Chapter Text
January 2006
The Gojo seldom open their doors to the gawking public, perhaps twice a year and in a formal setting where pomp and circumstance are observed.
The head and heir take a turn about the room. Many are eager to engage, looking for canon fodder for gossip.
"Congratulations on your first grandchild, Nakada-san, I hope your son is recovering well."
Insults can be levied in a number of ways. The lack of expected honorific shows that Satoru regards him as lesser, for that is what he is. The head of a minor clan. His age is disregarded; seniority is a power grab made by those who envy the strong. The acknowledgement of his son, an omega alludes to several points: a scandal 22 years ago where it was suspected that Nakada Yasu's wife, an omega, cuckholded him. An omega and a male beta are acceptable, but the lack of inherent compatibility results in infertility. Defying the odds results in beta children; the appearance of an omega, a son at that, sparked whispers: a male omega? How absurd. His wife must have strayed; the least he could have done is have an alpha; even a female alpha would be preferable to an aberrant male omega.
The beta's genial smile tightens at the connotation and becomes fixed. "Thank you, Satoru-kun."
He does not react at the slight. The familiarity, the infantilization, the lack of proper address. Except he pins him with his eyes, eerie and imposing-
Grandsire's side profile fills his vision; she plays damage control. It's beneath her. "Nakada-san, I hear-"
She shoots him a sharp look, but her eyes reveal relief and gratitude.
It could have been worse.
It could have been so much worse.
Satoru smirks mockingly and raises his glass.
He hates these functions.
On the rare occasions he ventures home, he ensures these visits are perfunctory, free of obligation, the hassle of family, the suffocating fist of responsibility.
However, he made an exception for this occasion.
His family still celebrates the Lunar New Year, and appearances must still be held. Perception is what matters; Gojo is at odds with his family, which is expected for someone in the throws of adolescence, but he is still a filial child. The truth is that the antipathy he holds for his family runs deep; he and his grandsire have a tumultuous dynamic, and many of his relatives are living on begged and borrowed time, the sword of Damocles inching ever closer. But there's no need to air out their disputes and grievances; the perception of the Gojo remains.
Satoru observes the banalities, curbs his acid tongue, and refrains from menacing the crowd.
These people are pests, liars the lot of them; it would take nothing to swat them, pluck their wings, watch them helplessly squirm, and trample-
He needs to escape.
He does not warn his grandsire; he departs, tosses his champagne flute, and steps onto the engawa. The wood creeks loudly beneath his feet.
It's freezing; Infinity whirs to life.
Loosening his tie, he contemplates what to do next. He's tempted to return to campus, meet up with Suguru and Shoko, maybe catch a movie.
He looks up. The stars are particularly bright tonight, and he sees them in exquisite detail. He closes his eyes and winces. Taking off his sunglasses, he rubs his eyes.
That was stupid and a momentary distraction from the headache that had been building at the base of his head.
He steps off the veranda and onto the stone path, dotting the carefully manicured garden. Winter is upon them, but this vanity still exists; it is the perception of things. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he decides to get lost on the road of life. He's fulfilled his duty. To go back, to linger is folly when greater pastures exist far from the madding crowd.
The gardens on the property aren't particularly vast, so he is surprised when he comes across someone else. Someone who probably had to escape like him.
He notices their curse energy first. It's contained around them, but it leaks out.
He notices the sound next.
As he rounds a corner and crosses a bridge over frozen water, the sound becomes louder.
He pauses.
There, on the short horizon, is a gazebo in vein of a tea house's soto-koshikake. Seated upon the bench is a boy; in his hands is a gaming console, a Nintendo DS; he notes absently he has one in the same color. Laid at his feet is a roaring inferno in the form of an Amur tiger, a shikigami. The flickering flames dance across the boy's face, but the light from his Nintendo highlights it.
It stops him in his tracks and demands his attention. He's dumbstruck.
The boy and tiger look up.
The tiger growls and gets to its feet.
The boy remains calm, briefly studying the blushing moron less than ten feet from him. He blinks, and verdant pools focus on his game again.
The tiger remains vigilant, growling deep from within its gut, the threat of a roar spilling forth as it begins to pace.
"I'm not here," the boy says quietly.
Unlike Satoru, he's dressed in traditional attire. Omega attire, a chu-furisode, and hakama, the family crest embroidered into the fabric of the kimono are familiar.
"I'm not either," he manages to find his voice; it's steady. He's happy it didn't crack; the earth would have to swallow him whole. "I'm lost on the road of life."
The boy's lips twitch.
"Are you a ronin or a vagabond?"
Satoru grins; he's found his diversion.
"Neither, both, maybe," He takes three steps closer, and the tiger burns brighter, flames sparking, likely to set fire to the gazebo. "I thought you were invisible. Are you a poltergeist?"
The boy's lips quirk.
"Nope, I'm a regular ghost. I just float, transparent, sometimes visible, but not here."
"I think the tiger sells the act well," Satoru says wryly.
"Doesn't it? It just screams, 'Go away!' It's my favorite party trick-shit," the boy curses and mutters. "I lost again; this is the fourth time."
Satoru winces in sympathy and takes one step forward. The omega's eyes snap to him, and he stands; the tiger grows in size. He tries to make himself seem as harmless as possible. He wonders if he's still blushing. "What game are you playing?"
"...Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow."
Not his usual cup of tea, but he's played it with Shoko.
"Is it the final boss?"
The boy nods hesitantly.
"Have you tried using a great sword type? They do the most damage."
He nods.
"Did you combine it with Great Axe Armor?"
He nods again.
"I used Claihm Solais, Dracula's Tunic, and Chaos Ring Erinys for the first half. Oh, and I also used Flying Humanoid and Lilth!"
The omega looks more contemplative than wary.
"For the second half, I used Kaladbolg, Death's Robe, Chaos Ring, Flame Demon, Bat Company, and Stolas. Switch to bat form and shoot fireballs at Menace's weak spots."
He now looks dubious.
"Give me five minutes, and I'll show you."
The omega eyes him steadily. "Okay," the flames die down, and the tiger's snarling maw closes.
He calculates the distance between here and campus via point of convergence. Teleportation is still a work in progress until he can do it seamlessly and without thought; it's a matter of mental math and physics.
He wriggles his fingers and disappears, leaving a stunned-looking omega in his wake.
He lands in the courtyard. He doubts anyone but Tengen-sama noticed his appearance. He well in tune with the barrier, seeing it helps with the accuracy of his calculations.
Satoru quickly enters the dorm and heads for his room. Posters and Polaroids dot the wall, manga, comics, and books sit in piles on the floor, dresser, nightstand, and desk. An iPod is on his desk, a CD player is by his pillow, PSP is on the dresser, and Nintendo DS is in the desk drawer next to his laptop.
The omega jumps upon his return. He smiles cheekily, landing at the threshold of the gazebo. "Impressed?"
The tiger is gone, but the imprint of its flame remains. It's replaced by twin wolves, and both stand dutifully at the boy's sides.
"It's useful," he says neutrally, but his eyes give him away. He's curious. Good.
Satoru brandishes his handheld console and places his foot on the gazebo entrance but does not enter. "Ready to learn from a pro?"
"I'm Zen'in Megumi," he replies, both an introduction and a warning.
His eyes widen infinitesimally, but his expression does not change from open and friendly.
"I'm Gojo Satoru."
The omega's lips part, recognition registers.
However, instead of being daunted, the boy raises his chin in challenge. "All right, let's see if this method works."