one constant in my life for years now. You were always someone I could keep falling back on. You make me feel less alone, especially after he left.”

She propped her chin on his shoulder, a small pout playing on her lips. “I can never understand you the way he did. I’ll never be that powerful.”

“Great. You’re also less likely to go mad. I swear, if you go cuckoo on me, I’ll rip out all of my hair and go cuckoo with you. We’ll be cuckoo together.”

Utahime laughed. “Imagine Megumi and Shoko’s disappointment. I’m sure Tsumiki will be the only one to accept us for who we are.”

“Shoko will take care of you. She’ll probably leave me out on the streets.”

“For sure.” After a pause, Utahime sighed. “Gojo?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be with you. You’re the one who’s unsure.”

Gojo tucked his chin so that he was looking down at her. He planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Utahime, I’ve loved you since that day when I was seventeen and you scolded me on the steps of Jujutsu High, and I’ve loved you more since.”

Utahime drew in a sharp breath. She tried to hold it back, but a tear spilled from the corner of her eye and down her face. He swiped it with his thumb and continued caressing her cheek.

“Sorry it took me so long to say the words,” he said. “I had a lot to sort out.”

“Yeah, you did. You’re kind of an idiot that way.”

Gojo burst out laughing. She pinched his side, demanding to know what was so funny, but he couldn’t quite tell. He was amused and happy and relieved all at once. And soon she was laughing with him, because something about everything they had been through felt right in a strange way. That despite the heartache and the uncertainty, there they were, still trying, and he thought that was enough.

He brushed her bangs from her face to take a good look at her. “I love you, but I can’t promise that this will be our last fight.”

“Can we postpone the next one for three years?”

“Sure, if you deal with anger management issues.”

She rolled her eyes. “I forgot I’m dating a twenty-two-year-old.”

“I’m mature for my age.”

She snorted and pressed her knuckles to her lips, guilty for finding it funny.

He poked her forehead. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Yeah, and I wasn't laughing.” She peered outside the windshield. “When this rain lets up, we should probably go home.”

“Home as in…?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She punched his arm. “Of course. Do you have any other girlfriend you can go home to?”

Gojo gasped. “I have a girlfriend?”

“Don’t be dramatic!”

He pointed at himself. “That means I’m your boyfriend.”

“It’s either boyfriend or Sugar Baby, and I know you’ll gladly settle for the other one.”

“My Sugar Mama.” He kissed her. “Girlfriend. Sounds so official.”

She clutched his collar, her eyes trained on his lips. “It is official. Haven’t you been waiting for this since you were seventeen?”

“It feels like winning the lottery.”

Utahime kissed him, sweet and lingering. She broke away to recline on the car seat, using her arm to cushion her head. “It’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Cute for you.” He sidled up beside her and turned her towards him. “I’ve been a very patient man.”’

Her expression turned somber as she ghosted the tip of her finger along his features.

He did the same to her, tracing the line of her nose and the curve of her upper lip, pressing down the hairs of her eyebrows, and memorizing the dips and indentations on her face. “What’s with that look?”

“Thanks, Gojo,” she whispered. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

Outside, the rain fell harder. He closed his eyes and embraced her. A part of him wished the rain would never stop. This was home, he thought as he pressed his cheek on her warm forehead. They were already home.

Chapter Text

They both had something different in mind when they arrived at her apartment, but things didn’t play out as they thought they would. As soon as they were out of the rain and in the comfort of her home, reflexes kicked in, and they went about their nightly routine before bed.

While Utahime changed into an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, she heard the sounds of the toilet flushing, water running, and then the light switch flicking. Gojo was drinking water in the kitchen when she did her business in the toilet, and by the time she was out, he had already figured out how to turn the couch into a bed.

Wordlessly, they passed along pillows, linens, and blankets from her room. Then they plopped next to each other, belatedly realizing that they hadn’t switched off the light. Gojo pointed at the switch as though to use his cursed energy, but then thought twice about it. He grabbed his slipper instead, and with one try, he hit the switch.

The two of them laughed like children in the darkness.

Utahime flung her arm across his broad chest and placed her head on his shoulder. He, in turn, shifted closer to her and buried his nose on the top of her head. She worried that she smelled like sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind, because his body soon went lax, and he was snoring against her scalp.

Even as lethargy overtook her, a part of her brain still wondered whether this was right. Had they forgiven each other too quickly? Should they talk this out some more before returning to old habits? Heartbreak was a cruel thing, and she thought to herself that perhaps the one thing worse than reconciling so simply was not even trying at all. Who said they couldn’t work out the wrinkles in their relationship while sleeping together like this? It could even be better this way, to discuss things from a place of love instead of fear.

She snuggled closer to him.

Because she really did love this man, no matter his misgivings.

It was still dark and raining when Utahime woke up again a few hours later. It was the sound of him kissing her neck that reached her first, and then the warm, tingling sensation on her skin as she realized what he was doing. Instinctively, her fingers raked through his hair, and she tipped her head back to give him better access to her throat.

His hand moved from her waist to her thigh, where she could feel a hard body rubbing against her. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, pulling it down with her underwear so he could caress her. The act was so intimate that it sent a shiver down her legs and made her toes curl.

The way he was kissing her now, with his lips sliding across hers and his tongue entering her mouth, wasn’t as insistent as the first time. Both experiences were pleasurable, and he was much tamer now, but if she were to be honest with herself, his strength and lust still made her body taut with apprehension. They were quickly crossing old lines and venturing into new ones, and she couldn’t help but feel a little cold inside. The only force she ever knew from a man was from battle, and it often resulted in injury. In her needing to run to Shoko for healing, or else rely on others for her recovery.

As he rubbed himself stiff on her thigh and their kisses deepened, she thought, with a bit of guilt, that this was easy for him because he always had the upper hand in battle. He had rarely—or maybe never—been frightened of death. The only time he came close to it, according to him, was when fighting Megumi’s father, and even that resulted in an enlightenment that overshadowed his near-death experience. If anything, he seemed to relish it.

Gojo pushed her to her back and climbed on top of her. He pulled off his shirt and shucked off his boxers, and he made a quick work of her clothes for her.

Utahime drew in a breath and held it. She was not fully awake yet, but her mind was doing its best to surface from the clutches of sleep. Or was it anxiety? She wasn’t sure anymore. Deep inside, she knew she wanted this as much as he did, but these unexpected inhibitions were surfacing, and she had no idea how to handle them. At some point, she just stopped moving, and she focused on telling herself that this was going to be good. She loved him and she was going to enjoy this.

“Utahime.” He touched her arm and nudged her to sit up. She did. Now he was kneeling between her legs, with his back hunched and his head tilted. His face caught the meager moonlight that seeped in through the curtains. “What’s on your mind?”

The question did the trick. She felt awake now, and hot and embarrassed under his searching gaze. “Uh, I wish I showered first?”

He nuzzled his nose beneath her ear, making her gasp and clutch his shoulders. “Seems fine to me.”

“Oh, okay.” She ghosted her fingers over the dusting of coarse hair on his chest. He was still breathing hard, still wanting, and she could feel her skin burn with desire too, it almost hurt. “You smell nice too.”

He smiled and pinched her nose. “Nervous?”

Terrified. “Maybe.”

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so talk to me.” He leaned forward, forcing her on her back again, and used his arm to brace his weight. Utahime wrapped her leg around his hip, and the other hooked behind his thigh almost on instinct. He peppered her face with kisses that made her laugh. “Tell me what you like and if something hurts. I want you real bad right now, but this can’t be one-sided.”

She could tell he was sincere based on the wetness that was dripping on her stomach, so the fact that he was restraining himself to tell her this made her flush with relief. “Just…”

“In ten seconds, it’s either you or I’m humping the pillow.” He shut his eyes and groaned in response to her kneading his back. “I swear you’re just punishing me by now.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, which only made him pout at her. Seeing him make that familiar face released some of the tension in her body. This was Gojo. If she could trust him with her life, then she could surely trust him in bed.

She raised herself to kiss his mouth, and he responded greedily. He still tasted like mouthwash, and his lower lip was a bit chapped, but she didn’t mind. “I think you’ll like me better than the pillow.”

“You’re more my type, really.” He lowered his weight on her and interlaced their fingers together above her head. She knew he meant it because before he did anything else, he looked at her first like she was the most precious thing in the world.

His surprising gentleness helped her get into the act. With much restraint, he waited for her to get used to his girth before he began moving. His right hand caressed her thigh in a soothing manner, as though he knew the thoughts that were running in her mind.

He must have an idea, having encountered so many vile sorcerers in the past. All of the female sorcerers that were stripped and assaulted before their deaths and the many male authorities in the Jujutsu world that made a pass at every woman that was under their influence.

Utahime looped her arms around Gojo’s neck, forcing the side of his sweaty face next to hers as she watched the room undulate. He stopped to change the angle of their hips, moving her left leg a little higher over his back and arching his body above her with a tight moan. She could feel the pleasure striving to overtake her senses, but her mind was racing, and she worried that she would ruin everything.

“It’s okay, babe.” He brushed her hair from her face and leaned down to swipe the tip of his nose gently against hers. “I love you.”

The knots in her muscles unfurled, as though it had only been waiting for him to say those words for the experience to change. The next slow thrust made her sob and tilt her head back as a distinct wave of pleasure curled in her stomach. Suddenly, she could feel everything, and she was right there with him. Fully present, enjoying each surge of their hips as he picked up a faster, harder rhythm.

She grabbed at his back, but his sweaty skin prevented her from getting a firm grip on him.

“Gojo," she gasped.

“There?”

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

They tipped a little way to the side, and she reached down to grab his ass to make it easier for her to meet each shove with her own. Gojo hissed against her temple, and a shiver coursed through him, interrupting his rhythm momentarily.

“Yeah,” he breathed, leaving a trail of saliva on the side of her cheek as he buried his face in the space next to her. “Yeah, that. Do that.”

Utahime wasn’t sure exactly what he was referring to, but she kept squeezing him and rolling her body to feel more of him, eager now to reach her peak. It came upon her sooner than she expected. Her back snapped taut as she climaxed. For a few sweet seconds, her mind was clean, and white spots danced across her vision. With a cry, she grabbed her hair, his hair, and then the cushions, trying to find something to anchor herself to. He came soon after with a muffled cry to her collarbone, and he stretched himself over her body, as though he could make his climax last by doing so.

“Fuck." He dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut as he came down from his high.

Utahime squirmed a little beneath him, digging her heels into the cushions as she took in the hot wetness inside her. Her satiation gave way to brand new arousal, and she wasn’t sure if it was purely from the physical sensations of his release or the picture of him in perfect abandon. She had never really seen him with his guard down—not to this degree, anyway—and the idea that she could do this to him made her feel warm all over.

Gently, she ran her hand down his neck to his chest. “You’re all red here. Is this normal?”

“Just really turned on by you.” He slipped out of her with a groan and pressed soft kisses on her face. “Beat?”

“Very.” She kissed his mouth and caressed his neck, aiming to soothe but only aggravating the redness further. Gojo fell to his side with a bit of bouncing, and she turned to resume kissing him, this time along the jaw and down his neck.

“Yet you’re still going at it.” He tucked his chin to watch her move down to his chest.

“You don’t want me to?”

“Please. Have your way with me.”

She was sated after finishing, but only temporarily. Now that he had cut her inhibitions loose, it was as if her body craved more despite the exhaustion gnawing at her bones. She hoisted herself up and lay her head on his chest as a compromise, because she doubted if she’d be able to keep up if she made him hard again. “Okay, maybe in a while.”

He wrapped his arm around her back and shifted on the couch to make her more comfortable. “We’ve got lots of time.”

“You think you liked me better than the pillow?”

“The pillow couldn’t have been as loud.”

She slapped his stomach. “I wasn’t loud.”

“After you relaxed, you were. Why do you think I got so red?” He touched his neck to indicate the receding color.

Utahime turned to bury her face on the pillow. He embraced her, laughing. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. You were very encouraging.”

“Don’t make it sound like it’s from an erotic movie.”

“You made it sound like it was an erotic movie.”

She punched and kicked him and he parried her blows with much laughter. They fell asleep again soon after, with him burying his face on her bare chest and she, holding the blanket over his back to keep him warm.

Sometime later, she woke up again, and this time she was more alert. They had somehow changed positions on the couch, and he was now spooning her, their bodies so closely pressed together that it was both soothing and slightly uncomfortable. The insides of her thighs were still sticky, and she longed to rinse the sheen of perspiration that was drying on their skin.

Utahime was contemplating getting up when his hand, which was on her stomach, moved up to palm her breasts.

“Awake?” he asked, still sounding sleepy himself.

“Hm,” was all she could manage before he took her hand and guided it back to his length. He shuddered violently at the contact. She listened to him pant next to her ear, each breath coming in quicker and shallower with each bold stroke.

The way he responded to her was almost primal, it was tantalizing. His stifled moans, the way he moved his hips, the nips and kisses he planted on her shoulder in between shuddering breaths. It turned her on too and made her breasts ache with the lack of attention, but a little bit of her earlier panic was beginning to seep in.

“You like that?” he rasped as he pushed himself deeper into her fist with a groan. “You like doing this to me?”

“You’re bigger than I imagined,” she ventured. She was straining to keep up, and his grip on her hand was starting to hurt. Gojo was like a different man this way. Wilder. Rawer than what she experienced just a couple of hours ago. Gone were his restraints from earlier, and she had an overwhelming realization that this was how he really wanted to do things.

“Say you’ve jerked off to me too.” He parted her legs and cupped her, ripping a sharp cry from her throat. Intermixed with her rising pleasure was the fear that he didn’t know just how strong he was. Her mind raced to manage her clashing emotions and also fish out a witty response. She guessed he was vocal in bed, and that he liked dirty talk, but her imaginings were tame compared to the actual thing.

“Like I’d ever tell you,” she said.

He let go of her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him use her hand to roll the condom on himself with a shaky sigh.

“That’s fine.” He caught her mouth in a rough kiss as he lifted her leg over his. “Let’s make sure you get started after this.”

And then he was inside her again, thrusting harder and harder, the rocking of their hips so enthralling that all she could do was give in to his rhythm. He hit a spot in her that made her buck her hips and call him by his first name. He moaned as if punched in the gut and murmured ‘that’s my girl’, which made her whimper again. Soon, the need to finish was strong, and he rolled her on her stomach so he was on top.

Utahime opened her eyes, and the tears on her lashes caught on the linen. Somewhere in the corridor, the sound of knocking and doorbells buzzing reached them. Food delivery? At this hour?

Gojo cussed under his breath. “I swear if somebody knocks again, I’m killing them and we’re gonna keep going.”

Utahime almost choked on her own laughter, but her amusement was short-lived as his movements grew more erratic. The very sound of their flesh colliding drove her close to the edge, but each time her pleasure rose, a harsher wave of pain and anxiety overtook it. The push and pull of desire and discomfort made her grimace until all she could do was wait for him to finish.

Gojo fell on top of her, still pumping as he rode his climax out. Then he rolled off of her and collapsed on his back, spent.

She could not move at all. Her skin tingled with arousal and felt overly sensitive, but she could also feel the places where she would likely bruise. Utahime noted the tenderness of her flesh and bit back a wince. They would have to work this out too, because judging by his libido, this would be happening often. It wasn’t as though she could call in sick for this.

As she was turned away from him, she could only guess based on the sounds she heard that he was discarding the condom in the bathroom. The cushions bounced a little when he returned to her side, and before throwing himself on the pillows, he tucked the blanket securely around her first.

Utahime turned her head on the pillow to face him. Although his eyes drooped, he caressed her back over the thin blanket and asked if she was alright, and whether he hurt her. She could only place her hand on his chest as reassurance, as by then she was beyond tired, and while she was both sated and aching, the only things she wanted were a bath and probably a huge breakfast come daylight.

She woke up again at eight in the morning. For several minutes, she lay there listening to the sounds coming from the corridor and the other apartments. Noises she had heard for years but seemed somehow new to her now, all because she was waking up with Gojo by her side. He had not moved his arm from her back, and she smiled at the idea that even in his sleep, he was being relentlessly protective.

Slowly so as not to wake him, she inched her way to the edge of the sofa bed and slipped on his shirt. The hem fell to her knees, and it was so warm and smelled so much like him that she was tempted to snuggle beside him again. But the urge to clean up and start the day was just as strong, so with a sigh, she dragged herself to the bathroom.

She peed and ran the bath, combing her hair while waiting for the tub to fill up. Once she was submerged in the hot water, she heard the couch creak and the sound of Gojo's feet pad toward the kitchen. Soon, the sputtering of the coffee maker filled the apartment, followed by the bitter scent of coffee.

Utahime watched her hair drift in the water, and she let herself sink lower as she remembered the things they did just a couple of hours ago.

The experience reminded her of that time in high school when Mei told them about losing her virginity to a stronger, more experienced sorcerer. Shoko and Utahime had turned pink at the topic, but they were eager to know. Mei was like an absentee older sister to them, and while she may not be the ideal role model for female sorcerers, she did have nuggets of wisdom that they likely wouldn’t hear from other women in their field.

“Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not,” she had said while holding up a glass of wine. “Men are strong, but male sorcerers are rough. Don’t sleep with one you don’t respect and who doesn’t respect you back. Otherwise, it’s just another chance for them to assert their power.”

Utahime took comfort in the fact that Gojo was considerate. He did tell her to talk to him, and she believed him when he said he would stop if she said no.

There was also the matter of their age gap. It may not mean as much when they reached their thirties, but she felt that it did matter now. After all, twenty-two was young, and going by the old belief that men matured slower compared to women, she felt she had to give him a little bit of leeway in that department.

Love was difficult, but Mei was right. It was good to be with someone who respected her, and while things were not perfect, she was sure that he loved her.

Gojo knocked twice on the door before entering in nothing but his boxers. He picked up his shirt from the sink and slipped it on as he sat on the floor next to the bathtub.

Utahime smiled at him. He kissed her damp forehead and brushed her hair back. He had a distant look on his face, not exactly sad, but not entirely happy either. She was getting worried when she realized he was just dazed, as he usually was so soon after waking.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Can I be honest? And don’t sulk. Don’t feel bad or I’m going to hit you.”

Gojo rubbed the sleep off his eyes and nodded.

Utahime sat up straighter on the tub. She showed him her right hand, which was covered with bruises the size of his fingers. “You were a little too strong earlier. The second time, I mean.”

He sat still for several moments, just staring at her hand. Then he took it in his, turning her palm this way and that towards the light to see the mild discoloration.

“I want to make you happy, but it’s a bit new to me. This. You. And you’re what? Over a hundred pounds heavier than me?” She laughed. When he remained gaping at her hand, she splashed him with water. “Hey. I told you not to sulk. I enjoyed myself too, you know?”

He leaned forward to peer at her back, and then at her neck, where he had given her hickeys and left a small bruise near her ear.

She pulled away from him. “Gojo, I’m not hurt. Not like I-fought-a-curse kind of hurt. I’m fine.”

“Still.”

“I don’t think I mind rough sex, just…yeah, a little bit gentler, maybe.”

He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his face angrily. “I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

“Stop that.”

He raised his head to look at her. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Better than okay.”

He pursed his lips, nodded, and sighed. “Good, because I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t want to be the only one who feels this way.”

Utahime propped her arms on the tub’s rim, using them to cushion her cheek as she studied his face under the stark white light of the bulb overhead. She thought she had seen every side of him, that he could not be more vulnerable than he was in the car last night, but what he presented her now was new. It was soft and honest with traces of insecurity that didn’t fit the Gojo she knew. Right now, they felt so much like equals that it was surreal.

“I know we have a lot to talk about, but can we agree on one thing?” she asked. “Let’s not break up again. I feel like we’ve already wasted too much time.”

“We broke up?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Utahime, you know we can’t make this public, right?”

“Because of Hanabi?”

“Because I like to think she’s standing in for you until everything falls into place.”

She felt her heart stop for half a second. “Slow down. This is just day one and you’re already on…what? Day seven-hundred and two?”

He smiled, and now he looked more like the Gojo she was used to. “Seven hundred and two, huh?”

“Stop teasing!”

Gojo kissed her cheek and left the bathroom. She took the time to rub shampoo on her scalp, lather her body with soap, and rinse under the shower while he busied himself in the kitchen. By the time she reached for her robe, he had returned with two mugs of coffee. He whistled at the barest glimpse of her naked body.

“My turn,” he said.

She drained the water and picked up the strands of hair on the tub. “Are you really gonna make me drink coffee here while you shower?”

“We’re on the topic, so we might as well go through with this now.” He took a long sip of his coffee before stripping and turning on the shower. Utahime took the initiative to spread the shower curtain to give him privacy. He pushed it aside, and she spread it again with so much force that he laughed.

She lowered the toilet lid and sat, holding her cup in one hand and his in the other. “How exactly do we go about keeping this a secret?”

“It depends on the measures I’ll have to take to protect you. Basically, the fewer the people who know, the better.”

She stared down at her steaming coffee. “So you’re convinced someone might hurt me to get to you?”

“Your boyfriend’s got enemies. I don't want to risk it.”

“I think right now we should focus on the people who need to know that we’re in a relationship,” she said. “Shoko’s on top of that list. I think your father will sniff us out.”

“He’s already sold on the idea.”

“Oh. That’s sweet.” She smiled at nothing in particular. Somehow, the thought of Gojo’s father approving of her made her giddy. “I’ll tell Haruki, and maybe Kazuo one day in the distant future, but not my parents. At this rate, I might just give them a heart attack.”

“Hey, do you know why Satoshi is afraid of your father?”

“Eh?”

He poked his head out of the shower. “No clue?”

She shrugged. “No clue.”

He pulled his head back, only to poke it out again soon after. “Gakuganji can’t know.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m telling my mother.”

She stretched out his cup to him and watched him take a sip. “Does she know about me?”

“She’s known about you since high school. I need to introduce you soon.”

“Wait, what?”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “Don’t act so oblivious.”

“I know you’ve liked me for a long time, but you actually told your mother?”

"Of course." He turned off the shower and grabbed the towel from the rack. Dried and covered up, he stepped out of the shower and asked for his coffee again. “It’s not only because we’re together that I want you to meet. Lady Sayuri is a healer. She can teach you how to manage the injuries you get in your training. Also, she's one of the most knowledgeable people in sorcery today.”

“Oh. I thought she's a non-sorcerer.”

“My maternal grandfather was in charge of the clan’s library, where we stored lots of rare texts and accounts on sorcery. Even Jujutsu High paid us to duplicate those texts. Well, after she gave birth to me and the elders imposed restrictions on our interactions, she worried that they’d eventually find a way to stop her from seeing me. Lady Sayuri is quite strong-willed and politically savvy. So, the theory was that she burned down the library. It was never proven, but people believe she's the arsonist.”

“But isn’t that more reason to send her away?”

“Yes, until they discovered that she has a photographic memory and has everything in the library stored in her brain. Some talents bleed out of the Six Eyes, and she’s a direct descendant of the last one. Satoshi said it’s a heavenly restriction, since my late aunt had a weak form of Infinity, and they originally believed she would give birth to the Six Eyes, not my mother.” He waved his hand. “It’s a long story. Anyway, if we’re gonna make sure you’re not used or outwitted in the Gakuganji clan, you’ll want her on your side.”

She did not know what to expect from his mother, but it was definitely not all of those things. “Alright.”

Gojo drank his coffee silently in front of her, all muscles and abs in a damp towel that barely left anything to the imagination. She narrowed her eyes at his face, wondering if he was seducing her or if she was turning into a pervert like him. Nobody should look that good in a towel while drinking from a cute red bear mug, yet there he was, a picture of Zeus if he were to star in an erotica.

He blinked at her, his coffee held up to his chin. “Dirty thoughts?”

Utahime marched out of the bathroom. “Get dressed. I have to go to the pharmacy.”

Jujutsu HQ had four affiliated pharmacies in Kyoto. One of them was only six blocks away from her apartment, which was one of the reasons she chose her current accommodation. There had been many instances over the years wherein she found herself stumbling in there in search of prescription meds, and while the pharmacist still made sure the meds were warranted, the process of acquiring them was much quicker. This was especially useful in non-work related needs like contraception, which Jujutsu HQ was surprisingly generous with.

Utahime only had to go in and show her Jujutsu HQ ID to the pharmacist and request the morning-after pill, and voila. No need to visit gynecology clinics. She was happy for the perks now, but she knew Jujutsu HQ only gave female sorcerers access to these because of how often assaults happened inside and outside the organization. Fortunately for Utahime, her lineage and affiliations had spared her from the unsavory truths of being a woman in a male-dominated and generally violent field. Still, that didn’t mean she shouldn’t care. She had female students, and she dreaded having to talk to them about these things.

Utahime pulled her cap lower over her head as she exited the pharmacy. Across the street, Gojo waved at her from in front of a convenience store. She jogged over to him, and he opened his arm to receive her. They had agreed just before leaving her apartment that they would tone down the public display of affection, but it didn’t take five minutes before they were all over each other again, holding hands and embracing like lovesick teenagers.

So much for keeping their relationship a secret.

They found a quiet corner with a bench and Gojo handed her a bottled water to wash down the pill with. Utahime popped it in her mouth, strangely unfeeling about the matter. It was Gojo who looked concerned for her and apologetic, even when she had already told him several times on their walk to the pharmacy that she wasn’t mad at him for not using a condom or pulling out the first time. To his credit, he was prepared to go into the pharmacy with her, and she had to scold him outside to stop him because the pharmacist might recognize him.

So he ventured into the convenience store to get her snacks while she got the pill, and now he sat beside her combing her hair with his fingers, watching silently as she nibbled on a pork bun.

Even if she did mind having unprotected sex with him, how could she be mad at him now? With the way he was caring for her, she was confident that if her belly grew and she popped right there and then, he’d gladly take responsibility for the child. She would probably have to stop him from parading the child around and announcing that he made a human.

No, that wasn’t her concern at all. Gojo was probably hard-wired for fatherhood, and she didn’t have to be told that being with him meant possibly mothering the next head of the clan. The chances of the next Six-Eyes coming from their line would be huge, and she could already see hints of that conversation in his eyes. They weren’t going to stop sleeping with each other, and she could imagine Gojo gearing himself for the possibility that one day in the future, he’d knock her up, and their world would change.

Utahime took her time chewing the pork bun. Should she wait for him to open that topic, or should she bring up her more immediate concerns first? After all, she didn’t mind unprotected sex not because she was careless and free-spirited. She was just certain that he could not get her pregnant. Not last night, and not in the near future.

Active sorcerers like her never found it easy to conceive, and her particular technique made it so her period had become more and more irregular. Kazuo had warned her when she was training for his technique that she might suffer from infertility, and although she had tried not to be dissuaded by it, she was relieved when he stopped their training.

Now she was straining her body for an entirely different technique, and while it was more attuned to her, it still took its toll.

Their conversation in the bathroom kept replaying in her mind. So Gojo did see her as someone he’d want to spend the rest of his life with. Which meant babies.

What if she couldn’t give him any?

“You have that look on your face when you’re thinking hard about something,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just a little nauseated from the pill even with the snacks.”

He wrapped his arm around her and made her lean her head on his shoulder. “We can sit here longer or I can carry you to that diner over there.”

“I swear, If people find out about us, it’s going to be because of you.”

“I can’t help it. Not everyone gets to be in a relationship with their teenage crush.”

Utahime laughed. “Did you ever think about giving up on me? I mean, after I moved to Kyoto, it must have been tempting to see other people.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“So, did you? See other people, I mean.”

He scratched the back of his head, suddenly bashful. “I tried. But it got annoying pretty quickly because I was stuck imagining you in their place. Shoko knows and she wasn’t helpful. Called me a helpless case and all that. And then at one point—I think it was around the time I turned twenty—I just decided that unless my feelings for you change, it’s you or it’s no one.” He poked her rib. “You?”

“Pretty much the same. I think I had a small crush on you after you told me you might want to be an instructor. I hadn’t seen you in person for a while and it struck me differently, being near you again and seeing you kinda grown up.”

“Kinda?”

“Physically, you were just…” She squeezed his bicep as hard as she could. “Hard to resist.”

“So all this time you were trying not to throw yourself at me?”

“Don’t project your fantasies on me. Ninety-eight percent of the time, I want to hit you more than I want to kiss you.”

He held his forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “But there’s the two percent.”

Utahime crossed her arms over her stomach and looked down at her combat boots to affect nonchalance. “Yeah, the two percent were X-rated.”

Gojo laughed so hard, he was slapping his thighs and wiping his tears. Utahime frowned at him, demanding to know what was so funny, and he said it was the look on her face. “Like it almost killed you to admit that.”

“Well, what’s the point of denying it after we…” She made round motions with her hands, not quite able to say it.

He looked at her expectantly. “Go on. After we…?”

“You know.”

“No, say it.”

She peeked at the passersby and licked her lips. Then her face got so hot, she had to hide it behind her hands. It was embarrassing to think about sex with him in broad daylight. “You know what I’m trying to say!”

Gojo pulled her head to his chest and petted her. "There, there, my little prude."

"Oh, shut up!"

He pulled away, still a little too red in the face from laughing. “How bad was I in your X-rated fantasies that you held back for so long?”

“It’s not that,” she said. “We were friends, you know? We were flirting but when push came to shove, I knew I could rely on you like I could rely on Shoko. I guess that was why I kept relegating you to the role of ‘mandatory annoying guy friend’. But then every time a guy would touch me or kiss me, my thoughts just kept coming back to you. It was so weird.”

Gojo slammed his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“That was a compliment, you idiot.”

“I don’t want to think about you with other men because I’m going to feel like killing someone.” He started humming like a monk.

Utahime smacked the back of his head to get him to stop. “You asked!”

“You should have lied!”

She started for the diner. “I’m hungry.”

“Wait for me!”

Utahime stopped and reached her hand out to him. He took it with a big smile, and they entered the diner together. Sitting themselves in a corner booth, they consulted the menu and quickly decided on a full English breakfast with extra eggs and sausages. Gojo also ordered a platter of pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup. Utahime scolded him for ordering something sweet for breakfast, but he shut her up by saying that she knew how to wear out a man.

Fortunately, Sakura called, and she had an excuse to leave the diner for a bit to let her embarrassment subside. It seemed that being an official couple hardly changed a thing about her relationship with Gojo. He still thrived on annoying her, and she still wanted to beat him up to teach him a lesson.

Utahime was standing on the sidewalk, giving Sakura instructions on how to deal with a specific type of talisman when the hairs on the back of her neck stood. She looked around, but she couldn’t see anything odd around her. People passed in front of her while chatting with their friends or texting on their phones. Cars cruised by, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the tail end of a trendy pop song playing.

Utahime rubbed the back of her neck. Was the paranoia of being with Gojo beginning to get to her?

She shook off the feeling and turned towards the diner. She hadn’t taken two steps when she saw Satoshi walking towards her with his only arm draped around the shoulders of a woman. The two of them made a startling pair on the crowded sidewalk, so much so that people followed them with their gaze and murmured to one another.

Gojo walked out of the diner, likely in search of her, and froze at the sight of his parents approaching.

The couple stopped in front of them; Satoshi with his usual grin and Lady Sayuri with an expression that was impossible to read. She tipped her head back to study the diner’s tacky signage. “Right. This will do.” She gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Utahime sat still in a cramped booth that had worn baby pink cushions and yellowing pendant light. Beside her, Gojo traced circles on the table with the water that pooled at the bottom of his glass, unnaturally quiet. Across from them, Satoshi and Lady Sayuri consulted their menus with immense concentration.

The waitress arrived with their orders, and his parents watched as she lowered the large breakfast platters and pancakes in front of her and Gojo.

Utahime glanced at him, and he shrugged. He reached for her hand beneath the table and held it tight. After a beat, she switched the position of their hands so that hers covered his.

Gojo may look cool and unaffected, but she could sense his anxiety in the way he ran his thumb across her knuckles and licked his bottom lip. Now and then, he opened his mouth to say something to them, but changed his mind and just continued staring at them as though bemused by their very existence. Utahime couldn't blame him, though. She, too, tried to act nonchalant, but she was not sure what to make of them either.

Undoubtedly, Satoshi and Sayuri made a handsome pair, albeit an unlikely one. They looked like they were ripped from vastly different sections of a lifestyle magazine and forced together. Satoshi resembled a retired 70’s rock band star in a faded red crew neck shirt and ripped jeans. His long, black hair fell over his shoulders, silky but tangled in places, as though he had just woken up. In contrast, Lady Sayuri was the picture of old money in her high-waist grey pants, white button-down, and smart black vest. She had white hair just like Gojo, but with hints of grey, and her lightly freckled face added to her youthful appearance.

Well, she was young, wasn’t she? Sayuri must only be in her late thirties or early forties at most. Faint lines appeared beside her eyes whenever she squinted, and the smallest movements of her lips gave way to dimples on both sides of her mouth. Even then, she looked like a mother whose children must only be eight or ten, not twenty-two.

Utahime would never tell Gojo, but she was a little disappointed. Not in a bad way, of course. All this time, she thought his mother would be some kind of wrathful Madonna. A goddess in a flowing dress whose feet could not touch the ground. She would give Utahime one look and make her relationship with Gojo miserable.

Her? With her scarred face and minor lineage?

How dare she even think of having a relationship with her only son?

The woman before her could not be farther from that. She studied the menu with furrowed brows while worrying her lips, and Utahime could tell that Satoshi was only pretending to read his menu so as not to make her feel bad for taking too long. Sayuri reminded her of Gojo whenever they ate at a new restaurant and he couldn’t find anything he liked. They even had the same pouting lips and impatient energy.

Gojo put his arm around Utahime and brushed her hair over her shoulder. She thought he was grooming her out of nervousness until she remembered she had a hickey there that her collar didn’t quite cover. She saw Sayuri’s eyes flicker to her collarbone, and then back to the menu.

Utahime took a sip of her coffee and kept her gaze down. Now his mother knew what they were doing before this. Great. She had attacked Satoshi in the shrine and appeared before Sayuri freshly beat after sex with her son. Reality was lightyears away from what she expected her relationship with Gojo's parents would be like, or at least, how she thought their first meeting should go.

The waitress arrived again, and Gojo’s parents sighed in unison. Satoshi motioned to Gojo and Utahime’s food. “We’ll have what they’re having, but more blueberries on my wife’s pancakes. Oh, and that’s my son, and that’s his girlfriend, and we’re all meeting together for the first time. It’s so exciting.”

The waitress affected delight. “How nice!”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to ordering,” Sayuri muttered under her breath.

“Sorry, she’s cranky. She hasn’t had coffee yet. Oh, right. More coffee for everyone. Make it strong for this princess.” He pointed at Sayuri. “And can you make the meat extra tender? I’ve got only one hand.”

Gojo turned his head towards the window, ears red and mute with embarrassment. Utahime felt abandoned, but plastered a smile on her face to be polite.

The waitress jotted this on her pad and excused herself.

Sayuri studied Gojo’s plate of pancakes, and then at the reference photo on the menu. “They do not look the same at all.”

“They rarely do, princess.”

She glanced around the diner, silently taking in the drab decor, the stink of burnt meat, and the uproar of toddlers somewhere at the back. “It’s been so long since we last ate in a place like this. Brings back old memories.”

“We were already married when she first got a taste of real life,” Satoshi told Utahime. He draped his arm around her shoulder protectively. “The Gojo clan was a whole lot different before Satoru arrived.”

“I see.” Utahime looked at Sayuri, then down at her plate, unsure whether she could ask questions.

Sayuri smiled at her. “I’d tell you, but my own son doesn’t know yet. And judging by his frown, he’s not happy that we’re here.”

Gojo finally stopped rotating his coffee cup on its saucer. His mood was now somewhere between curious and annoyed, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral. “With all due respect, but why are we having breakfast together? How did you even know we’re here?”

“Phone.” Satoshi raised his burner phone. “Akira gave Utahime one.”

Utahime checked her purse and took out the phone. “Oh. Nobody told me that this has a tracker.”

“Tsk.” Sayuri frowned at Satoshi. “Akira’s growing senile. We should put him out of commission.”

“Mom, stop trying to force uncle to retire. I need him.”

“I’m sorry he forgot to mention the tracker,” she said to Utahime. “Akira’s never been great with details unless he's about to die or he’s pranking me.”

It took Utahime a second to make the connection. “Oh, right. Akira’s your cousin.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Can we not backstab family members in front of my girlfriend?” Gojo said.

“It’s official!” Sayuri reached blindly for Satoshi’s hand in her excitement, and he had to tap her shoulder to indicate that she was asking for the hand that was no longer there. “It took Satoru long enough. A part of me was convinced it would never happen at this point, but I didn’t want to discourage him.”

Gojo embraced Utahime and hid his face on her shoulder, muttering something against her blouse that she didn’t quite catch. Utahime rubbed his back to comfort him. although she tried not to, she laughed. This was the man everybody feared. One quip from his mother and he was done for.  

“It’s my fault,” Utahime said. “I kind of made it difficult for him.”

She jabbed her thumb at Satoshi. “I made it difficult for this guy, too, so I understand. Satoru gets his patience from his father. But the good looks are from me.”

Satoshi tugged at her ponytail. “He gets his petulance from you too.”

“And his intelligence,” she added.

“Oh my god, they’re flirting in front of us.” Gojo threw more of his weight on her. “Please don’t scare Utahime away. She’s not been my girlfriend for a day.”

Utahime shrugged the shoulder he was leaning on. “Don’t be rude. You’re exactly like them.”

“Have you heard the saying? Birds of the same feather want to kill each other?”

Sayuri plucked a blueberry from Gojo's plate and popped it in her mouth. “Parricide is hardly agreeable. Although I did want to kill my father for most of my life.”

“My dad was normal. He just sucked the life out of me and my brothers,” Satoshi said. He turned to Utahime. “Speaking of life-suckers, how did Gakuganji take the report about yesterday’s excursions? Did the old man throw any tantrums?”

“I spoke with him briefly this morning. He was a little upset about the curse being exorcised, but otherwise, he’s pleased with how it went. I mean, in a sense that no one was hurt and we got some leads. He expects us to be there in three hours.” She turned to Sayuri. “ Should I inform him…?”

Sayuri waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not coming along. Old Gakuganji adores me, but I don’t like the smell of his shrine. It’s musky and reeks of calming formulas.”

“Calming formula?”

“Oh, dear.” She widened her eyes at Gojo briefly, as though to blame him for her cluelessness. “Of course the Iori doesn’t use that, and you’re too new in the job to know the ins and outs of it.”

“There are a lot of things I’ve had to figure out by myself.” Which was humiliating to admit, but it was the truth. Utahime did not know that taking on Himari’s job meant picking up where she left off immediately after the binding vow. Principal Gakuganji made time to teach her the ropes, but he was too busy to provide her with sufficient guidance. To his credit, he did not expect her to do the job perfectly at once. He made it clear that she simply needed to keep the shrines functioning for now.

Sayuri pulled the plate of pancakes to her side of the table with a cheeky smile at Gojo. “Nobunaga Iori is a very respectable man. Gakuganji, on the other hand, is crafty. They have been producing incense out of medicinal herbs that are used to relax the muscles. It’s part of why their shrines are so popular. This other-worldly, calming effect is because of that forgotten formula.”

“So it’s not just their technique,” Gojo said. He poured maple syrup on the pancakes for her.

“Sorcerers have to be practical where it counts,” Sayuri said. “Sealing is not the same as unsealing. The latter requires better mastery of inflating and deflating cursed energy,  while the former—”

“—requires suppressing cursed energy with your own,” Utahime finished. “Hence the calming formula, because that lowers cursed energy levels naturally by preventing the production of negative emotions.”

“Correct. But they don’t need it anymore now that an Iori is applying new seals to their shrines.”

Gojo cleared his throat to get his mother's attention. “If you’re out of the estate, then it must be for work. What happened?”

“A largely unwelcome development. I came here because I need to talk to Utahime. How much has Master Iori disclosed about the history of your shrines? Particularly the reason your family broke away from the Sasaki?”

The waitress returned with their orders. After being served a fresh plate of pancakes, Sayuri looked like she had forgotten all about their discussion. She pressed her hands together in gratitude for the food and spread the blueberries and maple syrup on her pancakes. “Please eat. This will be a lengthy discussion. I was hoping that our chit-chat would be about something else entirely, but we have work to do, and so much rests on our efficiency and the sacrifices we’re willing to make.”

“I understand.” Utahime pulled her plate toward her, but she didn’t eat. Anxiety was crawling up her skin like little spiders, and she couldn’t stop her worries from breaking off into uncontrollable tangents. The situation was bad enough as it was. How much worse could it possibly get?

Gojo’s hand on the small of her back made her jolt.

She blinked at him. “Hm?”

“You’re hungry, remember?”

The softness of his tone comforted her enough to start moving the food around her plate. He didn’t let go of her, even when it made eating inconvenient for him. The way he held her reminded her of that time in the grocery store on Christmas Eve following the mediation with the Kamo. It seemed so long ago now, but that was the first time she let him hold her intimately and take care of her.

Utahime sipped her coffee and took a bite of scrambled eggs to appease Gojo. He transferred his hand from her back to the back of her neck, and she had to stop herself from moaning. The effort to control her reaction made her grunt instead, and she elbowed him to stop.

Gojo, realizing what just happened, bit down hard on his pancake to keep from laughing.

It was a good thing that Sayuri was busy slicing the sausages and patties for Satoshi, or else they would be the ones accused of flirting so openly.

Satoshi murmured something to Sayuri about removing the burnt parts, and she promptly scraped off the charred edges. Once that was done, she tore open two packets of creamer and emptied them into his cup of coffee.

“Anyway,” she said. “You were saying, Utahime?”

“The heir to the Sasaki started a cult across Japan and we sided with the founders of Jujutsu HQ to take him down and end his exploitation of the non-shamans. That’s all I was told.”

“That’s good, but it’s vague. So you’re not aware of the particulars? Like how this cult was operated?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not.”

“You don’t have to apologize for something that’s not your fault, dear.”

“That’s why I almost never apologize,” Satoshi said with a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Mom, he’s doing it again.”

Sayuri darted a glare at Satoshi, who only grinned at her in response. “As I was saying, there was more to the cult than what most records let on, mainly because they might affect the credibility of so many clans. Fortunately, the Gojo has an extensive record of these things—all of them unofficial—because why kill when you can extort, right? It’s a more sustainable practice, anyway.”

“R-right.”

Sayuri waved her fork around as she spoke. “So, what’s usually excluded from existing records is the participation of major Jujutsu families in that cult.”

Gojo’s knife slid off his plate in the middle of cutting pancakes. “No way.”

“Hard to believe, huh?” Satoshi said.

“Non-shamans,” Sayuri clarified. “The Zenins, particularly, because they treat their non-shaman family members like trash. That’s one of the more subtle reasons why they eventually formed the Kukuru unit, and the Gojo followed suit with the Fugen. Defectors who joined the cult were usually family members of influential shamans in the clan. When Jujutsu society collectively decided to do away with the Sasaki, it wasn’t only a matter of killing cult members who stood in their way.”

“They had to kill their own family members,” Utahime said.

“Exactly. Which is pure genius.”

"That's what made it one of the darkest times in Jujutsu history," Satoshi said.

“Now's the time you make the connection,” Sayuri hissed. She looked at Gojo first, then at Utahime. “Defectors. Cults. The unregistered men and women who had never seen the light of day. Again, defectors.”

Utahime’s hand went up to her mouth. She was going to be sick. “Miyo Yamamoto.”

“Close.”

“It’s Daiki Kamo,” Gojo said.

“Very good.’’

Gojo put down his fork and knife, too stunned by this revelation to eat. “So Daiki Kamo was part of the cult.”

“The Sasaki cult,” Satoshi said.

Utahime shook her head at once. “No. Jujutsu HQ—"

“—probably knows,” Sayuri said. “I told you, Gakuganji is a cunning man. He didn’t tell you everything, and he likely never will unless it benefits him. I’m guessing his re-affiliation with Jujutsu HQ was perfectly timed to avoid suspicion from the higher-ups. He suspected his children were collecting the tamed curses, and with Himari possessing the skills of the original Blood Maiden, had the right to claim the title to revive the cult, or else lead it if it was never truly gone. The thing with Gakuganji is that he doesn't publicize his theories until there’s evidence. We provided him with that through Satoshi’s visions, but those do not prove that the cult is the Sasaki. I'm just supposing with the crumbs we've collected that it is that damned cult."

Gojo propped his elbows on the table and tented his hands in front of his face. “Gakuganji is making us do the work for him.”

“Don’t be mad at him yet. It’s quite necessary. If he relinquished all information at once, then we’d be proceeding with bias. What we’re doing is picking up the clues and presenting it to him for confirmation,” Sayuri said.

“Hold on, how are you sure that the Sasaki cult is active and that Jujutsu HQ knows?” Utahime asked.

Satoshi added a cube of sugar to his coffee and stirred. “My advice? Always operate with the assumption that Jujutsu HQ knows. If they broadcasted every little knowledge they have about the dark side of sorcery, Jujustsu Society would be in chaos.”

Gojo turned to Utahime. “That’s why Kazuo is in an open relationship. He's trying to stay ahead by keeping track of the information that passes through Jujutsu HQ.”

Utahime scowled at him, confused, and then it clicked. It shouldn’t have taken her this long to realize, but she was too caught up in her ambitions to see the sacrifices Kazuo was making for their family. After all, when he first admitted that he was not in an exclusive relationship, the news seemed to come out of nowhere. Kazuo had always been secretive about his love life, and then suddenly, he was telling her that he was bisexual and promiscuous. Utahime thought perhaps he was just beginning to realize the effect he had on people, especially when he was in his priestly vestments. Apparently not. It could have been that Kazuo only told her in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to say it out loud himself. He had to resort to such measures to gather information, just like she had to resort to a deal with Gakuganji to get ahead in her career.

Utahime continued staring Gojo in the eyes, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. Only she wasn’t sure if she was angry at him for not telling her sooner or at herself for being so dumb. “Gojo, how long have you known?”

“It’s a guess. He knew I blocked your promotion, and the only way would be to have someone on the inside feeding him confidential information. Meaning his boyfriend and girlfriend.” He held up one finger. “Kana Nozowa. Jujutsu HQ’s principal records keeper. She’s in regular contact with Kazuo to reinforce the seals in the execution room and cargo vans that the managers use for corpse retrieval.” He held up a second finger. “Then there’s Masaru Uehara. He’s in charge of overseeing communications among the major clans and was the one responsible for arranging the mediation for Miyo Yamamoto. Don’t be mad at Kazuo. You want to protect your family. He does too.”

Utahime leaned back on her seat and fiddled with her infinity pendant.

“You have a very clever brother,” Sayuri said, slicing pancakes and putting some on Satoshi’s plate. “He’ll be incredibly useful in this operation.”

Satoshi choked on his coffee. He set the cup down and wiped his mouth. “What she means is that Kazuo can help us learn how much Jujutsu HQ is hiding from us regarding the Sasaki cult. But only if it’s okay with you. It's a suggestion, not an order.”

Utahime glanced at Gojo, who was already looking at her as though waiting for her cue. “I’m sorry, I don’t want my brother involved.”

“Sweet girl, we have no choice. You have to talk to Miyo Yamamoto, and you can get permission either from your father or your brother.” Sayuri paused to ponder this. “No, leave Nobunaga out of this. Your brother is our only choice.”

Gojo grimaced at his parents. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything to anger Master Iori.”

Sayuri and Satoshi looked at Utahime, who only shrugged in response. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So, Miyo Yamamoto,” Satoshi said, dodging the topic. “The easiest way to confirm if the Sasaki is alive is through her.”

“Shouldn’t we look into Daiki Kamo first?” Utahime asked.

Sayuri emptied her coffee mug and took Satoshi's. “We should, if we had a means to. It's a good thing your brother can look into his history and the Kamo clan for us. If anyone can safely investigate the three clans, it would be Jujutsu HQ, and any existing reports they may have now will be invaluable to us. Plus, yours is a mediating family, so you have more access to clan information than anybody else outside of the higher-ups. Your brother is bound to find something."

"I haven't agreed to this yet."

"It's just a suggestion. A very strong one, though."

"I can access information about Daiki with my clearance. We can leave Miyo for later," Utahime said.

Sayuri shook her head, sympathetic but firm. "Miyo is the easier option for now, and we need answers fast. When I discovered the fact about defectors while researching the Sasaki cult and considered the possibility that they were active, I checked into the defectors of the Gojo clan and stumbled upon Miyo Yamamoto. She led me to Daiki, and Daiki’s history of beating up women who eventually went missing led me to the cult. He probably targeted her because even non-shamans can give birth to sorcerers. It’s all about connecting the dots. We just need the dots.”

"Miyo may have the dots," Satoshi said.

“He was an active sorcerer for the Kamo. You said it's the non-shamans who participated in the cult."

"We can't say that sorcerers will not participate in such a cult when the cult itself was started by a sorcerer."

"Is that why they were so adamant to get Miyo killed?” Gojo asked with a mouthful of pancakes.

Utahime slapped his thigh for his bad manners. Gojo recoiled with a blush, and she realized he mistook her reprimand for groping. She removed her hand from him and resisted the urge to scowl.

“On the guise of testing your resolve for a peaceful relationship with the Kamo clan, yes," Sayuri said, too hyped with her discovery to notice what just transpired between her and Gojo. "If they knew about Daiki's involvement with the Sasaki, then their best move was to silence Miyo to avoid staining their reputation further. Daiki had relationships with women who eventually went missing. There’s reason to believe these women were pregnant at the time of their disappearance. If Daiki was a part of the cult, then these women could have given birth to children who grew up hidden in those underground lairs, and some of them might have been sacrificed as babies. As a mother, I can assure you that we can curse into being the most hellish spirits at the prospect of losing our children, and we know for a fact that the Sasaki cult worshipped curses. They would’ve killed her, but Miyo was actively in touch with her parents. Her death would have been investigated by the Fugen, and the cult would've risked being found out."

“Then why didn’t Miyo blackmail the Kamo?”

“We don’t know that she herself was involved, or that she knows about the cult itself. Even if she doesn't, she may still have information that can confirm our theories. The way she killed Daiki suggests he did some pretty foul things to her, after all.”

“Her plea was for her baby, remember?” Gojo told Utahime. “If she knew, then maybe she was just making sure that her baby didn't get killed. Blackmailing Kamo wouldn't have improved her situation.”

“We don’t mean to gang up on you," Satoshi said, sounding apologetic. "But you’ll have to decide soon. Sayuri is correct. Miyo is our fastest option. With her help, we can create a plan while your brother is looking into Daiki and the Kamo. We'll all be safer once we know what we're up against."

Utahime closed her eyes briefly and passed her hand over her throat, then fiddled with the pendant again. She could feel their eyes on them, and her temples throbbed with the beginning of a headache.

Gojo scooted over to her. To his parents, he said, “Will you excuse us for a moment?”

Utahime got out of the booth, followed by Gojo. Together, they found an empty table on the other side of the diner.

Gojo sat across from her with his sunglasses perched low on his nose bridge and his arms folded over his chest. “All I have to say is that I trust Kazuo, but if you don’t want him involved, that’s fine with me.”

“Your parents made it pretty clear that we have no choice.”

“We do. The alternative is harder and more time-consuming, but we will resort to that if you don’t want to contact Kazuo for us.”

Utahime took a deep breath to clear her mind. She wanted to drink beer and go to sleep, not wrestle with his parents. “Your mother’s scary smart.”

“And a little too aggressive when it comes to work, I know. She watches too many true crime documentaries.”

She chuckled. It certainly seemed that way. “My family means everything to me.”

“I know.”

“Haruki won’t be able to defend himself if they get involved somehow.”

Gojo nodded. “I know, Utahime.”

“Only Kazuo, and he won’t be on the field.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Gojo.” She reached across the table to hold his hand. “I don’t want you to go against your parents.”

He broke into a smile that was both sympathetic and amused. He kissed the inside of her wrist to soothe her, and then he leaned over the table to kiss her on the lips. “I’m the head of the clan. What I say goes. My parents understand that perfectly well.”

Utahime had always known this, but it took being in this position for her to realize just how powerful Gojo was outside of the battlefield. A noble clan like his prioritized hierarchy over family, and there he was, at the very top of the food chain. Perhaps this was one of the reasons Gojo hesitated to put a label on their relationship. She was only his girlfriend and she could already feel the immense pressure of being with someone like him.

Gojo led the way back to their booth, where his parents were murmuring to themselves while finishing their breakfast. As they slipped back to their seat, Gojo told them that he would contact Kazuo himself and that he would not be on the field.

Utahime couldn’t hide her surprise. They never talked about him reaching out to Kazuo on her behalf. Still, the idea of avoiding the brunt of her brother’s anger alleviated most of her anxiety.

“Sounds good to me.” Satoshi pointed at Utahime’s plate. “You eat, young lady. Your food’s gotten cold because we kept on blabbering about work.”

Sayuri patted her pockets. After a bit of digging around, she seemed to find what she was looking for. Satoshi noticed this and pulled Gojo’s plate away from him just as he was about to stab a piece of sausage. “Go with your mother outside. She needs to smoke.”

Gojo retrieved his plate and ate an entire sausage before leaving with his mother.

Utahime watched them exit the diner, the two of them tall, fair-haired, and elegant, even from the back. Gojo lagged a little behind his mother but kept his hand out, ready to shield her if he had to. 

“I hope you don’t mind.” Satoshi waved his knife in the direction of the door. “Sayuri barely gets to spend any alone time with Satoru.”

“Not at all. Whenever he talks about Lady Sayuri, I get the feeling that he’s always missing her. I’m glad to see them together.”

He began picking meat off Gojo’s plate. “Thank you. I know it must be difficult dealing with Satoru. I appreciate you putting up with him.”

She sliced the patties for him. “He takes getting used to, but to be honest, I think he’s the one putting up with me.”

“Ugh.” Satoshi blinked back tears while chewing on a slice of patty. “I get so emotional whenever I think my son’s all grown up. Now he has a girlfriend.”

She passed him the coarse blue kitchen paper that was tucked between the condiments. He took it and dabbed at his eyes.

Satoshi may look like a big bad sorcerer, but Utahime was beginning to think his heart might be softer than her father's.

Gojo and Sayuri found the nearest smoking area and stood at the end of the semi-covered station, as far as possible from the two salarymen who appeared eager to smoke their lives away just to avoid returning to the office. They leaned on the rigid PVC glass and looked ahead at the pond where plenty of koi swam about, golds and oranges swirling in the moss-green water. 

Gojo watched with mild awe as his mother pinned a cigarette between her lips and lit it with a gold Zippo lighter.

She peered at him from the corner of her eye and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. “Staring is rude, even if I’m your mother.”

“I had no idea you smoked.”

“Only when I’m in the city. It’s a bit of a tradition at this point. An occasional vice from before I had you.”

Gojo peered at the flat blue sky. “Utahime will have questions about you two. I’m not looking forward to telling her that I don’t have answers.”

“You know the bare essentials.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

Sayuri took a long drag and turned as she exhaled. Even then, she waved the smoke away to prevent it from reaching him. “Because you’re the head of the clan, Lord Gojo. I can’t make you hate the very family you’re born to protect. It’s difficult enough as it is given what they’ve done to our small family. Now we have to make it easier for you to take the high road.”

Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. He had a vague idea of the events they were keeping secret from him, but only because he listened to gossip when he was young. Hanabi chided him once for believing the rumors and encouraged him to wait instead. One day, they would tell him. Now it seemed that day would never come, all for the sake of keeping him on the right path. He wanted to argue that he was no longer a child and he had better control of his temper, but she must’ve already taken that into consideration.

How bad was it for them, and what exactly had they shielded him from?

“So, what do you think of Utahime?” he asked, mainly to stop his mind from racing.

A faint blush spread across her cheeks as she beamed at him. “She’s all grown up. It’s ironic, really, that you ended up with her of all people.”

“If you don’t want me to ask, then you should stop saying things like that.”

“We owe her father our lives. All three of us. That’s all you have to know for now. So don’t break her heart. She’s Nobu’s favorite.”

“That’s comforting.”

"Satoru."

“Yes?”

She tapped the ashes loose from the butt of her cigarette. “Take care of your father in these outings of yours, okay? He’s getting old. So is Akira.”

“Hanabi’s helping me ensure their safety, but I can’t promise anything. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. Your father won’t be stopped, anyway. And Akira probably loves Satoshi more than his wife, if I’m going to be honest. He goes where Satoshi goes.”

The two salarymen left, and now they were alone in the smoking area. Gojo shifted his weight to his other leg. Sayuri crossed to the other side of the semi-enclosed space. She stood across from him with her cigarette raised to her mouth, her eyes fixed on him.

“You said it’s rude to stare.”

She chuckled. “I’m your mother. I’m allowed to look at you for as long as I want.”

“I thought Suguru and I would be like that.” He pushed his sunglasses up his nose bridge. “Akira and Satoshi, I mean.”

“Really?”

“I grew up seeing the two of them glued to each other’s side, and they looked so uncool but they were happy. Then I met Suguru and I thought that was him. I wanted to be like Satoshi. I wanted a best friend.”

“No, you’re more like Akira.” She stubbed her cigarette on a receptacle and lit another one. “If you want someone to sympathize with you, it’s him. There are so many unsavory things that happened around the time of your birth that Satoshi isn’t proud of, and he forced Akira to be in the position you’re in. Regardless if those lovebirds never tell you, just know that they understand what you’re going through. And if Satoshi thinks Suguru Getou can no longer be saved, trust him. He’s been there."

“Okay.”

She discarded her second cigarette without finishing it and exited the smoking area. He fell in step with her, and she hooked her arm around his. Walking on the sidewalks of Kyoto like this on a cool morning felt both strange and relaxing. He had always wondered what it would be like to go on outings with her. Nothing extravagant. Just little trips around the city, doing mundane things that he had seen other parents do with their children. Now he had this moment, finally. He knew now how it felt to have his mother by his side in public, and he made an effort to match her slow pace to make the moment last.

She leaned her head on his arm. “We’ve lost so much time together, and your father and I are doing our best to make it up to you. You have no idea how much it means to us to be out with you and Utahime like a normal family.”

Gojo couldn’t help but smile. He was meant to protect her, but she was the one who made him feel safe. “Me too, mom.”

“Oh, before I forget.” She pulled out a small jar container from her bag. “For Utahime’s bruises. And don’t give her hickeys from the neck up. She’s a priestess for crying out loud.”

Gojo stopped and turned his head toward the traffic. “Mom!”

She slipped it into his pocket and nudged him to keep walking. Now she was half-dragging him when all he wanted to do was melt into the pavement. Surely, his technique could achieve something to that effect.

“Does she cook for you?”

“She’s pretty awesome in the kitchen.”

“If you’re staying in her apartment, then you clean, okay?”

“I bought her a couch.”

“She’ll appreciate it more if you clean.” She slapped his arm. “Don’t be showy with your money.”

“It’s hard-earned money from teaching.”

“Stop talking back to me. I don’t want to be that type of mother who repeats herself.”

Gojo resisted rolling his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

The diner was now in view, and the knot in his stomach tightened. No matter what he did, time with his mother always seemed to go too fast.

“Wash the dishes. Always wash the dishes for her.”

“I do. Sometimes.”

She stopped him two shops away from the diner. They stood under the awning of a bakery so as not to disrupt the foot traffic.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, businesslike. She tipped her head back to look at him. “You do know you can ask for my help anytime, right?”

Gojo took a moment to reign in his emotions. When he knew his voice wouldn't break, he said, “Mom, I don’t think you’re a bad parent. You and Satoshi are doing pretty great.”

Her shoulder heaved as she drew in a sharp breath, and when she exhaled, he saw something in her that he had never seen before. Uncertainty. Worry. A glint of anxiety in her light, grey eyes. She placed her hand on the side of his face. "One day you'll understand how we feel." 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Satoshi and Utahime exit the diner. Sayuri followed his line of sight and waved at them, back to her usual self now. They met halfway, and Satoshi steered Sayuri towards him, even going as far as blocking her from Gojo. “Excuse me, sir, but this is my wife. Your girlfriend’s over there.”

Gojo bit his tongue and darted a look at Utahime, who no longer made any effort to hide her true feelings about Satoshi's antics based on her sneer. Barely an hour alone with her and he had already exhausted her politeness. Gojo expected that three to four missions down the road, she would be scolding Satoshi and Akira like they were her students. Frankly, they deserved her wrath for the way they behaved together.

Utahime went up to him with her phone. He checked the screen and saw Kazuo’s contact information. He took out his phone, dialed the number, and let his thumb hover over the call icon. He lifted his gaze to search for his parents. They had walked a little way up the sidewalk, and as though sensing him, Satoshi glanced over his shoulder. He nodded, and Gojo pressed call. He forced himself to smile at Utahime as he waited for Kazuo to pick up. She tried to return it, but her smile looked more nervous than reassuring.

Gojo couldn't blame her.

The hunt for Suguru was beginning to get a little too personal for everyone.

Chapter Text

Utahime and Gojo sat in Kazuo’s office in the Iori Shrine in Seika town. This shrine was their second largest property and among their oldest, dating back to the Kamakura period. She had vague memories here as a child, as this had been their first home when her father became the new head of the clan. For some reason, they left months before she turned three, and the shrine was in disuse for two years.

Now Kazuo was the head priest of this shrine, totally at home in his inheritance and regal in his priestly vestments. She would’ve thrown him a compliment if this were a casual visit and he wasn’t looking at them with pure horror as Gojo finished recounting his hunt for Getou.

After all, the new mediation hall was coming along nicely, and a lot of locals and tourists in Seika had gathered in the courtyard today for prayers and sightseeing. He had done a wonderful job in this place, and she wished they were talking about that instead of cults.

When Kazuo seemed to recover, his gaze landed on Utahime and he motioned for her to follow him. Utahime stood and threw a look at Gojo. She warned him on the drive here that this would happen. To show his support, he gave Utahime two thumbs up.

Kazuo closed the door to his inner office and told her to sit on the cushion in front of the dais. It didn’t take two seconds for Utahime to realize that this was an exorcism chamber, probably connected to the hall outside by a secret door.

Kazuo stood in front of her, silent, and after taking a deep breath, began his lecture. The volume and passion of his yelling helped her make sense of this room. This was probably soundproof so as not to disturb the other rituals happening around the shrine. She was hoping Gojo would hear this, though, just so he would be prepared to face the level of abuse Kazuo could give.

Utahime kept her head bowed as Kazuo went on and on about how stupid her binding vow was and the measures he took to dig up dirt on Gakuganji. He almost came close to challenging the old man to a duel just to break her binding vow, as he knew—Kazuo dragged his fingers down his face at this part to prove his frustration—that something was not right about Ryousuke and Himari’s disappearance. It was one thing for sorcerers to defect, and another for their father to withhold that information and act as though nothing happened.

Now she was an active member of the team that was hunting down a special grade sorcerer? And the Sasaki cult was alive? She almost died trying to control the Gakuganji’s tamed curse? Did she have any idea what their father would do to Gakuganji should he discover this plot?

Utahime was still forming a response in her head when Kazuo poked his head out of the door and ordered Gojo to join them.

Gojo entered with a silly smile on his face, like he was trying to look amicable but was so overcome with nerves that he looked constipated instead.

Kazuo pointed to the cushion next to Utahime, and Gojo promptly sat on it, his legs tucked beneath him and his hands flat on his knees like a good schoolboy. When Kazuo turned around briefly, Gojo slid backward until he was slightly behind Utahime.

She hit his thigh. “You can man up for me.”

“This isn’t one of those times, senpai.”

“Quiet, you two.” Kazuo shut the door and perched on the edge of the dais, facing them with his arms crossed and one of his hands gripping a folded fan. “So you’re together? And your parents are here because you’ve introduced her? Why? Are you engaged? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Gojo raised his hand as though he were in class. “Yes, yes, no, and no.”

“What?”

“To answer your questions.”

Utahime slapped his hand down, and he held it against his chest as though injured. “Don’t act cute in front of my brother. It’s not going to work.”

“It worked on you.”

Kazuo hit their heads with the fan. “Shut up, the two of you. I feel like I’m dealing with high schoolers with the way you’re behaving. Before we discuss Miyo, I need to make some things clear with you, Gojo.”

Gojo sighed, dropping his childish façade and taking on a more serious air. He scooted forward so he was level with Utahime again. “We’ve discussed this before. I’m serious about your sister.”

“Then you also remember the other issues I brought up.”

“What issues?” Utahime asked. She could not recall them having this conversation, and when they had the chance.

“Right now she’s under both Gakuganji’s protection and mine. I do not intend to compromise the values of the Iori, but I also don’t intend to stop loving her just because it might alter the trajectory of your clan. Frankly, if it does, then it’ll be in your favor. Should we confirm that the Sasaki cult is alive, an affiliation with me is your best bet to survive.”

Gojo’s straightforwardness cut her train of panicked thought short. She stared at him, her lips parted in astonishment. It was one thing for him to tell her in private that he loved her, and another thing entirely for him to assert it to her brother.

Kazuo tapped his fan on his arm as he stared down Gojo. “What do your parents have to say about this relationship?”

“They’ve been flooding me with reminders on how I should take care of Utahime.” Gojo shifted on the cushion so he was sitting cross-legged instead. He jabbed his thumb towards the door. “If you don’t believe me, you can speak to them yourself. They’re waiting for us anyway.”

“Kazuo, we’re here for work.”

He pointed his fan at her. “Utahime, this is serious? Him?”

The way he asked her that question took her aback. He made it sound like she could do better than Gojo, and that Gojo himself was a disease. Her temper almost got the better of her, but Gojo touched her elbow in a silent appeal.

Of course she understood why he wanted her to be sure. If she ended up marrying Gojo in the future, then the changes Gojo mentioned would happen when Kazuo was head of the clan. Their father intended to step down as soon as he married, and he would be the one facing any repercussions that came with an affiliation with a noble clan. For once, though, she wanted him to treat her as something more than a liability. She didn’t always make the wrong choices, and if he would just get down from his high horse, he would see that she could carry the burden of the clan with him.

The words to express these were rising in her throat, but she pursed her lips to stop them from escaping. Instead, she placed her hands on the floor and bowed low. She remembered her father telling her that anger never solved anything, but a moment of humility might just do the trick. “All I ask is a chance. I can’t imagine loving anyone else as much as I love this idiot. It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I’m pretty sure of how I feel.”

The sound of Kazuo tapping the fan on his arm only exacerbated the tension between them. “Can I still say something to change your mind?”

“No.”

They lapsed into silence.

Utahime felt Gojo's hand on her back, and then he was next to her, his forehead pressed to the back of his other hand on the floor, bowing to Kazuo. He turned slightly to look at her and winked. Utahime squeezed her eyes shut to control the cocktail of emotions swelling in her chest. The fact that Gojo would humble himself like this for her made her feel both ashamed and well-loved at the same time.

Kazuo stopped tapping the fan. "Alright, I give up."

Utahime raised her head. "Really?"

"I'm tired of trying to separate you two."

Gojo straightened up. “So, do we kiss, exchange rings, or what?”

“Huh?”

He gestured to Kazuo. “He’s a priest. We just said our vows. I thought he was marrying us.”

Kazuo chuckled. It startled Utahime so much that she forgot whatever reprimand she was about to yell at Gojo. Kazuo stood in front of them with a tired smile and said, “I’ve reached my limit. If you two break up, then I’ll be ready to say ‘I told you so’. Until then, just don’t get into trouble. Also, I assume this will be kept a secret? Everybody thinks Gojo is with Hanabi.”

Utahime reached for Gojo’s hand and squeezed it, eyes still fixed on her brother, but a little glazed now with the beginning of tears. “You’re not going to take that back?”

“I don’t think so. Your idiot is right. The Sasaki cult will put a lot of us in danger. If I’m going to leave you in anyone’s care, it might as well be to the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Of the three clans, the Gojo is also the most stable at the moment.”

Gojo intertwined his fingers with Utahime. “We don’t plan to publicize our relationship. It’s best if we can keep it hush for as long as possible.”

“There’s no bounty on you, right? Nobody’s stupid enough to even attempt it.”

“Yes, but there’s still a bounty on my mother,” he said.

Utahime snapped her head toward him. “What?”

“There’s been a bounty on her since she was born. Anyone who might contribute to the resurgence of the Six Eyes is a target." Gojo ran his thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to worry about that for a long time yet.”

Kazuo and Utahime exchanged a look. There it was, the silent ‘I told you so’.

