Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student - sincerelyamee - 呪術廻戦 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It all started on that late evening.

You were nestled comfortably in your dorm room, flipping through the heavy Encyclopedia of Water-Based Curses balanced on your knee. The leather binding creaked faintly as you turned each crinkled page, scanning the elaborate illustrations of snarling curses and lengthy descriptions of their vicious powers. Your third bottle of mint chocolate milk sat sweating on the desk, the sugary scent mingling with old paper and worn wood polish.

Yes. That’s your definition of chill. After all, you were a jujutsu sorcerer - any evening NOT spent fighting actual curses or running for your life totally counted as a chill evening.

You enjoyed learning new things and you loved a quiet room. It was shaping up to be an excellent evening. You were just starting to relax, enjoying the quiet solitude…

Until Gojo abruptly popped into your room. Literally. No knocking as usual. Screw this man and his teleport technique and his disregard for manners and politeness. A subtle displacement of air was your only warning. One moment your room was still and quiet, the next - a tall figure in crisp black outfit and tousled white hair was beaming down at you, his sudden presence nearly giving you a heart attack.

“Spices! I’m going to Sendai. I’ll drop by Kikusuian while I’m there. Want anything?”

Gojo declared with his signature bubbly enthusiasm that never failed to make you cringe.

How typical that he’d invite himself in and then offer to buy you treats as if that made up for the disruption.

You grimaced down at the pages in front of you, the illustration of a snarling water curse doing little to improve your mood.

Spices.

That stupid nickname had haunted you since your first month at the school, after Gojo overheard a particularly colorful outburst of yours. It wasn’t your fault - learning about this entire jujutsu world that you hadn’t even known existed until Gojo recruited you, the stress of training, of being in a new place with so many new people. You were worn thin.

But did the revered Gojo Satoru cut you any slack? Of course not. He latched onto your “spicy” language with delight, bestowing the nickname like a badge of honor.

Seriously? You might be a little bit impulsive with your choice of language occasionally. But most of the time, you were the picture of decency and good manners. Gojo had started it. Hakari and Kirara had adopted it with glee. And that’s how the nickname stuck. Soon, your real name was forgotten. Even your underclassmen called you Spices.

Spices-senpai. How stupid is that? Now only Principal Yaga called you by your given name. All because of Gojo’s nonsense.

Oblivious as always to your sour reaction, Gojo leaned casually against your desk, cheerfully babbling on about his impending snack run:

“How about I grab us your favorite, their Kikuf*cku mochi? The edamame ones, right? With sweet cream fillings?”

You leveled an unimpressed look in his direction. “You mean your favorite.”

Gojo laughed, waving a dismissive hand. The motion sent a waft of his expensive cologne your way - spicy oud mingling with bright bergamot.

“Details,” he grinned. “We both know I have impeccable taste.”

You barely refrained from rolling your eyes, knowing it would only encourage his antics. Arguing with Gojo was as productive as yelling at a brick wall. Still, you weren’t one to turn down free food just to prove a point.

So you sighed, giving in. “Thanks, sensei.”

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that Gojo Satoru was a glutton for anything sweet who would shamelessly steal snacks from anyone within reach. So the moment he plopped down next to you, you immediately moved your mint chocolate milk to the other side, safe and sound from his grabby hand.

The man might have just offered to buy you expensive mochi, but you would NOT sacrifice your mint chocolate milk to his bottomless pit of a stomach. Never your mint chocolate milk. Over your dead body.

Gojo pouted at you like he thought it made him cuter.

“You have so little faith in me, my dear student.” He lamented dramatically.

As the saying goes - the best defense is a good offense. Keeping a suspicious glare locked on his every movement, you chugged the entire bottle in one go, maintaining fierce eye contact all the while.

He chuckled in response. “As territorial as a dragon with its hoard, aren’t you Spices?”

You merely burped, unrepentant. When it came to food, you would defend what was yours at all costs against moochers like him. And Gojo knew better than to test you… you were undoubtedly his most spoiled third year.

As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, you fixed the infuriating man with a shrewd look.

“Why are you going to Sendai at this hour?”

Surely not just to buy you his favorite mochi?

Gojo shrugged, plopping casually onto your bed. His weight made the old mattress springs creak in protest.

“I really do miss those Kikuf*cku mochi.” He sighed wistfully. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “But I should also probably check on Fushiguro while I’m there. His mission got a bit messy apparently.”

That got your attention. You straightened up, thoughts of mochi forgotten.

“Megumi? What mission?”

“No big deal.” Gojo examined his nails airily. “Just a collection mission. Easy breezy.”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Collect what?”

“One of the fingers.”

It took you a second to process what ‘finger’ he meant. When it clicked, you nearly crushed the empty milk bottle still clutched in your fist. You were pretty sure at least one of the blood vessels in your brain popped off.

“You sent a FIRST YEAR to collect one of Sukuna’s f*cking fingers? Alone?!” You exploded.

Gojo reached out and flicked the tip of your angrily flushed nose in rebuke.

“Language, Spices.” He chided in a sing-song voice.

As if THAT would distract you. You were far too incensed to rein in your temper.

“Are you insane?!” you snapped, smacking his hand away. “I should have come with him. Anything Sukuna-related is NOT a one-man job!”

You had not known Fushiguro Megumi for very long, perhaps a few months at best, but you had already grown unexpectedly fond of the prickly boy. That little sea urchin, with his aloof glare and standoffish body language, always so irritated with the world.

He definitely didn’t seem to like you much in the beginning… if he liked anyone at all. He had that palpable “leave me alone” vibe - spiky hair hiding his face, arms habitually crossed in an invisible barrier, one-word answers to all attempts at small talk. Anyone else would have taken the hint after a few cold shoulders and kept their distance.

But not you.

There was a wariness there, a carefully contained fragility that resonated with your own. You recognized that cold glare all too well, having worn it like armor yourself once upon a time before Gojo had broken through your walls with his irritating persistence and arrogant cheerfulness.

You knew—beneath the hostile exterior, Megumi was just a boy thrown alone into the cruel world of jujutsu, trying desperately to survive. You could relate all too painfully. So you persisted. Offering your quiet presence like a comforting blanket, you’d hover at the edges of Megumi’s personal bubble - reading nearby, snacking, giving him the space he clearly craved without leaving completely. Never demanding attention.

During meal time, you would add an extra pudding cup to your tray, then silently offload it into Megumi’s as you slid in beside him, talking lightly about Gojo’s recent antics as you ate. In the library, you’d claim the seat beside him without a fuss, the two of you reading in a comfortable silence broken only by the occasional turn of a page.

Now and then, you simply occupied nearby space whenever Megumi sought out an empty, tucked-away corner, tapping idly at your phone screen to give him a sense of company without expectation.

Then one day, between training sessions, he fell into step beside you, wordlessly holding out an ice-cold bottle of mint chocolate milk. Your favorite.

From that small olive branch on, a new ease settled into your interactions. His initial rejection of the pudding cups turned into tentative acceptance turned into quietly waiting for them every day. The irritated eye rollings at your appearance in the library softened into furtive peeks over book spines to see if you’d come to keep him company.

He held himself stiffly at first, poised for flight, when you claimed the armchair adjacent to his in the common room. But bit by bit, he began gradually relaxing, even leaning into your idle chatter about curse techniques and assignments.

Most times, the two of you still spent stretches together in a comfortable silence rather than actual conversation. But the quietness itself somehow felt warmer now, more intimate than isolating. And every so often, when he thought you weren’t paying attention, you’d notice the flicker of a barely-there smile softening Megumi’s face at something you’d said. In those moments, you felt a fierce affection and protectiveness swell brightly in your chest.

Megumi and you were good friends. The thought of him going on such a dangerous mission alone, when you were lazing around in pajamas, squeezed your heart painfully.

You bit your lip, mind racing over all the ways such a seemingly simple mission could spiral disastrously out of control. Cursed spirits were notoriously unpredictable at the best of times. And anything remotely connected to the King of Curses himself...

“Stop overthinking so much,” Gojo suddenly reached over to ruffle your hair “or you will go bald. Fushiguro is a second-grade sorcerer. He’s fine.”

You swatted his hand away with more force than necessary, bursting out:

“I am a second grade, too. Two second grades are better than one.”

Finally sensing your genuine distress beneath the sharp words, Gojo held up both hands in a placating gesture.

“Alright alright. No need to get upset with your dear sensei.” He laughed. “Just wait right here and I’ll bring you your two favorite things, Fushiguro and Kikuf*cku mochi!”

Before you could lob another heated reply, Gojo vanished in a warp of distorted air. You stared hard at the now empty space where he’d been just a second before, anxiety and helplessness churning sickly within.

You fell into bed, frustrated. Now you certainly wouldn’t be able to read sh*t, not until Gojo brought Megumi back in one piece. Logically, you knew as long as Gojo was there, everything would be fine. He was invincible for good reason - no curse could touch him.

And yet, you couldn’t help the irrational foreboding swirling in your chest. You shook your head sharply, as if the physical gesture could somehow dispel the dark premonition crawling up your spine. Gojo would fix this. He had to.

In the meantime, all you could do was wait, thoughts spinning uselessly... and try in vain to ignore the cold lead ball of fear sinking deeper in your stomach with each endless, crawling minute.

Little did you realize how right you were. At that moment, things had just taken a very bad turn indeed.

A buzz from your phone jolted you from restless dreams some time later. Blearily you pawed for the device, squinting against the sudden bright screen.

A text from Gojo. Heart lurching, you quickly tapped it open. Only to nearly hurl your phone across the room.

Because there on the screen was an image of a bloodied, beaten-up Megumi with one arm curled around his blood-soaked middle. In full HD.

From: Dumbass Sensei

Spices!

Look!

Maki gonna love dis

(˵ ͠ಥ‿ ͠ಥ˵)

For one suspended second, you gaped at the photo in abject horror. Then outrage flooded in. Whelp. This time you were sure, you had definitely burst a blood vessel.

Jamming one finger on Gojo’s grinning contact photo, you smacked the phone to your ear. He picked up after the first ring.

Gojo had known you for over two years, so he knew better than to have his phone anywhere near his eardrum when facing your wrath. It didn’t help much though. Your voice thundered out so loud his speaker crackled:

“Gojo-sensei W H A T T H E A C T U A L F U C K—”

You heard Gojo make a tutting sound on the other side:

“Mind your language, Spices. The children are listening.”

He did call you Spices so you were going to live up to expectations. You barked back, totally not minding your language:

“What the f*ck happened to Megumi?!”

The screen shook as Gojo flipped to video mode, pointing the camera at a battered Megumi.

“Say hello to your favorite senpai, Fushiguro!” he prompted cheerfully.

Now you could see Megumi sitting on the floor of something that looked like… the rooftop of a building?

“Senpai.”

Megumi waved at the camera, still a young man of few words as ever. You gripped the phone with white knuckles, urgently scanning him through the screen. He was indeed bloody and banged up, but by some miracle, still alive.

Hearing Megumi’s voice, exhausted but steady, had you breathing a small sigh of relief. Your volume softened from the thundering tirade.

“You alright? What on earth happened?”

Megumi sighed, even more deeply than you.

“I’ll live…” He hesitated. “I found the finger…”

That sounded like good news.

Except for Gojo’s infuriating giggles behind the camera. You knew he was up to nothing good.

“But…?” You prodded, bracing yourself for the worst.

Megumi buried his head in his hands, his hair seemed even spikier somehow.

“But an idiot went and ate it.” He groaned into his palms. “Now I don’t know what to do…”

And then the camera spun dizzyingly to a half-naked boy with pink cropped hair around Megumi's age, Gojo very helpfully providing narration:

“That idiot in particular.”

The idiot in question was covered in nasty gashes but still managed to bow politely at you.

“I’m Itadori Yuji. Nice to meet you, Spices-senpai!”

Spices-senpai?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. So he was really an idiot.

Despite knowing perfectly well that Idiot Yuji couldn’t actually see you, his bright eagerness still prompted you to bow back a little as you introduced your name, the real one. If this disaster boy was going to be involved now, he might as well get things right from the start.

That’s when the full absurdity finally sunk in. You squinted at your screen to get a better look at Yuji, morbidly fascinated.

“So… you really ate Sukuna’s finger?” You repeated slowly, just to be perfectly clear on this nonsense.

Pink splashed across Yuji’s nose as he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.

“Um, yes? It seemed like a good idea at the time?” He offered with an apologetic wince. “I’m very sorry! I didn’t mean to cause you guys all this trouble…”

You barely suppressed an incredulous laugh at that. This kid was either the unluckiest human alive, or had the world’s most defective survival instincts. Either way, what an absolute disaster.

There were about a hundred urgent questions flying through your brain right now. Things like potential contamination, curse manifestation, and what consuming an ancient mummified body part might do to a regular living human. Or at the very least - why, for the love of all that’s holy, had he stuffed the wretched thing in his mouth like a chicken nugget in the first place?

But the first thing that slipped out was:

“What did it taste like?”

Yuji blinked, clearly blindsided by the odd question. In the background, Megumi looked torn between incredulity and resignation at your eccentric priorities. A familiar reaction anytime your curiosity eclipsed more pressing issues.

“Senpai, seriously?” he muttered, running a tired hand down his face.

Gojo’s giggles erupted into full-bellied laughter, which caused the camera to shake violently.

You continued, very seriously:

“What? No book ever really describes these things you know, or gives any interesting information. Everything is censored to hell. I wanna know everything. Tell me, Yuji!”

Yuji scratched his chin, looking more and more like an idiot:

“Well… I wasn’t really paying that close attention to the flavor. But I guess it’s like… chewing on an old leather seat from a school bus? A little stale and salty too?”

You distinctly heard Megumi grumble “How do you know what bus seat leather even tastes like—” before tuning him out entirely.

This was groundbreaking intel. You grabbed your bullet journal and scribbled down every word at lightning speed. You were always a curious mind. Sometimes too curious for your own good. But this was a one-in-a-million opportunity, so you wouldn’t waste it. Your researcher’s instinct was in full gear. Who cared if it was unconventional data gathering? No one in recorded history had a first-hand account of munching on the King of Curses before. This was pioneering work, as far as you were concerned!

“Did you chew at all? What was the texture like going down?” You rapid-fired, pen posed eagerly over your notebook. “How did it affect you? How long before you felt any effects kick in?”

Bless him, Yuji very patiently answered your barrage of questions in thorough detail:

“Well I just swallowed it whole so I can’t say much about texture. It kinda felt like a thick smooshy stick? Got briefly stuck in my throat too. For a minute, I felt like… How do I say it… Um… Like I was thrown straight into flames. Everything was red hot. Then a kind of weird energy flooded my veins. My body started to move on its own… Then it’s like my mind cleared up and I got back in control.”

“He also sprouted two more eyes and got some crazy tattoos all over. Ripped his shirt clean off for some reason. No clue what that was about.” Megumi added in a flat tone.

“Ohh… Fascinating…” You muttered, nodding along as you carefully took notes “So, he’s like another personality, right? You know, like when people have multiple personality disorder? Were you conscious when he was in control?”

Yuji winced. “I guess so? Even now I can still hear him screaming obscenities at me in my head. It’s a little distracting actually.”

Multiple personalities, altered physiology, some kind of internal mental struggle over bodily autonomy… this was truly unprecedented!

You were about to ask more questions when Gojo breezily cut you off.

“Calm down, Spices. While this has been quite educational, we do have more pressing issues at hand.” He pointed out, tone infuriatingly casual given the circ*mstances. Then he turned to Yuji. “Hey, Itadori. Think you can let Sukuna take over for a bit?”

“Oh, yeah, probably…”

With that, Gojo tossed his phone and his bag of mochi at Megumi and started doing stretches:

“Give me ten seconds with him once he’s out. Take back control after that.”

“I dunno about this…” Yuji seemed to pale a little. Not that you could see well, since Megumi was still fumbling with Gojo’s phone and his massive Kikuf*cku mochi purchase.

Gojo’s airy dismissal of your academic curiosity made you scowl. Still, when he casually told Yuji to intentionally let Sukuna out, you bristled:

“That’s dangerous, sensei. We don’t know how this works yet. And Gumi, for the love of god, can you please hold the phone steady? I’m about to get motion sickness from all your fumbling!”

Megumi complied, eventually managed to steady the video feed, though not without an aggrieved huff at your bossiness. You chose to ignore his grumble about you being demanding and insufferable. There were indeed more pressing issues at hand.

Gojo flashed his trademarked co*cky grin, clearly unbothered:

“Don’t worry! I’m the strongest jujutsu sorcerer!”

Then he turned that smirk your way.

“You must want to see it too, don’t you Spices? I can hear it in your voice. You’ve got all those questions…” He needled teasingly.

You bit your lips. He wasn’t wrong. You always wanted to know, to see, to figure things out. You knew if things got out of hand, Gojo would have no problem dealing with whatever came up. But then you glanced at the nervous boy on screen, looking so small and afraid, your heart constricted. What if he really lost control and Sukuna took over fully? He’s just a kid.

“My questions don’t mean sh*t!” You snapped. “Yuji’s safety is way more important here!”

But Gojo merely wagged his finger at you. Obviously, he’s gonna do it no matter what kind of language you screamed at him.

“Fushiguro, make sure your senpai has a good view, will ya?”

That was the first time you laid eyes on the legendary Ryomen Sukuna in the flesh. Or… in Yuji’s flesh. Still a chilling sight even through a phone screen.

Megumi hadn’t exaggerated about the extra eyes and flashy tattoos. You pressed screen recording.

The camera whipped sharply as Megumi turned to warn Gojo. But Sukuna was already springing at him in a blur, movements feral and oozing violent intent. The contrast between Yuji and Sukuna was striking - where Yuji had been cheerful and bright, this ancient creature was all blistering rage and chaos bottled into a deceivingly small form. Crimson flickered across those four malevolent eyes, black markings flowing like living things. Even through the phone, you could feel dark energy crackling and smell the acrid smoke in the air.

Gojo easily sidestepped Sukuna’s lunge, his smirk widening:

“I’ve got my two favorite students watching, so… I hope you don’t mind if I show off a little.”

And show off, he did.

Their brief but destructive clash was hard to follow on screen - just brief glimpses of Sukuna’s wild strikes and Gojo’s graceful counters between debris flying wildly. Megumi cursed up a storm, his trembling hands clutched tightly to Gojo’s phone and his mochi bag, still trying his absolute best to give you a decent viewing angle.

You were glued to the screen, heart pounding.

Ten seconds ran out.

Yuji blinked back into control, looking rather dumbfounded at all the destruction surrounding them:

“Oh… everything okay?”

You were finally able to let out the breath you were holding.

Gojo chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“What a surprise! You really can control it!”

With that, he tapped Yuji on the forehead and knocked him out cold.

“What did you do?” Megumi’s voice was strained with nervousness.

Gojo grunted a little as he hefted the unconscious Yuji on his shoulder:

“Knock him out for transport, of course. Damn, this kid’s heavy. What did they even feed him? Okay, your senpai still there?”

Megumi raised the phone higher in response.

“A question for you two. What do I do with this ticking bomb here?”

That question marked the pivotal moment when everything officially went to sh*t.

It was such a simple question. By jujutsu regulations, Itadori Yuji should be executed. Plain and simple. You and Megumi shouldn’t have had any trouble with it. This was the way your world worked. Rules were in place for a reason. When the rules were broken, people usually died. You both knew that. But for some reason, your chest felt so tight you could barely breathe.

Who were you to decide that a person had to die?

“He saved my life, senpai” Megumi started, his voice firm “He ate that finger to save me… Because I wasn’t strong enough to do my job. I know he must be executed, but I don’t want to let him die.”

“Is that a personal opinion?” The corner of Gojo’s lips curled up.

Megumi lifted his chin. “Yes, a personal opinion. Please do something about it.”

Gojo leaned closer into the phone screen to get a better look at you.

“How about you? Whatcha think?”

You weren’t even there back then when it all happened. Hell, you were technically not even there right now. What could you possibly think?

“I’m with Megumi.” You said with the conviction of someone who was knowingly giving their teacher the wrong answer.

Yes. In the grand scheme of things, it was most likely, extremely wrong to let Sukuna’s vessel live. And taking on this kind of responsibility was incredibly out of character for you. Even if you were only a background character.

“You sure?” Gojo pressed, tone oddly serious. “If he ends up destroying the world or something, you’ll be held responsible. Both of you.”

“Don’t drag someone who’s on a video call into this, Gojo-sensei.” Megumi cut in sharply. “I, alone, will take responsibility for Itadori.”

“Eh… If something goes wrong and Sukuna breaks out later, we’ll just exorcize him then. You and I fight well together, so it’s fine, right?” You laughed, a little too nervously, but you did mean what you said, however ridiculous it sounded.

You were just a normal, average jujutsu sorcerer. All you ever wanted was to graduate, have a stable job, save up, and retire early – a long, uneventful life. It would not be a very long life if you really had to fight Ryomen f*cking Sukuna. Even in your fever dreams, you would not be delusional enough to really believe your great teamwork with Megumi could defeat the King of Curses.

But would you be able to live with yourself, knowing you let an innocent child die because he made the mistake of being kind and selfless? Knowing you could have done something about it, but didn’t?

“Spices, this is not a joke.” Megumi hissed at you. Then, he switched to your real name, his voice barely a desperate whisper “Stay out of this. You could die!”

But you merely smiled. “I know. And I’m with you.”

What’s the worst that could happen anyway? Sukuna could take over someday. Megumi and you would go after him and get brutally murdered in a minute or much less. Then, it wouldn’t be your problem anymore, would it? No big deal.

And that settled the issue. While Megumi was still glaring at you with that half-angry half-grateful look in his eyes, mumbling about you having too many loose screws in your head, Gojo snapped his fingers cheerfully:

“A request from my two precious students. How could I refuse? Leave everything to me!”

You exhaled in relief, tension seeping out as you flopped onto your back. If Gojo wanted something done, it would be. Yuji would live.

Then a sudden thought entered your mind.

“Gojo-sensei, you’ll still bring me those Kikuf*cku mochi right?”

“Of course! Our mochi takes priority!”

Gojo laughed before ending the most traumatizing video call of your life.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“Senpai, why are you still here?”

Megumi's grumpy tone sounded more petulant than intimidating, likely thanks to the co*cktail of pain meds circulating through his system. He glared at you from his fortress of pillows, eyes still glazed from lingering anesthesia.

His attempt at acting offended was rather ruined by the bunny print scarf and fuzzy socks you'd dressed him in after Shoko's healing session. The scarf covered him up to his nose, leaving just his bloodshot eyes glaring out. His body felt heavy and disconnected, thoughts blurred. But annoyance at his undignified situation pierced through the fog.

Shoko had healed all the life-threatening injuries but Megumi still had to deal with the other sprains and bruises and non-lethal cuts. Shoko refused to work on anything that’s not likely to become a cause of death.

“If I started treating people’s cuts and bruises, my work hours would never end.” She told you once, months ago, through cigarette smoke. “Let the body heal what it can.”

You shrugged off the memory and answered Megumi without looking up from your laptop:

“Ieiri-san wants me to keep an eye on you until the good stuff wears off. We both know you'll try getting out of bed too soon otherwise.”

Megumi harrumphed, but couldn't exactly argue. Not after you'd had to peel him off the floor of the common room just hours ago in a stubborn attempt to prove that he was actually okay. Which he wasn’t. So he huffed in annoyance:

“Is that so? That’s why you’re taking up half of my bed?”

That’s when you finally took your eyes away from your work.

Your little makeshift workspace did monopolize a good portion of his mattress, you acknowledged. You were sitting on the floor, your laptop propped on one side of his bed, your notes and pens and highlighters scattered everywhere. Library books piled up around you.

“I need some place to work.” You smiled disarmingly, but made no move to gather your stuff. Megumi seemed alright on his half of the bed. This side was yours now. You were doing important work. “And it's cozy here. I'll try not to bother you too much, grumpy sea urchin.”

You softened the tease with an affectionate poke to his blanketed foot.

“Or you could work on my desk like a normal person.” Megumi grumbled once more, tugging at his blanket, which caused your pens to tumble down.

You deftly caught the pens before they hit the floor without breaking your focus on the laptop screen. Your eyes were glued to the chilling footage of Sukuna’s first manifestation in a thousand years. You'd already watched the sparse 11 seconds of footage over fifty times now, parsing every frame for clues.

Even after transcribing every small detail about him and cross-referencing everything with what little information available in history books, there were still so many gaps to fill. After all, not many sorcerers had met Ryomen Sukuna and walked away to write a book about it. You had very little to work with, but it’s still a lot more than anyone in the history of jujutsu ever had.

“They said Sukuna had four arms. Why did Yuji grow two more eyes, but not two more arms?”

You didn’t realize you had said that out loud until Megumi scowled at you:

“Why are you so hung up on this?”

“It’s research.” You waved an impatient hand. “And if we’re ever to exorcize Sukuna, we need to understand how this works first.”

Reminded of the vow you two had made to Gojo back then in exchange for Yuji’s life, Megumi deflated. He turned to face you directly, blue eyes serious:

“Senpai… Do you regret it?”

You took a deep breath.

Saving Yuji's life had been the only option in the horror of the moment. You’d do it all over again if you had to. But at the same time, you knew damn well you were way in over your head.

“Nah. No regrets.” You managed a lopsided smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

The nonchalance felt forced even to your own ears as reality weighed heavily on your shoulders. But what both of you needed right now was reassurance, not more doubts.

Whatever. It was what it was.

Megumi was a genius when it came to fighting and curse techniques. And you were the biggest bookworm to ever live. If there was something to be figured out, the two of you surely would. That thought soothed you on sleepless nights when visions of Sukuna's manic laughter over burning cities plagued your dreams.

Megumi studied you with that inscrutable look - just as you felt a blush rising, he said:

“Probably has something to do with human physiology.”

You tilted your head. “Huh?”

“You asked why he didn’t sprout two more arms. Likely some physiological limits he couldn’t bypass with cursed energy.”

You hummed appreciatively at Megumi’s input:

“Makes sense. Bones, muscles, ligaments, nerves… There would just be too many things to deal with. Two new eyes right underneath the normal eyes seem easier to manage, right?”

“Yeah. Considering he only has one finger, his cursed energy reserves are limited. He was more focused on murdering Gojo anyway.”

“Great brain you got there, Gumi!”

You gave Megumi’s foot another nudge with your pen, unable to hide your grin. Pink dusted his cheeks as he fought back the urge to smile at the odd praise, but you could clearly tell he was pleased.

This was why you loved study sessions with Megumi. It’s still summer and the school year hadn’t officially started yet. Megumi had moved in early. He seemed to have a good grasp of jujutsu already despite being a first year. Brainstorming with him was always fun. It’s not something you could do with your classmates, since Hakari and Kirara were more of the hands-on type. Although they would indulge your crazed rambles as much as they could tolerate, they were never able to offer much insight. And more often than not when you spiraled too deep, Kirara would resolve to shut you up with a pack of your favorite mint chocolate milk while Hakari patted you on the back.

You hadn’t known how pleasant it could be to have someone you could fall into passionate discussion with. Until you met Fushiguro Megumi.

And to your surprise, despite his coldness and all that, Megumi seemed to appreciate and even encourage your ADHD-induced tendency to info-dump obscure details. Where others glazed over or lost patience, Megumi would ask you to explain more about a binding vow's historical precedents or ask clarifying questions until he truly understood whatever irrelevant jujutsu lore you were babbling about. Not just to humor you, but because your passion kindled his own curiosity.

In Megumi, you found not only a friend, but dared you say, a kind of soul mate. Someone whose sharp mind and hunger for knowledge matched your own restless chasing for answers.

That didn’t mean you always agreed with each other, of course. It’s actually the opposite. Your perspectives were often different, and they interwoven like adjoining puzzle pieces, each strengthening the other.

The way Megumi's eyes would linger on you a fraction too long after you'd landed a particularly impressive point made something flutter treacherously in your chest…

Now wasn't the time for such trivial matters, though. So you pushed away the distracting thoughts and typed in your theories about cursed energy vs. physiological limitations while continuing bouncing ideas with Megumi:

“But if he got more fingers, perhaps he would have enough to grow more arms?”

“That’d be inconvenient for Itadori.” Megumi grimaced at your hypothesis.

Yeah. Right.

If Sukuna gained a bunch more fingers to have enough cursed energy to regain his original form, what would become of Yuji?

“He’d have to wear a huge cloak to hide all those arms. I mean, who even needs four arms?” You forced a chuckle, pretending not to notice the underlying bitterness in Megumi’s voice.

“Not Itadori.” Megumi nodded. After a quiet beat, a trace of wry warmth entered his voice. “He’d look even more stupid.”

Megumi knew ill-timed humor was your coping mechanism, and for some reason, he decided to go along with your attempt at steering the conversation away from thoughts of impending doom. Trust Megumi to always have your back.

“Very true. Though I suppose extra arms could be useful in battle?”

“Or carrying your books for you while you work, so you wouldn’t have to take up half of someone’s bed.”

Megumi suggested, the barest smirk playing on his lips. You gasped in exaggerated delight.

“Fushiguro Megumi, you brilliant mastermind! Now that’s something I can fully endorse.”

You dissolved into much-needed laughter. Even Megumi gave a good chuckle. The dark tension retreated, for now.

“I wonder why the finger had to be eaten for the effect to kick in though.” You rubbed your chin thoughtfully, your mind already leaping ahead.

There had been so many cases where cursed objects affected people who were just merely close by. Possession by cursed objects typically occurred by proximity. But Yuji had no problem holding it. If he’s truly a one-in-a-million whose body could host the King of Curses, surely the finger had to have sensed it somehow and made an attempt to possess the boy? Perhaps it’s why he ate it? Who in his right mind would eat a severed mummified finger?

Unless…

“I think the human body acts as a kind of natural domain...” Megumi supplied, jostling you from your own thoughts.

“...And the act of swallowing the finger symbolizes breaking into this natural domain, allowing Sukuna to truly manifest into Yuji and take over his body to reincarnate.” You finished Megumi’s sentence with a grin.

“That’s right.” The corner of Megumi’s lips lifted ever so slightly.

Megumi loved a good puzzle just as much as you did, probably finding refuge and peace of mind in identifying patterns and breaking down mysteries. You were the only one who could keep up with him in this aspect.

He would never tell you, but he greatly enjoyed studying with you, watching your eyes light up as incredible and, often, ridiculous ideas flashed in your weird brain. And he treasured these moments together with everything in him that was still tender and yearning for connection underneath all those deadpan scowls and eye-rolls.

Oblivious to the sudden softness in Megumi’s eyes, you continued theorizing, typing furiously into your Sukuna Research Google Doc:

“So it’d probably work the same if the finger went into his body through a different entry point?”

One thing was clear: You never ceased to catch him off guard. You and your weird little brain.

“Don’t....” Megumi scrunched his face in disgust “Don’t go there, Spices.”

“What? I mean, the act was more about…” You attempted to make your case, but the disgusted glare Megumi was shooting you left no room for argument. “Alright, what about internal changes though?”

After glaring at you some more to make sure you really had abandoned your theory of alternative methods to break into the human body’s natural domain, Megumi asked:

“What do you mean by internal changes?”

Megumi's withering glare warned he would strangle you with his bare hands if you dared suggest just one more disgusting idea. Not that you felt intimidated by someone high as a kite on pain meds. You were sure you could take him now.

One way or another. Your traitorous brain supplied.

You shook it off. That’d be too mean and inappropriate, even for someone nicknamed Spices. So instead, you laid out your hypothesis:

“I mean, like structural and functional changes in Yuji’s brain? We know that people with multiple personality disorder have changes in their hippocampus, amygdala, and prefrontal cortex. Yuji should have at least developed more neurological pathways to accommodate Sukuna.”

You tapped your pen in consideration. “We should scan his brain activity. I bet the activation patterns are distinct from his normal self when Sukuna emerges. Oh! And compare his cursed energy circulation to a standard sorcerer’s…”

Megumi considered your words for a moment. That didn’t occur to him. For someone born into a non-sorcerer family and didn’t even have an innate cursed technique, your affinity for dismantling the working behind curses felt uncanny.