“Now, Miyo Yamamoto,” Gojo said. “We’re hoping we can smuggle in Lady Sayuri to help Utahime speak to her. She would know my mother, and we’re willing to purchase the boy regardless of his technique. We think this will make it easier to get information out of her.”

Kazuo considered this with a frown. After a beat, he nodded. “She’ll have to dress like a shrine maiden to avoid notice. I can’t bring Miyo out, so you’ll have to go to the inner part of the shrine where the servants stay.”

“She’ll still be a new face, though.”

“We rotate staff now and then. Fresh faces here aren’t that strange.”

Kazuo returned to the outer office to fetch his eboshi and straighten his clothes. With a look of resignation, he led the way to the courtyard, where they had left Gojo’s parents to linger.

Utahime and Gojo walked a little way behind him, and once they were heading to the crowd of tourists and local devotees, they felt it safe enough to converse with one another without Kazuo overhearing them. He might have given them his blessing, but that didn't mean he truly approved of them.

Utahime elbowed Gojo. “You’re only my boyfriend, but they’re treating it like we’re engaged or something."

“I warned you.”

“When?”

“Right before you threw yourself at me on your living room floor and Kazuo caught us.”

“Why is it that I’m a pervert in all of your recollections?”

“As your boyfriend, it’s my responsibility to tell you the objective truth. Also, I told you that being with me is a long-term commitment.” He pulled her closer to him when a group of children ran past her side. “Everybody concerned with clan bullshit will think you’re auditioning to be my wife.”

“First of all, I entered this knowing that it won’t be a normal relationship.”

“But?”

She spotted Satoshi and Sayuri by the Ema lining the shrine. They appeared to be deciding where to put the wooden plates they had written their wishes on.

“But can we try to make it normal?” When she sighed, it was as though her entire body wanted to cave in. The day was only halfway done and she felt like she had been dealing with cults and family members for a week. “Hunting down Getou is wearing us out as it is. It’ll help if we can somehow act like you’re not the head of a powerful clan and the world is not about to get us.”

He stopped her and pulled her under the shade of a tree in the corner. His grip on her arm and the urgency of his movements sent alarm bells ringing in her brain, but she thought he wouldn't dare. Making out in a Shinto shrine would give Kazuo enough reason to behead them.

He let go and peered at her above his sunglasses. “Utahime, pause for a moment and breathe.”

“What?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me but you sometimes get that look.” He drew a circle around her face. “Like you want to murder the next person you see, and I don’t want to be a victim of domestic abuse.”

Utahime punched his side, and he recoiled a little, holding the place where she hit him. “You should’ve stopped at 'the most beautiful woman in the world'.”

“I thought we were supposed to be honest with each other.”

Utahime opened her arms. They were still in the pathway on the side of the worship hall that opened up to the courtyard, and nobody should see them unless they were looking. “Just for three seconds. I need to recharge.”

“Okay.” Gojo wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “Are you charging just fine?”

“I want beer.”

“No. We’re meeting Gakuganji.”

She tightened her hold on him. The comfort she got from being held by him was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Sure, they had embraced plenty of times in the past, but now that they were officially in a relationship, his touch had grown from being safe and soothing to also being encouraging. Enlivening. She had never felt surer about herself than when Gojo enveloped her like this, treating her like she was worth blowing up a comet for. “Five more seconds. And tell me you love me.”

“Ah, my girlfriend is so needy. Do I spoil her or do I set boundaries?”

“Gojo.”

“Alright, alright. Utahime, I love you.  I love you the way I love my desserts.” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Sweet and sticky in my mouth.”

Utahime punched and kicked him, so embarrassed and angry that she managed the strength to chase him up the last few yards of the path leading to the courtyard. Gojo pranced ahead of her, laughing like a maniac. Now the most obscene things were crossing her mind, and she tried hard to keep her expression neutral to disguise her reddening face.

“The fastest way to recharge you is to get you angry,” Gojo explained with a smirk and a shrug. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Kazuo appeared at the mouth of the pathway, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. Utahime and Gojo bowed their heads and resumed following him to the courtyard. He shoved her in silent blame for getting them on Kazuo's bad side again. She shoved him back, but he was so firm that he didn't even move an inch. Gojo gave her a triumphant little smile.

Satoshi and Sayuri had moved on to the Omikuji and were busy reading their fortunes when the three of them approached. They caught the tail end of a conversation wherein Satoshi was pointing to the paper and telling Sayuri that he always got bad fortunes in shrines. She told him to just tie the paper on a tree and leave his fate to the Kami.

“Don’t drag me down with your bad fortune,” she said.

“It's eerie, right? With all of the bad luck I get from these shrines, you'd think I'd be long dead by now.” He peered at her Omikuji. "Oh, wow. That's such good fortune."

She nudged him with her elbow. "Does it work if I pick for you?"

"I think Kami doesn't appreciate cheating, but thanks for trying. Akira said to stop believing these things, and I'd sooner believe Akira than any god."

Gojo cleared his throat to catch their attention, and they promptly stopped talking. Sayuri took the Omikuji from him, probably to deal with it later herself, and together, they turned to face Kazuo.

“Mother, father, this is Kazuo, head priest of this shrine and heir to the Iori clan.” He clapped Kazuo on the back and made a sweeping motion towards his parents. “Brother-in-law, these are my parents: Satoshi Gojo, and Lady Sayuri Gojo.”

Satoshi turned his head sideways to stifle his laughter. Lady Sayuri coughed into her fist and mumbled something about an itchy throat. Utahime laughed briefly through her nose and, like Sayuri, had to fake a cough to disguise her amusement. How could she not laugh, though? Kazuo looked like he had just been tricked into participating in a circus. She could tell by the pinch in his brow and the upward tug at the corner of his mouth that was he torn between correcting Gojo and letting it pass. Belatedly, she realized that she was behaving like a Gojo, and tried to put on a more somber face.

Kazuo allowed them the time they needed to compose themselves, and with a deep sigh, he bowed to his parents. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

Satoshi and Sayuri bowed to Kazuo.

“Utahime is a critical part of this operation,” Satoshi said. “We’ll make sure no harm comes to her.”

“I know it’s late, but thank you for stepping up for Miyo and her baby. Your clan’s bravery saved two lives and is proving to be invaluable to our current dilemma,” Sayuri said.

Kazuo studied the two of them a tad bit longer than was polite. “I remember the two of you.”

“I can tell by your disappointment,” Sayuri said.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.” Satoshi held his hand at the level of his hip. “You were only this tall back then.

Kazuo stepped aside and gestured in the direction of his office. “Utahime will help Lady Sayuri get changed into a miko uniform. Please follow me.”

Utahime darted Kazuo a look, but he waved her curiosity away. She was beginning to think, with the way Gojo’s parents referred to her father and brother, that their families had a history they preferred to keep secret. Since neither party wanted to divulge, she could only hope that it wasn’t anything that would impact her relationship with Gojo.

Kazuo left two miko uniforms in his office and stood outside while they got changed. Utahime shrugged off her clothes quickly and put on her kosode and hakama pants at record speed to prevent Sayuri from seeing her bruises. Meanwhile, Sayuri took her time folding her dress shirt, pants, and vest, before slipping on her her kosode over her long camisole. Utahime volunteered to help her, and Sayuri raised her arms just enough to make it easy for Utahime to secure her kosede with strings and the datejime to keep the collar in position. She could tell, with the way Sayuri stood and moved her arms out of the way, that she was used to being dressed by others.

“It’s a bit intricate, but the maidens here will notice if anything’s out of place.” Utahime laid the hakama pants on the floor in a circle and spread the ties outward. “Please step in.”

“Have you always wanted to be a shrine maiden?”

“Yes, I suppose. Mother was a priestess in Tokachi before she married Father. I grew up in a shrine learning rituals and practicing sorcery, so I didn’t have much of an option.” She pulled up the front of the hakama pants once Sayuri was in it. Then she began moving around her to secure the front ties before proceeding with the back.

“You were born to a good family, so I guess keeping the family business alive isn’t much of a burden.”

“For a time, it was, so in middle school, I decided I would either be a pop star or a professional athlete.”

Sayuri chuckled. “Really? Did your family know?”

Utahime made a bow at the front of her hakama pants. “Father said sorcerers were not allowed to become professional athletes, and Kazuo convinced me that I’m not pretty enough to be a pop star, so that was that.”

“Boys can be mean.”

“Kazuo still is,” Utahime whispered.

“Well, at least you had the option to pursue those dreams if you really wanted to. Women from much bigger clans didn’t have that freedom during my time. Miyo defecting would’ve been unheard of.”

“Do you know Miyo personally?”

“No, but she would surely know of me. I make sure the women of our clan are provided for in terms of education and opportunity. She left because he was armed with both. I advocate for this because some of us do not thrive inside clans, and so we must let them go.”

From what little autobiography Gojo and his parents had shared, Utahime could deduce that Sayuri did not have a normal upbringing, hence this strong need to stand up for other women in her clan. She didn’t realize this might be more personal to her than it was to Utahime.

She draped a long, thin shawl over Sayuri’s head. “We make non-sorcerers wear this in their first few days here as a shrine maiden. It helps manage the negative energy they produce.”

Sayuri nodded. She touched her cheek. “Your scar. Does it bother you?”

Utahime mirrored her. The scar beneath her fingers was no longer as rough as it used to be. “Not anymore.”

"Miyo can turn out to be a member of the Sasaki cult. Have you considered that?"

She tried not to. Now and then, she would still have nightmares about the man that sliced her face. There were times in the kitchen when she'd tremble while chopping up meat and vegetables. She had come so close to death on several occasions, but nothing unnerved her as much as that assault did. That they even had to deal with Miyo Yamamoto again made her stomach clench and her palms turn clammy. "I can't change the past regardless of her innocence. Besides, there's still her baby. Her boy had nothing to do with this."

“Exactly. That’s one precious life that could beget so much good in the future. Satoshi once operated on that notion, and because he saved me, Satoru came to be, and he has saved so many lives since,” Sayuri said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Utahime’s throat felt dry and tight, but she managed to say it again, and more convincingly this time. It didn't matter to her how this turned out. She was going to be fine with her scar. She received it because Gojo trusted her and her family to do the right thing, and she wasn’t about to waste his trust.

Akira and Hanabi crossed the torii and waved at them.

Gojo squinted at the pair and hit send on his message to Ijichi. The father-and-daughter tandem were both wearing kimonos, but Gojo knew them well enough to be sure that they were dressed for battle underneath all that. He turned to Satoshi with his eyebrow raised. “What’s this all about?”

“Your mother’s nearly forty, and the bounty on her has been taken down.”

It was like someone shot electricity through his body, and after the initial shock, he felt the first waves of relief crash on him. “Are you sure?"

"Checked and double-checked. They're not interested in her anymore."

"Why are you telling me only now?”

“You know she never made a big deal out of it. Didn’t want you to think that was your fault. Anyway, what are the chances of me getting her pregnant at her age and giving you a sibling, right?” He smiled wanly. “She wanted to celebrate by seeing you in public, but she also wanted to play detective and help you out. That’s what she meant earlier when she said sacrifices had to be made.”

He knew what this meant for Satoshi also. All these years of guarding him and Lady Sayuri to ward off every assassination attempt. Even after he was born, the idea of Lady Sayuri giving birth to more children haunted the sorcery scene. Any sibling Gojo might have could be a possible channel through which the next Six Eyes user would be born in the future. It was no guarantee, but unlike other techniques, the Six Eyes seemed to favor certain bloodlines. Now no one had an incentive to come after them, and Satoshi might finally be able to enjoy a more normal marriage like he always wanted.

Akira and Hanabi stopped in front of them, both tired but alert. Hanabi seemed to deduce at once why Gojo looked so stunned, and she embraced him. "She wants us to go on a family vacation once all of this is over."

"Greece," Akira said. "I told her she should travel Japan first."

Satoshi shooed Hanabi from him. "Boundaries, woman. He's taken."

Hanabi ignored him. “Lady Sayuri and Utahime are meeting with Miyo Yamamoto now?”

"Yeah. They might be gone for about an hour at most," Gojo said.

“Keep guard while they’re inside,” Satoshi told them. He turned to Gojo and placed his hand on his shoulder. “For everybody’s continued peace of mind, though, I’m leaving Akira, Hanabi, and some members of the Fugen here. The two of us have somewhere else to be.”

“Does Lady Sayuri know?”

“Of course. She was actually the one who thought it would be best to have this conversation with Gakuganji without Utahime.”

“I don't follow.”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

Akira made inhaling and exhaling gestures to Satoshi. “Don’t lose your cool with Gakuganji. Remember your mantras.”

Satoshi took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his fingertips held together in front of him. “I find calm within myself. I feel the fear and persist.”

Hanabi rolled her eyes and mouthed the mantras to Gojo, who only grimaced in response. At least now he knew how stressed Satoshi was to be taking up meditation and mantras again. Lady Sayuri may be safe, but the rest of them weren't.

Akira patted both of Satoshi's arms. “Great. Now go get some answers from that old man.”

Gojo found himself repeating those mantras in his head on their drive away from the Iori shrine. They sounded so stupid, but he needed something to anchor his thoughts on as the distance between him and his mother grew. He had been so hard-wired from his childhood to protect Lady Sayuri that leaving her outside of the clan estate, even with Akira, Hanabi, and the Fugen to protect her, seemed to knock the wind out of him.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just wait for them?” he asked.

“She’ll be fine." But he fumbled with the stereo to blast spa music in the car. "It’s hard on me too, but your mother can’t be a prisoner her entire life, even to our fears.”

“Right.” Gojo replaced his sunglasses with his blindfold to avoid agitating his stress further with the sensory overload of the Six Eyes. “Do you mind telling me what this is about now?”

They made a sharp turn at the end of the road, making the wheels screech. Gojo volunteered to drive, but Satoshi refused to relinquish the steering wheel. “You’ve said it multiple times before—Suguru Getou doesn’t need those curses. Not for offensive purposes, anyway. Still, it doesn’t make sense why he leaves them behind.”

Gojo didn’t want to say it, but he had to be forthright after the last mission. “It’s beginning to look like a trap."

"That's what I think too."

"But it’s not like we can leave the curses behind.”

“Do you think they want to get rid of Utahime?”

“What?” He paused to consider it. “There are easier ways to do that if they simply want to eliminate competition. What even makes you say that?”

“Intuition. If Utahime can’t control the tamed curses, then each mission is us facing a great chance of being buried alive in some abandoned establishment. It’s a good way to get rid of their only pursuers without actively engaging us in battle, don’t you think?”

So that was why he didn’t want Utahime in this meeting with Gakuganji. “I can be there in every mission. Gakuganji has the power to influence my assignments. Yaga knows I’m hunting down Suguru, and he would have no problem taking missions on my behalf. It won’t feel so doomed if I’m around.”

“Satoru.”

“What?”

“Utahime still has to master her technique. From a sorcerer’s perspective, do you think she can actually do it?”

He recalled the way she lost control of the curse in the mall, the strain on Akira to keep the roof from caving in on them, and the lighthearted manner Satoshi dismissed an incident that would’ve normally irked him. But they didn’t have a choice. Utahime had to reclaim the curses, or else Gakuganji might not give them the other locations and therefore prevent them from zeroing in on Suguru.

Besides, Utahime always put duty before honor. She would be the first to say if this technique was beyond her abilities to master. Perhaps she just needed more time and practice. Maybe there was a way he could help her unlock her true potential.

“Yes,” Gojo said. “She’s not as weak as people think she is.”

“Good. Because I have a proposition to make to Gakuganji.”

Chapter Text

The servants' quarters sat at the very back of the shrine, adjacent to the living quarters of the shrine maidens, priests, and other staff that the Iori employed for each of their properties. Since Jujutsu shrines did not operate exactly the way normal Shinto shrines did, the servants were necessary helping hands to cook meals and take on the grubbier tasks around the place. Utahime explained to Sayuri that Miyo earned her keep as a servant and was not allowed to leave the shrine except for medical emergencies that the maidens could not handle themselves.

“There’s a massive kitchen inside, and most cleaning and maintenance tools are stored here as well,” Utahime said as she stepped out of her geta in the entryway of the servants' quarters. The space smelled of cleaning agents, incense, and a variety of spices. “It’s more practical space-wise, and it saves time for the servants.”

They climbed the stairs at the end of the narrow corridor and were greeted by a row of half-open doors. Large expanses of blank walls separated the first two doors, whereas the third door sat right next to the second, and the pattern repeated itself down the corridor. Utahime guessed that these were the same as the servants’ quarters in their primary shrine, with each room having two doors at both ends.

Kazuo had instructed Miyo to stay in her room, which should be the fourth one from the stairs, but now she wasn’t sure if he actually meant the fourth door or the actual fourth room.

Utahime motioned for Sayuri to stay behind her as she peered inside the fourth door on a hunch. Inside sat a woman in the middle of her bed, dazed and fiddling with her thumbs. She looked like she was in her early thirties, pretty like all Gojo women, but skinny and worn out. Utahime had seen photos of her son through Kazuo, and the boy unfortunately looked nothing like his mother.

When Utahime pushed the door wider, she jumped and scrambled to her feet.

“Miyo Yamamoto?”

“Y-yes?”

Utahime was about to introduce herself when Miyo fell to her knees. It was as though someone had dropped a boulder on her, and now she lay prostrate on the ground, trembling. Utahime only realized why when she noticed that Sayuri had stepped into the room as well.

“Please don’t do that,” Sayuri said. “Up now.”

Miyo refused. She kept her forehead pressed to the floor, her voice shaking so much that her litany of apologies came out unintelligible.

Utahime turned to Sayuri, not knowing what to do. Kazuo had summoned all of the servants to his office, but that didn’t mean they had the luxury of time. In thirty minutes, the servants would return, and one of them might come in here and find them.

If Miyo remained in that manic state, then their visit would have been for nothing.

Just when she was about to make a suggestion, Sayuri knelt in front of Miyo and slapped her across the face. This silenced Miyo at once, and she looked up at them with much clearer eyes.

“I don’t normally use violence, but I dearly need you to be cooperative, and to be quite frank, crying in front of someone you don’t know is rude.” Sayuri dusted her hakama pants as she stood. “Well, I suppose you were crying because you know me. Rest assured, I’m not here to punish you. I just want to talk.”

Utahime spotted a pitcher of water nearby and poured her a glass. “There’s no need to be afraid. We’re here to help you and your little boy.”

Miyo stared at Utahime. Her shoulders heaved with each shallow breath. “That scar.”

Utahime handed her the glass. “I’m Master Iori’s daughter. It’s nice to meet you.”

Miyo reached blindly for the bed behind her and pulled herself up on the edge. She took the glass from Utahime but simply set it on the floor. “I don’t understand. What do you want from me? Is my son okay? Are my parents…?”

“Let me get straight to the point," Sayuri said, her voice hushed but commanding. “Our clan is pursuing a powerful sorcerer, and Daiki Kamo may have been in service of the organization that this sorcerer is now leading. Do you follow?”

Miyo nodded.

“And you were a part of this organization.”

Miyo paled. She shook her head frantically.

“Really? Didn’t you kill Daiki Kamo because he was not doing what this organization was telling him to do?” Sayuri glanced at Utahime conspiratorially. “Isn’t it safe to call that organization a cult?”

“No,” she gasped. “I can’t. You’re wrong. If I tell you, they might know, and then they’ll come for me and my son.”

“All evidence points to you being involved in that cult. If we make our findings public, then you and your son are no longer safe. Even your parents. The Gojo clan will have to step back or else be accused of being traitors to the Jujutsu World.”

Miyo fell to her knees again and clung to Sayuri’s hands. "I didn’t plead for my life during the mediation because I knew they would come for me anyway. Everyday, I wait for them to come. It’s difficult living in dread like this. I had done my part. I saved my child the only way I knew how.  The moment I realized that he was participating in some cult and that my pregnancy was a part of his plans, I killed him right away. You have to believe me. I would never involve myself in illegal Jujutsu activities.”

“How did you know about the cult then?” Utahime asked.

“He drugged me. Sometimes, I would wake up aching all over, and I wouldn’t remember what happened. I thought at first that I simply got drunk and passed out. But there was this one time that I woke up and I was surrounded by people in white robes while Daiki was…” She tried to continue, but sounded instead like she was choking. Unable to get the words out, she patted her body.

Nausea pooled in Utahime’s stomach, but she did her best to hide her discomfort. Getting drugged and sexually assaulted in a circle of cult members would make any woman kill her partner.

“It was vague, though. I have a memory of it, but it’s not that clear. I’m just sure that it happened. When it was over, I heard them say something like a blood maiden protecting me, and then they left. I found out I was pregnant soon after, and then I killed Daiki. I had to kill him. He was beating me up, and I knew. Somehow, I just knew that letting him live would put me and my baby in danger. Before he died, he said that they would come for us. I thought at first it would be Kamo. They did come for me, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that there would be others. Now you’ve just confirmed it to me. Daiki was part of a cult.” She clutched the front of her uniform and took a shaky breath. “I did the right thing. I’m not crazy after all.”

Utahime couldn’t read Sayuri’s expression, and that worsened the anxiety singing in her veins  Sayuri had warned her not to be so trusting, and that they had to take everything with a grain of salt. But whether Miyo was lying about her involvement with the cult was not the issue. What they needed to confirm was the existence of the Sasaki, and so far, all of her recollections matched with the Sasaki’s known practices.

The implications careened around Utahime’s mind to the point of making her dizzy. How long had the Sasaki been active? How many defectors had they indoctrinated into their ideology? She thought of Noritoshi Kamo in their Kyoto estate before the mediation. His young noble face and erect posture and the way he articulated his thoughts.

It’s very rare these days to find loyal subordinates like you.

“Miyo, what made you think the Kamo is separate from the cult?” Utahime asked.

She opened and closed her mouth as she gathered her thoughts. Finally, she shrugged and said, “They wanted my baby dead. It’s a gut feeling. It’s like you just know when something’s going to hurt your baby.”

“The Kamo can’t be involved.” Utahime forced to a halt the questions circling in her head. Daiki Kamo may be involved, but that didn’t mean the entire Kamo clan was. She couldn’t just jump to conclusions like this. Besides, her father wouldn’t have gone against the Kamo if their own clan had any ties with the Sasaki.

A thought crystalized in her mind, so sharp and vivid that it was almost jarring.

Why just the Gakuganji? Didn’t it make sense for the Sasaki to make contact with the Iori too?

Sayuri squinted at her—maybe in quiet reprimand or in an effort to read her mind—before turning back to Miyo to take charge of the interrogation once more. “Are there any names you remember? Friends of Daiki’s? Ex-girlfriends? Places he frequented?”

Miyo touched her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Oh! There’s this man called—”

The door at the far end of the room creaked open and hit the wall, cutting Miyo short. A shrine maiden stepped in. She was new. Utahime had never seen her before. Miyo bowed and asked her what she was doing there.

“Is there anything you need, Miss Izumi?”

Utahime pulled Miyo back. It was faint, but she could sense something off about Izumi’s cursed energy. “Izumi?” she called.

Izumi turned to face them, her gaze vacant and her jaws slack. Slowly, her eyes came into focus, as if waking up, and her fingers shot out beside her like claws.

“Stay behind me!” Utahime pushed Sayuri and Miyo to the corner of the room as Izumi lunged toward them. Utahime charged forward to meet her halfway, ducking just in time to avoid colliding with the arm that Izumi thrashed at her. She grabbed Izumi by the collar and kicked the edge of the bed to propel them both towards the closet. Izumi slammed against the wood, sending shards flying in every direction at the impact. Spit and blood sprayed from Izumi’s mouth, but no sooner had she collided with the cabinet than she grabbed Utahime’s shoulders and swung her to the floor.

Utahime’s vision darkened at the searing pain that blossomed below her rib. Something had pierced her, but she didn’t have time to find out what. She clutched hard at Izumi’s kosode, rolled to her upper back, and kicked. Izumi shot to the other side of the room and skidded across the desk before falling to the floor. Papers burst into the air and floated down in swaying motions.

Utahime had just raised her head when she sensed another presence in the corridor. A kitchen knife whizzed in the air and straight into the phone in Sayuri’s hand, making her drop it. Utahime sprang up and seized the broken cabinet door. Another shrine maiden dashed towards Sayuri and Miyo, but Utahime was faster. She pitched the cabinet door and struck the wall to create a division between the woman and this new maiden.

“Ume?” Utahime whispered. She knew this girl. She had trained under Utahime just a year ago.

Too late to slow down, Ume kicked the wood and somersaulted back to the door.

Footsteps sounded behind Utahime. She dropped to her knees and saw Izumi’s fist flash above her, so fast and firm that she could feel the force of her punch on her skin. Utahime swiveled on the floor and made contact with Izumi’s ankle. On her way down, Utahime whirled again and her elbow connected with Izumi’s jaw. The momentum flung Utahime towards the bed, where she bounced to her knees and tossed a pillow at Miyo to block the knife that Ume hurled at her.

Sayuri snatched the blade and gave Miyo the pillow to shield herself with.

Just then, Ume kicked the closet door down and dove straight for Miyo.

Pain flared along Utahime's side, crippling her for two precious seconds. In a last-ditch attempt to save Miyo, Utahime grabbed the pitcher of water and launched it at Ume.

Behind her, Izumi had sprung up again. Utahime heard the high-pitched sound of the glass shattering just as Izumi caught her by the bangs. Utahime shrieked and felt the beginning of tears in her eyes. Izumi yanked Utahime backward, and with her free hand pushed her face into the mattress to smother her.

Miyo screamed.

Utahime rolled to the side with all of her strength and yelped as hair ripped from her scalp. Through squinted eyes, she slid across the next bed and dragged a blanket along with her. Ume was now holding Miyo up by the neck. Wrestling the knife away from Sayuri, Ume stabbed Miyo deep in her stomach once. Twice. Sayuri snagged a desk lamp and smashed it against Ume’s head to little effect.

Utahime was about to leap over to them when Izumi grabbed her by the ankle mid-jump. She crashed on another bed, and as she recoiled from the impact, she finally saw it—the piece of wood stuck to her side.

Sayuri hit the wall and slid to the ground. Ume plucked the blade from Miyo’s body and drew her hand back to stab her again.

Utahime removed the wood from her flesh and swung backward, stabbing Izumi in the shoulder with it. Izumi collapsed, her face utterly blank, and grasped at the wood. Utahime noted this anomalous reaction but had no time to ponder it. She had no time to ponder any of her next actions. Her body moved on its own, deciding based on years of training which attacks would increase her chances of winning. Despite the warning bells ringing in her ears, she performed two hand seals and activated her technique. Her cursed energy flooded the room and struck the two shrine maidens like blasts of icy waves, the effect ebbing and flowing as it fought the shrine's curse-limiting seals.

Ume and Izumi collapsed to the ground, scratching at their necks and wheezing, but their expressions remained lifeless. It was as if the muscles in their faces were constricted, and only their bodies remembered how to respond to pain.

Utahime bounded off the beds to reach Sayuri and Miyo. Already, her decision to use a cursed technique was backfiring, and she could feel her muscles humming from the strain. The curse-limiting seals in the shrine not only prevented techniques from being used to full capacity but also activated an ulterior seal that crippled the sorcerers within a certain range of where the technique was used.

She stumbled to the ground and crawled to Miyo, who was crying in pain and pressing down on her stab wound. Sayuri wiped her bleeding nose and ripped the sleeve of her kosode to wrap around Miyo’s waist.

“They’re moving!” Sayuri hissed, her eyes darting back and forth Ume and Izumi.

Utahime turned around and cussed under her breath. Everything stung. Her vision appeared cracked, and her head throbbed. Taking a deep breath, she muttered to herself that she knew this. Fighting with minimal cursed energy and working against the pull of the curse-limiting seals had been a part of her training growing up.

While holding the kitchen knife to the struggling shrine maidens, Utahime fished in her pocket and slid her phone across the floor to Sayuri.

“Call backup.”

“I don’t wanna die,” Miyo whimpered. “Please. I don’t wanna die!”

Ume and Izumi, with drool spilling from their mouths and blood oozing from their cuts, charged again. Utahime used her shortest hand seal to boost her output, and with the surge of fresh cursed energy flooding her bloodstream, she struck them both in the chest and neck at immense speed and kicked them away from the door.

The two women crashed against the nearest bed, the impact so powerful that it sent them and the rest of the beds skidding to the other end of the room. When the dust settled and plaster stopped raining on them from the ceiling, the large gap in the middle of the room showed cracked floorboardss littered with wood splinters, glass shards, and streaks of blood.

Sayuri half carried Miyo to her feet. “Out?”

Utahime checked the corridors and beckoned them over. "I don't sense anyone else."

“Akira’s on his way here."

The sound of the door slamming open on the ground floor made them stop. Two sets of footsteps thundered from both ends of the corridor, growing louder and louder with each second. Utahime stood sideways with her arms spread out, anticipating another enemy.

Akira appeared on one end of the corridor and Hanabi on the other. Utahime urged Sayuri and Miyo in Hanabi’s direction and motioned to Akira inside the room. They had to detain the two shrine maidens and get answers. Were they a part of the Sasaki cult? Were they targeting Miyo only, or was Sayuri in their sights as well?

Utahime had just stepped back into the room when she saw Ume and Izumi on their feet again, standing in front of her with steak knives held up to their necks. Their lips tugged upward in a bright smile, finally breaking their vacant masks. “May the Blood Maiden protect you, Utahime-sama.”

Blood splattered on Utahime. Ume and Izumi fell face-first on the floor with blood spurting from their neck wounds. Akira entered the room through the other door and stopped. After a second, he rushed to Utahime and pulled her into the corridor.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t kill them.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the two women. The blood seeped into their hair and their kosode, and soon it looked like they were covered entirely in red.

Ume, her face ashen and the whites of her eyes now a deep pink, turned her head to keep staring at Utahime.

What the hell just happened?

“So you believe they want Utahime dead?”

“She’s competition. Without her, our party has no way to deal with the tamed curses except to exorcise them, and even that’s a suicide mission. We’ll be buried alive in the attempt.”

“I can tell Kusakabe to cover for Utahime’s classes while she trains with the Fugen. As per Satoru Gojo’s missions, there’s nothing we can do about those that are already assigned to him in the system.” Gakuganji’s pen flew across the page in bold strokes before turning the document over to the growing pile on the edge of his desk. He pointed his pen at Gojo. “Finish your roster and I’ll lessen the load on your plate.”

“That’s the least you can do, old man.”

“Satoshi, your son.”

Satoshi reclined on his seat and swung his arm over the backrest. “Satoru, be respectful and all that.”

“Hang on, uncle sent a text.” Gojo checked his phone. He squinted at it.

“What’s that?” Satoshi peered at the screen.

“I think he just sat on his phone. This is keysmash.” He texted his uncle to ask if everything was alright in the Iori shrine just to be sure. Calling would’ve been quicker, but if they were in trouble, then a ringing phone was an unwelcome distraction.

Gojo exchanged a glance with Satoshi. Besides, what could happen while they were away?

Gakuganji leaned back on his leather chair with a sigh, his hands folded over his stomach and his gaze lingering on the ceiling. “If your investigation led you to the same conclusion as mine, then it’s safe to say the Sasaki is alive and well. Certain concerns lie in our path, however. The Sasaki has deep roots. Worst case scenario is that those roots have infiltrated HQ.”

Gojo checked his phone again. Lady Sayuri and Utahime should be done interrogating Miyo by now. They could even be on their way here. “If it has, then they could be monitoring what you know. You’re the first threat to them since you’re the most knowledgeable about the matter.”

“I’ve filed a case to have my children placed in the Bingo Book. We will know more depending on how HQ responds to this.”

“Being in the Bingo Book will make it harder for them to move around. Do you think they’ll delay it or request further proof?”

“Delaying it will make them look guilty. After all, Ryousuke being accomplices with Suguru Getou is incriminating enough.”

Gojo crossed his arms and legs as he mulled over this. “Suguru doesn’t need Ryousuke and Himari. If the Sasaki worships curses, then he would be like a god to them with his technique. He can do what the Blood Maiden does more simply and effectively.”

“If the cult has simply been revived, then yes, Suguru Getou wouldn’t need them. However, if the Sasaki has been active this entire time, then he would need the acknowledgment of Ryousuke and Himari—descendants of the Blood Maiden herself,” Satoshi said.

Gakuganji stroked his beard as he nodded his agreement. “Quite right. The Sasaki was heavily invested in rituals. They need a connection with their founders. Hence the tamed curses.”

A guttural meowing erupted from Gojo’s pocket, making Gakuganji grimace. Gojo made a show of picking up his phone and accepting the call. “Yes, uncle?”

“Don’t panic, but we’ve been attacked in the shrine.”

He straightened up in his chair. “Is—"

“Lady Sayuri wasn’t the target. It was Miyo. Utahime defended them both. Miyo got stabbed but is in stable condition now. Utahime has minor injuries. We’re heading straight to you now. Kazuo will medicate and relocate Miyo. Worse comes to worse, she’s willing to testify about the Sasaki cult. We have all the confirmation we need now and so much more if they’re starting to reveal themselves.”

Gojo turned to Satoshi, who looked like he was ready to burst out of the Gakuganji shrine at Gojo’s signal. As soon as Akira dropped the call, Gojo relayed to them the news. Satoshi leaped from his seat at once and exited the room. When Gojo hesitated to go after him, Gakuganji pointed at the door with his cane. “Well? Go and see if he’s alright.”

Gojo glanced at the open door before turning back to Gakuganji. “Just so we’re clear, old man, you have rapport with my parents, but not with me. I don’t trust you.”

Gakuganji picked up his pen and resumed signing documents. “Good. You shouldn’t. If the Sasaki is back, then you can trust no one.”

Gojo gave him one last look before marching after Satoshi. He agreed with Lady Sayuri that Gakuganji was being strategic in choosing what information he divulged to them. They all wanted answers fast, but bias would’ve been their biggest disadvantage. What the eye looked for, it would see, and any mistake driven by desperation would’ve pushed them farther away from Suguru.

Still, there was something about Gakuganji’s behavior that irked him. Self-preservation was normal, but he worried that they were being played to their complete and utter detriment. Or was it just the fact that Gakuganji was willing to sacrifice all of them as pawns for his clan’s benefit, and the one to suffer the most was likely Utahime?

Gojo found Satoshi at the bottom of the stone staircase, standing just beyond the first torii. He stood next to him, not quite sure what to say. The attack had not been directed at his mother, and even if they had stayed, they could not have prevented it. Still, Gojo felt a pang of shame and regret that Lady Sayuri was exposed to danger like that.

He looked up at his father’s stern face. Gojo couldn’t say he knew how Satoshi felt, but the anxiety that radiated off him seemed familiar enough. He had spent all of these years worrying that one mission would take Utahime away from him, and now that they were finally together, there was a bigger threat looming over their lives.

“The Iori shrine is compromised,” Gojo said, mainly to distract his father from his worries.

“By the looks of it.”

“If the Sasaki has been active this entire time, then who’s to say there aren’t cult members in our clan right now?”

“That’s always a possibility. Like your mother said, the Sasaki liked to turn family members against one another. If it worked before, they're unlikely to change tactics now.”

“I mean, who in our team knew about the visit to Miyo?”

Satoshi finally faced him. “Couldn’t it be that someone in the shrine was watching her?”

“Then why wait an entire year after the mediation to kill her?” Gojo asked. “If the Sasaki were simply concerned about her ratting them out, then they could’ve killed her much earlier and staged it as a suicide.”

Satoshi fell silent. The car came into view in the distance, rising from the horizon as a small dot and growing bigger by the second. “The only ones who knew were me, your mother, your uncle, and Hanabi. Unless you’re willing to suspect Kazuo?”

“No.” Gojo kept his eyes fixed on the car. He could make out Hanabi and Akira through the windshield. “Kazuo would never betray his family like that. The Sasaki chose to reveal themselves now and make it easier for us to confirm their existence. There’s something we’re not seeing.”

The car pulled up in front of them. Satoshi opened the door and Lady Sayuri stepped out, cool and collected despite her pallid complexion and startled face. Gojo wanted to hold her tight to express his relief but found himself too flustered to approach her. He was still trying to get used to her being physically accessible to him, and it felt like he had pushed his luck enough today.

“I’m fine,” she said at once. “I have a headache, but I’m fine. Utahime defended us well.”

Akira stepped out and watched them from above the roof of the car. “Hanabi checked her, Satoshi. She might have a concussion, but that’s all.”

Satoshi acted like he heard neither of them. He inspected her as though he was a medical professional, turning her head this way and that and asking what else hurt. While placating him, Lady Sayuri made eye contact with Gojo and gestured with her elbow to the car. Gojo understood at once and slipped inside to see Utahime, who was reclined in the backseat with an ice pack on her head.

Gojo lifted the ice pack slowly. “Let me see.”

Utahime scrunched up her face in pain. “Hair got pulled out.”

“I don’t see any cute bald spot.” He lowered the ice pack and glanced over his shoulder at Hanabi. She pointed at her own rib, and Gojo moved Utahime’s arm to peer at her side. “Knife?”

Utahime grunted and raised her shirt enough to show her bandaged side. Patches of dried blood stained the bandages, intermixed bright red dots. “Wood splinter. None of my injuries hurt that much. I’m just recovering from using a cursed technique in our shrine.”

That made sense. Doing that was like creating a river in a desert. He scraped the thin line of dried blood off her jaw. “Thank you for protecting my mother.”

Utahime placed her hand on the side of his face. “The shrine maidens that attacked us….they weren’t themselves, Gojo.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was so subtle that I almost missed it, but they were both sorcerers, and there was something foreign infused with their cursed energy that I couldn’t quite distinguish. None of my blows caused any of the normal physical reactions you’d expect from the average person, even with their training. They’re both grade three sorcerers at best.”

Hanabi chimed in. “We’ve asked Shoko to come down and perform an autopsy to verify this. Kazuo will investigate the two shrine maidens.”

“You’re sure they’re Sasaki?”

Utahime ran her finger across her throat. “Killed themselves in front of me and said that Blood Maiden blessing.”

Gojo picked a strand of her hair that had stiffened with blood. “So that’s why you reek.”

She slapped his knee and proceeded to make her way out of the car. “I’ll report to Gakuganji.”

From the windshield, Gojo watched as Satoshi came up to Utahime and patted her shoulder. His hand gestures hinted that he was asking after her injuries, which she waved off in usual Utahime fashion. Gojo couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was no doubt along the lines of not owing her anything and simply doing her job.

Gojo leaned forward in the space between the two front seats. “Hana, call Kazuo and tell him to check the perimeter of the shrine for residuals. They should also sweep the sacred forest just in case.”

“Done and done. Kazuo also closed off the shrine for the remainder of the day. The rest of his staff are being investigated.” She turned on her seat to face him, her expression grim. “He has no choice but to report this to his father. One way or another, the entire Iori clan will be sucked into this. You might want to prepare Utahime for that.”

“She’s protective of her family, but that doesn’t mean she’s unrealistic.”

“I’m just concerned at the rate that this is blowing up. First, we have the Gakuganji, and now the Iori’s in the picture too. It’s like the Sasaki wants a family reunion.”

A knock on the roof of the car stole their attention, and they exited to join Satoshi, Sayuri, and Akira in their small huddle.

When Gojo asked his mother about the incident, she, too, was convinced that something was off with their assailants. They had a certain absence in their expressions and a lack of normal response to pain that made them appear drugged or hypnotized.

Satoshi wrapped his arm around her back when she shivered at the recollection. “No more detective work outside the estate for now, okay?”

“They were pulling their punches," she continued to say.

“On Utahime?”

“I’ve watched the Fugen spar and fight real battles before. It was like they were trying to get her out of the way with as minimal injury as possible. Most of Utahime’s wounds are from her resisting them or falling on splinters and shards. Don’t misunderstand—Utahime is a skilled combatant. But the fight earlier could’ve easily been a lot bloodier in my opinion.”

Gojo borrowed Satoshi’s car so he could drive home with Utahime. Once Utahime had confirmed her upcoming training with the Fugen and they had all said their goodbyes, he drove her to a restaurant to get takeout and brought her straight to her apartment.

He knew this wasn’t the worst condition Utahime had been in after a fight, and that her injuries weren’t as serious as they looked, but he couldn’t help the way he felt about them. It was as though each cut and bruise were mirrored in his body and exacerbated. That was how much it hurt to see her this way. If he could take all of her aches for real, he would. It would be more tolerable than seeing her bite back sobs and clench her fists to cope with the pain.

Still, he knew he was being impractical. This was the reality for most sorcerers, and Utahime probably saw this as another normal day in her life. The last thing he wanted to do was pester her about her injuries, because she could easily mistake it for him belittling her.

Perhaps this was one of the reasons he held back on loving her for so long. A part of him still hated feeling this way. Feeling out of control. If he could call the shots without question, he’d put her out of the picture altogether. Secure the locations himself and exorcise Gakuganji’s tamed curses. Maybe even duel the old man and break her binding vow.

Utahime must’ve sensed the shift in his mood because she kept asking if he was alright. She held his hand on the way up to her apartment and said she was contemplating ordering more food to replenish her energy. But at this rate, wouldn’t she just get fat? She laughed at her own suggestion. When he didn’t laugh with her, she rolled her eyes and busied herself with cleaning up in the bathroom.

He didn't mean to be upset. He just was. Incidents that put Utahime and his family in danger made him question the point of being the strongest. What good was he if he could not end the hunt for Suguru and spare them from his curse?

Gojo boiled water in the electric kettle and prepared the mugs and the tea leaves on the counter. While the water gurgled in the kettle, he fetched the bento boxes in the living room and gave in to his hunger. Utahime wouldn’t mind that he was eating first, right?

He had already taken three bites when he saw her reflection in the mirror through the half-open bathroom door. Her bruises from the day before had faded, but they were replaced by new ones blossoming in purples and black. With a hiss, she undid the dressing around her waist and inspected her wound, which Hanabi had stitched close. The area around it was still an angry red, and Utahime looked dismayed at the sight of it.

By now she had accumulated a variety of scars all over her body, some of them prominent like the one from their joint mission in high school, and others simply white lines that were only visible on close inspection.

She lifted her gaze and caught him staring through the mirror. After a beat, she poked her head out of the door. “Hey, pervert.”

Gojo bit off a large portion of tempura and spoke with his mouth full. “Yeah?”

“You know what my sexiest fantasy of you is?”

He wagged his chopsticks in the air. “No sexy time for you, young lady. You’re injured.”

“I’ve always imagined it would be nice to have you wash my hair.”

Gojo blinked at her several times. “Really?”

“I can’t lift my arm anyway. My stitches might open.”

Gojo put down his bento box and rolled up his sleeves and jeans. “I’m coming!”

Ten minutes later, Gojo was sitting on the edge of the tub with his back to the wall, rubbing shampoo on her scalp and watching the lather slide down her bare back. Hints of red colored the suds and the water that swirled down the drain. Utahime kept her head tipped back to prevent the shampoo from entering her eyes, and from his vantage point, Gojo noticed a semblance of peace in her face.

He may have an idea why Utahime fantasized about this.

How many times had she gone home with an injury that made bathing alone difficult? Did she sometimes just give up and collapsed on her bed, muddied and bloodied without anyone to take care of her? He never really knew how that felt, because in the time before he learned RCT, Shoko had been there to heal his wounds. If he was too tired to move after his mission, Suguru would drag him under the shower and lock him in the bathroom until he was clean.

Gojo finished rinsing her hair and turned the shower off. Then he slid down the tub and wrapped his legs around hers. He leaned on her back and let his chin rest on her shoulder. Utahime squeaked in surprise but soon relaxed in his embrace.

"Your clothes are gonna get wet."

"They're already wet."

“Gojo?”

“I’m recharging. Don’t tell me to go.”

“They called me ‘Utahime-sama’.”

Gojo brushed aside her wet tresses to see her face. “Who did?”

“Ume and Izumi. The two shrine maidens who attacked us earlier.” She pulled her legs closer to her chest. “Before they slit their throats, they told me the Blood Maiden blessing and called me ‘Utahime-sama.’”

“Don’t they call you that in your shrines?”

“Jokingly, and in formal situations maybe, but…I can’t explain it. Something about the way they addressed me before they killed themselves was just unsettling.”

“Utahime, were they pulling their punches?”

“What?”

“Lady Sayuri said they looked like they were trying to get you out of the way, but not intentionally hurt you.” He spread the bath towel around her to stop her shivering. “Of course, she’s no expert but—”

“—yes, it did feel that way. I mean, they put up a fight, but there were so many instances wherein they could’ve done worse to me.” She turned around so she was facing him, her hands holding the large towel in place over her naked body. “Gojo, your ongoing theory is that they want me dead along with the rest of you and the Fugen. They had so many chances earlier. By myself, fighting the two of them would’ve been a simple affair. But with Miyo and your mother as hostages, I would’ve caved in. If they truly wanted to, I could be dead by now. And if it’s you they’re worried about, well, we don’t even know where they’re hiding.”

Gojo grabbed another towel and squeezed strands of her hair with it. He patted her face gently until it was dry and moved down to her neck, then her shoulders. He dropped the towel and kissed her lips. She pulled him closer by the collar, her mouth opening wide against his to deepen their kiss until they were both flushed and breathless. Once they broke away, he held her face with both hands, looked her in the eyes, and said, “You’re with me now. They can't do this to you again.”

After all, Suguru must know that Gojo would raise hell for her.

Chapter Text

At least before they became a couple, there were few options for distractions when they had to talk about something difficult.

If Gojo didn’t want to continue a conversation, he might resort to triggering her temper or blocking out her voice completely. She could tell when he was no longer listening because his eyes turned vacant and he tended to move the corners of his lips the same way he did when he couldn’t decide which dessert to order.

In one of their late-night conversations some months prior, he admitted that he fixated on sweets when he was stressed. Like a pastry chef assembling a complex dessert, he would imagine a dessert and take the time to notice the colors and textures he remembered, as well as the varying scents it gave off and the nuances of its taste. He then added with a laugh that by the time he finished this mental exercise, she was usually done with her scolding too.

There were also instances wherein they left conversations unfinished until his next phone call from Tokyo or his return to Kyoto. She had learned by then not to insist if he resisted, and he, in turn, made sure to broach the topic again sooner rather than later. This way, they could avoid arguing and settle the matter once and for all.

That seemed to change now that sex was in the equation.

Twice now, on the first of the two days they had for themselves while the Fugen worked on securing a new location and Shoko was scheduled to arrive in Kyoto, he had interrupted her attempts at a serious conversation by making out with her. Penetration was out of the question given her injury, but both of them had too much restless energy from their recent endeavors to be satisfied with anything less than an orgasm. So, after negotiating a position on the kitchen counter, Gojo fingered her while she gave him a hand job.

Now it was evening, and somewhere in the conversation that Utahime insisted on having with him, he sat her on the edge of the bed and began eating her out.

A part of her wanted to stop him, but she also worried about pushing him too hard. She sensed that the incident with the shrine maidens got to him more than he let on, and that was the reason she wanted to have a sit down with him in the first place. More and more incidents like this were bound to happen, and they had to discuss how they wanted to handle this as a couple.

And then there was Shoko.

How were they going to tell her that they were hunting down Getou?

Utahime might not have felt such urgency if not for Gojo's strange behavior lately. Between quibbling over the stupidest things like her beer consumption and his dishwashing habits were long stretches of tense silence that involved him looking somewhat murderous.

She would catch him sitting on the couch with his leg up, picking at the skin of his lower lip while staring at the wall clock as if it offended him. Or else he would be standing in the kitchen, glowering at the kettle as he waited for the water to boil for his afternoon tea.

For all his frantic energy and teasing in public, he was quite introverted in private. The shift would be so drastic sometimes that it felt like a switch turned off inside him as soon as he entered her apartment, and the more she got to know him, the more unnerved she became. The level of vulnerability Gojo was willing to show her made her doubt her ability to support him, because it wasn’t as though he was simply having a hard time in the office like a regular working adult.

Gojo was a young man who had no choice but to carry the burden of the Jujutsu World and the safety of the entire country by himself, because he had to somehow kill his best friend before his best friend killed them all.

Utahime wanted them to figure this out together, but that was not what they were doing.

Now, as he licked and sucked between her legs while holding her thighs firmly over his shoulders, the only thing they seemed to be figuring out was each other’s sexual preferences. This was part of a healthy relationship, yes, but she wondered whether indulging him like this would result in a bad coping mechanism. Sure, sex helped, but they had to talk. They needed to take this brief interlude of rest to process the implications of hunting down Getou before they got thrown into the fray again.

Gojo tightened his hold on her when she started rolling her hips, preventing her from moving too violently as the sensations in her belly surged. The muscles along her backside tightened, and she changed angles slightly until he was hitting the right spot.

She didn’t realize she liked oral sex until he went down on her, and now she knew she would be asking for this every time she was too injured for penetration. The lewd sounds of him licking and moving his digits in and out of her gave way to dry moans erupting from her throat, but also to fresh pain searing across her bandaged waist.

Gojo lifted his head briefly to check her wound before continuing as before, but now with the intention to bring her to climax. Of course he got his way. When she came, her body snapped rigid with tension for two sweet seconds before the waves of pleasure made her grind her hips artlessly against the mattress.

Helpless little sounds escaped her, and she was still writhing on the bed when he climbed on top of her and began pumping himself over her breasts. Strong thighs peppered with coarse hair trapped her in place, and she couldn’t help but squeeze them as she watched him. There was an aggressiveness in his movements and a certain rawness in his groans that made him look desperate for release. She cupped his balls, and his hips bucked so hard that he almost fell over her. It didn’t take long for him to come after that, and when he did, hot white liquid spilled over her bare chest and down to her neck. He stroked his length until he had softened, and then he got off the bed to fetch a towel.

She lay there, barely able to move as his cum pooled in the spot between her collarbones. Gojo had asked her permission to do that while he was giving her hickeys on the inside of her thighs, and while the experience was more arousing than she imagined, it still felt a little weird.

Not a bad kind of weird, but an ‘aha’ moment kind of weird, if there was such a thing. Maybe he wasn’t trying to avoid the topic and was just seriously horny. They were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship—if she was willing to overlook the life-and-death situation they were in—and Gojo might just be letting loose. She knew he thrived on physical contact, and the months they spent avoiding intimacy could have led to him fixating on sex.

Or maybe he was just being a man.

Utahime groaned inwardly, and she peered at the cooling trail of semen on her chest. What if she was wrong, though? His eagerness felt driven by stress, and she would hate for him to use sex to cope.

Gojo returned from the bathroom, leaned over her, and kissed her mouth while wiping her chest with a damp towel. Slowly, his hand lowered to her injured side. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit, but that was better than painkillers.”

He grinned against her lips. “Thought so.”

“Gojo, are you okay?”

His smile faded, and he studied her face. “Yeah. Why?”

“A lot’s happening, and I just…you feel a bit aloof.”

“We’ve been talking all day.”

“Sure, but you seem withdrawn somehow.” Utahime stretched on the bed and wrinkled her nose. She was always too tired after sex to think clearly. “I don’t know how to explain it. But you get it, don’t you?”

Gojo lay down next to her and pulled her into an embrace. “You think I feel alone after what we’ve been doing?”

She slapped his arm, leaving a deep red handprint on his pale skin. “You know what I meant!”

“Ah! Your violent kink is showing!”

“Stop accusing me of that!”

They wrestled a little on the bed, grunting and laughing at the effort, until he rolled on his back and brought her on top of him. Now she was straddling his stomach and pinning his arms beside his head.

“What?” she asked when his expression turned somber.

“Utahime, I’m fine. Really."

She intertwined their fingers and pressed down hard, leaning most of her weight on their hands. “If you let me finish talking to you about Shoko and how we might tell her about Getou, then—”

“—I’ll talk to her.”

“Yes, but I have to talk to her too. We’re hunting down Getou together, after all. Us and our families.”

“Let me break the news to her first, and then we’ll discuss this together.”

She planted a soft kiss on his right eye. Even in the mild darkness of her room, his eyes shone sky and ocean blue. “Is sex the prerequisite to having a serious conversation with you?”

“Now I’m seriously worried about what you’ll ask from me after sex. I’ll be too whipped to say no.”

Utahime laughed and began moving her hips against his. His neck and chest grew flush in an instant, and she felt him tense a little beneath her. “To be honest, I’m often worried that you feel like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Is profound conversation now our post-sex thing? I would honestly prefer cuddling."

“I prefer drinking.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I answer your question, will you not drink in the next five hours?”

“Four.”

“Four and a half.”

“Deal.”

He held her hips to stop her. “I don’t mind the weight of the world. I mind your weight. You’re a little heavier today.”

They ended up wrestling for real on the bed until her wound bled through the bandages, and they spent the next hour patching her up before having dinner. As she was sneaking a sip of beer in the kitchen, she saw him in that state again—dazed, standing aimlessly next to the couch with his coffee mug as though trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

Gojo knew he had to talk to Shoko soon. Now and then, he would check the wall clock above the television and see the seconds ticking by. The minutes passing. The hours flying. At nine in the morning, they would have to meet up with Kazuo at the Kyoto Station and fetch Shoko.

How could he tell her?

How could he keep her from hating him?

There was something about the fact that so many of the events that shaped him happened with Shoko on the sidelines. She was not always there to witness things firsthand, but she was always the person he returned to in Jujutsu High. They were the ones who laughed with Getou at his best and stood in silence together at his worst. He didn’t love her the way he loved Utahime, but he knew that losing her in any capacity would scrape at a part of him he would rather remain untouched. Maybe it was the part that believed in stability, in the idea of people staying in spite of.

They figured over the years that as long as Getou remained out of the picture, then their friendship remained more or less the same. Now he was about to stir the waters, and he couldn’t begin to imagine how she would take it. Gojo already failed to save Getou once. Now he had set out to kill him.

Utahime jabbed his back with her house keys. “Hey. Have you gone deaf on me? I said we have to go. Now.”

Gojo blinked himself back to the present and realized he was already dressed to go out. It was a quarter to nine, and Kazuo would hate them for being late.

They walked to the Karasume side of the Kyoto station in silence, neither of them touching for the sake of keeping their relationship a secret. If he could, however, he would take comfort in the softness of her hands and the warmth of her skin. He would press her body next to his and remind himself that he didn’t have to go through this alone. It felt nice to have a gorgeous older woman fussing over thoughts and emotions he hadn’t even expressed yet. He wondered if all women had this sixth sense, or if Utahime’s capacity for compassion was just abnormally high.

It was in moments like this, with her glancing repeatedly at him as though to check if he was still walking beside her, that he felt most human. Like she was slowly pulling him down from a pedestal and giving him less reason to feel alone in his power.

The next time she glanced at him, he winked at her, and she gagged. The Kyoto station was in view when she stepped closer to him so that their arms were brushing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m nervous.”

“I don’t think Kazuo will change his mind now.”

“Not about that. About what Shoko might find. I knew Ume. I trained her.”

He guessed that was the reason she was more adamant than usual to get drunk. Granted, he was extremely horny when stressed, but he also thought sex would curb her desire to be inebriated. “She wasn’t suspicious before?”

“All of our staff are heavily screened.”

“Are all of them trained for combat?”

“It’s a requirement. Just like Jujutsu High, we require the shrine maidens to have combat skills equivalent to a grade two sorcerer regardless if they have an innate technique or not. Even our non-shaman maidens must be able to fight hand-to-hand and with cursed tools. Imagine what would happen if a curse was let loose in the shrine.”

They entered the station and made their way to the appropriate platform. The dense crowd made the summer heat more oppressive, and as he plucked the front of his shirt to keep it from sticking to his skin, he brought out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off Utahime’s neck.

She jolted in surprise before taking his handkerchief. It could just be the season, but he noticed that Utahime easily favored a yellow sun dress this morning over her usual shirt and romper. He liked to think that she was dressing up for him, but now that he could see how much attention she was getting, he wished she had dressed like a farmer instead.

“Utahime.”

“Yeah?”

Gojo walked close beside her to ward off the men’s attention. “Can you tell Kazuo not to mention Suguru or the Sasaki to Shoko until after the autopsy?”

“Sure. Do we talk to her on the same day or do we give her time in-between?” She flipped and folded his handkerchief before shoving it into her pocket. “She has to hear it from me too.”

“Yeah, because of that binding vow.”

“Are you picking a fight right now?”

He pulled her to the space beside a vending machine. “Aren’t you worried that this might affect your friendship?”

“Not really. Shoko’s more sensible than you give her credit for.” She glanced at the stream of people passing by them and crossed her arms. “Are you? Worried that your friendship might change after you tell her, I mean.”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. What’s important is that she knows.”

“Gojo.”

“Why are you frowning?”

“You can be a really big moron sometimes.”

He held his hands up. “I have no idea what I did to you.”

“Of course it matters how you feel,” she said. “Everyone involved knows what this means to you. Shoko more than anyone. Maybe factor that in when you make your speech to her.”

“You don’t need to be so upset.”

“How can I not be upset when I’m worried sick for you?” She stopped herself and averted her gaze, now embarrassed for raising her voice in public.

For a moment, Gojo was at a loss for what to say. He had done his best not to worry her, and he never felt a lack of support from her either. If anything, he was a little overwhelmed by her intuitiveness and empathy.

His first instinct was to push her up against the vending machine and kiss her senseless, but apart from the indecency of the act, he didn’t want her to see him as a depraved boy. He had to be able to talk to her, or else she might find an older man with better self-control.

“Utahime, I’m alright. You just have to take my word for it.”

“You say that all the time.”

Gojo sighed dramatically. “Senpai is too obsessed with me.”

When Utahime didn’t react to that, Gojo looked down at her and saw that she had turned wistful. He grazed his fingertip against her nose. “Hey.”

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, still refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re right. I’m overreacting.”

“You’re not overreacting. You’re just too kind for this world.” He planted a wet kiss on her forehead. “And too in love with me.”

“Hey, no PDA remember?”

“Oh, right.” He slapped her ass and slipped into the crowd.

Utahime gave chase up the escalator, yelling his name and calling him the biggest asshole that she ever met.

They were both riled up and panting by the time they reached Kazuo, who was standing next to a pillar on the platform and texting. He gave the two of them a once over and scowled.

“I don’t even want to ask,” he said. Kazuo had trimmed his hair recently so that it fell just above his shoulders, and somehow this made him look younger, especially when he was dressed in a FIFA jacket and cap. Utahime questioned their authenticity, and he gave her a sidelong glance as though he couldn’t believe she even asked.

“What did Master Iori say about the incident?” Gojo asked.

“Fortunately, he was on a trip south when it happened. He won’t be back until next week, but he expects to be updated. I didn’t include the part where Utahime and your mother were interrogating Miyo. I’m guessing you have a plan on how to ease this news to Father?” He directed the last part to Utahime, and now they looked like kids who accidentally broke a treasured artifact or messed up their training. They resembled one another most when they were anxious and uncertain.

“Can we finish the autopsy first? Just talking about Father makes me nervous.”

“Me too,” Gojo said. It didn’t help that his parents were keeping secrets from him. One way or another, he would find out what they did to Utahime’s father.

Kazuo smirked at his phone as he resumed texting. “Can’t wait for you to ask for his blessing, Lord Gojo.”

The train arrived just then, temporarily hushing the chatter on the platform. Gojo pushed his sunglasses up his nose bridge and gave the cars a sweep before spotting her on the third one. He raised his hand as soon as she stepped onto the platform, and she saw him at once.

He had gotten so used to the dark circles under her eyes that she looked strange without them. Something about the way she carried herself hinted that she was well-rested and maybe even happy. As Shoko made her way toward their group in a white shirt, dark jeans, and a black travel bag slung across her shoulder, he wondered what could have happened while he was away.

“Shoko!” Utahime threw herself on Shoko like a toddler to her favorite kindergarten teacher. Her enthusiasm made Gojo chuckle, as there were a few things apart from beer and baseball that excited her this much. If he wasn’t already in a relationship with her, he might even get jealous.

Shoko returned her embrace with a laugh. “Gojo’s here too? I thought this was a clan issue.”

“I’m playing the role of overprotective boyfriend.” Gojo took her travel bag. “Did Yaga give you a hard time?”

Shoko glanced at Kazuo before turning back to Gojo. He had told her about their disagreement and she had received no update on his relationship with Utahime since. By the looks of it, Utahime hadn’t informed her either. “So this is official?”

“Unfortunately.” Kazuo stepped forward to shake her hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. We appreciate your help.”

“Thanks for even considering me. I don’t think I made the best first impression.”

“Ah, right. You were threatening to get Gojo to ‘bazooka’ your way to Utahime in our main shrine last time.”

“He said it wasn’t ‘bazooka’. It was green.”

Utahime darted a look at Gojo, and he could tell by her scowl that she was reviewing her knowledge of his technique.

“Shoko, stop inventing colors for me,” Gojo said.

“You haven’t diversified?”

“You make it sound like I’m just shopping for paint.” He cupped his mouth to stage-whisper to Utahime. “She’s been bitter ever since I learned RCT.”

“You mean I’ve been grateful.”

“Nah, you like to gatekeep your technique.”

“But I heard you can’t heal others like she does,” Kazuo said with a sneer at Gojo.

Gojo mirrored him. “You already have a girlfriend. Don’t hit on Shoko. I don’t want her as a sister-in-law.”

“Stop talking like you’re married to Utahime.”

“You’re not Shoko’s type.”

Utahime stood between the two men. “This is not the time and place.”

“I wasn’t hitting on Ms. Ieiri,” Kazuo said.

"Alright, we're leaving." Utahime hooked arms with Shoko and made their way to the stairs.

With a sigh, Kazuo motioned for Gojo to walk with him, and the two men fell in step a few yards behind the women.

“How’s the shrine?” Gojo asked. The only updates they had received so far were about the shrine closing and the investigation on the staff progressing slowly. He wanted to ask Utahime more about the inner workings of the Iori clan, but she had been so tired that he felt it wasn’t a good time to interrogate her.

“Everybody’s suspicious of one another. Thankfully, the ongoing theory among the staff is that this is the Kamo’s doing.”

“Don’t you need to let Kamo know about Miyo?”

“Legally, no. Miyo is now the Iori clan’s ward. Whatever happens to her is none of their business. Our only obligation to you and Kamo is Miyo’s son now.”

Utahime looked over her shoulder to check on them. Gojo wrapped his arm around Kazuo’s shoulder with a grin and a thumbs up. Kazuo shrugged him off and shuddered.

“Kazuo.”

“What now?”

He grabbed Kazuo’s arm to stop him and let the women get farther ahead. Once Utahime and Shoko were a good distance away, they resumed walking. “Be straight with me. Do you think your other shrines are compromised?”

“It depends on what Ms. Ieiri finds. But if we are compromised, then we have to consider that the Iori isn’t the only one. The Sasaki might be resorting to old tactics.”

“You’ve been doing your research. Anything else you might want to share?”

“If your friend is behind this, you might want to consider the possibility that every family and sorcerer who gets dragged into this operation gets involved by design.” He nodded in Shoko’s direction. The women had segued to the JR Central Entrance and were now heading to The Cube, probably to look at the displays before the men could shepherd them to the exit. “The shrine has its own morticians to assist sorcerers in disposing of corpses, but I couldn’t have used them to autopsy Ume and Izumi because we have to keep the findings private. The only other professional who’s loyal to you to a fault is Ms. Ieiri, and after today, she’ll be a part of your team. All I’m saying is that you should be careful. The Sasaki didn’t almost bring down the Jujutsu World by playing nice.”

Perhaps it was because of Utahime’s humility and frugal lifestyle that Gojo didn’t grasp just how wealthy the Iori clan was. Compared to Gakuganji's shrines, the Iori shrines came off as simple and practical, if not a little aged. Yet as Kazuo led them deeper into the property and down a set of stairs to the basement, the reinforced walls and the modern design of their armory, library, and the numerous other facilities that supported the services they offered to sorcerers told a different story.

The fact that the Iori properties were scattered across Japan might’ve also contributed to his misconstrued view of their wealth. The Gojo clan was mostly concentrated in two estates, with the biggest one being in Uji. Sure, they had other properties, but those were investments and facades. All of the Iori shrines must be heavily staffed to operate, and as per his prior research, Master Iori paid off their debt to the Kamo clan through personal investments.

No wonder Kazuo was indifferent to Gojo. Should Gojo marry Utahime, a portion of these could be transferred to his clan. That would also explain why Satoshi and Lady Sayuri didn’t seem concerned about Utahime's heritage. They may be doting parents, but they were also practical. The elders would not give them peace if Utahime had nothing to bring to the table.

Gojo's musings made him pout. Not that he cared about the elders in the first place. It was their dead bodies that would be on the table if they got in his way.

“What’s with that face?” Utahime asked.

Their group made a right turn, and now they were walking down the long corridor that led to the morgue with Shoko and Kazuo leading the way. The two of them fell into easy conversation about how the morgues in shrines were operated, and since Kazuo was significantly taller than her, he sometimes ducked his head to show her that he was listening.

It reminded him of how Suguru was with Shoko in their first few months at Jujutsu High. Instead of asking her to speak louder, he would stand closer to her and stoop a little lower to catch what she was saying.

“Just taking in your wealth,” Gojo said. “I’m glad to know that if my clan fucks up, you’re rich enough to support the both of us.”

She pinched his side. “You earn in one mission what this shrine earns in a year. You don’t need your clan to be filthy rich.”

“I should’ve guessed. You’ve taken a peek at my bank account, haven’t you?”

“I’m not a gold digger.”

“Clearly. This place is impressive, even to me.”

“Don’t tell Kazuo or he’ll blush.”

“So why the small apartment?”

"Huh?" Her expression darkened in the next instant, and she raised her eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to get me to lease a bigger apartment for the both of us?”

The rattling of the keys in Kazuo’s hands stole their attention. He undid the half a dozen locks on the door and pushed it open with both hands.

Gojo glanced down at Utahime and decided to broach the topic another time. He knew the answer to his question already. She was Ms. Independent, and she wanted to pave a path for herself through her own merit as a sorcerer. He didn’t want to rob her of that, of course, but they had to make compromises in light of the Sasaki's resurgence. Kazuo made a good point earlier, and Gojo would be more at peace if he could move her somewhere within the vicinity of the Gojo clan.

The door opened to a large, pristine room that reeked of chemical cleaners, dried ink, and damp paper. Shoko and Gojo had to pause at the entrance to adjust to the curse-limiting seals plastered on the walls, whereas the two siblings just waltzed right in without a hitch.

“That’s strong,” Shoko said as she clung to the wall to keep her balance.

“We might keep bodies here for around a week for identification purposes. It’s for everyone’s safety.”

“Jujutsu High is shit.” She ambled to the center of the room and studied the place. “How can a shrine’s morgue look better than theirs?”

She wasn’t lying. Gojo was no medical professional, but even he could tell that this was top-notch compared to Jujutsu High’s facilities. From the mortuary and the documentation checkpoint to the equipment store and the specialization area, it was easy to see that Kazuo spared no expense for this place.

“Kazuo, if you propose to her now, she’ll marry you. You’ll probably have the wedding here,” Gojo said.

“Shoko isn’t that shallow,” Utahime said.

Shoko put her hands on her waist and continued gawking at the place. “If this is in the bag, I might be as shallow as Gojo thinks.”

Kazuo turned on the lights in an inner room, ignoring them completely. “Ume and Izumi are here, Ms. Ieiri.”

They trooped in after him and watched as Kazuo pulled out two corpses from refrigerated drawers. Long strips of seals encircled Ume and Izumi's body bags to prevent activity from any residual cursed energy without extinguishing them altogether.

Shoko took out a pair of latex gloves from the nearby trolley. “So, you want me to do the autopsy first before you tell me what’s going on, huh?”

“Just to avoid confirmation bias,” Gojo said with a grateful smile.

Kazuo turned to Gojo and Utahime and nodded at the door. “The two of you can wait upstairs. I’ll keep Ms. Ieiri company here and assist as needed.”

It took upwards of six hours for Shoko to finish. In that time, Utahime had dropped by Jujutsu High to endorse her students to Kusakabe, and Gojo had visited Uji to get updates on the Fugen’s progress with the locations Gakuganji had given them, as well as those they had identified by themselves.

Gojo and Utahime met up at the shrine at around seven in the evening with takeout for all four of them. They went straight to Kazuo’s office, where they found Shoko smoking and Kazuo drinking tea. The both of them looked haggard and tense, and on the table between them lay sheaves of autopsy documents and photographs.