“You may be right.” Megumi said reluctantly. He could sense the direction you were going. “But I wouldn’t bet on it. Most jujutsu things can’t be explained by science.”

“Yet.” You added, fire in your eyes. “Most modern science used to be considered witchcraft and sorcery. Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Perhaps, jujutsu operates on consistent biological principles too.”

Megumi's gaze turned thoughtful. He didn’t argue with your sudden spiel but simply asked, something sounded like fragile hope in his voice:

“What are you getting at?”

You looked down at the pages of research notes you had been making, your voice low and measured:

“I told you. We need to understand how this works if we want to deal with it. And… there may be a way to stop it from ever becoming a problem that needs to be dealt with.”

“You mean… if we could reverse-engineer it somehow…”

“Then we could help Yuji maintain control. Or if we’re really lucky…” You offered a tentative smile. “We could possibly extract Sukuna without harming Yuji.”

You and Megumi looked at each other in silence. Possibilities bloomed in your heart.

Just as you were about to reach out and squeeze Megumi into a hug against his will, his door flung open and Gojo flounced in with a cheeky grin:

“Megumi! Spices! Are we having a moment~ ?”

“Ever heard of knocking?” Megumi muttered, tugging off the bunny scarf you had wrapped around him in an attempt to fend off further teasing from Gojo.

“Well, at least he came in through your door. He never comes through my door.” You folded your laptop with a dramatic sigh. Now that Gojo was here, you wouldn’t be able to do any more work.

“Fushiguro! You finally look better!” Yuji's bright grin seemed to light up the room as he peeked inside. “Spices-senpai too! Awesome!”

You perked up, dashing out to greet him:

“Yuji! You moved in already?”

Gojo mentioned his transfer, but you hadn't expected to see him so soon. It was a pleasant surprise.

“I’m in the next room!” Yuji beamed. “Are you roommates with Fushiguro?”

“Nah, my room’s around the corner.” You snorted. “I just decided that Megumi could benefit from my company.”

“That’s a lot of words to say you like bothering me.”

You chuckled at Megumi’s irritated scowl. He’s not wrong. You did enjoy pestering him. But now you had a new target.

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” You grabbed Yuji’s arms, turning him this way and that. “Any discomfort? Headaches? Nausea?”

“I’m fine!” Being the good boy he was, Yuji obediently turned around, letting you inspect him from all sides. “Well, aside from his voice in my head… Other than that, I feel normal.”

“You sure? Maybe we should get you screened for food poisoning just in case. That stinky finger must have been full of E. coli.”

“It’s okay, really!” Yuji continued beaming, unbothered by all the tugging and poking you were doing to him.

“Hmm…”

Finally, your eyes landed on Yuji’s face, the small ridges underneath his eyes got your attention.

How did this boy get so tall? He wasn’t even done growing yet and he’s already a head taller than you.

You grabbed his cheeks, pulling him down so you could see better:

“You really did grow two more eyes.” You squinted.

“Guess I did.” Yuji laughed nervously, clearly startled by your sudden closeness, but he didn’t pull away.

“Can you open them? See through them?” You asked, your thumbs gently tracing the closed slits of his extra eyes.

You might have just imagined it, but you thought Yuji seemed to lean into your touch a little. His cheeks were slightly flushed. Probably from having his personal space invaded, you assumed.

“N-no… I don’t… think so.” Yuji stumbled with his answer for some reason.

“So the extra eyes are Sukuna’s thing. Do you think you could let him use them? I mean, not letting him have full control of your body, of course. Just these eyes?”

Yuji didn’t have time to answer, because as soon as you said that out loud, the extra eyes flew open and glowered at you with malice. A small mouth appeared out of nowhere on Yuji’s face, right next to your thumb.

“I don’t need this brat to let me do anything.” Sukuna snapped at you with all the anger he must have stocked up over the last 1,000 years. “And stop poking at my eyes, worm!”

“Get back, Spices!” Megumi was out of his bed, he grabbed you by the collar of your hoodie and yanked you away in the blink of an eye. The sudden spike of adrenaline overpowered the painkillers in his system.

“Can you not!” Yuji slapped the new mouth on his face with frustration, but it simply popped out in a new place, continuing to sneer at you.

You almost glowed with excitement: “Oh, my!”

Ryomen Sukuna had just appeared and talked to you!

“Spices, no!” Megumi warned, but he couldn’t stop you from wriggling out of his hold and pouncing on Yuji, or rather, Sukuna.

“What an honor!” You grinned wolfishly, grabbing on Yuji to get a better look at the extra mouth sneering down at you.

It really looked just like a real mouth. Anatomically correct, with lips, tongue, and teeth. You wondered if it was connected to Yuji’s throat and stomach somehow?

Your excitement probably took Sukuna by surprise because he stopped sneering, red eyes narrowed menacingly:

“What are you…”

Clearly people were never that happy to see him, now or a thousand years ago.

“Can you eat with this tiny mouth? If I feed you something, would it go to you somehow? Or would it travel down Yuji’s stomach?”

You asked, gingerly poking at the lips to check if they felt real. They did.

“Don’t you dare touch me with your filthy paw!” Sukuna hissed, actually pursing his lips to get away from your finger.

“How about we test it? Would you like some tea?” You pressed on, completely unperturbed.

If whatever went through Sukuna’s mouth went to him, maybe you could feed him a sealing talisman to suppress his power? But you needed to make sure first.

“Senpai, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Yuji’s eyes darted around, looking for help from Gojo and Megumi. Unsuccessfully.

Megumi had settled back into his bed. He knew when a crazy idea had popped into your head, there was no stopping you until you had worked through it. Now he was sure Yuji was still in control and there was no real danger, he decided to f*ck it all and went back to sleep. There’s only so much adrenaline could do against the painkillers in his system.

And Gojo, the only adult in the room, was watching the scene eagerly like he wished his Six Eyes had given him the foresight to bring popcorn.

“Scram!”

Sukuna looked like he was about to bite off your finger, so you pulled back a little and put on the most pleasant smile you could muster:

“Alright, no tea then. I’ll just run you through the MRI machine real quick, okay? You can keep sneering at me the whole time!”

Fortunately, Shoko gave you free rein of her wings and even taught you to use all the fancy machines in the R&D lab. Now was your chance to see what really happened to Yuji’s body, especially when Sukuna was active!

“The WHAT?” Sukuna’s eyes bulged with rage.

“The MRI machine. It shows the organs and tissues in the body. Don’t worry, Sukuna-sama, it won’t hurt, I promise!”

You meant to be assuring. You even threw in a respectful honorific to appease Sukuna. It’s best to have him present during the scan, after all.

But Sukuna was the opposite of appeased. In fact, he was even more enraged.

“You know what? I take back my earlier words. When I take over this brat’s body, I’ll kill YOU first!” Sukuna screeched with fury. “I’ll cleave open that stupid head of yours and eat your brain for dessert…”

That threat to your brain actually reminded you of more questions to ask.

“Oh right! So it’s true that you ate people? Was it for nutritional needs or just to establish dominance?” You clasped your hands, leaning in enthusiastically.

“You b-”

“That’s enough! I’m not letting you talk to Spices-senpai like that!”

Whatever insult Sukuna was about to spit at you was cut off by Yuji whacking at the mouth with a resounding slap. And miraculously, it didn’t pop up elsewhere this time.

You guessed Sukuna had enough of your bullsh*t.

“But he didn’t answer any of my questions…” You sighed, dejected.

“That was gold, Spices!” Gojo stepped in to ruffle your hair, his laughter filled the entire room, much to Megumi’s annoyance. “I never thought I’d live to see the King of Curses so frustrated. You’re my best student!”

It must have taken everything in him to stay back and keep quiet the entire time, if only for the sake of entertainment. The audacity of this man.

You shook off Gojo’s big hand, making no effort to hide your disappointment:

“We learned nothing! I wanted to help but I f*cked up!”

“But I think you already helped.” Yuji tilted his head to one side and then the other.

“Eh?” You looked up at him in surprise.

“He’s not talking in my head right now.” Yuji shook his head again as if trying to check if Sukuna had really shut up.

And when he was sure, his eyes sparkled with joy:

“You shut him up, senpai! Ever since he got into my head, he’s never stopped yapping at me… But you shut him up! For real!”

Yuji was so delighted with his newfound peace of mind that he gathered you into a crushing hug, your feet lifted off the ground as he twirled you around in the air. Both of you laughing brightly.

You clung to his neck, admitting to yourself it was rather nice being enveloped in his arms. Was that your heart skipping several beats?

“I’m glad it helped!” You managed, almost hating how your giggles came out high-pitched and breathless.

No hugs were safe when Gojo Satoru was around.

“I am glad, too! My students are getting along so well!”

Gojo, as usual, jumped into the hug uninvited. His body crashed into you both, turning it into an awkward group hug.

Moments like this felt achingly rare and precious in the harsh jujutsu world, where almost every sorcerer kept to themselves, knowing they would die alone anyway. Too wary of forging bonds destined to end in blood sooner or later. Today you could hug your friend and your teacher and laugh about stupid sh*t and then either of you could die the very next day. Probably not Gojo, since he was the strongest sorcerer alive.

Yuji and you though. You might never get a hug like this ever again. That’s why you tolerated being squished between the two of them for a few more minutes. The warmth of Yuji’s broad chest where your face rested. The solid, grounding weight of Gojo pressed behind you. Protective arms wrapped around you from all sides.

For now, you allowed yourself simply to exist. To cherish and be cherished. The future's uncertainty no longer mattered at this moment; the present had more than enough meaning to counter your fear. Laughter pealing, you hugged Yuji closer and let everything else go. This now was more than enough.

You could hear Megumi pulling on his blanket, complaining about how much noise the three of you were making. You knew he was seconds away from kicking all of you out of his room when you managed to untangle yourself from Yuji’s arms and peel a clingy Gojo off your back.

Behind you, a tuft of dark hair peeked out from the blanket burrito on the bed, stormcloud eyes glaring poison daggers.

“Alright, boys. Let’s give Megumi some peace. I’ll still need to run some tests on you.”

“But I didn't get to hug Fushiguro yet!" Yuji protested as you steered him firmly toward the door. He made a valiant attempt to duck under your arm and dart back to Megumi for another bear hug.

“Nope!” You caught Yuji by his collar, hauling him onward. “Plenty of time for hugs later!”

Yuji pouted but allowed you to usher him out. You shot Megumi an apologetic grin over your shoulder. His irritated huff lost some impact when paired with the static-charged bedhead and cozy blanket.

Out in the hall, Gojo skipped brightly behind you both, already rambling on:

“Let’s show Yuji around today! Tomorrow, we’re going out to get the third first-year student!”

You and Yuji traded amused glances as his chatter faded down the hall.

The peace wouldn't last long, but for now, all was right in your world.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

As promised, the next day, you accompanied Megumi and Yuji to pick up the third first-year student in Harajuku.

Yuji whistled a cheerful tune, his grin stretched ear-to-ear like sunshine breaking through clouds as he took in the colorful crowds. Megumi stalked ahead, back rigid, radiating don't-bother-me vibes.

Your group stood out starkly from the usual flamboyant Harajuku in your dark uniforms. Yuji cheerfully was slurping an enormous rainbow swirl of ice cream, while Megumi eyed the dripping colors and sprinkles with thinly veiled distaste.

Around you, tourists and fashionistas went on with their lives, oblivious to the world of curses. An ordinary weekday as far as they knew. You hid a wistful smile, remembering when your own world was that small and bright with possibility, untouched by pain and losses.

“Here, want a bite, senpai?” Yuji offered with a grin, holding out the towering ice cream cone. Before you could react, Megumi made a small sound of disgust.

“Itadori!” he hissed, visibly scandalized. "You can't just… offer your half-eaten food like that!”

The tips of his ears had gone distinctly pink as he gestured sharply between you and the ice cream, clearly conveying inappropriate even if he couldn't vocalize it.

“It’s not half- eaten!” Yuji protested. “I’ve just had a bite…”

An errant sprinkle landed on Megumi's sleeve. He flicked it off, nose crinkled.

“Alright. I’ve got my own sweets. Thanks, kid.” You lifted your huge bag of marshmallows, sensing Megumi's patience was thin as the ice cream dribbling down Yuji's fingers.

As much as you liked Yuji and didn’t actually mind half-eaten food, you had a feeling you better not test Megumi’s patience today. He’d had it rough after his scuffle with Sukuna, and being confined in bed for an entire day had certainly made him even more crabby than usual.

Yuji rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, but the embarrassment didn’t last long as his mind already latched onto something else:

“By the way, why are there only three first-years? Isn’t that a little small for a class?”

“Well, have you ever met anyone who can see curses?” Megumi shrugged, not inclined to explain any further. “That’s how rare we jujutsu sorcerers are.”

“Guess so… And that’s why Spices-senpai is the only third year in our school?”

Yuji leaned toward you, eyes alight with innocent curiosity. He’d probably determined that he could get more information from you. He’s new to this. You supposed it’s only fair to tell him.

“There used to be four of us in my year. The first year, we lost Shino on a mission.” You explained quietly.

That familiar hollow ache blooming behind your ribs as you pictured Shino’s smiling face, frozen forever at fifteen. Shoko had told you back then, that it would get better. But you had little faith in that.

Ieiri Shoko was the most knowledgeable person you knew, but however much you adored her, you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe that it would ever get better. After all, it never got better for Shoko.

You shook your head sharply, blinking back hot tears. One deep breath, then another.

“Sorry. It’s stupid to still get upset…” You tried to brush it off, but Yuji's arm wrapped gently around your shoulders, turning you into his chest.

“I’m sorry, senpai. I didn’t know.” Yuji squeezed you into a hug, his voice low and more mature than you thought possible. “You don’t have to tell me…”

You let yourself be folded into Yuji's hug, comforted by his warmth. On your other side, Megumi wrung his hands, hovering uncertainly. His blue eyes shimmered with guilt as understanding sank in - he'd never thought to ask why you were the only third year. Too wrapped up in his own pain and problems.

As Yuji hugged you closer, Megumi shifted awkwardly, unsure what to do. Comforting others had never been his strength.

“It’s fine.” Drawing a shaky breath, you managed a watery chuckle. “Then last year, I got sent on a mission way over my pay grade, and almost died too. Hakari lost it when one of the higher-ups called me acceptable collateral damage. Things escalated from there. Hakari kicked their ass real bad. Kirara backed him fully. So they both got expelled. It’s just me now.”

You continued the story, thoughts drifting back to the day Hakari and Kirara left. You weren’t exactly best friends. They were both powerful jujutsu sorcerers with crazy cursed techniques and a grudge against the system. They were ride or die, while you were just their other classmate.

But despite having pretty much nothing in common beyond mandatory shared classes, they had always looked out for you, especially after Shino’s death. Even though none of you ever said it out loud, you all blamed yourselves for not being there for her.

Hakari and Kirara had taken it upon themselves, in their own grief, to protect you, since you were the weakest of their pack. They made space for you always, insisting you spar together, taking turns explaining high-level concepts they mastered intuitively until the mechanics finally clicked for you too. They were there for you, and they made damn sure you could hold your own when they weren’t.

You were far from surprised when Hakari offered to take you with them.

“Come with us, Spices. I don’t wanna leave you here all alone with them.” Hakari said.

“I wouldn’t be useful to you.” You smiled weakly. “I’m not exactly a fight-club kind of person.”

“You don’t have to fight. You can be our bookkeeper. Ain’t you always talking about retiring early?” Kirara nudged your shoulder teasingly. “Can’t get any earlier than now.”

“Yeah.” Hakari nodded. “You’ve got passion, Spices. It’d be a waste to stay here.”

You considered their offer carefully. You had no doubt Hakari’s fight club would be a big hit. That man could achieve whatever he set his eyes on. It would be a lucrative career, yes. Most likely a lot more profitable than being an average jujutsu sorcerer. But would it be the right thing for you?

As you pictured walking away, Gojo's sincere unguarded laughter echoed in your mind - those rare carefree moments over late-night board games, gentle fingers carefully wiping off your tears, terrible jokes, and over-the-top antics. Annoyingly persistent yet kinder than you deserved.

You owed Gojo. He had pulled you out of that hellhole and given you a shot at this life. Though you knew Gojo wouldn’t blame you if you chose to leave, you just couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t leave him behind, especially after everything that had happened that year. Especially when you still hadn’t given this life your best shot yet.

So you shook your head, even as your hands clenched and tears welled up in your eyes. Hakari and Kirara didn’t press you. They both knew how stubborn you were. You might cry, but you wouldn’t change your mind. Once you’d decided to do something, you’d charge ahead, even through ugly tears and snot.

Hakari simply said: “Come whenever you get tired of this facade.”

And Kirara gave you a tight hug: “We’ve got your back, Spices. Always remember that.”

You closed your eyes and hugged Kirara back, perhaps for the last time in a long time, your heart overflowing and breaking simultaneously. Yes, you would always remember that. No matter where your paths led. Wherever they went. Whoever you became.

The memory faded abruptly as the chaos of Harajuku Station came rushing back.

“Yo!” Gojo’s cheery voice cut through the haze. “Thanks for waiting!”

You blinked. The sweet scent of your forgotten marshmallows mingled with perfume and food from passing commuters. Neon signs flickered at the periphery of your vision.

“Looks like your school uniform made it on time!” Gojo zoomed over, already patting Yuji's shoulder, sweet drink in hand.

“Yup, a perfect fit! But it’s different from Fushiguro’s. It’s got a hoodie! Love it!” Yuji grinned, tugging at the red hoodie of his jacket, looking rather pleased.

“School uniforms can be customized on request.” Gojo explained between slurping his drink.

“For real? So that’s why Spices-senpai’s uniform looks so cool!”

He wasn’t wrong. Instead of the standard jacket, you had a cropped double-breasted blazer, with a pair of sleek high-waisted trousers. You might be a bookworm, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have taste.

“Of course, it does.” You chuckled, grateful for the distraction.

“All these uniform customizations are possible because of the mad bonuses I rake in for the school, you know. Perks of being the strongest sorcerer.” Gojo flashed a co*cky grin.

“Ooh really? That's so cool!” Yuji's eyes widened.

“Yup! In fact, I helped pick out Spices' uniform too. I have impeccable fashion sense.”

You snorted at that blatant lie. The day you asked for Gojo Satoru’s fashion advice would be the day the world ended. That man wore the same outfit every day - you were half convinced he owned 20 sets of identical clothes.

Nevertheless, Yuji looked thoroughly impressed. “Do you really help everyone customize their uniforms, Gojo-sensei?”

“But of course!” Gojo gave you an exaggerated wink. “It's a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. The students would be lost without my keen stylistic eye.”

Keen? This from the man who thought pink and green stripes were a good mix? Still, you let it slide. It was too amusing watching Yuji hang onto Gojo's every word.

Before Gojo could launch a full speech about his amazing fashion taste, a commotion across the street snagged your attention. A girl with short brown hair waved angrily as a model scout tried chatting up a tall woman:

“Hey, you! What about me?” The girl’s sharp tone matched her angular features. “You’re looking for models, right? Could I be a model?”

The scout withered at her aggression while the woman seized the distraction to slip away.

“How embarrassing…” Yuji shook his head, biting into a ridiculous mountain of ice cream.

Megumi cut him a side-eye. “Look who's talking…” He muttered, eyeing the oversized sparkly sunglasses perched on Yuji’s head.

Before it could escalate, Gojo called out, “Hey! Over here!”

The girl whipped around at his voice, then broke into a grin, bouncing over to your group. Her sharp eyes and chaotic energy felt even more striking than you had imagined.

She struck a well-practiced pose, chin lifted and a hand on her hip:

“The name’s Kugisaki Nobara. Lucky you, getting to hang out with a girl like me!”

You stifled a laugh. This girl was surely a handful.

“I’m Itadori Yuji. And I’m from Sendai.” Yuji smiled widely, his friendliness knew no bounds.

“Fushiguro Megumi.” Megumi said his name flatly, in the exact manner he used to introduce himself to you all those months ago.

Nobara took one look at them and sighed in exaggerated disappointment.

She stared at Yuji like she thought he was the kind who ate his boogers when he was a kid, and when her eyes met Megumi, you had a feeling she was imagining him setting seagulls on fire.

Then, her sharp gaze turned to you as she finished assessing the boys, clearly finding both lacking by some internal metric.

“What about you?” Nobara tilted her head. “Not gonna introduce yourself?”

Up close, you noted details - her eyes, a rich, molten orange shade, framed by long, feathery lashes. Vivid irises stood out against smooth ivory skin and elegantly arched eyebrows a shade darker than her dyed hair. An air of ambition not yet directed. Of hunger for… something more.

Her brassiness bounced off you harmlessly. You introduced your name with a soft smile. And then you added: “I’m actually in the third year.”

At that, Nobara stepped right up to you, eyes narrowed as she leaned in close:

“Hmm. Neat hair. Clear skin…” She nodded approvingly, flicking your collar. “You smell nice too. Kind of woodsy.”

Heat crept up your neck as her fingertips grazed your skin. Another one with no sense of personal space.

“Why are your compliments so aggressive?” You managed a surprised chuckle.

Nobara stared into your eyes intently. You calmly held her gaze, despite the strange butterflies fluttering in your chest. The air felt charged.

After a beat, Nobara’s lips curved into a smirk. “Well, you seem cooler than these sad sacks at least!"

When she laughed loudly and grabbed your arm, gaze dancing with mirth, you again found yourself helplessly tracing the colorful sweep of her hair, the upturned curve of her smirking lips. So expressive and magnetic.

That’s odd.

You knew you could be impulsive and have a frequent tendency to hyper-focus on the worst things at the worst moments, but you had never felt so compelled to reach out and trace the curve of anyone’s lips with your thumb.

It was the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat that finally broke the spell. You glanced up to see Gojo watching the two of you, eyebrow raised and a way too delighted grin spreading across his face at having caught your fluster. Next to him, Yuji blinked wide cinnamon eyes between you and Nobara in innocent bewilderment, head tilted like a puzzled puppy at the odd tension.

But on Gojo’s other side, Megumi’s gaze narrowed, zeroing in on Nobara’s proprietary grip on your arm. The paintbrush-stroke eyebrows you’d teased him about just yesterday drew together. Some shadow flickering through his expression that could almost be jealousy? Displeasure? It passed too quickly to define before his standard impassive mask slid back into place.

“Well now!” Gojo clapped loudly, mischief dripping from every word. “My students seem to be getting along marvelously already, hmm?”

You shot him a warning look that promised future retribution, but the damage was done. Oh yes, you were NEVER going to hear the end of this from him later. The teasing would be relentless.

Fortunately for you, now, Gojo had something else in mind. He exclaimed:

“We finally have everyone together. And two of you are newbies to Tokyo. Let’s do… A tour of Tokyo!”

Just like that, Nobara and Yuji fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. They clung to Gojo excitedly, bright grins and starry eyes, talking over each other about all the places they wanted to visit.

Such innocence.

And that’s how you all ended up at a very much haunted building. Gojo had declared it was a test, so you and Megumi hung back while a furious Nobara and uncertain Yuji marched inside.

Like a good background character, you plopped down on a stone block, shaking your legs out as you waited for Nobara and Yuji to do their thing.

Nobara wasn’t impressed with Yuji at first, and then she was thoroughly disgusted when Megumi told her how Yuji had eaten a special-grade cursed object. They kind of got off on the wrong foot, so you hoped this little field test might help them get to know each other a little better. They were gonna spend most of their time together in classes and on missions. Best to not be at odds with your partners.

Perhaps while they were in there, they would find out they had so much in common, and become besties despite their bickering, or fall in love while fighting curses…

You smiled dreamily to yourself, your mind already drafting the third chapter of their enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance arc.

Okay. That might be a bit much. You reigned in your overactive imagination with effort. There wasn’t enough time for all that anyway. You’d settle for Nobara not bonking Yuji in the head with her hammer. That’d be a good start.

Megumi sat down next to you, oblivious to your struggle against your own weird brain. He regarded the abandoned building, then turned to you:

“How many?”

As a jujutsu sorcerer, of course, Megumi could sense the cursed energy radiating from the building. But he couldn’t tell the exact number of curses from that blob of energy without sending in his shikigami. Reading curses from afar was more of your thing.

“Three, I think. All grade four…” You squinted a little, more out of habit, as you were not actually seeing cursed energy but sensing it. “Maybe just lower grade three at most.”

Such low-level curses wouldn’t be a problem for any sorcerer.

Megumi was still worried. He wanted to keep an eye on Yuji. But it was Nobara who was being tested.

“That guy Yuji, he’s crazy up here.” Gojo told Megumi, gesturing at his own forehead. “He’s not familiar with curses from a young age like you. We’re talking about an average high school student. But he took it all in stride. He doesn’t hesitate to kill curses.”

It’s well known in the jujutsu world that a sorcerer wouldn’t make it far if they weren’t a little bonkers.

So you both understood Gojo wanted to see how crazy Kugisaki Nobara was. If she was cut out for this job.

Megumi glanced at you, his voice light:

“Didn’t you awaken your jujutsu abilities pretty late, too? Around Yuji’s age?”

“A bit earlier than him, but yes.” You nodded.

You saw your first curse when you were fourteen. That’s late, compared to the average sorcerer. People with an innate technique like Megumi typically got it at five or six. A few years later for those without a technique.

To be fair, you should have known something was off. Ever since you were very young, you had always been able to feel when a place or a person had negative energy, even though your eyes couldn’t see anything unusual.

Bad juju. That’s what you had called it then. That prickly feeling warning you to steer clear of a room or a street corner. You trusted your guts and everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

“Did Gojo-sensei put you to the craziness test, too?”

Megumi seemed determined to get to know you better. It’s not like you were hiding your past or anything. You simply didn’t think it’d make a good conversation.

You were about to answer when Gojo laughed heartily, clasping your shoulder:

“That wasn’t necessary. Back then, your senpai was already certified insane.”

Megumi frowned, clearly assuming Gojo had made a tasteless joke. What you said next made him pause.

“The right term is clinically diagnosed .” You corrected Gojo flatly.

It was simply too out there that Megumi sighed in exasperation.

“You two and your stupid jokes.”

“No, no…” Gojo tried to stifle another laugh but failed. “Seriously… Hah… I literally plucked Spices out of an asylum.”

“A mental facility .” You pinched Gojo’s hand on your shoulder, a little annoyed at having to correct him twice.

You felt his Infinity dissipating underneath your fingers as he let you have your revenge. How considerate. You pinched him harder. Gojo yelped and pulled his hand back.

Megumi looked between you and Gojo, sheer panic in his eyes. You didn’t blame him. He had just found out his senpai was certified insane . You wouldn’t know what to say, either.

Fortunately for Megumi, just as the silence had stretched too thin, a curse flew out of the building. And then, it promptly burned to ashes.

Gojo chuckled.

“Good. She’s plenty crazy.”

You stood up and stretched your legs. You might be the only one here with a clinical diagnosis , but that didn’t mean your friends were any less insane. You supposed that was nice.

With the craziness test done, Yuji and Nobara demanded food, sushi and steak, the expensive ones. Understandably.

Gojo tried to cheap out. Expectedly.

“Something urgent came up…” He flashed a shameless grin, waving at your group.

He underestimated you.

“That’s fine, sensei. You go ahead. I’ll take them.”

You smiled pleasantly, holding up his black credit card with two fingers.

“Eh?” The grin slipped off Gojo’s face.

Gojo was a tactician, but you were the strategist. With an overactive brain. You always thought three steps ahead. Perks of being the greatest overthinker.

As soon as he switched off his Infinity to let you pinch him, you lifted his card. It proved to be a wise move.

Nobara was the first to catch on. She latched onto your arm, cooing dramatically:

“Let’s go, senpai~!”

Yuji immediately took your other arm, his laughter was infectious:

“You’re the best!”

Megumi scrunched his nose, probably to keep up his cranky reputation, but he was already walking ahead with a bunch of food review pages pulled up on his phone.

You walked after him with Yuji and Nobara giggling on each of your arms, Gojo’s credit card firmly in your hand. You could hear him muttering petulantly behind your back:

“You and your sticky fingers, Spices.”

But you knew he wasn’t really upset, because then he followed you with a quiet chuckle: “I spoil you too much.”

Yes. He did.

You thought to yourself with amusem*nt.

Who else would he spoil?

It’s not like he had many options.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Academic activities at Tokyo Jujutsu High School were rather… erratic, for lack of a better word.

Lesson plans here weren’t so much suggested guidelines as mild suggestions politely ignored by all parties involved . There was, of course, the standard curriculum approved by the Ministry of Education. No one here had ever seen it, though. You doubted any sorcerer would be interested in studying geography, history, or civics. The school had its own unofficial curriculum for specialized jujutsu training, which was last updated around 60 years ago.

Could lessons at your religious school be any more chaotic? Ha, rhetorical question - at Tokyo Jujutsu High, literal dumpster fires during class barely raised an eyebrow from students nowadays.

Actual deadly curses? Yes.

Standard academic structure? Hard pass

Then, there was the lack of teaching staff. It appeared that Tokyo Jujutsu High only had two teachers. One of them was Gojo, and everyone knew what that meant. The man had two modes: chaos-incarnate slash embodiment-of-pure-anarchy, or skipping off somewhere MORE important than teaching basics to rookies who would probably die before graduation anyway.

The one thing he was good at? Dumping his responsibilities on others.

And thanks to that, you got stuck with tutoring all the new students. Gojo taught you things once, then he made you teach everyone else. It took a lot of your time, but at least, Gojo had bullied Principal Yaga into signing off your tutoring fee. You simply needed to log your hours with Ijichi before the 25th of the month.

Did you mind the extra workload and sacrificed free time? Absolutely.

But would you subject yourself to the torture for cold hard cash? Abso-f*cking-lutely.

That sweet, sweet early retirement fund made up for it. You supposed Nanami would approve.

Now that you got all three first years here, you could start them with the basics.

***

“Why do I have to carry your books?” Megumi muttered, his complaint muffled by the enormous tower of books you had piled on his arms.

As you two turned the corner, Megumi stumbled over a random floor crack, almost sending the whole stack crashing onto both of your heads. You dodged just in time to avoid getting brained by a copy of Cursed Energy Work for Beginners.

“Not my books. Those are for Nobara and Yuji. And watch your step, Gumi.” You said absently, more focused on not getting blunt force trauma to the head.

Megumi huffed, blowing his dark bangs out of his eyes with the force of his irritation.

“Then let them haul their own books!” He snapped under his breath, hefting the pile higher.

You smirked at him over your shoulder: “Well, you were the one who followed me to the library. Might as well make yourself useful, no?”

An hour ago, you had decided to visit the school library and get all the required books to get Yuji and Nobara started. Megumi hovered silently behind you as you browsed the library shelves, keeping a careful distance. But despite his light footsteps, you could sense his presence clearly - his dark, velvety cursed energy felt like honeyed shadow brushing against your skin, impossible to miss.

You bit back a smile, leisurely trailing your fingers over leather spines. So Megumi was following you again today, staying just out of sight whenever you glanced over your shoulder. He was probably working up the courage to ask something, judging by the nervous yet irritated flickers in his cursed energy.

You guessed he wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, but didn’t know how to start the conversation. There’s much to talk about. Like, your clinically diagnosed insanity, or your moment with Nobara.

If he wanted to talk, he should at least come to you instead of lurking in the corners. So you pointedly ignored him and went on to search for the last books on your list.

But fate turned the tables when you eyed the massive Encyclopedia of Binding Spells tucked just out of reach on a top shelf. Going up on tiptoes, you strained towards the large, dusty tome teetering just out of your reach, despite your most dignified jumps.

Behind you, Megumi tensed, on the verge of finally speaking up despite his flustered embarrassment. But before he could utter a word, you wobbled off-balance with a startled yelp as the heavy book suddenly slid free from the shelf, toppling a small avalanche of texts onto you.