“The lot of you have some explaining to do.” Shoko took a huge drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke toward the open window. “Your two shrine maidens died of blood loss through self-inflicted lacerations across their necks. They were in a battle before this. Several shallow cuts from glass shards and wood splinters, as well as broken ribs and damaged organs, suggest a battle with a more experienced hand-to-hand combatant, whom I suspect must be Utahime-senpai. Her residuals are still present in their system, probably because she used her technique to mess with their cursed energy. Nothing’s unusual except for two things.”

Kazuo lifted two photographs. They showed Ume and Izume's greying left feet, the ankles of which were marred with a fading X mark. “The first is their matching scars. There’s an extremely faint presence of another cursed energy in this area of their bodies.”

Utahime took one of the photographs. “I sensed that too. Maybe it has something to do with why they seemed...absent in battle. Their bodies reacted to the pain but it was like they couldn’t feel or register it like a normal person.”

“So they were somehow possessed or influenced through these marks?” Gojo found other photographs that showed the scars from different angles. Shoko's notes indicated that the breadth and depth of the scars were exactly the same.

“If the investigation on them comes back clean, then that might be it,” Kazuo said. “Except whoever was pulling it off should’ve been incredibly near or powerful to use a technique within the shrine.”

“Are there curse-limiting seals within the sacred forest? Or just outside the shrine’s perimeter?”

Utahime shook her head. “No. It’s difficult to interfere with nature’s energy. But if the person we’re looking for was in the sacred forest, we should’ve found a residual by now.  Especially since I expect they would be pouring double the amount of energy needed to make their technique work within the shrine.”

“But you used your technique, senpai.”

“And I suffered the consequences. The curse-limiting seals have an ulterior command. If they’re overridden, all of the seals in the shrine concentrate their cursed energy reserve in the area where the technique was activated—"

“Shit.” Kazuo leaped to his feet and dashed out of his office, sending some of the documents flying off his desk.

They all followed him to the courtyard, confused, and found him standing in the middle like a lost tourist. Taking a few steps back, he lowered his gaze to the ground and whipped his head in search of something.

Utahime checked the ground too. “Kazuo, what are you doing?”

“There were no residuals outside because they didn’t activate their technique there.” He stomped his foot. “They did it here.”

“But you only felt the seals activate in my location.”

Kazuo made a hand seal and flattened his hand on the pathway. In an instant, the ground lit up with cursed energy flowing in patterns across the shrine. Gojo recognized them at once as the inscriptions on the buried seals. Cursed energy flowed through each curve of the scripts like water flowing through a river. Upon closer inspection, however, he saw that the patterns were disrupted by residuals pointing south of the shrine.

It took seeing this for Gojo to realize how the Iori had weaponized their shrines. Not only did they make battles difficult on their turf; but they also ensured that all sorcery-related activities could be monitored and tracked.

The four of them followed the fading path of cursed energy that the seals had taken during the attack, and it led them straight to the now empty servants’ quarters. From there, the residuals moved in a circle around the building and became more prominent to show them where the seals had activated the most.

Gojo was busy studying its movement when Shoko tugged at his sleeve and pointed behind him. The specific path he walked on created a similar trail.

Kazuo stopped in front of the servants’ quarters and looked up at the building. “The presence of another cursed energy on the corpses suggests a third person in the assault. If the technique of this third person allowed him to influence the actions of other sorcerers without triggering the ulterior seals, then it must be because his cursed energy was distributed to two other bodies.”

The assailant was nearby the entire time, but Gojo didn’t notice because the seals would’ve lowered this person's output. Also, the priests and maidens were sorcerers as well. If he had detected a sorcerer nearby, he could’ve easily dismissed them as shrine staff.

Regardless, the assailant must have activated their technique first to control Ume and Izumi, so shouldn’t Kazuo have detected a shift in the seals' output?

Gojo pointed at the trail of partly activated seals behind him. “Could it be that I somehow dulled you to it?”

“What do you mean?” Kazuo asked.

“The seals are reacting to me differently. Is it possible that the seals alerted you to my presence, and while I was still here, the assailant activated their technique and you presumed that it was just me?”

“That would make sense. Given your Six Eyes, your resting state might be giving off cursed energy equivalent to the amount a regular sorcerer exudes when they activate their technique. At least, that’s how the seals seem to be interpreting it.”

Utahime circled Gojo to study the way the cursed energy in the seals swirled around him. “So there’s a chance that the real assailant entered the shrine before or at the same time we did and used Gojo to disguise his technique. And when I activated my technique during the battle, it covered up the remainder of his residuals and the way the shrine’s seals reacted to him.”

“Meaning whoever did this has an intimate knowledge of how the Iori shrine works and what our plans were.” Gojo raised three fingers. “There are only three ways this is possible. There’s a traitor among us, Ryousuke and Himari know the inner workings of the Iori shrine, or we are being closely monitored and none of us have managed to detect them. Regardless, I believe the agenda may have been twofold. One was to silence Miyo—which they really could have done earlier and with much less suspicion—and the other is unknown.”

Kazuo touched the ground, and the cursed energy from the seals dissipated, making them invisible again. “How many people can you actually trust after this assault? Our shrines alone will be in chaos if word of this gets out.”

Utahime looked up at Gojo, her face pale and her eyes wide with alarm. “We have to limit who has access to this information. How much would the Fugen trust me with their lives if they knew about this? I can barely control the tamed curses as it is. What if they think I’m a traitor?”

Gojo held the back of her neck to soothe her. Given that the assailant was likely within the vicinity of the servant’s quarters while Utahime was fending off the shrine maidens, it was clear that the intention was not to kill her. If she had been on her own with no one else to think of, two grade-three sorcerers and one stronger sorcerer might have dealt her a serious blow, but they wouldn’t have been able to kill her so easily on her own turf. Except that wasn’t what happened. They had every means to take her down by holding Miyo and Lady Sayuri hostage but they didn't.

Satoshi was wrong.

They didn’t want Utahime dead, but why not? They had no use for her or her skills. Was Suguru simply playing mind games with them as Kazuo suggested?

With him, particularly?

Shoko stubbed her cigarette on a rock and finally spoke up. “Alright, somebody has to tell me what in the world is going on.”

Gojo couldn’t help the chill that coursed his spine when he turned to Shoko. Kazuo made a good point earlier. That Shoko was here seemed more intentional than not. In fact, it was as if all of their attempts to keep their loved ones out of his hunt had led to the opposite outcome.

With his heart beating in his throat, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Shoko, we have to talk about Suguru.”

Chapter Text

Satoshi owned a two-bedroom apartment in the Kamigyo Ward of Kyoto that still looked and smelled brand new. Whenever he wanted to retreat from the world, that was where he went, and he would go silent on everyone for as long as two weeks at a time. Well, everyone but his wife. On a rare moment of utter candidness between her and Gojo a while back, she admitted that Satoshi would spend hours talking to her on the phone during these ‘retreats’. He liked to pretend that they were oceans apart, and once she was fed up with his dramatics, she would hang up and block his number for a while.

As Kamigyo Ward was among the most expensive areas in Kyoto, it was understandable why his father chose this place for his occasional hibernation. The building itself was quiet and secure, and there were so few residents that privacy was the least of their concerns.

So, when making arrangements for Shoko’s stay in Kyoto, Gojo knew that was where he wanted to put her. The property was a personal investment Satoshi made under an alias, and he had several across Japan that he had prepared beforehand in case he needed to secure their family. When he asked Satoshi for the key to this place, he insinuated that Gojo might be overreacting. There was no way to confirm that Suguru was even in Kyoto at this moment.

“He once asked Shoko to join him,” Gojo said in response. Satoshi had closed his eyes and pursed his lips to restrain his anger before surrendering the key. Even if he had yelled at Gojo, he would not have hated him for it. After all, Satoshi singlehandedly managed the quiet chaos within the clans that transpired after Suguru's defection so that Gojo and Shoko would not be implicated in the town massacre. The least Gojo could have done was tell Satoshi about their final meeting with Suguru, but he didn't have the stamina for it.

Shoko's transparency about her last meeting with Suguru all those years ago still unnerved him because of the many ways it could have gone wrong. The same terrible scenarios must've crossed Satoshi's mind when Gojo told him about Suguru's offer to her. A single bad decision from Shoko at the time could put Gojo in question as well, and still might. That was the reason Gojo was making the effort to safekeep Shoko here in Kyoto after the attack, just in case Suguru might 'try his luck' again.

She said that was how Suguru put it.

To try his luck. 

He wasn’t sure whether that luck would’ve worked had Suguru asked her before she called Gojo. Sometimes, Gojo would still imagine the two of them in the smoking area in front of the Seibu Shinjuku Station. Getou's hulking figure next to Shoko's petite one as he asked her to join him, and Shoko hesitating to call Gojo on the phone.

He knew Shoko would not have tolerated Getou’s violence, but she would have done everything she could to save him.

Gojo felt, in the end, that he was the lucky one. He just didn’t know how long he had before his luck ran out, but he wasn’t going to take a chance. If Kazuo was correct and Shoko was here by design, then it was either Suguru was making this hunt as personal to Gojo as possible, or he still wanted her back.

Either way, it would be difficult to locate her here if there was a traitor in their midst, and Gojo made sure they weren’t followed.

He was rehearsing an internal monologue of what he should tell Shoko when she returned to the apartment with dessert for him and beer for her. As she suspected that it would be a long conversation, she had suggested that they indulged in their vices, and he relented. They both knew that was just an excuse, though. If she needed time to steel herself for a conversation about Suguru, then she should’ve just said so.

He, too, had to condition himself first before taking the plunge.

In the time it took her to buy the beer and dessert, Gojo had made himself comfortable on the black leather couch and let his mind drift. He thought about moving Utahime to a bigger, nicer apartment and coming home to her. He comforted himself with the idea of watching her cook in a large kitchen, and of moving their first couch together into this larger space.

Satoshi had a property similar to this that he could buy. The transaction would be made under an alias, and the clan would have no record of it. Maybe he should just gift it to Utahime and do what Satoshi was doing. Plan ahead. Keep the people they loved safe just in case.

Shoko slid the box of convenience store donuts across the coffee table to him. “For someone so bubbly, Satoshi’s apartment is so…cold.”

“That’s exactly what I thought when he first showed me this place.”

“Did you ask?”

“He said it’s because he doesn’t own a lot of things, which is true, but I’m guessing it’s because he made all of these investments for Lady Sayuri. If something happens to him, then these places would be easy to liquidate or make passive income from. Nothing to clean, nothing to repair.”

Shoko pulled back the tab of her beer can, and a hissing noise filled her silence. “You can take care of her.”

“She wouldn’t let me, and to be honest, she might even be expecting to outlive me.” He knew how his mother arrived at that conclusion. None of the former Six Eyes users died of old age or natural causes. It was always in battle, and always in the most horrific ways.

Shoko took a huge gulp of beer. She leaned back and crossed her ankles on the edge of the coffee table. “Well, who’s qualified to beat you? There are only two other special-grades like you, and you haven’t encountered any curse that has given you serious trouble. Unless there's another one of those guys...who was that?"

"Toji Zenin?"

"Yes, that heavenly bastard."

"I doubt another one of those can come close to me again."

"Well, that's true."

This was his chance. He should stop beating around the bush and tell her.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He nodded at her face. “Why do you look like that?”

“Are you about to insult me?”

“You look like you finally got some sleep. I’m so used to your zombie form that it’s weird seeing you so…normal. There’s a compliment there somewhere.”

“That’s because I’ve been sleeping well.”

“That’s all?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You don’t mean sleeping with…?”

“Just because I’m privy to your love life doesn’t mean you’re privy to mine.”

Gojo’s hand flew to his chest, affecting hurt. “You don’t have to be so harsh to me.”

Shoko emptied her first beer can and opened her second. “First of all, it’s the sleeping pills. I found one that works for me.”

“I sense a big ‘and’ coming.”

“I’m going to therapy.”

He looked hard at her. "Shoko."

"Nothing Jujutsu-related. She’s a normal therapist. She thinks I work for a big hospital that services high-profile clients."

Gojo took a large bite of a chocolate donut to hide his relief. Back when Suguru defected, Jujutsu HQ enforced the rejection process so that no clan would affiliate with Getou or any of his activities. Satoshi had made the entire affair as quiet as possible for his and Shoko’s benefit, but that didn't mean they were able to go past that part unscathed. Having been his closest friends, they were made to sign documents absolving them of Getou's crimes. It certified that they had no idea of his proclivity for violence against non-shamans. Neither of them foresaw his descent into madness. The document claimed that Gojo had no knowledge of his plans, and Shoko, who had been his girlfriend at the time, was manipulated to keep suspicion off him for as long as possible.

These were lies, of course. Suguru showed all the signs. He had spoken to them about his ideology, and they both rejected it and believed he would get over it. Gojo had once asked Suguru if they should kill the non-shamans who were clapping at Riko Amana’s dead body. He truly wanted to get rid of them in the bloodiest way possible, but Suguru said no, and he got over it.

Gojo never expected Suguru to be the one to turn.

For the briefest moment, Gojo thought his heart would stop at the idea that Shoko had retracted her statement by speaking to a Jujutsu-affiliated professional. She would’ve been punished had she done that. Jujutsu High might’ve even excommunicated her, and then where would she go?

To Suguru, of course.

"So what do you talk about?" He asked as casually as he could while reaching for a second donut. Honey glazed with nuts. He hoped this would give him the sugar rush he needed.

“Things only people talk to therapists about.”

He pulled a face at her, and she laughed.

"It just helps to talk to someone, Gojo, even in half-truths."

Silence descended between them again. Gojo cleared his throat. "I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me."

“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to talk to me either. Jujutsu High never taught us how to deal with defectors who so happen to be your best friend or boyfriend. There were a lot of things about this job that Jujutsu High didn’t prepare us for.”

“That’s why I’m glad for Utahime. Sometimes I just look at her and I feel better already.”

“You’re so sappy when you’re in love. But I am happy for both of you. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Tell me about it.”

Shoko put down her can of beer and brought out her orange lighter. She rolled the sparkwheel with her thumb, flicking it enough to create a sound but not to start a fire. He had seen her with that lighter for years now, but wasn't sure whether it was the same one or if she simply favored that color. "But it looks like the two of you can’t catch a break. First the mediation, and now this. Stop stalling and tell me how Getou is involved."

Gojo licked his lips, breathed deeply, and told her everything. From when he decided to hunt down Suguru and how the Fugen operated to when Utahime got involved and what transpired in the Iori shrine that necessitated her assistance. He hated how professional he sounded—how stern and straight to the point. Even when it was obvious that Shoko was struggling to keep her expression neutral, he persisted. He couldn't seem to backtrack and insert any emotion into his confession, and he wondered whether he had truly managed to numb himself to the matter or he was just afraid that he would be the first to crack.

The past five years had felt like a steady competition between him and Shoko in this regard. Their steely silence and indifference were culminating, and they were both assessing each other. Waiting. Wondering.

Who was hurting more?

Shoko sat staring at the coffee table for a couple of moments after Gojo finished. Then she stood and lit a cigarette. She opened the nearest window and sat on the ledge; her shoulder pressed against the glass.

“Are you close to getting him?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. That was not what he expected her to ask. “We had breakthroughs, but we can’t figure out his plan.”

“Gojo, can you really do it?”

“I made you a promise, didn’t I? I’ll make the Jujutsu World better so that people won’t suffer the way he did. It just so happens that he’s standing in the way of that goal.”

“If we had managed to change his mind after he killed his parents and that entire town, would he have had a future with us?”

“We’d have given it our all, but to be honest, I’m not sure.”

Shoko returned to her seat to tap the cigarette ashes into her empty beer can. “I sometimes think it was just a bad decision. A by-product of PTSD. That he wanted to go back to us but he didn’t know how, because he was sure we’d fight for him. And you know Getou. He doesn’t like to cause trouble for us. Causing trouble was your job.”

Gojo smiled despite himself. It was only Shoko who could make these memories hurt more. Perhaps it was because she was there, and she was the one person he had in his life now who could guarantee that none of his feelings for Suguru were lies. None of the memories they shared were made up and exaggerated. At one point, Gojo was the one going off the rails, and Suguru was his anchor. He was the stable one.

Shoko was rubbing her eyes now. All the rest she got from her sleeping pills and therapy seemed to vanish in an instant, and she resembled her exhausted self once more. “If we had come up with a plan and told him it was possible, would he have returned? I mean, how do you save someone who’s up for execution?”

“Shoko, don’t punish yourself this way. Suguru would not have returned no matter what we did. I stopped trying because I knew it deep inside the last time we met. He would die for his cause.”

“You would kill him for his cause.” She tapped her temple. “He’s a bit screwed up here. I hope he at least gets enough sleep now, or else you’ll be up against a really diabolical version of him.”

"You think his insomnia had something to do with this?

“I think he’s always been in search of a deeper meaning to his power. You didn’t have to go through that because you’re a lineage sorcerer. You were born with meaning included in your power. Sorcerers like me and him”—pointing her cigarette to herself and then to the window, as though Suguru was just outside listening in—"we have to figure it out ourselves. Are we just protecting the weak? Or are we enabling them to destroy the powerful?"

On instinct, his first thought was to avoid the blame. It wasn't his fault he was born a Gojo. But these were the responses that prevented him from saving Suguru in the first place. Nobody was blaming him. Shoko was just stating a fact, and a relevant one at that. He could not tell Shoko that he still pondered the notion of the strong protecting the weak and the weak destroying the strong because she might worry. He would never resort to violence like Suguru did, but it was difficult to act as though he did not understand Suguru at all. Not when his students kept on dying, and Jujutsu High never batted an eye.

"He liked that a lot about you." Gojo picked at the hardened chocolate under his fingernails. "Suguru always complained that he could only be profound with me for two seconds before we spiraled back to the stupidest things.”

“Do you miss him?” she asked, her voice barely audible in the end.

“Everyday. You?”

Shoko motioned for the unopened beer on the table. "Not as much as I used to.”

Gojo tossed her the beer. “Hey, don’t date a doctor.”

Her face contracted, confused.

“Go for a surfer or a dance instructor. Hell, date a botanist. Just stay away from anything death-related. I don’t think it’s good for you.”

Shoko pondered this and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t botanists die of poison too?”

“Very rarely.”

“Surfers get eaten by sharks.”

“Dance instructor it is then.”

“Dance instructors sleep with their clients.” Shoko pouted. “I mean, if he’s hot.”

“Alright, stop hanging out with Mei. You should really be spending more time with Utahime.”

She laughed, the sound carefree and bright just like in their younger days. “Okay, I’ll dump the doctor and go for a kindergarten teacher. I like guys who are good with kids."

Gojo blinked at her, startled. His third donut almost slipped from his hand and fell back into the box. “Why? Do you want to have a family in the future?”

“I think so. My job’s pretty safe.” She turned her head further towards the window, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t you need an heir? Utahime-senpai’s twenty-five. It’s kind of prime time for her to give birth biologically.”

“Utahime’s involved in hunting down Suguru, so a pregnancy anytime soon will not be advantageous.”

Now that the tables had turned, Shoko smiled openly at him. "So you have considered it. You do think you’re going to marry her."

Gojo raised his hands in surrender. "We’ll have the most adorable children. I want them to be just like me."

She choked on her beer and scowled at him as she rode out the subsequent coughing fit. Once it started to subside, she padded over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water in the fridge. She returned to the armchair with two bottles and handed one to him. "Don’t hesitate, okay?"

Gojo stopped chewing. He looked her in the eyes.

"About getting Utahime pregnant?"

"You know what I mean, Gojo."

He dropped his head and pretended to be preoccupied with the donut.

“I can’t remember verbatim what Getou told me once, but he knows how to hurt you. I think he knew going into this that he would have to take you down if he wanted to succeed. He told me these a few times in Kanagawa.”

“Be more specific.”

“He couldn’t create this world for sorcerers because he’s not you. I don’t know what that attack in the shrine is about, but I’m sure he doesn’t have to kill Utahime-senpai to hurt you. You’re already agitated enough as it is.”

The muscles around his eyebrows spasmed, clenching and unclenching with the surge of emotions in his chest. He told himself it shouldn’t hurt. He was after Suguru too, wasn't he? But he couldn't help the sting that came with the thought of his best friend plotting his murder for the sake of a crazy ideology.

Gojo drank half the bottle in the hopes of calming his thoughts. With a sigh, he capped the bottle and looked up at Shoko. “Do you still love him?”

“We were so young and naïve back then.” She paused. Her fingers plucked the loose threads of her cardigan's cuff as she stared at the rug beneath the table. “I never told anyone, but I thought I would marry him someday. He was supposed to be the instructor in Jujutsu High, and you were just supposed to be out there causing trouble for us. Now it’s the other way around.”

He thought so. Everybody who knew about their relationship thought they were endgame.

“Shoko, I had a conversation with him before we found out he defected. Remember, when Yaga told us about his crimes, you asked me if Suguru got in touch with me?”

“Yeah. You never did tell me.”

“He called me the night of the massacre. I think just a few hours after that. He told me to take care of you while he’s away, and that if anything happened to him, to not let you deal with his corpse.”

A sound somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt escaped her throat, and she shook her head. "Fucking asshole.”

“If he asks you again to join him, tell me you won’t do it.”

Shoko stubbed her cigarette and dropped it in the beer can. “I already swore to be on your side. I’m not changing my mind.”

“Okay.”

She turned on the television and made a beeline to the bathroom. The sound of running water competed with the resounding laughter in the comedy show that played on the TV, making it difficult to hear what she was doing inside.

Not knowing how else to help her, Gojo went to the balcony and checked his phone.

Utahime had sent him a message ten minutes ago.

How’s everything? U okay?

Gojo’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment.

Still breathing. Shoko locked herself in the bathroom. Giving her space.

Three dots appeared.

Will message her later unless she gets drunk. If she gets drunk, don’t leave her.

Roger that.

Need anything?

Nudes.

A few seconds later, Utahime sent him a photo. Gojo tapped the notification at once, and it didn’t surprise him to find that the picture was of her middle finger.

Ooh la la

Entering shrine now.

Good luck.

He was about to close their chat when he noticed the three dots again.

I love you. We got this.

Shoko emerged from the bathroom at that moment with her face still damp from washing. Apart from that, she seemed fine. No redness in her eyes and face, no quiet sobs and tense energy. In her usual blasé fashion, she lit another cigarette and joined him on the balcony.

“If that’s it, I’m turning in for the night,” Shoko said.

Gojo leaned his elbows on the metal railing. A dense line of trees covered the perimeter of the residence, but they were high enough that they could see the Kyoto Imperial Palace in the distance.

“There’s one more thing.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and Shoko turned to him with a confused scowl. Gojo strode across the apartment and opened the door, revealing Nanami. Once he had let them in and the greetings were done, Gojo dove straight to the point: “I need your help identifying any traitors in our team.”

Satoshi slipped into the driver’s seat and handed Utahime two cans of beer. She accepted them and opened one immediately. Once Satoshi had put on his seatbelt, he took the other can, pinned it between his thighs, and pulled back the tab. The two of them sat in the parking lot drinking their beer for ten minutes before continuing their drive to the Gakuganji shrine.

Utahime flipped her phone in her hand and wondered what Gojo would think if he found out that she was drinking with his father. It had not been her idea, but Satoshi asked what would calm her down, and she said the first thing that popped to mind.

Alcohol. Preferably something strong.

Satoshi relented to one beer, probably because she was obviously in distress, and he didn’t know how to help her. It wasn’t as though she could vent to him—not yet, at least. When he picked her up and asked what the autopsy findings were, she requested to save the report until they reached the shrine. He thought this was reasonable to make the report only once and didn’t press the matter. Utahime was thankful for this, as she had to spend the rest of the drive coming up with a believable lie to tell Gakuganji. The possibility of a traitor loomed large over their entire team, and Gakuganji was among the top suspects in her head. This was her chance to test him and hopefully come closer to an answer.

Did she just bind five years of her life to the devil? Or was he, like her, a victim of his circumstances?

With alcohol in her system and a tight story in place, she recited her lies to Gakuganji with a flatness in her voice that could be perceived as indifference, maybe even suppressed nervousness.

“And the investigation showed that Ume and Izumi had suspicious activities prior to the attack. We think they might be with the Sasaki.”

“What suspicious activities?” Gakuganji asked.

“Leaving the shrine late at night. Wandering into parts of the shrine that they have no clearance to enter. They’re both junior maidens. They haven’t been with us for a long time.”

Gakuganji stroked his beard. In the dim lighting of his office, his beard appeared thinner, and the wrinkles on his face deeper. “You already know I suspect some traitors in my own clan. I cannot help you with that nor protect the Iori from itself. My suggestion is that you tell Master Iori at once. Your father will know how to deal with it. For all my grievances with the Iori, I still hold Nobunaga in high esteem. I would hate for anything to happen to him and your family.”

He sounded sincere enough that Utahime felt bad for lying to him, but she had no choice. “Thank you for your advice.”

Gakuganji stood and waved Satoshi to the door. "Do you mind stepping out first? I need to tell Utahime something in confidence.”

Satoshi, who had been standing beside her in contemplative silence, nodded at her as he turned to leave. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

The door closed, and Utahime’s stomach cramped, unfurled, and cramped again as she listened to his footsteps disappear in the corridor. All at once, the darkness hovering in the corners of the room seemed to close in on her, and she had to squeeze her left hand with her right to manage her emotions.

Gakuganji placed both of his hands on top of his cane. His pause was rich with tension as he seemed to choose his next words with care. “Do with this information as you will. The Gakuganji and the Iori come from one family that was split due to betrayal. Aoi and Masuyo. The priest and the Blood Maiden. Now Ryousuke and Himari. Then there’s Kazuo and you.”

It took her several moments to process this information. When it finally sank in, blood rushed to her face, and she trembled with a mix of hurt and rage.

“My brother would never even think of—"

“—because patterns exist for a reason. You can break it, or you can sustain it. But the powers that enable the Sasaki to survive seem to come from this duality. A brother and sister who seals and a brother and sister who unseals. Think about it.”

“Do your children know how the seals in the Iori shrines work?”

“We have sufficient knowledge of them.”

“Then I have no reason to suspect my brother.” Her rebuttal came out sharper than she intended, but she felt no urge to apologize. Instead, she turned and left with the pride of someone of her station.

She was the only daughter of Nobunaga Iori, inheritor of a powerful technique, and heir to a portion of the Iori shrines across Japan. She would not let him slander her brother.

The anger and adrenaline made her walk to Satoshi’s car a blur, as if she had been holding her breath for too long to process her movements and environment properly. It took Satoshi calling her name several times for her to realize that she was already seated beside him with her seatbelt clipped on and her hands to her face. She had not been crying, but she had been hyperventilating.

“I didn’t tell Principal Gakuganji the truth. I’m sorry.”

Satoshi eased out of their parking space and ventured into the dark, empty road leading out into the main street. He was unusually somber tonight, and when he wasn’t making jokes or attempting to lighten the situation, he could be even more intimidating than Gojo.

“Are you suspecting him?” he asked.

“I just wanted to see what his reaction would be.”

“And?”

“The truth is that a sorcerer seems to be working with the Sasaki. Ume and Izumi were influenced by a cursed technique. The situation heavily implies that there’s a traitor in our team, or that we’re being monitored. Principal Gakuganji advised that I inform my father at once about the Sasaki.” Utahime found her beer can and finished the dregs. There was no way she was repeating what Gakuganji said about her and Kazuo. She might not even tell Gojo.

“You should tell Nobu."

"I must, but it's not the easiest thing to do."

"You should have also told me the truth before we spoke with Gakuganji."

"I'm sorry."

He glanced at her. "Or were you suspecting me too?"

"N-no! Of course, not!"

"Can I be frank with you?”

“Sure.”

“We always follow the smoke to find the fire, and the smoke seems to be coming from your clan based on the recent attack.” He let go of the steering wheel to check his phone and then caught the wheel just before they entered the traffic. “My clan has not given any reason for suspicion. I agree with Gakuganji that we tell your father. But first, focus on your training. It won’t matter whose side you’re on if we all die underground because you can’t master your technique.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just because my son is in love with you doesn’t mean I’ll give you any special treatment, alright? This is my operation now, and I don’t like to fail.”

Utahime clutched her seatbelt. “Yes, sir.”

Satoshi took her to an abandoned Buddhist temple just outside of Kyoto City. The place was tucked at the very back of a vast overgrown garden, no doubt a result of years of neglect. They navigated a narrow trail that was thick with twigs and dead leaves, and they had to duck several times to pass through low-lying branches. The shrill whining of cicadas accompanied the whistling wind, and Utahime wondered how far they had to go, and what awaited her.

A large temple gate appeared in the distance. Satoshi beckoned for her to hurry up, and she jogged to catch up to him. Everything in their path so far had screamed dilapidation and decay. Once they reached the gate, however, the extensive white sand garden and the infrastructures surrounding it told a different story. The buildings were far from deterioration; in fact, they appeared to be well-maintained and even fortified.

Some familiar faces from the Fugen lingered on the outskirts of the white sand garden, all of them bowing their heads at the sight of Satoshi.

Halfway through the path that crossed the garden, Akira appeared on the other end holding a large green stuffed toy.

“The problem with Jujutsu High’s sorcerers is that you don’t know how to operate in teams,” Satoshi told her, loud enough that a chill coursed through her arms. The sand that coated the wooden walkway crunched beneath his feet louder too, and each step sent a small whirl of dust to billow around his feet. “I get it that cursed techniques make teamwork difficult for some, but learning how to operate in numbers of fives and tens can make complex operations less deadly.”

Utahime spotted a Fugen member sitting on the roof of the building to her right. A non-shaman.

“You’ll need to learn how to work with us, starting with the basics, most important of which is—”

“—communication,” Utahime finished for him, making him glance back at her over his left shoulder. “I should’ve actively communicated my progress and my plans to the entire team while handling the tamed curse.”

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

Because he was correct. Jujutsu High sorcerers were taught to handle everything by themselves. They were supposed to act like they could even when they couldn’t, because growth often happened at the brink of death.

“It doesn’t come instinctively to you to ask for help in the middle of a risky situation,” he answered for her. “If others want to help, then they would. If not, then you pay the consequences. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Well, that's a load of bullshit. We aren't going to achieve anything that way. Not when we're up against the Sasaki."

"Yes, sir."

“You have no problem undoing the seals, but you do have a problem maintaining control of the tamed curse. It all boils down to stamina and cursed energy management. You don’t need to subdue the curse all at once. Just restrain it enough to let the curse know who is in control. As long as the curse is following, then any resistance from it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get the job done.”

They stopped in front of Akira, who passed the doll to Satoshi. The cursed corpse looked like a crossbreed between a monkey and a bear, with small beady eyes, rich fur, and a curled tail that made her suspicious of its capabilities. Yaga’s most lethal creations were usually the most adorable too, and this one was something she might’ve thrown a tantrum for when she was three.

“Yaga worked overtime to make this for you at my request. The doll is designed to resist foreign cursed energy. Leash it with your sealing technique, then attempt to make it follow your commands. The more cursed energy you put into it, the more it will resist until it breaks free.” Satoshi pitched the doll to the east of the sand garden. The sand billowed around it and covered its surface with white. “Oh, and it will try to kill you, so don’t half-ass this.”

Utahime scanned the temple. Satoshi, Akira, and all the five Fugen members watched her with anticipation. She tightened the bow on her hair and walked to the center of the pathway until she stood directly in front of the cursed corpse.

This was it. This was how she could lift the burden from Gojo and protect everyone she loved, and she wasn’t going to fail.

Raising her hands, Utahime summoned her cursed energy and began her ritual dance.

“If there is a traitor in our midst, then I need you to suspect everyone, even me and Utahime.”

Nanami sat on the opposite end of the couch from Gojo, unfazed. It was Shoko who folded her arms at once and looked uncertain.

“That sounds extreme,” she said.

“It’s necessary.” Nanami leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers tented in front of him. “If another attack happens, then the Fugen might be led to believe that there’s a traitor among them, and they will be looking at their leaders. Gojo’s relationship with Getou doesn’t put him in a good light, even if he is leading this hunt.”

“And Utahime-senpai?”

Gojo grunted his confirmation. “The fact that she has a binding vow with Gakuganji and that Ryousuke and Himari are among the known leaders of the cult doesn't improve her credibility. It’s like siding with the devil and telling everyone that you’re an angel. Well, she is, but you get my point."

The television played a brand jingle in the background. The volume had been turned down low enough not to be distracting, but now and then they would glance at the screen as though desperate for a distraction.

“So we have to assume it could even be your parents,” Shoko said.

“You have to systematically doubt everyone until they give you reason not to doubt them.”

Nanami pushed stray bangs off his forehead as he turned to face Gojo. He had that familiar glaze in his eyes, one that hinted of a mind in overdrive despite his calm facade. “I’ve been thinking about it since you informed me of the attack, and I believe your weakest links are Hanabi and Kazuo. We will be keeping an eye out on everyone, but we can’t ignore the two people who have more to gain from this.”

Shoko stared at Nanami with raised eyebrows before shifting her gaze to Gojo. “You think Hanabi’s going to betray you because of Utahime?”

“Gojo, how well do you know her boyfriend?” Nanami asked.

“Not well. He’s rich. A businessman. Old money.”

“Precisely. The Fugen knows that the Sasaki, like other cults, are funded by large investors. The most recent location we secured proved that children were being sacrificed, either through death or by making them guardians of the lairs and tamed curses. Emi is currently tracing the relatives of the corpses we found, and there have been hits on prominent families in Japan.”

Gojo remembered Hana telling him at the onsen that her boyfriend was her backup plan. If the Gojo clan died, she could restart it. She was his second cousin, and Akira was still a descendant of the last Six Eyes user, even distantly. Beneath the pink dye of her hair was the same ash white as her father’s.

She could do it.

Shoko blew smoke towards the ceiling. “Well, we have motivation. It’s clear to everyone that you intend to marry Utahime eventually. That puts Hanabi out of the picture.”

Lady Sayuri helped raised Hana, though. If something had changed in her, Lady Sayuri would be the first to notice. He could not imagine his mother withholding information from them and putting their family in danger.

Gojo moved to the edge of his seat to get the last donut. It was easy to make his apprehensions less noticeable when he was munching on dessert. “And Kazuo?”

Nanami accepted the beer can that Shoko passed to him. “For obvious reasons. Why kill Miyo and raise suspicions if you can simply keep her prisoner? Maybe he didn’t think of disposing of her until you intruded, and he was left with no choice.”

“I don’t like to suspect Kazuo, but if I’m going to be completely objective about it, Nanami is correct,” Shoko said. “The shrine is heavily weaponized. It’s like saying someone outwitted you in a minefield that you created yourself. It’s just hard to believe that he would even put Utahime in danger. Remember how he reacted when she collapsed after unsealing the cursed object for Master Tengen?”

Of course he did. Kazuo responded calmly and in an organized manner, but the subtle shift in his facial muscles gave away his panic. There was also the way he held Utahime as soon as she woke up in the middle of that ritual circle. Gojo was convinced right there and then that this was an older brother who would not let anyone get away with hurting his sister again.

Nanami cleared his throat as he turned the beer can in his hand. His apparent uncertainty made Gojo and Shoko exchange glances.

“I hate to say this, but Utahime-senpai makes that list too.”

Shoko tilted her head. Her eyes widened ever so slightly in shock and offense.

Gojo licked his fingers, making a popping sound at the end of each one. “You’re talking about the marks on Ume and Izumi, aren’t you?”

Nanami nodded. “I’m not knowledgeable about the technique Utahime-senpai is learning, but the principle seems to be the same. You mark your target and control them. It could be Ryousuke and Himari, or it could be Senpai. I’m willing to cast my vote on the Gakuganji siblings, but to others, Kazuo and Utahime might just be as suspicious. Their turf, their techniques.”

There was also the matter of the two shrine maidens addressing her with deference. Gojo should probably tell Nanami and Shoko, but he didn’t have the heart to fan the flames of suspicion on Utahime further. She was not a traitor and never could be.

When the silence stretched on for too long, Nanami spoke up again in a tone that suggested remorse and an eagerness to change the topic. “Why can’t your father just check everyone? You should’ve let him check Ume and Izumi’s memories too. He did that with the corpses before.”

“Too much time had passed since their deaths for him to recover anything. After the attack, the shrine had to be closed down and the bodies sealed in the morgue. Kazuo had to manage things internally, and it was impossible for Satoshi to perform his technique in the shrine or for the corpses to be taken out. It was pure luck that no one even saw Utahime with Lady Sayuri.”

“And the team?” Shoko asked. “He can check everyone, right?”

“If everyone’s willing to fall into a temporary coma. I suppose he can do that as a last resort, but whoever it is must have already taken his technique into consideration. Satoshi can’t access auditory memories along with the visuals like he used to. He has to be intentional on which memories he taps for sounds.”

Nanami made a thoughtful noise. “Even great techniques do have their limit.”

“Satoshi can’t check Gakuganji and Kazuo since they’re holding high seats in their clans. Uncle won’t let him touch Hanabi, because why would you want your daughter suspected?” It was a recipe for disaster. If one of them said or did the wrong thing, then the team would crumble from the inside. The hunt for Suguru would end, and they would be the ones being hunted.

Nanami and Shoko realized this and withdrew into their thoughts. He stared at the wall ahead while tapping his finger on the beer can, while she nursed her cigarette with a pinch of annoyance in the corner of her lips.

Gojo picked up his phone the second it vibrated in his pocket. It was from Ijichi. The email showed a summary of his upcoming missions—all of them in Tokyo. A number of grade one curses had popped up near populated areas of the city, and they needed him to get rid of them immediately.

He tossed his sunglasses to the coffee table and passed his hand over his face.

Instinctively, he thumbed through his messages and opened Utahime's. The words struck him with fresh anxiety.

I love you. We got this.

Chapter Text

Utahime plunged deep into the sand. Dust swelled around her, and through the haze, she saw the Fugen take down the cursed corpse for the tenth time that day.

Ahead of her, standing on the steps of the Ubosot ordination hall, stood Satoshi and Akira, watching with what appeared to be a mix of disappointment and indifference. The past three days of training with them had been some of the most brutal she had ever experienced. The agenda transformed these two veteran sorcerers from cackling goofballs to beasts on the battlefield. When it came to subduing the cursed corpse, what took four Fugen members minutes took Satoshi only one, and Akira, just seconds.

Each time, she would watch from the sidelines, dazed and heaving after another failed attempt at controlling the cursed corpse. The scene made her skin prickle with shame and her jaws slacken in awe of the two men. She knew they studied in Jujutsu High, which was why some of their battle tactics seemed familiar to her. Yet there was a flair to their movements that reminded her of how Gojo fought; a fluidity and strength that must be rooted in centuries-old fighting styles cultivated within their clan.

It was after another humiliating bout with the cursed corpse that Satoshi implied exorcising the tamed curses on purpose. It could be their best choice in the long run, as that would diminish the Gakuganji clan’s power. The only problem with taking that resort was Gakuganji’s subsequent insubordination. If they could not retrieve his curses, they would not be able to get the leads they needed to locate Suguru Getou.

“What if we just say Utahime can’t master her technique?” Mari, the only female in the Fugen who trained with her, suggested over dinner. “Gakuganji can’t begrudge her for that. Once this whole thing is done, Gakuganji won’t have his army of tamed curses, and not for a lack of trying.”

Utahime wanted to explain why that wasn’t possible, but her sides hurt, and her mouth tasted of blood every time she spoke. Satoshi must’ve noticed her hesitation because he spoke on her behalf.

“She has a binding vow.”

The Fugen resumed eating as though the suggestion was not even made. Akira kept dropping more meat into Utahime’s bowl and telling her to mix in certain pills to make them easier to swallow. “They’re from the healers. The Fugen use them when they’re overexerting themselves. Those specific pills are made for sorcerers.”

All it took was one taste for Utahime to realize why it was best to consume them during a meal. The powder inside each pill made her shudder with its bitterness, and the Fugen laughed at her reaction.

She was chugging down a pitcher of milk when a flash of bright white light blinded her. Through narrowed eyes, she saw Satoshi with his phone aimed at her. “To send to Satoru,” he explained as he tapped away on his phone. “I told him we were going to give you the infamous power pill, and he wanted to see your reaction.”

Utahime stuck her tongue out and breathed through her mouth. She was too focused on recovering from the taste to mind his antics.

Nao, the only non-shaman of the group, got up to fetch her more milk from the kitchen. “Miss Hanabi must be out to get you if those pills are too bitter.”

“Oh, did she make this batch?” Mari asked.

Daichi, the leader of this core team, popped a pill into his mouth. He was the kind of bald and bulky fighter she imagined the Fugen had, with movements so big he often hurt himself bumping into things.  “It’s not that bitter. She’ll get used to it.”

“Hanabi’s not out to get anyone, don’t worry.” Akira placed another pill into her rice bowl. “If she didn’t like you, then you’d know at once. My daughter can’t fake niceness.”

Utahime accepted the glass of milk Nao offered to her with a feeble thanks. She didn’t know exactly how to comment on any of these. That they knew about her relationship with Gojo was not a surprise; Satoshi said it would be difficult to hide that from the Fugen, but he was making sure it was a secret from the rest of the clan. Still, that didn’t make it easier to talk about her love life. Hanabi was still widely known as Gojo’s fiancé, even unofficially, and she didn’t want to make any comments that might sound presumptuous. Five years was a long time. A small part of her still worried that Gojo might not be able to wait for her any longer, or that their relationship would have staled by the time her binding vow ended.

Satoshi passed his phone to Nao. “You’re better at this than I am. Finish that level and take a screenshot.”

Nao gawked at the screen. “You’re still playing this? With all due respect, but you’re never beating Lady Sayuri.”

“Just give it a shot, will you?”

“But that would be cheating.”

Satoshi snatched his phone back and passed it to Mari. “I know you play this game too.”

“Yes, sir.” Mari got to work at once, and the bouncy noises from the game resonated in the background of their dinner conversation.

Utahime was downing another patch of pills when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID and excused herself from the table.

“It’s Lord Gojo,” Mari teased, and Daichi, Nao, and Toru made whooping noises like middle school bullies. Instead of shushing them, Satoshi asked if she could remind Satoru to increase the Fugen’s funding, and that made the rest of them break out with their own requests. New gear. Modern facilities. Better incentives.

It was Akira, maternal out of necessity, who waved her away and told everybody to finish eating.

Utahime waited until she had returned to the sand garden before answering the call. “Hey, did your father send you a photo of me?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. It takes effect pretty quickly. How do you feel?”

“Well…” She rotated her shoulders and kicked her legs. “My limbs don’t ache as much.”

“Only take as much as my uncle prescribes. It’s easy to get addicted.”

“Your healers are something else.”

“They’re the clan’s real pride. Next to me, of course.”

“It’s so nice to be reminded of your humility.” She transferred her phone to her other ear. “Anyway, can you come tomorrow?”

“I’ll try, but to be honest, I don’t think I can. These grade-one curses are popping up too close to populated areas. Jujutsu HQ won’t let it slide if I slack off.”

Utahime picked at her cuticles, her index finger scraping the loose skin of her thumbnail. She should stop before it became a bad habit, but she needed a quiet way to vent her anxiety. Knowing that Gojo wouldn’t be there to serve as the operation’s safety net only deepened the pit in her stomach. “It’s best to take care of them before they hurt innocent people.”

“Satoshi tells me you’re improving.”

Utahime scoffed. “He means everybody else is getting better at coming to my rescue.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I weren’t your girlfriend. Tell it to me as if I’m your student.”

"Even I needed to come close to death to unlock my true potential. The situation isn’t ideal, but you’ve gone too far to back out now," he said.

Utahime pulled the phone away to prevent him from hearing her sigh. Still, it echoed loudly in the cavernous corridor. “Do you really talk that way to your students?”

“Of course. I also tell them they’re shit and to give up if they’re not cut out for the job.”

“So, should I be flattered then, Gojo-sensei?”

He made a choking noise, followed by a bout of coughing. “Thank goodness you’re not my student. I can imagine you when we were in high school with your pigtails and cute bangs calling me Gojo-sensei. I’d never let you go on a mission alone.”

“Hey, you’ve never been attracted to any of your students, right?”

“I’ve never been attracted to anyone else but you since I was seventeen, remember? Don’t go accusing me of being a pervert when you’re the one who’s been with other men.”

She stepped out of the ordination hall and into the cool night. Crickets whined in the distance, and the thick sound of rustling leaves accompanied their song. Utahime kicked off her boots and walked barefoot on the wooden pathway in the middle of the vast white sand garden.  “Okay, fine. If you were my teacher, I might have had a crush on you. Maybe. A huge maybe.”

“Oh? What would’ve done the trick?”

“Well, you would be obnoxious in class, but I’d be distracted every time I see your shoulders.”

“My shoulders?”

“I like men with broad shoulders.”

“You won’t be able to guess how many shoulder presses I’ll be doing tonight.”

Utahime tried to suppress her laughter. So far, this was the thing she enjoyed the most about being in a relationship with him. Gojo was relentless in his expression of love, and she had an especially soft spot for his humor. “I’m only going to say this once, and don’t rub it in my face, okay?”

“It’s lame to propose to me over the phone, senpai.”

“I think I miss you already.”

There was a pause from his end. When he spoke again, she noted the touch of somberness in his voice. “Goes to show how sad you are. You’re only that honest when you're desperate for beer but can't have any.”

“You know me so well by now.”

“I told you. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Utahime fell silent. She turned to her right and saw that the others were heading back out. They were going to do three more rounds of simulations, this time with Akira building a dome around them to recreate the layout of the most recent location they secured. This way, they could exorcise the curse and exit safely if Utahime failed. Again.

“Gojo, do you trust me as much as you love me?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’ll stand by you even if you make a mistake.”

That one word clangored in the confines of her skull—mistake. She stopped walking and took several tries before she could muster her voice. “Have you never suspected me? Have you never thought that maybe there’s another reason behind my binding vow?”

“Is there?”

“No.”

“If there is, I’ll kill Gakuganji. Easy peasy.”

“I have to go.”

“Utahime, I know you’re not the traitor,” he said. “Look, we’re wary of there being one or two, but there might not be any at all. Also, it doesn’t matter what others might think. Nobody can hurt you as long as you’re with me.”

Satoshi cupped his hands beside his mouth and drew in a breath. “Satoru, raise our funds!”

“Was that Satoshi?”

“Yeah, the Fugen has a lot of requests.”

“Oooh nooo, I can’t hear you, babe. What’s that? You’re dropping the call? Okay, love you, bye.”

Utahime held her phone up to show them the screen. “He hung up on me.”

Satoshi put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “My son is a bad boyfriend.”

Akira stood beside the massive pile of wood on the outskirts of the sand garden. “Alright, whoever messes up will wash the dishes.”

“Should we count Utahime out? She’s been washing the dishes for two days,” Toru said.

“Let her wash for the third one as well.” Mari winked at her as she got into position.

Utahime rotated her head clockwise once and popped her knuckles. If this were a sparring match, she’d have taken all four of them down without needing to use her technique. At first, it was all fun and games, but now she was feeling the heat of her failures.

One more jibe, she thought to herself. One more jibe and she might actually challenge them to a fight to prove herself.

“Count her out.” Daichi crouched on the sand and picked at his teeth with his pinky. “If she tells Lord Gojo, we might get sentry shift for a whole month.”

Utahime popped the last knuckle on her hand. “So you think I go running to him to fight my battles for me?”

“Why not?" Daichi shrugged, the movement causing his jowls to bounce. "I would, if I were in a relationship with the Six Eyes. Besides, you’re exhausted. There’s no way you’re pulling this one off in your state. Not even the pills will help you now.”

“Left to right,” Utahime said.

Mari, Nao, Daichi, and Toru turned to her with matching scowls. Utahime made a line in the air from left to right. “I’ll fight you left to right one by one. All at once if you let me create a Zero Forbidden Zone.”

“Zero what?”

“My family are masters of forbidden zones. Our earliest training happens in a Zero Forbidden Zone, meaning we fight with the lowest possible cursed energy level to build our stamina.”

Toru hopped in place and wiggled his arms. “That gave me the chills. Sounds exciting.”

Mari stretched her arms overhead, exposing the tattoos along her abdomen. “Alright, let’s go with your forbidden zone. I think that’s the fairest option since we’ll be fighting with the same cursed energy output, correct?”

Nao raised his hand like a scared schoolboy. “Just to say, it won't have any effect on me, but sure.”

Utahime made the hand signs. She could almost hear her father’s voice in her head telling her not to be cocky, but this was her forte. Besides, she had been itching to beat someone up to vent her frustration, and these four had been asking for it. “You’ll feel it when it begins.”

The four of them exchanged glances, arms akimbo and eyebrows raised. Daichi was about to say something when he keeled over and heaved. Mari held her head and stumbled forward, while Toru spread his arms sideways to sustain his balance. Nao frowned and claimed to feel nauseous, but was otherwise fine. Utahime had expected as much from him. Being a non-shaman meant his cursed energy exited his body naturally, and the forbidden zone only hastened the process for him, hence the nausea. If she had to keep an eye out on anyone in this battle, it was him.

“This is your current cursed energy level?” Mari spat.

“I keep it low if I’m about to activate a more complex technique. It’s a kind of cursed energy preservation.” Utahime dug her bare feet in the sand before pushing her right foot back to enter her fighting stance. “Do you need another minute, or would you rather wash the dishes now?”

From her periphery, she could see Satoshi and Akira standing outside the sand garden with their phones aimed at them, filming.

“Make it good, everyone!” Satoshi said.

The distraction almost caused Utahime to miss Nao. He swung his leg at her head, and she leaped to her right just in time to dodge. Her mistake was in underestimating Nao’s acrobatic skills. To anybody else, twisting in the air after the strange angle of his kick would’ve been hard, if not impossible, but Nao did it. If she hadn’t crossed her arms to shield her chest, his leg would’ve sent her flying out of the sand garden, and the fight would be over.

As luck would have it, Utahime’s father spent years training her to maximize her speed on the battlefield. She knew she would never be as physically strong as men like Kazuo, and she didn’t have the superior physical build of women like Mari. No, brute strength was not her forte, and it had never been her goal. While she had gained more muscle over the years, she streamlined her diet and training to remain as light on her feet as possible.

Now it was paying off.

Naoi’s attack sent her skidding a few feet back, but the burning sensations in her muscles did little to impede her senses. Mari jumped into the fray, and Utahime parried her punches without missing a beat. Nao attempted to circle them, but Utahime made sure that he was never out of her sight. Since he favored kicking, he would need a wide opening to land a hit. Mari's preference for close combat prevented him from aiming at Utahime without colliding with Mari, and getting tangled up with your teammate in a fight was an easy way to lose.

Mari had just leaped back to switch with Nao when Utahime noticed Daichi charging at her like a bull. Stuck between two opponents, Utahime resorted to a move she had used on her brothers once. She caught Nao's ankle in mid-air and used the momentum to swing him in Daichi’s direction.

Daichi caught him, and Utahime stumbled to the ground, heaving and drooling. Her wrists felt like liquid from the impact, and her sides were beginning to cramp again.

Hot, sharp pain erupted in her scalp when Toru picked her up by the hair. Utahime screamed in both hurt and frustration. Where did he come from? She had not noticed him until he grabbed her, and now he was clutching her hair with a firmness that might rip her scalp out. He had no doubt uprooted a lot of hair in the process.

Toru pulled her back with the intention of slamming her into the sand. As he pitched her forward, she snatched his collar and brought him down with her. The two of them rolled and wrestled on the ground, with Toru trying to subdue her amidst the swirls of sand and smoke that blinded them. He had managed to pin her legs with his own and was now attempting to restrain her wrists. She squirmed beneath him and jabbed her elbows outward until one hand broke free. Then she resorted to her favorite move—she slapped him across the face.

The action, so unexpected and personal, stunned Toru enough for Utahime to knee him in the groin and escape. He recoiled on the ground, groaning with his hands between his legs and tears streaming from his eyes.

Nao and Mari lunged at her in a simultaneous attack. Utahime cursed under her breath. Adrenaline still hummed in her veins, but her joints were protesting, and every movement ignited sparks of pain throughout her body. Only muscle memory and pride kept her dodging and meeting each blow with her own. Nao and Mari landed a jab and a kick here and there, but they no longer possessed the strength that they used to.

Soon, she had worn them out, and Mari and Nao dropped to their knees. Sweat dripped from their foreheads and sleekened their flushed faces. The three of them exchanged glances, assessing one another’s state of exhaustion while catching their breaths.

Mari flipped her off. She held her middle finger up until she collapsed on the sand. Nao attempted to stand but eventually plummeted backward like a felled tree.

She would’ve surrendered to the welcoming embrace of exhaustion had she not seen Daichi come at her from the corner of her eye. With her remaining strength, she ducked and skittered around him like a mouse evading a cat. Or in his case, a raging bear. His nose was flaring and his veins bulging, and if only she weren’t tired, she’d have laughed at how cartoonish he looked. He had probably never fought with this little cursed energy before.

Utahime kept backing off until his assaults became wild and tactless, and then she slipped past his defenses to go for the kill. She stepped on his thigh to climb his shoulder and hook her legs around his torso. Before she could swing her body to take him down, however, Daichi knelt on one knee and tackled her to the sand.

The clouds of sand that billowed around them gave her ample time to pause, but both of them were blinded and coughing from the dust. Blindly, she rearranged her legs around his torso and pushed herself off the ground so she was on top of him. Daichi was barely conscious now from his depleted cursed energy, and his chest rose and fell in rapid succession beneath her weight.

“Fuck you.” His grin revealed teeth outlined with blood. “Did you learn our fighting style while wrestling in bed with Lord Gojo?”

Utahime swung her hand back, palm up and fingers splayed apart. “Fuck you too. I sparred with Lord Gojo in high school.”

She slapped him twice, not so hard that he fell unconscious, but just enough to squash whatever fight he had left in him.  Slowly, she stumbled to her feet and winced at her aching knees. Her calves were spasming, and one of her eyelids had started twitching. She began to undo her technique to alleviate the strain on her body, but she hadn’t reached her second hand sign yet when she felt a looming presence behind her. The next thing she knew, she was drifting across the sand.

Utahime saw, through the haze of the dust, Satoshi coming at her at full speed. Even when he entered her Zero Forbidden Zone, she missed his attacks by only half a second. Each swing of his arm and legs sent a sharp burst of wind in its wake that messed with her balance. She doubted that she could parry his blows, as he was twice Daichi’s size, so all she could do was dodge.

It was in the middle of racking her brain for a strategy that she heard Getou. His voice, moderate but compelling, flitted like smoke from the recesses of her mind. She remembered him telling her to avoid direct contact with Gojo in a fight, especially when his Infinity was down. Shoko had joked that it was because Gojo was a pervert, and in between bursts of laughter, Getou explained that it was difficult to recover from the sheer force of his punches.

Use a weapon, Getou had suggested from the sidelines and pointed at her kosode.

Utahime backed away from Satoshi as far as she could and ripped a portion of her sleeve. Wrapping the ends of the fabric around her hands, she used its length to divert Satoshi’s punches and prevent them from connecting with her body.

At every opportunity, she aimed her attack at his left side in the hopes that he could not defend it, but he made up for his missing arm with his left leg. She barely evaded his kick, and when she did manage to tangle his ankle in the fabric, he simply put his foot down and brought her with it.

She knew she was trapped. While uncurling the fabric from her hands, Satoshi grabbed her by the neck. Utahime could not resist as he raised her to her feet and pinned her against his chest by slamming his palm over her face. It did not hurt, but the force startled her, and she felt the beginning of his technique on his fingertips. Pain like a hundred needle jabs blossomed in her temples and she opened her mouth wide in a silent scream.

A beat or two passed, and Satoshi let her go. She fell to her knees, hyperventilating and clawing at her head. He had not activated his technique, but the sheer difference in their power was enough to shake her to her core.

“Alright, fun time’s over,” Akira yelled from the steps of the temple. “All of you have wasted your energy. Let’s resume at dawn.”

Satoshi sat on his haunches beside her. “The issue is not with your stamina. Your cursed energy manipulation is also polished enough for the technique you’re mastering. So what’s the problem?”

Blood dripped from her nose to the overlapping seams of kosode, and all she could do was watch as the red seeped into the fabric. She recalled Getou gripping the collars of her kosode once and showing her a new way to take down a much larger opponent.

But what if the opponent was a curse?

Getou had summoned a centipede-like curse with eyes all over its sectioned body and ordered it to circle Utahime.

Curses are like people, he said. They know when you’re stronger than them, but strength is rarely enough to keep them tamed. When I use my curses to subdue other curses, those that are mine are marked.

Marked?

They know they are mine, and so it doesn’t matter if I’m throwing them in a battle against stronger curses. They obey because they are mine.

Shoko once speculated that he was referring to the act of ingesting the curse. Putting something into your body made it a part of you. That was the real heart of his technique. If he could not swallow the curse, then he could not tame it. His technique would not mean anything.

Utahime tossed her head back to look up at the night sky. Wisps of grey clouds drifted towards the full moon. What scant moonlight illuminated the sand garden disappeared, and she found herself basked in thick darkness.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But I’ll figure it out.”

Gojo strolled along the Todaji Temple in Nara Park with his hands in his pockets, scanning the crowd above his sunglasses. Clusters of students in varying uniforms clogged the roads, and the tourists wound their way around these big groups that were being shepherded by sweating teachers.

The Big Buddha Hall loomed at the head of the path like a gentle giant, intricate and sturdy in all its wooden glory. Somewhere to his right, a teacher explained to his students that the hall held the record as the world’s largest wooden building. The students exclaimed in awe, and the teacher quickly added that the current temple’s size was only two-thirds of its original size.

More information about the temple buzzed from tourists and tour guides alike, with most of them aiming their cameras at the infrastructure that stood against a flat blue sky.

Gojo wandered around, whistling and affecting boredom, until he reached the fifteen-meter tall Buddha inside, flanked by two Bodhisattvas.

He stopped a few feet near the base and drank in the sight of the magnificent statue. “Quite different from a Shinto shrine, huh?”

The boy beside him jolted. Slowly, he turned his head, and blood drained from his face. “Lord Gojo!”

Gojo beamed at him. Haruki had grown so much since the mediation that he barely recognized him. He was no longer a boy, but a young man of fifteen with his father’s features. If he looked hard enough, he could see resemblances to Utahime in the curve of his eyebrows and the tilt of his nose, but otherwise, he was the spitting image of his Master Iori. The contrast between their gentle personalities with their sharp intellect reminded him of a wolf in sheep's clothing, except these wolves were genuinely nice. They just had to hide their claws to avoid scaring people.

“Just Gojo is fine. We haven’t formally met, have we?”

“Haruki Iori, sir.” He bowed so deeply that the people around them stared.

“Utahime’s favorite brother.”

He straightened up, chuckling. “Well, it’s either me or Kazuo, and those two rarely see eye-to-eye.”

“I noticed that.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

Gojo resumed staring up at the Daibutsu. He remembered reading about the Buddha's head falling off at one point in history. “Nothing, really. I was just enjoying the infrastructure when I noticed you.”

Haruki turned towards the Buddha too, mirroring his pose. “ I may not be a sorcerer, but I was trained alongside my siblings. No sorcerer of your status would waste your time with—” he cut himself short as a thought struck him. “Has something happened to my sister?”

“Relax. Utahime’s fine.”

“Did you piss off Utahime and now want advice from me?”

Gojo laughed. He motioned for Haruki to follow him. His classmates were loitering about, taking selfies and flirting with their crushes. When one of them asked where he was going, he said he needed to use the restroom, and they let him be.

“If I pissed her off, I’d be coming to you bruised and limping,” Gojo said once Haruki had fallen in step with him. They walked around the massive red pillars and evaded the flock of tourists that had just entered the building.

“The audacity of her to beat up the Six Eyes.”

"She's never been scared of me."

“But I guess that says a lot about your feelings for one another. Do you know that she came to me for advice when you blocked her promotion?”

Gojo turned sideways to avoid knocking over a toddler. “And what did you tell her?”

“Her promotion’s not as important as she thinks it is. Personally, I’m glad you did that. I feel like I’ll die of cardiac arrest every time I receive news about her and Kazuo. I think if she had not become an instructor, she’d be dead by now.

Gojo regarded him. That was a rather fair and objective opinion for someone who depended on sorcerers for survival. Most non-shamans in clans clung to the idea of power as their only ticket to a better life. The more powerful their kin, the more money and influence they could enjoy.

Perhaps his judgment differed from many because he came from a mediating family.

“You’re convinced of that?” Gojo asked.

Haruki took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his uniform. Walking exacerbated the summer heat, and the crowd made it impossible to benefit from the ventilation. “She’s learning a new technique with Gakuganji, yes, but how long can she keep that up before it destroys her body? Cursed energy manipulation of the type our family employs wrecks havoc on a sorcerer’s physiology. The more powerful she gets, the closer to death she comes.”

Gojo stopped walking. It had been so abrupt that people bumped into him, with some apologizing and others cussing him out. He ignored them all. “Is that your assumption or a fact?”

“Our parents are fourth cousins. Mother was a priestess before she married Father, and she had to stop working when they started a family. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to bear children. She might even be dead by now.”

“Is it the same with Kazuo?”

“He’d last longer, but it would be a miracle if he reached fifty. Our father stopped accepting missions at his age so he can manage the shrines until Kazuo is ready to inherit.”

“And you’re the one who gets to live a normal life.”

Haruki smiled wanly at his feet. He looked like he had mulled over this fact hundreds of times in the past. “Yeah. I do my best so they don’t worry about me. But really, there’s no need to. When I die, it’ll be of something lame. Car accident. Disease. Do you know that people have died from eating leftover pasta?”

The two of them wandered off to the exit and basked in the cool air outside. Deer loitered in the distant path, and Gojo squinted at a line of monks with shaved heads, all of them dressed in similar robes and kesa, making their way toward the Great Buddha Hall.

When he turned to Haruki next, he was standing under the shade of a tree, fanning himself with his hand. “I can’t wait for this school trip to end and summer break to begin.”

“Any plans for the summer? Got girlfriends or friends to visit the beach with?”

“Maybe, but I usually work as father’s secretary during breaks. I’m saving up so I can move away for college.”

Gojo fished around in his pocket and found a candy. He tossed it to Haruki, who caught it with one hand. “Oh? Where do you plan to go?”

“Anywhere outside of Kyoto. It looks fun to be independent.”

“Too many sorcerers in Kyoto?”

He unwrapped the candy and put it in his mouth. After a while of sucking, he said, “I don’t mind the Jujutsu World. I just don’t belong, you know?”

Gojo nodded. He had heard that sentiment many times, which was why Lady Sayuri let go of any non-shaman who preferred to work outside the clan. “Are there sorcerers in your school? There are usually one or two undiscovered talents in cities as big as Kyoto.”

“In my school?” He screwed up his brows as he thought about it. “None that I’ve noticed. Is Jujutsu High making your recruit?”

“No one from the Jujutsu World apart from me has approached you like this? Maybe even a non-shaman spewing some weird crap about sorcery?”

Haruki stopped biting down on the candy. He chuckled nervously. “You’re freaking me out.”

Gojo glanced back at the tourists and students who were exiting the building. Most of them had removed certain articles of clothing to cool down and were fanning themselves with pamphlets and other makeshift fans. The monks had disappeared, replaced now by a large group of European couples.

There was no sorcerer on the premises, and none had come close to him in the past twenty-four hours that Gojo had been monitoring him. If anybody wanted to make contact with Haruki, now would have been the best opportunity. His school trip in Nara placed him at a safe distance from his family. Nara was also more within the Zenin's influence, and if the Sasaki knew their politics, they should be aware that the Gojo and the Kamo abstained from any Jujutsu-related activities here to avoid triggering the ever-so-deranged Zenin.

Haruki was vulnerable here, and Gojo finally decided to approach him to send a warning.

Anybody preying on Haruki should back off. Gojo was not scared to butt heads with the Zenin if it meant protecting Utahime's family.

“I promised your sister I won’t go behind her back again, so I’ll make sure to tell her that I met with you," he said.

“What’s this about? If Utahime is—"

Gojo smiled at him and waved as he walked away. “Very soon, you’ll find out what’s happening, but it’s not my place to tell you. I just thought checking on you would give her the peace of mind she needs.”

Haruki marched after him. “I don’t have an innate technique, but I can fight.”

“I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean a lot if you’re up against a true sorcerer. Just stay low, don’t talk to strangers, and call me if anything suspicious happens around you. And I mean anything. I believe you already have my contact details from the previous mediation.” He took out his phone and held it up so that the camera captured Haruki red-faced and stomping after him. Gojo made the peace sign, snapped the photo, and waved again.

It was time for him to return to Kyoto and watch over the team in the shadows. He had dealt with the strongest curses in Tokyo in one day and left the rest to Yaga so that he could make this trip to talk to Haruki. Now that he had, he could cross out Haruki from his mental list of possible traitors, or just people the Sasaki might use to extract information from.

Besides, Haruki was too obvious a choice. Once the Sasaki made itself known, it would’ve expected them to turn on the non-shamans in the family first. The ones they targeted were also normally defectors, and Haruki came off as too attached to his siblings to even consider lying to them. The kid even looked like the type to let a cockroach escape.

“You should kill Gakuganji.”

Gojo's steps slowed as he processed this statement, and then he came to a full stop. He turned to face Haruki and saw him standing in the middle of the path with a frown.

“It’s the only way to save her,” he added. “End the binding vow now and force Utahime to retire. Otherwise, she might not make it past five years.”

Gojo remembered the blood pooling around Utahime on the floor of the abandoned facility when they were still in high school. It was an image that would haunt him forever, not just because he loved her, but because long before any romance between them developed, he had already seen her as a trustworthy comrade. An adult in a corrupt institution who cared too much when everybody else cared too little. Even if he never felt any infatuation for her, or she never reciprocated his feelings, the idea of her dying in such an unjust way made his blood hot with anger.

Jujutsu High needed Utahime. Her students would not have survived for as long as they had without her care and instruction. Given the circumstances, he could justify murdering Gakuganji. His very association with the current Sasaku cult made him a likely threat. Who was to say he didn’t plan this all? What if he was just stringing them along and using Utahime as his primary pawn?

Gojo rolled his head until his neck popped, the sound so satisfying that it made him sigh in relief. It was such a headache trying to be good. “I’d love to, but she’s not my possession. If she wants me to wait five years, then I’ll wait.”

He told Utahime he would, but that didn't mean he would be passive. That binding fucking vow had kept him awake for several nights, and he had conjured every possible solution to the complications it might give them. Now he was hell-bent on pursuing all of his options to keep her safe, and he was willing to stick to the ones she would approve of for as long as the situation remained manageable. The moment this escalated, Gakuganji's head would roll, and so would those of every Sasaki member in the country.

Gojo stood on the edge of a rooftop, watching as the Fugen filed into the side entrance of a newly constructed but unoccupied commercial complex nestled deep in the Shijo-Sanjo belt of Kyoto. Bars, inns, and other establishments surrounded the building, and as the clock pushed to ten in the evening, the nightlife of this district pulsated into life.

Gojo spotted Nanami among the people in black to enter the commercial complex last.

A container van pulled at the mouth of the alley, and Hanabi eased her way out of the passenger’s seat. She assessed the place with a hint of indifference before drawing a veil. He noted, as the veil dropped down on them with inky fluidity, that her skills had improved. Should the tamed curse go out of control, this veil would suffice to keep the chaos contained while he dealt with it.

Gojo’s phone vibrated. He checked the notification and saw a new message from Satoshi. An image appeared in their chat, and Gojo couldn’t help but smirk.

Just as Gojo had requested, Utahime had worn an outfit similar to the Fugen’s. The vestments Gakuganji provided her did not help much in managing her technique, and if they were to be ambushed, Utahime would stand out too much. Also, he wanted her to appear to be a part of the team. Being in her miko outfit made it look like she was more on Gakuganji’s side than theirs.

He zoomed in on her annoyed face, which stood out amidst the wide bright smiles of Nao, Daichi, Toru, and Mari. If she was openly sneering at them, then it was safe to assume that they were getting along.

Gojo lowered himself to a crouch and took in his surroundings. He could not sense sorcerers outside the veil, but that did not mean they weren’t being watched. Drunken laughter filled the streets, and music leaked from karaoke bars and restaurants. People of all ages streamed along the sidewalks, their gazes wandering as they took in their options.

Who among them were members of the Sasaki?

Where was that third scum from the attack on the Iori Shrine who hurt Utahime and Lady Sayuri?

The retrieval panned out exactly the way it did in the simulations they performed. Utahime lost control of the tamed curse at the fiftieth second, and Daichi carried her away from the curse’s path so that Nanami could exorcise it while Akira prevented the building from collapsing on them.

The floor sank and shifted beneath them as Nanami and the Fugen contained the curse in one part of the hall for exorcism. Within minutes, all the plaster dust that rained from the ceiling had bleached them from head to toe and remade the lair into pure white.

An ear-splitting roar erupted from the curse, and Nanami sliced down its middle in one swift motion. All the while, Satoshi stood on the side with his hands crossed against his chest, watching everything without an iota of worry on his face. If anything, he looked the most bothered about the plaster dust that coated his skin and clothes.

The occasional sigh of the walls and falling debris stopped eventually, and the climax of the operation ended.

Utahime’s only reprieve was that everything had been rehearsed. She knew when to call out to the Fugen, and they, in turn, knew when to jump in and take over.

Thoroughly depleted and itching from the grime, Utahime got up from the floor to find a dark corner. There, she hunched over and vomited. The sound of liquid splattering on the ground rang loudly in her ears. She hadn’t eaten anything the entire day due to nerves, so it didn’t surprise her that she was vomiting water.

Utahime was straightening up when she noticed the specks of red around her boots. She ran her hand over her mouth and saw red streaked across her palm.

Dread seized her entire body. She could not move. The flurry of activity behind her went unnoticed as her senses honed in on the blood seeping toward her feet. Possible explanations careened around her mind, all of them verging on the one true answer that she would not allow herself to think, more so say.

Biting back a sob, she squeezed her eyes shut and made a decision.

It was time to go to her father.

Gojo watched Hanabi signal the driver of the container truck to exit the premises. Two cargo vans piled up with the corpses of around two dozen Sasaki members, and then the main team made their way out of the commercial complex.

He watched their bleached-out figures move towards separate sedans, and at the tail end ambled Nanami, Utahime, Akira, and then Satoshi. Relief washed over him in an instant, and it felt as though he had been doused with water after having been on fire for hours.

He pulled his blindfold over his eyes and stepped back into the shadows.

As he was crossing the rooftop to go down the other side, his phone rang. It was Kazuo.

“News?” Gojo asked.

“Jujutsu HQ has nothing on Kamo that connects them to the Sasaki. Apart from monitored dealings with the underground Jujutsu Society, HQ has nothing on them. None that's on record, anyway.”

“But Satoshi is right? Jujutsu HQ does know about the Sasaki?”

“It seems the files on them have been pulled. They’re no longer within my clearance. My sources tell me that HQ only does that when there’s an active case related to it, or it’s an active case itself. I’m guessing they did it because Ryousuke and Himari are in the Bingo Book.”

“You sound relieved.”

“Of course, I am. It’s enough that I have to deal with your clan. I don’t want to deal with the Kamo too.”

“Seems like they’re desperate to steer clear of trouble after that psycho Noritoshi Kamo.”

“They shouldn’t have attempted to cleanse the name by giving it to their current heir. Poor kid.”

“My family’s not that crazy. Did you know my mother named me after her imaginary albino cat?”

“Yes, that’s absolutely not crazy.” Kazuo’s voice grew distant, and the sound of a door opening filled his subsequent silence. When he spoke up next, it was in a more formal tone. “By the way, Master Iori wants to talk to you.”

Gojo couldn’t help but glower at the moon, which hung so low and full that it looked ominous. He should’ve guessed that Kazuo was being pleasant for a reason. “I’ll be back in Kyoto in—"

“—now. Over the phone.”

A scuffling noise, and then an echo of a dry, throaty cough. “Lord Gojo, this is Nobunaga Iori speaking.”

Gojo's mouth turned dry, and for a second, he thought he would not be able to respond. “Master Iori. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m investigating the attack on Miyo Yamamoto, and it appears my son has been coerced into lying to me about the assault that transpired in my shrine. He tells me that I have to hear the truth from you myself.”

“Ah.” He tugged at the collar of his jacket to loosen it. “Should we set a date and place to meet?”

“Is Satoshi Gojo involved?”

He laughed. He probably shouldn't have, but as a kid, laughing had been his knee-jerk reaction to danger. “Unfortunately.”

“Then you might as well bring him too.”

Chapter Text

Gojo tucked his chin to peer at Utahime. She still lay on her side, sidled so close to him that it was beginning to feel hot and stuffy in her room. Her arms and legs remained unmoving over his body, and there was a certain possessiveness to the way her fingers clutched a huge chunk of his shirt. Her head lay on his arm, which he snaked around her back to keep her from falling off the narrow bed. Circulation had long stopped in that limb, and it felt tingly and gelatinous. He wanted nothing more than to shake it off to regain sensation, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of waking Utahime.

This was the most exhausted he had ever seen her, and while she wasn’t cut up and bruised, he could tell just by her complexion that she was not in good health. Her cheeks had sunken, and her lips were dry and cracked, with hints of dried blood in each crevice. The silkiness of her hair was gone, and it was now fanned out on the pillow in a wild, frizzy mess.

He had spent hours poring over the video of her fighting the Fugen. Satoshi was correct—she had the mastery of her cursed energy and the stamina to pull off the Blood Maiden’s technique. Either Gakuganji had set her up for failure, or this technique wasn’t for her after all.

Gojo slid down the bed so they were face-to-face and pulled her into an embrace. She still smelled of plaster, and a coating of white dust remained on her skin. He could make out her ribs through her oversized shirt, and the longer he held her, the smaller and more fragile she felt in his grasp.

Some days, Gojo couldn’t help but think that their relationship had triggered something. If he had never pursued her, she would not have that scar on her face. She wouldn’t have made a binding vow with Gakuganji. She would not be trapped in this hunt for Getou, which may be killing her in less obvious ways.

Utahime slammed her hand on the side of his face. “Satoru, stop smothering me.”

Gojo buried his nose in the nook of her neck. “But you were cuddling me first, senpai. And didn’t you say you missed me?”

She pulled her head and torso away from him, but he only kept coming for her until half of their bodies were hanging off the bed. “Satoru Gojo! Why does every morning with you have to be like this?”

Gojo wet his lips and puckered them. “Call me Gojo-sensei again.”

Utahime gave up and just fell limp. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Alright, alright.” He pulled her back on the bed, laughing. The only way she would fit comfortably was if he lay on his side and pressed his back against the wall, so that was what he did. He didn’t mind, though, because, from this vantage point, he could appreciate how the soft morning light from the window overhead touched her features. He had always loved her eyes and her mouth, the very shape of them so demure that he had found talking seriously to her so difficult when they were in high school. It was as though she was built to be kissed and loved.

“Why don’t you call me by my first name all the time?” He asked as he rubbed the strands of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

“Because we’re being discreet, remember? People will wonder why I changed the way I call you.”

“Are we telling your father today?”

“I think I can only handle one revelation at a time.” She turned her head to face him. “Does that bother you?”

“No. It’s just that he might think badly about me once he finds out eventually. I don’t want him to assume that I’m not serious about this. Also, my parents are coming along.”

“Even Lady Sayuri?”

“Satoshi doesn’t want to go without her.”

She stretched on the bed, kicking the blankets over the edge in the process. She reminded him of a cat whenever she did that, and he had the urge to rub her belly, but she would likely kick him in the groin like last time. “I can’t even begin to think what happened between your parents and my father.”

“He’s not going to approve of us, is he?”

“I doubt it, but he won’t be as vocal as Kazuo. He believes in allowing us to make mistakes and letting us face the consequences.”

“This isn’t a mistake, though,” he said.

Utahime blinked up at him. “I know.”

“Good.”

“You’re being weird,” she said, touching his neck. “Oh, and thanks for checking on Haruki. He’s just an easy target. If someone does anything to him, I might lose it.”

Gojo didn’t want to talk about Haruki. He didn’t want to entertain the ideas he put in his head about her deteriorating before his eyes. “Satoshi sent me the video of you beating up the Fugen.”

“I had the advantage because of my technique. Did you see the part where Satoshi tossed me in the air like a piece of rag?”

“Ah, so that’s why the video looked like it was suddenly cut.”

She moved her hand from his neck to his cheeks and squeezed. “You and your father have the same presence on the battlefield. It was like he was…happy?”

“Well, he’s retired, and no one’s stupid enough to fight him.” He stuck his tongue out, and it landed in the middle of her palm.

She withdrew her hand with a violent shudder. “Gojo, you’re so disgusting!”

“What? I'm only allowed to lick you down there?”

Utahime sat up and beat him with a pillow. He curled into a tight ball and shielded his head with his arm, but he was laughing. He couldn’t help it. Angry Utahime always puts him in hysterics.

“Anyway,” she said, stopping only because the pillow had ripped and the stuffing was now spilling from beneath the linen casing. “I can’t imagine fighting Satoshi when he had two hands. Gakuganji told me about his Domain Expansion.”

Gojo unfurled from his ball and grabbed the pillow to put beneath his head. He stared up at the ceiling, silent.

Utahime realized, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Sorry.”

He placed his hand on her thigh. “It’s fine. I just don’t know how to feel about it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Did he? The only person who knew about his feelings towards Satoshi’s missing arm was Suguru, and even then, Gojo had been picky about the details. The thought of talking about it made him overly conscious of his breathing and the pressure spreading along his jawline. He wished they could discuss this while walking around Kyoto or wolfing down a huge breakfast. Lying in bed like this, he was vulnerable to her scrutiny, and he hated being on the receiving end of someone's pity.

Utahime must've recognized his quiet reluctance because she made a move to get up, but he stopped her. “I get annoyed at myself whenever I see him struggling."

She settled beside him again. He relaxed a little and focused all his restless energy on kneading her palm. "When I was a kid, he wanted to fly a kite with me, but the strings got tangled. He was laughing about it while he worked the strings, but the stupid thing wouldn’t budge, and he wouldn’t let me fix it for him. In the end, he got so angry that he broke it. That was the first time I was ever scared in my life. Not when I faced a special grade curse at nine or made my very first kill at thirteen. Whenever I think of the word ‘fear,’ I see Satoshi stomping on the spool and ripping the kite apart. It's so stupid.”

Utahime brushed his bangs off his forehead. "It's not stupid."

"It was a pretty kite. He made it himself. I get why he threw a fit."

“It must have been hard being a young father. With one arm. And your son is the Six Eyes.”

He shot her a glare. “Point made.”

“Even my Father had his bad days.” She lay beside him. “When he erupts, he just…erupts. There’s no warning. I remember he got so angry at one of our priests that he choked him. Kazuo carried me and Haruki out of the room because we were too stunned to move.”

“Choke as in a choking technique?”

“No.” She splayed her fingers in the air like claws and squeezed the space in between. “Real, angry choking. That’s the scary part. He choked the priest until the poor guy passed out. I think there’s something visceral about hurting someone that way.”

“Master Iori is shorter than me, so he’s a lot shorter than Satoshi, but I bet he can choke the hell out of my father if he wants to. What about techniques?” he asked.

“I’ve seen him use some of the basic Forbidden Zones, but all of us have specialties. You’ve seen Kazuo’s Zero Forbidden Zone, right? I can only use mine with people and low grade curses, but he has the stamina to use that on special grades.”

“And you have your unsealing technique.”

“Which uses the same principle as the Zero Forbidden Zone. Reducing cursed energy in talisman constraints and such to the point of annihilation,” she said.

“So when you boosted me, you were using the reverse?”

She raised her head to look at him. “Solo Forbidden Zone? Yeah, it’s primarily a Gakuganji thing. Himari and the Blood Maiden used that boosting power to conquer the tamed curses. It’s always better to use an outlet, so for them it’s music. For the Iori, it’s talismans and ancient scripts. Ritual circles, chanting, and dancing and all the long-form, traditional stuff. Anyway, that’s why Father weaponized all of our shrines. As long as you’re on our turf, you’re at our mercy.”

Gojo pouted while nodding his head. “It’s nice to know the many ways your father can kill mine.”

Utahime laughed and slapped his exposed belly, making him wince. “Yeah, you just step into the shrine.”

“Excuse me?”

She pulled his shirt up and traced patterns on his skin. “Father’s entire torso is covered in ancient scripts. He’s able to store cursed energy in them. Kazuo and I were interested, but I didn’t want to get tattooed, and Kazuo had no talent for it.”

“That’s a relief.”

“So, Father can use his technique everywhere, but it comes more naturally to him in our shrines. He activates his Reaper Forbidden Zone and sets a parameter, and if you get caught in it, you just—” she slashed her thumb across her throat. “That’s why Jujutsu HQ favors us. When we mediate, it’s either you make up with your enemy, or you die.”

He pushed his shirt down to stop her from feeling him up.

"What?"

“You think you can get a piece of this" —motioning to his body— "after confessing that your father could've killed me a year ago?”

“What kind of idiot goes into a mediation without knowing the mediator's technique?”

"Me." Gojo sat up and rubbed his face until his skin felt raw. Almost instantly, his mind conjured images of pancakes drowning in maple syrup and a tall glass of peanut butter banana smoothie. He probably shouldn't be this worked up about it, but he knew, based on the hints Lady Sayuri had dropped previously, that Satoshi's burden had something to do with him. He honestly wasn't sure if he could stomach more guilt in that arena. "Fuck."

"Gojo?"

"Sorry, I was thinking out loud."

"You're really stressed about this meeting, aren't you?"

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Utahime, can my entire family call in sick today? Does your father know how to do a video conference?”

She hit the back of his head with the pillow, and the stuffing burst out of the seams, falling on them like fat chunks of snow.

Gojo liked that Utahime let him play with her hand whenever he was nervous. Once she had served up their breakfast and taken her seat across from him, he reached out for her hand, and she obliged without question.

Feeling her warm skin and tracing the callouses on the pads of her fingers grounded him somehow. Physical contact with her neutralized his restless energy, and it allowed him a few hours of mental reprieve before they faced today’s challenges. She even picked out his dress shirt and helped him put it on. He wasn’t sure whether she was micromanaging him or simply being extra caring for his mental health, but either way, he appreciated it. In return, he assisted her in tying the many knots in the many layers of her miko outfit. They spent several minutes undoing and redoing the ribbons until he got them right, and deep inside, he felt proud of himself for learning the intricacies of her uniform. He wouldn’t mind doing this for her until they were old.

Gojo only realized how nervous Utahime was when she insisted on dropping by the convenience store. After ten minutes of loitering outside, he went in after her and caught her chugging down her second can of beer at the very back of the store.

Flustered, she tossed the can into the bin and followed him back into the car.

His parents weren’t doing any better.

The bags under Satoshi’s eyes looked swollen, like he had been plagued by sleep deprivation for months. While Lady Sayuri appeared impeccable as always in her blue kimono, she, too, had that deathly look on her face. Gojo couldn’t gauge whether she was stressed or simply caffeine-dependent, but he was relieved when they both perked up at the sight of Utahime.

Now, Gojo was worried that his family's perception of her as a kind of ballast for their less-than-stable and ideal family situation would scare her away.

Or maybe they just liked the idea of having a daughter. Shoko no longer visited as often given her schedule, and Utahime was in a relationship with him, so the chances of her being their lawful daughter were higher.

They never openly discussed it with him, but mentions were made here and there over the years. They wanted more children, especially a daughter, and he couldn’t understand this specificity. His main guess was that a son would create succession problems after his death, and a daughter was more likely to alleviate rather than aggravate their family politics.

Gojo and Utahime bowed to Lady Sayuri, but only she bowed to Satoshi. Father and son locked gazes and frowned in greeting. Utahime slapped his back, but he didn’t budge.

“Is there anything you want to confess before we go in?” he asked Satoshi.

“I’m not excited. Does that count?”

Sayuri picked a lint off of Satoshi’s kimono. “Your father and I can manage ourselves. Besides, we’re here on official business.”

“Does your relationship count as official business?” Satoshi asked Utahime. “If Nobu will kill me, he might as well have all the reasons.”

“I’ll tell him in private. Maybe after we’ve sorted out the issue with the Sasaki and my technique,” she answered.

Satoshi sighed. He turned towards the stone staircase and sliced the air with his arm. “Alright. To my death, I march.”

Gojo offered his arm to his mother. “Stop being dramatic, Dad. It’ll be fine.” Still, he nodded at Utahime, who hurried to catch up to Satoshi on the stairs. They had discussed this in the car earlier. Whatever the beef was between their fathers, neither was likely to act out if Utahime was in between them.

Sayuri pinched the inside of Gojo’s wrist, forcing him to look down at her. She signaled at Satoshi with her eyes, and he understood. Shame softened his frown, and it didn’t take long for his annoyance to ebb completely. Her silent reprimand had been her way of telling him that Satoshi wasn’t being dramatic. He was genuinely nervous and had no other means to cope but with humor.

The Iori's Seika shrine rose from the horizon as they climbed the final treads of the stairs. Master Iori waited for them in front of the worship hall in his priestly vestments, upright and steady even without his cane. Kazuo stood a step behind him in his own vestments, a taller version of his father with an effeminate hint to his features.

The shrine appeared well-kept in spite of the staff's absence, but the silence gave the entire place an eerie quality. Gojo noted the stronger pull beneath his feet, and based on Satoshi’s gait, he felt it, too.

The curse-limiting seals were much stronger now compared to when the attack on Miyo Yamamoto transpired. As their party of four crossed the long path that led to the worship hall, Gojo pondered Utahime’s commentary on her father’s tattoos and deadly technique. The very absence of his cane spoke a lot about his mastery of it. Upon closer inspection, he could tell with his Six Eyes that a huge amount of cursed energy pooled in his injured leg. The pattern suggested the use of ancient scripts, presumably the same ones that Utahime said were tattooed all over his torso.

Was Master Iori learning a gradual RCT, or was he experimenting with the possibilities of his technique? Either way, he appeared more stable than he did during the mediation, which made Gojo happy for his health and worried about his own father’s well-being.

Utahime walked ahead of them to bow to her father first. It was a quick and sloppy bow, succeeded by a bear hug that Master Iori accepted with much tenderness.  

Gojo moved in front of Satoshi to present himself first to Master Iori as the official head of the family. Then he stepped aside to present his parents, who bowed simultaneously.

Master Iori smiled at everyone. He appeared to be around a decade older than Satoshi, maybe in his mid-fifties at most. His grey hair was still peppered with a few black strands, and in spite of his lean build, he was obviously strong. The arm that peeked out of his draping sleeves showed sunburnt skin and defined muscles. Like Utahime, he must be an expert in hand-to-hand combat.

“I’m pleased to see that the both of you are in good health.” Master Iori regarded Gojo next. “And your son seems to be doing well. He was impressive during the last mediation I conducted for your family.”

Satoshi smiled, tight-lipped, and said nothing in response.

Sayuri answered for him before his silence became awkward. “Thank you. We’re easing him into his role, but Jujutsu HQ keeps him preoccupied. He gets as much help as he needs.”

“Everyone needs help, even a young man as powerful as him. How are your pet cats?”

“The estate managers are not happy with their number.”

“Oh! You can always give some to our shrines if the Gojo estate becomes too crowded with them. Cats are quite excellent at spotting curses. We used to let them roam in the sacred forest to perform reconnaissance for us.”

“That’s fascinating! I had no idea. I’ll consider your offer,” she said.

Gojo knew she wouldn’t. Apart from the cats serving as her personal army, she and Satoshi also treated them like their children. She even persuaded Gojo to foot their medical bills.

Master Iori turned to Satoshi again. “You’re unusually quiet.”

Satoshi nodded, still smiling. “Yes.”

Gojo darted a pleading look at Utahime. Behind Master Iori, Kazuo had covered his face with the sleeve of his uniform to hide his laughter.

Utahime suggested that they all go in, and Master Iori obliged, much to Gojo’s relief. Instead of the mediation hall or one of the offices, however, he led them to the back where the servants’ quarters stood. Utahime asked why, and he pointed at the smoke rising from the chimney.

“I was cooking lunch for us all but didn’t finish in time. This will be a long conversation, so we might as well contend with each other over a delicious meal.” He patted her shoulder. “Also, I need something to keep me busy while I process the fact that the Six Eyes and my only daughter are in a relationship and have been living together for months.”

An embarrassed silence spread between them, and Kazuo pretended to be oblivious to it by inspecting the worship hall’s facade.

Gojo thought he might as well eliminate Kazuo now. He was obviously a traitor.

“I understand,” Sayuri responded, sympathetic. “It was news to us as well.”

Master Iori looked over his shoulder at Satoshi. “I told you never to bother me again, and yet here we are.”

“Like my wife said, it was news to us,” he said.

Gojo scowled at his parents, who both avoided eye contact with him. They had just thrown him under the bus and wouldn’t even acknowledge their treachery. His mom, especially. She knew for a long time that he liked Utahime. Perhaps she was being truthful when she said she never expected his crush to amount to anything.

The savory smells wafting from the pots in the kitchen were so mouthwatering that any tension that remained in their group fell away at once.

Master Iori put on an apron and lifted the lid off each pot to check the meats and the vegetables he left to stew. Lady Sayuri and Utahime volunteered to take over while the men seated themselves around the massive cedar table in the middle. Gojo elbowed Satoshi and asked whether his mother could really cook or if this was performative, and he gave Gojo a sidelong glance.

“Of course, she can. I taught her myself,” he said.

Master Iori positioned himself on the table across from them with a block of chopping board. He lined red potatoes, carrots, rutabaga, pearl onions, squash, and parsnips in front of him with obsessive neatness. Once they were organized, he placed a set of knives to his left as though staging them for a cooking show.

The men watched this spectacle with mild horror as the women busied themselves in the background, carefree because they were safely tucked away from Master Iori’s wrath.

“You may begin explaining,” he said and sliced a pearl onion in half. The knife landed so hard on the chopping board that even Kazuo looked alarmed.

Gojo opened his mouth to initiate, but Satoshi cut him off. He explained everything in chronological order, from their decision to hunt down Suguru Getou up to their recent efforts to secure the tamed curses in the hopes of getting leads to locate the Sasaki’s current hideout.

Master Iori did not stop peeling and dicing vegetables the entire time. The thud of the knife on the chopping block provided a steady rhythm in the background for Satoshi’s narration to fall on. Now and then, Sayuri glanced at Satoshi to check on him; likewise, Utahime made attempts to catch Gojo’s eye in a tacit confirmation that he was still okay.

It was a comforting sight—his mother and his girlfriend cooking and being friendly in the kitchen. His mother remained shrouded in a thin veil of mystery, but he knew enough to be sure that she was always genuine. A part of him still wished that he had grown up to this sight, with her being a normal mother instead of one of the most influential women in the Jujutsu World. He was certain she would’ve liked that too.

“Utahime.” Master Iori waved her over to his side. She promptly surrendered the ladle to Sayuri and went to her father.

“Explain your binding vow with Gakuganji to me in detail. Not just what was written in the documents you shared with the clan. How does it apply in this hunt for Suguru Getou?” he asked.

Utahime started her explanation the way she might report to Gakuganji. Detailed. Concise. Professional. Master Iori nodded and responded at the appropriate moments but never shared his opinion. He was gathering facts, and Utahime trusted him enough to provide every single piece of information without censorship. Halfway, her posture softened, and her voice began to lilt. Her report turned more casual, and soon she had reverted completely to the role of his daughter, needing both his approval and his security.

“He kept pressing me to tell you.” She ripped apart a cabbage leaf as she spoke, and her father slapped her wrist to stop her. She put the leaf back on the pile to be chopped, pouting like a child. “I don’t know what to make of him, honestly. He almost sounded like he cared.”

Master Iori pointed at Satoshi with his biggest knife. “Satoshi would agree with me when I say Gakuganji is cunning, but he’s not a bad man. He simply doesn’t like to be on the losing end of things, but then again, none of us does.”

Satoshi angled his body away from the direction of the knife and nodded repeatedly at Utahime.

The last thing they discussed was Miyo Yamamoto. While Master Iori set aside the great pile of vegetables he had chopped but had no need to cook, Kazuo helped Utahime and Sayuri serve the food. Gojo retrieved the plates and utensils to set the table, and if they had been discussing anything else, this might come off more as a family get-together than a war room meeting. Utahime even sat beside Gojo, much to his surprise. When he raised his eyebrows at her in confusion, she pulled a face as if to say that her father knew anyway. They might as well show a united front.

Gojo squeezed her knee under the table, and she placed her hand above his.

Master Iori blessed the food and distributed the dishes. “Thank you for cooking,” he said to Lady Sayuri.

“If it tastes like medicine, then it’s your fault for letting me use your kitchen.”

Master Iori laughed from his belly. It was a jovial noise. “I believe I'll be satiated regardless. That was a lot to take in, and I’ve been holding mediations for most of my life.”

Satoshi cleared his throat. Still, his voice remained hoarse when he spoke next. “That was the longest report I’ve made in my life. It’s like reliving some of my worst nightmares.”

Gojo placed meat and vegetables on Utahime’s rice bowl and put the platter at the other end of the table so Kazuo couldn’t reach them. Kazuo frowned at him. He would have to ask his father to pass it, but he was still busy talking to Satoshi. Utahime did the same with the soup. They were both pissed off at him, and they were intent on being petty about it.

Master Iori jolted a little upon realizing that Utahime was seated on the Gojo side of the table. He looked mildly perturbed by it but did not comment. “There is much to say about this entire ordeal, but my main priority is the attack on Miyo Yamamoto. Based on how and where it transpired, I’m assuming you suspect a traitor within my clan.”

“It’s a possibility, not a certainty,” Gojo said.

“I understand, but I would like to point something out. Kazuo has established that our seals reacted so strongly to your cursed energy that subsequent activations came off as inconspicuous, yes? Whoever planned this knew this as a certainty, not a possibility. That’s why I wanted to meet with you here.” He directed the last part to his parents, who were both staring at their food in a catatonic stupor. Master Iori had to prompt them again before either of them snapped out of it. “Do you see what I am getting at?”

Sayuri touched her hair. Satoshi noted this nervous gesture and answered for them. “We do.”

Gojo had a bad feeling about this. “What is it?”

“Whoever planned this was either here on December 7, 1989 or has heard about it from someone who was here,” Master Iori said.

“On Gojo’s birthday?” Utahime looked at him, but he had no answers.

Satoshi winced. “I have not informed him as per our agreement.”

“Do you want to explain it to him, or should I?”

“With your permission, I’d like to tell him myself.”

Master Iori raised his finger to stop him. He brought out a bottle of sake and poured him a generous cup in an ochoko. Satoshi downed it in one go. He turned on his seat to face Gojo.

“Due to…difficult circumstances surrounding my marriage to your mother, I had to bring her here when she went into labor. Until then, there were no signs that she was carrying the Six Eyes. We couldn’t even tell that you were a sorcerer. This was the nearest haven we had access to. Nobunaga Iori was living here with his young family at the time, and he protected you and your mother while I alerted trusted members of the clan about the resurgence of the Six Eyes.”

Gojo didn't know how to react. He heard Utahime gasp, and he used that as an excuse to look away from his father.

“That’s why we left this shrine?" she asked.

“Yes, dear,” he offered her an apologetic smile. “Everyone had to take shelter underground while I warded off the threat to Lady Sayuri and the newborn Satoru, but even after their departure, the Six Eyes left such a strong presence that the shrine had to be closed down in case enemies assumed he could be found here. I told Satoshi that this could not be in any record, as our family was still indebted to the Kamo. Your grandfather owed the Kamo money to maintain our shrines, and I paid them off at the soonest possible time.”

The initial shock of the news finally subsided, and a myriad of thoughts crossed Gojo’s mind at once. It took several moments for him to sort through them and prioritize. “So whoever orchestrated the attack on Miyo knew from this incident how the seals reacted to me. It might be an Iori. But it could also be a Gojo.”

"That seems to be the case," Satoshi said.

“What’s clear is that there was a third person in the attack on Miyo Yamamoto who was influencing poor Ume and Izumi," Master Iori added. "If we find this person, then we can trace their connections back to our respective clans and start uprooting the weeds. We have to do it before the Sasaki does something big and our families become implicated in their activities."

Gojo looked at his mother. She met his gaze, and suddenly he could picture her at seventeen with a swollen belly, fighting for her life and his. His pupils traveled slowly to his father, and all of his anxiety over this meeting made sense. He had unknowingly put the entire Iori clan at risk of the Kamo’s wrath because their assistance to Lady Sayuri could have been interpreted as an act of betrayal. Moreover, they had provided a haven for the Six Eyes, which subsequently put the Gojo back at the pinnacle of their strength. This incident would have also worsened the Iori’s relationship with Gakuganji, as their separation from their founding family and their similar techniques made them rivals for Jujutsu HQ’s favor.

To his surprise, Kazuo spoke up, and it was not to worsen the tension. “Utahime, you were one of the first people to see your boyfriend.”

Sayuri’s expression softened at last. “You were barely three at the time. I doubt you remember. But I’ve seen you twice by then. Your father loved carrying you around the shrine, and the visitors doted on you.”

Utahime returned her smile, but it was restrained and bemused.

Satoshi tipped his chin towards Kazuo. “You never liked us.”

“With all due respect, but you reeked of trouble, and I was correct. The Iori are highly intuitive.”

“Why was I born outside of the estate?” Gojo asked his father. He had thought he could wait until they were in a more private setting to discuss this, but he was making connections in his head, which was resulting in a terrible headache. The only remedy would be the truth, and he needed the truth now. “Why was nobody guarding Lady Sayuri?”

“Because the clan was divided at the time. We resolved the matter a long time ago.”

“Divided?”

“Not everybody wanted the Six Eyes back,” Sayuri said, firm and flat. “Four hundred years had passed since the last Six Eyes user. People rose into power and didn’t want to relinquish it.”

“I’m aware of that fact, but you never told me that it was this bad.”

“I told you before that there are things we keep confidential to make it easier for you to do your duties. Also, I hardly think it’s appropriate to feud in front of another family.”

He did not want to argue with his mother, so he directed his questions back to his father. “Who came to fetch us?”

“Akira, your uncles, your grandfathers, and the Fugen,” Satoshi said.

“Apart from the Fugen, we’re looking at traitors from your immediate family and ours,” Kazuo ventured.

“Not so fast,” Master Iori said. “Remember that underground sorcerers were also after the Six Eyes. In fact, they were keener on disposing of the Six Eyes the most, as they expected him to affiliate with Jujutsu HQ. Granted, they were motivated by anonymous bounties likely made by powerful clans, including the Zenin and the Kamo, but that was just an incentive. The Six Eyes working with HQ would mean sorcerers who ran amok would not be able to massacre and experiment with human lives to perfect their techniques as freely as before. I took it upon myself to ID those who went after Lady Sayuri and the infant Satoru on that day, and all of them were such people. I cremated them for good measure and cleansed the town of their residuals to get rid of their tracks.”

“So word wouldn’t get back to their employers about Gojo’s birth here,” Utahime concluded.

“But simply being here on that day did not mean they understood the effect of my Six Eyes on your curse-limiting seals.” Even Gojo needed to see the seals in action so that he could grasp how the Iori had weaponized this shrine. He did not want to butt heads with Utahime’s father, but every loophole must be addressed. If Utahime thought he was being rude, she didn’t show. She looked rather keen on hearing the answer herself.

Master Iori gestured toward Satoshi, who sighed in mild exasperation.

“I informed them because Nobu said so.” Satoshi slid his empty ochoko in front of Master Iori. He readily poured him another round. “That’s why he used his Reaper Forbidden Zone. Your cursed energy messed with the seals so much that he could not detect sorcerers within the shrine as usual. He activated his forbidden zone so that anybody who stepped into its parameters automatically died. It didn’t matter who they were. Explaining the logic of it to the rescue team was the only way to make sure Nobu didn’t kill anyone by accident.”

Master Iori poured himself another cup too. This would be his fifth, and he was not even red in the cheeks yet. “The gist is that this sorcerer who attacked us in the shrine could have been recruited from the underground society since HQ has no one in their records who has techniques that may have influenced Umi and Izumi. They may have also used proxies to attempt the assassination, which would explain how they survived my forbidden zone. If they were an active sorcerer in 1989 and working for the underground society, then they may be within the age range of fifteen to thirty, at most. That would mean they’re somewhere between thirty-seven and fifty-two today. I doubt it’s anyone older, as the mortality rate in the underground society is staggering. Once we know who that person is, we might be able to pinpoint any…problematic members of this operation. Not only active traitors, if any, but knowledgeable people from whom information could have been extracted. The first pool of people we will look into would be everyone present during the Six Eyes’ birth.”

Sayuri looked impressed. She openly gawked at the table as though the answer had been etched there for her to see. “If your theory is correct and they attempted an assassination by proxy using their technique, they would naturally want to investigate what happened. Every sorcerer can get obsessive when it comes to loopholes in their techniques, and twenty-two years is a long time to find answers.”

“It makes sense,” Gojo conceded. “Suguru would attract followers from the underground Jujutsu society or else freelancers. That’s a good starting point.”

“I suggest we all be vigilant about possible traitors in our respective families but not be too consumed by the thought of betrayal. Let’s subdue this sorcerer and work from there. The Sasaki wants us to deteriorate from the inside. Once that happens, we are all doomed.” Master Iori downed another shot of sake. Frustration shadowed his face for a fraction of a second, but he smoothed it away before looking up at his children. Both Kazuo and Utahime watched him like a hawk, taking cues from him the way only children did to their parents.

Satoshi whispered something to Sayuri. With her nod of consent, he hunched forward on the table again, fitting his elbow in the small space between two bowls. “We’re willing to assist you with whatever you need to safeguard yourself against any suspicion from HQ. I believe Gakuganji is willing to do the same.”

“I appreciate your help.”

“You’re accepting?” Kazuo asked.

“If HQ can confiscate our shrines, it will. That’s the sad reality of it. Kamo and Zenin cannot be trusted to keep the Jujutsu World fair for everyone. Mediations will no longer be mediations then, but a mockery of our justice system. The idea of justice in sorcery is vague enough as it is without them complicating matters.”

A loud screeching sound filled the room as Utahime pushed her chair back to stand. With her head bowed and her hands intertwined over her stomach, she said: “I don’t want our clan to join the hunt. It’s enough that I’m in it. If I go down, my binding vow with Gakuganji will tie me more with them than with our clan.”

“Utahime,” Gojo hissed before he could stop himself.

Satoshi punched his shoulder as he was getting up to stand, and Gojo almost fell over with his chair. He grabbed Gojo by the back of his neck to keep him in place as he beamed at Utahime. “Singlehandedly taking down the Gakuganji clan, huh?”

“They’re a bit doomed with Ryousuke and Himari’s participation in the cult,” she said, more to Gojo than to Satoshi. “We’re doing our best, but we’re not invincible. I would like to take every possible measure to keep what’s precious to me safe.”

Gojo rearranged himself on the stool and kept his mouth shut. He knew Utahime was being practical, but he loathed that she entertained such notions.

Master Iori's chest rose as he held his breath, and his mask finally slipped. Upon his exhale, his dismay made itself apparent in the way his wrinkles deepened, and his brows hung low over his eyes. “Utahime, I need to talk to you in private.” He swept his hand over the table. “Please help yourselves. We won’t be too long.”

Still, when it was time to part, Gojo reached for Utahime’s hand, and she reached for his, and they blindly squeezed each other’s fingers.

Soon after, Kazuo excused himself too. “I think I’ll go and prepare the archives for you. Please head to my office as soon as you’re ready, Lady Sayuri. Oh, and for everybody’s peace of mind, since I am likely under suspicion, please accompany her. I will not take it personally.”

Satoshi burst out laughing and held his sake cup in the air as though to toast him.

The second Kazuo was out of the door, Sayuri busied herself by refilling Satoshi and Gojo’s plates with meat and vegetables. The three of them had barely taken five bites, and they had prepared a feast good for a dozen people. She moved her chair between father and son and told them to eat, but she herself was only taking shots of sake.

Gojo sighed. He was annoyed that they hid the truth from him, but he understood something now that he could not grasp before. When he was younger, he insisted on the idea that they were a unit of three. Despite his upbringing and their staggered interactions, it was the three of them against the world. Being in a relationship with Utahime made it easier for him now to acknowledge the idea that before him, Satoshi and Sayuri were a unit of two. They still were. It did not invalidate their small family, but proved that for three to become possible, his parents had to suffer a lot on their own.

Gojo touched the drape of his mother's kimono sleeve. “Mom, how bad was it?”

“Sayuri,” Satoshi whispered, soft and full of meaning.

She smiled to reassure him and turned to face Gojo. “Satoru, your Grandmother Seiu and Aunt Kaori were assassinated. Both were targeted while they were pregnant. It was chaos afterward, and your father did his best to save me. We were desperate, and we did things we regret.”

“Somebody in the clan killed Grandma and Aunt Kaori?”

“We dealt with those people,” Satoshi said. “The lords have given up their titles to make you the clan's absolute leader."

"I'm not afraid for my life or for my title. I'm afraid for yours," Gojo said as evenly as he could. "I'm not as ignorant of our clan politics as you think I am. I know people are not happy that Jujutsu HQ has me on a leash, but I wasn't that worried for our clan until today. I didn't expect that things could get as bad as they did, and for you, of all people."

"Satoru." Sayuri frowned at him. "Don't get hung up on that. We will always have people within the clan who will sell us out. That's the reality of clan life. Your father and I managed without your help for a long time. What more now that we have you on our side? Besides, Nobu just gave us a valuable lead. The moment we're done here, I'm relaying this information to Emi so that intelligence can start zeroing in on this mysterious sorcerer from the underground Jujutsu society."

"I hope you understand," Satoshi said. "You have enough troubles of your own to bother with the enemies of our past. You were born under grave circumstances, but it was the happiest time of our lives.” He wrapped his arm around Sayuri and kissed the top of her head, and for the first time that day, he relaxed. “You were so small and so full of life. I couldn’t believe you came from us. Nine months of waiting, and there you were.”

Sayuri leaned her head on his chest. “Minus the near-death experience, it was pretty awesome. I thought people were exaggerating, but being a parent does change you.”

“Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps! I can’t describe the feeling. It’s like the world came into focus, and suddenly I knew what I had to do.” He snapped his fingers in front of Gojo’s face. “Imagine the happiest moment of your life so far and amplify it by a hundred. Even then, the joy doesn’t compare. You have to be there, staring into your own child’s eyes, to understand how we feel. I bet you’ll cry.”

She slapped his belly. “I bet you’ll cry harder.”

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Imagine me as a grandfather!”

Gojo laughed.

His parents stared at him, and he just kept laughing. He had no idea why the urge to do so overcame him. There was nothing amusing about their situation. If anything, he should be wallowing in frustration over the revelations that were made today. Suguru had allied with a cult that had deep roots within the Jujutsu World, and the Sasaki could be holding the Gojo and Iori clans hostage with their dirty tricks.

The thought of Suguru made him laugh harder. Suguru. One of the most powerful sorcerers of their age, murdering his innocent parents. Gojo could not begin to comprehend how he did it. Right now, he was willing to kill anybody for his parents. They only had to give him names, and he would execute them.

Gojo ran his hand down his face, but that did not ease away his smile. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. When his mother asked him if he was alright, her voice registered to him as an echo.

Suguru.

Gojo had only felt this way once before, and every similar sensation that had resurfaced in the past five years came only in quick beats. They visited him like blinding bursts of light and shrill notes in his ears, jarring but finite.

Now it returned with fresh force, and unlike before, it brought with it the sound of a distant applause.

Chapter Text

Utahime was beginning to understand Gojo’s obsession with control.

She did not need to learn every detail of his childhood to make sense of the quiet chaos he must’ve been reared in. It sufficed to know that he was treated mainly as a commodity all his life, but now that he was older, he could move past that. He had taken steps to extricate himself from the shadows that held him back, and he was even making up for the time he did not get to spend with his parents.

Utahime could not imagine what it must've felt like to be told, without preamble, that whatever he thought he overcame was a mere silhouette of the truth. Things were much worse than he had anticipated—than he had been told. She wondered if he had a hunch but did not want to question the narrative in case he was correct. Who would want to entertain the idea that the very people he was trained to protect had, at one point, tried to prevent him from existing?

In a way, this explained why Gojo used Getou as his moral compass for so long. Here was an outsider who could match his strength, and he believed that they existed to protect the weak. Getou provided him with direction when he thought he didn't need one.

Then Getou changed his mind.

The more Utahime reflected on these, the clearer it became to her how Getou's defection resulted in—or perhaps merely worsened—Gojo’s struggles with control in his relationship with her. She still upheld the beliefs that Getou had instilled in him, and as someone whom the world needed but also wanted dead, perhaps it was just easier to be accountable to someone. To believe in a person rather than an ideology that was more gray than black and white.

If Utahime were in his shoes, she might want to use her power and influence to control people, too. 

Gojo had not done anything alarming since their reconciliation, but there persisted crumbs of his possessiveness that she tried to overlook. His close monitoring of her training with the Fugen was one of them, and she knew that it was Gojo blowing up Satoshi’s phone the entire time. She dismissed it at first as Gojo simply doing his job, but this morning, when she woke up to that haunted look on his face and his desperate embrace, she knew her suspicions had been correct all along.

Deep beneath his smug and cheery mask was a mind taking stock of everything he loved and how each one had been lined up like targets.

And then earlier, when he hissed her name in warning, she barely managed to hide her surprise. She did not mean to undermine his ability to protect her by saying what she did. She only meant to spare her clan from the repercussions of her binding vow.

Gojo had been on edge the entire day, and she would never say it aloud, but she was afraid. She was worried that something in Gojo was slowly withering, that his good judgment was a string gradually thinning, and only she was noticing the signs.

Just because they were together did not mean that Gojo felt secure. His confession about his guilt regarding Getou was always at the back of her mind, and she knew that he was trying to keep everything together, to safeguard the people he loved by micromanaging them so that no one strayed while they were under his watch.

This made her wonder about the things Shoko told her over the years about Getou, how he was traumatized by the Star Plasma Vessel’s death, and how Gojo confirmed that he had delved into the idea of massacring the non-shamans first and that Getou stopped him.

Utahime’s steps slowed as she trailed behind her father. The summer heat beat down on her despite the light breeze that blew in from the sacred forest. It was a bright, hot day, but her mind was a dark road.

Like a flare of light in the middle of that somber trail, realization struck her with stunning clarity.

The hunt for Getou had become personal to all of them, but especially to Gojo. With the manner of his birth tossed into the picture and his clan’s duplicity revealed, she felt that the Sasaki—Getou—was isolating him. Each revelation seemed to cast a shadow on every affiliation that he might fall back on.

Principal Gakuganji’s secrecy and connection to the Sasaki made Jujutsu HQ’s higher-ups even less trustworthy. The circumstances of Miyo Yamamoto’s assault naturally gave him reservations about the Iori clan. His parents’ choice to withhold the severity of the division inside the Gojo clan further limited the pool of people he trusted.

Utahime stopped walking completely to allow her mind to pursue this train of thought uninterrupted.

What if the game Getou chose to play involved Gojo’s sanity as the highest stake? Was there a chance that all this running around and suspecting that they did was designed to distract them from a much bigger plot? After all, one or two of them deteriorating would not destroy the team. If Gojo were the one to break, however, it would not only be this operation that would be jeopardized. It would be the entire Jujutsu World.

And then who would stop Getou from wiping out the non-shamans?

“Utahime.”

She blinked herself back to the present and became aware of her father holding the door of his office open to her. “It’s unbecoming of a priestess to daydream in front of her superior, even if you are my daughter.”

“S-sorry!” She hurried inside.

As soon as she finished her business with her father, she would talk to Gojo about this.

Nobu leaned his weight on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms, one hand splayed loosely over his mouth in deep thought. Utahime sat on a chair in front of him, her back straight and her eyes trained on her father like a child awaiting reprimand.

Her father's office was small and cramped with books. Towers of them lined the walls like a fortress, and papers darkened with his handwriting lay in stacks all over the place. A thick stash of them sat on the floor beside her right foot, one among the many that littered the room like landmines. She wondered if all of these were research about his cursed energy preservation method. Now that he had retired from exorcising curses for HQ and was close to handing over the clan to Kazuo, he preoccupied himself with experiments. The last time she cleaned his office in their principal shrine, he claimed that he needed to keep his mind sharp, hence all of the studying he did. Everybody knew he was just bored, though, and now it was apparent that he had finally reached some sort of post-mid-life crisis.

“You are having trouble with the tamed curses,” he said, much to her relief. She was convinced he'd confront her relationship with Gojo first. “Explain it to me.”

Utahime went into as much detail as she could, from how Gakuganji taught her the technique to the inconsistencies in her delivery. She described all of the tamed curses she had encountered so far and how each attempt to control them failed miserably. At the admission of her disappointment and shame for failing the team, Nobu offered her a sympathetic frown.

“Mastering something in such a short period takes a stroke of genius,” he said.

“I’m not one, apparently.”

“It’s too early to say that.” He held her chin and studied her closely. “You’re in poor health. It’s taking a toll on you.”

“I have no choice.”

“No, you had a choice.” He took her hand next and pushed back her sleeve. With his forefinger, he traced a straight line along the inside of her arm. She knew what he would find—her curse energy flow was disrupted. She had overworked herself, and now her output sputtered like a dying flame. “This was your choice. Now you have to make sure you won’t keep making the wrong ones.”

She pulled her arm back. “Is this about Gojo?”

“I don’t want you to go through what that family went through. I did not make all of these sacrifices just so you would suffer,” he said.

“Gojo isn’t a bad decision.”

“You only often realize that when it’s too late to get out of it.”

“I understand his position as the head of the Gojo clan, but I wish people would just give us time. There are a lot of things we’re still figuring out, and—"

“Has he expressed any intention to marry you in the future?” he asked.

Utahime opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself. She was not going to lie to her father, but she also wasn’t ready to talk about this either.

He gave her a knowing look. “That is why I’m discussing this with you. What if you get pregnant with his child?”

“I don’t think I can get pregnant in my state,” she said, trying her best to keep her emotions in check. It was both embarrassing and infuriating to be discussing this with him, but she knew it was also necessary. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll even survive this if you don’t help me.”

“Of course, I will help you. I’ll take your place if I can. But you have no idea what Satoshi and Sayuri went through.”

“It’s different now. Gojo’s too powerful.”

“He will die before you,” he said, causing her to fall silent. “If you end up marrying and having children, you will raise your children on your own. You will have a bounty on your head, and so will your children and their children. He will not live long enough to protect you.”

She stared brazenly at him, her lips pursed. “You’re just trying to scare me into leaving him,” she said.

“I’m just telling you the truth.”

“That’s far away in the future.”

“I see I am not going to sway you.”

Utahime let her head fall in her hands. She took a couple of deep breaths to gather her thoughts. “There is so much more to Gojo than his Six Eyes and Limitless and lineage. He’s just a young man who wants to protect everyone he loves, and I want to be the one to protect that side of him. It makes me so angry that all of you treat him more like a curse than a human being. “

“I’m on your side. Never entertain the idea that I don’t want you to be happy. Of course I do. I’m your father. But that also means my greatest fear is to see you get hurt in any way.”

It was less than a second, but she caught his pupils darting to her scar. She forced herself to smile at him because that was the best reassurance she could give: “I’m a lot stronger than you think.”

They held each other's gaze for a long time, and it was her father who broke away first. With that, she knew she had won. He retreated to his chair behind the desk with a sigh. “When do we tell your mother?”

She, too, relaxed on her chair. “Let’s ask Kazuo. He’s the one snitching on everybody.”

“Is Haruki aware?”

“Yes.”

“She won’t be happy that she’s the last to know.”

Utahime felt bad for causing him stress. She knew how badly he dreaded arguments with her mother, not because she was loud and violent—far from it. Her mother excelled in being passive-aggressive. Utahime could already imagine spending five hours of interrogation wherein her mother nitpicked the entire matter in the nicest tone possible.

“What if we pretend that you’re hearing it for the first time?” she suggested.

Nobu scoffed. “My child, I’m a bad actor. I cannot laugh on cue if my life depended on it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll think of something. Also, do not be angry at your brother. He told me because he was worried about my reaction. Plus, he defended Satoru Gojo.”

“He did?”

“He claimed that Satoru Gojo’s feelings for you seem genuine enough, and if he weren’t the Six Eyes, then he would be happy to marry you two. Granted, he also said you deserve to be with someone who would pester you every day of your life."

Utahime wished her cursed technique could turn her brother into a toad. “He doesn't pester me. Not every day, at least."

"I remember you complaining that he was a pest back when you were in high school."

"He was. Now I love him." The admission made Nobu raise his eyebrows at her, and she bowed her head to hide her blush. "Gojo checked on Haruki for me, you know? He wanted to make sure no one from the Sasaki had approached him.”

The news stopped Nobu halfway through opening the top drawer of his desk. The suddenness of it and his subsequent stillness made Utahime freeze on her seat, unsure now whether she should have shared that information.

A moment passed.

“Please don’t be offended. Given the Sasaki’s method, I understand why he felt the need to confirm Haruki’s innocence at once,” she said.

“He found nothing?”

“Of course.” She regarded him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He brought out a thick wad of rectangular papers and tossed it across the desk. “The problem with your technique is that you’re doing it the way a Gakuganji would. But you’re not a Gakuganji. You’re an Iori. Do it the way we would, and you might succeed.”

Utahime found Gojo crouched in the middle of the worship hall, his hand hovering above the hardwood floor. The light that leaked in through the lattice windows made his hair appear starker, like a piece of the canvas that nature forgot to color in or add dimensions to. It was also from this angle and under this illumination that Utahime saw just how young he looked. When he was silent and reflective like this, he appeared almost innocent.

She took a cautious step inside the hall. “Gojo?”

He turned to see her. “How did it go?”

Utahime knelt beside him and touched the spot on the floor next to his fingers. The cool wood gave nothing away—not its past or any power that lay hidden beneath. “Are there still residuals?”

Gojo moved her fingers a few inches to the left. “Just a little. Like embers.”

“Twenty-two years, and there’s still some left.” She shifted closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I don’t know how else to sound, Utahime.”

She tipped her head to see his face. When he didn’t turn away, she removed his sunglasses and ran her thumbs over his eyes. He kissed her palm and pressed it along the curve of his cheek.

“I know I wasn’t a good friend when he needed me to be one,” Gojo said. “But I didn’t think I was so vile to Suguru that he would go this far just to get rid of me.”

“He knows he’s no match for you.”

“He’s waiting for me to make a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Gojo took his sunglasses from her and put them back on. “I told Yaga this before. I was convinced that Suguru was waiting for me to be vulnerable, but now I think he’s creating the circumstances for it. That’s why I wanted you back in Tokyo and blocked your promotion. Killing me was an option for everyone only until I reached a certain age. Now, it would be easier on everyone if I imploded.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved that Gojo confirmed her suspicions or dismayed that she was correct. Before her, only Getou was aware of the more intimate parts of Gojo’s life. He knew that Gojo was serious about her and that his parents meant the world to him. She couldn’t imagine the pain she’d feel if Gojo did the same to her. It must be visceral, and yet here he was, more lonely than angry that Getou had stooped so low.

“If you want me to move back to Tokyo—"

“Utahime.” He slipped his hand to the back of her neck. “Move in with me.”

“Okay.”

“Not in Tokyo.”

She grabbed his wrist and scowled at him. “Satoru. I’m not moving to Uji to be guarded by your clan.”

“Can you wait for me to explain before you get angry?”

“Just say it already, will you?”

He pinched her cheek until she yelped and jerked away from him. “I’m buying one of Satoshi’s secret properties. It’ll be under an alias. The address is still in Kyoto City, but it’ll be more secluded. The entire building is owned by my uncle.”

“Akira?”

“Satoshi’s older brother. You haven’t met him yet.”

Utahime considered this. “Can I bring my moss green curtains?”

“On second thought, just stay in your apartment.” He caught her fist before it connected with his shoulder, and he laughed. “We’ll bring the couch. We’ve made too many good memories there.”

Utahime felt her face go hot. She tried to pull her fist back to punch him again, but he wouldn’t let her go. Gojo always found it amusing when she used real force on him.

“Anyway, what did Master Iori say?”

“Mostly warnings.” She moved in to bite him but thought twice about it. He would likely enjoy that instead.

“About us?”

“Sadly.”

Gojo’s grip on her loosened, and she took that as an opportunity to land a punch on his torso. He barely flinched.

“Just tell me if you want to take time to think this over," he said.

“Think what over?”

“Us." He sighed. “I mean, you heard what my parents—"

“No.” She shook her head for emphasis.

“No?”

“No. After I stood up to my brother, beat up the Fugen, and told my father that you’re the best decision I’ve made in a while? No. It’ll be too embarrassing.”

His expression morphed from surprise to disbelief. “You’re really something else.”

“That better be a compliment.”

“Hardly. I can’t believe you don’t remember seeing me as a baby. This face?” He pointed at his face and blinked several times.

Utahime shuddered. It was when Gojo did things like this that she questioned her feelings for him. “I can’t believe you’re the reason we left this shrine!”

“Can’t help it.” He winked at her. “Been causing trouble since 1989.”

Utahime’s calves had numbed from crouching for too long. She dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged in front of him. “Is it romantic, or is it eerie? That we met before we knew we did?”

“It’s like I’m your destiny, senpai.” He mirrored her pose and leaned forward, placing his hands on her hips and hovering his face inches from hers. “It’s like we’re meant to be.”

“It actually feels like you kept forcing your way into my life until I had no choice.” She inhaled through her nose and held her breath. Staring this closely into his sea-blue eyes never failed to overwhelm her. “Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t lose yourself trying to keep everybody else safe.” She put her hands on the sides of his face. “Even good intentions can breed evil. I’d hate to have to beat your ass, okay?”

He stared at her as if trying to read her mind. Slowly, a smirk crept up his lips. “You mean to spank me?”

“Ugh, can you not be a pervert while we’re here?”

“You’re the one who brought up my ass.” His smirk turned into a full-fledged smile when Utahime pushed herself off the floor to graze her lips against his. “Are you really going to kiss me? At the exact spot where I was born?” he asked.

She probably shouldn’t—not here, and not when any one of their family members could walk in on them—but she felt she might burst if she didn’t. “Don’t make it sound so sappy.”

Bracing herself on his thighs, she leaned in and kissed him. It was a slow and easy kiss, with none of the rush and passion that usually consumed them after a stressful day. She liked how his lips lingered against hers and the way her skin tingled with sensitivity where it came into contact with his. With her eyes closed, every other sense heightened to intensify the pleasure of kissing him as if they had all the time in the world.

She wished, with all her heart, that they did. 

Gojo’s kisses trailed to the side of her mouth, and when he laughed, his breath came hot and damp on her cheek. “If your father knew I’d be making out with you here twenty-two years later, he probably would’ve tossed me into the Reaper Forbidden Zone.”

Utahime almost choked on her own laughter. Soon, they were holding onto each other with tears in their eyes, guffawing until it was hard to breathe. Their voices echoed throughout the hall, so carefree and childlike that they almost drowned out the sound of Gojo’s ringtone.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he stood and answered the call. “Ijichi, this better be important.”

She knew it was based on how quickly Gojo’s expression changed. His eyes darted towards hers, and she hurried to her feet to stand beside him.

“A special grade? In a public school?”

“Is it Getou?” she asked.

Gojo whipped his head to the back of the hall. Utahime followed his gaze and saw Satoshi marching towards them, looking just as grave.

“We’ve secured a location,” he said as he approached.

Gojo put his phone on speaker mode. “Can’t you send Mei?”

“She’s on another mission,” Ijichi said, his voice shaky and hurried. “Grade One. Chiba. Public market basement. Even Principal Yaga is taking on two grade one curses today at a construction site. The managers are working double time to clear the places of civilians. No other qualified sorcerers are available. There are casualties in the public school. We’re currently tagging them as missing until their bodies can be retrieved.”

He pressed the mute button and turned to Satoshi. “How urgent is the location?”

Satoshi looked at Utahime and then at Gojo. “We think we found Himari.”

They couldn’t come up with any compromise.

Sorcerers had a duty to protect the weak, and Utahime wouldn’t have allowed Gojo to stay in Kyoto a second longer despite the dread brewing in her gut.

The timing was too precise to be a coincidence, and the stakes too high to be anything but a plot. Getou had surely planted those curses in the most populated areas to ensure that Jujutsu HQ deployed their strongest away from Kyoto.

As Utahime busied herself with her ink and papers at the back of the car, she wondered if someone had to say it aloud: this was a trap. Sure, the Fugen went ahead of them and should have neutralized any threat before they went in, but who was to say that the attack wouldn’t happen afterward? If she said this now, however, Satoshi would only ask her if she had come up with any alternative. Even Gojo did not argue and simply promised to return as soon as possible.

It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky had darkened in the hour it had taken them to leave Seika Town and follow the long street that ran along the Kamo River in Minami Ward. They dropped by Toji Station to pick up Akira, who slipped into the passenger’s seat in tense silence.

Utahime would’ve greeted him first, but the two men did not even exchange a glance. As Satoshi eased the car back into the road, she mustered the courage to ask them if they were alright.

“Sayuri had an older sister," Satoshi said, his voice low and flat.

Kaori, Utahime thought. The one whom they expected to give birth to the Six Eyes.

Lightning flashed, followed by the clap of thunder.

“This was where we found her,” Akira said when it was obvious that Satoshi could no longer continue. “She was shot in the head in one of the buildings here. She was a few weeks pregnant at the time.”

They drove past a long line of residential and commercial buildings before turning and entering a less crowded block—the semi-desolate strip of dilapidated buildings and antiquated stores that every city had. Satoshi parked the car in front of an abandoned apartment complex.

“Is it the Pachinko parlor? The exact one?” Satoshi asked.

Akira looked at him for a long time. “Yes. I can stay here if—”

“Don’t be stupid.” Satoshi unclipped his seatbelt and fetched a weapon from a hidden compartment under his seat. “We need you there. And Hanabi?”

“She’s in the basement with the Fugen.”

“Alright.”

Utahime had no idea what their exchange was all about and knew better than to pry. This was the first time she witnessed any tension between the two men, and it made her feel all the more wary about the operation.

She followed them past a dark alleyway that opened into another desolate street. The road was so narrow that it would fit only a single traffic of small cars, and the back of the Pachinko parlor seemed to spill from the edges of the sidewalk with its massive awning and lopsided signage, making the space look even more constricted.

Satoshi glanced at the building behind them with such aversion that she knew at once that that was the building where Kaori must have died.

The first pitter-patter of rain fell on them, and the Fugen that lined the building’s perimeter rushed them in. Utahime clung to the strap of the quiver that she slung across her chest. With her other hand, she kept her bow held at waist height, ready to use it as a weapon at any moment.

Familiar faces in the Fugen watched her closely as she crossed the threshold. More of them paused to glance at her in the middle of inspecting the endless aisles of Pachinko machines for clues.  She wasn’t sure whether they were being extra observant today or if her paranoia was getting to her. Just because her father opened up the possibility of the traitor being in the Gojo clan did not mean she should start suspecting every single Gojo.

Still. The fact that this new location had a history of death in their family felt like another confirmation. The child who could have been the Six Eyes perished inside his mother's womb just across the street. If the Sasaki was sending a message, they weren't being subtle about it.

Utahime tried not to shudder as she slapped talisman constraints on the walls and the Pachinko machines they passed. Dust billowed around her at the disturbance, and she had to cover her nose to keep from sneezing.

Apart from the thick layers of dust that had turned the interior gray, everything inside looked in order. No fixed chairs had been uprooted from the floor, no machines vandalized, and no light fixture shattered or missing. From the lighting that the Fugen brought in to illuminate the parlor, she noticed that telltale signs of wear were also missing from the walls and ceiling.

Nanami met them at the basement entrance. The four of them descended the metal staircase together and entered what appeared to be a secret passage to the underground lair. For safety, she plastered talisman constraints blindly on the walls, too.

The path opened to a brightly lit corridor, and there was Hanabi, pale and pacing in front of the double doors. Her head shot up when she noticed them, and she pulled the double doors shut. Bits of plaster drizzled on the floor. The place already looked like it was ready to collapse without their help.

Utahime looked over her shoulder at the stairs they had just descended. Although she had minimal knowledge of architecture, she had been in enough abandoned places to know how one should look and feel.

Clearly, the Sasaki maintained this place for their assemblies, but the Fugen had not determined yet how long ago they left. The dust seemed unnatural in the orderly aesthetic of the machines and the furniture they coated. It almost felt staged, as if the Sasaki wanted them to believe that this place had not been used in a long time.

Or was it something else they were hiding?

Utahime's eyes roamed the walls and ceiling of this corridor. The shadows cast by the emergency light the Fugen placed on top of the double doors revealed hastily plastered sections of the wall—cracks, maybe? 

“What’s wrong?” Satoshi asked.

She scratched furiously at her elbow and then rubbed it to soothe her reddened skin. “The corpses aren’t…they’re not really corpses. They’re still alive.”

“And?”

“Just…one of you identify Himari. Make sure it’s her. Then come out and decide how we should proceed.” She put her arm out to block Utahime's path. “She doesn’t need to see.”

Her distress reminded Utahime of the times Mei blocked her eyes and forced her to turn back before she witnessed something she could not handle as a teen. In her usual cool manner, Mei had explained to her that some things were too early for her to see.

All sorcerers are crazy, she’d said. But there are sights that are best reserved for when you’re older.

Men wouldn’t understand. Women in sorcery had a silent code, a secret pact to protect one another, and this was Hanabi observing it for her fellow sorceress.

Satoshi did not ask again. He ventured in, his heavy footfalls echoing in the cavernous hall and silencing the people inside. Akira followed after him, pushing the door wider.

The pungent smell that lingered in the corridor struck them with fresh force. Nanami motioned for Utahime to stay back. He followed in after the two men but stopped just a few steps in.

Utahime did not need to enter the hall to see what had mortified Hanabi. From her vantage point in the corridor, she had a clear view of the devil's work.

Suspended in the opening of a massive alcove were dozens of bodies, all of them naked. All of them ripped open to expose contracting lungs.

All of them women.

Skin and muscles from their own bodies strung them in place and connected them to other women to create an intricate web of death.

Utahime stepped around Hanabi and approached this gruesome tapestry.

In the middle of this web hung the only clothed woman. Utahime recognized the red fabric draped over her body as priestly vestments—the same ones she wore as the new Gakuganji priestess.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

This was Himari, the Blood Maiden herself, hanging from a string made of her own flesh. Breathing down her neck was the tamed curse, ready to escape.

Chapter Text

Utahime couldn’t do it.

She spent half an hour just studying the muscles and skin entangled with the talisman constraints that kept the curse imprisoned, and she still couldn’t find a compromise.

“I have to…” She touched her forehead to block the too-bright light illuminating the place. It was as though the Sasaki made sure they would not miss a single detail of their carnage. “I’ll end up killing them all by undoing the constraints.”

“They’re dead anyway,” Satoshi said, staring straight at her with vacant eyes. He had detached himself from the slaughter, and now he looked like an empty shell with one mission—to get this operation over with. “But if you can’t do it, let me help. Am I right to assume that it’s safe to kill them without cursed energy?”

Utahime nodded. Around her, Nanami, Hanabi, Akira, and the Fugen watched them closely.

“That leaves us with one last predicament.” Satoshi turned to the little boy who was manacled to the foot of one of the women on the web. Apart from his ashen complexion and non-responsive state—which they concluded was a choice rather than a result of shock—he appeared to be healthy. Hanabi had inspected him and found no visible injuries or signs of illness. Their problem was his manacles, which required special tools to remove. Any use of brute force could lead to a serious injury, and none of them wanted to risk it.

They agreed that they would deal with the dying woman first and then detach the manacle from her leg in order to free the boy. They would work on his manacle outside the Pachinko parlor while interrogating him.

Even Daichi and Mari, who eyed the boy with suspicion and treated him like a resource rather than a victim, thought he was too young to suffer from Satoshi’s cursed technique. They would try the normal approach first, and if that did not work, then they would resort to more drastic measures.

“Somebody has to grab him as soon as I free the curse,” Utahime said.

Hanabi raised her hand. “Leave it to me.”

Akira approached the staircase and told everybody to step back. Once there was sufficient space between them and the web of bodies, he used his technique to reshape the treads. The entire staircase groaned and shifted, but the transformation was more surface-level. Utahime understood enough of his technique to know that he was doing his best not to affect the lair’s structural integrity.

Spikes jutted towards the web, and the metal balustrade snaked around the spikes to create additional levels  Satoshi could step on to reach Himari and the women on the outer parts of the alcove.

As Satoshi climbed the spikes, Hanabi slipped between them to reach the child. She held his semi-conscious body in her arms and covered his eyes.

The curse howled from behind Himari’s body, sending a gust of foul, damp air towards them. Utahime stopped Satoshi and asked him to take a few steps down.

She wrapped talismans on ten arrows and shot them along the arch of the alcove. The blades pierced through the cement wall, just deep enough to withstand a few rounds of turbulent tremors. This should prevent the curse from taking a nip at Satoshi’s only hand.

“Trying something new?” Satoshi asked with a hint of a smirk, perhaps to alleviate the gravity of the situation.

Utahime shrugged her left shoulder. “It’s the Iori way.”

Satoshi shifted his gaze to his feet, any trances of amusement now gone from his expression. In a movement so swift, he grabbed the first woman’s neck and twisted it. The sound of bone breaking forced Utahime  to close her eyes. She tried not to wince as more followed.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

If she removed the images of the women from her mind, it was easy to pretend that he was just popping his knuckles a little too hard, the way Gojo sometimes did, to the point that the sound came with a disgusting crunch. The first time that happened, they looked at each other in shock and amazement, and he did it again until she forced him to stop.

Now, more than anything, she wanted to be at home with Gojo, idling on the couch and arguing about the stupidest things. She wanted to lay beside him and not worry about her rank or her mastery of her technique. She wanted to sink into him and feel his arms around her body. If she hugged him a little tighter than normal, he would stop texting on his phone and poke her cheek.

Hey, are you alright?

Utahime exhaled slowly. In her mind, she would tell him the truth.

She was tired, but she wasn’t allowed to say it. She wanted to cry, but she wasn’t allowed to shed tears. This was the cost of being a Jujutsu sorcerer, but moments like this made her wish she wasn’t one. She could almost hear Haruki’s voice as a young boy, asking if she could stop so that he wasn’t always afraid of losing his family to curses.

Utahime opened her eyes slowly and looked up. Satoshi held Himari by the neck, hesitant. He searched the hall for Akira, who nodded once at him.

“I’m sorry, Himari,” Satoshi whispered. “I’ll make sure to get you home to your father.” With that, he twisted her neck, and her head dropped at an unnatural angle.

A single tear spilled from the corner of Utahime’s eye. She would never not be a sorcerer, so the only appropriate desire was to become stronger. As the only remaining priestess in the Sasaki bloodline who had inherited one of the family’s most treasured techniques, she had to crave power and actually attain it if she did not want to be the centerpiece of the cult's next web.

Akira assisted Satoshi in cutting Himari loose from the tangle of skin and muscles that suspended her. They lowered her to a corner, where Utahime promptly covered her body with talismans to prevent her from becoming a vengeful spirit.

“It’ll take too much time to remove everybody else,” Satoshi told her. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do the ritual as is.”

Utahime ghosted her fingers over Himari’s red vestments. A lump formed in her throat, and before the feeling could overwhelm her, she turned away. “It’s no problem. Let’s begin.”

She cut her palm with the blade of an arrow and used it to write on her remaining talisman papers. Thoughts of Getou and his curses consumed her. She imagined him subduing those monsters and absorbing them into an orb.

Shrugging off the left sleeve of her kosode, she wrote ancient scripts across her arm in her own blood.

Utahime stared right into the curse’s eyes, got into position, and began the hymn, but this time, she sang it in reverse. Her father was correct. She had been taming the curses the Gakuganji way, but she was not a Gakuganji. Overpowering the enemy with her cursed energy had never been her forte. Even boosting other sorcerers like Gojo using her Solo Forbidden Zone came with limitations that made it powerful on the battlefield only when used strategically.

Lowering cursed energy, however, was a different matter. What was a curse but the accumulated negative energy of non-shamans? Once she freed this monster, she would drop its cursed energy—the very core of its existence—to the point of paralysis, and then she would claim it. She did not need the original Blood Maiden’s taming marks on these curses. She would place her own and make them submit only to her.