Megumi darted forward on pure instinct to brace the tall shelf just before the pile of hardcovers could completely bury you underneath.

“Owww…” You groaned, blowing dust off your face and clothes. “Ugh, stupid f*cking shelves…”

Megumi’s cursed energy spiked with concern as he silently set the shelves to rights, then gathered up the pile covering you.

“Are you alright, senpai? Should I get you to Ieiri-san?” He asked quietly.

“It’ll take more than some books to put me down.” You grinned, gingerly touching your sore shoulder. “Just can’t reach anything up there. But hmm…”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, eyeing the stack Megumi held.

“Since you’re already holding those books for me, want to help carry the rest too? I still need to get several more…” You flashed your most charming smile.

Megumi opened his mouth to complain, but at the sight of your big puppy eyes gazing up at him, he faltered.

“...Sure.” He mumbled instead, ducking his head to hide pink-tinted cheeks.

And so, he got roped into this. School policies dictated you technically couldn’t coerce students into forced labor, but charming them into it? Eh… consider it character building.

When you entered the classroom, Yuji and Nobara were locked in a heated debate over whether hotdogs qualify as sandwiches. Gotta admire their energetic spirits.

Megumi sighed, an irritated furrow on his brow as he dumped the large stack of weighty textbooks down on Yuji’s desk without ceremony.

Yuji’s brown eyes shone, previous bickering already forgotten. “What’s all this?” he asked eagerly.

“Required reading.” You explained, noting Nobara’s undisguised look of disgust as you handed her a bunch of ancient, leather-bound tomes. “Megumi already finished these, so you two have a week to catch up. If you have any questions, ask me. When y’all are on the same page, we’ll start with more hands-on stuff.”

Nobara cracked open a book, nose crinkling at the waft of decade-old dust.

“Ugh, these archaic things probably still write how jujutsu is all about waving shiny swords around,” She scoffed, snapping it shut with a puff of dust. Then, she thumped her hammer down on the desk for emphasis, nearly toppling the precarious pile of books.

“Those are required reading for a reason, Kugisaki.” Megumi glared at Nobara, his eyebrows twitched impatiently.

“Please. I know ten times more practical stuff than these dusty old pages from fighting real curses, not just reading about them.” Nobara declared, buffing her nails casually on her shirt. “This is busy work for newbies like Yuji!”

You leaned back against the edge of her desk, unfazed by her brassy attitude.

“Oh? Then tell me…” You tapped your forehead in pretend thoughtfulness. “What would you do when your partner gets caught in a dream-like state by a curse with mental techniques?”

“Wake them up, duh,” Nobara said breezily with a flick of her wrist. “No time for napping on the job.”

You allowed the barest hint of a smile. “If you want to turn your partner into a veggie, then by all means.”

Your voice was soft and devoid of sass, but the matter-of-fact way you were speaking seemed to unnerve Nobara.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Curses with mind-confounding techniques are uncommon but powerful, never below grade 2.” You began. “They attack by weaving their cursed energy into the human’s mind, using our own memories to keep us trapped in a dream-like state. As they feed, their cursed energy gets so interconnected with the human’s that any sudden disruption…”

You let the implication hang for a moment as Nobara paled.

“... such as being woken up by someone else, will fry their brain for good. The damage is irreversible.”

Nobara gulped at your textbook-level answer.

“What should I do then?” She snickered, but nervousness tinged her voice.

“You enter their dream and guide them out.” You explained. “That way they wake up gradually without trauma.”

“And just how do I get into this dream world?” Nobara challenged.

“You would know that if you had read Chapter 4 of Introduction to Mental Curses.” You pulled the heavy book from her stack and tossed it open in front of her.

Nobara winced, shoulders slumping. With a tiny huff, she dragged the book closer, glaring at the tiny font cramming the faded page.

You sighed as Nobara fell back dejectedly in her seat. While you found her arrogance endearing, such ignorance could quickly turn fatal out in the field. Or worse, cost a partner their life, leaving her to bear the guilt.

You cared for Nobara and Yuji. You wanted them to survive this brutal job, to not become another statistic.

That meant preparing them as thoroughly as possible, even if you had to cram dusty textbooks down their throats. Baby sorcerers who expected special treatment because they had special techniques quickly ended up dead sorcerers.

You simply couldn’t afford to coddle them. Gojo never did you any such favors. He might have spoiled you rotten, but he had never let you skip the gritty nitty. With his indulgence came ruthless training that left you battered and bruised. And you were grateful for his tough love - it kept you alive.

“Don’t worry, senpai. We’ll read everything!” Yuji reassured you, his bright smile diffusing the tension.

“Just some silly books. I’ll finish these in no time.” Nobara sniffed, surprised to find you tougher than you looked. But she knew you meant well.

“But once I’m done with this, you’ll teach me a cool technique, right senpai?” Yuji asked eagerly, chin propped on his book tower.

You blinked at the question. Yuji clearly had a lot still to learn. Best to be direct.

“No. I can’t teach techniques. No one can. They’re innate - you either have them at birth, or you don't.”

“Whaaaat?” Yuji’s face fell. “I thought I was gonna learn awesome sorcery and stuff!”

Nobara poorly concealed a snort at his crestfallen pout.

You moved to pat Yuji’s shoulder:

“It’s okay. You’ll still pick up useful skills. I don’t have an innate technique either and I get by just fine.”

“Really?” Yuji perked up a bit before catching himself. “Uh, not that I don’t believe you! I only meant...”

You waved off Yuji’s flustered backtracking with an amused chuckle.

You wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t believe you. You were really just an average jujutsu sorcerer - no innate technique, and average cursed energy reserves at best. But through sheer determination, stubbornness, and spite, you learned control that exceeded most others.

“Sorcerers without innate techniques like you and me, we can still learn to do cool stuff with our cursed energy.” You continued explaining to Yuji. “For example…”

You trailed off for effect, then abruptly suppressed your cursed energy, erasing your presence from the room. Nobara and Yuji gasped as you seemingly winked out of existence right before their eyes. It’s disconcerting, to look at someone and not sensing any cursed energy from them.

After a few seconds, you released your hold, your cursed energy flaring back.

“I can vanish by masking my cursed energy completely. And read cursed energies from a great distance. That makes me good for scouting and ambush.”

“Hot damn!” Nobara exclaimed, clearly startled. She reached over to touch your arm, not believing her own senses. “Wow. Just then I couldn’t feel any cursed energy from you. You were like, furniture!”

“It’s creepy.” Megumi muttered. He still wasn’t used to your presence abruptly vanishing like that.

“Awesome! You’re so cool, senpai!” Yuji bounced excitedly in his seat. “Think you could teach me to turn invisible too?”

You laughed. “Maybe one day, if you study hard and stop arguing with Nobara about sandwiches.”

Yuji blushed while Nobara cackled. When her laughter finally subsided, curiosity glinted in her gaze:

“Okay, but how do you actually fight curses?”

You placed your duffle bag on the nearby table and pulled out a thin wooden bow:

“With this - my cursed tool, Soulstring.”

Yuji peered closer. “It looks so… plain.”

“I expected something more extravagant.” Nobara agreed with Yuji, for once.

You quirked a brow at that.

“Soulstring can shoot without arrows. And it never misses.”

With that, you scanned the classroom, seeking the perfect demonstration target. Your gaze landed on a tiny dark shape hovering near the windowsill - a spider spinning a glimmering web to catch dust flecks floating through the air.

As Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi traced your line of sight, you drew back the bowstring.

Strands of cursed energy coalesced beneath your fingers, spinning faster until they formed a condensed bolt of glimmering violet light - an arrow made of pure cursed energy.

You released your hold. The arrow zipped across the room in a flash of light, slicing clean through the spider’s barely visible silk strand. The tiny thing dropped onto the sill, mildly annoyed but unharmed, before skittering out of sight behind the curtains.

“Whoa...” Yuji breathed, eyes wide with amazement. “That’s much cooler than the blade Gojo-sensei gave me yesterday!”

Nobara leaned forward eagerly. “Seriously. I changed my mind - that thing is badass! Where’d you get that?”

“It’s actually a gift from Gojo-sensei.” You chuckled at the memory. “Reward for landing a hit on him during training.”

Intrigued noises filled the classroom. Even Megumi perked up at that detail.

“How did you manage to touch him?” Megumi narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“I cheated, of course.” You waved your hand as if it were the most reasonable answer.

***

It’s common knowledge that Gojo Satoru was untouchable with his Infinity technique.

But what few realized was that even without it activated, his strength and combat skills far exceeded even the most elite sorcerers. Whenever you trained together, he would turn his Infinity off to “even the playing field” as he jokingly put it.

You didn't find it very even, but still appreciated the rare chance to spar against the strongest sorcerer himself. You never realistically expected to hit him though. Just training with THE Gojo Satoru was a privilege enough.

That day, however, after hours of getting your ass thoroughly kicked beneath pouring rain, your mounting frustration eroded any gratefulness.

You were soaked to the bone and ready to collapse in exhaustion, while Gojo kept taunting you to fight harder. Apparently, the rain had made his usual blindfold stick uncomfortably to his face, so he’d removed it. You briefly considered informing him that having a full view of his otherworldly eyes was also rather uncomfortable, but speaking required oxygen, which you were sorely lacking.

“Come on, Spices! Show me some creativity!” Gojo hollered across the muddy field. “Get spicy!”

Oh, he wanted spice, did he? You would show him spice. An idea popped into your head. Probably a stupid idea, but hey - he asked for it.

Schooling your expression into what you hoped resembled considerable disappointment, you let your cursed energy fade as you walked toward him, your shoulders shaking.

“Giving up already?” Gojo co*cked his head, looking far too delighted at your supposed surrender.

You shuffled closer before peering up at him with your sweetest smile:

“Hey, sensei… Wanna see me naked?”

Before he could react, you swiftly crossed your arms and pretended to lift your drenched training shirt, exposing your midriff.

It was a cheap trick. But it worked.

Gojo’s co*cky expression instantly melted to panicked alarm as he whipped his head around, hands raised to block your advance.

“Spices, no!” He yelped. “That’s hardly appropriate—”

You didn’t know Gojo still had some decency left.

With a gleeful cackle, you pounced on him, your hand instantly flying to his face. But instead of smacking Gojo, you just patted his reddened cheek. It still counted as landing a hit.

“I can’t believe you fell for that!”

Gojo blinked, your laughter finally registering through his fluster. Slowly, he turned his head around.

As if simply facing away was enough. With his Six Eyes, he’d still be able to see you even if you were behind his back and across the field. You supposed the gesture was more to preserve your dignity.

“That’s cheating!” Gojo spluttered, indignant.

You raised an eyebrow teasingly: “All’s fair in love and war.”

Gojo peered down at you intently, his expression unreadable. You made the mistake of looking into his glowing eyes, as blue as the clearest summer sky. Gojo held your gaze for a long moment before his lips curved into a smirk.

“Are you saying this is love? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure we’re not at war.” He murmured. His fingers ghosted over the strands of damp hair plastered to your cheek.

You inhaled sharply, his feather-like touch radiating through your whole body. You almost leaned into his touch. Almost.

Your brain whirled into action just in time to catch the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Gojo was getting back at you for the shirt trick. Which was totally not fair, because he’s the one who was screaming for you to get creative and spicy. You simply delivered.

He freaked out when you pretended to take off your shirt, but somehow this was appropriate in his book? But well, two could play at this game.

“Are we?” You stood on your tiptoe, tilting your face at him, your voice came out barely a whisper.

Breath held, pulse racing, you sought any telling shift in Gojo’s hooded gaze as he leaned down to you. Mirth was bright in his eyes at your silent challenge, even as your noses threatened to brush, sending electricity across your skin.

“Getting brave, hmm?” The rough edge of his whisper sent goosebumps down your body.

This close, his cologne washed over you, dark yet crisp, mingling with the smell of earth and rain. Still, you refused to back down, though your nerves trembled at the heat of him nearly pressing against you.

“Scared, sensei?” You arched a brow nonchalantly.

Gojo huffed a surprised laugh, the warmth of it breaking over your tingling lips.

“Terrified...” The word emerged rather gruff from his lips as he leaned impossibly closer, something dangerous kindled behind his piercing eyes.

Gojo Satoru never lost to anyone. You realized, perhaps a little too late, that - there was a chance he would follow through.

On reckless impulse, your fingertips found his chest. Gojo went very still. You could feel his heart hammering wildly under your hand. Weird. But it’s probably just how special grade sorcerers were. You’d have to ask Shoko later, but for now, you attributed the frantic pace of his heart to biological variations, because no way Gojo Satoru could be nervous.

For an endless moment, the two of you stood frozen. Then his hand slid over yours, grip warm and firm instead of pulling away, and he closed his eyes with a shaky breath, leaning into you.

Gojo’s cursed energy enveloped you in a hazy, comforting bubble. Yet it also felt strangely intimate. His cursed energy was usually overwhelming - blindingly bright, dazzling, and loud. Being near Gojo felt like walking straight into a spotlight after hours in darkness, your eyes aching from the sudden glare yet unable to look away.

You’d grown accustomed to that by now. So when his energy turned soft and subdued, wrapping you in this gentle haze, it was startling in an entirely different way. More personal. More tender than you’d ever experienced with anyone.

This was a bad idea. Your cheeky game had gotten way out of hand. You decided that you had to put a stop to whatever was going on here, before either of you did something you would regret. However, just when you were about to pull away, Gojo exhaled sharply. His eyes flew open, crinkling at the corners as he laughed unsteadily, as if he too sensed how close things had come to going too far.

“Alright, you win this round, Spices. I yield!” Gojo threw up his hands in theatrical defeat and stepped back, though tension still edged his smile.

You swayed slightly as he withdrew, the charged air rushing out with him. Unsure whether you were more relieved or disappointed, you managed a wry grin:

“Does this mean I’m the strongest sorcerer now?”

Gojo laughed heartily. “By my count, your victory today makes the score… 205 to 1. So you’ll still need a feeeew more wins.” He reached out to affectionately ruffle your soaked hair. “Extra points for your craziness, though!”

You snorted in indignance as Gojo threw an arm around your shoulders, steering you out of the rain. The warmth and familiar weight of him at your side washed away any lingering awkwardness. This was simply Gojo in his element, at his most genuine, boyish and unguarded. The way he was when duties and expectations fell away, leaving only a quiet understanding that you always picked up right where you left off.

“Though I’ll admit that was a clever trick!” Gojo nudged your shoulder playfully. “You deserve a reward for pulling that off. Ask me for anything!”

You blinked up at him in surprise. “For real? I can have anything?”

“Of course!” Gojo flung his arm out with dramatic flair. “The moon? The stars? Anything for my dearest Spices!”

As Gojo rambled on, you considered your options.

Tempted as you were to request cold hard cash for your early retirement fund… this was Gojo f*cking Satoru offering you a personal favor. You gotta make it count.

“I want a bow.” You declared. “One that can shoot without arrows.”

Gojo deflated slightly. “That’s it? Couldn’t you ask for a pony or something?” He made a face when you aimed a half-hearted kick at his shins.

“Why would I want a pony?” You huffed at him. “Do you know how annoying it is to lug 100 arrows everywhere?! I want a cursed tool with built-in ammo!”

During your first few months at Tokyo Jujutsu High, you’d tried out a frankly absurd array of weapons. We’re talking ornate halberds, axes bigger than your torso, spears that no mortal human could discreetly haul around Tokyo without getting promptly arrested.

Blades were okay - A traditional weapon of choice for sorcerers and easy to carry with a bag. Using a blade, however, required getting within slicing distance of curses. You’d like to avoid that. You didn’t have the sheer brute strength of close-quarters brawlers like Hakari or Maki. No, you needed solid range.

Knives were fun to throw around. But you’d need quite a lot of throwing knives to realistically survive this career and that wasn’t sustainable for your early retirement fund.

That’s why you settled on bow and arrows. Arrows were affordable, and this worked well with your cursed energy control. You’d locate the curses, sneak attack from a strategic vantage point, and shoot them down before they ever noticed you. It’s clean and efficient. No overtime. Now if you could never have to worry about running out of arrows, your career would be all set.

You were well aware it was an unreasonable thing to ask. You didn’t know if such a bow even existed. But this was Gojo. He could make anything happen with a snap of his fingers. He did say you were his most spoiled student—time to put that title to the test.

As you were considering angrily stomping your feet a little to motivate him, Gojo held up his hands placatingly, his eyes practically sparkled with indulgence:

“Fine, fine! One cool bow coming up for my demanding Spices.”

You expected it to take Gojo some time to track down your odd request. But the very next evening, he casually teleported into your room unannounced. You were sprawled lazily atop messy blankets, engrossed in your book as the rain pattered your windows, when a sudden flash of light nearly made you tumble off the mattress.

You squawked in surprise, glaring daggers at the tall figure now looming over you with a cheeky smile.

“Sensei!” You hissed. “We’ve talked about this - you can’t keep teleporting straight into my room!”

Gojo flashed his infuriating grin, utterly unapologetic. “And miss that adorable squeak you make when I startle you? Not a chance!”

You lobbed your book at Gojo’s stupid handsome face. It bounced off his Infinity harmlessly.

“One day I’ll figure out how to make barriers that even you can’t break.” You muttered under your breath.

Still snickering, Gojo casually tossed something directly at you. You fumbled to catch the object against your chest - an unassuming wooden bow with a worn grip.

You blinked down at the plain bow, confused. “That was fast. Where’d you get this already?”

“Apparently it’s been sitting in one of the storage rooms in my clan estate for centuries.” Gojo explained, throwing himself onto your bed uninvited. You wrinkled your nose and scooted away from him.

“Legend says it originally belonged to this crazy powerful priestess back in the Sengoku era. Sweetest soul you’d ever meet.” He traced a finger over faded ornate carvings along the weathered wood. “But after some great tragedy - stories differ here - her kindness got consumed by sorrow and hatred.”

You shuddered, both horrified and intrigued. Gojo continued softly:

“Her soul fractured. The kind half reincarnated and began a new cycle of life, while the dark half remained with her. Many tragedies were caused by her vengeance until she eventually passed. The dark broken piece of her soul was said to have transferred into this bow when it was buried with her.”

Your mouth dropped open in dismay. “Wait, hold on! Your ancestors raided a vengeful priestess’ grave?!”

You practically shoved the bow back at Gojo. “Put it back right now before you get us both cursed!”

You really didn’t want to invoke the wrath of a powerful evil priestess from the past.

Gojo at least had the grace to look sheepish. “I mean, raiding is a strong word…”

At your scandalized expression, he held up his hands, laughing. “Kidding, kidding! It was a mutually beneficial arrangement between clans. And it’s been thoroughly tested. You’re not gonna get cursed.”

You still eyed the bow dubiously. “If it’s so special, why would your elders let me have it? Shouldn’t an ancient cursed tool stay with your family?”

“Because for the last two centuries, no one in the Gojo clan or the gazillion of our related families has been able to use it.” Gojo gave an exaggerated shrug. “So at this point, it’s just gathering dust.”

“Why is that?” Your eyes narrowed. Cursed tools of this caliber didn’t sit unused without good reason.

“Because there’s a catch.” Sensing your skepticism, Gojo grinned and drew the string back. “Its name is Soulstring. You know why?”

Only the one who’s always true to their soul shall wield Soulstring. And as long as their soul remains true to its original essence, Soulstring shall never miss.

That’s the condition to use this bow, at least according to his great-grandpa.

Since that priestess had lost sight of her own soul, she ended up down a dark path that resulted in destruction and tragedies. Perhaps in the last moment of her life, as atonement, she made it so that only those who stay true to their soul would be able to wield her powerful weapon? You wondered what staying true to one’s soul even meant.

While you were pondering, Gojo lifted the bow and aimed at a random spot on your wall. Cursed energy surged at his fingertips, materializing into the shape of an arrow.

“Oi! You can’t just shoot up my room…”

You shrieked, half-jumping on Gojo to stop him from wrecking your room. But Gojo already released the cursed energy arrow with a chuckle. However, instead of flying ahead, the arrow instantly fizzled out, dissipating into the air.

Gojo turned to you with a flourish. “See? Soulstring is a special grade cursed tool, but if no one can use it, it’s as good as decoration.”

If Gojo couldn’t use Soulstring, did it mean he was not true to his soul?

You didn’t have enough time to delve into that thought. Gojo casually tossed the bow your way:

“Give it a try, Spices. If it’s a bust, I’ll get you something else.”

As you caught Soulstring, anxiety fluttered within your chest.

You, worthy of the most powerful Sengoku priestess’ weapon? You began to wonder if Gojo had set you up for failure to get back at your dirty move the day before.

Sensing your doubt, Gojo gently closed your fingers over the worn grip. “Hey now, no overthinking!”

He leaned down, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think you have the best shot out of anyone in centuries. You’ve got the strongest, kindest soul I’ve ever seen. So come on, try it for me!”

You bit your lip, the desire to please him overshadowing your nervousness. Drawing a bracing breath, you slowly pulled back the string. A strange surge of cursed energy spun through your core and streamed down your arm to pool within your palm.

Soulstring began faintly glowing violet in response, energy threads converging along its length. Your eyes blew wide in disbelief. It… it was working?

The bow thrummed beneath your grip as you took aim at the far wall, the arrow taking shape in a brilliant blaze. You released a shuddering breath and let the shot loose. The violet bolt blazed across the room, spearing the wall dead center and leaving a huge hole before dissipating.

You blinked down at the plain wooden bow in awe. Behind you, Gojo whooped loudly, sweeping you up in a fierce hug.

“You did it! Haha, just as I suspected - Soulstring chose you!” He squeezed you tightly, pride shining through his voice. “Your sensei is never wrong!”

Joy and disbelief warred inside you even as Gojo happily spun you in dizzying circles. You, just an average sorcerer wielding the legendary Soulstring when everyone else in the past two centuries had failed? Surely it made no sense.

As Gojo set you down, a grin stretched wide, you clutched the bow close to your chest.

“Something’s wrong.” You whispered, staring fixedly at the floor. “Perhaps it was a fluke…”

Gentle fingers tilted your chin up until sky blue eyes bored into yours, suddenly serious.

“Now you listen close,” Gojo murmured. “I don’t make mistakes, especially when it comes to assessing potential.” His voice was so quiet. “You, my dear Spices, are brimming with it.”

Your breath hitched as Gojo’s thumb brushed your cheek tenderly.

“One day, everyone else and you yourself will see what I’ve known all along - how truly extraordinary you are. You and I, we will change the world.”

You studied his earnest expression, chest swelling with fragile emotion. If the strongest sorcerer in the world had deemed you worthy, who were you to argue? Gripping Soulstring tightly, you gave Gojo a wavering smile which he returned tenfold.

The tender moment stretched for several heartbeats before being broken by an ominous creaking sound. You turned with dawning horror to survey the volleyball-sized hole now adorning your dorm room wall, courtesy of Soulstring’s demo shot. Oops.

“Oh no! Principal Yaga is gonna kill me!” You gestured angrily at the crumbling plaster and scorch marks. “It’s your fault, Gojo-sensei!”

“Ah, nothing a little plaster and some paint can’t fix. I’ll have Ijichi…” He made to wave a casual hand at the destruction but you smacked it down, eyes narrowed.

“Oh no, don’t you dare try to rope Ijichi-san into this!” You rounded on Gojo, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “We’re getting professional repairs, and you’re paying for it!”

Gojo blinked before throwing his head back with a laugh. “Fine, fine! I’ll pay for repairs. And I’ll even buy you dinner right now!”

Strong arms wrapped around you affectionately. With the crisis averted and your grumbling stomach appeased, you spared one last anxious glance at your poor wall before letting Gojo usher you out.

And that’s how you scored a special grade cursed tool for free.

***

Storytime’s up.

You clapped your hands loudly as you finished your tale, of course, leaving out details of what your cheap shot at Gojo actually involved, and the following highly inappropriate game of chicken between you and Gojo.

Yuji and Nobara gaped at you, even Megumi looked rather impressed.

“Do you think Gojo-sensei could get me a special grade hammer?” Nobara asked, eyes glittering.

“Maybe.” You laughed. “But you’ll have to beat him first.”

“Hell yeah. I’m game.” Nobara cracked her knuckles loudly with a sharp grin.

You’d like to hang out with them for longer, but your phone buzzed with a text from Shoko.

“Alright. Y’all get on with your required reading.” You stuffed Soulstring back into your duffle bag. “Next week, we’ll move to cursed energy control. Then, I’ll show you how to cast basic barriers and make paper shikigami.”

“Wait, senpai!” Megumi hopped up from his seat, catching your sleeve before you could dash off. “Can we talk?”

So he finally decided to speak up. You smiled at him:

“Tonight, okay?” You waved your phone to let him see the notification with Shoko’s name. “I gotta run now. Ieiri-san is going out, so I have to guard her.”

And write her report.

You didn’t say that part out loud though.

Megumi frowned. “Is this a mission? Should I come with you?”

“Nah. Ieiri-san never goes on missions.” You reassured him with a shake of your head. “We’re just coming to a local office outside Tokyo. There are some injured sorcerers.”

Megumi studied your face for a moment before nodding. “Be careful.”

“Sure! See y’all later!”

You heaved your bag over your shoulder and zipped out of the classroom with an airy wave.

Just as you swept through the door, you could hear Nobara and Yuji impatiently pouncing on Megumi. Their excitement was palpable even from the hall.

“I didn’t know someone without an innate technique could be that cool!”

“Fushiguro, tell us about Spices-senpai!”

“Yes!! Spill it, Fushiguro! How strong is Spices-senpai?”

Even from afar, you could feel Megumi’s cursed energy flickered with annoyance. But when he spoke, his voice held genuine warmth.

“You know what makes curses so deadly? They’re unpredictable and ruthless.” After a pause, he added. “And so is Spices.”

Despite the brutal assessment, Megumi’s voice was thick with pride and fondness. You weren’t sure if you should feel offended or flattered. You supposed you could ask Shoko.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

As one of the only three sorcerers on the planet who could heal others, Ieiri Shoko was arguably one of the most important people in the jujutsu world.

Not that the ever-so-wise High Council had anything to worry about when they never actually let her go on missions. Nor was she allowed to grab a coffee or see a movie alone either. Bless their paranoid little hearts. Wherever Shoko went, she’d be saddled with an anxious assistant manager trailing behind wringing their hands while a grade 1 sorcerer clung to her side as round-the-clock security.

However, last year’s Night Parade of One Hundred Demons had left loads of sorcerers busted up and unable to return to duty. Now there were not enough sorcerers to go around, especially grade 1 sorcerers.

That’s how Shoko managed to convince the higher ups to let you, a mere grade 2 student, be her escort. You could scout and ambush like nobody’s business. As for defense? Let’s just say that wasn’t your strongest suit.

Principal Yaga was particularly twitchy about this arrangement. But Shoko assured him it’d be fine… with her usual amount of hand waving and half-truths. The route would be secured ahead of time and her schedule was totally classified anyway so no one should even know when to hunt her. You only came along to fill their security quota (and to write her reports). Still, you appreciated the learning opportunities. Oh, and the commission checks weren’t too shabby either.

You were a nervous wreck those first few times playing escort. But after months on the job with no incidents, your anxiety started to ease—just a little. Today’s trip was supposed to be routine anyway. A few banged-up sorcerers from recent missions needed Shoko’s magical healing touch to get them back to full strength. Obviously, hauling every injured person to your top-secret school would blow its cover. So they’d gather the wounded at a local outpost instead for Shoko to patch up. Easy enough gig.

With Megumi’s brutal assessment still rattling around your brain, you threw open the door to Shoko’s office without so much as a knock, barging right in unannounced.

“Ieiri-san, do you think that I’m unpredictable and ruthless?” You demanded, fists planted on your hips.

Shoko was sprawled in her desk chair, looking more pale and drained than usual. Her tousled brown hair stuck out wildly like she had jammed her finger in an electrical socket. Dark circles sagged under her bloodshot eyes.

She peered up at you with those same lifeless eyes. “Wow, you really don’t like small talk, huh?”

“What?” You blinked, momentarily confused by her flippant response.

“Yesterday you waltzed in and asked if I believed in the Three-Fold Law.” Shoko pointed out with a yawn, stretching her arms up over her head.

You opened your mouth to argue but then paused, conceding her point with a sheepish smile. “Eh…”

“And the day before, you wanted to talk about what free will truly meant. See?” Shoko gave you a pointed look. “Never a Hello Ieiri. How’s your day? Just WHAM–deep conversations right off the bat.”

She attempted to smooth down her frazzled locks, knocking over a cup of pens in the process. They clattered across her desk, scattering sheets everywhere.

“Sorry, Ieiri-san. Good morning. You’re looking…” You amended with some hasty pleasantries, your voice trailed off as you surveyed the disastrous state around you, “...um, very busy.”

“That’s one word for it.” Shoko snorted, lamely patting at the haystack formerly known as her hair.

Shoko’s office looked like the aftermath of a tornado, tsunami, and earthquake threesome.

“Ieiri-san, what the f*ck happened here?” You gasped, throwing your hands up as you gestured at the chaos. “I’ve just organized your office last week! I swear to God…”

You punctuated your outrage by waving a dust-coated file you had plucked off the floor. Shoko grimaced, clearly pained by your shrill complaint.

“Pipe down, Spices, before my head cracks open.” She grumbled.

She attempted to smooth down her hair again but only ended up knocking an empty beer can off her desk with a loud, echoing clunk.

“Are you drunk right now?” You crossed your arms in exasperation. “We’re supposed to leave in 5 minutes!”

“I’m not drunk. Just spectacularly hungover. Now hush.” Shoko muttered, kneading her forehead.

You co*cked a skeptical eyebrow. “Can’t you just heal your hangover?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Shoko just groaned and slumped right back down into the stack of papers she was using as a makeshift pillow, the crumpled sheets muffling her disgruntled tone.

With a sigh, you gingerly stepped around the piles of documents littering all over the floor and made your way toward her.

“Should I ask Ijichi-san to reschedule?” You asked softly, already carding your fingers through Shoko’s tangled hair to massage her scalp. She sank against your touch like butter melting on hot bread, the tension seeping from her shoulders.

“It’s fine,” Shoko murmured, eyes fluttering closed. “I just need a minute.” Her cursed energy flowed between you in gradual waves, smoothing into tranquility.

You continued quietly, fingertips tracing delicate circles, hoping to impart some small measure of the strength Shoko constantly gave to so many others. She leaned into your feather-light touch, the furrow between her brows finally smoothing out.

Several moments passed in comfortable silence. The only sounds were Shoko’s slow exhales and the scratch of your nails raking gently across her scalp.

You really got to know Shoko back in your first year, thanks to Gojo’s unique brand of mayhem.

You still remembered fondly the day Gojo came flouncing into Shoko’s lab, wheeling a giant cage full of furious squirrels.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” He grinned like a self-satisfied cat presenting the world’s ugliest hairball. “Got you a present, Sho!”

Shoko didn’t even glance up from her microscope. “Unless it’s a bottle of aged whiskey, I don't want it.” She dismissed flatly.

Undeterred, Gojo swept his arm toward the agitated critters. “Even better! These little furballs here got possessed by some nasty curses a few towns over. Raised quite a ruckus. Figured you’d wanna crack ‘em open, see what makes ‘em tick.”

At that, Shoko finally lifted her bloodshot gaze. The circles under her eyes almost matched the darkness of her pupils. You expected Shoko to chew him out for the unorthodox and highly unethical Valentine’s gift. Instead, her eyes lit up with manic glee.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A hint of a smirk ghosted her lips as she approached the cage. One squirrel hissed at her.

“Ooh, feisty!” Shoko wiggled her fingers at them. “All high-grade curses!”

Gojo folded his arms, smugness radiating from him. “Knew you’d love them. Aren’t I the sweetest?”

Then he dragged you by the back of your hoodie over to Shoko as if you were another offering. “I got you insurance, too!”

“Stop dragging me, sensei! I can walk!” You huffed, wriggling out of Gojo’s grip.