The talisman constraints that crisscrossed the alcove detached from the wall and disintegrated. The heat that charred the papers burned the corpses, too, but without flames. Around Utahime, the team had pressed their noses against the nooks of their elbows. The stench of charred flesh had filled the hall, but she could not let this stop her. The curse was ready to escape, and she had to be quick in activating her Zero Forbidden Zone and weaving the hymn reversal into the technique.

“Father! Uncle!”

Hanabi’s warning cry distracted Utahime for a second. She turned her head just in time to see the Fugen from upstairs burst into the hall.

“Keep at it!” Satoshi yelled at her. “Nanami!”

Nanami appeared beside her to show that he was ready to protect her. Familiar names in the Fugen were cried in the ensuing battle, along with the clangor of weapons and the sharp sound of flesh connecting. She had fought Nao, Toru, Daichi, and Mari enough times for her to know which groan, hiss, and howl belonged to whom. The heavy chains clinking belonged to Satoshi’s Kusarigama, and she could distinguish the swishing of Hanabi’s special fighting clothes. What she did not know was the enemy's identity because she saw no one else join them in the hall except the remainder of the Fugen.

The last of the talisman constraints turned into ashes in mid-air, and the final strings of muscles gave way to let the web of bodies fall to the floor. Hanabi retreated from her fight and pulled the little boy away before the corpses crushed him, but his leg was still manacled too closely to a dead woman’s leg, and he shrieked in pain. Nanami leaped in to shield Hanabi when a figure in black lunged towards her with a Kabutowari blade, parrying it with his blunt sword in a single stroke.

He could’ve ended the attacker’s life in the same move, but she could see why he didn’t. Her worst suspicion had been confirmed, and she could now understand what happened.

The Fugen warriors under Nao, Mari, Daichi, and Toru’s command had betrayed them.

Utahime made the hand signs to activate her Zero Forbidden Zone and then took cautious steps toward the tamed curse while beginning her song.

The monster descended to the ground, writhing in resistance as she lowered its cursed energy to her level. This ugly thing was semi-grade one at most, and based on the parts of it that resembled human limbs, she could tell that it could’ve been born of a massacre. The childish whining hinted at the involvement of children.

Utahime observed Nanami and Hana from her periphery as she used her cursed energy to attach the talismans to the monster before her. It inched towards her with ear-splitting whines, gnashing its teeth in an attempt to bite her head off before she could fully subdue it.

Plaster dust rained on them from the ceiling. She could feel Akira’s cursed energy ripple through the entire hall, preventing it from collapsing on them. Hanabi had tucked the child near the alcove’s opening as she fended off enemies alongside Nanami. Utahime could not sense any battle ensuing directly behind her, and she wondered whether they had managed, in their impossible situation, to keep them at a certain distance while she performed her ritual.

The curse’s hot breath prickled Utahime’s skin as it got closer. One wrong move from her, and it would have the leeway it needed to decapitate her.

Although shaky, she continued the hymn and reached into the waistband of her hakama pants for the final talisman. Utahime slammed it on the curse’s head, pressing down until the ancient script written in her blood etched itself on the curse’s purple skin.

This was the lowest her cursed energy had been, and her vision was beginning to blur, her hearing to recede. After a second, everything went black, and she felt herself fall to her knees. She wasn’t sure how long she was out, but when she opened her eyes, the curse lay on the floor in front of her in a semi-conscious state. It took several moments of staring for her to realize that she had done it.

She subdued the curse, and now all she had to do was lead it out.

The cacophony of fighting in the hall bombarded her ears all at once, and she whipped around to see Fugen members contorting on the ground with their fractured limbs. Some of them thrashed whatever body part they could move as they lay half-submerged on the floor, thanks to Akira. Hanabi continued to restrain several of them with her technique, giving the others the chance to pounce on them.

Even with their teamwork, however, they were outnumbered. Satoshi and the others fought three to four Fugen warriors simultaneously, and despite their skills, they would surely be overpowered soon.

Utahime sat on the floor, beating her legs with one hand to force circulation and holding up an arrow in the other. A Fugen in black might lunge in her direction, but they would change their course in the last second and attack someone else instead. Utahime couldn't understand why. She was the most vulnerable among all of them, and given her technique, wouldn't they want her dead first?

Sweat dripped down her forehead as she attempted to stand. The movement tingled her feet, and putting weight on them emphasized the liquid sensation where her ankle should be. Still, she persisted. It was in the middle of her struggles that she made eye contact with one of the fallen Fugen warriors and realized something. None of the injured Fugen were reacting to their pain like normal people. Their expressions remained blank, and those who clutched at their wounds seemed to do so only because of muscle memory.

Utahime searched for Satoshi in the crowd. Sucking in a lungful of air, she yelled: “Ume and Izumi!”

Satoshi let go of the man's head and let him drop to the floor. His eyes widened a fraction as her implication dawned on him.

The third person from Miyo Yamamoto’s attack must be here.

“They’re under the influence of someone’s technique!” Satoshi announced. “Don’t kill them! Find the sorcerer!”

"Shit." Utahime made the hand sign to boost her cursed energy. A surge of fresh power coursed through her veins, but it came with a heat that felt like a thousand needles piercing her skin. Tears and sweat intermingled on her face. Blood continued to flow from the cut in her palm, but she bit back her pain and made it to her feet.

The Fugen warriors' movements became more aggressive. Nanami and Satoshi fended off anybody who so much as stepped in Utahime's direction, but it was clear that no one intended to attack her. She had no time to contemplate why. Utahime rushed over to the boy to check on him. Either Hana or Nanami had freed his leg amidst the scuffle, but in the least ideal manner possible. When Utahime scooped him up with one arm, the foot attached to the other end of the manacle weighed him down.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy breathed, clutching at her kosode with what little strength he had left. His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he stared at her. “He said you would show up."

“Who did?”

A presence materialized behind her. She turned around and came face-to-face with a middle-aged man whose cursed energy felt familiar to her. When he pulled her with him into the alcove, she made the connection.

“You’re the attacker from the shrine,” she hissed, tightening her hold on the boy and struggling to get away. The boost she used only gave her enough strength to move around but not to fight. Her cursed energy was just beginning to recover from the Zero Forbidden Zone, and the gradual increase made her bones soft and her senses weak.

The man raised his head, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a manic grin. Several scars marred his sunburnt face, which he hovered close to hers as he gripped her waist. He was like a rabid dog, ready to snarl and bite. His excitement manifested in his uncontrollable shaking, and Utahime thought this was it. She had met too many crazy sorcerers like him before, and she knew without a doubt that she was going to die.

Utahime grappled with him until they stumbled deeper into the curse’s former prison. Thick darkness enveloped them. Utahime wanted to ask the others for help, but her cries might give the enemy the opening they needed to make a lethal blow. She glanced at the tamed curse. Its long, scaled tail whipped against the floor as it began to regain consciousness.

Utahime's back hit the wall. She pressed the boy tighter against her and thought of Megumi.

“I just need the boy, Utahime-sama,” the man said, his voice hoarse and weak. Wide searching eyes implored her, and he took a step back to emphasize his intentions.

She stared at the man. “Make it stop. I know you’re controlling them. Make them stop.”

“If you surrender the boy,” he said and raised his hands to receive him. “Please. I won’t hurt him, and if you give the command, I will retract my technique.”

“It’s okay,” the boy told her. He extracted himself from her arms and reached for the man. “I’m supposed to go with him, Utahime-sama. He won’t hurt me.”

She shook her head and held the boy tight.

“Stop it,” Utahime whispered. “Make it stop.”

The man bowed once, and then the Fugen outside the alcove dropped to the ground. A strange silence descended upon the hall, and Utahime watched from the shadows as Akira, Satoshi, Hana, Nanami, and the four Fugen leaders took in the sight of their dying comrades.

“It’s called soul transference." The man took the boy from her slowly, as though afraid to startle her. “I can cut my soul into several pieces and transfer them to numerous vessels all at once.”

Utahime scowled at him, confused as to why he was revealing his technique

He slammed his hand on the space next to her head and pressed his lips against her ear. “The only catch is that I can’t make them do what they don’t already feel like doing. So, as you can see, Izumi, Ume, and the Fugen all have deep-seated resentment for the people they serve. They simply chose not to act on it.” He touched the infinity pendant between her collarbones. “Utahime-sama, if I were to transfer my soul to you, what darkness would I uncover, hm?”

“Utahime!” Satoshi yelled.

The man and the boy bowed to her for the final time before retreating into the shadows.

Utahime had only the presence of mind to perform the necessary hand signs to influence the talisman constraints, and the curse stopped moving once more.

It was midnight by the time they left the Pachinko parlor. Utahime shepherded the curse into the container van that waited outside, and Nanami volunteered to deliver it to the Gakuganji shrine himself. He assured her from the driver’s seat of the van that he would not let her hard work go to waste and gave her one of his rare smiles. Utahime couldn’t come up with any response. She was worn and overwhelmed with questions, and all she could do was nod to let him go.

Satoshi sat beside her inside the Pachinko parlor as they watched Akira, Hanabi, Nao, Toru, and Daichi transport the wounded and unconscious Fugen. She had wanted to help, but he insisted that she stay put with him because they had to talk.

“I know there was someone with you in that alcove,” he said, his distorted reflection on the pachinko machine turned in her direction. “Tell me what happened.”

Utahime stared at her own distorted reflection on the machine in front of her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not see her face. There was only a shadow there, a vague outline of what she was supposed to look like. "Father was correct. It was a man in his mid-thirties or early forties. By the looks of it, he's a veteran sorcerer from the underground Jujutsu Society, and he could have been present during Gojo’s birth in the Seika Iori Shrine." She left out the part about how they addressed her and how his technique worked. It sufficed to know that the Fugen’s actions had been influenced by the enemy; she didn’t have the heart to tell him the prerequisite to it.

A hush outside the Pachinko parlor stole their attention. Second later, Gojo slipped inside with Shoko by his side. Utahime almost collapsed in her seat. The three of them exchanged looks to acknowledge one another before they got to work.

Shoko took command as soon as she saw the wounded. Many who lost their limbs got them reattached, and those who nearly bled to death were safely patched up and sent to the Seika Iori Shrine to make use of their medical facilities.

Utahime had doubled down that day about her clan’s involvement, but she also couldn’t let the Fugen die. It took one quick phone call to her father for him to open their Seika shrine to the team, and Hanabi drove her there to continue the treatment.

Gojo stood guard for everyone. As the two of them stood under the Pachinko parlor’s awning observing the fray, he told her that he had whisked Shoko away from Jujutsu HQ as soon as he completed his missions, worried that severe injuries would be unavoidable in what was obviously a trap. The Fugen had taken every measure to prevent an ambush and minimize any disruption to the core team of the operation, but nobody was expecting the kind of attack they received that night.

He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “You holding up?”

The rain turned the world into gray. Puddles formed around their shoes, and the awning above them creaked with the impact of the outpour.

She pulled the jacket closer over her body and looked up at Gojo. She had to tell someone. She had to tell him, but she worried that he would reciprocate her concerns over the situation. The way the man had treated her earlier made her feel like she was in connivance with them. He didn’t even seem worried that she saw his face. If Yaga would grant them access to HQ’s extensive list of sorcerers associated with the underground Jujutsu Society, she might even be able to ID him. It was as if he was confident she wouldn’t.

Utahime covered her eyes with her hand. Her trembling intensified, and although she willed her body to stop, she couldn’t. “They killed Himari.”

She didn’t know whether Gojo heard her amidst the outpour, but he pulled her toward him so that her face was pressed against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing with all of her might and digging her nails into his shirt until she knew that she was hurting him.

Slowly, surely, something inside her unraveled. Like a great knot finally untied, all restraint abandoned her, and she screamed into his chest. Tears and snot slipped into her mouth, but she couldn’t stop. She gripped Gojo’s arms to brace herself, and she let out all of the anger that she didn’t know had been building up inside of her.

The force of her screams startled Gojo. Her entire body heaved with the effort to capture something from the deepest parts of her, and she released it as a sound so shrill and guttural that it rendered him immobile for several moments. As he stood there, stunned to silence, Utahime clawed at his arm and screamed in full abandon.

She had been so worried about him reaching a breaking point when she was already standing on the edge.

Gojo held her by the elbows to keep her from thrashing too violently. Muddy water splashed around them as she stomped her feet, and raindrops caught on her hair, which lashed behind her in thick clumps. He crumpled the sleeve of her kosode in his fists to keep her in place without hurting her.

As the last of the cargo vans left, he found Satoshi standing under the rain, watching them. He glanced at Utahime, then back at him. Gojo hesitated. After a beat, he nodded.

Satoshi flexed his hand as he approached. Gojo scooped Utahime into a tight embrace. Satoshi touched the back of Utahime's head, and in less than a second, her screams stopped. Her body went slack, and Gojo lifted her in his arms. He tucked her head under his chin, as though by doing so, he could spare her from further pain.

Akira held up one umbrella for Satoshi and another for Gojo.

“It was brutal,” Akira said. "I think everybody thought the same thing when we saw Himari.”

“What did they do to her?” Gojo asked.

Satoshi showed him a photograph on his phone. “I took it just in case there was a hidden message. Unless they were there specifically to make the retrieval of the tamed curse difficult for Utahime, there might be something here we could use in the future.”

Gojo barely heard his father. The photograph had captured Utahime standing in front of a web of naked women with their muscles and skins strung together. Large patches of dried blood overlayed with fresh ones served as their only covering. His eyes focused on Himari and her red vestments—the same ones Utahime wore as the new Gakuganji priestess.

Gojo’s fingers quivered as he tried to stop himself from holding her too tightly. His breathing quickened, and darkness crept up from the corners of his mind. He had to calm down.

Calm down.

“I’m not convinced they want Utahime dead,” Satoshi said as he pocketed the phone. “But I am convinced that the Sasaki targeting her. Apart from displaying her predecessor’s brutal death, they forced Utahime to burn the corpses of so many women to free the tamed curse. I set her aside earlier because I was worried further exposure to the injured would make her snap.”

“I need to use your apartment again,” Gojo said. “Can you bring Lady Sayuri? I need her help. I can’t show Utahime to Master Iori like this.”

Satoshi shook his head. “Bring her to Nobu. The best you can do is to surround her with family.”

Gojo felt a vibration in Utahime’s pocket. He fished for her phone and saw message after message coming in, followed by missed calls overlapping one another. The names were unfamiliar to him, but most of them were women. Shrine maidens?

RYOUSUKE’S HERE

Hide!

He’s looking for you pls go somewhere safe

Stay away from the shrine!

Master Gakuganji’s fighting Ryousuke everybody’s evacuated the shrine

Satoshi’s phone buzzed. A call. He answered and put the phone on speaker mode.

“Contact Gojo at once, and the rest of you, stay away from the Gakuganji Shrine." Nanam's voice registered on the phone as an echo, and they could hear his panting, followed by various other noises that hinted at a large-scale battle. “Ryousuke came here looking for Utahime and was fighting Gakuganji. Now he’s fighting—”

An explosion cut him off. Seconds passed, then static and a myriad of indistinct noises reverberated from the call. When Nanami spoke again, it was obvious that he was running.

“Nanami!”

“I don’t know why, but Suguru Getou is here, and he’s fighting Ryousuke. Where the hell is Gojo?”

The dust hadn’t settled in the Gakuganji shrine when Gojo arrived, but he knew he was already too late.

The moment he walked past the maimed torii and stepped foot on the shattered grounds, he was certain that Suguru had left. His cursed energy hung heavy in the air, but his presence had gone. Nanami sat on the decapitated lion head that had toppled to the ground, applying pressure to his bleeding arm. As soon as their eyes met, he nodded in the direction of the worship hall.

Gojo ventured further, and as more of the white fog dispersed, the sight of Gakuganji kneeling before his dead son became clearer.

The upper portion of Ryousuke’s torso had been flattened and partly infused with the ground. Whatever curse Suguru used on him had torn him from the nook of his neck to his navel. Gakuganji looked up at Gojo, too stunned to speak.

“Did Suguru say anything?” He had to ask. This did not make any sense. Suguru had left curses for him to exorcise in Tokyo to ensure he did not interfere with the operation in Minami-Ku. The cult undoubtedly played a role in Himari's demise, and now Getou had murdered Ryousuke.

Gakuganji spread his nagajuban over Ryousuke's corpse. “My son came here to kill Utahime. It seemed to me like Suguru Getou interfered only to stop him.”

Gojo remembered the photo of Himari’s corpse suspended in the air with Utahime looking up at her. “Himari is dead. Satoshi will bring her here as soon he can. They found her in the location we secured tonight. I'm sorry, gramps."

“He claimed that Getou betrayed them." Gakuganji looked up at Gojo. The tips of his long eyebrows and goatee had stiffened with dried blood, and one of his earlobes was torn, its gold earring missing. “He risked appearing in my territory just to kill Utahime. Why did he want her dead?”

Gojo watched Ryousuke's blood seep into the cracked pavement beneath his shoes.

A singular question filled his mind: Why did Suguru want Utahime alive?

Chapter Text

Utahime lay on the bed in a light blue yukata. Her long hair draped over her left shoulder, and her bangs spread sideways on her forehead in two clumps. The faint white light that streamed from the window exacerbated the details of her scar. The marred skin had smoothened out over time, but just like with Satoshi’s stump, Gojo did his best to avoid looking at it too hard. He knew that when the weather changed, the skin around it still contracted, and she had to massage her cheek to keep the nearby nerves from tingling.

Gojo pulled the blanket up to her chest to keep her from getting cold. He transferred from the chair on her bedside to the edge of the mattress. Gathering her hands in his, he began to rub them together for warmth.

After confirming that Suguru was no longer in the Gakuganji shrine's immediate vicinity and that Master Iori was prepared to arm the Iori shrine should Suguru go there, Gojo gave his father the green light to deliver Himari's corpse to Gakuganji. The old man wasted no time; he contacted Jujutsu HQ at once, and managers arrived to verify the attack. They bagged and transferred Himari and Ryousuke's corpses to Jujutsu High, where they were autopsied and cremated without ceremony. Satoshi looked like he wanted to argue this treatment, but in the end, decided it was best to stay quiet.

Traitors were traitors. He did no one any favors by showing them sympathy.

Gojo drove to the Seiko Iori Shrine in the wee hours of the morning. Master Iori showed him to the servants’ quarters, which they had transformed into a makeshift recovery center for the Fugen. Upon their arrival at midnight, every able-bodied person transferred the medical equipment from the basement facilities to the servants’ quarters, making sure everyone was attached to an IV drip and given a reasonable morphine dosage until Shoko could attend to them.

Although the place was quiet now, evidence of the chaos that transpired there remained. Bloodied bandages filled half-closed garbage bags, used linens piled high in one corner of the corridor, and medical equipment sat haphazardly in trolleys between beds.

“Satoshi has had trouble managing his strength in battle since he lost his left arm,” Akira told him as he cleaned up in the corridor. Beneath the sleeves of the yukata Master Iori lent him were arms still stained with lines of dried blood. He scraped at them absently while explaining the situation to Gojo. “He overcompensates with his right, so you can imagine how difficult it was for him to incapacitate them without killing them. Also, these men and women are like our own children.”

His voice broke, forcing him to clear his throat to mask his rising emotions. Gojo looked the other way. His uncle had grown softer with age, or perhaps it was the fact that, for a good amount of the fight, they believed these people whom they considered family had betrayed them. Either way, he could not chide his uncle for it.

“I’m going to check on Hanabi,” Gojo said as an excuse to give his uncle privacy.

Akira pointed him to one of the rooms and continued cleaning the corridor.

Hanabi had fallen asleep on a chair next to a patient. She lay reclined on a folding chair, the top of her head illuminated by the growing morning light. Her white roots were showing, and he could already picture her booking an appointment with her hairdresser to refresh her pink dye.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he lifted her in his arms and transferred her to a spare cot in another room. Their childhood felt so long ago, but he could still remember vividly the times that she insisted on carrying him on her back to deliver him to Lady Sayuri. She had even shoved him in a small bag once in an attempt to smuggle him into his mother’s quarters.

Gojo spread a blanket over her and undid her intricate braid. Hanabi woke up as he tugged the last few strands loose. She blinked at him, her eyelids still droopy. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just get some sleep now. I'll take over from here."

She searched her pockets for her phone. "Maybe fifteen more minutes, and then I have to go. Someone has to make sure our clan has not imploded in our absence."

He wanted to discourage her, but there was no one else he could trust to represent him in the countless clan dealings that required his attention. Even though his parents and uncle were on his side, they did not agree on everything. It was up to Hanabi to fight for his interests while he did Jujutsu HQ's bidding.

Gojo bumped her hand with his. "Thanks, Hanabi."

She scoffed as she typed away on her phone, her long fingernails creating delicate tapping sounds on the screen. "Of course. What the hell would you do without me?"

While Hanabi was depleted from over-exertion, Shoko seemed barely affected by the extensive use of her RCT. She checked on each of the unconscious Fugen warriors with him by her side, and together, they added new strings of talisman papers on the men's and women's injuries. As Shoko activated her technique, Kazuo amplified it by placing his hand on her shoulder. He wiped his bleeding nose before she could see, and Gojo guessed that he was taking the toll of the curse-limiting seals for her.

Later, he would catch them standing beside one of the lion guards, sharing a cigarette.

Gojo checked on Utahime last, even though he had wanted to go to her first. Satoshi’s technique would’ve kept her unconscious for twelve hours at most, and since she had no visible injuries, he knew that there was no real danger to her life that warranted his immediate attention.

Yet he could not describe the relief that flooded him when he finally got to sit by her side and hold her. It was like getting pulled back down to the ground, because while it was nice to be up in the air, there was security in feeling something solid beneath his feet.

He was not sure how long he sat there, lost in a daze, going in and out of consciousness, afraid that if he gave in to exhaustion, he might lose sight of her. He just knew that when he next became fully aware of his surroundings, it was bright outside, and a woman who looked like an older version of Utahime sat on a chair on the other side of the bed. She wore her hair in the Hime style, with the back long and loose while the shorter front tresses grazed her cheeks.

She hummed a melody while looking down at Utahime, and Gojo felt a subtle shift in the room, a veil of cursed energy moving in the air like a thin breeze.

“Lord Gojo,” she said in greeting.

It took Gojo a moment to gather his wits. “Priestess Tomoe.”

She smiled. It looked sincere but restrained, kind but mysterious. “I’m retired, so it’s just Tomoe.”

Gojo shifted his gaze back to Utahime and noticed the small talismans scattered all over the headboard.

“To prevent nightmares,” Tomoe explained. “She was moaning in her sleep.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“You weren’t exactly awake.”

Gojo listened to her humming. He remembered that Utahime had gifted Suguru an old music box that did something to that effect. The memory was still vivid: him with Shoko, Utahime, and Suguru in the Kanagawa beach house in winter, opening presents they had gotten for each other the day prior. Only Utahime had come to the beach house with presents she prepared beforehand. She even bought one for Haibara, not knowing that he had already been dead for months.

“You also use song in your technique?” Gojo asked. This was not the time for sad thoughts.

“I know the melodies, but I do not have my daughter’s technique.” She leaned forward and pressed the back of her hand on Utahime’s cheek. “My husband brought me here to consult about the corpses you uncovered. Priestess Himari was among them?”

“Unfortunately.” He showed her the photo on his phone.

The lines on Tomoe’s face deepened at the sight of the corpses. With a frown, she took out a pen and paper from the side table and drew what appeared to be a ritual circle, but more complex than what he was used to seeing from Utahime. “There was a practice in the ancient Jujustu World regarding the succession of the role of priestess from one woman to another. Being the priestess means being married to the Kami, but there is no such thing as divorce in divinity. The only means to succeed her or to become the new bride is to kill the former priestess. If the current priestess did not want to be killed, she could elope with a man and be taken away, never to appear before the Kami in any shrine ever again.”  Tomoe handed him the paper, and side-by-side with the photo, the pattern now made sense. The Sasaki had recreated the ritual circle, but with blood and flesh. “Otherwise, she will lay in a ritual circle with her faithful shrine maidens and enter the afterlife. We stopped this practice after the Iori and the Gakuganji separated from the Sasaki. To outsiders, this may appear to be mere brutality, but within the context of ancient Jujutsu practices, this is quite…romantic. It was perceived as marriage to a divinity. A god.”

Gojo did his best to keep his expression neutral. To prevent the disgust and anger from breaking his stoic facade. He did not want to be emotional in front of Utahime’s mother, of all people.

“There was a boy,” he said, partly as a distraction.

“Children were used as witnesses. Boys, especially, because they were trained in the ways of the religion early.”

“Does she know these things?” He tipped his head towards Utahime.

Tomoe opened and closed her mouth, pondering the years of training she had spent with her daughter. “If she reacted the way she did, she may have recognized the ritual circle, but not its full meaning. Sasaki practices are not widely shared anymore. I was planning on teaching her these things once she became the new Iori priestess.”

A deep sigh sounded from behind them, and Gojo shifted in his seat to see who had been eavesdropping. He had not sensed anyone approaching, and he wondered whether he had taxed himself too much or if the Iori Shrine was presenting a weakness to him.

Master Iori leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed. Weariness clung to his features, revealing just how much standing guard for them throughout the night had cost him. “This can only mean the Sasaki wants something from her, and they’re being blatant about it,” he said.

Gojo ran his hand down his face, feeling increasingly agitated. "Suguru knows her. Utahime would rather die than hurt innocent people.”

Master Iori stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. “If that’s the case, then Getou either needs a new Blood Maiden to control the Sasaki cult, or he has managed to persuade them that they don’t need one. Both options do not sound good for my daughter. The former would require her assassination, and the latter means hundreds of lunatics have a personal vendetta against her.”

“Ryousuke claimed that Getou betrayed them,” Tomoe offered. “So if he killed Himari to make Utahime the new Blood Maiden, he would naturally want her alive.”

“But for what? What’s the point if she won’t do what he says?”

Tomoe paused to ponder this. “I don't think he wants her dead anytime soon. My husband is correct. If he cannot manage to persuade Utahime to join his cause, he might find a new priestess, and then Utahime will be a sacrifice. She could just be a placeholder, a means for Getou to monopolize the cult by claiming that they are still searching for their rightful Blood Maiden. I am not sure, but these are the possibilities.”

“Are there other qualified women in your clan?” Gojo did not miss the way her posture stiffened. “Apart from you?”

She lowered her gaze to the bed, her fingers curling on the sleeve of Utahime’s yukata. “Even I’m not fully qualified for the role. To be honest, I think my daughter’s current mastery of her new technique doesn’t qualify her either. Not yet, at least.”

Gojo turned to Master Iori. “Suguru can control the curses. If he just needs someone from the Sasaki bloodline to ensure the cult’s loyalty, I suggest safeguarding Priestess Tomoe as well.”

He wasn’t sure when in the conversation Utahime woke up, but the next they turned to her, her eyes were already open. The way her pupils darted around the room hinted that she was not fully awake yet, but just conscious enough to understand the gist of the situation.

The three of them fell silent, realizing that she overheard their conversation. Their collective worry about how much she heard prevented them from speaking any further, and they watched with quiet trepidation as she raised her mother’s drawing to her face.

Utahime dropped the paper and shielded her face with her arms. “Tell me everything.”

Gojo opened his mouth to start, but Master Iori cut him off. In an emphatic tone, he told her about Ryousuke’s attack on the shrine and his death in Suguru’s hands, as well as their theories regarding Himari’s death. He was addressing her as a superior, and halfway through his recounting, Utahime sat up. She stared ahead and listened like a diligent underling, muscle memory and rank taking over when it was obvious that she was in shock.

Once Master Iori was finished, he nodded at Tomoe and marched out of the room.

Gojo was familiar with the dynamics. Satoshi did this to him as a youth when he was at risk of being overly emotional over a professional matter. They were lucky if they had the time to process every single blow that the job threw at them, but those instances were rare and far between. Given the circumstances, they had to keep going, and the only way to do that was to detach themselves from their personal sentiments and prioritize objectivity.

Still, Master Iori had been kind about it. He did not let Gojo break the news to her so that he could stay with Tomoe to offer support. Now Utahime was sitting in silence and taking measured breaths as she let the information sink in.

“Gojo,” she said after a while. “Do you mind waiting for me outside while I speak with my mother?”

Gojo nodded. As he was closing the door behind him, he saw Utahime hunch over and cling to Tomoe, who held her tenderly and whispered something to her ear.

Utahime had told him in one of their late-night conversations in bed that she dreaded her mother’s reaction to everything she did. No criticism hurt as much as hers did; likewise, her mother's praise struck her like the most addictive drug. The whole world could abandon her, but if her mother approved, then nothing else mattered. Tomoe was her number one critique and most important supporter, and Gojo could tell that this was exactly why Master Iori brought Tomoe here now of all times.

Gojo wished he were the best person to handle Utahime at her lowest, but he knew what it felt like to be desperate for his mother’s comfort. He was just relieved to know that she would be okay in their care.

When Utahime emerged from the room later, it did not surprise Gojo that the first thing she wanted to do was return to the Gakuganji shrine.

When he was a freshman, he thought Utahime’s non-combat-style technique was the primary driving force behind her determination and loyalty. It was a form of compensation—a desperate attempt to make up for the inadequacies of her technique. She had once kept Shoko up all night to heal her injuries so she could go on back-to-back missions with Mei, after which she came home limping and bleeding again.

Gojo found her sitting in front of a vending machine the evening of that second mission, clutching her side and unable to get up. He took one look at her state and told her that she should know her limits. “You’re no use to anybody dead. Leave the stronger curses for the rest of us who can handle them.”

“You can’t be in two places at the same time, right?” she said.

“Huh?”

Utahime bit back a wince when she let go of her side. “Unless the great Satoru Gojo can be everywhere all at once, we will keep losing innocent lives to curses. That’s why sorcerers like me need to keep growing stronger, and sorcerers like you need to stop picking on me.” She stuck her tongue out. “Idiot.”

Gojo wanted to tell her now, as he drove her to the Gakuganji shrine, that she made a good point, but she could not pick up everybody’s slack. She could not stretch herself thin when her own life was in danger just because it was the noble thing to do.

He gripped the steering wheel harder in an effort to silence his thoughts. Utahime glanced at him again. She had been skitterish since they entered the car, reacting to every small movement he made as though he might pounce on her. She must know that he did not want her to go back there, but she was ready to stand her ground. Utahime was only waiting for an opening to defend her decision, but he would not give her one. If they started now, he could not promise that he would remain calm or reasonable.

In his mind, the argument he'd make was clear: he only needed to present their findings to Gakuganji, and the old man would have a good reason to break the binding vow with her. After all, the Gakuganji clan would be implicated for their involvement with Utahime should she join the Sasaki cult. Yet he also knew that this was exactly why she wanted to return. She made that binding vow to protect her family; she just had no idea that it would be to this extent.

Utahime adjusted the AC for the nth time. She switched radio stations. A moment passed, and she turned off the radio altogether.

“Gakuganji needs me to keep his shrines in order,” Utahime said, finally giving in. “Now’s not the time for such a big mediating family to fall. So many sorcerers and clans depend on Gakuganji shrines for refuge and a means to maintain peace with other clans.”

Gojo parked in front of the shrine and busied himself with wrapping his eyes with bandages.

She unclipped her seatbelt but did not leave. “Nobody else has to know about Himari and the ritual circle. If I continue to retrieve the tamed curses from them, there’s no reason to suspect me of wanting to side with the cult. Getou would know about my binding vow. Acting against Gakuganji’s orders might kill me. They don’t have any use for me.”

He exited the car. She followed soon after, and they walked side by side up the staircase leading to the shrine proper.

Managers from Jujutsu HQ nodded at them, and the shrine maidens who were nearest to the second torii hurried to Utahime to express their relief. They talked all at once, their faces revealing the mixture of horror and shock that had overtaken the Gakuganji's shrine. Utahime glanced back at him once before letting the women usher her in. He ignored her. To smile would have been deceptive; to nod and acknowledge her went against his convictions. Just because he did not want to argue with her did not mean that he was willing to concede. He hated that she was here, and he would make her feel it.

Gojo stood beside the broken Ema while he waited for Satoshi.

The damage Suguru and Ryousuke had done to the shrine appeared much worse than it did just a few hours ago. In broad daylight, the craters on the ground grew deeper, the cracks and the piles of rubble more telling of the kinds of sorcerers who fought there. Streaks of dried blood, rich and brown under the sun, colored the courtyard. Pieces of flesh and organs littered the place in clusters, all pink and black and shriveling in the heat.

Satoshi emerged from the worship hall a couple of minutes later, worn and sleep-deprived. He dismissed the two managers he was speaking to and headed straight for Gojo.

“HQ has documented the scene. Gakuganji can start cleansing and reconstructing the place.” Satoshi wiggled his foot to get rid of the small rocks that stuck to the soles of his shoes.

“They’re aware of Ryousuke and Himari?”

“The old man covered for us. He said Ryousuke brought Himari here and blamed Getou for her death. All that betrayal shit.” He stood beside Gojo and sighed as he gazed up at the clear sky. “I think he’s in shock.”

“Gakuganji?”

“Those are still his children. Just because he prioritized the safety of the Jujutsu World and Japan doesn’t mean he cares any less for them.”

Movement from the edge of the worship hall caught Gojo’s eye, and he spotted Utahime in her red priestly vestments, speaking to Gakuganji while writing on some talisman papers. He looked away at once. It was good that he would have to leave anyway for them to be able to cleanse the place, because his cursed energy would surely interfere. Seeing her in red only reminded him of his lack of options, his helplessness.

“She lied to me,” Satoshi said in a low voice.

Gojo scowled at him, and then he realized. “You looked into her memories?”

“I had to.”

He tried not to, but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. He only wanted his father to make Utahime unconscious. He had no idea he could see her memories that quickly.

Glancing at Utahime as she disseminated instructions to her shrine maidens, he considered his possible responses. Satoshi may have crossed a line, but it was his operation. He never used his technique on people unless he had to.

“Tell me,” Gojo said.

Satoshi detailed Utahime’s encounter with the sorcerer and the boy. How they addressed her with deference and the fact that the man explained his technique to her. To be fair, Utahime did risk her life to stop the fighting. She could have yelled for help, but instead faced the risk of a lethal assault because she knew how intense the fighting was going for the people in the hall.

“It was like the man was showing her she was in control,” he continued. “It’s impressive manipulation. Also, knowing your girl, there’s a chance she withheld the information about how the soul transference technique worked so as not to interfere with us saving the injured. I think she was planning on telling you first so that you can break the news to me.”

“But?” Gojo asked. Satoshi was never one to focus on silver linings.

“I’m worried about her.”

The two of them observed Utahime from afar. She slapped talismans on cracked bricks and deep craters and told everybody to step back.

“Don’t be.” Gojo forced himself to smile at his father. “I trust her.”

He meant it.

He trusted Utahime. As he stacked their belongings in cardboard boxes and emptied roll after roll of packaging tapes, he reminded himself that the Sasaki liked to play mind games. Perhaps, knowing that they had lost their Blood Maiden for good, they wanted to discredit Utahime to keep her from retrieving the tamed curses. After all, Utahime made a good point. The Sasaki could not force her to use her abilities because of her binding vow. The only way they might achieve that was if Gakuganji himself were part of a cult, and the longer this hunt played out, the more he was convinced that Gakuganji was on their side.

Gojo sat on the floor of Utahime's living room and dialed Shoko’s number. They had been texting all day about the injured Fugen's condition, and although he wanted to return to the Seiko Iori Shrine, it was unwise to do so. Master Iori could better protect everyone if his cursed energy wasn’t there to interfere with the seals.

“I’m actually outside the shrine right now,” Shoko said after they had exchanged updates on the Fugen and Utahime. Traffic noises sounded in the background, along with a couple of muffled voices. “I’m getting drinks with Kazuo in town.”

Gojo couldn’t help but make a face. He picked on the edge of the packaging tape with his nails. “You deserve the break, but don’t get drunk. And don’t do anything stupid with him, okay? He’s a priest.”

“Aren’t you sleeping with a priestess?”

“Touche.”

“It’s not like that with me and Kazuo, and even if it were, it’s none of your business.”

Gojo tugged a long line of tape and cut it with his teeth. “You know it is.”

“He’s not our guy, Gojo,” she said. “There’s no motive.”

There didn’t need to be one, Gojo thought. If he understood Soul Transference correctly, all the man needed was direct contact with anybody who had enough ill feelings towards someone  or something to manipulate them. Based on that, any one of them could have been tapped to extract confidential information. If Gojo had not been as strong as he was, he might have been the most vulnerable of them all.

“Alright, just stay by his side and be careful.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I just realized something.”

“That’s my cue to end this call,” she said.

“Why do you have a thing for religious leaders?”

There was a long pause, during which Gojo regretted saying the joke. He was about to apologize when Shoko responded, “I can ask you the same thing.”

They both laughed.

Shoko had just ended the call when Gojo heard the sound of the key twisting in the doorknob. He peered above the backrest of the couch and saw Utahime step in with bags of take-out food. She kicked her shoes off at the entryway and called for him.

He raised his hand, and she rounded the couch to see what he was doing.

The two of them looked at each other, and there was a moment of uncertainty, just like in the car, wherein they weren’t sure which option to take. There were so many things they had to discuss, so many triggers that could cause another bad fight, but both of them were reluctant to even start.

He had not spoken against her continuing with Gakuganji despite the circumstances, and he hoped she would not resist his efforts to keep her safe.

Utahime took in the sight of the boxes as she reached over the couch to drop the food on the coffee table. “Did you label the boxes?”

He sighed quietly, relieved. “If we hear something break, then those are the fragile ones.”

“Gojo!”

Utahime rummaged through the drawers for a marker. She tossed one to him. “You can at least show me photos of the place so we know what to take with us.”

Gojo labeled one box as UTAHIME’S UNMENTIONABLES before climbing over the couch and reaching for the food. Utahime hit the back of his head and scratched out the label.

“Come here,” he said, waving her over with his phone.

Utahime plopped down next to him. He presented the screen to her and swiped right to show the photos that his uncle had forwarded to him. This apartment was bare, and it wasn’t the one that Satoshi had bought under an alias. When he spoke with his uncle over the phone to discuss why he was buying property from him, he suggested getting a new one instead. His uncle also took care of the documentation and financing so that nobody could trace both to him.

The conversation had been curt and straight to the point, as his uncle had never been affectionate with him, but Gojo knew he cared. Satoshi reassured him that circumstances just made any close bond between him and the rest of their family members a bit difficult.

Utahime swiped right and then left, going back and forth between the photos with her jaws slack. “It’s a three-bedroom apartment? Is this an entire living room? And a kitchen?”

“I’m glad you’re able to tell.”

She slapped his thigh. “I’m serious. This is it?”

“Why? You want something bigger?”

She turned to him with her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised high. “Bigger? This is bigger than what we need. And how much is this thing?” Holding her hands up, she began counting with her fingers. “I’ll have to buy floor-length curtains and extra-long dusters. What kind of wood is that? If I use the wrong materials, I might just ruin it. What—”

Gojo slammed his hand over her mouth while she was still speaking. “Utahime, just say you like it and that you’ll move in with me.”

She squinted at him, and then she nodded. When he removed his hand, it was obvious that she was struggling not to overthink the matter.

He rolled his eyes. “The extra space is for guests.”

“Guests?”

“Megumi and Tsumiki, for one,” he said. “So they can stay the night whenever they want to without Jujutsu HQ throwing a fit. If they check, the apartment’s under an alias. I’m sure you’d also prefer it if Shoko crashed with us whenever she’s in Kyoto. Then there’s your mother.”

“My mother?”

“I want to ask her to stay with you on the weekdays while I’m in Tokyo.” Gojo covered her mouth again. “I know what you’re going to say. You’ll try to placate me and all that, but do this for our peace of mind. I’m not the only one who’s worried about you, and now that your family is involved, I don’t think it’s right for me to look after you by myself. I’d like to think I’ve grown up enough to know when to ask for help.”

Utahime tugged his hand down. Her eyes roamed the apartment as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Gojo pinched her cheek. “What?”

When she still wouldn’t meet his gaze, he wrapped his legs around her to keep her in place. “Alright, you’re not moving until you tell me what you’re thinking.”

Color rose to her cheeks, and she placed her hands on his chest to put some distance between them. “I hate to say it, but you’re really hot when you talk like a grown man.”

“That’s it?” He scooted closer to her so that she was curled up like a ball between his legs. “You’re looking like that because you’re surprised that I can be mature?”

“Given how immature you can be, yes, I am surprised.”

Gojo pressed her hands harder over his nipples. “Senpai, stop groping me!”

“Oh, stop it! This is exactly why I reacted that way!”

He threw himself on top of her. “Senpai, have some self-control!”

“Satoru Gojo! You’ve heavy!”

He didn’t stop until she was laughing, and he buried his face on her collarbone, relishing the sound of her joy and the feeling of her soft flesh against his.

She looped her arms around his neck. “You’re not secretly mad at me, are you? I’d rather fight about it.”

“I’ve played the entire fight in my mind, and it’s not worth it. We’re just skipping to the part where we cuddle, and you remember why you’re in love with me.”

“Why am I in love with you again?”

“My broad shoulders.”

She lowered her fingers to his shoulders to knead his muscles. “Oh, right. I forgot that you’re a walking talking pair of shoulders.”

“Shoulders so good, they make older women swoon.”

She slapped him. He laughed some more. She wriggled beneath him so that they were chest-to-chest, and his face was hovering above hers.

Even as he planted soft kisses across her face, he saw it in her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say but chose not to. Instead, she held him close again, and despite his efforts to reject the idea, he could not help but remember Suguru.

How, at some point, Suguru had stopped speaking his mind. They had stopped fighting. Suguru drifted away in silence, leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake.

Gojo clung to Utahime and squeezed his eyes shut.

He was not going to let it happen again.

Moving all of their stuff to their new apartment and unpacking took around three months.

After a day of teaching his students and exorcising curses, he barely had enough time to attend to his clan obligations and keep up with the updates on the Sasaki cult. He found himself in hour-long conversations with Hanabi and Satoshi on the phone almost every night, which conflicted with Utahime’s free time.

She started her work in the shrine in the wee hours of the morning, training the shrine maidens and working with the priests to fortify the grounds while it was undergoing renovations. Once it was light out, she would head to Jujutsu High, where she would teach students and assist them in missions up until late in the evening.

Their communication was staggered throughout the day, most of their texts consisting of one to two words or a few seconds of voice messages. He could track the majority of her activities via the school portal, and she learned the value of quick selfies to show where she was and what she was doing.

Although they did their best to have long conversations before bed, one of them would either fall asleep or suggest having the call in the morning.

In the end, it was the right move to let Tomoe live with Utahime on weekdays. She occupied the spare bedroom and unpacked most of their books, decor, and kitchen utensils for them. Every time he came home from Tokyo, a new box had been opened, and he would see familiar cups and plates either displayed on the racks or freshly washed beside the sink.

Most Saturdays, when Gojo caught the earliest train to Kyoto, he would enter the apartment to the smell of grilled fish, miso soup, and a variety of side dishes. He would greet Tomoe in the kitchen and check in on Utahime, who would usually be deep asleep on their bed until mid-morning. After giving her a peck on the cheek and rearranging the blankets over her body, he would eat breakfast with Tomoe and laugh out loud at her anecdotes about her children.

“Utahime bullied boys when she was in elementary school. I think it had something to do with boys teasing girls they liked, and she didn’t know how to handle confessions yet.” Tomoe covered her mouth every time she giggled. “She calmed down in middle school and behaved a little more demurely, but I think it’s mostly because she learned to channel her energy towards sports.”

Gojo could imagine little Utahime doing martial arts on a boy twice her size. “Who disciplined her?”

“Nobu and I took turns, but she’s more afraid of me. Nobu’s resolve goes away the instant Utahime makes a crying face. Even now, he says there’s a physical pain in his heart at the sound of her crying.”

Gojo took a sip of his coffee and reclined on his seat to peak at the partly open door. Utahime was stirring on the bed, but it would likely take ten more minutes for her to get up. “I thought she took after Master Iori, but after meeting you, I was honestly startled by how similar you are.”

“Believe me, she hates that.”

“How come?”

“Mothers and daughters have a difficult relationship.” She brought her cup to her lips but only stared at the contents. “I have to watch over her not only as a mother but also as a sorcerer. I’ve always warned her about falling in love with someone as strong as you.”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “That’s kinda my fault. I nagged her until she gave in.”

“Oh, please. She was interested in you long before she knew it.”

“Really?”

“Utahime talked about you a lot whenever she went home from Tokyo. She worried that you would get too cocky, and then someone or something out there would catch you by surprise. I warned her once that she might be disguising her affections for you as annoyance, and she balked. You should have heard how hard she tried to deny it. ”

Gojo couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks. “It took her a while to come around, but I always tell her she was worth the wait.”

“Why my daughter, though?” She added honey to her tea and flicked her gaze up to his face when he took a moment too long to answer.

“Some things are hard to put into words,” he explained, just in case his pause offended her.

"There are so many better options. Political matches that would benefit your clan more. Prettier women. Stronger sorcerers."

Gojo traced patterns on the table with the drops of coffee that had spilled from his cup. It was a bad habit he learned from Satoshi. He said doodling was a great way to calm the mind, to focus one's thoughts. “Let’s just say she keeps me grounded. I struggled with her kindness because it was…strange to have someone technically weaker than me care so much that I could get hurt in battle, but once I got past my ego, I thought it was nice to be treated like a human. I think I love her because it’s the only appropriate response to everything she’s done for me.”

Tomoe stood and bowed. She was demure and polished in a way that was different from Lady Sayuri. While his mother’s strength hummed in the air like static, Tomoe’s was a whisper, punctuated with sharp remarks made in between compassionate looks. When she bowed, she did so with great poise and sincerity. “Thank you.”

Gojo stood and bowed to her as well. He had thought that she would be the most opposed to their relationship, but she had neither said nor done anything to pull them apart. If anything, it was her support that was making their relationship work during these uncertain times, and he could not be more grateful for her blessing.

The clap of slippers in the bedroom alerted them of Utahime. Tomoe rushed back into the kitchen to get the coffee maker going, and she asked Gojo if he would like another round of breakfast.

Utahime stepped out of the bedroom with a yawn. She was wearing his white undershirt again over her striped pink pajama bottoms. "Oh, you're back."

"Your disappointment is flattering."

“I hope mom wasn’t telling you anything embarrassing about me again.” Utahime pecked him on the cheek and went straight to the kitchen to see what her mom was frying. She embraced her from behind and clung to her as she moved around the kitchen, thanking her for the food and requesting something salty to eat.

“We have miso!” Tomoe said with a slap to her wrist.

“Can I have Spam musubi?”

“Spam musubi for breakfast? When you have a family, are you going to feed them that for breakfast? I’ve fed you fresh food your entire life, and now you want Spam? You can at least ask for authentic Japanese food.”

“There’s no child here.” Utahime turned to Gojo with a sneer. “A man-child, maybe, but no one who needs looking after.”

Gojo transferred to the counter with his mug of coffee. “Senpai is mad at me again for no reason. Why are you so mean to me?”

“Utahime, don’t be disagreeable so early in the morning.” Tomoe pointed at the pantry cabinet. “Get the Spam and take a seat. There’s still fish and vegetables on the table. I’ll be quick with this.”

Utahime tightened her embrace on her mother before doing as she was told. Gojo joined her with a fresh cup of coffee, and they picked on the food while catching up on each other’s week. He watched her as she talked, and he couldn’t help but notice how much happier and healthier she looked with her mother around. With Tomoe, she could let her guard down completely, and she was cheeky and intentionally childish to get more of her affection. This was exactly the way he wished he could be with Lady Sayuri, but he knew he was already lucky to have a relationship with her in the first place.

Some weekends, Gojo returned to Kyoto with Shoko in tow. If work kept him in Tokyo for the weekend, Shoko volunteered to watch over Utahime on his behalf.

“She seems fine to me,” Gojo told Shoko on their drive back to Jujutsu High after fetching her from the train station. He normally wouldn’t volunteer his opinion first, but Shoko’s silence made him uneasy.

Utahime recounted her weekend getaway with Shoko to him over the phone. The two of them had gone spa hopping, after which they spent hours inspecting house décor in different stores. At Shoko’s insistence, Utahime got rid of the moss-green curtains and replaced them with white block-out type. She sent him numerous photos after their call.

“I think she’s doing alright,” Shoko answered, flipping her orange lighter in her palm. "But we’ve been through this once. I don’t want to be complacent.”

“You give me a headache when you're being vague.”

“Gojo, I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen. Do you get what I mean? It’s easy to say Utahime-senpai won’t change. We thought the same about Getou.”

“This is different.” Gojo offered her a piece of black sesame cookie from the box in the center console. She declined, so he ate the cookies himself as he steered the car toward Jujutsu High.

“I was the girlfriend, and you were the best friend. Now you’re the boyfriend, and I’m the best friend. It’s not that different. It’s almost like we’re cursed.”

“Maybe we should stop being friends.”

Shoko scoffed. “I didn’t want to be friends with you in the first place.”

But Utahime really did seem fine to him. Apart from slumps in her mood after each new retrieval, she was more or less back to her usual self. She would drunk dial Gojo whenever he was in Tokyo, and he would send her unflattering photos of herself to rile her up.

They went to baseball and soccer games, after which they dedicated the rest of the day to furniture shopping. She would insist on assembling shelves by herself, only to demand his help when the end product turned out lopsided or inverted. They argued about how to organize the pantry and spent the longest time in the store picking a larger fridge because she wanted the ones with enough compartments for her beer, and he worried that there would not be enough space for his desserts.

They rearranged the furniture almost every weekend as they experienced the changing lighting throughout the day and developed habits in their new home. Gojo loved napping on their couch but hated the mid-afternoon glare that hit him right smack on the face. They tried clipping the panels together, but one way or another, the stream of golden light would still seep through, so he had to move back the couch a few inches, and that made it difficult for her to go to her bookshelf.

By September, they had more or less fully adjusted. Tomoe stopped staying with Utahime on the weekdays, and Shoko stopped worrying. The two of them went canoeing in Minakami and spent two nights in an onsen. Utahime sent him photos of them throughout the trip on his insistence, and if not for him being eagle-eyed, he would have missed  Kazuo’s foot in one of the photos.

Gojo went straight to them, offended that Kazuo was invited. Utahime clarified that Kazuo only dropped by to consult with Utahime on a talisman, and despite their explanations, Gojo was convinced otherwise. He decided to stay and jeopardize whatever might be budding between Shoko and Kazuo, but had forgotten all about them when the opportunity came to take a dip in the hot springs with Utahime.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked as he watched her head bob on the surface, the steam giving her an ethereal air. Her hair floated around her in soft curves, and she had a pleasant redness to her cheeks from the heat.

“Beer,” she said simply.

He picked her up, causing her to shriek and kick in the water. “If I keep you down long enough, this water’s supposed to cure you of your alcoholism.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Gojo tugged her leg from the back of her knee, causing her to fall head first. They wrestled in the water and, in the end, got so overheated that Shoko had to keep serving them cool water in their room.

“The two of you are like children,” Kazuo scolded.

Still, before the trip ended and Kazuo took Utahime back to Kyoto, he briefly thanked Gojo for looking after her. Gojo embraced him for the sake of it, and Kazuo nearly threw him into the incoming train.

The peace that followed Himari and Ryousuke’s death was a welcome reprieve, but even Yaga was not ready to drop his suspicions just yet.

“So, no corpses in any of the new locations you secured?” he asked. They were having lunch in Shoko’s office after Satoshi confirmed the address of another secret lair, and Yaga was unwilling to keep his worries to himself anymore.

“The past three have been abandoned for a while. There were only the tamed curses inside. We’re in and out of there so quickly, it’s like we’re just picking up after the Sasaki,” Gojo said.

“There are no new leads as well,” Shoko told Yaga. "The most plausible theory is that Getou split with the Sasaki after killing Ryousuke and Himari.”

Yaga touched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know. If we’re lucky, Getou’s plans blew up in his face and he’s laying low until he comes up with a new one. Sounds unlike him, though. His mind is way too organized, and he’s too cunning to be outplayed like this.”

“Maybe we’re overestimating him?” Shoko held up a thick tangle of noodles between her chopsticks, ready to eat them but waiting first for either man to second her opinion.

Gojo couldn’t stop thinking about the photo Satoshi took of Utahime in the Pachinko parlor. “Regardless, he’s not catching us off guard. Satoshi won’t stop looking. Gakuganji already gave up all of the secret locations, and we’re picking up small clues along the way.”

Autumn came and went, and December rolled in with every sign of winter arriving early. At that point, the Sasaki’s silence seemed more congruent with the idea that Suguru had abandoned the cult. It no longer made sense for him to make such bold moves against them only to stop halfway unless his plans fell apart.

The night before his birthday, Gojo caught Utahime with her hands dipped into the sink with the water still running. She stood there, staring in mid-air with her lips parted, as though stunned by something only she could see.

Gojo turned off the faucet. The suds spilled from the sink, completely submerging her hands along with the dirty dishes. “Babe."

Utahime exhaled, and she came down from her stupor. “Satoru, I have something to tell you. I understand if you’ll be angry with me.”

He did not remove his hand from the faucet. Utahime gripped the edge of the sink, oblivious to the suds that slithered to the floor. The tension between them thickened, and it took a few gentle prompts from Gojo for her to speak up. He already knew what she was going to say and was too relieved that she finally confessed to feel anything else.

As she told him about the sorcerer and his soul transference technique, Gojo remembered the pointed looks Satoshi had been giving him during their recent curse retrievals. Utahime freed the tamed curses and guided them into the containers without incident, but that did not mean they were far away from trouble. Since the attack on the Fugen, Satoshi had been more suspicious, more relentless in ensuring that they would not be caught off guard again.

“I couldn’t make sense of it,” Utahime said in a small voice. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, especially after finding out what Getou made me do to Himari. Every time I go to the Gakuganji shrine, I tell myself that I’m not the Blood Maiden. That’s not what my technique is for.”

Gojo embraced her and kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

She gripped his forearm. “You’re not mad?”

“I’ve seen my fair share of the macabre. It takes time to process these things. I’m just glad you told me.”

Utahime relaxed in his arms. She reached up to clutch his shoulder and lean most of her weight on him. “I was afraid that Getou was trying to get into your head through me. That if I told you, you’d think that I might turn out like him. That’s not going to happen.”

Gojo let his head fall on top of hers. Something deep inside his chest twisted. He thought she was keeping it to herself to avoid suspicion, but of course, that was not the entirety of it. Even at the cost of her peace, she refused to cause him any grief.

“Utahime, next time, don’t wait to tell me. You don’t have to guard my emotions. If you had told me sooner, I could have assured you that I wouldn’t even suspect you,” he said.

She tilted her head so that she could look him in the eyes. “I thought you would be angry,” she said.

He would have been if Satoshi hadn’t warned him beforehand. What Utahime did was extremely unwise. It could have been costly to them, too, if the sorcerer with the Soul Transference technique reappeared. Still, it would have been more unwise to push her when she just suffered a meltdown. It was times like this that he was grateful to have Satoshi on his side.

“I was thinking for my twenty-third birthday, my new goal will be tranquility.” He tucked his chin to peer down at her. “See what I did there? Twenty-three, tranquility?”

Utahime looked torn between rolling with his wit or scolding him for being unserious. Finally, she said: “How about ‘sugarfree at twenty-three?’”

“How about rehab for you at twenty-six?”

“That doesn’t rhyme!”

“It doesn’t have to when it’s a medical emergency.”

Utahime slapped his arm. He kissed her cheek, making sure to dribble saliva to make her squirm. She shrieked and kicked, but he refused to let her go. When she demanded that he wipe her cheek, he licked her instead, which silenced her immediately. It was easy to tell when Utahime was turned on. Her body always became lighter, softer in his touch, and this was followed by a shaky sigh.

He turned her and pulled up her skirt, maintaining eye contact as he got the fabric out of the way and pinned her against the sink. “You know what else rhymes with three?” He pressed his erection against her middle for emphasis.

She scowled at him, but she was already tugging down his pajama bottoms. “Horny doesn’t justify how high your libido is.”

“We have until midnight to come up with the right word.”

That night was the first time they made love when Gojo didn’t feel any sort of anxiety in Utahime. There were no racing thoughts behind her gaze, no suppressed moans as he moved inside her, and no restrained touches in the heat of the moment. She knew what she wanted and asked for it, and she chased her peak without the self-consciousness that had ghosted her movements before.

He wondered after they had done it twice and he lay on top of her naked body if the change in her was a result of trust or her newfound power.

She had grown significantly stronger since she joined the hunt for Suguru, and he could no longer ignore how each dip in her mood was always followed by her initiating intimacy. She touched him with the same neediness she exhibited right after the mission with Master Tengen. It could just be a sorcerer’s high—Utahime heeding a primal desire to be as close as possible to the strongest sorcerer around—or it could be something else.

When she climbed on top of him and woke him up with the ardent rolling of her hips, he thought there was a hidden message in her passion that eluded him.

She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and he felt she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t figure out what.

Gojo woke up to his twenty-third birthday spent but satiated. He lay on his stomach, tracing the indentation on the pillow next to his where Utahime lay her head that night. Belatedly, he picked up the sounds in the bathroom. The shower turning on and off, the sound of the soap falling on the floor and Utahime cursing under her breath. Several minutes later, she emerged in a cotton robe and climbed back into bed to kiss him all over the face.

“Wake up, lazy ass.” She slapped him in the butt, and he curled up with a wince because that actually hurt. They were at a point in their relationship where she had gauged just how much force she needed to differentiate between playful hitting and serious beating. He knew that if he did not get out of bed in five minutes, she would stand in their bedroom eyeing him in silence until he was fully dressed and ready to go.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” Gojo asked as he crawled out of bed. He was not making it up. A shower and three cups of coffee might not do the trick this morning.

Utahime slipped her arms through the sleeves of her dress and presented her back to him. He zipped her up and begged for one more hour of sleep, but she would not relent.

“I don’t like being late.” She shoved a towel to his face. “Behaving like horny teenagers last night isn’t a valid excuse.”

He slung the towel over his shoulder and dragged himself to the bathroom. “You were the horny teenager. I was just your dildo.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I can’t wait to start my twenty-third year alive.”

Shoko arrived with Megumi and Tsumiki at the Kyoto Station in mid-morning. Ten-year-old Megumi was taller now, standing almost as high as Utahime’s nose. Gojo tried to pick him up, but Megumi held his arms parallel to one another and chanted until Gojo backed away with a nervous laugh.

“What was that about?” Utahime asked. She was fixing Tsumiki’s collar and had missed the almost-fight between the two.

Tsumiki, who was once so taken by Gojo, now sidled up to Utahime with a mild frown. “Megumi tries to summon Divine General Mahoraga every time he’s pissed off with Uncle Gojo.”

Shoko hung their bags on Megumi’s arms to stop him. “I’m not planning on dying today.”

“Ahh! Megumi is so scary!” Gojo hid behind Utahime. “Protect me, Senpai.”

“Your birthday doesn’t give you a free pass to embarrass all of us in public.” Utahime slapped his cheeks fondly. “Behave.”

“What’s the point of being an adult if you can’t behave like one?” Megumi asked.

Gojo reached out from behind Utahime to ruffle Megumi’s hair. “Your idea of an adult is too bleak. Look at Utahime. She’s an alcoholic.”

“Gojo!”

Shoko patted her pockets. “I need a smoke.”

The people around them had started giving them dirty looks, and Utahime appeared fed up with all the attention they were getting. With a clap of her hands, she commandeered their group out of the platform, and they marched behind her like sheep. Megumi and Tsumiki soon fell in step with Utahime, and Gojo lagged behind with Shoko.

It had been Gojo’s idea to invite the children here on his birthday, as it happened to fall on a weekend, and he knew that Utahime missed them. Before they left the apartment earlier, he had asked her what she would do if he got her pregnant last night, and she almost kicked him in the groin. He had used protection, and she was on birth control, but what if?

Just before the train arrived, she had grazed his knuckles with hers and said: “Then you become a father.”

As they sat in a quaint café arguing about what to order that Megumi would actually eat, Gojo draped his arm on the backrest of her chair and watched her bring order back to their table. Megumi actually listened to her and even attempted to be more considerate to his older sister.

The siblings were at the age where they bickered more than ever, and Tsumiki's iron fist now failed in the face of Megumi's growing stubbornness. He was struggling with his power and his deepening understanding of his situation as Jujutsu High's ward, and Gojo had to give him as much consideration as was healthy to prevent him from rebelling. When all else failed, he got Utahime involved, and Megumi's willfulness would melt into somberness. Megumi once explained that it was difficult to disrespect a priestess. Utahime claimed it had more to do with the fact that male authority had failed him before, so it could be that he found female authority easier to accept.

Regardless, he was relieved that both kids were in a good mood, and they appeared genuinely excited to be in Kyoto with them.

Gojo played with Utahime's hair, trying to be as present as possible in this moment. She placed her hand on his knee on reflex. On a dare from Tsumiki, Megumi recited their order to the waitress. He blushed when Utahime thanked him and fumed when Gojo teased him for stuttering in front of a cute waitress.

Shoko disappeared to find a smoking station with a promise to return before their orders arrived.

After their early lunch, Utahime excused herself to accept a call. She returned insisting that they watch a film. Gojo squinted at her, suspicious, but he knew that she was a fan of the gory horror films that Megumi and Tsumiki shouldn’t watch but did so in secret. Since the kids were tall for their age and three adults vouched that they were both thirteen, they got to watch two hours of fake blood spraying on the screen and lake monsters developing wings to torment unsuspecting protagonists.

Utahime covered Tsumiki’s eyes while Shoko and Gojo laughed. Megumi did not look impressed at all, but screamed when Gojo grabbed his ear from behind.

For the sake of it, Gojo pretended not to notice the lingering scent of his favorite cake in the lobby of their apartment building. Utahime kept furiously typing on her phone and fixing her hair, trying to be inconspicuous and failing miserably.

When they finally entered their apartment to the wild smells of cooking and his parents panicking in the kitchen, Utahime nearly collapsed on the floor in relief. She was so bad at lying that he was almost sorry for her for putting up with his parents.

Gojo greeted his parents first, and Shoko followed like a long-lost daughter. Utahime nudged Megumi and Tsumiki toward them, but they were both too stunned to do anything but gawk. As Utahime exchanged pleasantries with Satoshi and Sayuri, Gojo crouched next to Megumi. He was sizing up Satoshi, and although Megumi tried not to show it, he was obviously uncomfortable.

"That's your father?" Megumi whispered to him.

"That's how I feel every time I remember yours."

Satoshi noticed Megumi and grinned. He picked him up by the back of his collar. “This is the bearer of the Ten Shadows Technique?”

Sayuri swatted Satoshi with a ladle and smoothed down Megumi’s shirt. “Don’t be mean. We all know the Zenins are inferior to us.”

“He’s not a Zenin,” Tsumiki defended in a small voice. “He’s a Fushiguro.”

Sayuri placed her hands on her hips, affecting astonishment. “Now that sounds like the name of a powerful family. Do you have a clan insignia already?”

While Sayuri scribbled ideas for clan insignias with Tsumiki on the kitchen island, Satoshi pushed and pulled Megumi to test his strength. “Are you really training this kid, Satoru? Looks like a strong breeze can carry him away.”

Megumi shot Utahime a pleading look. His hair had been ruffled so many times that he looked like a sea urchin, and his shirt stretched to the point of disfigurement. “Can I go home now, please?”

Fortunately, Nanami arrived to balance things out. While the women finished cooking in the kitchen, the men pushed the furniture aside to wrestle with Gojo as the referee. It was Nanami and Megumi against Satoshi, and Megumi looked so scared for his life that Utahime stepped in to tip the scales in their favor. Nanami defended Utahime, and she defended Megumi. Even with one arm, however, Satoshi managed to pin Nanami to the floor and grab Megumi's leg. In his panic, he summoned his rabbits, and Satoshi was too taken by the fluffy shikigami to continue with the match.

Soon, they formed a circle around Megumi as he showed them the tricks he could do with his rabbits. He explained in detail how he taught them certain commands, and the rest of them sat with a rabbit or two on their laps, listening like students to a captivating new teacher. Satoshi picked up every rabbit he could get his hands on and made them kiss Sayuri on the cheek. She giggled and kissed each one in return. When Gojo tried to do the same with Utahime, she elbowed him in the rib and took the rabbit from him.

Their dinner was as chaotic as he expected it to be. Satoshi would not stop sharing anecdotes about Gojo’s childhood, and Megumi almost choked on his food thrice for laughing too hard. Tsumiki accidentally drank alcohol, which knocked her out in a matter of minutes. Utahime, Shoko, and Sayuri held a drinking competition as a result of Satoshi claiming that women had low alcohol tolerance. Nanami announced that he would stay sober because they clearly needed a responsible adult in the place, and Gojo did not count.

It was for this reason that his mother decided it best to serve the cake sooner rather than later, as she had always wanted to see Gojo blow a birthday candle while surrounded by his friends.

Utahime emerged from the kitchen carrying a round dark chocolate cake that appeared almost black. On top were two lit candles in the forms of two and three, and everybody sang Happy Birthday with so little harmony that Satoshi insisted on singing it solo.

When Gojo was about to blow the candle, he held Utahime’s hand and looked her in the eye. He wished silently that he would get to hold her for as long as they were alive, that she would not change, and that he would have the strength to protect her the way he should have protected Suguru.

Then he blew the candle.

Things quieted down around midnight, and everybody retired for the night. His parents hosted Shoko, Megumi, and Tsumiki in their apartment, while Nanami insisted on returning to the hotel he had booked. Gojo walked Nanami to the building’s entrance and thanked him for showing up.

In the quiet of the street in the Kamigyo Ward, Nanami told Gojo that he got a job as a salaryman.

“So you’re still conflicted?” Gojo asked. He was hoping that working together would have helped him move on from Haibara and made him see just how much the Jujutsu World needed men like him.

Nanami stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking away from Gojo. “Take care of Utahime-senpai.”

Gojo gave him a tight-lipped smile and watched him walk down the sidewalk until he went out of sight. It was a blow to the team to see Nanami go, but Gojo did not want to push him too hard either. He was sure that all he had to do was wait, and Nanami would return to sorcery full-time on his own accord.

Gojo returned to their apartment and paused in the entryway. The lights were dimmed, and he could not hear movement anywhere except for the AC and a continual tapping.

“Utahime?” He ventured into the living room and did not have to call again.

There she was, crouching in front of the electric fireplace with her mouth agape. She pressed a button on a remote control and marveled at the changing lights. One moment, the room was cast in green, and the next, it was blue, purple, red, and pink.

“Did you know this was here?” She tugged at the contraption on the wall that had kept it hidden. “We’ve been here for months, and I haven’t even noticed until now.”

Gojo felt the wall for indentations. It should’ve been obvious to him, but he was too busy to have given it a second thought if he had noticed it before. “No idea. Uncle didn’t show this to me.”

“It’s just like the one in Kanagawa. Remember the Christmas break we spent there?”

Gojo retrieved a blanket from the couch and spread it over their heads. That winter morning at the beach house, he had caught her gawking at the electric fireplace with the same amazement as she did now. Just like before, he used the added darkness from the blanket to make it easier for her to see how the changing colors reflected in his eyes. He swore he would have kissed her then if only Suguru and Shoko had not interrupted them.

Utahime held his face to keep him still, and she smiled with childlike glee at what she saw. “Does it reflect in my eyes?”

“Nah, I can only see my handsome face. That’s amazing enough for me.”

She punched him in the stomach, and he fell sideways, holding his abdomen in pretend pain. She made a move to leave, so he hurried to his feet and pulled her into an embrace. She still smelled like beer and soy sauce and the icing that caught on her hair when he force-fed her cake.

Gojo put her hands on his shoulders and lowered his to her waist. “What’s that song you sang when you drunk-dialed me before?”

“I’ve drunk dialed you so many times, I can’t remember.”

“The one I used as a ringtone before.”

“Ah, when you were being a grade-A asshole to me?” She put on a thoughtful face and hummed a melody.

“Yes, that one!” They were already swaying, so he decided to hunch over and press his temple against hers to make the moment more intimate. “I always thought it would be nice to slow dance with you to that song. But specifically to you singing it."

She laughed in his ear, making him smile even wider. Utahime interlaced her fingers behind his neck and, in a soft voice, began singing the song to him. He closed his eyes, and he found himself recalling the first time he saw her in Jujutsu High in her miko outfit. He remembered the incident in the abandoned facility and the way she burst his ego. The meal they shared in the infirmary while she recovered, their unofficial first date in Shinjuku, the mediation for Miyo and her child, and her subsequent scar. Seeing her again at the Christmas party and holding her closely in the supermarket. Introducing her to Megumi and Tsumiki and carrying the children back to their apartment with her by his side. Crashing on her tiny couch and making breakfast together, seeking comfort from her when his students died, and finding so much more. Snacking at Nishiki market in February, furniture-shopping after a baseball game, and kissing her for the first time. Seeing her as a priestess in the Gakuganji Shrine, realizing how much he loved her, and saying the words in his car while it rained outside.

Gojo twirled her once, and Utahime being stubborn, refused to turn. He had to spin her by the waist to get her to do it, and she stumbled forward while cursing him under her breath. Gojo followed it with a dip, and he lowered her until her head hit the ground. Before she could act on the litany of threats she was spitting at him, he brought her up and caught her in another embrace.

Utahime sighed and buried her face on his chest. “Satoru, I know you have a ring in your pocket.”

He laughed. He wondered whether she could hear how fast his heart was beating. “Look who’s excited.”

“I’m just saying. If you don’t do it now, I’m worried you’ll put it in my dessert or something.”

“I was planning to do that on Christmas Eve.”

Utahime tipped her head back to frown at him. “That’s too cliché, even for you.”

“Alright, alright.” He pulled away from her, but she gripped his elbows hard to keep him in place.

“Don’t kneel, it’s embarrassing!”

“It’s just us.” He bent his knee, but Utahime pulled him back up with all of her might. He rolled his eyes. “At this rate, stuffing it in your cake would’ve been more romantic.”

“Just ask me already.”

Gojo pulled the ring out from his front pocket and held it in front of her face. The silver band glistened in the flickering light of the fireplace, and it made the small diamond in the center look blood red. This was not how he imagined he would do it, but it was too late to back out. “Utahime Iori, you are the most brazen woman I have ever met. From the very beginning, it didn’t matter to you that I was the strongest. You scolded me for disrespecting my elders and snapped back at me for every belittling remark I ever made to you as a sorcerer. Even on the battlefield, you didn’t take my strength for granted. You treated me as your comrade, someone you had to look after simply because you’re my Senpai. I was uncomfortable and frustrated with you because you insisted on treating me like a human being when the world saw me as anything but. You insisted on loving me when I didn’t even understand what it meant and how it is to be in love.” Gojo chuckled as he dried her tears with his thumb. When Utahime started sobbing, he pulled the cuff of his shirt over his hand and mopped her entire face with it. “And I know you’re not perfect, and we have to deal with your alcohol issues, but I’m willing to accept all of your flaws.”

Utahime backed away from him to wipe her face with her own sleeves. “Satoru Gojo, I swear—”

“Will you let me finish?” He dragged her back to him by the waist. “I said I’m willing to accept all of your flaws, so please accept all of mine. I’m a curse, and you have tamed me. I cannot love anyone else after you. See? It’s supposed to be romantic, but you ruined it.”

Utahime pouted, and he felt guilty for even scolding her jokingly. He wiped her cheeks with his bare hands, and when she had regained a little more composure, he presented the ring to her again.

“So? What do you say?” he asked. “Mrs. Utahime Gojo has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, too emotional to even speak, and held out her left hand. He slipped the ring on her finger, and that was when the gravity of the moment struck him.

“Satoru, are you crying?”

He blinked fast, and when that didn’t work, he looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be interested in the shadows that danced across it. Utahime reached up to wipe his eyes for him. Now she was laughing at how hard he tried to keep his emotions in check.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She forced his head down so she could look at him. Her tears had dried, but she was still red in the cheeks, and her eyes were a little pink and glazed. “Utahime Gojo does have a nice ring to it.”

If Gojo knew what would happen three years later, he would have married her that night.

Chapter Text

“So, what do you think of your aunts?”

“It’s strange to refer to them that way.”

“Well, they are your aunts, so…”

Megumi wrinkled his nose. The cup of tea in his hands had cooled down a long time ago. “Maki is too straightforward, and Mai looks pissed off at her.”

Gojo offered him another cookie, but he refused. “Maki is enrolling in the Tokyo branch, and Mai will be enrolling here just to get away from her. They’re starting next year.”

“Oh.” Megumi finally took a sip of his tea.

“You could be a little more interested in your relatives,” Gojo said. The Zenin had officially met Megumi earlier, and he thought at thirteen, Megumi would be too caught up with puberty to maintain his stoic act. At worst, Gojo had prepared himself to referee a fight between him and Naoya, who had appeared all too eager to size up Megumi and his skills at first sight. Despite provocations, Megumi managed to keep his cool, and the only time he said something out of turn was when he remarked that Naoya reeked of a weak curse. If not for Maki bursting into laughter and getting punched in the face by Naoya, Gojo might have finally gotten the chance to kill him.

“No, thanks,” Megumi said. “I hope Maki’s doing fine, though.”

“By the looks of it, she’s used to getting beaten up.”

“Is that the same way in your clan?”

“Nah. We prefer backstabbing each other. It’s more refined.”

“Huh.”

Gojo leaned back on the bench to enjoy the scenery. Jujutsu High’s Kyoto branch had a quiet charm that the Tokyo branch lacked; while Gojo was not one to favor anything traditional, he did appreciate how the Kyoto branch upheld Japanese aesthetics in their landscapes. From where they sat under the shade of a tree facing the men’s dormitory, they had a clear view of a manicured Zen Garden on the side. The large rocks that sat upright in the middle of the sand had engravings on them, but he was not familiar with the scripts.

Megumi checked his wristwatch. “Are you sure I should be here for this?”

“Why not? I get that you’re uninterested, but clan politics will always haunt you because of your Zenin blood. You might as well be acquainted with the important people now and learn how to do things the right way.” Just as he finished talking, he spotted his target crossing the courtyard. He nudged Megumi, and the two of them headed for the student hauling a box of books into the dorm.

“Noritoshi Kamo,” Gojo called with a lazy wave of his hand.

Noritoshi stopped and turned to face them, not the least bit startled. “Satoru Gojo. And this is…?”

“Megumi Fushiguro.” Gojo wrapped his arm around the teen’s shoulders. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

“Indeed.” Noritoshi lowered the box to the ground and bowed to the two of them. “Two very important people in the Jujutsu World. Did you come to ambush me?”

“Yes, but we’re not interested in violence,” Gojo said. “Since this young man here met his extended family earlier, and we were in Kyoto anyway, I thought I might as well introduce him to everyone he should know.”

“You’re taking your role as his guardian quite seriously.”

Megumi scoffed. “Trust me, he’s doing this more for his entertainment than anything else.”

“I like to have fun on the job, that’s all.” Gojo scooped up Noritoshi’s box of books with one hand and led the way into the dorm. “Almost done moving in?”

Noritoshi hesitated, his gaze fixed on the dents Gojo’s fingers were making on the box, but said nothing. He soon fell in step with Megumi, who was scanning the dorm’s interior as he trailed behind Gojo.

“I have a few more personal effects I’d like to bring in, but those can wait.” He jogged ahead of Gojo and stopped in front of the third door at the end of the corridor. “There’s no need for you to bring these in for me. Thank you for your assistance.”

Gojo handed him the box and examined the place. He sensed one other sorcerer—most likely Aoi Todo—on the second floor but detected none anywhere near them. “This will do.”

Noritoshi arched his eyebrow, curious.

Gojo smiled at him. “I’m guessing you’ve had your orientation already. The Kyoto branch does orientations before Move-In Day. It’s the other way around for us in Tokyo.”

Noritoshi glanced at Megumi as though he might catch the purpose of this meeting from the younger man’s face but got nothing. “That’s right.”

“How was Utahime-sensei? I heard she’s quite strict in the classroom.”

“Utahime-sensei was accommodating and proficient. She was honest about what our lives would be like as Jujutsu High students.”

“Oh, good. I tell the freshmen in orientation that if they survive their first year, they can expect to die in their second year.” Gojo paused to consider this and then nodded. “Yeah, as far as statistics go, I’m sure I’m being accurate. The good news is that Utahime and I are good at our jobs, so mortality rates have been improving in the past couple of years.”

Noritoshi could not hide his discomfort anymore. He put down the box and crossed his arms, on his face a mild scowl that revealed his anxiety. “You should get to the point.”

Megumi darted Gojo a look, and Gojo raised his hands in surrender. The older Megumi got, the more he resembled Toji in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “The point is that Utahime-sensei is vigilant with her students. She monitors missions closely, and she’ll likely intervene in your battles at least twice or thrice this year. It would break my heart if, say, news reaches me all the way to Tokyo that an accident has happened to her in the middle of these missions. You know the kind. A flesh wound here or there from a misguided arrow.  Maybe even a slash across her pretty face.”

Slowly, Noritoshi’s eyes widened, and he had the decency to bow his head. “I’m certain I and my fellow classmates have had enough training to avoid petty accidents like those.”

“Good! That’s exactly what I want to hear. Utahime-sensei absolutely hates me for this, but I tend to get overprotective of her. If she gets hurt and it seems fishy to me, I don’t know what I might do.” Gojo shrugged. “Lose control of my technique, maybe? Accidentally eradicate a large group of people? Who knows?”

“I…” Noritoshi flexed his fingers, his gaze still fixed on the floor. "I intend to apologize to her for that on behalf of my clan. They may not be sorry for it, but I am. There is no need for undue violence.”

Gojo winked at Megumi. He had explained Noritoshi’s circumstances to him earlier. Despite his unwavering loyalty to his father, Gojo had an inkling that this boy had a strong moral compass that would eventually put him at odds with his clan. “I’m glad to know that. And if I may, can you do me a favor? Utahime-sensei’s technique isn’t exactly suited for fast-paced battles, so if you can take the initiative and cover for her when you can, that would be great. Your Blood Manipulation technique is suited for the job.”

Although still somber, Noritoshi looked up at Gojo and said, “With all due respect, but if you like Utahime-sensei this much, it might be better if she knows. I feel like your requests are edging on spying.”

Gojo waved his hand dismissively with a cheeky grin. “Gosh, I was hoping not to be too obvious.”

Megumi grunted his disgust. “I know you want to tell him, so just do it already.”

“Megumi is so impatient. I was building towards this big reveal, and you’re ruining the moment.” Gojo stepped closer to Noritoshi and cupped his mouth. “You see, Utahime-sensei doesn’t like public displays of affection. She’s kind of past that since she became my fiancé three years ago.”

Noritoshi froze. He stared at Gojo in disbelief, which only made him grin wider. He clapped Noritoshi’s shoulder. “Alright, once you get over how lucky Utahime-sensei is, think about what I said and keep it a secret for us, will you?”

The baby wouldn’t stop staring at Utahime.

She pressed the large manila envelope against her chest and tried to focus on the arch of light above the elevator door, but her gaze kept drifting back to the baby.

It wasn’t as though she was the only other person in the elevator. There was a mother and a child directly in the baby’s line of sight and two nurses in scrubs trying to attract his attention. Still, the baby pressed his plump cheek against his mother’s shoulder to see her, and she couldn’t help but feel judged.

Did the baby know?

As soon as the elevator opened to the ground floor, Utahime stepped out and half-jogged to the exit. She stumbled onto the sidewalk and took a lungful of air. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Still faint from her check-up, she stepped under the awning of a nearby bakery and answered the call.

“I got the results,” she said before Shoko could even greet her.

“And?”

“I’ll send you photos. Nothing really registered to me while the doctor was speaking.”

“Senpai, did you record it like I told you to?”

“Yes, yes—hold on.” Utahime put the call on speaker mode and snapped pictures of the several documents the doctor sent her home with. She was adamant about getting a second opinion from Shoko.

While Shoko reviewed the photos, Utahime went inside the bakery and ordered the first thing on the menu. Then she sat at the very back, jiggling her leg in anxiety. She already knew the answer, but nothing was final until Shoko said it.

“Senpai, how long have you been off birth control?”

“One year and two months.”

“Gojo knows, right?”

“Of course.” Lady Sayuri was the one who suggested it. Utahime had suffered several health complications throughout the year and a half it took to locate and retrieve the remaining tamed curses. In that time, Lady Sayuri had recommended that she quit her birth control to make sure it wasn’t causing or aggravating any of her symptoms. Utahime couldn’t even remember when she last took a medicine from the pharmacy. Every time she was sick, she called Lady Sayuri, and she would send a package of natural concoctions to her door.

She and Gojo prepared themselves for the possibility of becoming parents. They still practiced safe sex, of course, but every time she felt lethargic, complained about a smell, or so much as vomited, they would think that was it—they were pregnant.

Except the many pregnancy tests she took proved otherwise.

Each time, Gojo would pretend to be relieved, but she saw through to him. He was disappointed, and he kept repeating the same old reasons why it was not the best time for them to have a child to try to abate her disappointment in herself.

Before her twenty-eighth birthday in February, Utahime went down a rabbit hole of fertility inquiries. She consumed endless articles online and watched videos of women recounting their experiences with infertility. Soon, she knew which tests to take, and she did not hesitate to sign up for them.

At this point, she had done ovulation tests, thyroid function tests, ovarian reserve testing, hysterosalpingography, and a myriad of other hormone tests. Her doctor said she did not have to undergo all of these, but she insisted. She wanted to find out everything that was wrong with her so that she could face each one head-on with a remedy.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Shoko said, which Utahime took to mean that it was worse. “This isn’t my specialty, but the results you got are consistent with all the other testing you’ve done before. You rarely ovulate, and when you do, the egg has a problem maturing. They didn’t find any infection or disease. I think you should only start worrying if your hormone tests show that you’re ovulating monthly but still can’t get pregnant. Has Gojo had a fertility test?”

Utahime rolled her eyes. Thankfully, the waitress arrived with her order, and she could take a sip of tea to calm her nerves first. “He doesn’t have any negative physical symptoms, but based on the test he took, he might have hyperspermia, which is probably why his sex drive is through the roof.”

“Oh. So, lots of semen and low sperm count?”

“The sperm count was a bit low in the first test, but the doctor happily told us that the second showed impressive results. It made me think that his sperm smiled at him and did somersaults or something.”

Shoko laughed. “The two of you are active sorcerers, and you deal with an immense amount of stress every day. Worries about infertility can affect your chances of getting pregnant, too. Well, I have to ask—are you actively trying to get pregnant, or are you just curious if you can?”

Utahime added a sugar cube to her tea and stirred. “I think I just want to make sure that I can give him one when we’re married. My mother quit early. Himari didn’t even marry because she was sure that being an active priestess meant her chances of being a mother was extremely low.”

"Do you forego protection sometimes?

"...Yes."

"So you are trying, but you're pretending you're not," Shoko said.

"I think we're concerned that I haven't had a proper pregnancy scare."

“Is there anyone pressuring you to get pregnant?”

“No.”

“There’s two years left in your binding vow—two more years until you marry Gojo. Until then, just focus on stress management. Stop thinking about babies. They tend to show up when you least expect them.”

Utahime dropped her head on the table. “What if his clan rejects me because of it?”

“You’re acting like you don’t know Gojo. When did he ever care about what his clan thinks? He does what he wants. He’ll marry you regardless.”

“His parents will want grandchildren.”

Shoko paused. “Adopt Megumi and Tsumiki?”

“That’s a good Plan B. Except Megumi would hate to be a Gojo, and the Zenin would be in an uproar.”

“Senpai, I have incoming patients. I’ll call you again later, alright?”

“Sure. Thanks, Shoko.”

The call ended, leaving Utahime with nothing better to do than to stare at the medical documents in front of her. She could still remember the look on Gojo’s face when she showed him the pregnancy test strips. There was a quiet hope in his eyes, a glint of excitement at the prospect of becoming a father. With his lips pursed, he rechecked the instructions on the box to confirm that the singular line meant she was not pregnant. Still, he kissed her forehead and insisted that everything was fine.

They were fine, weren't they?

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was from Gojo. She tapped the screen, and a selfie popped up. It was of him with a frowning Megumi at Kyoto Station.

On the way back to Tokyo >:)

What’s up with the emoji?

We conquered the Zenin.

Are they still alive?

Sadly. :(

Tell me once you’re in Tokyo.

U OK?

Just beer-deprived. Will only drink one can tonight. Promise.

Liar huhu

Utahime sent him a devil-laughing emoji and put her phone away. As she straightened up in her seat to eat her meal, she saw an elderly woman three tables ahead smiling at her.

She smiled back and didn’t think any more of it.

Move-In Day wasn’t only for the students. The campus housed many of their managers as well as full-time staff for HQ, and since the major clans established their estates around Kyoto, the majority of the people who enabled Jujutsu HQ to function on a daily basis were stationed here. This was not only a matter of practicality, however, but also safety.

The higher-ups and sorcerers based in the Kyoto branch were responsible for safeguarding Jujutsu HQ as an institution, while the Tokyo branch ensured that Master Tengen and the school’s vast collection of cursed tools and objects were sufficiently protected.

By that, they meant Gojo. As long as he was there, safety was almost always a guarantee.

Utahime arrived at Jujutsu High with six cans of beer and Chinese food. She made her way to the very back of the campus, where old and new faces were hauling in their personal belongings before the school year officially started. The sunset sky cast everything in orange, and for a couple of seconds, the sky turned red and made everything look like they were ablaze.

She scrolled down her contacts and called a number. “Kusakabe? I’m here. Where are you housed?”

He mentioned his block and house number, and Utahime took the shortcuts she knew to get there.

Kusakabe got a bungalow to himself, more because he oversaw the maintenance of some of the cursed tools they kept in the Kyoto branch than out of special treatment. Around a dozen of them were already spread on a massive table in the living room, and they were laid out so casually that any non-shaman would assume they were movie props. Fake blades. Nothing special. The truth was that Kusakabe could face expulsion if any of these were mishandled or lost.

Kusakabe emerged from the bedroom with his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway and a cigarette stuck between his lips. “Oh, you’re here.”

Utahime raised the pack of beer she bought for him. “Welcome back to Kyoto.”

He grunted on his way to the couch, where a rag and a pot of homemade choji oil sat precariously near the edge of the cushion. “I’d like to say I’m glad to be back, but I’m not really excited at the prospect of an overpowered student possibly killing me.”

“Oh, you mean Aoi Todo?”

“I was present at his assessment.” He stubbed his cigarette on an ashtray and picked up his katana. “If only Principal Gakuganji didn’t scare the hell out of me, I would’ve suggested testing the kid for steroid addiction.”

“I think some people are just built that way.”

“What is he, twenty-five? A late bloomer?”

Utahime sat across from him and laid out her offerings. “He’s fifteen, same as Noritoshi and Momo.”

“Well, fuck me. I’ve gotta hit the gym later if I don’t want to break any bones sparring him.”

Utahime laughed as she pulled the tab on one of the beer cans. Gojo told her the other day that Todo resembled Musclemon. She had no idea who that was, so he showed her an internet photo of a Digimon. He was correct. “I appreciate you agreeing to return here to help with this year’s freshmen. I can normally handle teaching boys, but Principal Gakuganji and I agreed that their technique and skill set warrant the guidance of a male instructor.”

“They need Satoru Gojo to humble them, but I guess Yaga won’t let him go even if he wants to kill that idiot.”

“Ugh. I can’t imagine working with Gojo.” She really couldn’t. They argued a lot about their teaching methods, and she knew Gojo would be riling her up at every opportunity. Plus, it was not the best time to be found out.

Kusakabe finished coating his katana with choji oil and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Hey, I’m not usually one to gossip, but you’re close with Shoko. Is she dating Gojo?”

Utahime almost spat her beer. “What? Why?”

“I went out to dinner with the two of them a while ago, and Gojo teased Ijichi about being in love. To be fair, Ijichi was unusually sloppy at work that week, like the skinny dude was distracted by someone, and I think Gojo was being nice about it for once. Long story short, I asked him what he knew about being in love since the guy’s so narcissistic that I can’t imagine any woman taking him seriously. Then he kinda shared this glance with Shoko, and I thought, hey, they’ve been friends a while. Shoko might’ve hit her head or something. Then, before I came here, Shoko did my medical and randomly asked me what I knew about infertility in male sorcerers.” Kusakabe made an exaggerated shrug before sheathing his katana. “I mean, why’d you ask if you’re not…you know. So, I guess I’m just warning you since you hate Gojo so much, and you obviously care about Shoko. You’re about to lose your shit when Gojo comes waltzing on campus one day with a mini version of himself in tow.”

She tried not to groan her disapproval. A part of her wanted to call Gojo right now and berate him for being so obvious. If Mei had been there, she would’ve caught on at once, and he’d be penniless before the end of her binding vow.

Really, that man. He needed to be more subtle.

Utahime drank half of her beer in one go. “You really think Gojo’s kid will be a menace? I mean, it should count that the mother’s sane.”

He scoffed as he studied another cursed weapon on the table. “No woman who even thinks romantically of Gojo is sane. That’s why I think highly of you. You see him for what he is and put him in his place. Never change!”

She forced herself to smile. Now she thought she’d done too good a job at showing hatred for Gojo and hiding their relationship. When they announced their marriage in the future, nobody would believe them.

“Thanks,” she said and tossed him a can of beer. “I think we should focus on drinking now.”

“Isn't it too early?”

Utahime finished her can and slammed it on the table. “Right. I’ll leave the rest to you while I go and visit Momo.”

Mei Mei was an enigma. Even after studying in Jujtusu High together and going on countless missions, Utahime never figured her out. She remembered sitting in Suguru Getou’s room with Shoko and Gojo one night with a bunch of convenience store food and theorizing that Mei wasn’t even her real name. Getou gossiped that she once implied coming from a long line of sorcerers, and Shoko seconded that with a story about Mei returning to campus late at night smelling of ammonia.

“Ammonia?” Utahime asked. “What did she do? Volunteer at a farm?”

“It’s the chemical used in hair dye, Senpai. I think she dyes her hair a really light shade of blue or maybe adds highlights. Like a disguise.”

“Why did you think of a farm, Senpai?” Getou asked.

“Because fertilizers have ammonia.”

Gojo, who had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, cupped his mouth to stage whisper to Getou. “See? I told you she grew up somewhere rural.”

Utahime tossed a curry bun at him. “I grew up in Kyoto!”

The mystery that surrounded Mei only grew as the years went by. While everybody in Jujutsu High was polite to her, most of them disliked her for her greed. They judged her for working independently and demanding exorbitant rates for missions. With her skills, she should be lending her time and energy towards training new sorcerers. She could hold a high position in HQ or take on riskier missions on behalf of the institution. Still, others insisted that she was better off as an independent contractor. Have you heard the kind of things she dabbled in? The people she engaged with?

Utahime removed herself from conversations like those as quickly as possible. Her principles were lightyears away from Mei’s, but she would never slander her. When Utahime was first launched into the Jujutsu World outside the safety of her clan, it was Mei who taught her the ropes. She warned Utahime against affiliating with certain higher-ups and prominent HQ staff members. If she was ever to be cornered by male authority, the best she could do was leverage her clan’s influence to discourage assault.

“You have a useful, non-violent technique,” Mei told her while seated on Utahime’s bed in a revealing nightgown. “Activate your forbidden zone, and I bet no man will be able to get it up. If you’re in no position to use your technique on the fucker, remember it’s better to get beaten than to be raped. We can always deal with him later. But if he does beat you, remember to count. We’ll give him twice the blows he gives you.”

It was with the reminder of Mei’s unfaltering dedication to her safety that Utahime now approached Momo. She had been doing this since she started as an instructor. On Move-In Days, she found the young ladies in the dorm and had the same talk with them, albeit in nicer terms. She didn’t want to scare them, but she also didn’t want them walking blindly into the misogynistic traps of the Jujutsu world.

Utahime found Momo’s room and knocked on the partly open door. From where she stood, she could see that Momo had almost finished putting away her things. She even replaced the standard white curtains with light gray ones, probably the block-out type. Smart girl.

“Oh, Utahime-sensei.” Momo lowered a large bag of personal effects on her study desk. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said.

“Settling in just fine?”

She opened the door wide and stepped aside to let her through. “The room could be bigger. Otherwise, everything’s fine, I guess.”

“Believe me, the size of your room is the last thing you’ll worry about once you start your missions. Also—” she pointed at the bed as she walked in “—that better not be expensive. It’ll be ruined in a month’s time.”

“What do you mean?”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and another girl entered the room without invitation. She plopped down on Momo’s bed. “Sensei is being considerate. Bloodstains and grime are difficult stains to remove. Go for the cheaper ones. You’ll be replacing them regularly anyway.”

Utahime saw Momo’s flushed face and decided to speak up before a fight ensued. She knew at first glance that Momo was the type to be protective of her space and, being a lineage sorcerer, had the gall to be vocal about it. The last thing she wanted was for her students to fight. “Momo, this is second year student Mariko Watanabe. She’s classmates with Natsuki Kito and Kenichi Hanae. You’ll bump into each other soon. They’re a rowdy bunch.”

Although annoyed, Momo continued to organize her desk. “I don’t mind. It’s better  than being the only female student in this school.”

“Imagine how I feel,” Mariko intoned.

“How about the third years?”

Mariko’s face fell, and she turned to Utahime.

Utahime lowered her gaze to the floor and cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, she passed before she reached her third year.”

Mariko swung her legs, trying to salvage the casual air in the room. “There’s only one third year, and he’s not on campus often.”

“Actually, Mariko, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Utahime said. “Toshio quit.”

“What?”

“Principal Gakuganji is reaching out to him, but he’s kind of gone dark. I think the death of his classmates hit him harder than we expected. We’re still trying to find him and provide assistance.”

Mariko went pale. She leaped to her feet and made her way out of the room. “I’ve got to tell the others.”

The two of them watched her go. This was not the way Utahime planned to kickstart their school year, but she had made it a point to be as straightforward and honest with her students as possible. She and Gojo debated this principle often, as she believed he was too blunt, and he was convinced that softening the blow only created distrust. When they were students, didn’t they appreciate it when Yaga fed them facts without delay and sugar-coating?

“I guess that sums up life as a sorcerer.” Momo sprayed pine-scented air freshener all over her room. “What kind of assistance were you referring to?”

“Anything Toshio might need to get back on track. This happens once in a while, and Jujutsu High doesn’t normally extend this much effort, but things have changed. Sadly, it took one rogue special grade for the school to take these matters seriously.”

She stared at her, wide-eyed with her eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting the school in a good light, sensei?”

Utahime struggled to keep her expression neutral. There were so many things she could say in response, but she had to be wise and responsible.  “It’s best to let students know as early as possible what kind of institution they’re working with. Jujutsu High is a good place, but it’s far from perfect. There are a lot of things it has to work on, particularly when it comes to protecting its female sorcerers.” She gave Momo a long, hard look. “I plan to discuss this with you in more detail in the near future, but until then, remember that if you feel unsafe, uncomfortable, or you have questions, just come to me. Is that clear?”

Momo nodded slowly. “Yes, sensei.”

Utahime left the women's dormitory in search of Mariko. The second years would have questions, and she didn’t want to leave them to cope on their own.

As she emerged from the building, however, she saw Haruki idling beside a lamppost across the Zen Garden. He was still in the standard white button-down, black tie, and dress pants of a manager, but he had rolled up his sleeves and loosened the tie until it hung lopsided around his neck. The sight of her baby brother made her forget about her students.

He noticed her as she approached. “Busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” She motioned to his tie. “Did you have a fight?”

“Interns were in charge of cleaning the basement library. I didn’t want to wear the uniform while doing it, but the other managers said it was tradition.” He made a face at her. “It was a kind of initiation or something.”

They walked together to the main building. It was a quiet evening, and this part of campus was relatively quiet compared to the housing area, where she was sure the managers and other staff had snuck in alcohol to celebrate. Technically, drinking on campus was prohibited, but who had the audacity to stop them? Everyone was just glad to be alive. For all they knew, this would be the last time they’d see each other again. Curses waited for no one, and the start of the school year meant missions went into full gear again. This also meant fresh corpses and new losses.

Utahime glanced at Haruki, who was thumbing through his phone while whistling. He was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to continue in a normal high school, go on to a normal university, and take on a normal job. She knew from the very beginning that he did not want a permanent place in the Jujutsu World. So it surprised her when, three years ago, he passed an application to intern as an auxiliary manager in Jujutsu High’s Kyoto branch. She confronted him about it, but all the explanation he gave was that their father insisted on it.

Later, she found out from Kazuo that Haruki was quietly mingling with a bad crowd. They worried that due to puberty and outside influences, he would eventually defect. Their parents would have none of that. They were willing to give him liberties as a non-shaman in the Iori clan, but they would never let him cut ties with them completely.

Utahime knew why. Defecting made Haruki vulnerable, and at the time, the threat of the Sasaki still existed. She wanted to explain the situation to him, but her father and Kazuo had refused. In under no circumstances was she to mention Getou or the Sasaki to Haruki.

Now, all she could do was make sure he coped well in this high-stress environment. On record, he was the best intern the school had had in years. In reality, Haruki had turned into a shadow of his former self. Even as his training enabled him to hone his cursed energy and officially leave the "non-shaman" title behind, he remained unhappy. The losses and near-death experiences had carved out the kind and cheerful brother she knew. At the death and disappearance of the former second-year students, he became more aloof. More secretive. She worried that the job might push him over the edge.

Utahime nudged his elbow to get him to stop texting. “Is that cheesecake girl? Are you still pining after her?”

Haruki pocketed his phone. “What are you talking about? We’re dating.”

“Eh?”

“I told you the other day.”

“No, you told me her name and that her family owned a century-old traditional pastry conglomerate or something.”

Haruki made sure the other staff members loitering nearby had left before he responded, “You talk like you’re not about to marry into the Gojo clan.”

Utahime waved the topic away. “I don’t want to discuss it right now. That’s a problem for the future. Why were you waiting for me anyway? Need something?”

“Nope.” He smiled at her. “I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“About?”

“Nothing in particular.”

They took the next right turn, and from this distance, they could already hear the celebration that was unfurling in the housing area. Someone had hauled in a karaoke machine, and Utahime had to either make sure they picked good songs or that Gakuganji was not around to hear. More than breaking rules, he was most upset about people's poor taste in music.

“This will be your third year of training as a manager. Do you think you’ll continue?” she asked.

“I get to watch out for you, so there’s one perk.”

“You say that like you’re waiting for something bad to happen to me.”

He glowered at her, and she muttered an apology. Even now that he was a manager, their definitions of ‘bad’ still differed by several notches. For him, a bad event involved any form of injury, while for her, it involved amputation or death. Anything less was just another day at work.

“Anyway, if you don’t end your career as manager this year, Principal Gakuganji will not let you go. He’s happy with your work.”

Haruki massaged his temples. “I stayed up all night finalizing the mission roster because no one else would, and I don’t want to get scolded for their laziness. The least my superiors can do is be happy about my sacrifices.”

“So, when’s the second year’s first mission?”

“A week from now. It’ll be my first time managing students by myself.” He smiled, but it was insincere. She knew him well enough to tell that, at least.

"I'd wish you good luck, but I’ll be there,” she said.

“I heard about Toichi. Still no contact, huh?”

“Honestly, we don’t have the manpower to find him.”

Haruki stopped at the small hill that overlooked the cluster of bungalows and three-story buildings that housed Jujutsu HQ’s Kyoto staff. “Poor guy. You know what I think will cure him?”

The melody of a familiar 80’s song spilled from one of the bungalows, and a chorus of voices began to sing. She realized from the title that it was Kamisama Help! by The Checkers. Their choice of song was ironic, as it literally was a cry of help to a god over a heartbreak.

“What?” she asked.

Haruki stepped around her to descend the hill. “A world with no curses.”

Chapter Text

Shoko removed the tea bag from the cup and dropped two cubes of sugar in it. She watched the sugar disintegrate, its once-solid form crumbling and disappearing into the solution. After stirring, she carried the cup across the infirmary to Kazuo, who was crouched on the floor with a pot of ink. He dipped his blackened forefinger inside and continued writing scripts on the linoleum, pausing only to acknowledge her.

“Thanks.” He took the cup, had a quick sip, and set it down beside him.

Shoko perched on the edge of the nearest cot with her own cup of tea. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of Kazuo’s bare arms and shoulders. He had stripped off his violet button-down for the job and was now in a white undershirt. With the fluorescent light glaring down at his skin, she could make out the variety of scars on his back. Some of them hinted at deep lacerations, injuries that he must’ve incurred fighting curses. At this point in her career, she could tell just from scars what were natural and unnatural wounds, as well as the possibility of a blind spot. She wondered where Kazuo’s was, as his technique gave him a barrier. It was nothing like Gojo’s Infinity, but the weakening of all attacks within his range gave him the advantage of parrying at just the right moment.

Shoko leaned forward and cupped her face, her elbow propped on her knee, observing him.

He had arrived at Jujutsu High earlier that day to refresh the talismans in the execution chamber, as the school had requested. When he dropped by her office, she was surprised to see that he had cut his hair shorter, with the tips now brushing his jawline. Now, with him gathering a part of his hair in a ponytail, she could also see that he had an undercut.

The last time they discussed his ever-changing hairstyles, he said it was because his hair got tangled in an exorcism before, and he almost got beheaded. Currently, he was maintaining a bob, but she had no idea he had the back shaved. It suited him. Apparently, he was no longer concerned with being so traditional now that Gojo was going to throw their entire clan off-course with his impending marriage to Utahime.

Kazuo sighed and glanced at her.

“Are you really going to sit there and watch?

Shoko smiled. “It’s not every day that I get a real man up here to improve my workspace. Besides, it’s a nice view.”

“Stop flirting with me, Ieiri. I might take you seriously.”

“The only one who would be upset about that would be Gojo.”

“I wouldn’t bother with him anymore,” he said, sounding mildly bored. “You were right. Have him in your life long enough, and you get desensitized to him. Whenever they visit the shrine, I tune him out completely. He doesn’t even notice.”

“Have you talked to Utahime lately?”

“We spoke on the phone last week about work. Why?”

Shoko understood why Utahime wouldn’t discuss her infertility concerns with her brother. Even if he was family, it was difficult for a woman to admit that she might not be able to conceive a child. Regardless, she shouldn’t bottle it up. If Kazuo remained unmarried for the next two years, all eyes would be on Utahime and Gojo. They would expect more from her simply because he refused to settle down. The Iori clan would also need heirs, and it was a matter the two siblings should be discussing but weren't. Frankly, she wouldn't bother about this clan technicality if Utahime weren't her best friend.

“Check on her,” Shoko said. “She’ll appreciate it. But don’t say I asked you to.”

Kazuo squinted at her, a frown forming on his lips.

His expression made her laugh. “You make the same face as your sister when you’re frustrated.”

“I’m insulted.”

“It’s a cute face.”

Kazuo rolled his eyes, but it was obvious that he was suppressing a smile. He beckoned her over, and she stood next to him, studying the swirl of scripts he had written on the floor.

“The flow of energy will be coming from here to there and vice versa.” He pointed from one end of the room to another, where rows of small ritual circles littered the floor and climbed up a section of the walls. “These scripts are designed for positive energy, but they’re really old, and since your technique is so rare, I’m not sure how effective they are. Hopefully, you won’t have to use them, but if you do, then you’re equipped to heal a group of people all at once."

"Great."

He popped his knuckles and stretched his neck. "Get back on the bed so I can finish the job.”

Shoko arched her eyebrow.

Kazuo turned red. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t say things like that to a woman when you’re half naked.”

“I was implying that you should keep your feet off the floor while I let these seals set." He flailed his arm in the general direction of her desk. "Sit on your notes and reports if you want to. I hardly think that would be comfortable.”

Shoko chuckled quietly to herself as she sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed. Her desk was too crowded for her to fit there anyway. “Alright, let’s get this show started so I can return to work.”

He gave her a sidelong glance before performing a hand seal. Almost at once, the cursed energy in the room rose, and a burnt smell permeated the infirmary.

Kazuo whispered a chant, and then the scripts melted into the walls and the linoleum. By the time he was finished, every drop of ink he used had disappeared.

“Thanks for this,” Shoko said, slipping on her shoes once more and walking over to a shelf. She soaked a couple of cotton balls with rubbing alcohol and offered them to him. “How do you think I can utilize these talismans on the field?”

He pressed his forefinger into the cotton balls to get rid of the ink. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do for that, but it should be possible. Still, it’ll be easier if I’m around to boost you.”

“I suppose it’s better to have a hot priest tailing me while I’m saving lives. I also wouldn’t object to being protected by you during that time.”

Kazuo looked torn between sneering and laughing. “Hot priest. What a strange compliment.”

Shoko sat on her chair with a pleasant smile. “You’re welcome.”

“I thought you could fight?”

“RCT depletes me, and I’d prefer you over Yaga’s cursed corpses.”

His expression turned somber. “You’re referring to the mass exorcisms, aren’t you?”

“Things have improved only a little since I was in high school.”

Kazuo wiped the remaining ink off his hands and shrugged on his dress shirt. “If you could manage to persuade Yaga, I wouldn’t object to escorting you during a mass exorcism. I can’t believe they put you in that much risk.”

“We’re that short on staff.” Also, she was intent on stopping Gojo from accompanying her in these mass exorcisms where Jujutsu High required her to serve as support. Right before Getou’s defection, Gojo had set his foot down and told the school that she would not go to these exorcisms unless he was present. She would never admit it, but it had been comforting to her at the time, since the incident that spurred his decision had nearly gotten her killed. Everybody else in the exorcism had died, and in a desperate attempt to right things, she had called Gojo to finish off the special grade in the abandoned temple so she could retrieve the bodies of the other sorcerers. He came despite their petty argument days prior, and Shoko realized that he would not let anything get in the way of her safety.

Years later, Gojo still kept escorting her to these exorcisms, but the additional work was taxing him. Even the strongest had his limits, and now it was her turn to look out for him.

Kazuo finished buttoning down his shirt. To Shoko’s surprise, he pulled out a chair and sat in front of her, arms and legs crossed. “Okay, tell me—does Gojo put you up to this?

“To what?”

“Just because you’re attractive doesn’t mean I’ll put my guard down. I don't mind spending time with you. I mind that you’re suspicious of me and possibly reporting my activities to Gojo.”

Shoko sighed in disappointment. She thought she was being discreet, but it was difficult to outsmart a man who was always in the field. “What gave me away?” she asked.

"There's a difference between watching to admire and watching to observe. You can't pretend to be the former by flirting with me."

She threw her hands up in surrender.

“So? Aren't you going to come clean?” he asked.

“To be fair, Gojo’s not suspicious of you. He’s growing a bias since you’re going to be family soon. That means I have to be the bad cop for him and keep persisting with important questions," she said.

“Such as?”

"I was going to ask you out to dinner first before confronting you, but I suppose there's no delaying this anymore." Shoko took out her ID and held it up for him to see. After a beat, she flipped it over to reveal the red strip at the back. “My clearance is higher than yours. To make accurate reports, I need to have access to a sorcerer’s complete history. A sorcerer’s medical record is a crucial source of information for the higher-ups. It’s through the documents I produce that they can tell whether you deserve a promotion or a demotion. That bone you keep fracturing—is it a sign of deteriorating health or performance on the battlefield? Or maybe it’s self-inflicted as an excuse to retreat from a mission. If you’ve been tagged for suspicious activity like that before, then the managers will be advised to evaluate each mission because why should Jujutsu HQ pay you for underperforming?”

Kazuo shifted his gaze from her ID to her face. “What does that have to do with me?”

“This kind of clearance means I can track all of your activities—as well as what you use your clearance for. You've been closely monitoring Haruki's activities in the past three years. I understand that he’s your younger brother, but I know an obsessive behavior when I see one. So, should I make a conjecture, or will you at least try to placate me?”

Kazuo closed his eyes briefly as though to acknowledge his guilt. When he spoke next, it was in a lower voice. “While investigating Ume and Izumi's attack on the shrine, I discovered that Haruki checked the profiles of all the staff a month prior. Technically, he isn’t supposed to have access to these things as he doesn’t have an active role in the shrines. Consider him a part-timer, someone we rely on to do administrative work when he’s free or when the entire family has to put up a united front, like in mediations. He uses Mother’s clearance for that type of work. Long story short, Haruki tampered with Ume and Izumi's files, but I managed to recover the old ones. I'm a bit like my Father this way—I still believe in keeping hard copies even after they've been digitized, and I think since I moved to the Seiko shrine, Haruki had no idea that I'd been hoarding documents."

"How did Haruki tamper with the files?"

"Ume and Izumi were tagged for misdemeanor prior. Their evaluation showed the other staff were concerned about the way they talked about our family, but this was addressed, and they became exemplary shrine maidens shortly after." He held his hands in front of him, palms up. "Haruki removed those in the digital copy, but I couldn't come up with a good reason why. It wasn't as though these shrine maidens were tagged for theft or violence."

“Why didn’t you tell Gojo?”

“It didn’t seem relevant until Satoshi told us about the sorcerer with the Soul Transference technique. Immediately after, Father decided to retract all freedoms he had given Haruki and serve him up to Jujutsu High. He thinks keeping Haruki involved will ensure that he doesn’t…defect and that he’s not lured into some stupid ideology. He hasn’t displayed any suspicious activity since.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Of course,” Kazuo hissed, offended. He confirmed that he used Mother’s clearance and that he opened those files by accident. The clan’s still modernizing, and things like those happen—glitches and all that. It didn’t raise any alarms in my head for a while.”

Shoko started playing with the tips of her hair. She had started growing it, less because of aesthetics and more because twirling the strands around her fingers was soothing. It could never replace a quick smoke, but she had to make do. “If you’re monitoring him now, then that speaks volumes of what you think of him. Does Utahime-Senpai know?”

“How do I tell her that there’s a small possibility her own brother allowed the attack on her, her future mother-in-law, and the woman for whom she took that scar?” Kazuo leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, his fingers digging deep into his forehead as he massaged it. “Anyway, we’re keeping Haruki in check. If ever he was influenced by that sorcerer, then keeping him in Jujutsu High meant somebody would detect it ASAP. That soul guy would not be so reckless.”

Shoko knew this was the end of the interrogation. Any further, and she might push Kazuo away. “Thank you for your honesty, even if it’s years delayed. I have to inform Gojo.”

He shook his head. “Let me set a meeting with him and Father. It’s better if he hears it from us. Besides, I’m leaning on the theory that it’s all a coincidence. You don’t know Haruki. He wouldn’t do that to Utahime.”

Shoko pressed her lips together and erased all emotions on her face. That sentiment had haunted her for years, and hearing it from another person's mouth made her shudder. She placed her hand on Kazuo’s knee, forcing him to look up at her.

“Kazuo, Gojo and I thought the same about Getou. Look at us now.”

She drove Kazuo to the station, during which he apologized for keeping this information about Haruki a secret. His remorse startled her, as most sorcerers of his lineage and caliber would have defended their decision. After all, he made a valid point. If Haruki had been helping the clan during mediations by doing administrative work, then accidentally clicking and causing changes to a few files was not suspicious. If anything, he and his father had been proactive. They did not take any chances by putting him where the Soul Transference sorcerer would be hesitant to use him.

As he was getting out of the car, Kazuo took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. There was a tense pause, and then she pulled him back in to give him a quick embrace.

She had no words to explain that she understood him. It was difficult to suspect someone you loved, and even after all these years, the image of Getou walking away from her in the smoking area at Shinjuku remained vivid in her mind.

Gojo slipped his shoes off at the entryway and switched on the living room lights. It was Sunday evening, and he had just come home from a mission abroad. Instead of reporting to Yaga, he ventured straight to Kyoto in the hopes of making it home to catch Utahime awake. She had insisted that there was no need to, but he had missed numerous weekends with her already. Each time Friday night rolled around and he had to board a flight or a train for an exorcism that would take him hundreds of miles away from home, something inside him wanted to snap. This feeling was like an old worm from his youth, creeping up to the surface to gnaw at him whenever he did not get his way.

Shoko suggested that he was simply tired. It was not that he was a bad person, but being stretched thin was taking its toll on him, especially now that he had something else to look forward to apart from brandishing his powers.

As a compromise, Utahime had been visiting him in Tokyo more frequently. He maintained his apartment outside of Jujutsu High, and she let herself in to either wait for him or collapse with him on the bed if he was already asleep. That worked out for a while until he realized that the travel exacerbated her chronic fatigue, and so he decided to come home to their Kyoto apartment regardless of whether they got to spend only a few hours together.

As Gojo stripped off his jacket, pants, and shirt and climbed on the bed next to her, he wondered if he could take two more years of this. He knew they did not have a choice, but their options played out in his mind anyway.

He slipped his arms around her, and she grumbled something as she turned to face him. With her eyelids still drooped low and her voice hoarse, she asked if he had eaten.

Gojo beamed at her sleepy state. He liked her fresh, vibrant face in the morning, and adored her flushed skin after they made out, but it was the silly expressions she made when half-drunk with beer or sleep that he loved the most. These were the faces one only made in front of people they trusted, and to think that they had come this far gave him fresh endurance.

Two years more. They could do it.

Utahime yawned. “If you’re hungry, I can make something for you.”

He tightened his hold on her back to keep her in place. “I bought takeout for the two of us, but I underestimated the travel time.”

“If you’re going to eat, then I’ll eat too.” She forced her eyes wide open to fight her lingering lethargy. Even through the sparse lighting in their room, however, he could see the red lines surrounding her pupils. He was going to tell her to go back to sleep, but she cut him off by slamming both of her hands on his cheeks.

“Satoru, I have a serious question for you.”

He winced. Beneath her warm palms, his skin stung. “Me first. Did you drink tonight?”

“No.”

Gojo forced her on her back and nuzzled his nose along her jaws, down her neck, across her belly, and even in her armpits. She screamed and kicked for him to stop, her complaints punctuated by bursts of giggles that only egged him on.

He raised his head and pouted at her. “Smells like happy hour to me.”

Utahime matched his pout. “I had two cans.”

“Did you go drinking with Kusakabe? I think that man secretly hates me.”

Her expression changed, and she propped herself up on her elbows. “Do you know that he suspects you and Shoko are together?”

He blinked at her, and then he let out a deep, throaty laugh. “He’s got some imagination to think that’ll work.”

“You’ve never thought of it?”

“Have you ever thought of hooking up with Kazuo?”

“Ew, don’t be disgusting!”

“See, that’s how I feel when people think about me and Shoko that way. I’d kill for her, but I’d never kiss her.” The mere idea made him shiver. When they were in high school, she had accidentally grazed her lips on his cheek while he was teaching her how to fall properly during a fight, and the two of them nearly threw up in their mouths. They knew from the very beginning of their friendship that it was a line they would never cross. That had not changed one bit over the years.

Utahime put on a thoughtful face. “That makes sense. Although I think when someone asked Shoko that before, she said she’d rather kill herself.”

Gojo sneered. Of course she said that.

While Utahime reheated the food he bought, Gojo busied himself in the bathroom. He showered and shaved to save time in the morning, but even with his mind half-groggy, he did not miss the tell-tale signs of retail therapy around him.

Their bath towels, hamper, and non-slip floor rags were brand new. She had restocked his shaving cream and bought him an expensive razor, as well as the all-natural mouthwash that he had once pointed out in the supermarket.

When he put on a fresh shirt and boxers, he noticed that his clothes were all ironed and sprayed with a lavender scent.

It was at that point that he realized the gist of her ‘serious question.’ The last time she wanted to have this talk, she had spent an entire week carpentering a new side table for him that had space for a mini fridge at the bottom. He declined it because he knew that she would be more likely to use it as an excuse to stock her beer there.

Gojo rubbed his hair with a towel as he sat down beside Utahime at their dining table. She had already placed the food on his plate, giving him even half of her share.

He moved to pick up his chopsticks but decided instead to place his hand on the back of her neck. They shared a look, and Utahime knew she had been found out before she could even begin the conversation.

She sighed. “I just need to know.”

“You retook those hormone tests, didn’t you?”

“What are your expectations about having a baby?

Gojo’s eyes shot wide. His gaze drifted down to her stomach.

She smacked his arm. “I’m not pregnant!” Then, after a second, she whispered, “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“It’s pretty obvious that you want one.”

He smiled sheepishly at her. In the months that they tiptoed around this topic and tentatively had fertility tests in the guise of checking their ‘health,’ he had done his best to behave as casually as possible. Yet he knew that every time he purposefully penetrated her without a condom or she insisted on him removing it, he really wanted to get her pregnant. It was not the ideal time, and he couldn’t imagine the hell they would go through due to their clans and obligations, but at twenty-six, he was certain that he wanted to be a father. They were trying for a baby without saying it aloud because deep inside, they understood that she shouldn’t get pregnant yet. Still, it seemed like the logical next step in their relationship, and the only reason he had not admitted to it was because he hated the fact that she blamed herself for their childlessness.

Utahime looked at him expectantly, and he decided that honesty was the best way to go.

“The Gojo gene wants to be passed on, and it insists on binding itself to your DNA,” he said.

“Satoru, be serious!”

“Alright, alright.” He pushed his plate aside and held her hand. “I like the idea of having children with you. I want to come home to screaming children and a house that’s half on fire because one of them is a little arsonist. Whenever I go on missions far, far away, I wish there was a part of me I could leave behind so you wouldn’t feel alone in this big apartment. Also, I’m convinced you’re the only woman in this world who can tolerate having and raising my kids. One of them is just bound to be—” he moved his forefinger in circles beside his temple.

Utahime pursed her lips, but her smile still broke through. Seconds later, it faded, her amusement completely replaced by dread. “What if I can’t get pregnant? I have two more years of service with Gakuganji, and I’m taking on more and more missions. I’ll be thirty by then. What if I become permanently infertile?”

“To be honest, I don’t see the point of worrying about it now. So many things can still happen, and it’s not like I’m gonna up and leave if we don’t have a child.”

“You need an heir.”

“The Six Eyes favors bloodlines, but there’s no guarantee that it’ll reappear in our family. I’d gladly pass on that burden to Hanabi." He pinched her cheek. "Seriously, don’t sweat it. Right now, our students are our kids.  They’re a handful already anyway.”

“I’ll retire,” she blurted, pausing only to gauge his reaction. When he simply stared at her, she continued: “After my binding vow ends, I’ll retire, and we can start a family.”

He kissed her knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”

Utahime cupped his face. He leaned in to allow her touch to soothe the quiet worries that he would never reveal to her.

“Just so you know, I think you’ll be a great dad," she said. "I’ll probably try to poison you a few times, but raising children with you should be crazy fun.”

Gojo grinned. He could feel his face and ears go hot from the compliment. “I know, right? Megumi turned out well. He’s not trying to kill me anymore.”

They returned to bed at around two in the morning, and one hour later, when Gojo was sure that Utahime was fast asleep, he snuck into the balcony and shut the sliding door. He flipped his phone in his palm for a long time before deciding to make the call.

A few rings later, Satoshi picked up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice still laced with sleep. “Are you hurt?”

Gojo remembered being greeted with that question as a little boy. Are you hurt? With his massive hand, Satoshi would brush Gojo’s hair back from his forehead to comfort him until he could come up with the words to explain himself.

“Are you back from your trip? You never updated me after that last blurry selfie," Gojo said to deflect. Perhaps this was a bad idea. His temples were already throbbing with the beginning of a headache.

“Ah, right. We went to Miyako-jima as our final stop, and my phone started acting up. Hanabi flew in to get it fixed and scolded me the entire time.”

“So that’s why only Lady Sayuri was sending me photos.”

“She asked this teenage boy to take a photo of us once, and he ran away with her phone. Your mom told me to give him a thirty-second head-start so he wouldn’t pee his pants when I caught him.”

Gojo leaned on the railing and took in the peaceful nightscape of Kamigyo Ward. “You still scared that kid shitless, didn’t you?”

“Of course! What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t do that?”

"Right."

"So, what's up?"

He passed his hand over his mouth and down his neck, hoping it would alleviate the tension in his muscles. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a trip with me and Utahime. Not anytime soon, just…maybe in three months? Once things have settled down in the Kyoto and Tokyo branches.”

“Is Utahime okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just want her to take time off here and there, and she only really agrees to it when you’re involved.”

There was the sound of a bed squeaking and fabric shuffling on his end, followed by light footfalls. He was probably leaving the bedroom so as not to wake Lady Sayuri.

“No, seriously, is everything okay?”

Gojo cleared his throat, as if by doing so, he could flush out the trepidation seeping into his voice. “Dad…you want to be grandparents, right?”

Satoshi gasped. “Is Utahime pregnant?”

“No, don't jump to conclusions like that. We just talked about it earlier, and she thinks that being an active sorcerer would lower her chances of getting pregnant. She mentioned being worried about heirs and all that.”

“Ah. Well, of course, the clan will want an heir from you, and I want lots of grandchildren. That’s just the normal course of things."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"But the clan can wait. Tell her not to stress over it."

"Sure. Glad to know that." Gojo took deep breaths. There was no reason for this anxiety—for this feeling that they were running out of time.

"Just so you're aware, though, I’m excellent at changing nappies and pacifying babies. Your mother and I will take care of your children until Utahime kicks us out. But if there will be complications, then tell her not to worry. Lady Sayuri was…how do I say this? Hmm, well, she was raised to mother the next Six Eyes. There was pressure put on her. She would never want the same to be done to Utahime. If anything, she’ll be the most compassionate of us all,” he said.

He glanced behind him and saw that Utahime had changed positions on the bed. She was now lying diagonally in her duvet cocoon with only the top portion of her face showing. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Since you already woke me up, I might as well get back to work. Gotta make sure we track down the bad guys and get this over with before I meet my grandchildren. No pressure! But yeah, I’ve thought of names. We can brainstorm some more if you’re interested. Oh! We used to name sons after our fathers. You’re not obligated to, but Satoshi is a fantastic name. I don't think Nobunaga quite compares, but don't tell Utahime I said that."

Gojo held his phone away from his mouth. “Hello? Are you still there? I can’t hear you anymore. I think I’m hanging up now.”

“Hey!”

He ended the call but sent his dad a thank-you text. Hearing his father's voice was enough comfort for him at times like this. There were no extreme consolations offered, no great words of wisdom shared. He just liked knowing that Satoshi was there to straighten him out, especially when the wormwood of sorcery revived the sound of distant applause in his mind.

He could almost hear his father ask him again: are you hurt?

Gojo spooned Utahime on the bed and closed his eyes. Absently, he slipped his hand beneath the duvet to caress her stomach, and within the swaying currents of exhaustion and sleep, he felt her flesh swell. He recognized the beginning of life beneath his fingertips, reaching out to him, telling him that it was there. But in the mercy of his dreams, he saw darkness.

It was all black, and nothing existed.

Utahime tapped the notification on her phone. There it was—another selfie from Gojo. He took it while his mouth was stuffed full of the breakfast bento she packed for him on his trip back to Tokyo. She was glad that he was eating healthier, but she wished he wouldn’t gorge on his food like that.

What if he choked? Would RCT clear his passageways? That idiot.

“That man is relentless,” Kusakabe remarked from behind her, making her jump in surprise.

She almost pressed the screen to her chest to hide his photo but stopped herself just in time. That alone would have raised suspicion from him.

“He’s still sending you selfies after all these years, huh?” he asked.

Utahime opened her camera app. “Here, let’s show him how unamused we are.” She snapped a selfie with Kusakabe, the two of them looking straight at the lens with ugly frowns. Gojo was likely to understand the context without her telling him about her almost-heart attack.

Kusakabe dropped to his chair behind his desk. There were only two of them in the faculty room, and he had decided to claim an entire corner for himself. In a span of a week, his side of the room already resembled a tiny apartment, complete with an electric kettle, a small stove, and a shelf full of instant meals. When she asked him why he had made a living quarter out of his space, he said it was for pure convenience. If everything were within reach, then there would be no need to waste time by getting up to fetch them.

As of this morning, he had installed a foldable cot behind his squeaky swivel chair.

“If I don’t already suspect him of being with Shoko, I would think that guy’s flirting with you,” Kusakabe said as he poured hot water into his instant ramen.

“Fortunately, he isn’t. He’s just made it a sport to annoy the hell out of me.”

“Have you tried blocking him?”

“That’s one sure way to summon him. I did that once, and he showed up at school asking if I was mad at him.”

He tossed her a convenience store onigiri, which she caught with one hand. “He gets away with being obnoxious because he’s so strong. Imagine if Suguru Getou were still here. Jujutsu High would be a wreck. But I guess that’s better than making an enemy of a special grade. What’s that murderer up to nowadays, anyway?”

Utahime hesitated before tossing him an apple in exchange. She had done her best to put that man as far away from her mind as possible since she finished retrieving all of the tamed curses for Gakuganji. Even Gojo had not said his name in a long time, even though she knew Satoshi was still trying to sniff him out.

“I have no idea,” she said flatly.

A knock on the partly open door stopped them from digging into their breakfast. Noritoshi poked his head inside and paused to take in the sight of them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I can come back later.”

“What do you want?” Kusakabe asked.

He turned to Utahime. “I was hoping to speak to Utahime-sensei privately.”

Slowly, Utahime covered her bento box and set down her chopsticks. With as much nonchalance as possible, she led him to the nearest empty classroom.

It wasn’t seven in the morning yet, and the lights streaming from the windows still had a touch of yellow in them from the late sunrise. Utahime stood with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, a pose she had developed whenever she assumed the role of a patient, understanding adult.

Noritoshi kept his eyes down, as he always seemed to do around her.

“Is everything alright? Are you getting along with Todo?” she asked.

He wrinkled his nose. “We’re amicable.”

“He tried to attack you, didn’t he?”

“He wishes to assess my abilities, but I don’t believe it’s appropriate to battle just anywhere on campus. Thankfully, Momo is able to talk some sense into him.”

Utahime chuckled. “That’s why we prefer to have girls in the team. So, if it’s not Todo, then what is it?”

“I would like to address something that happened in the past. When I was eleven,” he said.

“Noritoshi.”

He stepped back and bowed low to her. “It’s only appropriate that I apologize for what my clan did to you. The mediation was peaceful, and all parties agreed to give Miyo Yamamoto and the child to your clan. When my father hired that man to exact revenge, I should have said something.”

She knew this was coming. Noritoshi had struggled to look at her face since their first meeting on campus. As though to make up for that, he had taken lengths to make every class convenient for her. If there was something Momo didn’t understand, Noritoshi explained it to her instead of asking Utahime to repeat herself. When Todo asked to fight her in her Zero Forbidden Zone and almost landed a punch to her shoulder, Noritoshi caught his fist to soften the blow on her.

Utahime had wanted to address his behavior sooner, but between managing her duties as a sorcerer and worrying about her infertility, she could not find the mental and emotional prowess to do it. Perhaps it had something to do with her expectations. She anticipated that Noritoshi would be defensive or even claim ignorance to spare his ego. He was the Kamo heir, after all. That would not be the worst thing he could do.

This, she thought as she stared at him, had not crossed her mind once.

“There’s no need for this," she said. "You were just a boy then. You didn't know better.”

“But I did, sensei, and I had no valid excuse for my silence. I’m sure you’re aware of my circumstances. I did not fight hard enough to keep my mother from being expelled from the clan. Since then, I’ve resolved to stand up to my father, even when I know he wouldn’t listen. I could have at least tried to defend you, because it was clear to me that it was wrong. Yet I stayed silent in fear of my father’s temper." He straightened up only to bow again. "I apologize profusely for my cowardice. I apologize on behalf of my clan, which I am heir to. Once I am chief, I swear that violence like this will not happen again. I would also like to thank you for treating me kindly and fairly despite my misgivings. I aspire to emulate you as a sorcerer.”

When she did not respond at once, Noritoshi lifted his head a little to peer at her face. It was not that she was punishing him with her silence; she simply needed a moment to collect her thoughts. Gojo made a good point last night, after all. Their students were their children right now, and she didn’t want to burden Noritoshi further by saying the wrong thing.

Utahime placed her hand on his shoulder. “Noritoshi Kamo, let me make one thing clear. I never blamed you for it, and I never will. When we stand up for what we believe is right, we have to be ready to pay the consequences. I would gladly incur more scars if that’s the cost of raising a generation of good sorcerers. The only way you can let me down now is if you stray, so do me a favor and change only for the better, okay?”

He clenched his jaws and nodded. “Yes, sensei.”

“Now, enough with the drama. I’m headed for a mission with the second-year students, but one of them can’t make it because of the stomach flu. Would you like to one-up Todo and join us?”

Haruki did not remark on it, but Utahime knew what he was thinking.

The second she informed him that Noritoshi would be filling in for Kenichi Hanae, he clammed up and refused to interact with them further after the mission briefing.

Noritoshi sat in the back with Mariko and Natsuki, listening intently as they explained their techniques and shared anecdotes about their previous missions. Utahime chimed in now and then to tease the second years, but she kept part of her attention on Haruki, who scowled at the road ahead as though they were driving straight for a cliff.

In fact, they were only going to Kiyotaki Tunnel, which had become a popular spot for ghost tourism within the past few decades, and for a good reason. The tunnel’s origins weren’t exactly pleasant, as it was constructed by illegal workers who succumbed to the miserable working conditions of their native overlords. There was also a persistent rumor that the tunnel, which was originally a part of the Atagoyama Railway in the early 1920s, was 444 meters in total length. Ghost hunters had claimed that this was no accident, as the repeating of the unlucky number four was a sign from the spirits that they were out to seek revenge for their misfortunes. It did not help that Kiyotaki Tunnel was also a popular suicide spot. This meant, for sorcerers like them, that cursed spirits were bound to flourish there regardless of how many times they cleansed the place.

Fortunately, these routine exorcisms ensured that the curses did not evolve into anything higher than a semi-grade two. Mariko and Natsuki had gone here prior without any major incident; Utahime was confident that they would be in and out of there in an hour, maybe even quicker with Noritoshi and his Blood Manipulation Technique.

Haruki parked the car several yards away from the tunnel entrance. The massive, black arch up ahead revealed nothing inside. Even from where they stood next to the car, Utahime knew that the darkness was not natural. Some of the curses had amplified the shadows to create fear, which would then make them stronger. It was nothing unusual, and as she went ahead to try to detect curses that might be out of her students’ league, she found that the place remained more or less the same since their last inspection.

With a nod at Haruki, he put down the veil, and she spent another minute assessing the place from the outside to see if any strong curses would react to it.

“Nothing?” Haruki asked.

Utahime stepped out of the veil and wrapped talisman papers on Mariko, Natsuki, and Noritoshi’s wrists. “This allows me to track you based on your cursed energy. If you stop moving for a long time, your CE drops too low, or it disappears altogether, I’m rushing in there to get you out. If you need to retreat or want me to back you up, rip the talisman at the center. Got that?”

Natsuki walked past her with a yawn. “This’ll be easy peasy. See you in a bit, sensei!”

“Can’t wait to have lunch,” Mariko said as she trailed behind Natsuki.

Noritoshi studied the talisman for a little while longer before stepping into the veil to follow the others.

With them gone inside the tunnel, Utahime leaned back on the car next to Haruki. This was a rather cozy spot to linger in if not for the curses. Moss-covered stone barriers stood on either side of them, making the single-lane road feel narrow but far from claustrophobic. Tilted trees and a wild variety of vegetation colored their surroundings in various shades of green. A few years back, Haruki would've taken in this place with awe and asked if she'd like to have a picnic nearby.

That thought only made his present silence more unnerving for her.

She elbowed his rib. “Loosen up. Noritoshi means well."

“Yeah.”

“Are you sick? You’ve gone pale.”

The wind blew his hair away from his face and made him squint. Under the bright, mid-morning light, Haruki still looked to her like the baby brother she used to coddle instead of the eighteen-year-old man who was overseeing exorcisms with her. Time flew so quickly for them.

“I’m just really sick of this world,” he muttered.

Utahime inched closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll make you an offer. Quit Jujutsu High. Go to the university you want. Make as many cheesecakes as you can until your hands go numb. I’ll fund you. Everything, from your tuition and living expenses to your daily allowance. Let me handle Father and Kazuo. I’ll protect you.”

She waited, but Haruki did not respond.

Utahime was about to scold him when a sharp current of cursed energy coursed through her arms, and she realized that all three talismans had been ripped. A cold feeling washed over, rendering her frozen for two long seconds before adrenaline kicked in and sent her into motion once more.

“Prepare to call for backup!” She yelled at Haruki as she sprinted into the veil. Before entering the tunnel, a near-crippling surge of cursed energy overtook her. She glanced over her shoulder to check on Haruki, but he only stood there, dead-eyed and utterly still.

Utahime had no time to return to him. Mariko’s screams reverberated throughout the tunnel, followed by Natsuki's pleas for mercy. She heard grunts, an abrasive noise like heavy rocks moving across the asphalt, and more shrieking and wailing.

Up ahead, dots of orange light on the ceiling illuminated the path. No archways in the distance hinted at the exit. She had been running for minutes, but the tunnel seemed never-ending. Her students’ screaming only got louder, but she couldn’t find them.

Utahime slowed to a stop. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears as de ja vu crashed on her.

She had experienced this loop before, back when she was twenty years old.

A dark, dense presence materialized behind her. She spun around, and there they were—Natsuki and Mariko, pinned to the floor by curses with long, grimy hair and fat, spider-like legs. Mariko stabbed at the curse with her weapon, but it wouldn't stop chewing on her leg. Natsuki was alive but in shock; a huge chunk of his hip had already been bitten off by a similar curse, and he was bleeding to death.

Footfalls echoed in the thick darkness ahead of her. "Utahime-sensei, look out!"

Noritoshi had just emerged when a curse slammed into him, its horns piercing his shoulder until he was immobile on the ground.

Utahime held her hands together to summon a forbidden zone. A hot gust of wind blew in from her side just then, alerting her of an enemy she had not noticed before. The proximity was alarming, its cursed energy so powerful that one wrong move, and she could die.

Her fingers went slack, and she exhaled quietly. Turning in her spot, Utahime lifted her gaze and felt all the blood leave her face.

A massive, pale human head blocked the rest of the tunnel. Its hollow eyes wrinkled as if in despair, its nostrils flaring in what seemed like a precursor to a wail, yet it kept its mouth completely shut. Its cheeks were ballooned, and it held its lips tightly pursed to keep its contents hidden.

Utahime made a decision.

She pushed her right foot back and bent her knees, her fingers interlaced in a hand sign. Her engagement ring lay beneath the seams of her kosode, hanging from the same chain as the infinity pendant. The metal stung her skin, reminding her to fight. To survive.

The curse's lips trembled and unfurled, blasting torrid breath towards her as the jaws slackened and a heavy, wet tongue rolled out. From its center sat a man in black yukata robes with a gold kasaya snapping in the air. Long, black hair whipped around him, and as the squall ebbed, he raised his head to look at Utahime.

Suguru Getou smiled and flipped his hand up in a curt wave. “Long time no see, Utahime-senpai.”

Chapter Text

Satoshi stared at the map of Kyoto on the table. Red ink circled thirteen locations in the vicinity. A rolled-up map of Tokyo teetered on the edge of the table, and in his mind, he unfurled it to find five more locations highlighted in red. They had retrieved eighteen curses for Gakuganji and lost two at the beginning of the operation.

Twenty secret lairs. Twenty locations that should reek of clues as to Suguru Getou’s whereabouts, and yet none of these places led them anywhere. If anything, they seemed to only hint at the next underground hall where the tamed curses had been relocated. The hastily abandoned rooms and personal effects provided insight into the type of people who joined the cult and how they lived. The corpses that came with the first few locations even gave them faces and possible identities, but nothing so conclusive that they could take action against any organization or people. The entire pursuit felt like a game of hide and seek, but they were not hunting.

They were being led.

By the time they located the final curse, Satoshi had a lingering feeling that they had been tricked. Tokyo and Kyoto were now safe from these curses, but had they truly averted all danger? Why did Getou betray Ryousuke and Himari, and had the Sasaki dispersed again at the loss of their Blood Maiden?

Satoshi and Nobu had spent several nights in the Seiko Iori shrine mulling over these questions over bottles of sake. Getou's silence had provided a much-needed reprieve, but the longer it lasted, the more unnerved they became. No one had interfered with the retrieval of the tamed curses, and their surveillance showed no threat to Utahime or the Gakuganji shrine. In their most recent meeting, the two men agreed that Satoru could be correct.