He released you and clapped your back, a little too heavy-handed: “Of course. You stay here and watch over Sho for me, okay? If anything tries to bite her, you shoot it. Easy, right?

You rubbed your sore back in annoyance and shuffled to the corner, bow taut, prepared to shoot any rogue rodents. Meanwhile, Shoko flitted about in a caffeine-fueled frenzy, completely absorbed in her tests. Oblivious to bodily needs, she took zero breaks, not even for bathroom necessities. Her wild, frazzled hair and stained lab coat soon made her resemble one of the possessed creatures she studied.

On the final marathon day, you found Shoko collapsed face down atop her keyboard, the report still distressingly blank. Dark smudges marred her dull cheeks. Taking pity, you completed the technical write-up yourself from memory.

Come morning, Shoko jolted awake blearily to find the report finished.

“I thought you could use some help.” You explained with a timid smile, crossing your fingers behind your back and praying she wouldn’t be upset over you overstepping.

Wonder and disbelief flooded Shoko’s tired features.

“How did you…” She trailed off with a frown as she skimmed through the report.

“Did I get something wrong? Just tell me, I can fix it…” You offered nervously, biting your bottom lip.

Shoko shook her head. “No, no. Everything is perfect. So you could read my handwriting?” She gestured in bewilderment at the messy notes scattered across her desk - all indecipherable chicken scratches.

“Eh…” You laughed anxiously. “I relied on my memory mostly. I did watch you do everything.”

Shoko scrutinized you for a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought. Then her serious expression morphed into a brilliant grin.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” She leaned across the desk, propping her chin in her palm. Her gaze held a new glint of fascination.

“Tell ya what. How about you stick around?” Shoko suggested. “I'll teach you all my secrets and show you real research. In exchange, you handle the messy paperwork so I can actually get sh*t done. Deal?”

She extended her hand, head tilted in question. You blinked down at her offered palm.

“Okay. But you gotta get Yaga-sama to sign off on my hours.” You nodded firmly before sliding your hand into hers.

Her answering smile dazzled so freaking bright. And just like that, the pact was sealed. You weren’t entirely sure whether it counted as a binding vow.

Your job was simple: Whenever you managed to escape classes and training, you’d drop by Shoko’s wings for some quality chaos.

Sometimes, she would teach you how to use the fancy machines in her lab, gesturing wildly as she explained their functions with unbridled enthusiasm. Her eyes would sparkle like a kid on Christmas morning, thrilled to finally have a willing victim… eh, audience.

Other times, she showed you how to whip up healing potions, clean nasty wounds, and determine proper painkiller doses. It was like witchcraft, the way she expertly mixed herbs and tinctures. Shoko claimed it was alternative medicine. You wonder if it’s even legal.

You got to help out with her wacky experiments, dutifully jotting down observations while she poked at screaming curses with different sealing spells and cursed tools, or dissecting the mangled bodies of formerly possessed animals, and sometimes, humans. She would quiz you about the most efficient way to exorcize various types of curses, lighting up whenever you answered correctly.

If someone in school got hurt but not too badly, you would help Shoko patch them up with standard medical bandages and stitches. She only bothered to use her healing abilities on potentially life-threatening injuries.

Your relationship with Shoko was strictly professional, until the day you lost Shino.

When you arrived at Shoko’s lab, you sensed something amiss immediately. Rather than engrossed in her latest experiments or flat-out drinking, she lingered in the doorway, a strange heaviness clinging to her typically crisp cursed energy. You knew something was very, very wrong, because Shoko was incredibly skilled at cursed energy control.

“What happened?” You asked, your voice tense.

“You should take the day off.” Shoko’s tone was so much softer than usual. Like she was dealing with a wounded animal.

You were a jujutsu sorcerer. You knew what that somber look meant. This kind of thing happened frequently enough in your line of work. Inside Shoko’s lab was someone’s body. Someone you knew. Someone she clearly didn’t want you to see. A classmate? An assistant manager? Bile burned your throat.

Alarm bells sounded in your mind. Your muscles tensed as nerves jangled in a disjointed rhythm. Sweat prickled your palms, each breath coming harder against the dread constricting your chest.

“Who is it?” You forced out, barely keeping your voice from breaking.

But Shoko’s haunted eyes – so dull and vulnerable – already filled that empty space with the truth. A truth that dropped your stomach like missing a step in the dark.

“One of your classmates,” Shoko said. “Yanagi Shino.”

You felt like the world shattered under your feet. Shino. Your dear Shino. Shino who was your best friend. Beautiful, talented Shino. Gone.

“That couldn’t be right.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Shino’s a powerful sorcerer. She’s like, semi-grade 1 already…”

Numbness overtook you. Disbelief. Then anguish, as the staggering loss carved out an unexpected void within your heart. The world tilted dangerously. You clung to the door frame for support, willing your legs not to give out. Shoko moved as if to catch you, but hesitated mere inches away, unsure if her touch would provide any comfort.

“I’m so sorry, Spices. I tried everything.” Her voice was raw.

You shook your head, chest heaving. “I don’t understand. Shino’s so strong. How could she die when I’m still alive?”

It should have been you.

The thought clawed at your mind like a rabid beast. Out of your year, Hakari, Kirara, and Shino all had innate cursed techniques and massive cursed energy reserves. You were the weakest one. The most expendable.

You always assumed you’d be the first to die and you took comfort in that. It should have been a perk, being the weakest and first to die, so you would never have to mourn your friends. Never have to feel this soul-crushing pain threatening to swallow you whole.

As if sensing your spiraling despair, Shoko grabbed your shoulder firmly:

“Don’t say that. Listen to me, Spices…”

But you couldn’t listen. Wouldn’t listen. Wrenching free of her grasp, you choked out:

“I want to see Shino.”

Shino always had your back, but you weren’t there to have hers. The least you could do was see her one last time.

“It’s bad.” Shoko insisted gently yet firmly, blocking your path. “Yanagi wouldn’t want you to remember her like this.”

Shoko’s warning gave you a brief pause, but only for a moment. The need to see your dear friend one last time overwhelmed all else. You had to know this nightmare was real. Had to see the truth with your own eyes, no matter how much it broke you.

Pushing past Shoko, you stepped into the chilly lab, met by sterile lights that seemed too bright - harsh and revealing. There, atop a metal table, lay the body. Your vision tunneled.

It was undeniably Shino, yet all wrong. Mangled and ravaged almost beyond recognition. Her dark hair fanned across the silver surface, matted with crimson. That beloved face - once so bright and expressive - was rendered into a mess of torn flesh and shattered bone.

You swayed as pain and nausea crashed through you in relentless waves. Shoko touched your back, steadying your weak knees. But she didn’t say anything else, simply stood close as you took in this horrific sight. As the permanence of death imprinted itself behind your eyes.

Quiet moments crawled by before Shoko guided you gently away, into a chair where you gratefully collapsed. The gruesome image of Shino’s ruined corpse lingered, seared into memory. You were afraid that Shoko was right - that you would only remember Shino like this.

But in your mind, something far stronger pushed past the visceral horror - Shino’s vibrance, her dreams, her infectious laughter. All the beautiful things about her that you would never see again. Things not even death could erase.

When your words returned, they came choked: “She deserved so much better...”

Shoko exhaled slowly. “We rarely get what we deserve in this life.” Her voice held an unexpected pain. “But it’ll get better.”

A dry laugh escaped your lips: “Did it ever get better for you?”

Your thoughts flitted back to the faded photograph you once found in Shoko’s desk drawer. You had been organizing the chaos of loose papers and random objects cluttering her workspace when a corner of worn photo paper caught your eye. Gently tugging it free, you saw Shoko back in her school days, sandwiched happily between two boys - one unmistakably a teenage Gojo, signature silver hair and cheeky grin recognizable even then.

But it was the other boy that drew your gaze - his features elegant, with kind eyes and a mildly annoyed expression at being pulled into this candid photoshoot, evident in the rude finger he gave behind Shoko’s back. Gojo had his arm slung casually around his shoulders in easy camaraderie. They looked so bright and full of joy. You noted the date stamped in the bottom corner - a moment captured over a decade ago when they still had endless days of possibility ahead. The faded corners and wrinkled texture hinted at how often this photo might have been held.

You knew then that this photo held precious memories never meant to be seen by anyone. Something private that Shoko kept hidden away under layers of work and research, perhaps too painful to display yet too dear to simply throw away. So you tucked the faded memento back in its secret spot and never talked about it.

You didn’t mean to bring up old wounds. Perhaps, it was the grief talking. You felt awful immediately.

“You really don’t pull your punches, huh?” Shoko winced slightly, a shadow passing over her face.

“I’m sorry, Ieiri-san. It was out of line…” You bit your lips, unsuccessfully willing the tears away.

“That’s fine.” Shoko looked down at the floor in front of you, shoulders heavy with a long-borne weight. “You love hard, so you grieve hard. I understand.”

Then, her hand gently covered yours, rough skin and slender strength anchored you to the here and now.

“I’m not better yet,” Shoko admitted into the stillness. “But I’m trying to be. I’d like you to try with me.”

Shoko’s quiet kindness finally undid the tenuous hold you had on your swirling grief. Great heaving sobs wracked through you as salty tears flooded unrestrained down your cheeks. You collapsed forward, all strength leaving your bones.

But Shoko was there to catch you, wrapping you in a tender yet fierce embrace. She gathered you close against her chest as violent tremors shook your frame. Her arms shielded you from the outside world.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured.

You clung to Shoko, hands fisted in her shirt like a child as wrenching cries were torn from your soul. In the shelter of her arms, you sensed she was crying too - soundless tears falling into your hair where only you would know. Her steady heartbeat and hushed reassurances slowly soothed away the sharp, ragged edges, grounding you back to the present.

By the time your sobs faded to hiccups then to the occasional sniffle, you felt utterly spent. But also lighter somehow, as if a festering splinter had been pulled free. Shoko continued carding her fingers through your hair in rhythmic comfort. Perhaps she was giving you now the kind of understanding and shelter she secretly wished someone had given her.

Shoko had become far more than just a mentor. Over weeks and months of chaos, tears and laughter, she felt like home. Someone who knew you - really knew you - and still accepted every jagged edge and broken shard.

You blinked slowly as the vivid memory faded, returning you firmly to Shoko’s disaster zone of an office in the present. Your hands were still massaging Shoko’s scalp as you attempted to fend off her hangover.

“You’re too good to me,” Shoko said, her voice almost a purr. “Even though I make you do all my paperwork and clean up my disasters.”

You chuckled softly. “I do learn a lot from you. And you always take care of everyone. Someone gotta take care of you once in a while.”

Shoko just hummed something incoherent, already halfway back to dreamland.

“You know, Ieiri-san, you should teach me to do that cursed energy reversal thingy.” You suggested. “Maybe I could learn to heal people, too. Then we could share the workload.”

Even if you never figured out how to heal others, just being able to heal yourself would be one less thing for Shoko to worry about. But at your words, she grunted and shifted away.

“Can’t teach you that. Go ask Gojo.” Shoko muttered, clearly wanting to evade the topic.

You huffed in annoyance. As if you hadn't tried already. He only gave you a generic explanation and told you that he figured it out that one time when he was almost dead. Well, you certainly didn’t want to resort to such drastic learning methods.

“Why can’t you teach me? It’s literally just cursed energy control with extra steps…” You wheedled playfully, squeezing Shoko’s shoulders.

Then, something clicked.

You suddenly realized no one had ever seen Shoko heal. Not even you, her most beloved unofficial assistant. She said it was distracting to have others hovering around while she worked. But even those who were healed by her had no memories of the process itself. As if that time was wiped clean.

And the only jujutsu thing that couldn’t be taught was innate cursed techniques.

“Unless… it’s not just cursed energy reversal, is it?” You probed tentatively.

Shoko’s tired eyes sharpened at that. “What do you mean?”

“It can’t be taught, if it’s your innate technique.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, hanging heavy between you and Shoko. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly. The very air seemed to still.

Shoko neither confirmed nor denied your speculation, but her expression turned cold and foreign. The sudden shift in Shoko’s demeanor sent a chill down your spine.

“Just because something pops in your head doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud, Spices,” Shoko said, her tone too quiet. Too controlled.

You swallowed hard, unease coiling at the unspoken warning. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled at this unfamiliar, dangerous side of Shoko.

Seconds crawled by in oppressive silence, suddenly deafening. f*ck your curiosity and impulsive tongue. You fidgeted nervously, grasping for something, anything to break the sudden tension.

Your eyes darted around the office before landing on the literal mountains of documents scattered everywhere.

“What’s all this stuff anyway?” You asked with forced casualness, gesturing around.

As you backed down from the prior conversation, the dangerous edge left Shoko. She waved a hand, tone equally welcoming the subject change.

“An old project from my senior year.” She explained. “I couldn’t get funding approved back then. But now the higher ups are suddenly interested.”

That kind of explained the chaos of Shoko’s office.

“What kind of project is it?” You perked up, genuinely interested.

“A healing spell of sorts. Well, not actual healing but more like suspending injuries in time.”

She tapped her fingers absently against the pages. “It prevents wounds from worsening so you guys can retreat to safety for treatment.”

Shoko seemed glad to move past discussing her healing abilities, but there was a slight edge still lingering in her cursed energy. Your earlier conversation left unease swirling beneath the surface.

“So… it’s good they’re finally funding it then?” You ventured carefully.

“It should be,” Shoko muttered, gaze drifting aside as if she didn’t really believe it.

But before you could ponder further, the doors slapped open with a loud bang. Ijichi stood wheezing in the doorway, face flushed from clearly having sprinted here.

“Ieiri-san! Why are you still sitting around? We’re supposed to leave 30 minutes ago!”

You and Shoko exchanged a sheepish look. In all the chaos this morning, you’d both lost track of time.

“Right, yes, just finalizing some things,” Shoko said breezily, standing up from her desk. Ijichi tapped his foot, looking far from convinced given the state of disarray surrounding you both.

You helped Shoko gather her go bag while she, once again, attempted to smooth her frazzled hair into some semblance of neatness. Within minutes you had everything packed and were hustling out the door under Ijichi’s impatient glare.

The trip was uneventful. The three of you arrived at the local outpost, and the routine proceeded as normal: Shoko healed a bunch of injured sorcerers. You guarded outside the room, while Ijichi typed furiously into his laptop. Some urgent admin tasks, he grumbled when you asked. Ijichi’s tasks were always urgent. You wondered when was the last time he went on vacation.

A small part of you itched to peek inside, or at least try to track Shoko’s cursed energy to see what she was actually doing. But you refrained from crossing that boundary. You might be too curious for your own good, but you knew how important trust was in your line of work. Whatever Shoko was possibly hiding was her own business. She trusted you to have her back, and that was exactly what you would do.

It was almost evening when Shoko was done. Golden hour bathed the mountain slopes in warm honeyed light as Ijichi’s sleek car cruised down the highway. The fading rays set his rigid posture ablaze behind the wheel.

Some pop song warbled softly over the radio - generic J-Pop beats that made for decent road trip background noise. The familiar melody easily lulled passengers towards drowsiness. Beside you, Shoko was out cold within minutes, face smushed endearingly against the window. Her faint snores fogged up the glass in sync with her breath.

You gazed out at the scenery lazily, chin propped on a fist. Twilight softened the landscape’s edges, steeping miles of woodlands in mauve dreaminess. Even with your hand on Soulstring, ready to respond to any threats, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering through fuzzy half-formed thoughts. What takeout to grab on the way home, whether Yuji and Nobara had read any of the books you assigned them this morning, what Megumi wanted to talk about tonight…

Your peaceful trip took a sh*tty turn when an abrupt spike of cursed energy jolted your senses to high alert. Adrenaline instantly flooded your veins as you bolted upright, fingers already wrapping around the grip of your bow. Beside you, Shoko stirred as well.

“What is it?” Shoko asked, blinking away drowsiness.

You inhaled slowly through your nose, honing your focus on the fast-approaching blob of cursed energy. Powerful sorcerers. Their combined cursed energy prickled your skin - they were clearly locking onto your location.

“There’s a bunch of high-grade sorcerers heading in our direction. Fast.” You said tersely.

Ijichi’s gaze snapped up, knuckles blanching on the wheel as he monitored the empty rearview mirror. “Are they targeting us specifically?” His usually timid voice strained.

“Well, unless there’s an underground jujutsu racing tournament we’re conveniently on the route for...”

You scoffed.

“We’re getting jumped, Ijichi-san.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Shoko clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“I hate it when people try to murder me. It really kills my vibe.”

Jaw clenched tight, Ijichi weighed the gas pedal down. “No one’s getting murdered today,” he stated through gritted teeth. “I’ll lose them.”

You gripped Soulstring tighter. Ijichi was right. No one was going to get hurt, not on your watch.

The sharp spike of cursed energy signaled your pursuers closing in. Heart pounding wildly, you watched their black vehicle gaining rapidly in the side mirror. Ijichi’s foot pressed the pedal even closer to the floor, tires squealing as the speedometer’s needle climbed into road rage levels. Still, they kept perfect pace.

“How many are there?” Ijichi forced out, tendons straining in his neck from the tension.

The winding mountain roads barely left room to outmaneuver the other car. One wrong move could send you crashing over guardrails to your deaths. It’d be pretty embarrassing, kicking the bucket in a car accident when you should have died fighting curses. Gojo would hold a seance just to sh*t talk you. You pushed away your ridiculous intrusive thoughts.

“Two in that car on our tail. Probably four more not far behind.” You replied, your voice taut.

“S-so that’s six to three. We’re outnumbered.” Ijichi blanched.

You held back a biting retort at Ijichi’s piss-poor analysis. The odds were far worse than six against three in reality. Shoko was no fighter. And Ijichi looked ready to faint dead away at just the thought of fighting.

So essentially, it would be six skilled sorcerers against one long-range fighter - you. If those bastards managed to flank you, things would get ugly real quick. In close quarters, if it’s just you alone, maybe you could pull some tricks to get away. But with Shoko and Ijichi… You analyzed the situation with growing dread. The odds were sh*t for even one of you to get out of this alive. You absolutely couldn’t afford to let them box you in.

“Can’t this thing go any faster, Ijichi-san?” You urged tightly, glancing back at the rapidly gaining enemies. Their cursed energies batted at your senses - they would be within attack range soon.

“I’m trying!” Ijichi wailed hysterically. His hands shook so badly the whole car jittered. “Ieiri-san, please call for backup!”

“Ah, right.” In the back seat, Shoko casually pulled out her phone, utterly unbothered by being ambushed in the middle of nowhere.

Principal Yaga picked up right away.

“Yes, sensei, we’re on our way back… mm-hm… Mizuki-san sends her regards…”

Ijichi made a strangled noise like a dying animal.

“BACKUP, you have to ask for BACKUP NOW!” He half-wailed, half-demanded. “We have six curse users on our tail!!”

Shoko sighed, rubbing her temple. It seemed she found Ijichi’s voice the only irritation.

As if on cue, a massive fireball exploded past Ijichi’s window in a spray of glass shards. He released a shriek that could shatter eardrums, hastily throwing up a shield just in time.

“A f*cking fireball?” You clenched your bow in frustration as you cast your own shield of cursed energy. Some random street thug could conjure flames while you didn’t even have a boring innate technique? Life’s so unfair.

“By the way, sensei, we’re under attack.” Shoko lounged back in her seat, phone cradled lazily against her ear. “Do send some assistance at your leisure.”

Another blast ruptured Ijichi’s unstable shield of cursed energy. He yelped, voice climbing octaves as the car swerved violently.

“Keep up your shield, Ijichi-san!” You barked.

“I can’t maintain it for long!” Sweat poured down Ijichi’s pallid face. He sounded like he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, Ijichi-san.” Shoko let out an airy laugh, placing a hand on Ijichi’s shoulder. Her cursed energy flowed over to shield him while she talked to Principal Yaga on the phone, as calmly as discussing dinner plans. “Yes, sensei. Spices thinks there’s six of them.”

You turned, peering through the rear window panel at your pursuers. The one with the fire technique was shooting fireballs furiously at your car, hellbent on roasting you all alive.

You decided this couldn’t go on.

Tuning out Ijichi’s hysterical shrieks, you inhaled slowly, steeling your nerves. Soulstring thrummed eagerly under your fingertips as you turned to release an arrow made of pure cursed energy point blank at the rear panel. The entire glass panel exploded outwards in a glittering rain of shards.

“Spices! What the hell?!” Ijichi howled, forgetting all manners and politeness.

Shoko’s eyebrows shot up, but before she could react, your second arrow was already zipping through the gaping hole in a streak of violet, aimed straight for the fire guy’s heart. His eyes widened in disbelief a split second before it punched through his cursed energy shield and lodged itself into his heart. His lifeless body toppled backward.

Shoko casually informed Principal Yaga over the phone: “Spices shot down one, so it’s five now.”

Despite the main attacker dead, the pursuing car still rushed at you. Cursing under your breath, you took aim again.

Your third arrow went clean through the windshield of their car, landing dead on the driver’s throat with a sickening wet thunk. The wheel jerked wildly as the driver slumped. Then momentum carried their vehicle straight over the guardrails. Metal screamed against stones with an ear-splitting shriek before your enemy plunged out of sight, swallowed by smoke and darkness.

“One more down. Four to go.” Shoko gave Principal Yaga the new update, looking thoroughly impressed.

“That was close…” Ijichi whimpered, his hands shaking with relief in the aftermath of your narrow escape.

But the reprieve was brutally short-lived. The roar of engines sliced the air. Two motorbikes suddenly zipped out of nowhere, carrying four remaining curse users moving to flank you.

“You gotta be sh*tting me.” Your eyes almost bulged out.

As the lead bike pulled ahead, the passenger hurled an object onto your roof. Ugly vines immediately erupted outward, snaking rapidly to entangle your vehicle in a suffocating web of razor-sharp barbs. Your heart dropped - these parasitic cursed plants would shred metal given enough time.

The vines tore clean through the door beside you just as Ijichi slammed the gas in desperation. For one heart-stopping moment, you felt your body lurch and slip through the gaping hole, unforgiving asphalt racing by in a lethal blur mere inches below. Certain this was the end, you scrambled frantically for purchase, just barely managing to grab the edge of the warped door frame with sweat-slicked fingers.

Adrenaline stretched time into eternity as you dangled precariously outside with only your fragile grip separating you from your untimely demise. Gasping, you felt your hold slipping...

Then Shoko lunged, one hand snapping forward with lightning reflexes to grab your belt and heave you back inside. The momentum sent you crashing painfully against her. She grunted from the impact but held on until you could collapse safely back into your seat.

For someone who wasn’t a fighter, God bless her uncanny reflexes and grip strength.

“What do we do? What do we do?!” Ijichi bordered on a heart attack as razor vines continued screeching down the sides of your car like fingernails on chalkboard.

“Just don't yeet me again.” You breathed heavily, pulse thundering as delayed panic set in.

Thorny vines wedged tightly across your vehicle, but you still had some tricks up your sleeve - literally.

Reaching into the hidden pocket, you pulled out a small slip of paper. With a short enchantment, you flung it outside. Activated by your cursed energy, your little paper shikigami warped into a huge eagle mid-flight. Its sharp claws immediately tore at the vines wrapping around your car, shredding them into pieces. Of course, you couldn’t summon impressive shikigami like Megumi, but some big birds were no problem.

“Neat.” Shoko nodded approvingly, still conversationally giving live updates on her phone. “Don’t worry, Yaga-sensei. We’re still kicking.”

You weren’t sure for how long, though. The bastard who threw that vine thingy at you suddenly jumped onto your battered roof, obliterating your shikigami with one crushing blow. The vehicle rocked dangerously at the impact.

“Ieiri Shoko in the flesh.” He crouched down, reaching through the shattered window to grab Shoko, his grin twisted with malice. “My lucky day.”

At such close distance, his acrid cursed energy left a foul taste on the back of your throat. Heart pounding in your ears, you tried to take aim at him, but it proved to be impossible in the cramped interior and Shoko in the way. No clear shot.

You should have agreed when Megumi offered to go with you this morning. Out of time and options, icy panic gripped your chest.

“I don’t think so.” Shoko gave an annoyed tsk as the bastard’s hand clasped onto her shoulder.

Coldness graced Shoko’s unbothered features. In a flash, she whipped out her scalpel and plunged it into his neck with the detached precision of a master surgeon. Right in the carotid artery. In that very second, you felt his cursed energy lagged. It passed so quickly that you thought you had imagined it.

And then with a smile, Shoko twisted her scalpel slowly, almost lazily.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Blood erupted in a violent surge. The bastard’s eyes widened in belated realization, gurgling wetly as understanding finally dawned in his dimming eyes. Understanding of who the frail woman in front of him truly was.

Healer. Sorcerer. Killer. Ieiri Shoko in the flesh.

Perhaps, you were not the only one unpredictable and ruthless.

In a moment of shockingly smooth teamwork, Ijichi executed a sharp turn while your attacker was off-balance, too preoccupied trying to stem his spraying artery. Caught by surprise, the bastard toppled off your roof, disappearing over the slopes in a very unceremonious exit.

Chest heaving, Ijichi trembled with adrenaline as he screamed after your vanished enemy: “Get the f*ck off my goddamned car, you motherf*cker!!”

You briefly considered handing over your title “Spices” to Ijichi. That man surely had some spice when push came to shove.

Oblivious to Ijichi’s meltdown, Shoko calmly wiped the blood off her face and continued updating Principal Yaga: “Another one down. Just three left.”

In the background, you could hear Yaga huffing incoherently, clearly on the verge of an aneurysm over Shoko’s flippant play-by-play. You made a mental note to bring the principal some calming tea for his nerves after all this.

The odds were better, but not comfortingly so. Your remaining pursuers kept back, neither closing in nor letting you escape their sights. You were racking your brain trying to figure out their plan when Ijichi shouted about a rockslide ahead.

There was indeed a huge barricade of boulders blocking the highway. Impossibly inconvenient. Impossibly coincidental.

You focused your senses, probing the looming rubble. Real rocks didn’t radiate cursed energy like that. Even if your eyes could be deceived, your senses for energy never fooled you. Or so you hoped.

“Keep the speed up!” You barked urgently.

Ijichi recoiled as if physically struck “Are you crazy?? We’ll crash!”

“It's an illusion, trust me!” You insisted, nerves jangling as your window of opportunity shrank. “Punch through, don't stop!”

So this was their plan. Wasn’t that great? They’d hired someone who shot fire AND another who could cast illusions? Someone really hated Shoko’s ass.

Just a small distance from the convincing barricade now, Ijichi whined: “You sure??” His voice climbed in panic.

“Floor it!” Shoko ordered sharply.

With a shrill scream, Ijichi slammed the pedal down, his eyes screwed shut. No turning back. Either you were right or you were all dead.

Impact never came. At the absolute last second, the facade rippled away. No collision, just empty road. The false boulders simply faded out of existence as Ijichi gunned the acceleration, momentum slamming you all back into your seats.

Glancing behind, you saw your pursuers rushing forward once more now that their trick had failed.

You knew you couldn’t keep this up forever. Who knew what else they had in store. Something had to be done. And it had to be done quickly. The inklings of a plan formed in your head. Reckless and dangerous, but it just might buy you all a chance.

You pulled out another paper shikigami and activated it. Millions of fluttering moths burst out all at once, flooding the highway behind a disorienting swarm. This was your Moth Swarms - a cheap imitation of Megumi’s Rabbit Escape , but it should be enough.

“What’s the plan?” Shoko arched her brow. She knew you well enough to recognize the scheming gleam in your eyes.

“Just make sure I don’t fall out.” You gestured outside towards the gaping space where the door once was.

“Okay.” Shoko nodded, anchoring one hand on the interior handle, the other snapping onto your belt in an iron grip.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned out into the roaring wind. Eyes watering against the brutal lash of air, you focused along the winding mountain slopes, seeking out structural weak points. Then with your targets locked, you lifted Soulstring.

“Get back in here, Spices! You’re gonna fall!” Ijichi shrieked, but you blocked out all distractions.

Soulstring lit up as cursed energy coiled through your veins. The winding road left only seconds before Ijichi’s erratic driving threw off your aim.

An eerie calm took over you, time seeming to slow. With a whispered prayer to the vengeful priestess whose broken soul was said to reside in your haunted bow, you released a rapid barrage of highly condensed cursed energy bolts. All your shots struck true, detonating across the overhang in sparking bursts.

Cracks spiderwebbed violently through stones. Then with an awful groan, entire slabs broke free, crashing downhill in a deafening rockslide that spanned the width of the highway.

“They want rockslides? I’ll give them rockslides.” A genuine smile danced on your lips as you took in the destruction.

You slid back into safety without further admiring your handiwork. Behind you, the landslide gained momentum rapidly, deadly boulders and debris surging towards the highway just as your clouds of moths dissipated and your enemies raced directly into the piles of rocks. As you expected.

Your enormous moth swarms proved the perfect distraction - their fluffy wings and buzzing cursed energy distorted both sight and sound for your enemies. Blinded and deafened, your pursuers couldn’t detect your trick.

It only made sense to assume the new pile of rocks was their own guy’s illusion again. He probably didn’t have the time to warn them. By the time Moth Swarms dispersed, it was far too late.

A deafening explosion followed. You could feel their cursed energies flare and then abruptly snuff out, one by one.

“All down.” Shoko gave Principal Yaga the final update with a smile.

And so you were in the clear.

You met up with your supposed “backup” just outside of Tokyo. Kusakabe pulled up with a bunch of sorcerers you didn’t know in an ominous black SUV. Totally reliable reinforcements and not screaming illegal organization at all.

“Oh good, the cavalry’s here,” Shoko announced dryly.

“Is Ieiri-san alright?”

Kusakabe dashed over to your little group, face leached of all color.

Probably because Ijichi’s car now resembled a junkyard reject, decorated with shredded vines, busted windows, and missing a door. You had no idea how that hot mess was even drivable. It’s probably good that Kusakabe came to pick you up. You didn’t think you could drive this wreckage of a car into the city without causing even more chaos.

“I’m fabulous,” Shoko answered breezily as she stepped outside.

“You’re covered in blood, Ieiri-san.” Kusakabe’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, this?” Shoko glanced down absently. “Not mine.”

You clambered out after her, anxiously feeling around for any hostile cursed energy and relieved to find none. Then you helped a trembling Ijichi out as well. Mr. Tough Guy had lost all that spice, now he could barely stand.

Kusakabe looked you over with furrowed brows. “Everyone okay?”

“We’re good, Kusakabe-sensei.” You gave him finger guns. “Almost died several times, but no big deal. Just like f*ckuoka, right?”

You smiled brightly at Kusakabe and he winced. Of course, you both remembered what went down that one time you were on a mission together in f*ckuoka. He might be able to fool everyone else acting like he’s all tough, mature, and responsible. But not you.

Wouldn’t surprise you if he deliberately dragged his feet on this rescue too. Anything to minimize personal risk to his hide. Utter coward through and through.

Kusakabe coughed awkwardly as he hustled your group towards the idling SUV.

“Good. Good. Let’s move before, uh, our enemies catch up!”

“You two!” He pointed at a pair of random sorcerers. “Stay here and keep them occupied for as long as you can!”

See? The man had already delegated the actual combat.

But Shoko simply waved him off:

“That won’t be necessary. We took care of them.”

Kusakabe’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “You… took care of six high-grade curse users? Yourselves?”

“No, our fairy godmother handled it for us.” You muttered under your breath.

If Kusakabe caught your snark, he gave no reaction. Probably still trying to figure out if Shoko was pranking him somehow.

“There might be a clean-up required though,” Shoko added politely. “Bodies to dispose of, rocks to clean, you know, that sort of thing.”

Kusakabe just blinked slowly. “Right. I'll send a team.”

As you settled into the cramped SUV, the chatter of the half-dozen combatant sorcerers faded into background noise. Surrounded by capable fighters, at last, you felt yourself starting to relax. The adrenaline crash left you drained, lulled by the gentle rumble of tires on the road.