Utahime was no use to Suguru Getou. She remained the only qualified priestess in the Sasaki lineage to replace Himari as the Blood Maiden. Provided that the Sasaki still existed, the members would see through any faux priestess he installed in her place, and then he would lose his most valuable ally. What then? There was no one Getou could hold hostage against her. The Iori clan had an age-old pact among themselves to perform seppuku if held hostage. They would rather die than be used as leverage by the families they were mediating for, and this situation was no different. Nobu assured Satoshi that even Haruki, whom they had forced into Jujutsu High for his own protection, understood the value of this sacrifice.

"What about her students?" Satoshi ventured, half-drunk but still chasing after every tangent in his brain. They could not ignore any possibility.

Nobu gave him a wan smile. "My daughter may have a big heart, but she is capable of making hard decisions. She will save whom she can save but will always pay the price for the greater good. Plus, she has a binding vow. Getou cannot use her without killing her in the process."

"Gakuganji and those vows actually amounted to something good, huh?"

Nobu passed him another bottle of sake. "If you want my honest opinion, it's your son we should be worried about."

That sentiment had haunted him since. It burrowed like a maggot at the back of his mind, eating away at him slowly but surely.

Satoshi took out his phone and stared at his call log, with Satoru’s name at the top. It had been two hours since their phone conversation, and he wondered whether Satoru had gotten any sleep. He must be in Kyoto now with Utahime, trying to make up for the time they didn’t get to spend together on the weekend due to their work commitments.

The last time they discussed his overseas travels, Satoru sounded a little spiteful about the work. He did not express it directly, but the manner in which he assuaged his exhaustion by pointing to the safety of the non-shamans made Satoshi worry nonetheless.

“It’s not like I can just stop,” Satoru had said. “So many innocent people would die.”

He had used the same tone earlier. When he mentioned Utahime’s plan to retire in two years and her worries about infertility, he carried an undertone of quiet hatred in his voice. Satoshi knew his son would never say it aloud, but he didn’t have to.

Every good sorcerer who had been pushed to the edge had pondered the same thoughts.

If only these curses did not exist.

The older Satoru became, the more tempting it was to nurse these ideas. If only these curses did not exist, he would not be hunting down his best friend, and his fiancé would not be burdened with the idea of barrenness.

Satoshi had several versions of that in his prime as well. In the lowest moments of his fatherhood, he thought if their family existed outside of the Jujutsu World, they would not be hounded by death in each turn. Sayuri would have been a normal mother, and Satoru would have enjoyed a normal childhood. These were nice thoughts, musings that made him long for a reality that did not ask too much from them. At some point, however, he had learned to kill these daydreams as soon as they showed up.

His life was not normal. His family as a unit was far from average, not just in terms of power but also in sacrifices. Yet Satoshi would not have it any other way because even a slightly different reality might risk him living a life without Sayuri for a wife and Satoru for a son.

Several times in the past few months, he had tried to articulate these sentiments to Satoru. To make him realize that hating this cursed life would be to hate the good things that came with it.

Satoshi opened his phone’s gallery and swiped through the photos he had snapped of Satoru with Utahime and Sayuri. He chuckled at the selfies they had taken, many of which were blurry because of their bantering. There was one particular photo, though, in which he made a silly face and accidentally caught Satoru smiling at him. It was now his wallpaper, but he made sure to keep it a secret from Satoru because he would surely find a way to change it.

Difficult as their lives may be, he would choose to live this lifetime over and over for that one moment when he held Satoru for the first time. His marriage to Sayuri completed him, but fathering Satoru fulfilled him. He no longer knew who he was apart from his son.

The sliding door squeaked, and Satoshi glanced back to see Sayuri gathering her robe around her body as she approached. He opened his arm to her, and she pressed herself against him.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “You’re still tired.”

Sayuri scanned the table with hooded eyes. Gingerly, she raised the map of Kyoto to reveal the many reports that were piled underneath. “I’m fine. Besides, you need me. We both know I’m the smart one.”

He blew raspberries on her cheek, making her laugh. “You’re still so ballsy after all these years,” he said.

She beamed with pleasure, presenting him with the childishness that she never let anyone else see anymore. Whenever she let loose like this, he remembered why he corrected people whenever they claimed that Satoru took after him. Maybe in some ways, he did, but he was mostly his mother, not just in looks. Satoru had inherited her determination and wit, her stubbornness and kindness. He had her immense intelligence and haughtiness mixed with a soft spot for friendship and loyalty.

But he also had his mother’s darkness.

Satoshi knew to worry about Satoru because he had witnessed Sayuri take vengeance into her own hands, and it was not pretty. Imagine the tragedy she could cause with the Six Eyes’ power.

Sayuri’s amusement ebbed, and she squeezed Satoshi’s cheeks together with her left hand. “Talk to me.”

“Satoru called.”

“Is he alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think he just needed someone to vent to. He sounds like he wants children, but you know their circumstances.”

Sayuri grabbed the nearby chair and sat with her legs pulled to her chest. “They’ve been engaged three years. It makes perfect sense. Were you able to placate him?”

“Maybe?” Satoshi rubbed his stump. It was a nervous gesture he tried to do away with, but he couldn’t stop. “You know, I was convinced that I’d stop worrying so much about that boy at some point. But every text and call puts me on the verge of cardiac arrest. It’s not like I can tell him. It won’t make sense to him—not when he's that strong.”

Sayuri picked at the loose thread on her robe's seam as she watched him. “I think we’re lucky that we get to worry about him.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I just wish that what I do for him is enough, but I’m getting old, and I already feel myself slowing down. The moment I stop trying, I worry that someone’s going to get to him, you know? He can probably defend himself, but he’s still my son." He reclined on his chair and ran his palm down his face. "Ah, I’m not making sense.”

“I think your struggle lies in your opposing feelings about him as a sorcerer and him as your offspring,” she said softly. “You don’t have to reconcile both, Satoshi. If you want to simply treat him as your son, then that’s okay.”

Satoshi touched her earlobe, squeezing and tugging with his thumb and forefinger. Twenty-seven years of marriage, he still had not run out of things to love about her, even if it was just her ears. “There used to be a time when I was more mature than you.”

She scoffed. “That was so long ago. It almost feels like a dream.”

He pouted and brought up his foot to her face. Sayuri looked like she might gag, but before he could laugh, she grabbed him by the ankle and bit down hard. He shrieked and pulled his foot back.

“Why’d you do that?” he exclaimed.

“The audacity of you to complain after shoving your toe up my nostril!”

Satoshi studied her teeth marks on his skin. “I thought you were trying to bite my foot off. Do you want to be married to a one-armed, single-footed hotshot?”

She slapped his hand away and rubbed the teeth mark with her thumb. “I didn’t even break your skin.”

“Remember when Satoru had this intense biting phase when he was four?” He flicked her forehead. “I suspected you taught him to do that.”

Sayuri smiled shyly. “It was cute. He was snapping his teeth at everyone who touched him, and they had no choice but to let me see him.”

Satoshi remembered it well. Satoru had scared all of his caretakers with his attempts to bite them, and after two days of this torture, the elders ordered Sayuri to get him to stop. That was one of the many instances wherein he almost risked everything by whisking his wife and son away from the estate. He could not bear her desperation and their son’s quiet frustration over their absence.

He hopped off the chair and got changed before reminiscing soured his mood. “Do you want fast food for breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll go get us some on my way back from an inspection.” He kissed her temple, letting his lips linger on her skin longer than usual before whispering, “I’ll be back. I promise.”

For months, Satoshi had religiously followed the same morning routine. He woke up at four in the morning, got some work done, and drove off to Uji City at five, just before sunrise. He would inspect two to three of their properties, focusing mainly on infrastructures that the clan was developing for a new business venture, and then bought breakfast from one of the many cafes near the outskirts of the city.

By seven-thirty, he would be coursing the backroads that skirted the clan’s green tea plantation, usually with his only hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

If Sayuri had worked late the previous night, he would return to their room and find her still sprawled on the bed. He’d take a nap beside her until they had no choice but to get up, and they would not see each other until sunset.

Today was no different.

Satoshi got his usual bagel and ordered an extra-greasy cheeseburger for Sayuri. He paid for extra pickles because she would complain if it was not stuffed full beneath the beef patty. Consulting his wristwatch, he noted that he was still on schedule and sent a few texts before taking the usual backroads that nobody else used at this time of the day.

Satoshi watched the changing colors of the sky through the windshield. Grey outlined the large clusters of clouds on the horizon, hinting at the possibility of rain later in the afternoon. After taking a sip of his coffee, he checked his phone and saw no replies.

Movement from his periphery made him step hard on his brakes. The coffee spilled on the center console and drenched the paper bag where the burger and bagels sat.

Satoshi stared at the white, fluffy cat in the middle of the road. It turned its head, revealing blue eyes like marble.

He put down his coffee cup and undid his seatbelt. His phone buzzed. Before he could reach for it, a flash of white light blinded him, and the car went up in flames.

One deep breath, and then another.

Utahime focused on keeping herself as steady as possible despite the gale of cursed energy that the massive blanched head was breathing her way. Around her, the darkness moved as though the tunnel itself had come to life. An icy chill emanated from the walls, and the ground beneath her thrummed. She was not sure whether she was losing her balance or the earth was quaking sporadically. Without a doubt, this was Getou sending her a message.

He was in control, and all of them were at his mercy.

“Let them go," she said.

Suguru Getou propped his chin on his fist and studied the carnage behind her with a frown. Utahime could not get herself to look anymore; Mariko still screamed, but less in fear and more in agony. Wet, slippery sounds followed by sharp gnashing hinted at the curses ripping apart flesh and consuming it. Natsuki’s groans punctuated the curses’ chewing, and if she listened hard enough, she could still pick up Noritoshi’s grunts. He was the only one whose state she wasn’t sure of.

Judging by Mariko and Natsuki’s injuries, they were far from salvation. She would be lucky enough to pull them out of this tunnel with half of their bodies still intact. It was a cruel fact to accept, but as an instructor, she had to see things in black and white in terms of their survival. Noritoshi might be the only person she could save; to accomplish that, she would have to find the right opportunity to use her technique.

Sweat trickled down the side of her face and made its way to her neck. Her eardrums throbbed with the pounding of her heart. It was as though the two organs were one, and it was eager to drown out the sounds of death.

With her gaze boring on Getou, she made a hand seal with her right hand.

Gojo had spent weeks helping her create shortcuts for her techniques, which initially required too many steps to activate fully. He had studied her dances and moved her fingers around to gauge which contortions abbreviated the commands in her rituals.

Granted, the shortcuts made her technique weaker, but that was better than nothing. This might be all she needed to buy herself time.

Getou sighed just as she was hooking her middle finger and lowering the tip to her ring finger.

“This isn’t easy for me either, you know?” He stepped out of the curse’s mouth and approached her. “The world I’m building is for people like them, but sacrifices must be made to achieve such a lofty goal. I’m sure you understand. Lineage sorcerers like yourself function in a society rich with intrigue and traditions. Sacrifices are not new to a shrine maiden—I mean, priestess like yourself.”

As he spoke, he grazed his thumb along the inside of her wrist and slowly intertwined their fingers, undoing her hand seal in the process.

The feeling of his flesh on hers made her gasp. Every muscle in her body hummed with primal fear, and as he ran his thumb back and forth on her skin, the twisting in her gut intensified. She wanted to faint. She wanted to throw up. Utahime blinked hard, but her vision was already blurring.

In her mind, she was back in the basement of the pachinko parlor in Minami-ku, staring at Himari and the web of muscles that connected her to other women’s corpses.

A part of her was certain that he was here to finally kill her. This was the fulfillment of that ritual he had forced her into; upon her death, a new Blood Maiden would come into power. The cult would enjoy fresh imperium. It would evolve into a new monster, and it might destroy the Jujutsu World this time.

Still, that did not mean she could give up. By any luck, Haruki had gotten away to call for backup. If not, then her priority was to save him and Noritoshi. Her life in exchange for her younger brother’s and the next heir of the Kamo clan seemed like a good bargain to her.

She looked up at Getou. His long hair swayed in the subtle breeze that blew in from the curse. The Buddhist robes he wore rustled, but despite their layers, she could see that his physique was much broader than Gojo's. She searched for familiarity, but his face revealed nothing. He was not the same man she knew from Jujutsu High. They looked the same but she could not find the Getou she once knew. 

“If it’s me you’re after, then take me,” she whispered. “I won’t resist. Just let them go."

"Really, Senpai. You're not in the position to be making demands."

"Even Haibara would be appalled by the measures you’re taking to overthrow the system that failed the both of you.”

He stopped moving his thumb. Utahime held her breath, waiting. Slowly, he dropped his head to meet her gaze.

“We only got to bury half of his body," she ventured. Maybe he was still there. She might be able to appeal to the old Getou after all. "At least allow these children the dignity of returning whole. Tell your curses to stop now.”

Getou’s expression softened, and he sighed quietly. “I’m not as cruel as you think, Utahime-senpai.”

At once, the gnashing sounds stopped. She peered over her shoulder and saw that Natsuki had lost his entire left hip and leg while Mariko’s legs were gone from the knee down. Darkness cloaked Noritoshi and the curse that had pierced him, and she could not see how injured he was. Hopefully, he had not lost a limb yet.

“There’s not a day that I don’t think about Haibara,” Getou said, startling her. “My first thoughts when I saw his corpse were about pain. If there were any kindness I could’ve extended to him in his last moments, it would’ve been a swift death.”

Utahime could feel the seconds ticking by. They were running out of time. “Please. Take me and kill me. Let them die in peace.”

“Ah, now you’re the one who’s being cruel.” Getou produced a dagger from his robes and pressed it into her hand. “We can’t leave them here to bleed to death. As a mercy, I’ll allow you to kill them.”

“What?”

He turned her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle push towards her students. “It’s better if you end their misery now. My curses will resume with their meal soon, which will mean more screaming and pain. But if you just give their throats a quick slash or their chests a good stab, then it’ll be over for them in a jiffy.”

The curses twitched. Half-chewed flesh slithered from the corners of their mouths. Mariko sobbed and begged to be killed. Natsuki muttered her name over and over, and their voices converged until all she could hear were those two things.

Utahime-sensei. Sensei, kill me.

She dragged her feet towards Natsuki first, taking small, careful steps on the blood pooling on the asphalt as her mind raced for alternatives. She was now far enough from Getou to activate her Zero Forbidden Zone, which meant she could exorcise the curses and free her students. Mariko and Natsuki would still bleed to death, but Noritoshi could still have the strength to run away. She could hold back Getou long enough for him to escape.

Utahime crouched beside Natsuki’s head, the dagger shaking in her grip.

That plan had two faults. Noritoshi could be more injured than she expected, and Getou had looped the place.

Did that mean they had been here longer in real-time? If so, Gojo could be on his way to save them. He might even destroy the tunnel at any moment and spare them all.

She pressed the tip of the blade to his chest.

But time manipulation could also be reversed. If she were Getou, she would ensure that the equivalent of the time they spent inside would be much shorter in real-time. They could be here for days, and only thirty minutes would’ve lapsed outside. Jujutsu HQ would not send backup unless Haruki raised the alarm, and that was if Getou had not already dealt with him.

The idea of Haruki’s corpse made her sick. Bile rose up her throat, but she forced it down. As long as there was one person left to save, she would not give up. She could not surrender now.

Utahime considered alternatives, but there were none. Engaging Getou in battle would result in her students’ continued suffering, which would ensure Noritoshi’s death. Even if she managed to exorcise the three curses all at once, Getou could easily produce more to torment them.

Tears spilled from Utahime’s eyes, but she could no longer feel anything. Her body caved and became an empty shell; she floated somewhere nearby, influencing it, but she was not fully present. When her hands moved, it was not hers. She was a bystander, a spectator to the woman who had her face. 

This woman pushed the blade into Natsuki’s chest. He went slack. She could not comprehend what she had done. Instead of his corpse, she saw flashes of him in the past. Natsuki cussing her out for refusing him a mission. Natsuki apologizing with a box of chocolate cookies. Natsuki crying when she shielded him from a curse. Natsuki cheering everyone up after a deadly assignment.

A glimmer of light remained on the whites of his eyes, but no life. Her tears kept coming.

Her feet led her to Mariko next. She clung to Utahime with weak, bloodied hands. This, Utahime felt. It grounded her a little, towed her back into herself so that she remembered the times they had held each other before.

Mariko's giving her a high-five after she killed a second-grade curse for the first time. Mariko hiding behind her when she broke Natsuki's phone by accident. Mariko asking her what to do if an older sorcerer harassed her. Mariko bawling like a child after Utahime dealt with this sorcerer.

The same hands clawed at her, leaving red streaks on the sleeves of her kosode.

No. Please save me. Don’t kill me, sensei.  I can still live.

Utahime pressed two fingers between Noriko’s breasts. She closed her eyes. She pushed the dagger in. Blood soaked her fingertips, and once she could no longer feel any heartbeat, she retracted the blade. She made a move to stand, but her knees gave out. Utahime fell to the ground, barely catching herself. Blood splattered on her face and clothes.

Somehow, she managed to drag her feet towards Noritoshi.

He stared at her with wild eyes; his breathing strained under the weight of the curse, which latched him onto the wall with its tentacles. He could survive, but Getou would not let him live. The entire mission was designed to fail, and regardless of what solutions Utahime came up with now, she would not be able to win against Getou.

Utahime looked at Noritoshi’s face. They had not spent enough time together to make memories. Too bad. She was convinced Noritoshi would be one of her best students yet.

Utahime raised the dagger and stopped. Realization crept up to her like a moth inching its way toward the flame. Its battered wings moved in the air, soundless and frail, but with intention.

She glanced at Getou, who watched her with a patient look of an adult supervising a child. Discreetly, she lowered her gaze to his feet and then trained it back to Noritoshi.

Earlier, when Getou left the curse’s mouth, he did not actually step out of its body. He was standing on another appendage, which she could not see but had felt on the ground. This must be the reason she did not detect him at once. He had hidden his presence within a special-grade curse, and judging by his actions, he had no intention of leaving his residuals in this tunnel.

For what reason, she could not fathom yet. All she knew was that Getou was unlikely to move from that spot.

The moth in her mind flapped its wings, its flight gaining momentum.

She stepped up to Noritoshi and pressed the tip of the blade to his chest. “Kenichi,” she said.

Noritoshi scowled. Getou made no comment. Noritoshi's brows relaxed—he understood. Utahime shoved the blade into his flesh. She pierced him downward so that the dagger went through layers of muscles but hit no organ. Noritoshi cried out as blood spilled from his fresh wound.

Utahime pulled the dagger out with one hand, and with the other, she tugged her necklace loose. She tucked it into his uniform in the guise of comforting him.

“Kenichi, don’t fight it. I’m sorry. Rest in peace now.”

Noritoshi gripped her hand, squeezing until his strength left him, and his skin went cold.

Too cold, too fast.

She sighed in relief. He had given his confirmation, and all she had to do was drive Getou away.

The urge to exorcise the three curses persisted, but she could not activate her Zero Forbidden Zone without affecting Noritoshi’s cursed energy. The moment her range hit him, he would bleed out, and all of this would have been for nothing. After all, Noritoshi was the one part of this mission that nobody had accounted for. If Getou had not reacted to Noritoshi yet, then there was a chance he did not recognize him and his Blood Manipulation Technique. He might still be thinking that this was Kenichi and that he was dead.

Utahime flipped the dagger and turned to face Getou.

“Utahime-senpai is scary when she’s angry,” he teased. “Aren’t you going to fight me? I’m sure you’re itching to avenge your dear students.”

She performed a series of hand seals as she walked towards him, making the range as specific as possible to spare Noritoshi. “You’re not getting away with this.”

Getou opened his eyes wide, affecting surprise. “But I am. You’re not.”

She activated her technique and held the dagger in front of her. If she had to die for him to leave, then she would make her death happen. “I’ll make sure they find our corpses here. Yours and mine.”

He laughed. The sound bounced throughout the walls. She had just lunged towards him when he materialized behind her, using his curses as stepping stones. The immensity of his cursed energy crippled her, sending her skidding across the ground with the wind knocked out of her. Getou grabbed her by the waist and cushioned her fall as they landed inside the special grade’s mouth.

Utahime flinched in his grip, and although she tried, she could not keep her technique up. It felt like holding her breath underwater. Even though her mind ordered her body to remain submerged, she still swam to the surface.

Damn him. He augmented his cursed energy to unnatural proportions by utilizing his arsenal of curses. The second he entered her forbidden zone, her technique automatically targeted thousands of cursed spirits at once.

She lurched forward, catching herself in time to avoid falling face-first on the curse’s tongue. As she struggled to catch her breath, the stink from its sponge-like appendage wafted to her nose, making her gag. Her vision blurred. She was going to pass out, but not yet. She could not let it end here.

Getou knelt beside her. He ran his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. “I suggest avoiding that in the future. Sorcerers like Satoru and me have way too much cursed energy, and I would hate to see your Forbidden Zones backfiring again.” He tutted. “That Satoru. Over three years together, and he hadn’t allowed you to test your technique on him? Well, I suppose he was thinking you’d never go up against me. But voila! Here we are, sparring just like in the old days."

She raised her middle finger. "Fuck you."

He laughed. "Such a spitfire! I've always admired your spirit, Senpai. This is why I think we'll get along just fine. Suguru Getou and Utahime Iori—accomplices. Sounds good, right?”

Utahime's elbow gave out, and she fell on her side. Without the voice or the strength to fight back, she did the only thing she could do—she spat on him.

Her saliva landed on his chest.

“Oh? Why so upset? Didn’t you murder your own students?” He swung his hand towards their corpses. “Isn’t it your residuals they will find on their bodies? I gave you a choice, and you chose to kill them. If they ask about the curses, can they deny the possibility that you have tamed them without your master’s knowledge? Perhaps the power got to your head, and you think you can build a better world for sorcerers than Jujutsu High envisioned for us all. You were a passionate instructor with a vision, and you were sick of the corruption and the power play within the elites of the sorcery scene. You have finally come to claim your rightful inheritance as a member of the Sasaki lineage, and the lives you took today were the cost you willingly paid. That's what they're going to think when they see your sacrifice. This masterpiece."

Getou slipped his arm around her body and transferred her to his lap. She slammed her hand on his throat, digging her fingernails into his skin until she drew blood. Still, he held her against him, his smile only broadening the more she tried to choke him.

“Didn’t we plan this, Utahime-Senpai? All those years ago in Kanagawa, when I told you about creating a curse-less world, weren’t you the one who told me about the Sasaki?”

Utahime froze. She remembered. The two of them walking together in the streets of Kanagawa in winter, buying Christmas presents for Shoko and Gojo. He turned to her and asked if she had ever considered it. Addressing the root of the problem. Genocide.

She told him that somebody had centuries prior. Our founding family. The Sasaki.

Tenderly, Getou brushed her hair from her face and wiped the blood off her cheeks. “You were lost, but now you are found. In my compassion, I took you under my wing. Now you are my Blood Maiden, and I am your god.”

Chapter Text

Do you know how to play dead, Noritoshi?

Noritoshi opened his eyes and saw old man Eisuke's face hovering over his. Hot breaths that reeked of sake warmed Noritoshi's lips, and from this close, he could smell the pungent mix of herbal medicine in his pores. When Eisuke smiled, open-mouthed like a child, he could see the man's missing canine and the indentations on his purple tongue.

Every clan had its crazy person, and this was theirs. Eisuke Kamo, the youngest brother of his grandfather. Gifted with the Blood Manipulation technique but had neither the stamina nor the skill to maximize it. The sorcerers in their family said that was the irony of their technique. When it ran in your veins, it either lifted you closer to the Kami or turned you into a joke.

Such was the case with Eisuke and a few dozen Kamo members who had a weak form of the legendary technique. They possessed impressive control over their blood, but not enough to execute complex attacks, to distinguish themselves, and to uphold the Kamo's reputation.

Not enough to supplant Hajime Kamo and rule the clan.

That was why they brought Noritoshi in. His blood manipulation technique was considered pure—a full manifestation of the clan’s pride. With him, they would reclaim their glory just as the Gojo clan did with the Six Eyes’ resurgence and spread their claws throughout the entire Jujutsu world.

Yet it was this power—the same one that granted him the wealth and the influence that many sorcerers killed for— that caused his suffering. They removed him from his mother, and not a day had passed since their separation that he wanted to fight his way out of this place.

Sometimes, when he was training, he wished someone would accidentally kill him. He was lonely and alone, and it was after getting bested by his cousin that he remained lying in the courtyard until everybody left. Until the sky darkened and the first pitter-patter of rain appeared. Until he opened his eyes and saw Eusuke Kamo grinning at him and asking if he knew how to play dead.

It’s a technique for the weak, he’d said. It was true. This was Eisuke’s specialty, and although the practice was frowned upon, many of the weaker Kamo sorcerers knew how to do it. They could lower their blood pressure, weaken their pulse, and reduce their core temperature just enough to stay alive while mimicking the appearance of a fresh corpse.

The night under the rain, when he doubted his ability to change his clan and welcome his mother there, Eisuke taught him the trick.

It’s easier for people like you, Eisuke told him. Because you know how it feels. Your loneliness has brought you close to death already. So just tell your body to die.

Never in his life did he imagine he’d play dead for real.

Noritoshi blinked, and he was sure he was awake now. Hazy orange orbs floated above him before coming into focus. The sound of water dripping echoed from somewhere in the distance. Noritoshi inhaled, and the dank smell of this dark, claustrophobic place pervaded his senses. The scent carried down hints of iron on his tongue, and in an instant, everything rushed back to him. 

Without moving, he scanned the place and noted the absence of curses. The very curse that had pinned him to the wall was long gone, and the only evidence of the carnage that transpired were Mariko and Natuski’s corpses.

He rolled on his side to test his strength. The curse had left him with severe injuries, but he had hardened his body before its tentacles pierced him too deeply. His stab wound from Utahime had also stopped bleeding, and although it hurt, the cut was more or less superficial. She had dug the dagger into his flesh downward so that she did not damage any organ, just tissues. While he had hardened his chest to block the blade, it was Utahime’s precision that prevented the injury from getting worse. She practically used his skin as a sheath for the dagger, and in the hands of a less experienced sorcerer, the injury would’ve required more from his technique. It was as though she knew how much cursed energy he could utilize without that mad sorcerer Getou detecting it, and she designed his injury around the fact.

When people told him that Utahime was a master of cursed energy manipulation, he did not expect it to be to this extent.

With a choked groan, he pushed himself off the ground and stumbled to his feet. His vision swayed, but he could see the arch of light on the other end of the tunnel. Part of him wanted to carry Mariko and Natsuki’s bodies out of there, but the other part could think only of Haruki.

A sob caught in his throat. He pursed his lips to suppress it. Just over an hour ago, the three of them were seated at the back of the car, getting acquainted. He thought he would have years left to learn from them. To work with them. Now, they were half-eaten corpses, their fixed expressions relaying the horror of their final moments. Walking out without them felt like another gross betrayal, but he had to do what Utahime did. He had to prioritize the one person who might still be alive.

Every step sent fresh shards of pain across his body, causing his muscles to cramp and his insides to burn. Noritoshi limped forward while taking measured breaths, hoping that the furious ringing in his ears would cease if he moved slowly enough. When still, the ringing persisted, he shook his head and blinked hard to stay aware of his surroundings.

Noritoshi checked his phone. No signal. He cursed under his breath and carried on.

After what felt like forever, he stepped into the light, and he saw only white. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Did he die?

Noritoshi blinked, and a new image appeared before him. The red on the asphalt registered to him first. Following the trail of blood, he saw Haruki lying face down on the ground, covered in blood.

“Shit.” Noritoshi half-jogged to Haruki in spite of his body’s protests and struggled to find a pulse. It took him several moments, but he felt a steady throbbing beneath his jaw, and Noritoshi almost collapsed in relief.

He was about to call Jujutsu High when he heard cars approaching. Soon, the managers and medics descended upon them, with Todo, Momo, and Kusakabe in tow.

Haruki must’ve been able to call for help after all.

Noritoshi had only a vague recollection of the managers arriving and carrying them away. It was more the exhaustion of using his technique to harden his body and prevent blood loss than the severity of his injuries that pushed him in and out of unconsciousness. All he remembered doing, as several hands probed and poked his body, was yelling that Utahime had been abducted and that she did not intend to hurt them. A mixture of voices insisted that he keep calm and rest for the meantime, but he demanded to speak to Principal Gakuganji at once.

If they could, would they contact Satoru Gojo for him, too?

He must have eventually slipped under because the next he was fully awake, he was staring at the bright fluorescent light of the school’s infirmary. Momo and Todo stood at his bedside, murmuring to one another. Momo squeezed her wrist repeatedly as she spoke, and Todo nodded with a grim expression. That he was somber for once unnerved Noritoshi.

Momo gasped. “Finally! You’re awake!”

Noritoshi raised himself to his elbow, but pain blossomed in his chest and shoulders, making it impossible for him to hold his weight.

“Stay put,” Todo said as he guided him back down. “You were out cold for a few hours. Your wound will reopen if you move too suddenly."

“You don’t understand! Utahime-sensei, she’s—” He stopped. The mention of their teacher’s name made Momo and Todo go pale.  “What? Have they found her? She was abducted by a sorcerer called Suguru Getou, and he forced her to kill Mariko and Natsuki. I only survived because she thought of a way to spare me and—where is Haruki? Her younger brother was hurt, too. How is he? Is he…?”

Momo’s eyes welled up, and she bowed her head.

Todo touched Noritoshi’s shoulder lightly. “Haruki is in the Koseikai Takeda Hospital. They transferred him when his condition worsened.”

“Will he survive? Does his family know?”

“Friend, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the investigation so far shows that only Utahime-sensei and your team were in that tunnel. We believe Principal Gakuganji and the higher-ups are keen on your interrogation, but nothing in the crime scene supports your claims.” Todo lowered his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “A curse caused Haruki’s injuries. The general consensus is that Utahime-sensei is responsible for all of it.”

The words registered in his brain, but he could not process them. Noritoshi clutched his side to stop his injury from throbbing. Warmth spread beneath the bandages, but he didn't have the strength to command his blood. “Don’t tell me you believe them. Utahime-sensei would never hurt her students. I was there. I was witness to everything.”

“I believe you!” Momo blurted. She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “It’s just that it doesn’t make sense. She never did anything suspicious. I said so when they were questioning us, but Principal Gakuganji wouldn’t listen.”

Todo peered above the partition to check for eavesdroppers. “The principal advised us to keep our opinions to ourselves. If we’re asked, then we tell the truth—we never suspected Utahime-sensei, and she had not once done anything to hurt us. Otherwise, we should concede to the results of the investigation.”

Noritoshi let his head drop to the pillow. He felt faint. He blocked the light by putting his arm over his eyes. The drugs in his system were making him lethargic again, but he couldn’t go to sleep now. He shouldn’t.

“I should speak to the principal,” Noritoshi said. “Todo, can you help me go to him?”

“I don’t think your family will allow that.”

“What?”

“Your father and brother are on campus,” Momo said. “We’re only here because they think we're harmless, but they’re not allowing any school staff apart from the doctor to go near you. I heard they’re planning to take you back to your estate as soon as you’re ready to move.”

Noritoshi exclaimed that moving him would be impossible in light of the incident, but that was exactly what happened.

Within the next hour, Hajime Kamo, along with Noritoshi’s older brother, Hiroyuki, had arranged for the Kamo clan’s medical unit to bring him to the estate. That he was permitted to leave campus during an active investigation dumbfounded him. He tried to tell his father that he needed to remain in Jujutsu High to give his witness account, but Hajime only struck him in the head to silence him.

“You’re sticking your neck out for that bitch? She probably did this to get revenge for that scar of hers,” he said. “And stop yapping about Suguru Getou. She’ll likely end up in the Bingo Book with him for her crimes. The two of them deserve to die together.”

The stress was too much. Noritoshi threw up.

By seven o’clock, he was reclined on a hospital cot in his clan’s Kyoto estate, hooked to an IV drip and machines that monitored his vital signs. He stared at his lap. As soon as he was alone, he brought out Utahime’s necklace with the infinity pendant and the engagement ring. Momo smuggled it for him as he was being removed from the school infirmary. Now, he couldn’t stop studying it. Blood stains marred the chain, and he wondered if it would ever come off.

What was happening? Why did nobody believe him?

The door opened. Noritoshi stashed the necklace under his blanket.

Hiroyuki entered and studied Noritoshi’s chart. For a second, Noritoshi considered telling his older brother, but even if he begged, chances were slim that he'd listen. He couldn't even remember the last time Hiro paid attention to anything that did not contribute to his ambitions.

It had been his brother’s project to create an extensive medical unit inside the estate. Many believed he poured his time and energy into the scientific study of the Kamo’s Blood Manipulation technique to compensate for the fact that he did not possess it. In place of an innate technique was a curiosity and intelligence that made up for any of his weaknesses in sorcery. The medical aspect of his ventures was just the beginning, however. Noritoshi knew his plans. He wanted to be the key to Noritoshi’s success as a Blood Manipulator. With Hiro’s brain and Noritoshi’s skills, the Kamo clan would be unstoppable.

Sometimes, he believed that was the only reason his brother cared for him at all.

“I don’t need all of these,” Noritoshi said, gesturing to the instruments attached to him. “I can recover just by resting now.”

Hiro grabbed a chair and sat next to the IV drip. “I’m not confining you here to coddle you. Father and the elders agreed that it would be best to keep you out of Jujutsu High until the higher-ups decide Utahime Iori’s fate. If the evidence points to her guilt, then you defending her will look like you’re siding with a murderer. Don’t forget who you were named after. The rest of the Jujutsu World hasn’t.” He reclined on his seat and rubbed his eyes, grunting in annoyance. His complexion had an unhealthy pallor to it, and he had lost more weight since they last saw each other. “Moreover, the only person who could confirm what really happened is missing, presumed dead.”

“Who?”

“Satoshi Gojo, the Six Eyes’ father. There’s a bit of a ripple in the sorcery scene in his absence. The man was brutal, but he kept his son in check. Without him, Lady Sayuri has free reign over the Gojo clan, and that woman will kill us all through Satoru Gojo if she has her way.”

A wave of nausea passed over Noritoshi.

Satoru Gojo lost both his father and his fiancé on the same day?

Footsteps thundered in the corridor. Hiro and Noritoshi straightened up at once. With matching scowls, the brothers watched the door as they listened to the footsteps grow louder and louder. As soon as it sprang open, Hiro leaped to his feet, and Noritoshi tore the tube attached to his arm.

Two of their cousins burst inside, pale and panting. Hiro demanded to know what the panic was all about.

“Satoru Gojo is inside the estate. He’s demanding to speak to Noritoshi.”

Noritoshi did not waste any time. Although in pain, he got dressed as quickly as he could and walked out of the infirmary with his brother’s help. As they made their way to the front of the estate, their cousins told them how Gojo had forced his way in. The sentries had attempted to stop him, but what harm could they do to him with his Infinity on? Gojo didn’t even have to lift a finger.

Lightning struck, followed by the low grumble of thunder. A faint sheet of drizzle blurred the courtyard, but he had no trouble spotting the massive silhouette of his father standing a few feet away from Satoru Gojo. Lightning washed the courtyard in white, blinding him for half a second as he approached. In the time it took for his vision to adjust, all he could see in the distance were Gojo's haunting blue eyes, boring into him like a separate entity.

“There he is.” Gojo smiled and waved. “Feeling better?”

Noritoshi hobbled to him, but Lord Kamo stretched out his hand to block his path.

“State your business with my son,” he said.

Gojo sighed dramatically. “I’m school staff. The school has questions.”

“Noritoshi is not fit for interrogation. The higher-ups have agreed to let him convalesce here.”

“I’m fine!” Noritoshi stepped around his father. That he was still standing despite the fear curdling in his gut was a miracle. Satoru Gojo could easily eradicate the entire estate with everyone in it, and he felt he was the only person stopping him from doing so. “I would like to speak to Lord Gojo about the matter. There was a special grade curse in the tunnel that just disappeared. Jujutsu High wouldn’t have summoned him to Kyoto otherwise, and if that curse is at large, then whole populations must be in danger. I might be the only one who can give him information about it.”

They all knew it was a lie, but someone had to give in.

Lord Kamo pointed his finger at Gojo’s face. “Five minutes, and HQ will hear about this.”

Gojo laughed through his nose as he turned towards the garden. His open mockery painted an ugly frown on Lord Kamo's reddened face, and all Noritoshi could do was trail behind Gojo as fast as he could to get away.

Heads filled every door and window of the main house to spy on them. Children piled in the outskirts of the courtyard, keen to see the Six Eyes in person. While the adults scowled and sneered, the young ones gawked in awe. Noritoshi took in the sight of his clan and hastened to keep pace with Gojo. He did not want to think that Utahime spared him only for her fiancé to kill them all tonight.

The two of them traversed a garden that opened up to the east of the estate. Noritoshi breathed heavily as he walked, both in exhaustion and anxiety. To make matters worse, the rain intensified, and the wet soil clung to his shoes as though to stop him from moving forward. He trudged onward despite the added weight on his feet because he couldn't allow himself to slow down. He was the heir to this estate, but it was Gojo who strolled along as though it were his inheritance. He had not even glanced at Noritoshi once.

This man must be out of his mind.

“Lord Gojo—”

He stopped. Noritoshi stumbled to a halt, barely avoiding his shoulder. From this proximity, he could feel Gojo’s cursed energy rising exponentially. Perhaps this was the reason he isolated them from the main house. At the rate he was burning off cursed energy, the Kamo clan would have no choice but to see it as a precursor to an attack.

They had stopped under the awning of a shed, the roof above them just wide enough to keep most of the rain from falling on their heads.

Gojo looked down at Noritoshi, his face blank and his eyes dead. “Tell me everything. From the very beginning.”

Noritoshi spared no detail. He was woozy, and halfway, he had to cling to the wall to keep himself steady, but that didn’t stop him from relaying every bit of dialogue and struggle that transpired inside the tunnel. He reiterated that Utahime was not a traitor, and that he volunteered to speak to Gakuganji as soon as he woke up on campus.

“If you need me to come with you to Jujutsu High right now, I will. We have to stop the higher-ups from putting her in the Bingo Book. Sorcerers need to be sent out to find her and apprehend Suguru Getou.” Noritoshi wiped the rain off his lashes, and through chattering teeth, he added: "I can fight with you."

White sheets of rain blurred their surroundings. It was like they were trapped in a box, and nothing existed outside of this moment. The moment where Gojo should say or do something to rescue Utahime, but he simply stood there with an unreadable expression, motionless.

It dawned on him belatedly that Gojo would not just accept his account as the truth. Utahime had been framed, and the very same reason he was spared must be the same reason he didn’t seem to accept his story. Noritoshi was not supposed to be in that tunnel, and the Kamo removing him from the investigation so quickly must’ve come off as a sign of guilt. The Kamo had harmed Utahime and the Iori clan once. Who was to say they wouldn’t do it again?

Noritoshi dug into his pocket and pulled out the necklace. Now it made sense: “She gave me this before she stabbed me. I think it must be for you, to prove that I’m telling the truth.”

Gojo’s pupils moved slowly and landed on the necklace. A hint of emotion broke through his stoic façade, and then nothing. He took the chain from him and rubbed the pendant and the ring between his fingers. When he spoke next, his voice was softer. “I’ll need your testimony in the future.”

“You have it,” Noritoshi said. “I owe my life to Utahime-sensei.”

Gojo nodded. “That means going against Lord Kamo. Are you fine with that?”

“I said I owe my life to Utahime-sensei.” Noritoshi forced himself to stand tall, ignoring all of his aches to add credence to his speech. “Tell me what I should do to bring her back.”

Gojo clapped his shoulder twice as he walked past him. “Keep your head down and listen to your father for now. You’re no use to me if they shut you up before we make our move.”

“What’s your plan?”

Gojo raised his hand as a parting gesture.

“Lord Gojo!”

Noritoshi watched him walk under the rain. He had thought Infinity would shield him, but it seemed Gojo no longer cared.

Shoko itched for a cigarette.

She sat in the car with her hands on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the massive gate up ahead. Even through the tall, moss-covered fence that lined the property, the Kamo reeked of tradition and old money. From where she was parked on the gravel path outside the estate, she could see the towering infrastructure inside and feel the dense air of regal power that leaked from its walls. Whereas the Gojo estate brandished bold colors and lavish utilities, the Kamo held a quiet opulence that made people like her feel small.

Gojo warned her not to be fooled. The Kamo's stronghold in Kyoto was just a third of their main estate in Tokyo. Lord Kamo and the clan's primary officials simply held office here because the Gojo and the Zenin did. Tokyo may be the current heart of the Jujutsu World, but old blood pumped through the veins of Kyoto. This was where the most significant events in Jujutsu history transpired, and the Kamo relished the rituals and traditions of those times to disguise their weaknesses—and their greed.

"Take a good look at that." He had nodded at the fence as it appeared on the horizon. "That's where a lot of needless deaths were decided. Most of them ended up in your office."

Shoko hit the brakes. Sentries stepped out of the darkness, all of them dressed for combat and wielding weapons.

Gojo undid his seatbelt. "Fucking leeches."

She reminded him that they were there to gather information, not wage war, but he shut the door to her face. His arrogance and rage brought back memories of their earliest disagreements, most of which transpired in high school and involved giving each other the cold shoulder. When triggered, she would stop talking to him, and he would ignore her just because he was being ignored. Eventually, he concluded that it was his supposedly inflated ego that irked her, and in their years of friendship, she never bothered to correct him. Yes, his ego annoyed her to no end, but she did not attempt to distance herself from him numerous times because of that.

If ever she felt the need to back away from Gojo, it was because of fear.

Fear of him.

The immensity of Gojo's power endowed him with a certain level of callousness. As he stretched his limits and widened the gap between him and other sorcerers, his proclivity for violence swelled. Whenever he dropped by her office to discuss his missions, he complained about the sorcerers he killed and the curses he exorcised. Gojo detailed the boring swiftness of each mission and the anticlimactic deaths that he caused. Most of his litanies involved a breakdown of a cursed technique or a special grade's manifestation, followed by ideas on how they could've cut him. Sliced him. Maimed him, even.

Wouldn't that be thrilling?

It was like watching a man turn into a god and then into a monster. Life and death were mere words to him, but they were a reality to Shoko. After Getou defected, part of her was simply waiting for Gojo's turn to snap. After blowing up one last human head, after crushing one last curse, the dopamine rush would fail to satiate him, and he would seek his reward elsewhere. Out of curiosity, he might resort to senseless destruction.

A drastic shift happened in Gojo when his relationship with Utahime progressed. Suddenly, his litanies no longer centered on the thrill of overpowering a diety. He would waltz into her office and talk nonstop about his students. At first, it was to grumble about their lack of talent, but before long, he couldn't stop bragging about their smallest accomplishments. He'd shove his laptop to her face and explain the metrics that tracked the difference in his students' performance. Next, he was grappling with Yaga and the higher-ups to improve the mortality rate among Jujutsu High students, and when nothing changed in the system, he developed a means to code and track curse formation within Tokyo.

Yaga noticed this change, too, and claimed that sorcerers with that amount of power simply operated differently from the rest of them. Take Getou and Gojo, for example. Getou required a ludicrous ideology to give his life purpose. Gojo demanded a person. He needed someone to embody the good that eluded his nature. His parents provided him with a moral foundation, but they were not people he encountered and chose.

This was where Utahime came in.

She was the person with the morals and conviction he could anchor his life to after Getou failed him. Gojo chose Utahime the same way a god chose a mouthpiece to communicate with mortals, to display his will to spare humanity. The irony was that he selected a shrine maiden of all people, which Yaga believed was a subconscious expression of Gojo's self-perception. He was the kami, and beneath the genuine affection and loyalty he felt for her lingered the belief that she was designed for him and must, therefore, be his.

It was a logic so flawed and demented that Shoko rejected it until she couldn't.

She drove him to the Kamo estate, hoping he would not commit genocide but convinced that he might. Gojo had reverted to the man she feared as soon as Utahime slipped through his fingers, and yet she could not leave him.

This was the mystery of their relationship, and she was not sure whether to attribute it to the shared trauma of Getou's defection or the fondness they denied to have for one another. Neither Gojo nor Shoko had siblings, and so did not know how brothers and sisters behaved with one another, but Utahime remarked that they had the dynamics down to a tee. Your sibling was the one person you could hate and criticize more than anyone, but they were also the last person you would ever abandon.

Perhaps it was also this familial undertone in their relationship that made her protective of him. 

When news reached them of Satoshi’s incident, Gojo had just boarded a flight to Shikoku. Shoko had to sit with the information for almost two hours before Gojo landed and she could tell him. Yaga had canceled his mission by then, and Ijichi worked on booking him a new return flight. Shoko was still talking to Gojo on the phone when Ijichi, panicked and sweating, announced that all flights home were either canceled or delayed. Inclement weather made flying directly to Kyoto impossible, and soon enough, flights to Tokyo were postponed as well.

“Shoko, go to Uji for me,” Gojo said.

Shoko dropped everything and was preparing to leave, but Yaga returned to the staff room with his eyes bugged out and the veins in his neck popping.

She knew then that something worse had happened, but she did not expect it to be as bad as Utahime murdering her students.

Or at least, that was how Jujutsu HQ’s initial reports framed it to be.

Shoko dropped the call on Gojo at once. She gave herself two minutes to process the news and calm herself before relaying it to Gojo. As she read him the report on the Jujutsu HQ portal, only his quickened breathing punctuated the ambient noise from his line. And then nothing. Yaga motioned for Shoko to put the call on speaker mode, but even then, all they could hear were the airport announcements.

“Satoru,” Yaga said firmly. “Focus on getting back here as soon as possible. That’s the only thing you have to do for now. The investigation on both incidents is still ongoing, and I’ll keep you updated myself.”

Silence.

Ijichi, drenched in sweat, glanced at Yaga and Shoko before typing away on his laptop. “Three o’clock!” He snatched the phone from Shoko and dictated the flight details to Gojo. “I’ll email this to you right now and fetch you from the airport myself. Would you want to drive straight to Kyoto or take the Nozomi?”

“Yaga,” Gojo said. “Send Ijichi to Kyoto to coordinate with Gakuganji. Shoko, I need you in Uji in case they find Satoshi. If there’s no progress, go to the Kyoto branch and let Gakuganji know that I want you to do the autopsy on the students. Try to get your hands on Noritoshi Kamo if you can, but stand back if his clan intervenes.”

Yaga ran his hand down his face while nodding. He would have to wrestle with the higher-ups and do some mental gymnastics to keep the Tokyo branch operating as usual without Shoko and Ijichi, but he looked determined to make it work. “I’ll give them the green light if you promise one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t do anything reckless. That’s the quickest way to lose.”

Gojo hung up.

In the time it took for him to return to Tokyo, Shoko had spoken on the phone with the Kyoto branch's medical unit and gone to Uji to coordinate with Hanabi. Akira had sealed off the entire plantation and sent the Fugen to scour every inch of the area for hints on Satoshi’s possible whereabouts. Before Hanabi allowed her to go, Shoko asked how Lady Sayuri was doing, and she said that only Akira had seen her since they discovered the car. She had not eaten or left her room, and Mari and Daichi would not permit even the servants to attend to her.

“The news is spreading to other clans,” Hanabi told her. “Everybody will be waiting to see what Satoru does next. If this is the Sasaki’s doing, then they’re playing their goddamn cards well.”

Shoko understood what she meant. With this many eyes on Gojo, he wouldn’t be able to participate in Utahime’s case as freely as he wanted to. It wasn’t simply the repercussions of making their relationship public that would restrict him; it was the dangers of being affiliated with a suspected criminal. Any action he took to defend her would reflect on the rest of his clan, and they could either come out as justice seekers or corroborators of her crime. The Kamo and Zenin would absolutely love it if the Gojo were viewed as the latter because it would then be easier to kick them out of Jujutsu HQ.

Gojo was en route to Kyoto when Shoko arrived at Koseikai Takeda Hospital. It was the only private hospital in the immediate vicinity where Jujutsu HQ had any influence, and since she worked in Tokyo, she had no idea what to expect from the authorities inside. It wasn't the haggling that she dreaded, per se. Time was of the essence, and based on the Kyoto branch's report, Haruki needed her ASAP.

Shoko had just stepped out of the car when she spotted Kazuo sitting on the curb in front of the hospital. Coffee stains marred his white dress shirt, and his disheveled hair revealed how he had been venting his frustrations. Kazuo stood and dialed a number, and then Shoko's phone rang. She answered as she weaved through rows of parked cars to get to him. He spotted her at once, and he scooped her up in an embrace as soon as she was within reach. 

She felt, based on how tightly he held her, that she was probably the first friendly face he’d seen since the incident. Questions careened in her mind, but there was no time to even mention Utahime. The second they parted, he grabbed her hand and led her inside.

They had to take this one problem at a time.

Shoko marched into the ICU while holding up her ID to the faces of the doctors and nurses in charge. They backed away at once, and she found Haruki in one of the cots. His chart indicated that he was in a medically induced comatose. The rest of the pages detailed his injuries and the treatments they had provided him.

With a nod at Kazuo, he pulled the partition close to keep prying eyes away.

Haruki was built like Ijichi; strong enough to create a powerful veil and survive severe blows, but not to the point that they could last long without treatment. If he hadn’t been transferred here, he would be among the bodies she’d autopsy.

Shoko pulled down the blanket and inspected his abdominal wound first. His stab wound had caused intestinal spillage, which resulted in sepsis. Haruki had undergone life-saving surgery, but he was not out of danger yet. Residuals lingered in his wound, and Shoko worked on neutralizing it before healing his intestines and all the affected organs and tissues.

Once done, she turned Haruki on his side to inspect the stab wound to his back. The location and breadth of the injury impacted nerve bundles that would've resulted in the loss of motor function in his right hand. If the managers arrived a minute later than they did, Haruki would've bled to death for sure.

This realization made Shoko pause. According to the report, it wasn't Noritoshi who called Jujutsu High but Haruki. That would mean Getou killed everyone in the tunnel save for Utahime and then attacked Haruki.

That did not make sense.

Unless Getou had become overconfident, he would've dealt with Haruki before instigating the ambush, as he was the team's only means of communication with Jujutsu High. If Kusakabe and the others arrived at the scene any sooner, Getou would've risked discovery, and his plans would've failed.

“He’s not waking up,” Kazuo said, brushing his hand lightly over Haruki’s forehead.

“Just because I’ve healed him doesn’t mean the drugs are out of his system.” Shoko lowered Haruki to his back once more and updated his chart, marking it a property of Jujutsu High at the very top. “I’ll instruct his doctor to put him out of his coma. It’ll take a bit of time since they have to reduce the meds that keep him in that state gradually.”

“Right, right.” Kazuo arranged the blanket over his brother, tucking and patting as though that would speed up his recovery.

Silence lapsed between them, and when he locked eyes with her, they both knew they could no longer ignore the crux of the matter.

With Tomoe taking Kazuo’s place by Haruki’s side, he had the freedom to go with her to Jujutsu High. It was now almost sunset, and they had just crossed the main torii when she saw Gojo walking to the main building with Principal Gakuganji and Master Iori.

The three of them talked in hushed voices and maintained neutral expressions, but Shoko could guess by their proximity and body language that their discussion was anything but amicable. Gakuganji and Master Iori shared an air of doom and mild disdain, while Gojo brandished an indifference that bordered on insolence in the way he carried himself.

When Gakuganji reached the top of the steps that led to the main building, he swung his cane towards Gojo as if to strike him. Gojo shrugged and turned his head away, and Master Iori followed Gakuganji inside.

Gojo noticed them soon after, and he flipped his hand up in greeting. It was so casual, so reminiscent of their younger years, that Shoko felt her heart break. The gravity of their situation did not crash on her until she saw him. At that moment, she felt like that desperate high school girl again after a botched mass exorcism, summoning Gojo because she knew that if anybody could fix the problem, it was him.

Shoko had to hold her breath and shut her eyes to reign in her emotions. Kazuo touched her shoulder to ask if she was alright, but it was Gojo who brought her back. Before she knew it, he was standing in front of her, and he flicked her forehead so hard it hurt.

“Not here,” he said, softly. “We still have lots to do.”

Shoko rubbed her forehead and wiped her tears as discreetly as she could.  “Have you been to Uji?”

“Hanabi and I agreed that it would be best to handle the big problems first.” Gojo turned to Kazuo. “How’s Haruki?”

Kazuo opened and closed his mouth in false starts. He reached out and clutched Gojo’s jacket. “Listen, there’s something—”

“Master Iori told me.” Gojo’s face darkened in a way that Shoko had never seen before. It was as though the blue of his eyes dimmed, and they resembled the ocean's depths instead of the morning sky. He was doing his best to keep his cool, but she could tell at a glimpse when he was a hairs-breadth from snapping. “Now I’ll tell you what I told your father. If Haruki was used against Utahime, or if he has any hand in this whatsoever, this is on your conscience. Find a way to clear his name, because if something happens to Utahime, I will deal with Haruki myself."

The shock of the accusation rendered Kazuo speechless for several seconds. Shoko tried to use this tense interval to change the topic, but Kazuo had already recovered.

“Utahime was a sister and daughter before she was anything to you,” Kazuo hissed, so livid that his face burned red and his arms trembled. “That you should threaten us when you’re the one who couldn’t keep Suguru Getou in check is real hypocrisy.”

“Two students are dead, one is severely injured, and Utahime is—” He stopped. He swallowed hard. “Suguru had someone on the inside. They timed everything perfectly so I couldn’t interfere. I told you to deal with Haruki, because all of you combined can’t deal with Suguru. The least you invertebrates could do was to be loyal, and you had to mess that up too.”

Shoko stepped between Gojo and Kazuo. “Enough! Kazuo, can you please go inside and secure the corpses with talismans? I’ll be back in a couple of hours to autopsy them. Gojo, you have to return to Uji.”

Gojo made a move to set her aside, but Shoko clutched the back of his jacket with one hand and his chest with the other. She would cling to him if she had to, and he'd have no choice but to hurt her before he could hurt anybody else.

Gojo frowned at her, and she returned it with as much menace as she could muster.

“I’m sorry," Kazuo muttered, startling them both. "This isn’t the time for us to be fighting. Suguru Getou is not your fault. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Gojo stepped around them and waved her over. “Shoko, let’s go. I want to talk to Noritoshi."

She made sure Gojo was a good distance away before she squeezed Kazuo’s hand and said, “He didn’t mean it. He’s just angry. Keep me updated, okay?”

Kazuo nodded and let her go.

Now Shoko was stuck in the driver’s seat of a rented car, blinded by the outpour, and wondering if anybody inside the Kamo estate was still alive. Her phone had been blowing up for ten minutes, but she didn't have the mental and emotional capacity to consider anything outside of her immediate worries. Ijichi said that she had to return to the Kyoto branch to perform the autopsy. If she had not started in the next three hours, the higher-ups would suspect them of purposely delaying it in light of her relationship with Utahime, and the Kyoto branch’s medical team would regain access to the bodies.

The car door opened, and Shoko jumped on her seat. Gojo slipped inside and told her to drive.

“We’re going to Uji, and then you can go back to Kyoto.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into the backseat.

Shoko wanted to ask why he didn’t use his Infinity to shield himself from the rain but decided against it. She reached into her travel bag for a cotton shirt instead and offered it to him. He accepted with a curt thank you and wiped his face.

“What did Noritoshi say?” Shoko asked as she put the car in gear.

“He’s sure that it was all Suguru’s doing. I told him to lay low and wait for instructions while we figure out how badly we’ve been hit.”

Shoko nodded at the road ahead. The visibility was nearly zero, but they had no choice. They had to keep driving to Uji. “How badly have we been hit, exactly?”

“Satoshi—” His voice cracked at the last syllable, and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “Satoshi was targeted likely because he can prove Utahime’s innocence. Gakuganji knows about my relationship with Utahime, and he was pissed, but he’s the only one holding the fort for the Iori, the Gojo, and his clan. He predicts that Utahime will be put in the Bingo Book due to pressure from the Kamo and the Zenin.”

“No.”

Gojo faced her, but she could not read him. It was as though he had been drained of all emotions.

“They can’t put her in the Bingo Book. She’ll be up for execution as soon as Jujutsu High gets its hands on her," she said.

He squeezed the water out of his hair with her cotton shirt. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Shoko threw her hand over her mouth. She resumed gripping the steering wheel. She felt like her heart might burst. Not Utahime. She could not end up in the Bingo Book with Getou.

“So the Kamo has nothing to do with this?” she asked.

“No. Noritoshi wasn’t supposed to be there. I bet Suguru’s cursing his luck right now. Noritsho’s involvement means the Kamo would use its influence to excommunicate Utahime, but it also gives us a credible witness. If Satoshi is still somehow alive, he will provide the evidence, and anything the higher-ups decide now can be overturned. What’s important is that none of us appear to be on Utahime’s side in the meantime.”

Shoko slowed down until her fingers trembled so much she couldn’t drive anymore. She pulled up at the nearest convenience store.

“Haruki nearly died today. I saw his injuries. He couldn’t have done this to his sister.”

Gojo sighed. He scrolled down on his phone and passed it to her. “Ijichi sent me screenshots. Utahime’s clearance was used to access the mission roster in the Tokyo branch. Technically, Haruki had no access to these because his manager’s clearance was limited to the Kyoto branch. Ijichi suspected that stranding me South of Japan was part of the plan, and to do that, someone had to see and influence the roster planning months ahead of time. Utahime had clearance to this roster because the Iori does some of the backend jobs for each mission.”

Of course. Jujutsu High used cargo vans to collect corpses and other crucial evidence from exorcism sites, and those vans were equipped with talismans inside to prevent cursed energy activity in transit. The Iori would also send shrine maidens and priests to ensure that these places and any inanimate object inside retained no negative energy that might promote the emergence of new curses. Utahime’s clearance required her to see the roster before they were finalized so that she could match the schedule with her clan’s availability. Her clearance had not changed even though she wasn’t working for the Iori clan anymore.

“She had no reason to check the Tokyo branch’s roster because she’s under the Gakuganji clan,” Shoko whispered as realization struck her. “So you think Haruki hacked Utahime’s account?”

“Utahime trusted Haruki. If he asked to use her computer, she would’ve let him work using her account.” Gojo scrolled up further, showing reports dating back seven months. “The inclement weather was curse-related. It was probably a sorcerer, or it could be another one of Suguru’s curses. The same strange appearance of hales was reported prior. Ijichi dug these all up on his way to Kyoto.”

Shoko passed the phone back to him and slid lower on her seat. “Then why was he attacked? If it’s to throw suspicion off him, they were taking too big a chance with his life.”

“He could’ve been under that soul guy’s influence while snooping around for Suguru, or he could be a real traitor and Suguru was done with him. I confronted Master Iori and Kazuo to give them a chance to deal with him before Jujutsu High caught wind of this. I can't have Utahime returning to her whole clan punished for one man's crimes.” Gojo leaned forward and let his head fall on his hands. “I don’t really care right now. I have to see Lady Sayuri.”

He was shivering, so although her jacket was too small for him, she draped it over his shoulders. Gojo glimpsed it with a scowl. “What’s this supposed to do?”

“I’m trying to be nice to you.”

Shoko couldn’t help it anymore. She folded into herself and used her arms to shield her face as she wept. She just had to let it out. The worry, the grief, the exhaustion. Her mind kept going back to the time she and Gojo roamed Tokyo in search of Getou, because it couldn’t have been true—Getou could not have murdered over a hundred people, including his parents. Now this.

Utahime once compared Gojo to a Labrador Retriever. Living with him was like living with an overactive puppy that she had to feed and walk if she wanted to maintain order in their home. Gojo laughed it off, but it was true. He had to keep moving, to keep doing something in order to burn off energy that would otherwise be destructive.

It was no different now.

Gojo wanted nothing more than to drive straight to Uji in spite of the weather, but he knew he had to give Shoko space to breathe. She was never one for comforting words and touches. He learned early in their friendship that it was enough for him to sit there and be present, and that sufficed as support for her. If she refused to acknowledge her tears, then he would act like he never saw them.

For some reason, however, he felt compelled to reach out to her this time. He lowered his hand on the back of her head slowly, allowing his fingertips to graze strands of her hair first so as not to startle her, but she still shuddered at the contact. Gojo froze. This small action was like breaking a contract between them, like disregarding a long-standing tradition. At that moment, he wasn’t sure whether he touched her to offer comfort or to receive it.

Shoko's hand, still wet with tears, crept up from her face to pat his fingers as though soothing a child. She calmed down sooner than he expected, and the two of them withdrew from one another. Ijichi called him to ask if Shoko would make it back to the Kyoto branch in time, and Gojo was forced to make a decision. If Shoko was not in the estate when they located Satoshi, his chances of survival would be extremely low. However, if they let someone else perform the autopsy, they would never fully trust the results.

Gojo unclipped his seatbelt. “Thanks for coming with me to see Noritoshi. But you have to return to Jujutsu High now. The higher-ups might not wait for you.”

“But Satoshi—”

“They haven’t found him, or else I’d have heard from Uncle or Hanabi by now.” He stepped out of the car and ducked to see her. “Go. Message me once you’re there.”

Shoko put on a brave face and nodded. Then she reversed out of the parking lot, and she was gone.

Gojo stepped under the convenience store’s awning and instructed Hanabi to send a car over.  While waiting, he hunkered down and listened to the sound of  the rain.

He wished he could have offered Shoko more consolation, that he could promise her a sure outcome, but he was only functioning through sheer adrenaline. Years of training enabled him to operate, and their experience with Suguru’s defection provided him with a certain level of immunity over the stress of the incident.

The second he learned about Utahime, he connected the frame-up with Satoshi’s accident, and he detached himself. That was the only way to cope. If Suguru thought that he would tear Jujutsu HQ apart and do the Sasaki a favor, then he was wrong. He had to uncover Suguru’s plans with surgical accuracy and avoid the chaos that he obviously wanted to instigate.

Wherever Utahime was, and no matter what she was going through, Gojo trusted her to be strong. Suguru had picked the wrong woman to mess with, and Gojo expected her to give him and the Sasaki hell until he could rescue her.

The Gojo estate had never been this quiet before.

It was as though silence was a vengeful spirit that had cloaked the entire place, and everybody did not know what to do but to stand still. Workers and sentries alike wore shocked expressions with hints of underlying trepidation. The Fugen Town, which was the noisiest and brightest part of the estate, had dimmed their lights to complement their silence. No smoke rose from the Healer’s workshops, and even the sentries marching around seemed to step lighter on the ground, careful not to break the spell that had befallen everybody in the estate.

Gojo entered the main house, and every master and mistress in the hall stopped to bow their heads. Their faces appeared as blurs to him, their significance lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts. Hanabi, who was walking beside him, waved her hand to dismiss their attention.

The two of them walked up the central staircase, where a mural of the last Six Eyes user loomed over them. Gojo glared at the man with the same blue eyes as he did in his childhood, and he turned left with Hanabi to the West wing of the house.

More people greeted them with bowed heads and somber faces.

In the distance, Gojo could distinguish the sound of a koto playing amidst the footfalls and whispers in the corridor.

He knew this melody. He had watched his mother play this for him when he was a boy.

Hanabi glanced at him. “She’s been playing the koto on and off all day.”

“Sakura, Sakura,” he muttered under his breath. She was playing an old Japanese folk song, the same one she performed at Akira’s wedding reception when she was fourteen years old. Rumor had it that she played the last part of the song so fast that the strings cut her fingers, and still, she wouldn’t stop. Hanabi had managed to get a photograph of the infamous performance, which somebody had salvaged despite the clan’s efforts to shut the story down in 1985.

Gojo could still see it clearly in his mind.

A young Sayuri Gojo in a midnight blue kimono, smiling at the crowd with her own blood splattered on her face.

Mari and Daichi bowed as Gojo and Hanabi approached. Without knocking, he pushed the door aside and stepped into her mother’s private apartment. He swept the vast reception area with his gaze without stopping, using the sound of the Koto as his only clue to her whereabouts.

After crossing three rooms, he opened a fourth door and found her sitting in the middle of her bed with the koto in front of her. Even under the gloom of the bed’s canopy, her mother’s hair appeared silver, and her eyes a vibrant grey. She moved her fingers along the length of the Koto with intense focus and serenity, and before she could reach the final note, she stopped.

Her hands hovered in mid-air as the music ebb.

Gojo stood at the foot of the bed, taking this all in. “Mother.”

She flicked her gaze up at him. “He took the same route. At least four days a week. Same hours, same places. For seven months.”

“You know him better than I do. Is there a possibility he’s still alive?”

“He’s always taken different routes,” she said, as though he had not spoken. “It was almost like he was begging to be ambushed.”

Gojo had to pause to digest this information. Seven months of the exact same routine. He noticed the documents and maps she had puzzled across the floor, and a cold feeling washed over him. “Was he? Begging to be ambushed?”

“The only way to prevent him from interfering with such schemes is to either plan the entire assault with his technique in mind like they did with my sister’s assassination or to get rid of him altogether.” She tilted her head. “But if your father is dead, why would Getou take his body? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to leave his corpse to remove all doubt of his death? Unless, of course, they’re giving us false hope, and they’re distracting us with this search.”

“Mom, are you hurt?”

The question left his lips without any prior thought. He just knew, the moment that he saw the glaze in her eyes and the way her chest seemed to cave when she exhaled that he had been right to ask.

It struck Gojo then that this question, which Satoshi used to ask him a lot as a kid, must’ve been a habit he developed because of her. Just like him, she wouldn’t allow herself to be the first to break. Someone had to step in and tell her she was bleeding before she felt any pain.

Sayuri stared at him, unblinking and feral from her darkened corner, and he thought he saw the girl from the photograph. The one with the blood on her face as she smiled at the horrified crowd. This was the woman who had most of her family assassinated before she even turned fifteen, who was exiled and sold by the clan, and who later returned with the Six Eyes after facing numerous attempts on her life.

Gojo saw all of his anger in her, and this was all the comfort he needed.

Very softly—so softly, he barely heard her, she said: “Satoru, I know we promised your father that we’ll be good, but I’m rather sick of it by now. I don’t care who you have to kill or how many. I want the Sasaki gone once and for all.”

Chapter Text

Utahime woke up to the smell of Okayu. As she stared at the ceiling battens above her, she picked out the rich scent of dashi mixed with the dense steam from the simmering white rice. Images of her mother came to mind, her thick black hair tied back and her worn green apron draped over her dress. Whenever Utahime was sick as a little girl, she would cling to her mother’s skirt in the kitchen and take spoonfuls of the Okayu while it was still on the stove. Her mother would crouch next to her, blowing the steam off the white clumps on the spoon, and once it was cool enough, feed it to her bit by bit.

Everything's going to be alright, Utahime, she'd said.

Utahime shifted on the futon, groaning as tight muscles protested the movement. Every part of her body ached, and her vision swayed so much that she had to close her eyes again.

Sounds outside the room prickled her ears. Footfalls—heavy but unhurried—a man’s. Metal clangoring. Weapons?

Utahime, although still recoiling from the aches in her spine and limbs, prepared herself to make hand seals.

A loud fizzling drowned out the other noises, and then she picked up a mild ocean-like scent that reminded her of salmons. The loud thudding of chopping followed. A sweet, grassy scent permeated the air next, only to be overpowered by the fruity aroma of apricot. No, plum. Pickled plum.

With a grunt, she raised herself to a sitting position. The movement made her pant. Each inhale and exhale stung the walls of her throat and lungs as though she had been running at full speed for hours. She loosened the sash around her waist, desperate for relief, and then a glaring fact struck her. Looking down, she realized she was wearing a grey yukata with nothing underneath. Her hair and skin had no traces of blood, and all her scratches were sticky with balm.

Something about this should've alarmed her, but it was as if her emotions were hovering on a separate plane, present but distant. The fog of shock and confusion hung like oil in her mind, giving her only enough mental space to detect and deflect danger.

Light streamed from the lattice screen to her left, and a cool breeze slipped through the gap, chilling her feet.

She wasn’t sure whether she was too weak to sense curses and sorcerers nearby or if there were simply none. She only knew that somewhere in this traditional Japanese house was a man, most likely Getou, waiting to either kill her or use her.

Utahime rose to her feet inch by inch. When she could stand still without the floor swaying beneath her, she dared to peer through the gap in the lattice screen.