Beside you, Kusakabe spoke quietly into his phone:

“Yes, Yaga-sama. I got them. Everyone’s alright. I’d like to request a clean-up team, please...”

You tuned him out, exhaustion seeping into your bones. But Shoko’s amused voice snagged your drifting focus.

“I don’t know who messed with you this morning,” She began softly. “But they were right. You’re really unpredictable and ruthless.”

Said the woman who smiled while stabbing someone’s neck.

You snorted. “Takes one to know one, Ieiri-san.”

There’s no edge in your jab at Shoko, only affection.

Now you understood the pride in Megumi’s voice back then. He was really onto something. It’s good in this line of work. Being unpredictable and ruthless. It meant you’d survive.

“Indeed.” Shoko chuckled.

Then you both dissolved into quiet giggles.

When your laughter faded, you stared absently out the window. What a chaotic disaster of a day. But everyone made it out in one piece so no real complaints. Except maybe about the pay. Babysitting duty was turning out way more hazardous than advertised. You should definitely be getting a bonus.

Before long, Kusakabe pulled through the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Principal Yaga himself awaited your arrival, signature worried expression in place as he ushered you all upstairs.

Soon you found yourself seated on a plush sofa between Shoko and Ijichi. Kusakabe leaned tensely against the nearby wall. Across the polished desk, Yaga assessed each of you in turn. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but his cursed energy simmered just under the surface - poorly contained anger. Understandably.

“Tell me everything that happened. Don’t leave out a single detail.” Yaga tapped his desk, irritated.

Straight to business, no time to waste.

You took a deep breath, then launched into recounting the attack from the beginning.

“So we were just driving along, nice weather, pretty mountain view, and I was thinking about dinner because the lunch they fed us sucks…”

Yaga’s eyebrow twitched.

“Oh right, and then I suddenly felt this weird spike of cursed energy and…”

You trailed off, distracted by a speck on the window. Was that a smudge or a bug? Or a spider? The one whose webs you shot through this morning? Did it come for revenge?

“The attackers,” Yaga prompted tightly.

“Hm? Yeah, them! So they pulled up and the first guy was all ‘fireball, fireball’ which was rude… And I’ve never met any sorcerer with a fire technique like that before. He must be, like, semi-grade 1, right? I wonder how much they paid him…”

As you meandered through chaotic details, Yaga’s patience visibly strained. But Shoko listened with interest, occasionally interjecting.

“Curse users with powerful techniques usually cost a lot. Nothing short of one mil for that guy,” she offered.

You gasped. “Really? How much do you think I could make on the black market?”

“Half or a third of that guy’s, probably.” Shoko rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Umm… Actually…” Ijichi spoke up timidly. “You also need to account for your young age and inexperience.”

Yaga exhaled slowly. “Perhaps we could focus on pertinent information…”

“Of course, sir!”

You continued rambling through disorganized events, frequently interrupting yourself when some irrelevant details popped up in your brain. Principal Yaga did ask you to not leave out anything, so you were trying your absolute best!

Shoko didn’t help steer things back on track at all, too happily indulging your tangents. Yaga’s eyebrows developed a pronounced twitch. Beside you, Ijichi still looked like his soul had left his body, but he would try to offer some comments occasionally, albeit not always relevant.

After twenty minutes of scattered details about the conditions it must have taken to cast believable illusions and how you came up with the idea for a shikigami consisting of millions of moths, Yaga finally slammed his hand down the desk:

“Goddamn! Does anyone else have a coherent report?”

You blinked, recalling Ijichi’s badassery back then. He would definitely give a better report.

“Ijichi-san, you tell Yaga-sama.” You nudged Ijichi. “Oh, hold on, do you remember what you said when you flicked that bastard off your car? It was hardcore!”

Principal Yaga should know how hard Ijichi had tried to fight and do his job, even if he was absurdly out of his element. Perhaps, then he could finally be allowed to take some time off for a much-needed vacation. Or at least, get a raise.

But Ijichi only mumbled incoherently, sinking lower in mortification.

“No, really, tell him!” You insisted, shaking his arm. “It went something like ‘Get the fudge off my flipping car you sons of biscuits!’ But like, the uncensored version, ya know?”

A strange gurgle emerged from Yaga’s throat. He had realized this wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ieiri, you tell me. From the beginning.” Yaga massaged his temples wearily.

Finally, he was able to get a complete, straightforward version. But that didn’t soothe his frustration much. Just then, Kusakabe’s phone rang, jolting the tense atmosphere. He answered tersely, brows crunching as he took in the report from the clean-up team.

“Six bodies, all accounted for,” Kusakabe confirmed, tone clipped. “Two shot. One still had a scalpel in his throat. Three died on impact with the rockslides.”

“The what now???” Yaga thundered, shooting upright.

“The highway was completely wrecked.” Kusakabe hastened to reassure him. “No civilian casualties, thankfully.”

Yaga’s expression spasmed. Sweet merciful Buddha, grant him strength. A goddamned highway to Tokyo too? The High Council would rake him over hot coals for this catastrophe. He thought he’d escaped this kind of madness when Gojo graduated.

As if in slow motion, Yaga watched his career flash before his eyes. All his hard work and sacrifices, his dreams of changing the jujutsu world - soon to be just smoke and ashes…

“GODDAMN!!!” He screeched. “Couldn’t you all have tried something else before going for total destruction of public property??”

The unholy noise Yaga emitted couldn’t quite be classified as human. You and Ijichi shrunk in fear. Unruffled as always, Shoko simply nodded and smiled:

“Of course, sensei.” She smoothed her hair. “Next time someone tries to murder me, I’ll be sure to explore more diplomatic options first.”

Before Principal Yage had the time to self-combust, Gojo teleported in with a deafening pop, cursed energy swirling violently. The very air seemed to warp and fracture around him.

You had to blink against the pressure stinging your eyes, the sheer density of his cursed energy - like standing too close to a roaring supernova. Even those who weren’t energy-sensitive like Kusakabe and Ijichi recoiled, gasping for air.

Gojo’s trademark swagger was nowhere to be seen. Silver hair stood wild, face bloodless. There was something in his otherworldly eyes that looked suspiciously like fear. Primal fear. As if he had woken screaming from his worst nightmare made real.

His piercing gaze immediately locked on you and Shoko. In two long strides, he swept both of you into a crushing embrace, fingers digging painfully into your shoulders. Gojo held onto you with the wild desperation of a drowning man finding driftwood amid raging storms.

“You’re alright.” He exhaled shakily, voice choked.

You had never seen him stripped so raw.

“I’m alright,” Shoko whispered back soothingly. “We’re both alright.”

Gojo’s uncharacteristic vulnerability left you breathless. You couldn’t find the right words, so you simply rubbed comforting circles into his back. The way he always did for you when your panic’s claws sank deep. Anchoring him here with your presence, together and whole.

Gojo inhaled deeply. You could feel his cursed energy gently blanketing over Shoko and you as he extended his Infinity over you both. As if he wanted to shield his most precious people from the entire world. To keep you by his side, hidden carefully away so no danger would ever touch you. Safe from all harm in this little world of his.

It was during times like this you wondered why Gojo even bothered letting anyone close at all. As the strongest, he would outlive you all. What was the point of such mortal attachment when it could be so easily taken away?

Shoko, you understood. They had always been close, long before the burden of destiny settled onto his shoulders.

But you? After everything, all these years… Why open himself to such vulnerability again? Surely Gojo knew better by now.

Yet here he was, the most powerful being in existence, God among men, clutching you both desperately to his heart as if you were the ones protecting him. As if afraid time would slip through his fingers and steal you away.

Gojo was always babbling about him alone being the honored one. The only one standing at the top of the world.

But perhaps, he didn’t really want all that endless emptiness. Perhaps that’s why he let you in, why he allowed himself to shatter apart and trust someone to help gather the pieces. For those brief, flickering moments where he could feel anchored against infinity’s current. Moments where people like you and Shoko made him feel almost normal again. Where eternal didn’t have to mean lonely.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Gojo’s clingy koala act was nothing new, but this particularly aggressive snuggle was testing even Shoko’s patience. His arms were locked around both of you with the tenacity of a python. No amount of squirming could break that hold - for someone with the physique of a noodle, the man was all lean muscles and brute strength.

Even Principal Yaga couldn’t peel him off you and Shoko, not when Gojo had enclosed you both securely within the impenetrable fortress of his Infinity.

“Satoru, release them this instant!” Yaga bellowed, grabbing Gojo’s arm and tugging futilely.

Gojo just cackled, clearly enjoying himself.

“But we’re having a bonding moment here!” Gojo whined, somehow managing to grip you and Shoko even closer just to prove his point.

Eventually, it was Shoko who solved the clingy Gojo issue, as always. She poked him sharply in the ribs: “Alright, enough already. Unhand me, Gojo - you’re sweaty.”

You readily agreed, nose wrinkling for emphasis. “Yeah sensei, no offense but you stink.”

“Liars!” Gojo let out an exaggerated gasp of mock affront. “I’m simply overflowing with love!” His eyes sparkled with laughter even as he refused to loosen his hold.

Shoko’s voice took on a threatening lilt. “Then overflow somewhere else before I make you.”

When Gojo still didn’t comply, Shoko resorted to drastic measures - She wiggled her fingers threateningly close to his hips. “You asked for this…”

Then, in an instant, her nimble fingers were dancing along Gojo’s sides, seeking out all his most ticklish spots with ruthless precision. She knew him well. Gojo immediately buckled, wheezing with shocked laughter.

“You fight dirty, Sho!” He choked out between breathless guffaws. But with both you and Shoko under his Infinity, Gojo was helpless against the tickle onslaught.

After a merciless minute, Gojo finally released you both from his crushing embrace just to fend off Shoko’s brutal attack. He staggered back, flushed and still wheezing residual giggles.

You wouldn’t judge him. Gojo’s tragic ticklishness was his fatal flaw, while Shoko’s tickle prowess was the stuff of legends.

With a few more breaths to compose himself, Gojo smoothed out his rumpled uniform and drew himself up to his full noodle height, swiftly shaking off the ticklish indignity.

The earlier panic and vulnerability vanished, his signature arrogance slipping back over him like a second skin. There he was, the co*cky asshole you all knew and tolerated.

Gojo’s piercing gaze landed on Ijichi, who practically withered under the intensity of his glowing blue eyes. His stare could cut through steel when he wanted it to.

Anyone else might have missed it, but you caught the brief flash of concern in Gojo’s eyes before his expression hardened. As much as he enjoyed messing with Ijichi, a part of Gojo cared about the guy too in his own warped way. After all, it was Gojo who pretty much bullied Ijichi from combat into the relative safety of assistance work years back when they were students at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

“I’m not cut out to be a sorcerer.” Ijichi had admitted rather casually during the lunch you shared on your third mission together. “Gojo-san said I was useless. That I would die immediately on the field. So, I’d be better off being a driver.”

You almost choke on your pasta at Ijichi’s sudden attempt at opening up. But he only smiled timidly. “Gojo-san was right. If he hadn’t said that, I wouldn’t have been here now.”

Of course, as annoying as it was, Gojo had always been right. And he had definitely saved Ijichi’s life, but because he was Gojo, he also had to be a dick about it.

Most people would have been extremely offended by Gojo’s rude ass statement. Some would have tried proving him wrong (and died in the process). Many would’ve at least held a grudge. But not Ijichi. He took it in stride and became not just any assistant manager but THE assistant director. You were sure the entire jujutsu administrative system would collapse without Ijichi.

You deeply respected Ijichi and the way he put his everything into this thankless job. Undoubtedly, his meticulousness and dedication had saved countless lives, including yours, too. We all had our own battles. Not being in the front line didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting. It took a special kind of strength to play this invisible role.

The way Gojo was treating Ijichi right now bristled you. He glowered down at Ijichi, who trembled under the force of his displeasure. When Gojo spoke, his voice was lethally soft.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep them safe, Ijichi? How could you let this happen?”

The accusation in his words made Ijichi flinch violently. He stammered, face white:

“I-I'm so sorry, Gojo-san… I tried my best, I s-swear! The route was scouted ahead… our schedule was classified. Even the local office had only been notified 20 minutes before we arrived… N-no one could have known!”

Gojo clicked his tongue sharply, the sound dripping with caustic derision. He grabbed Ijichi by the collar, getting all up in his personal space.

You knew that behind the layers of condescension and bullying, Gojo harbored an awkward shard of affection for Ijichi in that dysfunctional, tough-love manner of his. But right now, anger blinded him.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he growled. “You had one job!”

Gojo’s knuckles whitened from how hard he was gripping Ijichi’s collar. The man was practically vibrating from distress.

And actually, Gojo was wrong this time. It was your job. As their security escort, you were the one who was supposed to keep everyone safe. Ijichi really had done all he could against impossible odds. He didn’t deserve this.

So, you stepped in between them.

“Sensei, that was uncalled for.” You covered his grip on Ijichi’s collar with your hand, your touch gentle, yet your voice firm and your eyes unyielding. “What happened wasn’t his fault, and you know it.”

Gojo tensed, temper flashing. Very few people had the balls to butt heads with him, even at his normal cheeky self, not to mention when he was completely pissed off like this. His power and his authority had always gone uncontested. Until now.

But as your calm gaze held his, you noticed the conflicting emotions churning in his eyes as they traced over your features - fear still rippling in their depths, anger at the situation, reluctant approval for your courage to stand up to him. But underneath it all was profound affection mingled with regret.

In that suspended moment, you glimpsed the weight that constantly crushed Gojo’s shoulders. His power might be infinite, but his heart was all too human. Beneath the co*cky bluster and biting remarks was a man terrified of losing what little he had left.

When Gojo looked at you, he was reminded of his own weakness - because, despite everything, he still allowed himself to care. Still left himself vulnerable by letting people like you and Shoko slip past his defenses to nestle dangerously close to his heart.

And now, seeing you both brush so close to death’s grasp made Gojo’s chest constrict with emotions he refused to name. Made him realize that as strong as he was, he still couldn’t protect his most precious people. That he could lose all of you any moment, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So many tangled feelings warred behind that gaze boring into yours. Until finally, Gojo clicked his tongue once more, quieter this time. The sharp exhale ruffled your hair as Gojo released his death grip on Ijichi’s collar.

“Fix it, Ijichi.” He muttered. “Find out who is behind this.”

The weight of his piercing blue stare lingered long after he teleported away. You blinked at the empty space he had occupied mere seconds prior.

Ijichi’s shaking fingers came up to loosen his collar, sweat beading at his hairline. “T-thank you… Spices.”

You patted his back sympathetically before turning to Shoko: “I thought he would have at least offered to walk you to your room or something.”

Shoko shrugged, something knowing yet weary in her eyes.

“Gojo doesn’t do feelings.”

You huffed out a breath that was part laugh, part lingering tension.

“Did we just deplete his yearly allotment of feelings in one go?” You asked wryly, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

Shoko’s lips echoed your faint smile. “We may have drained him for the next decade, honestly…”

The weight of the day’s chaos seemed to crash down as adrenaline seeped from your veins. Shoko gave your arm a gentle, steadying squeeze.

“Get some rest,” she said, a wealth of meaning in those simple words.

You managed a tired smile. Rest did sound good right about now.

The walk back soothed your frayed nerves, the familiar sights and routines of campus washing away the last shimmers of tension. You paused outside the common room door, smiling faintly at the slit of warm light peeking through. Muffled snores filtered out to you as you turned the handle and slipped inside.

Just as expected, you found Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara passed out in various states of study.

Yuji was flat on his back along the couch, face smothered by a textbook the size of a tombstone. You marveled that he hadn’t yet suffocated under the weight of Historical Jujutsu Facts blocking his nose. He made a surprisingly sturdy pillow for Nobara, who was sprawled half on top of him, face smushed into his chest. A puddle of drool was slowly accumulating on his shirt as a result. Her own neglected textbook lay splayed on the floor like roadkill.

You had to stifle a laugh. For all their bickering, Yuji and Nobara had quickly become quite affectionate friends. Both generous with casual touches despite having just met. Personal space meant little between the two.

In contrast, Megumi was very protective of his personal bubble. He was slumped in an armchair a careful distance from the cuddle puddle, notebook still balanced loosely on his lap. No way was he risking getting snuggle-attacked in his sleep.

As you tiptoed past, a wayward floorboard squeaked under your foot. Megumi instantly jerked awake, bleary eyes landing on you.

“You’re back.”

He practically leapt from his chair, fingers catching your arm with desperate strength. Stormy eyes traced over you frantically, searching for any signs of harm. Needing concrete proof you were real and whole before him. His jaw worked soundlessly, the question lodged in his throat unable to force its way out.

“I’m okay,” You answered his silent question with a gentle smile, turning slowly so he could see you really came back in one piece.

But Megumi’s fingers only tightened on your arm. His mouth was set in a thin line. He looked on the verge of pulling you into a fierce hug despite his own aversion to all kinds of physical touch.

Reading his struggle, you smiled and opened your arms in invitation. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, but he did.

Reluctantly and silently, Megumi stepped into your arms. Towards the promise of warmth and comfort. He swayed slightly. The only outward sign of fear and tentative relief. Of someone conditioned to loss now daring to believe that maybe, this time, he wouldn’t have to let go. Wouldn’t be left grasping at empty air as you slipped away.

Gently - so gently, as if you were made of fragile glass - Megumi’s arms came around you. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other resting feather-light between your shoulder blades. He tucked you against him carefully, your cheek resting on his chest.

You could feel the thunder of his heart, beating too hard and fast. His chin came to rest atop your hair, breath stirring the strands as he exhaled unsteadily. Megumi clung to you in silence, tension slowly seeping from his rigid frame as he convinced himself of your solid presence. His racing heart began to steady.

When he finally pulled back, pink dusted his cheeks.

“What happened?” He asked roughly, glancing away.

You gestured with tired hands: “We got ambushed on the drive back.”

Megumi glared down at you: “I told you it’s too dangerous…”

You made a face at him. Hell no, you almost died several times today. You would not let him give you this whole I-told-you-so spiel.

“Being a jujutsu sorcerer is dangerous.” You huffed, glaring right back at Megumi. “Are you telling me to retire?”

Wasn’t he the one who went to collect Sukuna’s finger alone and started this whole sh*tshow? Fushiguro Megumi wasn’t one to lecture others about danger. He knew you well enough to glean the challenge in your eyes.

“No… I’m not…” Megumi sighed unhappily. After a moment, he backed down, “Just… take me with you next time, okay?”

“I can’t drag you along every trip.” You pointed out, despite wanting to take him with you very much. Had he been there, Megumi would have folded those bastards in five minutes.

“Whenever possible then.” Megumi insisted.

“...Fine.” You exhaled tiredly, shoulder aching too much to argue further.

Your shoulder had been cranky since this morning’s mishap in the library when a teetering tower of arcane texts toppled over onto you. One big dusty book-alanche later, and your muscles were already sore. You were lucky Megumi had been there to prevent your untimely demise.

But oh no, you just had to dangle halfway out of a speeding vehicle today, and then promptly got crushed in one of Gojo’s violent hugs. Now your shoulder throbbed angrily, no doubt plotting its revenge after the abuse you put it through. You gingerly attempted to rotate your inflamed joint to assess the damage, poorly stifling a gasp as pain lanced through.

Megumi’s gaze instantly zeroed in on you like a sniper locking on target. Great. Nothing escaped Megumi. He caught your arm before you could even try to pretend everything was fine.

“You’re hurt…” He said, slender fingers probing gently along your shoulder.

You waved him off with your good arm. “Probably just a sprain.”

Megumi opened his mouth, no doubt to launch into another blistering lecture when Yuji suddenly jolted upright on the couch. His movement sent a blissfully snoozing Nobara toppling sideways with a startled yelp. Yuji just managed to snatch a fistful of her shirt before she face-planted, hauling her back up onto him.

“Whoops, my bad!”

Nobara instantly had him in a vicious headlock. “You trying to kill me, Itadori?!”

Yuji and Nobara’s scuffle quickly devolved into a blur of flailing limbs and outraged squawks. You observed their antics with fond amusem*nt, the familiar chaos soothing after the day’s tension. A few breathless moments later, Yuji managed to wriggle halfway out of Nobara’s headlock. His gaze landed on you and lit up.

“Oh, senpai! You're finally back!”

At his delighted exclamation, Nobara instantly released her chokehold. In a blink, they bounded across the room to flank you. Yuji’s arms came up, hovering uncertainly, while Nobara scrutinized you from head to toe.

“What the hell happened out there anyway?” She demanded, hands planted on her hips. “You and that lady doctor were gone the whole day, then they started hauling all the combatant sorcerers on campus somewhere…”

Her shrewd eyes narrowed on your stiff shoulder. “No one told us anything. But it had to be serious if they all got their panties in a twist like that, right?”

Yuji shuffled his feet, his smile dimming to something more hesitant. “We were really worried. Are you okay, senpai?”

His concerned puppy eyes blinked at you searchingly even as Nobara continued her relentless interrogation.

“Was it a special-grade curse? Or a bunch of them? Spill it, senpai!”

Your stomach chose that particular moment to growl loudly, reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten a proper meal since the lousy lunch provided at the local office. So much for any shreds of dignity.

“We’ve ordered pizza.” Megumi said quietly, pressing a subtle, steadying hand to your lower back. Bless him and his impeccable timing.

At the mention of food, Nobara’s head whipped around so fast you swore you heard bones crack. Her eyes shone with single-minded purpose.

“Itadori, be useful for once!” Nobara barked, booting Yuji’s ass towards the door. “Go heat our pizza, chop chop!”

“Aye aye, captain!” Yuji laughed good-naturedly over his shoulder, already racing for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back with the goods!”

True to his word, Yuji zipped back in record time with a teetering stack of pizza boxes.

“That’s… a lot.” You blinked at the aggressive amount of pizza.

“We didn’t know what you like so we got one of everything!” Nobara clasped her hands cheerfully.

“I told you what Spices likes.” Megumi side-eyed her. “You just wanted everything.”

“Ah-ah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nobara blew a raspberry at Megumi and hip-checked him out of the way, bouncing after Yuji.

You flopped down on the couch, muscles melting in relief as Yuji and Nobara bookended you on either side. Megumi grumbled something about personal space while dragging his armchair a little closer for pizza access. But you caught his tiny smile anyway when he thought no one was looking.

A comfortable ease settled onto your little group.

Grabbing a slice of pizza, you spoke around a mouthful. “Soooo, we got jumped on our way back…”

“Gross!” Nobara elbowed you, nose scrunching. “Chew, swallow, then talk. Were you raised by wolves?”

You rolled your eyes but obligingly gulped down the goodness before continuing.

“Six curse users. One of them could shoot fire with his hands.”

Yuji’s eyes went round as plates, pizza hovering halfway to his mouth. “Holly sh*t! Like a firebender?”

Before he could nerd out further, Megumi tilted his head curiously. “What’s a firebender?”

“You haven’t watched Avatar?” Nobara exclaimed, clearly scandalized.

“The blue people?” Megumi stared at her flatly. “None of them shot fire.”

At that, Yuji froze, pizza slice dangling limply from his fingers as he gaped at Megumi. “For real? You’ve never seen Avatar: The Last Airbender? How??” he whispered in horror as if Megumi had just admitted to kicking puppies.

“I knew you were a bore, Fushiguro.” Nobara sighed woefully, wiping away an imaginary tear. “But I didn’t think you were also uncultured.”

“Don’t worry, buddy!” Yuji beamed. “We can fix that!”

Nobara whirled to Yuji, features set with determination. “Itadori, quick!”

It was like they were operating on the same wavelength. Yuji didn’t need any explanation.

“Where should we start?” He eagerly offered Nobara his phone, nearly buzzing with excitement as he watched her scrolling YouTube for the most iconic firebending cuts.

“See how Azula’s fire burns blue because it’s so freaking hot? Badass!” Yuji jabbed his finger at the screen enthusiastically.

“You gotta see her shoot lightning! I’ve always wanted to shoot lightning!” Nobara elbowed Yuji out, already pulling up a different reel.

Megumi watched blankly, clearly uncomprehending the hype but trapped by their passionate assault. After a long while, Yuji and Nobara rounded on him expectantly: “So? What do you think?”

Megumi blinked slowly.

“...They seem very invested in their elemental sorcery system?”

“That’s not sorcery, dumbass!”

Groaning, Nobara face-planted into a couch cushion as Yuji frantically queued up the next bout of clips.

Soon, Yuji and Nobara were utterly engrossed, locked in yet another debate over ships, already forgetting about Megumi’s lack of taste. Turned out Yuji was adamant about canon, while Nobara was a Zutara girlie at heart. You just had to agree with her on that one.

It was some time later when you finally managed to wrestle back the conversation. You supposed this ambush would fall under classified information as anything Shoko-related, but no one had officially told you to not disclose it. So, you weren’t technically breaking any rules.

“Anyway, back to me nearly dying…”

You launched into chaotic details again, frequently distracted by irrelevant tangents like the potential black market value of certain jujutsu techniques, or the time it took you to create and charge your paper shikigami.

Unlike Principal Yaga’s annoyance, Yuji and Nobara latched onto every new thread with gusto. Megumi even offered his expertise on shikigami. By the time you finally ran out of steam, it was way past midnight. You felt oddly cleansed, mind pleasantly empty like a wrung-out sponge.

Yuji must have noticed you deflating. His arm wrapped gently around your shoulder, pulling you into the comforting warmth of his side. On your other flank, Nobara tipped sideways until her head could fit the crook of your neck.

“Sounds like one hell of a day, senpai.” Yuji murmured.

Nobara gave a jaw-cracking yawn, snuggling in closer. “No wonder you look dead on your feet. I’d sleep for a week after all that.”

“I’d love to.” You chucked. “But someone gotta make sure y’all don’t slack off on your required reading.”

“You’re mean, Spices.” Nobara snickered.

Yuji only laughed.

A small distance away, Megumi looked at the three of you. His expression remained carefully neutral, but you caught the way his eyes softened at the corners. The barest curve of his lips, if you looked closely.

Megumi wasn’t a people person, and especially not one for physical affection given so casually. But your gentle persistence, Yuji’s bright kindness, and Nobara’s fierce sincerity had made their way through his defenses before he even fully realized.

Seeing all of you tangled together with an intimate ease, something tender quietly bloomed in his chest. Something that felt foreign, yet not unwelcome - like the first golden rays after an icy winter.

In this singular, unguarded moment, he let himself bask in it. Let himself believe that maybe he could have good things too. Have people stick around without inevitably leaving.

Have a family bound not by blood but by choice, who hugged all his broken edges until they fit something like belonging.

It wouldn’t last, of course. He knew all too well. Nothing gentle and bright ever lingered long for him without crumbling to ash. For now, watching all of you safe and happy in this tiny bubble - just for now, Megumi let himself enjoy the delicate glow of affection kindling through his ribs.

But eventually, he noticed your eyelids beginning to droop even as you struggled against exhaustion. The events of the day were catching up, proving too much even for your stubbornness it seemed.

Quiet as a shadow, Megumi approached and began gently disentangling you from Yuji and Nobara’s octopus limbs. They grumbled sleepy protests but relinquished their hold at Megumi’s insistence.

“C’mon. If you sleep like this, your shoulder will fall out in the morning.” Megumi muttered as he pulled you to your feet with care.

He would totally carry you if you asked. But you supposed that would be taking advantage of him too much. So, you only grabbed onto his arm, yawning the entire way back to your dorm room. Megumi deliberately walked slower to match your shuffling pace, the cadence of your footsteps falling into sync without thought.

The late hour left halls darkened and empty around you. Pools of golden light from the occasional wall sconce illuminated Megumi’s sharp profile in intermittent flashes as you passed by. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead. A comfortable silence cocooned the space between you.

Where time spent with Yuji and Nobara brimmed constantly with exuberant energy and constant chatter, your moments alone with Megumi were often swathed in stillness - yet no less intimate.

With Yuji and Nobara, the conversation flowed seamless and electric. Jokes and banters ricocheting rapidly back and forth, never allowing the hum of excitement to dim even slightly. They filled spaces with vibrant color and noise. Being with them felt akin to cradling lightning - thrilling, electric, alive.

But words between you and Megumi never strained to fill the stillness. Your connection rooted more in reading each other’s minute shifts and subtleties. In patience and trust.

Where Yuji and Nobara drowned out your world with their brightness, Megumi filtered and softened your spinning thoughts. By his side, you felt comfortable simply existing without pretense. No need to smother each moment under meaningless fillers. No strain or artifice. Just peace.

As strange as it sounded, you felt right with each of them, and all of you felt right as a whole.

Yuji and Nobara had their own bizarre wavelength too - so in sync and playfully volatile. And somewhere along the way, Megumi’s gravity had drawn him into their orbit as well.

The four of you were an odd mismatch - loud and quiet, chaotic and calm - but together something just clicked. It felt strangely like…

Well, maybe family was too strong a word just yet. But you were surely something special. Something enduring. And that was more than enough.

By the time the familiar dark wood of your dormitory door emerged from the shadows ahead, the events of the day felt muted - tension and fear fading into background static.

You trailed your fingers along the worn grain as you turned the handle, the creak of metal hinges loud in the muffled hush of night. With a click, warm light from your room spilled over Megumi’s features, softening his usual edges. He shifted his weight subtly, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You wanted to talk, right?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. “Come in, then.”

The blur of fatigue made focusing difficult, but you sensed an uncharacteristic hesitance in Megumi’s velvet cursed energy as he hovered at your threshold.

“No… I mean, yes. But it can wait.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I just want to make sure you’re really alright.”

You smiled sleepily at him, leaning against your doorframe. “Except for my shoulder, I’m all good. I’ll get Ieiri-san to look at it tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, Megumi reached out and touched your chin with one finger. The touch felt impossibly gentle, almost reverent. Then, he immediately drew back.

“Sleep well.” He said your name so softly that you would’ve missed it if it weren’t for the complete silence.

Then, he turned and left, disappearing into the shadows in the space of a heartbeat. Megumi rarely used your real name. You pondered on the meaning of it briefly before exhaustion enfolded you in a heavy embrace, you sank gratefully into its waiting arms. The events replaying in your mind finally slowed, the last shimmers of adrenaline ebbing away.

You fell into dreamless sleep, no nightmares of Sukuna tearing the world apart, of Gojo’s lifeless eyes, of your friends torn into pieces. Tonight, your soul was at peace.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Being an average jujutsu sorcerer was a massive pain in the ass.

It seemed like no matter how many extra hours you poured into training, you could never close the gap of raw talent between you and those infuriatingly gifted prodigies like Hakari, Kirara, or Megumi. But what you lacked in flashy innate techniques, you made up for in sheer stubbornness and a boatload of spite.

Having Soulstring, a special-grade bow that could manifest arrows from your cursed energy, definitely gave you a leg up in battles. When you first got your hands on that bad boy, however, it was about as easy to handle as a wet bar of soap. Just one shot took you almost three painstaking minutes to charge up. Not exactly practical timing when deadly curses were baring their gnarly fangs in your face. Eventually, through endless training (and no shortage of cursing), you learned to channel your own cursed energy through Soulstring more efficiently without wanting to throw it off a cliff. Now, wielding Soulstring had become second nature, an extension of your body. You could shoot as fast as your smart mouth could spit out insults.

But you knew better than to get lazy. Losing Soulstring was a very real possibility. Some fast curses could knock it out of your hands, or Gojo’s snotty elders could demand you return their legendary cursed tool, just for kicks. You were all too familiar with the feeling of helplessness as an average sorcerer with no bloodline gifts to fall back on.

So, while Soulstring came with a handy sure-hit effect, you still dragged your sorry ass out of bed early every morning to practice shooting. Alone in the empty training arena with your good ole normal bow and arrows, you drilled the motions relentlessly with moving targets - knock arrow, draw, loose, repeat… All your shots flew just as swift and true.

Most people attributed your fighting abilities to your cursed tool. Jokes on them. They had no idea. While Soulstring never missed, neither did you.

The good thing was you didn’t particularly care for their validation. You had other matters to worry about. For example, hand-to-hand combat.

As a long-range fighter who specialized in ambush, of course, you naturally preferred keeping curses at a healthy distance. But in the unforgiving world of jujutsu, sometimes, life just didn’t cater to your preferences. You never knew when you would have to punch your way through a mission. Letting Gojo and Hakari wipe the floor with your ass was a fair trade for all the tricks you picked up.

When Megumi moved in, you were determined to get him his fair share of quality hand-to-hand training as well. Obviously, as a prodigy with the revered Ten Shadow technique and a permanent stick up his ass, Megumi wanted no part of it… until the day you effortlessly slipped through his Divine Dogs and slammed him into the ground before he could complete the hand sign to summon Nue. All with just your bare hands and a sh*t-eating grin. The look of absolute bewilderment on Megumi’s face was downright priceless.

He didn’t need to know how many hours you had spent stalking… eh, closely observing him training from a strategic distance before you figured out the patterns of his movements. The synergy between his black and white dogs - how one would leap to attack while the other covered, leaving a split-second opening as they coordinated. The precise time it took Megumi’s delicate fingers to form the hand signs, and for each shikigami to materialize. His preferences on which shikigami to summon in response to which situation… those sorts of things.

He also didn’t need to know a big reason you could get to him was because he had underestimated you. And now that he knew to cover his openings, you probably wouldn’t be able to punch through his defense again. Just one clean hit by an average sorcerer was enough to convince him that being a long-range fighter didn’t mean he could slack off on close combat training.

“Shikigami users are typically not close-quarters fighters. Your opponents wouldn’t expect it. Imagine their surprise when you start throwing hands.” You advised sagely.

So, sparring became a regular thing between you and Megumi. He would show up at the training arena during your morning practice, no complaints required.

Getting your shoulder dislocated in the previous day’s ambush was no excuse to skip your sparring session, not even when Megumi insisted you rested. The icy glare you leveled at him spoke volumes - this was non-negotiable. Thank God Shoko had taken pity on you and healed your shoulder despite her strict policy of not fixing any non-life-threatening injuries.

“I’ve definitely had worse. It’d take more than some shredded-up muscles to put me down.” You said breezily, rotating your freshly healed joint and delighting in Megumi’s faintly nauseated expression. “Now are we gonna stand around gossiping all morning or are you gonna help me warm up?”

Megumi just scowled, resigned to his fate as he stepped onto the mat. You ignored his grumbling about your insufferable attitude.

Megumi came at you with a sharp jab, testing your defenses. You leaned casually out of the way, letting his fist glance off your shoulder. Undeterred, he launched into a flurry of palm strikes and hooks. But no matter the angle or approach, none could connect. You flowed effortlessly between his attacks, redirecting what you didn’t outright dodge.

To his credit, Megumi had improved since your first bout. The combinations he strung together were solid, technically speaking. Each movement wasted no energy, flowing smoothly into the next. His footwork kept him balanced and agile. But sparring was like a game of high-speed chess - and pure hand-to-hand combat just wasn’t Megumi’s forte.

A sweeping low kick to off-balance you. Easily checked. A grabbing claw to your wrist, seeking to put you in an arm lock. You spun out of his grasp like smoke. The angled elbow to your solar plexus - that one made you grin. Clever improvisation. But still miles too slow. His moves had no bite, no unpredictability. They came from his head, not his gut.

Megumi’s usually composed face scrunched with frustration as his attacks continued swishing through empty air. But yours remained patient, almost serene.

“Stop pulling your punches already!” Megumi hissed, chest heaving.

“Okay.” You rolled your shoulders, neck cracking, then… promptly proceeded to kick him across the training room.

Megumi crossed his arms to block, but your full-force strike sent him crashing into the opposite wall. Cracks splintered outward from the impact. There, no more pulling punches.

You brushed off your hands as Megumi peeled himself out, swaying slightly. He looked like he was seriously reconsidering your friendship.

“How… do you… do that?” Megumi groaned, rubbing his surely bruised ribs.

“The kick? Well, you just gotta…” You pointed to your leg, preparing for a slow demo, but Megumi waved you off.

“No. I mean, you always seem to know where I’ll strike next. I can’t be that predictable, can I?”

You chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Of course not.”

Then you grabbed his hand, pulling it to hover in the space between you two. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what exactly?” He glared at your hand around his, face slightly flushed.

“Stop glaring and focus.” You gave his hand a little shake for emphasis. “Feel out the space between us.”

Megumi glared at you once more on principle before closing his eyes, focusing his senses as you asked. At first, he felt nothing. But gradually, an inkling... He suddenly realized the space between you two was filled with a barely discernible mist of cursed energy. It felt subtle, yet grounding - a soothing, almost earthy calmness.

“Your cursed energy.” Megumi breathed, eyes flying open in surprise.

“Yup.” You nodded approvingly.

“Why… How…” Megumi reached towards your face, as if trying to get a better feel of your cursed energy.

You swatted his hand away, tsking. No one was allowed to touch your face with their sweaty post-training hands. Not even Megumi. It’s called basic hygiene.

“It’s like a radar, get it?” You gestured around. “During a close-quarters fight, I cover a five-meter radius from my body with my cursed energy. So, when any attack enters this specific space, I get a general idea of its trajectory. Helps me dodge or plan a counter before it lands.”

Everything and everyone emitted some levels of cursed energy, some more than others, but it’s never zero. Well, at least to your knowledge. There’s always a certain amount of cursed energy in the air. Most sorcerers tuned out those trace amounts subconsciously to avoid overwhelming themselves. As long as you managed to keep your mist of cursed energy well under these levels, no one would notice your trick.

“It must take a lot of control and concentration.” Megumi looked at you with wonder.

“At first, I could only manage a one-meter radius.” You shrugged. “But practice helps. I still can’t keep it up all the time, though. This is only for when things get really dicey.”

“Still doesn’t explain your freakish strength.” Megumi crossed his arms, subtly rubbing at his poor ribs.

“I reinforce my body with cursed energy…”

You went on to explain, but Megumi impatiently cut you off:

“Everyone does that. But when we clash, you feel crazy strong… Like, impossible, based on your physique and cursed energy reserves.”

“Let me talk, will ya?” You huffed, flicking his forehead.

Megumi scowled but motioned for you to continue. You lifted an arm, coating it in an even layer of cursed energy.

“Like you said, everyone reinforces themselves. But how they actually do it depends on their own control and habit of using cursed energy. Sorcerers with more cursed energy typically make a much thicker layer of reinforcement, hence, their attacks will be much stronger. On the other hand, those with less cursed energy could also intentionally create a thick reinforcement like that, but in reality, it’d be super exhausting and unsustainable. So, instead…”

You waved your arm, skilfully redistributing the layer of cursed energy on it to create an extremely dense point on your wrist. The rest of your arm was still covered but in a much thinner layer.

“It’s the same amount of cursed energy, but I focus most of it on the most likely area of contact.”

Megumi tentatively touched your wrist, his brows shooting upwards in disbelief at the deceptive density of cursed energy concentrated there - almost rivaling a grade 1 sorcerer.

“It’s too risky.” His dark eyes flickered to your face, hand gently closing around your wrist almost like a caress. “One wrong guess and you’ll be done for.”

There it was - the brutal truth. No matter your skill, all it took as an average sorcerer was one misstep.

“Hey, I try to guess it right.” You made an attempt to laugh it off, but Megumi held onto your wrist, his eyes serious.

“Don’t joke, Spices. This is your life.” He shook his head, looking genuinely distressed.

You sighed, pulling your arm free. Megumi let go immediately but his gaze remained fixed on you. His brows drew together, lips thinning into a troubled line.

“I know. Why do you think I avoid close fights?” You gave a rueful half-smile. “But I ain’t you, Gumi. If push comes to shove, I gotta make do with what I have.”

And to that, Megumi had no counter. After a thoughtful moment, he simply said: “Fine. We’ll just have to ensure you always guess correctly then.”

“What does that mean?” You squinted at him warily.

“Starting tomorrow, double training. Now I know your tricks, I’ll make sure you don’t leave any openings.”

“I don’t have time for double training, literally!...”

With that, Megumi simply walked off, ignoring your indignant protests.

“Hey! Don't just decide these things by yourself!” You yelled after Megumi’s retreating back.

Between training, missions, your assistance work with Shoko, and tutoring your underclassmen, you barely had any time left for yourself. This simply wouldn’t do.

You raced after Megumi towards the dining hall, still shouting complaints that he blithely ignored. Bursting through the doors, you skidded to an abrupt stop.

There at the table sat Nobara and Yuji in yet another one of their petty squabbles.

“For the last time, you don’t put ketchup on curry rice, you heathen!” Nobara was screeching, one hand brandishing a curry-covered spoon dangerously close to Yuji’s face.

Yuji just laughed, leaning back from the incoming attack. “Says who? It tastes great! You’re just a curry purist snob.”

“Why you-!”

They were both startled as Megumi calmly glided past them to the self-serving area and began to heap food onto his tray, paying no mind to the chaos.

Your indignation was interrupted by Yuji’s cheerful voice calling out, “Oh, senpai! You’re just in time!”

Both he and Nobara perked up at you.

“Yea c’mon, settle this for us,” Nobara exclaimed, grabbing your arm to tug you toward the table without letting you get your food. “Tell this heathen that putting ketchup on curry rice is basically a criminal offense!”

“It just adds more flavor!" Yuji protested. “Don’t listen to Kugisaki’s propaganda. A little sweet and tangy kick actually complements the spices really nicely. You should try it!”

Yuji grinned innocently at you, either oblivious or indifferent to the menacing aura Nobara was directing his way from across the table.

Your eyes started to twitch. It was going to be a long, loud breakfast, if you even got to have any breakfast at all. At Nobara’s impatient tugging, you plopped down heavily beside her. She immediately resumed her assault.

“Well?! Don’t leave me hanging!” She waved her spoon under your nose to get your attention.

You swatted it away. “Leave him be, Nobara.”

In all seriousness, the boy ate a special grade curse. Whatever else he wanted to eat was inconsequential. It couldn’t be any worse than a mummified finger.

Yuji pumped his fist. “Yes! See Kugisaki? Stop trying to enforce your militant ways on my food.”

Nobara looked utterly scandalized that you didn’t automatically take her side. She slapped the table loudly.

“Et Tu, Spices? Have you no standards?!”

You massaged your temples, already feeling a headache forming. After Megumi’s nonsense, you were in no mood for Nobara’s usual dramatics. This was gearing up to be a meal you’d need a good stiff drink to recover from.

But before Nobara could launch into another tirade, Megumi set down a tray in front of you. On it was a huge bowl of curry and rice, almost twice the size of his own bowl, a cold bottle of mint chocolate milk, and a pudding cup in your favorite flavor.

Nobara switched targets at once. “Well, well, I didn’t know you could be so caring.” She tutted, fanning herself dramatically.

“I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t roped Spices into… whatever dumb sh*t this is. Let people eat first, Kugisaki.” Megumi said flatly. He looked at you digging eagerly into your food with a motherhen-ish nod of approval before changing the topic:

“Senpai, didn’t you run Itadori through some tests when he got here? How are the results?”

Nobara immediately settled, eyes bright with interest. This was far juicier than her curry discourse.

“What kind of test? For what?” She demanded excitedly.

You paused mid-bite, glancing briefly at the closed slits under Yuji’s eyes. He had told you Sukuna was aware of all he experienced. Even though Sukuna wasn’t visibly present during the tests, he knew the details anyway. You supposed as long as you kept your true goal to yourself, it’d be fine to discuss the rest.

“A blood panel, urinalysis, and full-body CT scan.” You said between shoving curry rice into your mouth, making sure to not look too gross. “To see how eating Sukuna’s finger affected Yuji.”

“You have the equipment for all that here? Isn’t this supposed to be a religious school on paper?” Nobara’s eyes bugged out. She was too invested in the gossip to comment on your eating habits again.

“Did you find out anything?” Megumi directed the conversation back on the right track as soon as he recognized the gleam in your eyes. You didn’t have the chance to ramble on all the cover-up logistics.

“Ah, well…” You tapped your spoon thoughtfully. “There’s an increased level of red blood cell count, some unique metabolic markers, hmm… much denser skeletal muscular mass. I think there’s some pretty strange brain activity, too.”

“I have no idea what all that means,” Yuji said, rubbing his neck sheepishly as you rattled off his test results.

“It means you’re a weirdo,” Nobara concluded confidently, jabbing her spoon in Yuji’s direction again.

“Sounds about right.” Yuji just grinned, completely unbothered.

Nobara narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him closely. “Okay, but real talk - have you noticed anything weird happening? And don’t try to play it off!”

She leaned intently across the table. “Increased strength or speed? Odd cravings? Urges to murder people?”

“Who doesn’t have those urges?” You tilted your head, confused.

“Senpai.” Megumi shot you an admonishing look.

“What?” You wrinkled your nose at him. “Don’t give me that. You look at Gojo-sensei like you wanna murder him all the time.”

“That’s…” Megumi pinched the bridge of his nose. “...fair enough.”

“Spices got a point, though.” Nobara nodded along and corrected herself. “How about UNEXPLAINED urges to murder AND eat people?”

You took a moment to consider this carefully. “Only on occasion…”

“Understandable. But would you actually chew?” Nobara pressed on, unfazed.

As you and Nobara spiraled down more disturbing territories, Yuji held up his hands with a nervous laugh:

“For the record, I don’t have ANY of those urges, unexplained or whatsoever”

Megumi closed his eyes, as though praying for strength. When he opened them again, they had regained their usual composure.

“What does Ieiri-san think about the results?” He asked.

You sighed dejectedly.

“That Yuji’s results could mean anything. Either Sukuna changed his physiology, or he was just born weird.”

Nobara perked up at that, she snickered at Yuji as if her earlier conclusion had been affirmed.

“I don’t suppose you have any medical records from before all this?” You turned to Yuji.

“Nah. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been sick.”

“So, no baseline data to reference.” You waved your hand around, frustrated. “If I had been able to run the tests on him before Gojo-sensei fed him another finger, we’d have at least had two data points.”

But no. Gojo just had to ruin things, as he always did.

“I guess we’ll just have to feed him more fingers? Ya know, get more data and all that.” Nobara plopped back onto her seat casually.

At that, Megumi’s expression soured.

“Do you even know what that means?” He bit out harshly.

You suppressed another sigh. Yuji’s secret execution had been suspended, not canceled. But since it’s supposed to be a secret, not everyone would know…

“Pfft.” Nobara blew a strand of hair from her face, her eyes sharpened as she glanced from Megumi to you. “They’re gonna kill him eventually, right? Y’all really thought I’d assume they just feed him those nasty fingers for sh*t and giggles? There’s no need to dance around it all gloomy, geez.”

As much as Nobara acted all brassy and fickle, she was incredibly sharp.

“That’s not too bad.” Yuji’s tensed smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll take a while so I still have some time to hang out with you guys.” His artificially bright tone rang hollow.

“Idiot. Do you think they’d wait for you to eat the remaining 18 fingers?” Nobara huffed at Yuji, looking like she was about to whip out her hammer.

“They wouldn’t?” Yuji’s smile dimmed.

“Having all 20 fingers in you would be too dangerous. You could lose control.” Megumi said slowly as he pushed his rice around. “I bet they’d cap it at 15 or so.”

A heaviness descended on you all, broken only by the clink of Megumi’s spoon against his bowl. The suffocating silence seemed to seep down your throat, pooling in your chest like liquid lead. You glanced at Yuji, taking in the paleness of his skin, whitened knuckles wrapped around his spoon in a parody of a meal. Each second that dripped by echoed with finality, the spaces between thinning.

Nobara was the one to shatter the silence first. She crossed her arms with a huff.

“Hey, Itadori. You know that you don’t actually have to do what they say, right? You could just run away.”

“They would find him anyway. Not even Gojo could get this off his head.” Megumi scoffed bitterly.

“Then what do you suggest, genius?” Nobara bristled at his dismissive tone.

“Hey, let’s not fight over this.” Yuji let out a half-hearted laugh. “Finding 13 more fingers will still take some time. We should make the best of it, have some fun!”

His bravado convinced no one. But it did spark an idea.

“Or, we could…” You began slowly, “... not find the remaining fingers.”

All eyes swiveled to meet yours with varying degrees of hope and suspicion. You dropped your voice schemingly low:

“I say we hide any fingers we could get our hands on. I’m pretty good at sealing. I’ll make sure they don’t emit any traceable cursed energy. As long as Yuji never goes past 10 fingers, it should be fine.”

Nobara’s eyes lit up with glee. She clapped your shoulder, way too delighted.

“You seal them up and get them to me. I know exactly where to hide them!”

You and Nobara exchanged conspiratorial grins, a single brain cell bouncing excitedly between you. In that instant, you just knew - some people were soulmates, but you and her were born partners in crime.

Last you checked, Kugisaki Nobara was a complete stranger just days ago. She owed no allegiance to you, Megumi, or especially Yuji - the human sack carrying your world’s greatest threat. Yet here she was, skipping merrily into treason without a care, ready to kick the system’s ass on behalf of someone she just met. Girl literally just smelled chaos and came running. You wondered what screwed-up wiring in that tiny skull made her so ready to throw down for Yuji.

Though perhaps, buried under all the batsh*t crazy and homicidal tendencies, there was a soft spot in that cold steel heart. And something told you that once Nobara decided you were part of her pack, she’d gleefully raze the whole damn world to ash before letting anyone touch you.

Across the table, Megumi observed you and Nobara whispering unhinged plans of escalating madness. He looked one deep sigh away from an aneurysm.

“Please don’t discuss your traitorous plans openly on school grounds.” Megumi scolded you both, patience wearing thin.

“Oh, hush. Don’t call us traitors like you’re not already on board.” Nobara dismissed him with a wave. She was really in the mood for treason.

“But wouldn’t they get suspicious if we never find more fingers?” Yuji spoke up timidly, hope strained in his voice.

You tapped your spoon in thought.

“If I can get my hands on a finger, I probably can replicate the cursed energy to make some fake decoys. I’ll get Gojo-sensei to drop them all over the world to keep the higher ups running around.” You flashed a sly grin. “Of course, we’ll find one real finger in a few years or so.”

“Would Gojo go along with this?” Nobara asked.

“Oh, he’ll do anything to piss off the High Council.” You reassured.

And to protect his students. But you felt obligated to preserve Gojo’s reputation as the world’s greatest jerk, so you kept that thought to yourself. Couldn’t have people finding out Gojo Satoru was actually all sweet and caring now, could we?

With a kinda sorta working plan in place, Yuji brightened, some tension leaving his shoulders. Nobara cackled, already envisioning the chaos of top sorcerers on wild goose chases. Megumi just stared blandly up at the ceiling as if praying for salvation. Or less unhinged friends. But the slight tug at the corner of his lips gave him away. He was in this with you all whether he liked it or not.

You basked in the brilliance of renewed hope. Everything was falling into place. With proper precautions, you all just might outmaneuver fate’s cruelty.

But then, a voice suddenly rang out, resonant with ancient malevolence.

“That’s a lousy plan, worm.”

Sukuna’s tiny fanged mouth has sprouted on Yuji’s left cheek, snarling with disgust. As if he wasn't the gross one here.

“What the f*ck?!” Nobara immediately whipped out her hammer and a bunch of nails. It was her first time seeing Sukuna manifested on Yuji like this.She screamed, throwing up the nails and swinging her hammer down with explosive force. You barely tackled her in time, the hammer whooshing slightly off-target, her nails raining onto the floor right next to Yuji.

“It’s okay, Nobara. Yuji’s still in control!” You tightened your hold on a violently flailing Nobara. If she cracked his head open now, all your schemes would go to waste.

Meanwhile, Sukuna just cackled, clearly reveling in the chaos. He must have been really bored. “Come now, is that any way to treat your king?”

“Again?!” Yuji cursed loudly, clamping a hand over the mouth in a futile effort to keep things from getting weirder.

But Sukuna simply popped off on the back of his hand, his smirk turned wicked. “Why are you all risking yourselves for this worthless brat, anyway? You’ve just met him, have you not?”

“Don’t let that cringy title get to your head. We don’t answer to you.” Megumi snapped, smacking at Sukuna with his spoon, but ending up hitting Yuji’s knuckles instead.

“Watch it, Fushiguro!” Yuji shrieked in pain.

Once again, Sukuna’s tiny mouth instantly reappeared on Yuji’s other cheek, this time in your direction.

“Pathetic little worm.” He leered at you. “Too weak to take what you want, so you resort to scheming and plotting…”

Sukuna’s mocking tirade was cut short. In your panic, you shoved a heaping spoonful of curry directly into his mouth mid-rant. You expected outraged garbles, but instead, Sukuna actually chewed and swallowed the food.

“Hmm… not too shabby.” He said, the vitriol in his voice significantly decreased.

A stunned silence followed. Nobara’s hammer slipped from limp fingers. Even Megumi froze, unsure how to proceed.

Had you just appeased the King of Curses with school breakfast? Hold on, did this mean he could actually consume whatever went into this tiny mouth? New possibilities spun through your mind.

“Would you like more?” You asked tentatively, your voice soft and innocent.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed, then darted sideways.

“Serve me well, pup, and I shall spare your pathetic life when I conquer this world.” He sneered but with a lot less hatred.

First worm, and now pup? Seriously, what’s with everyone refusing to call you by your real name? You bit back the complaint and beamed at Sukuna with your most endearing smile, layering on the charm thick:

“Is that a binding vow?”

“It is what I want it to be.” He bared his fangs at you, eyes glinting with malice, though it was rather subdued.

You supposed there was no point in bargaining with Sukuna now. Going from worm to pup was certainly a promotion enough. You would take what little win you could.

First, pacify Sukuna. Second, get him to be present on Yuji during your tests. Third, figure out how to seal him away for good. Fourth, world peace. Straightforward, right?

Curry rice was a small price to pay. So, you motioned Megumi to go fetch another serving. To your endless surprise, he silently complied, too baffled to protest.

And so the most absurd spectacle unfolded - you shoveling curry into Yuji’s parasitic freeloader’s mouth, while Nobara watched in fascinated horror and Megumi gazed dead-eyed into the void, questioning all his life choices.

“This is somehow more disturbing than the time I fought that one curse with detachable limbs,” Nobara muttered.

Megumi didn’t respond, trauma having transported him to another plane of existence.

You glared at the two of them with warning. You had suffered enough for your grand plan. Should they dare mess this up and waste all your sacrifices, they shall know pain. Nobara flinched at your cold dead stare. She looked down and started hastily stuffing her mouth, probably to prevent any snark from slipping out. Megumi simply sighed weakly.

“I believe I’ve quite lost my appetite.” Not waiting for a response, Megumi snatched up his tray and glided away, radiating disgust.

The tiny Sukuna mouth just smacked his lips, crimson gaze boring into you. “Quite adequate,” he declared imperiously. “See that you continue serving me well, pup.”

Your eyes twitched, but you managed to maintain a pleasant smile. “Of course.” You grit out, ladling another spoonful toward his gaping maw.

Beside you, Yuji whimpered in utter embarrassment. You discreetly patted him on the back. Really, it could be worse. At least, he didn’t demand you serve him your firstborn. Or your brain. Yet.

Entertained and appeased for now, Sukuna’s tiny mouth disappeared, the slits under Yuji’s eyes closed neatly, looking no different from normal scars.

“Sooo, are we supposed to eat with him every day?” Nobara wondered aloud.

“The things I do for you, Yuji…” You muttered.

Yuji looked ready to melt into the floor from mortification. You let out a long-suffering sigh. You supposed you could add ‘official caterer to the King of Curses’ to your resume. This should count as work experience, right?

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Ijichi Kiyotaka was truly the pinnacle of voluntary slavery… productivity when he was hopped up on enough caffeine to resuscitate the dead and properly motivated. And there was no greater motivation than the thinly veiled threat of bodily harm from Gojo Satoru. So only a few days after the ambush that had nearly cost you your life, Ijichi gathered all the so-called “involved parties” in Principal Yaga’s office with the efficiency of an overeager cruise director on crack.

Principal Yaga clearly didn’t share Ijichi’s broad definition of “involved” though. His sunglasses did nothing to hide the judgment oozing from his glare as he eyed you like you’d shown up in fuzzy slippers and hair curlers.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, massive arms crossing over his chest as he somehow looked down his nose at you despite being seated. His impressive build and abrasive tone reminded you of an angry silverback gorilla. “You’re a student. This doesn’t concern you.”

Yaga was still rather crossed at you for the whole rockslide thing. And also, for not leaving any of the perpetrators alive for an interrogation. Logically, you supposed you could have. In hindsight, shooting to incapacitate rather than kill was an option. You could even try to rationalize your choice as necessary in the moment. That you couldn’t risk your mediocre abilities failing. That hesitation could have gotten everyone killed. That it was the only way to protect your people.

But deep down, the hard truth was: No conscious choice was made at that moment. Making a choice would imply you considered options. When you looked at your pursuers, no alternatives crossed your mind. You went for the throat, as you always did - be they curses or humans. You felt no hesitation, no reservation. Your world narrowed to a single thought, pulsing in time with your racing heart: They threatened you and your people, so you would put them down and make sure they stay down for good, no matter what. You didn’t even feel bad about it.

You talked to Megumi about it once. Asked him if it made you a terrible person - to not even consider mercy, and to have no remorse afterward. Megumi glared at you incredulously as if you had requested cuddles. “I don’t care. As long as you come back to me… I mean, to us…” He said quietly, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Shoot whoever you please.”

You wished Principal Yaga could be as pragmatic as Megumi. But God rarely heard your wishes, and if he did, he wasn’t much inclined to grant them.

As Yaga moved to dismiss you, you bit your tongue, swallowing back a torrent of choice words that would certainly make Ijichi recoil with fear. Shoko’s earlier warning echoed in your mind. Just because something pops into your head doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud. You scrambled for a justification, a polite reason for your presence here, only to be spared by Shoko’s timely interjection. Her voice was soft yet firm.

“Spices is the only reason I’m still alive, sensei.” She said. “I don’t see how this doesn’t concern my bodyguard.”

Yaga scowled, irritation simmering just below boiling. But he waved you off for the moment, redirecting his glare towards Gojo’s casual sprawl instead. “Then why is Satoru here?”

Gojo was the picture of casual arrogance - lounging between you and Shoko on Yaga’s plush sofa, one arm draped lazily over the back cushion behind you. “Of course, I’m here.” Gojo crooned, ice-blue eyes glinting. “What concerns my dear Sho and Spices concerns me.”

You fought the urge to elbow Gojo in his rock-hard abs to adjust his obnoxious manspreading. Honestly, even relaxing the man somehow managed to invade three times the personal space of an average person. With his yearly allotment of feelings entirely depleted, Gojo was even more infuriating than usual today.

In contrast, Shoko retained her gracious poise, back straight and hands neatly folded. She resembled royalty at high tea while Gojo sprawled on the furniture like a boorish frat boy.

Yaga looked one thread short of snapping and throttling Gojo with his bare hands. Jaw clenched, the veins in his thick neck pulsed as he ground out:

“No matter,” he bit out, the words clipped. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

You inched subtly away from Gojo, hoping not to end up collateral damage when Yaga inevitably flew off the handle.

At Yaga’s clipped order, Ijichi, who had been staying quiet out of self-preservation, immediately turned his laptop to face you all. His movement stiff with anxiety. Displayed on the screen was an odd-looking webpage showing a picture of Shoko next to a bounty of 50 million.

“It's some kind of hitman site,” Ijichi explained, a slight tremor in his usually monotone voice. “Someone has put out an open contract for Ieiri-san.”

A chill ran down your spine. The air pressure changed, making your ears pop. Beside you, Gojo’s body went taut, coiled as a spring trap. Then his cursed energy erupted, a violent torrent that battered your senses like a hurricane. It lifted the hairs on your arms as if with static electricity. You supposed learning that his best friend had a bounty on her head would have that kind of effect on him. But… there’s something else in there as well.

A person’s cursed energy was intimately connected to their mental and emotional states. Reading someone’s energy signature gave you visceral glimpses into those inner worlds. That’s why you and Inumaki worked so seamlessly as a team despite his limited vocabulary and refusal to use any other form of communication. Even before you somehow got fluent in his ridiculous word salads, it had never gotten in the way because you could always detect what he wanted through his cursed energy. It formed a wordless channel of coordination between you in battle.

Reading cursed energy was an imprecise art, of course, since people processed emotions differently. Skilled sorcerers could manipulate their energy to show false feelings if needed. But raw, unfiltered reactions came through if you knew how to interpret the signals.

This entire thing with Gojo, though… His energy now felt alarming - not the anger expected given the situation, but primal horror flooding his senses. As if the bounty had plunged him back into a traumatic nightmare. This felt like relived anguish gushing from his subconscious before he could restrain it.

You swayed, the wave of Gojo’s cursed energy pummeled your senses, gritting your teeth against the onslaught. For someone with such absurdly powerful cursed energy, he really should get a better grip on regulating his emotions. While his energy thrashed around the office, you wondered if you could submit your dental bill to the school for damages after all this jaw-clenching stress.

“Sensei…” You whispered as you placed a hand on Gojo’s knee, hoping to tether him before you puked all over Yaga’s office.

You didn’t need to explain. Your pale face immediately stirred Gojo from his stupor. He inhaled slowly. Then, when he exhaled, his cursed energy retracted, the room’s crushing pressure easing. Within moments the roiling vortex smoothed to stillness, the very air now breathable again.

“Sorry, Spices.” Gojo murmured, gently patting your hand on his knee. You just nodded.

In contrast to Gojo’s spiraling, Shoko simply stared at the screen.

“That explains the sudden increase in assassination attempts against me.” She remarked with the unflappable dignity of a queen gazing out impassively over a violent peasant rebellion in her honor.

You squinted, struggling to read the tiny letters on the atrociously designed webpage. Whoever created this hit site clearly failed web design class in addition to ethics. Not only did they want Shoko dead, but they also wanted her corpse with an intact head delivered to them like some kind of demented takeout order.

“Why would they want Ieiri-san’s body, though?” You asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of you. “As proof to collect the bounty? But the line about keeping the head attached seems oddly specific.”

“Well, there are certain things that could be gained from the body of a powerful sorcerer.” Ijichi cleared his throat, clearly unsettled.

Right. Although Shoko wasn’t a fighter, she was crazy powerful in her own right. After all, Shoko was one of the rare few sorcerers who could heal others. But could her reversed cursed energy healing be harvested somehow after death? You doubted it. You had never heard about something like that before. But there might indeed be other things her dead body could be useful for.

“They must be trying to re-animate Ieiri-san as their own undead puppet, right? That’d make the most sense.” You wondered. “But wouldn’t keeping your head intact make killing you more complicated?”

Reversed curse energy originated in the brain. This hit order would take a lot more time to complete if Shoko could just keep healing herself.

“If they chop me up into pieces from the chest down, I wouldn’t be able to regenerate fast enough to avoid dying from shock and blood loss.” Shoko shrugged as she explained the key to murdering herself with analytical detachment as if discussing the weather.

You gulped, feeling slightly nauseated.

“Just take it down, Ijichi.” Gojo scoffed, his normally playful tone now frigid.

“I can’t just take it down!” Ijichi spluttered, cringing away from Gojo’s glare. “It’s a professional hitman site on the dark web. The website itself is routed across hundreds of servers all over the world. Everything is anonymous. Just getting an account to view this was hard enough…”

He trailed off feebly as Gojo’s scowl darkened, the temperature in the office plummeting along with his patience. You fought back a shiver.

“Then what are you even good for?” Gojo glowered at Ijichi, his voice cold as ice.

Yaga leaned forward, expensive wood groaning under his tightening grip on the chair arms. “Does this mean you don’t know who did this either?”

“No, sir.” Ijichi went milk-pale, his answer almost a sob.