Outside was a zen garden, small but pretty, and a shallow well to the corner. She wasn’t confident about leaving the room without a weapon, so as quietly as possible, she broke the lattice screen and separated the tallest beam. Now, she had something like a spear, and she carried it with both hands as she inspected the rest of the house.

She treaded softly through the polished wood of the veranda, peering in every room and seeing no one. Personal effects hung on the walls and lay discard in tiny alcoves, but she had no time to pry. She had to know where she was and what her chances of escape were.

This minka resembled her mother’s childhood home, but it was smaller and had features that even her grandparents had replaced with modern alternatives. Still, as she made a right turn and saw a doorway, she recognized it at once—a katte-guchi—a backdoor for servants and deliveries.

Utahime took careful, shallow breaths as she inched closer. All of the sounds and the smells from earlier were coming from here. She could sense Suguru Getou’s presence inside, and she prepared herself for battle. It was probably futile, but she had no choice. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Not after what he made her do to her students.

The weakness she had been keeping at bay caught up with her, and without warning, her knees gave in. Utahime fell outside the partly open katte-guchi, and her makeshift spear landed with a resounding thud on the floor.

Inside, Getou jolted in front of the stove, startled by the noise. He eyed her from where he was crouched, stirring the clay pot over the fire, and his brows knit together. “Utahime-senpai, is that from the lattice screen?”

She glanced at the wood and then back at him, speechless.

He sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it later. You should come inside. I’ve prepared Okoyu for you. You’ve been asleep for over twenty-four hours, so you should be hungry. That’s probably why you’re like that. It’s best to attempt a surprise attack when you have the strength for it. I might end up hurting you if you’re in a fragile physical state.”

Utahime lay on the floor with half of her body inside the kitchen. Outside, the birds sang and chased one another, and the wind whistled as it descended from the mountain. She was numb and leaden, but a small voice persisted inside her, telling her to get up. This was no time to be weak.

“Do you need help?” Getou asked.

She rolled her head to the side to see him. Dressed in an oversized black shirt and pants, he looked no different than he did all those years ago. At best, he felt almost innocent, stirring the pot and preparing two trays with great care.

“Don’t you dare go near me,” she said.

“Alright.” Getou summoned a massive beetle-like curse and balanced the tray on its back. With a click of his tongue, the curse crawled towards Utahime and sat beside her. “I know you’re upset, but you really have to eat, Senpai. I can’t return you to Satoru all skinny and sick.”

She gasped quietly. “You plan to return me?”

“Well, at one point, you would be of no use to me, and I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “I owe you a great debt, remember? If not for you, then I wouldn’t have found the Sasaki. I wouldn’t have known about the Blood Maiden, and the opportunity to bring my plans to fruition would’ve been delayed a couple more years. Timing is everything, Senpai, and I’m a patient man. If you learn to wait and take only the necessary actions to keep your plans going, things eventually fall into place. Take yourself for example. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Utahime bit her lower lip and shut her eyes tight. It was a load of bullshit. She was stupid for letting herself hope that she could return to Gojo just because Getou said so. He had already framed her for murder, and while she was sure that Noritoshi would speak up, she wasn’t confident that his clan would let him. If he abandoned her now, she wouldn’t blame him at all. Having Noritoshi Kamo as her sole witness was a double-edged sword; he was the only person who could’ve survived Getou’s ambush by playing dead, but he was also the one man whose name alone tarnished his credibility. The Kamo had cursed him as such to cleanse the name and rid themselves of their ancestor’s evil; they were unlikely to risk him being involved in an atrocious affair. Moreover, Noritoshi was just a kid—he had too much potential. She wouldn't want him to forsake everything just for her.

Imaginings of him leaving the tunnel brought to mind someone she should’ve thought of first, and Utahime jolted upward, sitting up so suddenly that the blood rushed down her face. Her vision dimmed momentarily, and she had to grip the doorframe to steady herself.

“Getou,” she said, her voice trembling in rising anger. “Did you hurt Haruki?”

“The young manager outside the tunnel? Last I heard, he’s in the ICU in some Jujutsu High-affiliated hospital. Shoko’s been to see him, so he should be fine. I heard she was hanging around that priest. Kazuo, is it? Your older brother. He was distraught about the entire thing. It made me think that Shoko naturally gravitates towards troubled men.”

Utahime swallowed the sob in her throat. She couldn’t even allow herself to think of her family’s suffering. The mere suggestion of her parents crying over Haruki encroached on her rationale. Even the briefest picture of Kazuo watching over Haruki in the ICU expunged all tact from her brain. She knew she couldn't afford to be reckless, but her basal instincts as a sorcerer kicked in, and the surge of adrenaline in her veins propelled her into action.

She picked up her makeshift spear, stumbling as her body adjusted to the added weight, and she lugged it behind her as she made her way to Getou. Trickles of fresh cursed energy coursed through her body. This was the most she could boost her output, and it would have to do.

Getou clapped his hand. “Ah, Utahime-Senpai is so strong! I always thought your cursed energy control was impressive.”

She picked up the spear with both hands and hurled it at him. Getou caught it as it flew past his head, using its momentum to swing it at her when she lunged at him. Utahime caught the end of the spear and held it against her waist as she skidded across the floor. Her bare feet squeaked on the wood, giving her enough friction to avoid slamming on the wall. She tugged at it with all of her strength in an attempt to stab Getou’s neck, but he was much stronger. With one hand, he pulled the spear towards himself, towing her along with it, and she landed on him.

She grabbed his hair to catch her balance and delay whatever attack he had in mind. Even when he grunted in pain, however, there was a tinge of amusement to the sound, and he tossed her to the ground. She dragged him down with her using her entire weight. The two of them rolled on the floor, wrestling for the spot on top, which Getou easily won.

Utahime brought her knee to her chest to keep him from crushing her, and he parried all of her blows with his left arm while using the right to seize her wrists. With his foot, he pushed his tray of food aside to prevent it from getting caught in their struggle.

That he had the audacity to think of his food while she was fighting for her life incensed her further. With her wrists clasped together above her head, she kneed his rib over and over, and although a hint of wince appeared on his face, it hardly incapacitated him.

Getou shifted his legs so that his left subdued hers, and his right pinned hers from the thigh. He kept his gaze fixed on her the entire time, blank-faced but patient. Forceful but not brutal. Silent but understanding. Utahime spat at his cheek and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her throat burned, and the back of her eyes stung, and as she screamed at Getou’s face, she thought of Gojo. She thought of nights she wouldn’t spend with him. Chores they couldn’t argue about. Late-night phone calls and hushed voices she'd miss. The pleasant ache of waiting for him to walk through their front door only to end up scolding him for splurging on desserts.

Despite her claims of independence and longing to be recognized as a powerful sorcerer in her own right, she could not deny that she wanted nothing more than to be saved. Now, as her strength seeped away from her bones and she was reduced to a girl throwing a fit, she wanted Gojo to burst into this place and free her.  Save her. Make all this hurt go away.

Eventually, her screaming turned into sobbing. Getou lifted his weight off her little by little. Utahime rolled to her side with streams of tears flowing from her eyes and snot from her nose. Saliva dribbled from her mouth with each wail, but she was past caring.

Getou braced his weight on his right hand, which he planted firmly next to her face, and carefully picked out the strands of hair that got caught in her tears. So gently that she barely felt it, he fixed her yukata over her chest and overlapped the seams on her exposed legs.

The floorboards exhaled when he stood. A few seconds later, he returned and slid her food tray in front of her before returning to his.

The sound of him slurping punctuated her sobs. Soon, his chewing and the noises of his utensils overtook her waning agony, and she just lay there, listening.

How was Gojo doing? Was he eating well? She hoped he wasn’t indulging in too many sweets like he tended to do in stressful situations. Moreover, she hoped he wouldn’t get the Gojo clan involved in any attempt to rescue her. Just because Getou said he didn’t plan to kill her didn’t mean she wouldn’t die for his cause. If she perished, she didn’t want lasting repercussions on him and his clan.

A low grumble reverberated from Utahime’s stomach. Her body curled into itself as the hunger pangs pinched her insides, producing nausea so strong she gagged. Over a day of no food consumption, exacerbated by her use of force and technique activation, had now caught up on her in full force.

Utahime stared at the tray on the floor beside her. Warmth emanated from the clay bowl and prickled her skin. The smells lured her in, and after minutes of painful deliberation, she grabbed the bowl and tipped it into her mouth.

The rice porridge slipped smoothly from her tongue down her throat. She moaned in satisfaction and reached for everything else on the bowl. The salted salmon. The ripped nori. The apple slices and pickled plum. The tastes mixed in her hands, so she no longer knew what she was putting in her mouth, but it hardly mattered. She was like a starved animal dropped in the middle of a feast. Before she could survive Getou, she had to survive herself first.

At one point, Getou got up to refill the empty bowls and the small plates on her tray while she was finishing up the salmon. 

“Your room is the same one you woke up in,” he said, crouching in front of her tray and watching her eat. “Feel free to roam and use anything inside the house. Just don’t go into mine. You won’t find anything remotely useful or entertaining there. Also, please refrain from pulling apart this house. I built it myself, and I’m rather proud of it.”

Utahime flashed her middle finger at him, which dripped red with the juice of the pickled plum.

He smiled. “Thank you, Senpai.”

Before he left, he placed one can of Asahi Super Dry in front of her. Utahime stopped chewing. Seeing something so trivial yet so familiar made her sob again. Ironically, the sight of her favorite beer brand sobered her up, and a few sips gave her the awareness she needed to wipe the food trails on her face. She used a nearby rag to scrub the reddish brown sauces off her palms and the crevices of her fingernails, and the more she cleaned up, the more she felt like herself again.

Utahime took only small sips. She needed to make it last. Once she felt her legs could support her weight, she roamed the house again, but this time, with fresh eyes. It was a wonder what a full stomach could do to one’s perception. Her senses heightened, and her thoughts broke into more logical tangents. The gentle buzz from the beer also helped. With alcohol in her system, she felt she could cope with this insanity better, and she began breaking down her observations to make a full assessment of her situation.

That she had woken up unrestrained should’ve been the most telling sign that Getou believed two things: first, that she was no threat to him, and second, that she had no chance of escaping this place. The only reason she assumed she could was because this neither looked nor felt like a prison. It was a far cry from what she envisioned her captivity would be. At worst, she expected to be locked in an anteroom or a cavernous recess similar to the ones where she had retrieved Gakuganji’s tamed curses. In the seconds before she passed out in the tunnel, she anticipated darkness and isolation, beatings and starvation.

Now, as Utahime padded lightly around the veranda to take in her surroundings, she found herself baffled by the simplicity and practicality of the place’s design. Nothing—from the infrastructure to its energy—hinted of any trap or attempt to keep her in. If anything, it reflected the tranquility she knew Getou to possess before he lost his grip on reality.

She stepped onto the sand of the zen garden, ruining the ripples that surrounded the rock formations on purpose. With a small leap, she managed to hoist herself to the top of the fence and see what lay beyond it.

The sight dumbfounded her further.

A town?

Rows of houses lined the distance, most of them dilapidated and showing signs of unnatural damage. Parts of roofs missing. Half of some houses sliced clean. The rubble that littered the street suggested nothing had been disturbed since the houses incurred their respective damages. Moss and wildflowers covered rotten timber, and whatever remained of the houses were mostly covered in green.

She searched first with her eyes and then with her cursed energy. No one. At least, no sorcerer or curse that she could detect within ten kilometers of Getou’s house. That did not mean there weren’t any, but if there were, she couldn’t sense them.

Lowering herself back on the sand, she returned to the veranda. She had no idea where this place was, and whether the Sasaki resided nearby. Currently, all evidence pointed to her being alone here with Getou. That didn’t increase her chances of escaping, but it was still easier to strategize around one powerful sorcerer rather than two. All she had to do now was regain her strength so she would have the stamina to execute her plans.

Utahime slowed to a stop. Around the corner, she could hear shoveling and humming. She tiptoed towards it and saw Getou crouched over a vegetable garden, spade in hand. His hair sat on his nape in a messy bun, with strands spiking in all directions. He stabbed the soil with the spade and carefully uprooted potatoes. Grimy yellow balls hung from dirt-covered stems, and he shook them once before tossing them into the wicker basket next to him.

His demeanor did not make sense to her.

Why give her all this liberty? All the opportunity to leave, or at least try?

Getou glanced at her and returned to harvesting potatoes. Utahime paused to take in his unsuspecting look, and then it hit her. Why it took her so long to realize it was beyond her. She was too worked up on the details—her students’ deaths, Noritoshi’s involvement, Haruki’s health, and her own grief over her losses—for her to have grasped the severity of her situation.

It wasn’t just the fact that she was framed. Her crime was an insult to Jujutsu High, and regardless of her service, it would always be an unforgiving institution.

She descended to the floor slowly, using the nearby pillar to guide her descent. Even then, she felt afloat, spirited away to a hell she did not deserve.

“I can’t go back, can I?" The words were like daggers to her flesh, making physical a pain that had only been twisting inside her until now. "Even if you let me go, I have nowhere and no one to return safely to.”

Getou scratched his brow with the back of his wrist, unperturbed. “Satoru is slowing the process, but Jujutsu High will eventually put you in the Bingo Book. Your name will be right above mine.”

The investigation played out in her mind. She considered all of the people who would come to her defense, and hope sparked in her at the thought of Satoshi. He could see the recent history of the tunnel, and his testimony alone would suffice to keep her from being excommunicated. But Getou knew Satoshi. Would he have missed him altogether, or had he…?

Getou noticed her looking and paused from turning up the soil. “I must say, it was annoying that I didn’t recognize Noritoshi Kamo. The two of you played a cruel trick on me, but admittedly, I was too emotional to have noticed. I was taken by how you looked with all that blood on you.”

Utahime could only stare at him, her anger from earlier simmering again.

“Sadly, no one’s listening to the Kamo kid," he said, shrugging.

“Tell me you didn’t hurt Satoshi Gojo.”

For the first time that day, Getou looked startled. “You also have no idea what happened to him?”

“What?”

“Interesting.” He ripped off his gardening gloves. “I ordered for someone to cut off his right hand. Obviously, I don’t want Satoshi dead. He was rather nice to me, and I’d hate for Satoru to lose his father. But I think I was played. Right when my friend went in to strike him, his car exploded. My friend survived but was severely injured. Satoru’s been searching for Satoshi’s body, but they can’t find him. At this rate, I’ll have to catch him before he interferes with my plans.”

Utahime dug her nails into her thighs to control her emotions. Fighting Getou head-on was futile. Instead, she remembered how Gojo detached himself whenever his students died, how he separated himself from any personal sentiment to view a problem objectively. She hoped he could still do this now that his father was involved. For all his griping about Satoshi’s bad jokes and constant nagging, Gojo relied on his father the most. The way he depended on his father for guidance and emotional support was different from hers; with Utahime, Gojo sustained the position of authority, of the leader. He may rely on her for advice and intervention, but he was never so vulnerable that she might be burdened by him. No, he was only ever so open and unguarded with Satoshi, because his father was the only person who could truly bear the weight of him as a man and as the Six Eyes. He was the only real authority Gojo submitted to, and Satoshi once confided in her that he preferred that because the alternative would be too risky.

By alternative, he meant his wife.

Her thoughts drifted to Lady Sayuri, who, with her immense intelligence and charm, was already too hurt in this life to take on another loss. She deserved to grow old with her husband and enjoy the things they never could when they were younger.

In desperation, Utahime almost offered her cooperation in exchange for Getou ending his hunt for Satoshi. The only problem with this was the lack of guarantees. Unless she saw Satoshi safe with his family, Getou could offer her no real assurance that he would keep his side of the bargain.

“How can you do this to Gojo?” she asked.

Getou rubbed off the excess soil from each potato. Despite the breeze, sweet rolled down from his scalp to the side of his face, and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt before any got to his eyes. “Don’t think for one second that I want to hurt him. If there were a way to remove him from this fight altogether, I’d do that. He might hate me, but I still want him to see that the world I envision is the only future where all this chaos will cease to exist. I assumed you, of all people, would empathize. Everybody sees the Six Eyes. Only a handful of people see Satoru. He would’ve been happy in the world I’m creating, but he leaves me with no choice.”

“You can still stop.”

“Can I?” He glanced at her with a smile. It was more amused than condescending. “I was hoping that you would understand. Now that you’re on your way to being excommunicated from the Jujutsu World, I thought you’d grasp why I can’t turn back. Maybe it’s too early and hasn’t sunk into you yet. One of these days, it will, and then you’ll be grateful that I took you in. Imagine being exiled for doing the right thing, to be hunted down with nowhere to go.”

“You killed an entire town and your parents on your own volition. What did you think the consequences would be?”

“The naïve part of me was hoping that someone would ask why I massacred this town," he said. "I already knew how things would play out, but there was this small voice in my head that hoped it would matter that I killed one hundred and twelve people to save two young sorcerers. Two five-year-olds, to be precise.”

The revelation stunted the argument playing out in her head. She became hyper-aware of her gooseflesh limbs, how each hair stood in attention to express the alarm that she refused to show on her face.

So this was the town. He had made a home in the same place where his defection started. Gojo never told her where this place was, exactly. More importantly, he never mentioned anything about children being involved. No one did.

“Their names are Nanako and Mimiko." Saying their names softened Getou's features. He inspected some of the potato plants' foliage for signs of dying and left those that were still green. “The town wanted me to deal with them because of the misfortunes around them. Sure, the girls had no control over their cursed energy and techniques yet, but that was hardly enough reason to beat and imprison them like dogs.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re somewhere safe. The two of them prefer to live in the city nowadays. Explore the world and experience life. I don’t force anyone to commit to the lifestyle I’ve chosen, but they come home to me still.” At this, his eyes crinkled in fondness at the potatoes he was cleaning. “You might find some children’s drawings pinned around the house. That’s theirs from when they were little. I grew quite attached of their artworks and thought to decorate the house with it once I finished building it.”

“Did Jujutsu High make an inquiry about the girls?”

“I’m sure they eventually find out after cleaning up this place. The two sorcerers I was sent to deal with were not depraved adults, after all, but helpless twin girls. Did it matter to them? I don’t think so. None of you even knew, so that’s testament enough of how little Jujutsu High cares. Two little girls were being held captive by a madman at large. I'd never have used them as hostages, but that's what it would've appeared like to Jujutsu High. Why did no one attempt to rescue them from me?”

Utahime had no answer. She knew how meticulously Jujutsu High worked. They must’ve known about the twins and chose to neither disclose nor act on it.

“That doesn’t justify any of your actions moving forward,” she said.

“Any of my actions? Like what?”

“You forced me to kill my students as a mercy.”

Getou stretched his neck left and right until something popped. He sighed in relief. “You made a necessary sacrifice to fulfill your potential—to accept the role you were born to play. Do you believe it’s a coincidence that you are a priestess with a technique to tame curses? That when I opened up to you about the curseless world I want to build, you pointed me straight to the Sasaki?”

Utahime had to massage her forehead to keep her thoughts from breaking off into angry tangents. Getou was more unhinged than she initially imagined. “I mentioned my ancestors to you. I didn’t tell you to go kill people and uphold their maniacal legacy.”

“Is it still hard to embrace your true nature, Utahime-Senpai? My friend told me you were breathtaking when you killed Himari and the other women under the Pachinko Parlor.”

“I didn’t kill them,” she hissed. “You did.”

Getou set the basket aside and walked over to the veranda. Utahime steeled herself, refusing to retreat even when her body began to tremble. He loomed over her, a hint of a frown on his lips, and then he grabbed her face with his left hand. The soil on his fingertips scratched her skin, but she couldn’t pull away. Her ego wouldn’t let her.

His thumb dug into her jaw as he studied her face. “Do you forget what contract you entered into by killing Priestess Himari? That night, I made you an offer in the form of that ritual circle, and you declared your devotion to me as your god. The boy you found there was our witness, and my friend brought him back to the Sasaki to proclaim the good news. I would appreciate it if you stop pretending you have no hand in this. It’s quite frustrating, and I was looking forward to spending quality time with you here in my home.”

Utahime swallowed hard. "What do you want from me, Getou?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet? I thought it was pretty obvious, Senpai."

She scowled at him, her skin hot from ire and confusion, and his only response to her was an empty smile.

Frustrated, she grabbed his wrist and ripped his hand away from her face. Getou raised his hands and backed away with a chuckle.

Slipping past the first open lattice door, she crossed the empty room and entered a spacious corridor. Utahime had to stop to shake off the eeriness of their interaction. What was obvious? Her binding vow with Gakuganji made her useless to him. If incensing Gojo was his goal, then he made the mistake of assuming that he was the same man he knew in high school. Gojo wouldn't do anything as reckless as wiping out the entire non-shaman population to get her back. He knew she'd kill him if he ever did that.

So what was the point of all this?

Utahime took several deep breaths to calm herself. When that didn't work, she finished the remainder of her beer in one go.

If Getou wouldn't tell her, then she would look for clues. She would uncover his plot and take even the smallest opportunity to escape before she was officially excommunicated.

She looked around. She had surveyed the house’s exterior and was only now seeing the rest of the interior. The place was clean and bare, save for yellowing pieces of paper attached to the pillars. Each one depicted two little girls with Getou in domestic scenes. The sketches gave Getou heavily set jaws and two horizontal lines for eyes. They remembered to include his bangs and to dress him entirely in black. The most detailed ones involved him cooking and gardening. The others showed the two girls napping next to him with laundry all around them, and of him sewing dresses with bandaged fingers.

How had he been living these past couple of years? She had always pictured him in the most cliche situations, most of them derived from movies and novels she'd read in the past. In her mind, Getou was being serviced by the cult, always killing people and gathering curses to amplify his arsenal. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined him toiling in the middle of nowhere, building a house and farming the land. She assumed, with the financial support he surely got from the cult and the many non-shamans who would die for him, that he'd get them to do these menial tasks for him.

Utahime peered into every room and checked every closet. Apart from futons, pillows, and blankets, she found nothing else to indicate that other people lived here. Perhaps that was why he displayed the drawings. No matter how much a person valued solitude, there was no way that he did not feel the loneliness of isolation.

She reached the end of the corridor and entered Getou’s room. He had warned her not to go inside, but she had no idea where else to get proper clothes. Sliding open the closet, she snatched the first sweatshirt and pants she saw. Their size and weight made her rethink her choices. A few seconds of deliberation later, she decided she couldn’t flee in a yukata and must make do with whatever Getou had. She tore the pant legs and folded the excess fabric so that they were snug around her ankles and then did the same for the sweatshirt. The torn fabric, she wrapped around the waistband of the pants to keep it in place.

As she walked out of Getou’s room and stepped out into the veranda, she had to stop to suppress the visceral pain in her stomach. Suddenly, she remembered being bundled in Gojo’s clothes in winter and falling asleep next to him on the couch while he played on his console. She remembered slipping under his shirt in the cold mornings because there was just enough room for her to fit. His raspy voice in the morning was still fresh in her memory, and if she focused hard enough, she could still recall how his arms felt around her body.

No matter Jujutsu High’s verdict, she had to go back. Gojo must surely be fighting his way to her, and she had to meet him halfway.

Unable to sense Getou’s presence anywhere in the house, she braved into the kitchen and took two knives. It almost irked her that he left these there as though convinced that she could do no damage with them.

Breaking another lattice door, she fashioned a double-headed spear and ventured beyond the fence.

Megumi thought he was hearing things.

He stared up at Gojo, unblinking, waiting for him to say it was all a joke. A very bad joke. But he knew deep inside that he would never lie about something so vile, and about Utahime at that. His mere posture hinted at the strong emotions behind his indifference, and Megumi had spent so much time with Gojo to know when he was angry for real.

The last time he was like this, it had been because Naoya paid him and Tsumiki a surprise visit. Shoko had been with them in the apartment to help him deal with his training injuries. Although no physical altercation happened, Gojo relocated them and forced Jujutsu High to take action against Naoya.

“Or I can just kill the entire Zenin clan,” Gojo had said over dinner. His tone had been so casual that Tsumiki paused to glance at him, and it struck the siblings then that this man could do that. The Zenin would put up a fight, but they could all be gone in less than an hour if he wanted. Often, it was easy to forget how powerful he was beneath all the clowning he did.

As Gojo’s silence pierced through his shock and gave way to the first waves of panic in his bloodstream, he found himself worrying first for Utahime, and then for Gojo. Even now, he trusted Utahime more to make the right decisions wherever she was and in whatever state she was in. He could not say the same for Gojo, simply because his power allowed him to eradicate Japan if he wanted to, if that was what it took to exact revenge. People with that amount of power were never stable. He knew because while his father was a non-shaman, Naoya's ramblings had helped him deduce two things: Toji was insanely powerful and, well, insane.

“You and Tsumiki will stay in a safe location until Utahime gets back,” Gojo said. “She’s got fight in her. If forcing her to kill her students doesn’t break her, then the Sasaki might target you next. You’re not officially a member of the Zenin clan, but if we manage to stop her from landing in the Bingo Book, then your murder will surely do the trick. Nobody wants Naoya as heir, and your murder will not be taken lightly."

Megumi watched the stream of students exiting his school. Any time now, Tsumiki would stroll out with her friends, and they would have to tell her. He wasn’t looking forward to her tears.

He turned to Gojo, who was seated on a swing with his legs extended in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Parents frowned at him for occupying the swing while children gawked and pointed at his blindfold.

“Won’t you be going against Jujutsu High by taking me and Tsumiki in?” he asked.

“You have to make a choice.”

“What?”

“Shoko is the school’s ward, which means she’s obligated to repay the school with her service, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have allegiances. In exchange for her personal protection and Jujutsu High getting access to select recipes and treatments from our healers through her, we can use her RCT. That’s why Yaga had no choice but to send her over when Satoshi went missing,” he said.

“So you want me to pledge my allegiance to your clan in exchange for protection? For me and Tsumiki?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t refuse to be a Zenin just to become a Gojo.”

“I’m not adopting you.”

Megumi fixed his gaze on his shoes, which were half-submerged in the sand. Imprints of smaller shoes surrounded him, but the wind was quick to distort them. Soon enough, it was as though they were never there.

As the children shrieked in joy and groups of students laughed aloud on their way out of the school, Megumi wondered if this had been Gojo’s plan all along. They both hated the Zenin, and while Gojo was genuine in his desire to look after the siblings, Megumi wouldn’t be surprised if he also had a political agenda. The Zenin was not adored in the Jujutsu scene, and if Gojo had an opportunity to murder them, he might, and then he could restart the clan with Megumi.

The image of Mai and Maki resurfaced from his memories, making him question the true intentions behind Gojo encouraging him to meet his aunts. Maki would be glad for the family to die, and Gojo would surely spare the twins. Megumi now wished he had paid closer attention to the things Gojo had said before about clan politics. He avoided all involvement as much as possible, but he wasn’t so dumb as to think he could escape it forever. He simply thought he didn't have to care too soon. If he only had good foresight, then he might not feel so ill-equipped to be making such huge decisions.

His biggest consideration now was Tsumiki, and if hell broke loose, he’d rather be on Gojo’s side. Also, there was the matter of Utahime. He knew she would never hurt him and Tsumiki, but given the situation, it would be careless to assume this Getou person couldn't orchestrate a scenario to force her hand once more.

Megumi couldn’t help but frown at the idea of being forced to kill her students. Utahime had a temper, and she may drink excessively, but she had always been there for him and Tsumiki, although she wasn't obligated to. She had dedicated weekends to mentoring Megumi and had attended most of Tsumiki’s recitals, even if she usually nodded off due to exhaustion.

He did not know what having a mother felt like, but she had given him a good idea.

“Do we make a binding vow?” Megumi asked, scowling in determination. He no longer wanted to lose important people in his life.

Gojo regarded him for a second. “No. I know I can trust you.”

Hearing those words out of his mouth made Megumi’s heart swell with pride, but he would never show it. He hated how a huge part of him secretly yearned for Gojo’s approval. “I pledge my allegiance to Satoru Gojo," he said.

Gojo grinned. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

“I won’t be tied to people I don’t know, even if you have the same name. Also, I doubt everybody in your clan is on your side,” he said. "So I pledge allegiance only to you and not your clan."

The sunset sky turned blood orange, reflecting off Gojo’s hair and casting his skin with this strange glow. Female students lingered on the outskirts of the park to spy on him, but he barely paid them any attention. Megumi turned his head in the other direction because he didn’t want to be publicly associated with Gojo.

“Fortunately, Satoshi’s disappearance has given the clan a cause to show a united front. We take every chance we get to flaunt our power,” Gojo said.

“So what’s the plan?”

He raised his hand and waved towards the middle school. Tsumiki jolted at the sight of him, and she appeared to be making excuses to her friends so she could come over. “You tell your sister and then pack up. Shoko will drive you both to Uji. As for protection, I already have the Fugen in civilian clothing watching over you. It’ll be a safe trip. You’ll know the plan once you get to the estate.” He got off the swing and turned around. “See ya!”

“Hey!”

Gojo glanced over his shoulder. “Huh?”

Megumi cleared his throat, and with as much confidence as he could muster, he said: “We’ll get her back.”

For a split second, Gojo looked sad, but then he disguised it with his usual smile and walked away.

Megumi waited until they were home before he told Tsumiki. He knew the moment she went into shock because all emotions left her face. She stared at him blankly, her eyes dry and her lips parted in a small O. It was only when he stopped talking that a tinge of pink colored her cheeks, and first she looked afraid and then worried.

He was about to say something comforting when Tsumiki leaped out of her chair and started packing her things. She cleaned the house, removed all the laundry hanging in their balcony, and threw away all the food in their refrigerator that would spoil in their absence. He was beginning to pack his things when he heard her working in the kitchen, probably to cook the remaining meat and pack food for their journey.

Megumi wanted to break the tense silence by reassuring her that Utahime would be alright. That she was a strong sorcerer, and if Tsumiki wanted to cry, she could. Except he knew she wouldn’t. Anytime they faced anything stressful, Tsumiki steeled herself to make sure she could support him and not the other way around. Even now, she was the one speaking to Ijichi on the phone about coordinating with their school. She did not know how long they would be gone, but she didn’t want them to miss out on lessons and schoolwork.

He struggled to find the words to tell her she didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to be the mother, the sister, the cook, and the housekeeper all at once. There was no need to be strong for both of them. He may only be thirteen, but he pulled his weight around the house. He possessed one of the strongest techniques in the sorcery world and trained daily to hone it. In a few years, he would be so strong that he wouldn’t need Gojo to protect them. Maybe he’d even be the one to protect that giant idiot. He'd protect Utahime, too, and make sure no one hurt her this way again.

Shoko picked them up in a black sedan. Tsumiki sat in the back while Megumi occupied the passenger’s seat. The siblings had so many questions about Utahime’s disappearance and Satoshi’s incident that they did not know where to start. In the end, they exited Tokyo without saying a single thing and simply let the radio broadcast occupy their silence.

Megumi glanced at Tsumiki through the rearview mirror and saw that she was curled up in the backseat, sleeping. He tried not to worry, but it was impossible not to gloss over the repercussions of exposing her to this world.

“Ms. Shoko,” Megumi said in a low voice. “Do you ever regret being allied to the Gojo clan?”

Shoko turned into the Nakasendo expressway. She had been nonchalant the entire drive and interrupted her focused driving only to glance at her phone or drink from her coffee cup.

“Not really. Yaga said I was lucky to enter Jujutsu High the same year Gojo did. Being friends with him meant his clan would not exploit my RCT. They studied it, and sometimes, I’m sent off to support the Fugen or tend to injuries that the healers can’t handle, but that’s about it. Non-lineage sorcerers like me benefit from allegiances, but so do you.” She reached inside her bag and offered him a stick of gum. “Why? Are you worried?”

Megumi accepted it, flipping the thin, rectangular item in his palms before tossing it into his mouth. “I don’t want to be involved in all this politics, but this is the first time Gojo has ever asked me for anything.”

“He’s in a delicate position right now, both politically and mentally.”

“His father and his fiancé, both on the same day. This Suguru Getou guy has a death wish.” The first waves of anger and hatred finally hit him, and Megumi glowered at the blur of lights beyond the window. "I'll kill him myself if I could."

Shoko sighed. She overtook a red car and checked her phone again. “Suguru Getou was his best friend. We went to school together.”

Megumi gawked at her. Gojo had never mentioned that. Earlier, he had referred to Getou only by name once and had given no hints about his personal feelings for this villain. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened and how Gojo must feel about going against his best friend.

In fact, nothing about Gojo’s behavior since their first meeting indicated that he had such a disturbing experience. Megumi had always assumed Gojo's power made him happy-go-lucky and that nothing and no one had ever hurt him.

“You have questions,” Shoko said, smiling wanly. “ I can’t answer them all now, but I want you to know that your support means a lot to Gojo.”

“Was he your friend too?”

"Getou?"

"Yeah."

She chuckled, but her knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel. “Sort of.”

They arrived in Uji in the wee hours of the morning. They were exhausted from the drive, and Megumi wished they had just taken the Shinkansen, but that was not an option. If he were following Gojo’s logic correctly, the Sasaki was an influential cult with members that spanned all social classes but were mostly operated by the elites. Taking the long route meant discretion, and by hour three of their journey, he had identified the three cars from the Fugen that had been tailing them from Tokyo.

After crossing long expanses of green tea plantations, they were guided through narrow passageways and eventually permitted entry through the Gojo estate’s main gate.

By then, Tsumiki had woken up and was squeezing herself between the two front seats to see through the windshield. She gasped.

All blood left Megumi's face.

He could not believe this place was real—that it was even allowed to exist. He had been confined in his mediocre town, in a mediocre apartment, with middle-class friends and neighbors his entire life, and his mind had trouble grasping the opulence that unfolded in front of him.

A massive infrastructure that reminded him of the Byodo-In temple rose from the horizon, and up ahead, blocking the rest of the estate, was a castle. A freaking real-life operational castle. He swore he was being driven straight to the doors of the Hikone castle, but thrice its size. The sheer extent and lavishness of the estate dried up his throat and made his hands clammy.

An official-looking old man in a kimono opened the car door for him and bowed. "Master Megumi Fushiguro, welcome to the Gojo estate."

Megumi put his foot out carefully to test if physical contact would make the scenery disintegrate. The man raised his eyebrows, baffled but patient. He emerged from the car fully, and when everything remained as it was, he had no choice but to acknowledge that this was real.

He winced.

Apparently, he had no idea whom he had pledged allegiance to, and it made him nervous to think that a man who had everything still needed his help.

What the hell would Gojo make him do?

Chapter Text

A bungalow stood detached from the rest of the town, the only one that appeared untouched by the violence that had ravaged the place a long time ago.

Utahime approached the structure, noting the crawling vines cut short near the ground and the threshold—worn but clean, with an accumulation of scuff marks that showed regular use—and felt an unreasonable compulsion to enter.

She had roamed the town to get a better idea of her surroundings and, hopefully, come across something helpful. A map. A damaged but still useable weapon. Letters or receipts. Anything that could name her exact location and even point her out of there.

It didn’t take her long to realize that the place had been wiped clean of any resources. At least none that could aid in her escape. Enough was left behind to show that meals were being prepared during the massacre, that work was being done in the backrooms, and that toys were being played with in the streets. Whether this was intentional, like a stage Getou had purposely designed for her to explore, she did not know.

All she was certain of was that she had to leave before sunset in the sorriest outfit and weapon she could find, but the sight of the bungalow put a pause in her plans.

She idled outside the bungalow. No person or curse lingered inside, and a quick check could reward her with resources to increase her chances of a successful escape.

Utahime scanned her surroundings again, took a deep breath, and entered.

Darkness, thick and heavy, forced her to stop in the narrow corridor until her eyes adjusted. Faint light from an inner room spilled through the lattice door, allowing her to define her path. She touched the walls for extra guidance and pushed the lattice door aside.

The light had not come from any window but from the tiny gaps between the slats on the walls. The wood must have contracted and shrunk with age, and although she could not see every detail in the room, she could make out shapes.

Utahime crept towards the back, her attention stolen by what appeared to be a makeshift cage. What else could it be? Originally, it must’ve been a wardrobe, but the doors were replaced with a series of thick wood arranged vertically on the frame. Dark patches marred the tatami mat inside. She didn’t want to guess what it was. It horrified her enough to think that people had been held captive there.

Imprisoned like dogs, as Getou put it.

The twins?

Utahime knelt in front of the cage, breathless. In the darkness, it was easy to imagine Getou finding the girls there, bloodied and beaten, covered in their own excrements, merely skin and bones.

What if she had been the one sent there? What if it were Gojo?

The floor sighed behind her. Mellow, orange light lit up the room and cast shadows on the walls. Utahime tried not to flinch. She should’ve been smarter than to linger, but she couldn’t help it. Fighting a madman was one thing. Fighting a madman you used to respect was another. She couldn't resist the temptation to worm into his brain to see what went wrong. 

“Trying to escape or simply touring the place?” Getou asked. “I brought you a haori because you might get cold, but I see you’ve stolen my clothes.”

“Is this where they kept the twins?”

Getou draped the haori over her shoulders. She hadn’t even realized she was shivering until the warmth soothed her gooseflesh limbs. “They were barely alive when I arrived here to address the matter. If I had delayed another two to three hours, those monkeys would’ve killed them. They were already up in arms when I made it here.”

Utahime turned just enough to see him. He was standing behind her with a lamp, and from her vantage point, she had a clear view of his face. She thought he’d look disgusted or even proud, but instead, he was melancholic.

“What were you thinking?” The question escaped her lips before she could think it through. She wasn’t sure if she meant it to be rhetorical or if she truly wanted an answer.

Getou lowered the lamp on the floor between them and sat. She had a vague recollection of being this way with him in high school when she had sparred with Gojo on his insistence, and Getou suggested they fight him together to even things out.

“I’m sure you’re aware of Shoko’s recruitment,” he said.

Utahime pulled the haori close in the front. Something about the way the syllables of Shoko’s name rolled off his tongue suggested an equal measure of pain and affection. “She was in a bus accident with all of her classmates when she was in middle school, and somehow, she was the only one who survived. Everybody else…they died brutally.”

“Ah. So she didn’t tell you the details either?” He chuckled and leaned back on his hands, a wan smile gracing his lips. “To be fair, only Satoru knew. I had questions that she wouldn’t answer, so he told me how to access her files. It was wrong, but I think Satoru meant well. He always worried that Shoko was so blasé because of her trauma. I read her files, and I wondered how she didn’t snap before I did.”

“The parents of her classmates were mean to her, yes, but—"

“One of the mothers tried to slash her face with a boxcutter. They ostracized her. A while later, Shoko’s mother tried to take her own life due to the stress. Shoko gave up soon after. She was planning to step into the traffic in Shibuya when a manager from Jujutsu High explained her technique to her—or at least what Jujutsu High believed it to be. She was a gem. The school filed restraining orders against the other parents and took practical measures to protect her family in exchange for her becoming a ward of the school. But that’s all. Now she’s being forced to protect the same people who would’ve gladly torn her to pieces because she’s special.”

“Depravity only turns you into the very monster you hate.”

Getou’s expression hardened, and although he wasn’t looking at her, he might as well have been staring her down again with those dark eyes. “I asked you this before: what would you do if non-shamans assaulted Shoko again? Satoru would find those men and kill them, sure, but she would have to return to a life devoted to protecting the very same monkeys who keep injuring her again and again and again. These monkeys will never stop unless we do something about them. Why do we have to suffer because of their depravity? If you argue that they’re weak, then shall I remind you that they create the very same curses that killed most of your friends and students? Aren’t they the root of all our suffering?”

“You should’ve brought those girls to Jujutsu High.”

“Nanako and Mimiko would be dead by now if I did that.”

Utahime scoffed, but it came off more pained than insulting. “You have so many excuses for your evil.”

“It’s hard for you to accept the reality and the solutions I’m presenting because you’re from a prominent clan and engaged to the most powerful sorcerer of the modern age,” he said. “It’s a cushy life. But who will protect all of the lost lambs?”

“I think you’re disappointed. I think you were wronged and cornered, and you were afraid.  But I wish you made a different choice.” She dropped her head in her hands and swallowed back her sobs. Frustration rose in her again, hot and staggering, and she had to clutch her hair to keep herself from breaking down. “Getou, I was supposed to protect my students. I was supposed to be a good older sister to Haruki. I really wanted to start a family with Gojo.”

The light flickered. Their shadows swayed from side to side on the wall inside the cage, giving the impression that they were both in it. Utahime lowered her hands from her face to her stomach. She wanted to throw up.

“You should leave.”

Getou said it in such a low voice that she barely caught his words. She looked at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

“What?”

“I’m letting you go, Senpai,” he said. “If you hurry back, perhaps you can still clear your name.”

Utahime chortled. Did he think she would fall for that again? But as the silence stretched and Getou remained unmoving, a flicker of hope came alive in her. Maybe she managed to appeal to whatever humanity he had left. Maybe the mention of Gojo softened him, and he realized he did not want to torture his best friend after all.

Slowly, cautiously, Utahime stood. She held her makeshift spear loosely in her fingers, never taking her eyes off Getou. She backed away, and once she reached the lattice doors, she mustered the courage to turn around and run.

The setting sun cast the entire town in orange and gave the forest the illusion of being ablaze. Sprinting into the thick vegetation, Utahime parried the low-lying branches the scratched her skin and resisted the wet forest floor that slowed her down. Sweat drenched her clothes despite the weather, but all of these were minor discomforts. This was not the worst terrain she had ever crossed, and she knew she could manage as long as her mind did not betray her.

Utahime navigated the winding paths and slippery slopes without a hitch. Now and then, she jerked in certain directions, thinking that the shadow in the corner of her eye was Getou. When around an hour had passed without any sign of him, she began to believe that he let her go.

The first curse appeared out of nowhere. If she hadn’t ducked fast enough, the curse might’ve hacked off a good portion of her head. Dropping her spear, she performed a series of hand seals to activate her Zero Forbidden Zone. She had no idea that she would have to hold the technique for two hours straight, during which curse after curse would come at her with ferocious intensity.

The battle happened in a blur. At one point, she let her body take over for her exhausted mind, and muscle memory pulled her through what felt like an impossible feat. She had progressed in the forest during the many exorcisms she performed, but she had no idea whether she was almost out of it. If she did not find a way to either kill all of these curses or escape them within the next ten minutes, she would drop dead of exhaustion. And then the curses would feast on her.

Claws and fangs lashed at her. Tentacles subdued her limbs. She slashed them off with the knives from her broken spear, and she shifted to her Solo Forbidden Zone in desperation. Around her, the trees swayed and bowed, and the full moon gave the sky an abysmal grandeur. It drowned out the stars but barely illuminated her battleground. If anything, it was as if the moon only showed up to witness her impending death.

Utahime, bleeding and quivering, entered a fighting stance. She held out hope that Gojo might appear at any moment, or even her father and brother. Maybe she was stronger than she expected, and she could fight until the dawn.

All of these shattered at the emergence of the hashika deity. She had seen images of it before from prior manifestations: a massive childlike form in the air with a protruding belly and skin covered in red dots. Its face sagged, and in place of its mouth and nose were massive welts that reflected the human skeletons inside. Two twisted arms shot out from either side of it, and when Utahime looked down at her hands, she saw rashes covering her skin.

She dropped to her knees. Her temperature rose. Her vision blurred and cleared, the transition so disorienting that she could not register the enemy anymore. Soon, she was falling, her stomach flipping in the sudden sensation and her muscles tensing in preparation for the impact. Yet, when she landed, it wasn’t on hard, cold ground.

Utahime forced her eyes open and saw Getou hunched over her, his hand cradling her head. He had eclipsed the moon, which gave him a halo of pure white against the black sky.

Gently, he picked her up from the ground, pressing her body against his for warmth and stability. Utahime couldn’t stop the laughter gurgling in her throat. The sound bounced around them, as though dozens of her were laughing.

“It seems you’re incapable of leaving, Senpai,” Getou said, his gaze on her soft, almost affectionate. “I have no choice but to take you back.”

Utahime laughed until her throat dried, and her consciousness slipped into the tender clutches of nothingness. In the eternal night of her slumber, she saw everything and everyone she wanted to see. The Iori shrine. Jujutsu High. Her mother, father, and brothers. Shrine maidens turning, scarlet hakama pants ballooning with the movement. Priests carrying talisman papers. An endless staircase. The torii on top. Her office with the unreliable computer, the screen flipping to new images like a television. The Jujutsu HQ portal. Her students’ test results. Mission reports.

The Bingo Book.

Shoko, sitting across from her with a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Did you know that Getou has insomnia? She scoffed, drunk, her dress hiking up her legs as she shifted on the hotel room’s chaise lounge, the ashes from her cigarette falling on her bare skin. She really did love him.

Utahime turned around. Her old apartment, drab and lonely, stretched out before her like props on a stage play. Silhouettes formed in the gloom, and all of a sudden, there was the couch—the brand new one. Light flicked open in the kitchen.

What are you doing in the dark?

Gojo stared at her. He stood behind the counter of their new apartment, donning her yellow apron and floral mitts.

Go back to the bed. You have a fever, remember?

Utahime surfaced from her sleep, gasping for air. Getou dabbed a wet towel across her face and spread another blanket over her body. She blinked, and she was back in her apartment, lying down on the bed with Gojo wiping her arms.

Why don’t you want to go to the hospital? Should I call Shoko?

She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers and holding onto him until it hurt. Stay with me. I don’t want to go back there. Utahime writhed on the bed. Pain coursed her limbs like boiling liquid. She mumbled Gojo’s name over and over. Over and over.

She remembered being a little girl in the worship hall, learning prayers from her mother.

Priestess Tomoe corrected her pronunciation. Told her to mean the words. Pray to your god.

Utahime summoned images of Satoru Gojo. White hair. Bright blue eyes. Manic smile. Floating in the sky.

In a small voice, she begged her god: Suguru Getou.

Her eyes shot open, and she did not move. Arm tense and fingers aching, she glanced down and saw that she was holding hands with Getou, who slept beside her futon in a sitting position. Thick swathes of hair shielded his bowed head. Bowls of medicinal herbs, food bowls, and water surrounded them.

His body heaved as he exhaled. Lifting his head, he saw her, and they held each other’s gaze.

She wasn’t sure what he saw, but it seemed to please him. With a nod, he squeezed her hand and told her she had grappled with death and came out a new person.

You have been reborn.

Smiling, he added: You are ready.

Shoko lingered in the doorway watching Gojo.

He stood in the middle of his apartment, taking in its emptiness in silence. Hanabi emerged from the bedroom, found a wooden trinket that belonged to Utahime, and tossed it in the bin. She stopped next to Gojo. When he did not react to her presence, she fished for his phone in his kimono and stomped on it. The screen broke under the heel of her shoe. Another stomp. The phone split in half. She slipped a brand new phone in his hand.

“Your belongings have been sorted and separated. Yours are in the estate, and hers are in a secure location.” She sighed and massaged her forehead. “You know we can’t take chances. The worst thing that can happen now is for them to find out the two of you are engaged.”

Shoko remembered when Satoshi made her sign a document absolving her of Getou’s crimes. How it took only a few sentences on a single page to destroy what she had built with him. How a signature scribbled on a piece of paper could suffice to abandon one person forever.

Now, they were doing the same to Gojo. They were wiping away the evidence of his relationship with Utahime, clearing his phone, his laptop, and every surface of this apartment of anything that pointed to them ever being together.

Gojo had nothing to say. He maintained an impassiveness that was impossible to crack, even after they had nitpicked Utahime from his life like surgeons expunging a parasite.

Hanabi cussed under her breath and stormed into the bathroom. Shoko couldn’t blame her. None of them had enjoyed more than three hours of sleep since Utahime’s disappearance a week ago. Hanabi coordinated everything, holding the strings of the web Gojo was weaving, making sure everything and everyone concerned stayed connected. She was emotional and beyond exhausted. All of them were.

Gojo blinked a few times as though waking from a stupor, and he walked over to a wall. Shoko slipped off her shoes and followed him, curious. What she thought was an empty space hid a compartment for an electric fireplace, and there was Gojo, turning it on.

The sight stunned her.

“It’s the same,” she muttered. It was identical to the electric fireplace she and Getou marveled at in her uncle’s Kanagawa beach house. She didn't think this building was that old or that a piece of their time together in Kanagawa had followed Gojo and Utahime here.

Gojo glanced at her before switching the colors of the fire. Green then blue then red then orange. One more round before he turned it off.

Shoko took the remote from him and set it aside. Gojo was functional. He did everything he could with as much patience as possible, but he was no longer himself. Even when he smiled and made flippant remarks, the words and the actions were hollow. They were mere muscle memory. She insisted on staying by his side because the last time this happened, Getou was left by himself, and he massacred an entire town.

“No news of Satoshi?” she asked.

Gojo shook his head. From the corner of his eye, he inspected Shoko in her pale blue kimono. She scowled at him, unsure of what to make of his scrutiny, and in response, he draped his haori over her head. He did it in the same casual way he used to toss his jacket at her in high school whenever it rained, and neither of them carried an umbrella. She used to complain to Utahime that Gojo treated her like one of the boys, which she didn't mind except when he forgot to give her the common courtesy due to girls. Getou used to make up for it by opening doors for her, carrying the heavy loads of textbooks she pulled from the library, and getting additional coffee sleeves for her cup so she wouldn't burn herself. Gojo noticed this and demanded the same treatment, and that spurned a whole new argument.

She frowned at him as nostalgia struck her, and he frowned back, challenging her to protest. A few seconds passed, and without warning, Gojo smiled. Shoko was so stunned, all she could do was stare at him.

“I’ll wait for you in the car,” he said as he walked past her and out of the apartment.

Shoko pulled the haori down from her head. Like his school jacket, the haori hung from her shoulders like a cape. She pulled it close at the front, her hands brushing the embroidered plum blossom—a symbol derived from Sugawara no Michizane’s love for the flower—on the chest that was the centerpiece of the Gojo clan’s crest. The jacket was too big and fancy for her, but she couldn't return it to him now.

Sharp sobs from the bathroom broke her trance. Shoko found Hanabi hunched over the bathroom sink, thin lines of mascara running down her cheeks. She splashed water on her face repeatedly, scrubbed the mascara away, and rummaged her purse for makeup.

“Do you need anything?” Shoko asked.

Hanabi jumped back in fright. When she saw it was just her, she resumed digging in her bag. She found her lipstick soon after and struggled to swipe it across her lips.

“This is the longest I’ve gone without Uncle pestering me.” She smacked her lips and used her pinky to spread the red to the corners.

“As long as there’s no body, there’s a chance he’s still alive.”

“Have you ever been present in a mediation before, Shoko?”

The change in topic made her pause to consider Hanabi. Shoko had no idea she felt so deeply for her uncle, and decided it would be best not to discuss his disappearance further. This was the most fragile she had ever seen Hanabi, and the last thing she wanted was to push her to her breaking point.

“I’ve no reason to be," Shoko answered.

Hanabi stepped back from the sink, took one deep breath, and became an entirely different woman. Gone was her trembling and frantic energy, the crease in her brow, and the tension in her posture. The change was so swift that it could’ve been a magic trick—a cursed technique in itself.

“You’ll be in a room with the most despicable people in the Jujutsu World,” Hanabi said. “Men who have killed curses and sorcerers alike with pure bliss and have sent countless people to their deaths without remorse. These are the very same men who are going to lead you to your death one day, and that is if they don’t manage to crush your soul first with their debauchery."

Shoko nodded. This was not new to her, but to hear the warning from another woman hit differently. “Why are you telling me this?”

Hanabi glimpsed Shoko’s haori. “You’ve taken a side, and you’ll be targeted for it. Also, you’re a woman.”

A knock on the front door cut their conversation short. Daichi appeared around the corner and cast his gaze down when he saw they were in the bathroom. “Apologies, but we have to leave in five minutes.”

Hanabi gathered her hair in a bun on the top of her head, stuck a golden kanzashi through it to keep it in place, and glided out of the bathroom.

Watching the way she carried herself, it made Shoko realize with startling clarity why Gojo covered her with his haori. She was a nobody marching into a den of wolves, and regardless of what she thought of clan politics, the indomitable power of the Big Three remained the firm foundation of the Jujutsu World.

If she wanted to survive, he needed to mark her.

The Gakuganji shrine’s mediation hall lay hidden in the sacred forest far back from where the shrine’s known perimeters ended. Shoko and Megumi stepped out of the car and joined the Gojo clan’s procession, lagging near the tail end in grim silence.

Although Gojo and Hanabi were supposed to make a show of being together, Gojo was nowhere to be seen. So were Lady Sayuri and Akira. Hanabi led their procession with the Fugen marching on either side of them, creating a barrier that either protected them or disguised the true number of significant members in their team.

Shoko couldn’t help but scowl as she glanced around, recognizing only the Fugen, Emi from intelligence, and three of her assistants. Apart from them, there was no one else.  Megumi seemed to pick up on this, too, because even outsiders like them had expectations. When they were told that the three big families would gather in a mediation, they imagined crowds of old men and the stink of their god-complex fouling the air, not a small pack of young sorcerers who did not appear equipped to survive a single Zenin monster.

Her suspicions were proven correct when, in the brief moment it took them to turn to their assigned wing in the mediation hall, they saw the Kamo and Zenin procession emerging from the forest.

Lots of old men. Each procession boasting around two dozen men, and that was only half of the Kamo and Zenin parties.

What was going on?

Shoko wouldn’t have time to ask. As they traversed the corridor of their assigned wing, the group split into two, with Daichi leading Shoko and Megumi to a corridor separate from the one Hanabi took. A Gakuganji shrine maiden waved them over, and they climbed three flights of stairs with only the sound of their footfalls to break the heavy monotony in the place.

A priest accompanied by more shrine maidens greeted them. The man’s priestly vestments reminded her of Kazuo, and she wondered how he was doing. Gojo had not been amicable with the Iori clan. Their last interaction came in the form of an order: Gojo demanded that they allow Shoko to put Haruki in another medically induced coma before he regained full consciousness. He wanted Haruki asleep for the duration of this mediation, as he was certain of his treachery.

The priest opened a door for them, and the Fugen made way for Shoko and Megumi to pass through. They descended the aisle and sat at the front, from where they had a good view of the amphitheater-style sanctuary with five elevated daises crowded with zabuton.

Doors to the other balconies opened, and men in the colors of their respective clans filled the seats. Megumi shifted in his chair, trying to look comfortable when he obviously was not. The old men had spotted him, and murmurs rose.

Megumi adjusted his expression so that he came off as indifferent. The Gojo clan had dressed him in the same shade of blue as Shoko, but with navy hakama pants and a gold plum blossom brooch keeping the front of his haori together in the place of the traditional haori-himo.

“Did he at least tell you what his plan is?” Megumi asked.

“Gojo hasn’t been talking much. I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, and we’re all here to witness him explode,” she said.

“Can you stop him?”

Shoko chuckled. “We’ve been friends for a long time, but I doubt he’ll hear my voice if I scream.”

The Fugen seated themselves in the rows behind Shoko and Megumi, and a little while later, Hanabi reappeared. She sat beside Shoko and gracefully produced her folding fan. With a flick of her wrist, the folding fan cascaded to reveal its full breadth, and Hanabi used it to cover her lips as she spoke.

“Satoru’s only instruction is to remain calm,” she said. “I know it’s not reassuring, but please do your best.”

That was basically her mantra for when she had to work closely with Gojo, and he knew it. She wondered if Gojo was trying to make her laugh.

The murmurs in the balcony died down upon Principal Gakuganji’s entrance. Behind him marched a single file of priests and shrine maidens, who lined the perimeter of the sanctuary with fluid organization. Once Gakuganji was seated on his dais, he nodded, and the priests opened four doors simultaneously.

The Kamo clan, startling in blood-red kimonos with haori jackets brandishing their half-chrysanthemum crest, settled on the dais with Lord Hajime Kamo at the front. Noritoshi and his brother sat behind him, stern and straight-backed—the picture of the ideal sons.

Adjacent to them was the Zenin in forest green, donning more elaborate haori jackets marked with their swallowtail butterfly crest. Lord Naobito Zenin dropped to the zabuton with the grace of a drunkard. Ogi Zenin shot him a disapproving look but said nothing as he positioned himself next to Naoya.

The non-lineage members of Jujutsu HQ’s higher-ups entered next. Tall lattice screens with black fishpaper hid them from view. Even from the balcony, Shoko could not make out their faces, as the lighting was intentionally dim on their dais.

As the Kamo and the Zenin clans’ advisors settled in their respective lower daises, Gojo breezed in without ceremony. The sanctuary fell silent nonetheless, and all eyes watched as he strode to his clan's assigned dais in his patterned golden brown kimono. He wore no haori and no crest, and the only blue on him were his eyes, which were dead. They held no light and no interest in the mediation, even though he summoned everyone there himself.

A fresh wave of stillness overcame the room. 

Lady Sayuri flitted into the sanctuary in a blue kimono with an elaborate gold uchikake. Her long, white hair fell on her back with no ornament apart from the coronet that framed her face like a halo. The six spikes did not contain the clan's plum blossom insignia. In their  place were six infinity symbols at the top, each of them crested with blue gems where the loops overlapped.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, not only because of her ethereal splendor, but the fact that she was the only woman and non-shaman in this pit of sorcerers.

A third person appeared soon after, and for a second, everybody thought it was Satoshi. He had the same face, but with shorter hair and more grey strands. Like Lady Sayuri, he carried a nonchalance that only people born into power possessed.

Heads turned, and eyebrows scrunched together in a mix of confusion and surprise.

“Who’s that man?” Shoko asked Hanabi.

“That’s Ichiro Gojo, Uncle Satoshi’s older brother,” she said. “He hasn’t been active in the sorcery scene since Gojo was born. From what I heard, he was Lady Sayuri’s fiancé before she was put on sale, and Uncle bought her.”

Lady Sayuri settled on Gojo's right and Ichiro on the left. Emi’s three assistants occupied the lower dais, but she was nowhere to be seen. In total, they were six people facing the fifteen or so parties from each clan. That was not to mention their extended parties on the balconies, which loomed over the sanctuary with the intensity of vultures.

“Why is he here?” Shoko had to know. It didn’t feel right to see another man beside Lady Sayuri. The replacement had a sense of permanence, of doom. She didn’t want to even consider it.

Hanabi stopped fanning herself. “Because everyone knows he’s the worst person you can pair with Lady Sayuri when she’s out for blood. Even we didn’t know he’d show up until we saw him a couple of minutes ago.”

“I don’t understand why they’re leaving you in the dark. And Akira isn’t even here.”

Hanabi’s façade cracked, and a sadness overcame her features. “Father won’t stop for anything until he finds Uncle Satoshi. They’re able to concentrate on this mediation because they’re sure that if there’s anyone who can find him, it’s my father. And to answer your question, Satoru and Lady Sayuri trust no one right now.”

“Not even you?”

She held her chin up as she gazed down at her family. “We’re here to either witness a miracle or a massacre. Which do you think it’ll be?”

Utahime stood in front of an iko displaying a flowing red kimono. On another iko hung an uchikake in a deeper shade of red with gold embroidery. She knew at first sight that neither was traditionally correct or ritualistically appropriate. They looked like costumes actors would wear to please a crowd, to have something to whip around for dramatic effect.

She had a lot to say but no strength left in her to say them. Getou spoke about her rebirth as though she had become a wiser, more powerful version of herself. In truth, it was the exact opposite. After a week of fighting for her life and enduring an emotional rollercoaster punctuated by false hope, she was tired. Getou had transported her into this secret lair with a bag over her head to keep its location secret, and she did not care. Every ounce of resistance had fled her body, and every rational thought that belonged to her former self sounded detached, even in her head.

“Wash up and get dressed.” Getou patted both of her shoulders. “You want answers, right? This is the only way to get them.”

Young women in white robes guided her into a traditional Japanese bathroom, scrubbing her from head to toe before letting her soak in a compact ofuro made of cypress wood. It was so similar to what Utahime's family had in their home that while she lay submerged in the steaming water, she imagined that she was in her clan estate again, and her mother would yell her name any moment now. Dinner was ready. Stop using up all the hot water.

She was just beginning to fall asleep when the women hauled her from the tub to dry her. Once her hair had been brushed and her naked body exposed to incense, they began the long process of dressing her. Layer after layer of traditional vestments clung to her like a new skin, and she could barely move by the time the red kimono was tied into place. Before they put her in her red and gold uchikake, they applied powder and rouge on her face and placed a gold headdress on her head.

Strangely, once all the dressing up was done, she did feel something. The warmth in her veins resembled a sensation akin to a boost in cursed energy, like adrenaline, but more sustainable. It produced a calming thrum in her ears, and when she got used to it, she saw everything in more vivid color.

It was like waking up again, but this time, her eyes were truly open.

The women opened the door for her, and she glided into the corridor, where a blonde and a brunette teenager greeted her with clumsy bows.

“You’re here!” The blonde one bounced on her heels in excitement. “Master Geto’s been looking forward to this! I’m Nanako, and this is my twin sister, Mimiko. There’s no need to introduce yourself. Master Geto has told us so many things about you already.”

Mimiko held up her doll, from which a noose and long strand of hemp rope hung. "We're glad to finally meet you."

Utahime took her time studying the twins. So these were the girls Getou rescued. He killed for these two sorcerers and raised them under impossible situations, and now they were a part of his cult. Contributors to his elaborate scheme. Possibly murderers themselves.

They were around thirteen or fourteen years old, just a few years younger than Mariko and Natsuki.

“Where’s Getou?” she asked.

Nanako snapped a photo of Utahime on her phone and turned on her heels while texting. “Please follow us.”

The women stayed behind, leaving her to maneuver the long corridor with only the twins as her guide. Nanako and Mimiko walked side-by-side, with the former telling her nonstop about their busy schedules. She was sad that not everyone could be there to welcome Utahime, but they all had their roles to play. If everything went according to plan, they could soon gather as a family.

Utahime heard a pop in her head. A single, resounding crack, followed by another. The girls were so defenseless, and she knew she was fast enough to break their necks before the other could even scream.

It would be so easy. After all, hadn’t she already crossed a line when she stabbed her students? What difference would killing these girls make, except for the fact that it would be of her own volition? She may not be able to escape, but she could at least make Getou suffer.

Utahime raised her hand to reach for Nanako. It would be quick. Her fingers were grazing the loose strands of Nanako’s ponytail when Getou snatched her wrist.

“Oh, Master Getou!” Mimiko exclaimed.

Utahime stared at him, unperturbed, and he smirked. He yanked her towards him and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. Nanako and Mimiko waved at them as they scurried over to the side, where the partial gloom turned them into silhouettes.

She would’ve spat at Getou had she not picked up the cursed energy leaking from somewhere in the massive dome. Her pupils darted around the place and up the high ceiling but couldn’t find it.

Getou towed her forward. “Many years ago, while affiliating myself with cults to grow my collection of curses and spread my influence, I came across Ryousuke Gakuganji. I was not expecting to encounter anyone whose clan was actively affiliated with Jujutsu High, and so I tried to kill him, but then he made me an offer. His offer involved leading the Sasaki, as their numbers and power were dwindling, and I was exactly the kind of sorcerer he needed to shepherd the flock. I had been searching for this cult for a while, and I thought it must’ve been a sign from you, that a relative of yours should come to me and say that I was the man they needed—a sorcerer who could control curses. He needed me because he couldn’t get his sister onboard. We soon realized, however, that we had to have a Blood Maiden to solidify people's devotion to the Sasaki, so we lured her in. She was already secretly in search of her brother, and she fulfilled the role of Blood Maiden with the not-so-discreet intention of changing his mind. Women are so noble that way, aren’t they? Mothers, sisters, daughters, lovers—you all think love can turn the tides in your favor. I didn’t mind. As long as she was getting the tamed curses for us, then I was satisfied. There was no way she could leave by then, even if she wanted to. She had created a trap for herself, or maybe she was in denial that she also wanted to claim the power that rightfully belonged to her but Jujutsu High would’ve restricted. Like you told me before—it’s one thing to be strong and another to be strong and influential, which is why HQ is keen on keeping the Gakuganji and Iori under tight rein.”

"So, as any good fairytale goes, Priestess Himari did the noble thing and reclaimed the Gakuganji’s tamed curses for us. She nursed them like her own children because she couldn’t have any, and the Sasaki multiplied. You should’ve seen how these monkeys worshiped the curses. These beings of their creation, the fruit of all their sorrows manifested to give them the power they think they need to rise in society. My curses couldn't satisfy them. They needed the ones from the olden times, the same curses that the Blood Maiden subdued with her hymns.”

Getou narrated with theatrical flair, sometimes pushing and pulling her in like she was some kind of prop for his story. She would’ve snapped and snarled had this not been the explanation she had been waiting for. All these years of wondering, and now she had a semblance of reason. So she let him proceed uninterrupted, and she may even be gawking because she was enthralled. Not by the story itself, no, but by Getou’s performance. The man beside her was completely different from the man who sat with her in front of the makeshift cage. She felt she could appeal to that version of him, but not this one. This Getou, ravishing in his gold and black kimono, was a character she did not know.

For the first time since her capture, she wondered if Getou was truly insane or just a convincing actor.

“The more she did it, the more she became comfortable in her role, and soon, she wasn’t even trying to dissuade her brother,” Getou continued. “The only problem was that she was sick. All of the work she’d done over the years and the added stress of reclaiming the curses took its toll on her, and she was dying. Of course, that was a great inconvenience for us, but lo and behold, look who stepped up? Utahime Iori. My favorite Senpai. It was like our hearts and minds were one, and you filled in the gaps for me every time I was on the brink of giving up.”

“Eventually, Ryousuke realized that I planned to replace his sister, and he wouldn’t have it. He was too late, though. I proposed to you through the ritual circle, and you accepted. I only had to kill Ryousuke to keep him silent, and that was a close call.” Getou wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead in this exaggerated, cartoonish manner, something she could see him doing with Gojo by his side after pulling a prank.

She would’ve followed this line of thought—even called him out to see if this persona would break—but the room had gotten colder. Cursed energy, dense and suffocating, swirled around them, powerful but restrained.

Utahime stepped back, but Getou held her in place. Her eyes focused on the massive arch up ahead, its contents hidden by a curtain of darkness.

“Getou, what’s in there?” she asked, because even though she already had an idea, she wanted to believe she was wrong.

It couldn’t be.

“This?” Getou threw his arm in its direction, presenting a wonder she could feel but not yet see. “This is the reason I needed Himari to reclaim the curses. You see, long, long ago, the Blood Maiden saved Kyoto from three vengeful spirits. Not the legendary ones the infamous 'Big Three' descended from, no. There were others from when the Sasaki came into power, and the Blood Maiden was born. She did not kill them—she tamed them and then sealed them away. Where, though? Well, she didn’t want just anybody to know their locations, so she kept them hidden within the hymns that scorched her tamed curses. With Himari gone, I couldn’t subdue the curses myself because of the talismans she used to seal them away. Even with Satoru’s skills, he would’ve exorcised the curses while getting rid of the talismans. So, I came up with a genius plan. Or maybe it was you, or the both of us together. I abandoned the lairs where Himari relocated the curses and allowed you to retrieve them, therefore giving you all the training and strengthening you needed to perform your one true task as my Blood Maiden. Each retrieval made you more powerful, more beautiful, and when the time was right, all I had to do was bring you home to me.”

"No."

"Yes," he hissed. "You know them. They are the Sasaki's three gods, the ones who formed Japan once and will reform it through us."

Utahime stared at him, so chilled that she was numb. With the reverence of a prayer, she muttered their names: “Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susanoo.”

“They have been sealed away in caves for too long, and as the Blood Maiden, you are the only one with the power to free them so that they can create a new world for us.” On his cue, light struck the archway. “Behold, Amaterasu!”

Utahime would’ve fallen to her knees if not for Getou. She clutched his kimono as she drank in the sight of the vengeful spirit towering over them, so taken aback by its presence that she did not register the approaching footfalls until they were near.

Utahime turned her head at the same time the curtain to her left parted, revealing a sea of people in white. Men, women, and children fell to the floor, wailing and clapping their hands above their heads. Gilded monocles gave them a clear view of Amaterasu, and with each flare of its nose and whip of its tail, the crowd grew more manic in their joy.

Getou dragged her to the center of the stage, holding her up by the neck so she couldn’t look away. Thunderous applause deafened her. All she could hear was their clapping until Getou pressed his lips to her ear and said:  “Doesn’t it feel good, Utahime?”