Apparently, no one here even knew what anonymous meant. This site wouldn’t have been up and running so well if any anxious assistant director could mess with it. You couldn’t believe Yaga and Gojo were actually demanding Ijichi to hack the dark web when they themselves could barely handle installing browser updates without things crashing. Would they like him to hack NASA while he was at it, too?

You leaned into the glowing screen a little to read the instructions, the gears in your head spinning faster and faster.

“If we can’t take the order down, we’ll just have to complete it.” You suggested. “That’s the only way to close the order, right?”

“Yes, but…” Ijichi whimpered.

Gojo tilted his head, his grin stretched. “What kind of plan are you cooking up in there?” He playfully bopped your forehead.

“Preferably a plan where I don’t actually die.” Shoko deadpaned, though she didn’t look very concerned.

“Have some faith in me, Ieiri-san.” You chided, gesturing to the instructions on the screen. “It’s not that complicated. We’ll just follow these…”

The order was to be carried out in two stages: To claim the bounty, one would have to kill Shoko and take some photos to confirm the hit. Once the photo proof was submitted, the order would be closed temporarily. Then, the submitter would receive further instructions on where to drop off Shoko’s body and pick up the payment.

“So essentially, we stage Ieiri-san’s death, take photos, make a fake body for drop off…” You explained slowly, the scheme taking shape in your mind as you spoke. “Then, when they show up to collect it, we trail them back to whoever’s behind this.”

The plan was flimsy - literally cooked up on the fly mere a minute ago. It needed way more finetuning before it could even generously be dubbed a “plan.” More like a wildly improbable scheme. But it was at least the skeleton outline of an unhinged idea. Which was more than anyone else had contributed so far.

Except that Principal Yaga clearly hated brainstorming. And improvisation. And fun in general. The pulsing vein in his temple, as he glared at you, was not what one would call a glowing review. One wrecked highway was enough to convince him that all your plans would end up in disaster.

“Forget about it. It’s too risky.” Yaga waved a massive hand, the motion brooking no arguments. “We’ll wait for the High Council to weigh in on this matter. In the meantime, don’t leave campus, Ieiri.”

Everyone knew the High Council moved at the pace of tranquilized snails. And most of the time, their decisions were to not do anything. It’s all about keeping the balance, as they preached. By the time they finished “deliberating,” Shoko would have already died from old age.

The High Council was already restricting Shoko’s freedom so much that she was confined within the walls of Tokyo Jujutsu High for 80% of her time. With this bounty over her head, they would most likely bar her from ever stepping a foot outside again. Shoko would be stuck here for years, if not forever. The thought made your heart ache.

You thought Shoko would take issue with Yaga’s decision (or the lack thereof), but she simply nodded and smiled: “Of course, sensei.”

Even Gojo didn’t object. The smirk on his face grew disturbing.

***

Later that evening, you were in the middle of charging your newly made shikigami (the Moth Swarms 3.0 - now with 100% more chaos) when your phone chirped.

From: Ieiri S.

My office @ 8pm

You glanced over to see a new group chat notification from an unlikely combination: Shoko, Gojo, and Ijichi. In fact, Shoko had created a group chat only to send those words. Then, she immediately left the chat. Efficient as always.

A minute later, your phone screen lit up again.

From: Ijichi K.

What’s this?

A secret society?

Was that even faster than texting each of us?

Gojo’s reply was instantaneous:

From: Dumbass Sensei

Its so

You ain’t ask

stupid questions

╮(╯_╰)╭

Then, Gojo left the chat as abruptly as he had arrived. You sighed, fingers flying across your phone keyboard.

From: The Spiciest Spices

Also to make sure you can’t say no.

Ieiri-san doesn’t take no for an answer.

It’s weird to only have two people in a group chat, but you felt bad for Ijichi, so you didn’t leave it. Putting your paper shikigami away, you pulled out your laptop and started working.

At 7:30 pm, Principal Yaga’s hulking form lumbered off campus grounds, muttering under his breath about troublesome students. You watched him depart with no small satisfaction.

At 8 o’clock sharp, a totally-not-mutinous meeting convened in Shoko’s office.

“What’s this about, Ieiri-san?” Ijichi shifted anxiously as soon as he slipped inside.

Before Shoko could respond, Gojo breezed past the desk behind her and made a beeline for her snack cabinet with his usual lack of manners. “Don’t mind if I do!” he cheered, immediately tearing open a bag of chips and munching away.

“Let’s hear the rest of Spices’ plan.” Shoko prompted calmly.

You narrowed your eyes at her: “I thought you agreed with Yaga-sama.”

Catching your skeptical look, Shoko let out a soft chuckle. “If I stop and try to convince every powerful man who stands in my way, I’d never get anywhere.”

“That’s my girl.” Gojo laughed brightly through a mouthful of strawberry bonbons. “Ask for forgiveness, not permission, eh Sho?”

“I’ve no use for either.” Shoko snickered.

And to you, she said: “Remember, Spices. Just nod and smile, then do whatever the hell you’re going to do anyway.” There was weight in her words and something meaningful in her eyes that you couldn’t quite understand yet.

“But why do I have to be here?” Ijichi whined. “When Yaga-sama finds out, he'll snap me like a twig…”

“I could snap that scrawny neck right now if you prefer.” Gojo offered casually, his smile razor-sharp.

Before Ijichi could protest further, Shoko glided over, a pot of tea in hand. “We need you, Ijichi-san.” She murmured, her voice sweet as honey, tender as the first snowflakes falling. “You’ll help us, right?”

Ijichi froze as she leaned in to fill his cup, pale cheeks suddenly flushed. “O-of course!” he squeaked, gaze fixed on the stream of tea rather than meeting her eyes. “I’ll help you with anything!”

Oh. Oh. The man was down bad. He looked one fluttering eyelash away from fainting at her feet and offering his soul in eternal servitude.

Shoko’s eyes met yours as she poured tea into your cup. Her smile turned sly. Ieiri Shoko - you devilish woman.

If Gojo noticed Ijichi resembling a smitten tomato, he didn’t comment. Instead, he lobbed a gummy bear across the room, beaning you on the forehead. “Dazzle us with this genius masterplan then!”

You scowled, catching the candy missile and flicking it back twice as hard.

“I’m getting there!” You snapped, flipping open your laptop.

Gojo peered at the screen and whistled. “You made a PowerPoint?”

You glared at him. “I spent two hours on this and I’m not accepting any criticism.”

“Alright. Show us what you’ve got.” Shoko intervened in that soothing tone specially reserved for overgrown children before you and Gojo devolved into another petty fight.

You took a deep breath and pulled up a complex flowchart, tapping the start point decisively.

“So… First step - We’ll have to do this when there’s as few witnesses around as possible.”

You looked to Ijichi expectantly.

Ijichi immediately whipped out a pristine planner, fingers flying as he referenced meticulous notes and schedules only he could decipher. Hunching protectively around the precious data, he mumbled: “Yaga-sama will be on a business trip a week from now. But Mei Mei will drop by some time in the morning to give me her invoices.”

“Absolutely not.” You shook your head vehemently. “We’d never financially recover from Mei Mei.”

“Well, then,” Ijichi huffed but dutifully kept flipping pages, “in three days, most of the sorcerers stationed on campus will be on mission. But we’ll have to deal with Yaga-sama and Kusakabe-san.”

“We can work with that.” You declared, rapidly typing details from Ijichi's planner into your PowerPoint.

“You sure about this?” Ijichi asked in the tiniest voice, wringing his hands compulsively. “If we mess up…”

He trailed off, likely envisioning Yaga’s rage or the High Council’s punishment.

“It’ll be fine.” Gojo reassured through a mouthful of cookies, which, coming from him, wasn’t reassuring at all.

“We’ll need to keep them distracted while we work on Ieiri-san’s murder, of course.” You grinned.

“How?” Ijichi gulped loudly in the ensuing silence.

Instead of answering Ijichi’s question, you simply strode over and flung open Shoko’s office door with a dramatic flourish. A truly spectacular avalanche of flailing eavesdroppers tumbled inside, yelping in surprise. They landed in a disastrous pile of agony - Yuji faceplanting on the floor, Nobara’s elbow jammed in Megumi’s gut, his foot somehow ending up over Yuji’s head. You winced in sympathy as the crash landing knocked the wind and dignity out of all three unceremoniously.

“You said this concealing barrier would work even on Spices!” Nobara accused, roughly shoving an irritated Megumi off her

“Yeah, Fushiguro! Your barrier sucks!” Yuji agreed as he tried to detangle himself from the heap, only to pull Nobara’s legs out from under her again.

“Watch it!” She shrieked.

“Stop shoving me, Kugisaki, it’s not helping!” Megumi hissed back. “And Itadori, move your damn hand.”

You shook with barely suppressed laughter, gesturing grandly to the pile of angry, bickering teenagers:

“May I present… our quality distraction team.”

Gojo immediately burst into enthusiastic applause, nearly falling off Shoko’s couch cackling. “Incredible! I fully endorse this plan!”

Shoko eyed the ongoing squabbles and clumsy attempts to stand with an impressed raise of her eyebrows. “Resourceful as always, Spices.”

Meanwhile, Ijichi had that weary look of someone who was reevaluating every life decision that had led to this ludicrous moment.

After a few more elbow jabs and shoves nearly devolved into another wrestling match, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi finally managed to detach themselves. Shooting irritated glares at the others, they clambered back to their feet, dusting themselves off with as much tattered pride as possible.

Yuji slumped onto the couch beside a still snickering Gojo while Megumi claimed the office’s only vacant chair. Grumbling under her breath about clumsy oafs, Nobara propped herself against Shoko’s desk instead, arms crossed and eyes promising future retribution.

Clearly, they would need some remedial spying lessons later, but for now, time was of the essence. So, you cleared your throat and quickly went over all the important details. As soon as you finished, Shoko delicately raised one hand.

“Before we proceed further, let’s make something clear.” She glanced over everyone in the room. “If the High Council comes after you, throw Gojo under the bus.”

Gojo froze mid-chip on the way to his mouth, blinking. “Eh?”

“I can’t believe Gojo-sensei is making us do all this crazy illegal stuff.” You agreed, shaking your head slightly in mock disappointment.

“Typical of him.” Megumi muttered. His sigh seemed theatrical without even trying.

Gojo swiveled his head between all of you, betrayal written across his face as he waved his hands frantically. “Guys. I’m literally sitting right here.” He protested.

“Details.” You waved off Gojo’s indignant spluttering. “Not like they can do anything to you. Moving on!”

Clicking on a slide titled “Distraction Tactics,” you rubbed your hands together gleefully.

“First victim - I mean, assignment - is keeping Principal Yaga occupied. That's all you, Yuji!”

Yuji paled, likely having war flashbacks to his traumatic interview experience. “I-I'll try my best but…” he laughed anxiously.

“Fret not. I know his weakness.” You declared with confidence, pulling up a picture of Yaga with his massive collection of ugly stuffed animals. “Yaga-sama has always wanted to make amigurumi, ya know, those crocheted plushies, but he could never figure out the invisible decrease stitches. And he sucks at sewing the parts together, too.”

You jabbed a finger at Yuji. “In three days, you’ll learn how to crochet plushies and have some quality arts and crafts time with him.”

Yuji stared at you. “...You want me to bother him while he stabs yarn and stuffing with giant needles? What if it doesn’t work?” His nervous eye twitch intensified.

“Well, if it doesn’t work, then we’ll let Gojo-sensei loose.” You shrugged. “He’ll go mess something up so badly that the High Council has to convene an emergency disciplinary hearing with Yaga-sama.”

At that, Gojo perked up and clasped his hands eagerly. “Consider it done!”

“No, sensei.” You leveled an unimpressed look his way. “That’s supposed to be backup plan.”

Ijichi sighed deeply as he whipped out his pen and started scribbling, probably making a note to have the Tokyo evacuation alerts on standby. Unleashing Gojo truly was the nuclear option only to be deployed after all else had failed.

“Okay. Next - Kusakabe-sensei.” You motioned to Nobara as you clicked on Kusakabe’s stoic picture. “You’re on, Nobara. Ask him to teach you swordsmanship.”

Nobara scowled at his photo, utterly offended. “Why do I get stuck with Discount Samurai over there? He looks boring. Send Fushiguro. They’ll vibe.”

You bit back a laugh as Megumi sent her a withering look. Dull as Kusakabe appeared, he’s not stupid. For some reason, Kusakabe was extremely twitchy about Gojo (but for real, who wouldn’t be). And Gojo practically raised Megumi. Kusakabe would sniff the scheme out of him in a minute. But you didn’t think Megumi would want to talk about this in front of Yuji and Nobara. It wasn’t your story to tell anyway.

So you just shrugged: “Megumi can’t lie worth sh*t.”

Megumi bristled, ears reddening. “I can lie perfectly well!”

You simply raised a skeptical eyebrow in response. Across the room, Nobara let out an aggrieved sigh.

To further incentivize Nobara, you added: “Kusakabe-sensei is in charge of the second years. He’ll try to coerce you into learning sword fighting anyway. Instill some fear in him and perhaps, he’ll leave you alone next year.”

That got Nobara convinced. She eagerly pounded one fist into her open palm. “Alright. Leave it to me!”

“If he tries to get rid of you, tell him I send you. That should keep him in line.” You said.

“Why is Kusakabe so afraid of you, Spices?” Shoko eyed you dubiously. “What do you have on him?”

You waved a dismissive hand, the motion casual, but your glimmering eyes betrayed your mirth. “If I told you, I wouldn’t be able to hold it over his head anymore.”

“Pretty little schemer.” Gojo chuckled quietly, fond indulgence sparkled in his eyes behind the sunglasses.

You shot him a sharp glance even as your lips twitched traitorously. “I prefer to think of it as a healthy dynamic of mutual respect built on trust.”

Gojo’s smile only grew wider in response.

With the distraction team's assignments confirmed, you moved on to the next part: Photo Ops.

“For staging Ieiri-san’s gruesome murder!” You smacked the slide giddily as if revealing an exciting field trip itinerary. “We’ll give Ieiri-san a vivid Halloween makeover for some close-up shots. But before that, we also need to make a convincing decoy for the body drop. Ieiri-san, do you still have that spare cadaver?”

“Sure do.” Shoko casually snapped her fingers.

Yuji and Nobara leaned away from her, eyes round with disturbed awe. Ijichi looked mildly ill.

“Um, why exactly do you even have a spare cadaver?” Yuji managed to choke out.

“For science, of course!” You answered breezily, already clicking on the next step. “Once we submit the photos, Ijichi-san will report Ieiri-san’s untimely demise to the High Council.”

Ijichi jolted as if electrocuted, nearly tumbling off the couch. “What??” He croaked. “W-why? Isn’t it enough to just…”

You pinned him with a sharp look.

“Did you forget? They have Ieiri-san’s schedule, which was supposed to be classified information, posted on the order. That’s how we got ambushed.” Your voice dropped, tone cutting enough to draw blood. “This sh*t goes deep. If you don’t make a report, they’ll know we’re faking it.”

A tense silence fell across the room. The blood drained from Ijichi’s face so rapidly that you feared he might actually pass out then and there. He looked like a wax figure left too near an open flame, skin clammy and pallid. “B-But falsifying reports to the Council…” he stammered weakly, already seeing his career ending in absolute shambles.

“Oh, chill out, Ijichi.” Gojo interrupted airily before Ijichi could spiral into a full-blown panic attack. “Just tell them I threatened you into going along with it.”

He flapped a hand dismissively. “Honestly I’ve strong-armed you into way more questionable stuff.”

He leaned back, looking positively nostalgic. “Remember that time I asked you to help me smuggle 15 pounds of pudding cups into a state prison to pay off a gambling debt? Or when I made you volunteer to be my getaway driver for that extremely illegal underground poker tournament?”

Ijichi sputtered incoherently, eyes practically rolling back as he was bombarded with traumatic memories of enabling Gojo’s madness. Only Gojo could so casually admit to multiple felonies as a form of reassurance.

It was his dysfunctional way of showing concern beneath the layers of ego, entitlement, and chronic inability to self-censor. Gojo didn’t do feelings. So he offered the currency he best understood - a Get Out of Jail Free card. But you could recognize the strange lifeline for what it was. However clumsily delivered, Gojo just showed that he cared and he would have Ijichi’s back, as he always did. Which was only fair because most of Ijichi’s problems came from him.

You clapped sharply, jolting everyone from the secondhand awkwardness of Gojo’s unique trauma bonding attempts.

“Anyway. Moving on! Once we receive instructions for the drop-off, we’ll get someone to play Ieiri-san’s murderer. Then, Gojo-sensei will tail whoever picks up the fake body back to the big boss for a pleasant chat. Simple, right?” You concluded brightly.

“Your wish is my command.” Gojo flashed a thumbs up around another mouthful of candy, clearly already hyped for violence.

“I’ll do the drop-off.” Megumi quickly offered, ever eager to actually contribute.

“No, you’re too pretty…” Sensing his murderous glare, you hastily amended. “I mean, your technique is too flashy. They’ll recognize you!”

You nearly wilted under the blistering outrage smoldering in Megumi’s eyes. Honestly, if looks could incinerate, you'd now be a smoking crater in Shoko's antique Turkish rug.

Rather than await your fate, you breezed blithely onward. “I’ll ask Ino-senpai to handle the body drop. He already looks like a bank robber.”

Megumi’s brewing temper stalled at that, derailed by your abrupt assessment. “...what does that even mean?” he bit out.

You waved your hand around your face, imitating Ino’s ski mask: “Ya know, he just has one of those inherently untrustworthy vibes. The kind that screams ‘I chop up the best jujutsu healer at the school gate for 50 million.’”

Megumi stared at you with bewilderment for a few moments, then he asked. “Then, what should I do?”

“Well…” You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. “That leaves you on errand duty.”

As you assigned Megumi the inglorious errand boy role, his scowl deepened into dramatic sulking territory. Clearly, His Highness did not appreciate being assigned peasant tasks beneath his skill level. But you were the one calling the shots here.

With your batsh*t crazy plan mostly in place, you clapped your hands decisively. “Let’s get moving! We have a murder to fake in…” You paused to check your watch “...72 hours.”

You flashed your most dazzling smile around the room as everyone else paled slightly. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

One of the two things you loved most about Ino Takuma was that he always came when you called. So when your SOS message pinged his phone, he arrived first thing the next morning as if rocket-propelled. You barely had time to stash your laptop before he came barreling into the common room.

“Spices! There you are, I’ve missed you!”

Which brought you to Ino’s second most beloved quality: his signature bear hugs. Not the perfunctory wrap of arms that most people passed for embraces, but the rib-compressing, breath-stealing, soul-lifting hugs that swept you clear off your feet.

“Ino-senpai—”

Before you could manage a greeting, Ino hefted you up and squeezed with enough force to make a python jealous. With an elated laugh, he twirled you around in circles, your surroundings blurring into streaks of color. The clean cotton scent of his sweatshirt enveloped you as Ino gripped you with anaconda-level strength. You marveled that his arms didn’t come with health warning labels.

“We haven’t hung out in ages! You need more vitamin me for a balanced diet!” Ino laughed brightly, lost in his spirited one-sided reunion.

As the common room whirled around you, you considered pointing out you’d grabbed donuts together literally a week ago. But oxygen deprivation made it a battle just remaining conscious, let alone speaking.

“Senpai—can’t—air—” you wheezed out, desperately slapping his sturdy back.

Behind watering eyes, you spotted Megumi entering and immediately backpedaling right back out the door once he glimpsed Ino mauling you. You glared at his retreat with no small amount of spite. Traitor. Megumi would pay for his desertion later. With interest.

After what felt like an eternity of swirling colors and crushed ribs, Ino finally set you down… only to ruffle your hair with painful enthusiasm.

“So which of your crazy schemes requires your amazing senpai this time?” Ino beamed, oblivious to your suffering.

You gulped blessed air. Ino took friendship to hazardous extremes. Still, you wouldn’t trade him for anything… not before you finished billing him for health damages, of course. Finally extracting yourself to a safe distance, you motioned Ino toward the couch.

“So about that SOS text…”

But he was already flashing double thumbs up with the blinding radiance of a religious devotee witnessing a miracle.

“I’m in, whatever it is you have cooked up this time.” He declared.

You rolled your eyes. Ino clearly clicked “Accept” on life’s terms and conditions without reading anything.

“This is serious, senpai. What if I asked you to rob a bank or something?”

“Send me the address.” Ino just grinned wider as he struck an exaggerated tough guy pose, biceps bulging.

You stared blankly, one eyebrow still twitching from his violent head rubs.

“We’ll get the address later.” You sighed. “For now, let me explain first.”

Hauling this overeager golden retriever of a man over to the couch, you balanced your laptop and launched into summarizing your scheme against his will.

“...so in summary, this is extremely unauthorized and kinda illegal,” you concluded. “We’ll blame everything on Gojo-sensei. But the higher ups may likely still hold a grudge against us.”

You eyed Ino expectantly. He flashed a radiant smile and cracked his knuckles. “Whatever. Just tell me who to punch in Ieiri-san’s honor!”

After years of enabling each other’s deranged behaviors, you clearly couldn’t undo Ino’s mentality of “see Spices, do crimes” anymore.

You chewed your lip, conflicted. Ino’s dedication was touching, but you wouldn’t want his career to take the fall for this. However much you needed Ino, you also needed him to understand the risk and make the right decision for himself.

“What about your promotion, though?” You prompted. “Have you asked Nanami-san yet? This stunt could tank your reputation.”

Ino clicked his tongue dismissively, but his voice was gentle. “I’m not in a hurry with rankings. What matters is doing the right thing, not the easy thing, Spices. Helping you get Ieiri-san out of this mess is what’s right. I’ll handle the rest as it comes.”

Your vision blurred, suddenly misty. Blinking back the tears, you sniffled, bumping his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Ino’s smile was brighter than sunshine as he bumped you back. “You know I’ve got your back, Spices.”

“Hell yeah, senpai.” You laughed, holding up a hand. Without hesitation, Ino high-fived you perfectly. What a reckless dumbass. But he was your reckless dumbass.

***

Lugging his awkward assortment of supplies down the sidewalk, Megumi wondered (not for the first time) if agreeing to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High had been a lapse of sanity.

More specifically, befriending one diabolical third-year seemed to be the root of all his suffering. What had he been thinking, extending that bottle of mint chocolate milk to you all those months back then? Clearly, temporary madness or a cursed spirit had clouded his judgment.

Glaring at your bafflingly bizarre supply list again, he took irritated inventory of his haul. Bleach, check. Suspiciously thick rubber gloves, got ‘em. Now where did he stash the extra large tarp and duct tape...? Ah, there they were, nestled beside the comically oversized trash bags and scrub brushes. The hardware clerk had given him the most disturbed look ringing those up. Honestly, this entire supply run screamed serial killer prep. Lucky him.

Megumi walked toward the craft store for phase two with annoyance. He still didn’t understand why HE had to source Yuji’s crocheting distraction supplies instead of, well, Yuji himself. Grumbling under his breath about obnoxious friends, Megumi resigned himself to plowing through aisles for yarn, crochet hooks, needles, and enough stuffing to make another Panda-senpai.

But the true pièce de résistance was his final stop - the costume shop for specialty stage blood and gore makeup. The perky shop assistant had chattered nonstop about convincing “injury illusions” while Megumi silently screamed inside his own head. Sweating bullets, he had offered a weak smile and fled with the ghastly purchase as soon as humanly possible. Honestly at this rate, Megumi wouldn’t be surprised if concerned citizens reported him to the authorities before he finished running “errands.”

Yet even hauling what could easily be misconstrued as a serial killer starter kit in broad daylight, Megumi felt his lips quirking into a traitorous smile. The warmth kindling in his chest had nothing to do with physical exertion.

He would deny it with his last breath, but somehow your unhinged scheming would always fill him with much fondness. Maybe Stockholm syndrome explained this baffling loyalty he felt despite the chaos you unleashed on a regular basis. Or the satisfaction of feeling needed by someone who valued him for who he truly was underneath all the sharp edges, permanent scowling, and practiced indifference. He supposed that made him certifiably insane too, but that ship had clearly sailed long ago.

So here Megumi stood - grumbling colorful curses under his breath, yet utterly unable to refuse whatever suspicious favor you needed every time. Whipped was far too light a word for the hold you had on his heart.

Clutching his final shopping bags, Megumi trekked back to the dorms, muttering under his breath the whole way. He was unsurprised to find you, Nobara, Yuji, and Ino sprawled around Yuji’s room, attention glued to your laptop screen. From the chipper background music and colorful yarn on the screen, clearly, it was craft hour up in here.

“Oh, Gumi, perfect timing!” You waved him over eagerly to inspect his haul. “We’re just getting a head start on Yuji’s assignment.”

“I don’t get why I have to learn crocheting,” Yuji grumbled. “Can’t I just let Yaga-sama trash me around with his stuffed animals like last time?”

Ino laughed, playfully plucking a ball of yarn from Megumi’s haul and chucking it at Yuji’s head. “Because according to Spices, Yaga-sama sucks at crocheting. So, you’re going to impress him with your amazing crochet skills!”

Yuji stared blankly. “...I feel like we’d still be better off just setting something on fire as the distraction.”

At that, you finally glanced up from rifling through the supplies. Leveling a stern finger at Yuji, you declared: “Arson is Plan C, young man. Now hush and let the nice YouTube lady teach you single crochet first.”

As you upended the final shopping bags onto the floor, Nobara dove for the costume shop haul with a truly manic grin. “Oooh, is this the good stuff?”

Before you could react, she had already popped open a jar of sickeningly realistic skin-color gelatin and was smearing it over her hands, cackling with delight.

“Check it out, it looks like my flesh is melting! So cool!” She wiggled her gore-coated fingers, flecks of “skin” sloughing off wetly.

Yuji immediately recoiled, looking distinctly queasy. “Knock it off, Kugisaki! I don’t want that gross stuff on my floor!”

Totally not acting as the only proper adult in the room, Ino snatched a pack of fake blood with excitement. “Whoa, this looks so real though!”

Before he could rip it open, you tackled him with all your might. “Don’t you dare!” You scolded, wrestling the pack from his hands. “We haven’t even started yet!”

Behind you, Nobara had body-slammed a shrieking Yuji, clambering on him to smear her gore-coated fingers over his face.

“C’mooon! It’s just gelatin! Don’t be a baby! Try it on!” She crowed, cackling maniacally as Yuji thrashed underneath her.

“Get off me, Kugisaki you freak!” Yuji wailed, frantically trying to escape. She just giggled hysterically while Yuji shoved at her slimy hands, the wet squelching noises only amplifying his panic.

“I swear if you get that slime on my hair, I’ll put ketchup in your shampoo!” Yuji howled amidst fighting for his life.

Meanwhile, Megumi had wordlessly sunken into Yuji’s bed in the corner, desperately trying to blend into the background through sheer force of will. With the air of one embracing the sweet release of death, he slowly toppled sideways onto the mattress, dragging Yuji’s spare pillow over his face. Maybe if he just laid still enough, he would miraculously turn invisible or spontaneously discorporate from this overwhelming absurdity. A guy could dream, right? If he squeezed his eyes shut tight enough, perhaps he could even imagine himself far, far away in a normal high school instead, filled with nice, normal classmates…

You couldn’t blame Megumi honestly, given the mayhem unfolding.

“Just let me try one!” Ino wheedled, grappling to reach the fake blood you held out of his grabby hands.

You had already been forced to pin him facedown with a cursed-energy-enhanced leg lock, but his considerable brawn made it a serious balancing act. Nobara’s cackling and Yuji’s wailing formed quite the traumatic background soundtrack too.

“For the last time, NO!” As Ino’s sneaky fingers reached for the prize, you tightened your leg lock around his torso. Leaning down, you hissed into his ear: “Cut it out, or I’ll tell Gojo-sensei who hogged all of his precious strawberry daif*cku mochi last year!”

At that dire threat, Ino instantly deflated with a tragic groan. He slumped in defeat beneath your leg’s merciless grip. “You play so dirty, Spices.”

After threats of extra reading materials and revoked pizza privileges finally restored order, you managed to wrangle your rowdy crew into some semblance of focus.

“Now then!” You clapped your hands sharply, flashing a glare just daring anyone to restart the ruckus. “Let’s actually make progress, yes? We’re on a tight timeline here, people!”

Suitably chastened, Yuji shuffled over to your makeshift craft corner of stolen floor pillows. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he plopped down beside the supplies piled expectantly in his spot.

“Uh so, guess it’s time I learn how to crochet now? To like, bond with Principal Yaga over shared craft dreams or whatever?”

Hands on your hips, you loomed over him, channeling your best “disappointed parent” aura. “Yes, and you WILL produce an adorable little stuffed octopus by tomorrow morning or else! Now get hooking!”

Gulping visibly at your drill-sergeant tone, Yuji fumbled to cast on the yarn per YouTube Lady’s chirpy instructions. As everyone else looked on, you nodded firmly. Phase one of distraction team training was officially underway.

“Are we moving on to fake corpse prep now?” Nobara asked, practically vibrating with glee. “Let me help with the chopping!”

You frowned, already envisioning the gory mess she would wreck on Shoko’s morgue. “Ah, best you don’t… I need you out there maintaining the illusion of normalcy.”

Ignoring her puffing and huffing, you ushered the protesting girl toward the door. “Just continue studying out there in plain sight, please! We can’t have everyone disappearing or it’ll get suspicious.”

Before Megumi could escape back to sweet oblivion though, you snagged his collar as well.

“Oh no you don’t - you’re on duty too,” you ordered, ignoring his heated glare. “Go study with Nobara.”

Megumi looked sorely tempted to curse you as you gave him a little shove after a disgruntled Nobara. Shooting a pleading look over his shoulder, he tried one last ditch effort. “But I’ve finished all my required reading…”

You just smiled sunnily and waved. “Can’t hurt to revise!”

Your eyes gleamed. This was revenge for his desertion this morning.

Heaving the most aggrieved sigh in recorded history, Megumi parked a supremely irritated Nobara at one of the common room tables. Practically throwing her textbook at her head, he ground out, “Here. Study. I’ll quiz you in 30 minutes.”

Nobara made a face like he had assigned her to clean Tokyo’s sewers. “Ugh, what are you, my dad? Just let me go help with the cadaver already!”

“Quit complaining and start studying.” Megumi snapped. Dropping into the chair next to her, he propped his chin on one hand in annoyance.

Nobara made a show of rolling her eyes. “Ugh, fine, DADDY. Wouldn’t want you to punish me for getting bad grades now…”

“D-Don’t call me that!” Megumi spluttered, mortified at how shrill his voice came out.

Nobara’s grin turned positively wicked with joy. Oh, this was way more entertaining than she had thought.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” She purred, relishing the way he audibly choked. “Does it bother you? I can stop if you give me permission… daddy.”

Nobara swayed closer, close enough to count his panicked eyelash flutters. She could practically hear his heart thundering, pulse racing like a frightened rabbit’s.

“Come now, cat got your tongue?” Nobara breathed, trailing one finger up Megumi’s rigid arm. By now, her lips were barely an inch from his flaming ear. “You need to use your words.”

Nobara could pinpoint the exact moment all higher brain function left Megumi’s body based solely on his expression. His pretty blue eyes blew wide, the sparks of intelligence previously lighting them utterly extinguished. His jaw went slack, mouth falling open stupidly without a single coherent word emerging.

When Megumi still failed to react beyond garbled choking, Nobara decided to show mercy. For now, anyway. Drawing back slowly, she admired her handiwork, savoring his perfect mortification. She had to bite her own lip nearly to bleeding to keep from cackling aloud. Oh yes, she would definitely be paying for this later when he regained basic brain function. But my, was his scandalized expression worth it!

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Nobara broke down into peals of delighted laughter, clutching her aching sides. “My god! Your face—" She wheezed out between guffaws. “I can’t believe it…!”

As Nobara finally collapsed across the table heedless of her textbook pages crumpling beneath, helpless giggles still escaping in little hiccups, she made a mental note to tell you and Yuji about this later. Oh man, Yuji would definitely turn blue from laughing himself to oxygen deprivation. And you - you pretty little schemer - the things you could come up with this little gem of salacious blackmail material.

After a small eternity spent rebooting all cognitive functions, Megumi finally resurfaced from catatonic shock back to blistering mortification. Nobara’s residual snickering echoed in his burning ears. Face still aflame, he tried to form a sufficiently scathing retort or blistering threat. But every fragment of his sophisticated vocabulary had clearly been torched to ash in the wake of… that forbidden word - spoken so cloyingly in the soft voice he had never heard Nobara used before. Even the echo of it in his mind made him shudder anew. This better not awaken anything in him.

“Enough already, Kugisaki! It’s not funny!”

Megumi finally managed to unstick his throat enough for an enraged squeak. But his undignified shrill pitch only amplified her breathless cackling.

“We should study together more often, Fushiguro.”

As Nobara practically rolled out of her chair with laughter, Megumi considered simply fleeing this entire nightmarish scene. Sadly, leaving Nobara unsupervised guaranteed you would bite his head clean off later once word of his negligence got back to you. With a mental sob, Megumi accepted his sentence of prolonged torture. He realized he truly had no one but himself to blame here. Abandoning you to Ino’s spine-cracking hug this morning meant he was now paying the ultimate karmic price for such blatant betrayal. He should have known, given how ruthless you were.

Shooting a venomous glare at the still giggling Nobara, he dragged his chair as far across the common room as physically possible. Distance might not spare his psyche from further trauma, but at least he could pretend she didn’t exist from over here. God give him patience with this absolute gremlin child. Maybe he could bribe Ino to swap places if he groveled enough…

***

Meanwhile, in a dark office of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s administrative building, Ijichi hunched over his computer, fingers flying across the keys. His leg bounced with nervous energy as different chats and discussion threads flashed across the screen.

He paused only to wipe his sweaty brow before resuming the rapid tapping, a deep crease etched between his eyes. Scraping for an established account on the ominous dark web assassination site was proving even more challenging than breaking in originally.

Yet Ijichi didn’t dare defy your stern instructions: “It needs to be an older, active account. Anything shiny and new will set off red flags.”

The site itself was uncrackable. But its human members? People made mistakes. Even if they were evil curse users, they would still be vulnerable to social engineering. That’s where Ijichi came in. Catfishing, tricking, flirting - It didn’t matter how he did it. All Ijichi had to do was getting the answers to their security questions. You just needed one account. How hard could it be, right?

So, you had fixed Ijichi with an uncompromising look until he gulped and nodded frantically. As motivation went, it was startlingly effective, if not nerve-wracking. Terrifying as this elaborate ruse was becoming, however, the alternative - your batsh*t crazy scheming directed at him - was far more chilling.

So here Ijichi sat with a Beginner Guide to Online Flirting opened, dredging up every depraved corner of the dark web, ruining his perfect ethics record and eye health all in one go. Just another relaxing night enabling criminal activities among deranged sorcerers. Honestly, at this rate, he should just install a plaque outside his office engraved: Tokyo Jujutsu High’s Resident Lawbreaker - When Ethical Dilemmas Call After Business Hours, Dial 1 For Reluctant Treason.

Gods above, the things he did for you reckless kids. At least, if he wound up disgraced and unemployed before the disciplinary review board, he still had Gojo to blame. Ijichi took vindictive comfort in that thought. Misery did so love company after all.

At that precise moment, oblivious to the escalating crisis unfolding on her behalf, Shoko reclined in her office, gaze distant as she turned a flute of champagne between her fingers.

After years of bitterly fighting for permission to get her project into the human experiment phase, the Council had finally approved it. She should have felt exhilarated.

Yet rather than vindication, cold unease pooled in Shoko’s stomach, impossible to ignore. Why now? That proposal had collected dust for over a decade since her senior year. She knew better than most the Council’s stubbornness regarding “tampering with the natural order.”

So what had changed to suddenly make them so amenable, so eager to fund her research with almost indecent generosity? The timing following last year’s catastrophic Night Parade of a Hundred Demons seemed too calculated. Now, with this bounty on her head and the mole inside the Headquarters who leaked her schedules… It couldn’t be coincidental. No, Shoko wasn’t one to believe in coincidences, not when she had made countless enemies within their ranks through her friendship with Gojo and her audacious attitude of just doing whatever she wanted without permission or apology. Someone wanted her dead now for a reason. Same as the Elders’ uncharacteristic generosity. Shoko intended to not let them get what they wanted, as she usually did.

As for Gojo… Well, the man remained a willful enigma, wandering off to do who knew what with little regard for minor details like “maintaining contact” or “informing allies if he still walked the earth.”

For all you knew, the man tasked with delivering crucial brute force manpower could be anywhere in the world - lounging on a tropical beach, gambling at an underground tournament, or just taking a nap atop Tokyo Tower.

And asking his current location directly always only prompted joking requests for you to admit missing his charming company, followed by outrageous pick-up lines until you threatened to poison his secret snack stash. So utterly unhelpful.

Still, despite Gojo’s infamously questionable behavior, you trusted him to show up precisely when needed. After all, this entire scheme revolved around protecting his beloved best girl Shoko. That alone should motivate him to be vaguely punctual for once.

And surely Gojo would never miss the chance to stomp on some evil curse users like ants beneath his heels. He did so love turning enemies into red smears across the pavement. It was like a hobby for him. Or stress relief yoga.

So, logically, no force, natural or supernatural, could keep Gojo from showing up, probably. Unless he got distracted chasing a food truck or decided napping took priority or something.

…On second thought, perhaps you should start drawing up a backup plan. In case Gojo got sidetracked, you and Megumi would have to do, though he would likely complain the entire way. And Ijichi made for a world-class panicked getaway driver. Everything would be fine, or so you hoped.

***

Seated comfortably atop an empty autopsy table within the secret morgue, you swung your legs absently as you reviewed the elaborate instructions printed on your stage makeup supplies. Your heels knocked an echoing rhythm against the cold metal. The sterile surroundings seemed to swallow sound itself - all harsh lighting and unforgiving tiles. The chilled air even carried an indefinable scent you imagined death itself must smell like.

Before you on a separate sterile slab, a sheet-draped cadaver awaited your cosmetic transformation into Shoko’s double. Dark stains spread across the fabric. Propped nearby was your phone displaying Shoko’s mugshot-style photos for reference.

Beside you, Ino shifted atop the long countertop cluttered with sharp, shining tools. You could see him resisting the urge to fiddle as he took in the shadowy chamber. Jars of medical oddities floated in preserving fluids, skeletal anomalies and deformed organ specimens suspended like morbid art.

“Sooo this is where the weird secret mad scientist stuff happens huh?” He stage-whispered loudly, squinting at ominous stains on the tile walls. “Kinda creepy…”

You shot Ino a warning look. “Remember what I said earlier, senpai. Hands off everything unless I explicitly say so.”

Honestly, the only reason you even allowed Ino to tag along was to avoid potential loose-lipped mishaps with certain targets… eh, esteemed individuals, like Yaga or Kusakabe. Ino plus secrets equaled a fast track to disasters.

And Ino had followed you loyally because, well, that’s just what Ino always did ever since you met freshman year. You were the only one who tolerated his very mature, senior-level insights.

The first and also last time Ino tried to show off to Hakari, he had his ego utterly demolished and his ass neatly handed back to him with a bow on top. You still vividly remembered finding Ino later - a devastated, bruised, sniffling wreck. Ever since, Ino stuck to bothering you exclusively, being a devoted enabler for all of your madness. In exchange, you became his favorite (read: only) victim for long-winded stories and aggressive affection. So here you both were, years later - thick as thieves and twice as chaotic - bickering good-naturedly over a dead body. Truly BFF goals.

Reaching out one gloved hand, you grasped the sheet and peeled it back slowly, unveiling the cadaver’s face inch by inch. The pallid flesh seemed to glow beneath the harsh lighting, dark sunken eyes forever frozen half open.

You leaned closer, scrutinizing the facial structure with a critical eye. Angled jaw, thin lips, sharp cheekbones - simple enough to reshape with the gelatin into Shoko’s softer features. The guy who was supposed to pick up Shoko’s body probably didn’t know Shoko in real life. A little gelatin sculpting, stage makeup, and a nice wig should be enough.

As you contemplated the necessary facial changes, Ino’s idle swinging legs entered your peripheral vision. “Got any plan for after graduation, Spices?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Well, Ieiri-san wants me here as her official assistant. And Gojo-sensei says I’ll make a good teacher.”

Ino let out an amused snort. “Of course, they want you here. But what do YOU want?”

At that, you paused. Truthfully, you had no idea. For all your wild schemes, you had given little thought to the looming question of your own future. You would always be a jujutsu sorcerer. And you knew you would like to retire early. But aside from that, you didn’t really have any clear path in mind.

Being around Shoko and Gojo certainly carried comfort. And this strange school had become the closest thing to “home” you could recall having in recent memory… But was being here what’s best for you?

Glancing up at Ino, you admitted slowly. “I’m… not sure. I’ll probably stay here and figure sh*t out, one step at a time.”

Ino nodded easily, reading the unspoken uncertainty in the slight furrow of your brow. Then he smiled, soft and earnest.

“If you ever get bored of this place, you could come live with me, you know. I’ve got my own apartment now.” He winked playfully. “We’ll be housemates and have all sorts of fun!”

You huffed a small laugh at the generous offer, your throat suddenly tightening. Ino knew you had no family waiting eagerly for your graduation return. They had washed their hands of you years ago, wearied by the strangeness they couldn’t understand.

You supposed you couldn’t blame them anymore for abandoning a child who saw monsters clinging to people, who shrieked about chilling rooms no one else felt. They had tolerated the eerie accidents and bizarre claims as long as they could before finally giving up.

In hindsight, you figured it had simply been your poorly controlled cursed energy resonating with the darkness that plagued the world. But back then, everyone assumed you either acted out for attention or were simply insane.

So your family had finally given up, unable to shoulder the burden of raising such a disturbed child. You still recalled the palpable relief in their voices when you were admitted into the city hospital after the catastrophic incident that had fully awakened your jujutsu abilities, allowing you to see this world for what it truly was. How they had fled Tokyo without a backward glance while you wandered the psych ward halls alone, too drugged up to feel properly abandoned.

Yet you harbored no bitterness toward your family for leaving long ago. You understood firsthand how exhausting those like you could be - the strangeness, the unpredictability bleeding into their orderly lives. You knew you weren’t easy to love. Your insanity had not been their cross to bear, after all. They deserved to prioritize their own well-being rather than giving it up for your sake.

Your family was only human, flawed and fallible like everyone else. How could you condemn them for needing to shelter their fragile mortal hearts first, even if it meant shutting the door firmly on you? The child who lived and breathed impossibilities beyond their comprehension. Wherever they were now, you hoped they had found some measure of peace and happiness in the absence of your chaos. That the weight of confusion and fear you unintentionally brought had lifted from their shoulders.

As you grew silent with memory, Ino reached out slowly, palm up in offering. “My place is yours, Spices. Come home whenever you want.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you placed your hand in his. Startled by the living warmth now enveloping your skin, you had to suppress a shiver. Swallowing against the tightness in your throat, you gave his sturdy fingers a tentative squeeze.

“Thank you, senpai.”

He squeezed you back, gently this time. As your fingers intertwined with his, you realized - here was family, here was home. Here was someone who had chosen you.

In many ways, you were still that lonely child, starving for unconditional love and true acceptance. But now you had a home to come back to. You had people who would always choose you and your chaos.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

If Hakari and Kirara could see you now, they wouldn’t just weep proud tears - they’d full-on ugly sob at the magnificence of your madness. Well, at least, Kirara would.

You, in your infinite chaotic wisdom, had crafted the most unhinged scheme in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s history. A scheme so wild it made their fight club shenanigans look reasonable. A scheme that had somehow landed not only yourself but also half your underclassmen, your graduated senpai, the former-law-abiding assistant director Ijichi Kiyotaka, and esteemed healer Ieiri Shoko herself tossed in holding cells pending disciplinary action. Truly, you deserved some kind of award for Outstanding Achievement in Getting Everyone You Know Thrown into Jail.

Everything had gone perfectly, at first. Or your definition of perfect, anyway, which by normal societal standards would be considered utter disaster. But you weren’t exactly known for normalcy, now were you? No, you were known for chaos in its purest form.

Yuji had resisted the crocheting lessons with truly impressive intensity for someone who ate a stinky mummified finger without hesitation. “This makes NO sense! My fingers are too big and stupid for these tiny demonic hooks and string!” He wailed at the top of his lungs, somehow tangled in a nest of yarn despite having barely started.

There was much screaming akin to being stabbed with a dull spoon (you would know), pitiful manly tears of pure frustration, and accidental near self-stabbings with said tiny demonic hooks that first day. One truly spectacular tantrum might have involved both furious hook hurling and endless furious laps around the room as you stared, unimpressed by his meltdown.

But eventually, motivated by survival instincts kicking in under your murderous glaring, Yuji powered through the learning curve. By day two, his meaty fingers figured out how to churn out shapes almost identifiable as woodland creatures. He even found time amidst all the meltdowns to lovingly craft customized cat amigurumi for each of you. A permanently scowling black cat for Megumi. An orange tabby even spunkier than Nobara for her highness. And for you, an aloof and vaguely judgy standard-issue cat in your image.

The fake corpse preps had gone smoothly too, all things considered. After the fifth grotesque attempt at molding slack facial muscles and realistic gelatin skin, you finally managed an uncannily accurate Shoko doppelgänger, whom you endearingly called Fake Shoko, down to the beauty mark and dead-eyed stare.

Real Shoko had generously provided a lock of her hair so dutiful errand boy Megumi could source the perfect wig to complete Fake Shoko. Though he grumbled bitterly about “being reduced to your personal shopper,” you caught Megumi looking distinctly relieved for any excuse to flee Nobara’s clingy clutches.

Speaking of those two, they’d been acting rather peculiar around each other recently. Was it your imagination, or had Nobara gotten even more aggressively handsy with Megumi lately, while the boy had become somehow more constantly flustered? Hmmm. Something saucy must have gone down during one of their “study sessions.”

You made a mental note to thoroughly grill both parties later. Right now, you had bigger things to focus on… like putting the finishing touches on Fake Shoko before you accidentally drove Yuji into a mental breakdown via torture by crochet. Priorities.

On the fateful morning, once Ijichi confirmed the coast was clear of potential witnesses, it was finally time to kick this circus into high gear.

While Yuji and Nobara pulled distraction duty, putting their drama club skills to questionable use, you slipped away with the others to stage the false evidence. You had selected an ominous corner near the school gates for the photo shoot, just beyond the protective barrier’s perimeter. Nothing said “sinister murder locale” quite like creepy abandoned buildings and dead foliage straight out of a slasher film set.

Surprisingly, for once in his life, Gojo had arrived punctually instead of teleporting in fashionably late per his usual diva entrance. Truly miracles did happen - maybe you should buy a lottery ticket next.

Not one to waste such unprecedented reliability of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s most infamously tardy teacher, you immediately put him on security detail. Better make sure some random curse users didn’t show up and actually murder Shoko for real.

“No one gets in or out, got it?” You commanded, your sharp glance promised certain death by poisoned mochi if he failed. “Our window here is narrow so stay alert with those fancy eyes of yours, sensei.”

“You wound me, Spices. When have I ever let you down?” Gojo cried, pressing one hand to his heart and pretending to be shot, staggering back with exaggerated betrayal. His awful acting didn’t quite cover that pleased, troublemaker grin though.

Ignoring Gojo’s usual drama queen antics, you focused on the most vital part of this twisted production.

Real Shoko and Fake Shoko were dressed in identical clothes. Real Shoko had done up deathly makeup that accentuated her natural perpetual exhaustion from nightly drinking and lack of sleep. The woman already looked half-dead most days anyway, so selling it wouldn’t be hard.

You arranged Real Shoko on the ground, posing her with eyes half-closed and lips slack, adjusting loose limbs for maximum effect. With an artist’s eye, you fixed her hair to partially obscure that death pallor, then splashed some extra thick fake blood onto her face.

“Beautiful, Ieiri-san, hold that cadaver look,” you encouraged, ignoring her snort.

As Ino snapped photos on his ancient potato phone, you critically examined the realistic “dead body” laid out before you. Something still felt missing from this artistic display.

Snapping your fingers in inspiration, you grabbed a beer can from Shoko’s purse, emptied it, and then carefully positioned it near her outstretched hand. There, a touch of boozy realism!

"Now it’s perfect!” you declared with your hands clasped, admiring your work.

Behind you, Ino laughed. “Did you seriously just prop product placement in our fake brutal murder scene?”

“Of course!” You blinked at him. “It establishes lifestyle accuracy.”

In the background, Ijichi made a strangled whimper while Megumi slowly dragged a hand down his face.

Once Ino captured the necessary glamour shots of Real Shoko’s dead face, it was time for the central masterpiece - crafting a truly gruesome murder scene with Fake Shoko.

You instruced Megumi to hold up the disturbing corpse doppelgänger with his shikigami Nue, propping Fake Shoko into a limp standing position. Then you turned to Ino.

“Ready?”

Ino summoned his Kaichi, an eager glint in his eye that had Ijichi edging away looking mildly ill. You and Ino exchanged crazed grins.

“Ready when you are, boss!” Ino shouted.

At your signal, he blasted Fake Shoko straight through the torso with Kaichi, essentially cutting her in half, her mutilated lower body fell with a sickening splat. Behind you, Ijichi swayed, looking one glance away from losing his breakfast.

“What do you think, Ieiri-san?” You turned to Real Shoko, excited for her professional opinion. “On a scale of maiming to certain death, how realistic is this?”

Shoko finished wiping fake blood remnants off her face with the back of one hand, never spilling a drop of her beer in the other. She critically examined the mangled remains of Fake Shoko still clutched in Nue’s claws, then swept an assessing gaze over the disemboweled lower half leaking intestines onto the ground.

“Should be enough to definitively kill anyone in real life,” Shoko concluded at last with an approving nod. “If I took that kind of damage? No amount of reverse cursed energy healing could save my sorry ass.”

With Shoko’s seal of gory approval, you dramatically tossed the last premium fake blood packet at Ino.

“Didn’t you wanna play with this?” You waved a gracious hand. “Today’s your lucky day, Ino-senpai.”

Ino ripped open the packet immediately, genuine joy in his eyes. “Oh, I am gonna make you the prettiest dead bodyguard, Spices!”

Laughing, he proceeded to liberally douse you in sticky red syrup as if you were the victim of an overly enthusiastic sprinkler system. Once he finished, you carefully positioned the remains of Fake Shoko just so, making sure her face matched the same blood-spatter pattern as the earlier pictures of Real Shoko.

Then you flung yourself down gracefully a few steps away, limbs splayed at awkward angles, eyes vacant, Soulstring just beyond your reach. You were Shoko’s bodyguard who had successfully defended her against six high-grade curse users once. It wouldn’t make sense if this murder scene didn’t include your tragic end as well.

“How’s this?” You asked the others, going perfectly still. At the lack of impressed reactions, you sighed. “No? Ino-senpai, gimme more blood, I’m clearly not dead enough.”

As Ino gleefully dumped more blood over your serenely dead form, Megumi released a deep sigh worthy of a war-weary veteran. “This is fine. Everything is completely fine,” he muttered.

After some further adjustments - mostly to increase the splatter radius - your gruesome murder scene was finally complete. Ino snapped more blurry photos, angling so that Fake Shoko was still identifiable amongst the gore while you remained partially out of frame to hide the fact that, unlike Fake Shoko, you were still blissfully intact and breathing.

Once the gory photoshoot wrapped, Ino swept Fake Shoko’s disemboweled halves into an ominously large trash bag, whistling a cheerful tune all the while. The rest of you eagerly crowded around a distinctly green-looking Ijichi as he prepared to upload Ino’s handiwork to the hitman site. Time to dangle the bait and wait for the sharks to bite.

“Hurry up and send it already!” You urged, poking Ijichi’s side impatiently. “The anticipation is killing me.”

Real Shoko rolled her eyes, chugging another beer. Ijichi’s eyebrows developed a concerning twitch as he submitted the images under the login credentials he had flirted out of a very thirsty curse user during an extremely traumatizing chat conversation yesterday.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Ino asked brightly, lifting the trash bag containing Fake Shoko over his shoulder.

Ijichi answered with a thin, keening whine like a steaming tea kettle pushed to its limits. You all waited for an agonizing seven whole minutes. Nothing happened. No bites on the tantalizing murder bait.

Sighing, you poked the trembling Ijichi in the side again. “See? They definitely have someone inside. Report it to HQ, please.”

Ijichi managed to pale further. As much as the thought clearly pained his law-abiding soul, Ijichi knew you were right. To sell this scheme, make it believable, he had to report Shoko’s “murder” directly to Headquarters. Ijichi needed to stake his name and his career on this. Otherwise, you’d all the right back at square one - or possibly worse.

You stared, unblinking, at your watch as the seconds ticked by at a crawl. Precisely three minutes after Ijichi submitted his damning report to HQ, a notification pinged in response. Instructions for body drop off. An address.

You all glanced at each other. This was really happening.

Approximately one minute later, Principal Yaga’s enraged scream could be heard echoing across campus like a banshee’s wail. The sound of windows rattling under the force of his fury. He must have gotten the news too.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Chaos erupted as emergency sirens began blaring. Red lights flooded the school grounds, matching the fake blood still dripping down your face.

“Go, go, go!” You ushered Ino toward the parking lot. “We gotta move fast before Yaga-sama catches up to murder us for real!”

The others sprinted after you. Gojo waited by a sleek black car, casually snacking on gummy bears as if this were just another normal school day.

“Looking bloody glamorous there, Spices!” Gojo let out an impressed whistle as he ostentatiously looked you up and down, taking in your blood-soaked state. You shot him double-finger guns in response.

Casually twirling a set of stolen keys around one sticky red finger, you lobbed them at Ino.

“Be careful, senpai.” You gestured at the large bag containing pieces of Fake Shoko. “Don’t get pulled over. We really can’t have you arrested.”

Ino snapped a smart salute, his eyes bright. “You got it, boss.”

Beside you, Ijichi let out a horrified shriek, frantically patting his pockets. “My brand new work car! When did you– you can’t just–” He spluttered in protest.

You silenced him with a glare. “Don’t be stingy, Ijichi-san. This is work. And it’s not like Ino-senpai can drive his motorbike around with a body bag over his shoulder!”

As Ino loaded the suspicious trash bag into the backseat, he casually tossed his own key ring at Gojo, who snagged it from the air with a grin.

“Here ya go, sensei. Don’t scratch the paint job, yeah?” Ino mock-threatened.

Gojo’s smile stretched wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Sweet! Field trip!” He turned to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Wanna come watch me kick some asses, Spices?"

Gojo reached out with grabby hands, clearly intending to haul you onto the motorbike with him, sticky fake blood and all. You immediately skipped several large steps back out of his reach.

“Heaven no, sensei! Hard pass!” You shook your head vehemently. Some things just weren’t worth the risks - and staying anywhere near Gojo’s fights definitely topped that list.

Everyone in the jujutsu world knew Gojo’s infamous battle style consisted of two key tactics: maximum overpowered widespread destruction, and absolutely zero spatial awareness or restraint. AKA a recipe for certain death-by-friendly fire if you happened to be standing within a one-mile radius. You enjoyed living far too much to tag along on his enthusiastic rampages. The cleanup crew would probably be fishing your body parts out of the rubble for weeks.

“I very much value having all my limbs fully intact, so I’ll pass on playing cheerleader today.”

You took several more wary steps back as Gojo advanced menacingly, that troublemaker grin still stretching his face. Before he could snatch you up, fortunately, Principal Yaga’s enraged screams caught up, making you all freeze. Whipping around, you spotted Yaga and Kusakabe zooming your way at top speed, Yuji and Nobara hot on their heels.

Cursing under your breath, you gave Gojo a forceful shove in the opposite direction.

“Go, now!” You said hastily. “Keep your distance and your cursed energy under wraps. Don’t spook them! Oh and please try to keep the murder to a minimum! We need someone left alive for interrogation!”

Gojo laughed, utterly unperturbed by the promise of impending disaster. “I’ll do my best.”

Ino and Gojo peeled out in a squeal of tires just as Yaga and Kusakabe arrived, both seeming near apocalyptic levels of rage and terror.

“What in the three worlds of torment do you hooligans think you’re DOING?!” Yaga bellowed furiously, voice booming loud enough to rattle your bones.

“Should we intercept them?” Kusakabe asked, nervous.

Before Yaga could rage further, Yuji and Nobara caught up, both panting hard. Yuji still had yarn tangled around one shoulder, Nobara clutching a wooden practice sword.

“I’m sorry, senpai. I tried…” Yuji wheezed, doubling over. He cut off, wincing as Yaga’s furious gaze turned on him. Nobara just continued gasping for air.

The ringing silence seemed to vibrate with building fury. All of you exchanged split-second panicked glances. As one, you dove behind Shoko.

Yaga rounded on her instead, the full force of his fury making him nearly incandescent.

“Ieiri Shoko!” He snarled. “Aren’t you a little too old for this? You of all people should know better!”

Shoko blinked lazily back at him, unintimidated. She shrugged. “It’s all Gojo’s idea, sensei. You know how he is.”

Behind her, the rest of you nodded in solidarity, fingers pointing accusingly at the now-vacated parking lot.

Yaga’s eye ticked. His righteous anger seemed to swell even larger, matching Gojo’s absence.

Sensing imminent death, you gently started guiding Shoko sideways, using her as a human shield to inch the rest of your crew away. Maybe you could make a break for it while Yaga was distracted…

“GODDAMN YOU BRATS!!”

Or not.

Right at that pivotal moment, two black SUVs came screeching up. A swarm of tense, bewildered sorcerers filed out - no doubt dispatched by a panicked Headquarters upon receiving Ijichi’s report of Shoko’s brutal demise.

Nitta emerged last, face ashen, likely bracing herself for the terrible task of investigating the high-profile assassination of the jujutsu world’s greatest healer.

Instead, she took in a very alive, slightly inebriated Shoko casually polishing off the last swigs of her beer. Beside her stood you, absolutely drenched in sticky red fluid. Not far away, Principal Yaga seemed to be reaching critical mass explosion point if his violent trembling was any indication. Kusakabe wavered on his feet in distress as he fidgeted with the handle of his sword. The first-year students hovered uncertainly, torn between fascinated excitement and mortal terror at Yaga’s building eruption. And there in the center of it all sat Ijichi, having apparently collapsed to the ground at some point, softly mumbling to himself as he stared a thousand yards into nothingness.

Nitta froze, scanning the bizarre scene with narrowed eyes. Her gaze flitted from you to Shoko to Yaga and back again, likely wondering if this was an extremely unhinged prank or if she had accidentally stepped through a portal into an alternate dimension.

“What in the fresh hell happened here?” She finally gritted out.

Yaga took a deep, swelling breath, seeming to expand even larger with renewed apocalyptic fury. And so despite your most creative attempts at justifying the bloody disarray you’d left in your wake, your ragtag crew of amateur troublemakers soon found yourselves forcibly rounded up and hauled off to Headquarters for “questioning” on this madness.

The tortured wails from HQ audible several blocks away foretold the pure pandemonium unfolding within those walls. As you were all frog-marched inside the building, the scent of fresh coffee mingled with acrid smoke hung heavy in the air. Shattered mugs littered the glossy tile floors, pools of the steaming liquid mingling with the debris. The occasional stray sheet of paper drifted lazily through the air above desperate sorcerers slumping over scattered files.

In the corner, a water cooler lay overturned, sending a mini flood across the floors where several higher-ranking administrators had collapsed. Some twitched feebly, while others stared vacantly at the ceiling with dried tear tracks marking their pale cheeks. The room throbbed with an undercurrent of frenzy and despair at the confirmed loss of the jujutsu world’s greatest healer. Entire squads had been immediately deployed, ready to scorch the earth to retrieve Shoko’s remains.

So, imagine the utter bewilderment that slammed into HQ like a physical force when merely an hour later, Shoko herself came waltzing right through their front doors utterly unscathed, tipsy yet very much alive. You shuffled after her, still covered in fake blood. The rest of your merry band of co-conspirators, including shell-shocked Ijichi, trailed behind looking varying degrees of battle-worn and frazzled. This sparked a whole new wave of destruction and screaming. Someone loudly wondered if the end times had arrived. Or at the very least, an acute mass hallucination.

It took a small eternity for the chaos to die down enough for the exhausted, wrung-out investigators assigned to your “case” to even ask questions about what mind-altering substances you were clearly on.

And the rest, of course, was history.

They attempted to interrogate each of you separately, determined to get to the bottom of this madness. But you had prepared your crew well for just such a scenario. No matter who did the asking, or what creative interrogation tactics they employed, the answer was always exactly the same.

“It was all Gojo’s idea.”

“Gojo-sensei threatened us into going along with it!”

“Ask Gojo-san! He peer pressured me!”

"That maniac said he would fail me if I didn’t help!”

On and on the excuses went, each of you parroting the same damning claims against the strongest sorcerer alive. Even Ino, who had dutifully turned himself in after the body drop-off, managed to stick to the script despite his loose-lip tendencies. And through it all, not even the sharpest investigator could uncover a single crack in your air-tight story, backed up as you all were by Shoko’s nonchalant corroboration.

After endless interrogations, the exasperated highers-up had no choice but to toss all of you troublemakers into holding cells, awaiting the imminent hurricane that was Gojo Satoru.

In the first cell were grouped the adults - a perfectly relaxed Shoko nursing a flask, traumatized Ijichi obsessively smoothing his rumpled suit, and Ino lounging against the wall while whistling cheerfully.

You occupied the neighboring cell with your fellow student accomplices - Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. Yuji paced restlessly while Megumi brooded in the corner. Nobara entertained herself by using her bobby pins to attempt picking the lock like what people would do in movies.

You glanced up, spotting a small security camera tucked away in the far upper corner. Another interrogation tactic, no doubt. They wanted you all together, so you would let your guard down and slip up. Well, too bad for them. You had prepped your crew for this, too.

“Want some?” Shoko offered her liquor flask to Ijichi. At his whimpered refusal, she shrugged and dug into her purse - pulling out various snacks and passing them over to your eager hands next door.

You suspected that beat-up old bag of hers was likely a special-grade cursed tool in disguise. It certainly seemed to contain a bottomless void from which Shoko could produce anything she desired - liquor, food, clothes, first aid supplies, an improbable number of syringes and scalpels… Earlier, the guards had tried to confiscate her suspicious purse, only for Shoko to fix them with her signature dead-eyed stare.

“Touch my stuff and I’ll stab you somewhere even I can’t heal.” She said flatly.

For an esteemed healer, Shoko could be rather stabby-happy at times. Which was exactly what made her so feared well-respected. The guards couldn’t scuttle away fast enough after that chilling promise.

At the crinkling sound of contraband snacks being opened, Yuji immediately ceased his caged tiger-like pacing inside your shared cell, head perking up eagerly. Nobara likewise abandoned her sh*tty attempts at picking the lock to scramble over. Even Megumi paused his sulking to inch closer, eyes fixated on the treats as he tried and failed to look casual. Your little crew hadn’t eaten anything since the light breakfast this morning. Soon enough, happy snacking noises filled the area as your group enjoyed the much-appreciated food.

In the next cell, Ino seemed to be constructing chip towers on his nose while Shoko maintained unblinking eye contact with the wary guard stationed outside, daring him to say anything.

“This is way more fun than I expected.” Nobara declared, absently munching on a cookie. “I’ve always wanted to go to jail.”

“Why on earth would you want to go to jail?” Megumi asked, expression caught between judgy and bewildered.

Nobara just snickered. “Why not? We’re jujutsu sorcerers. We’re bound to die young anyway. Gotta experience all life has to offer while we can!”

“Can’t argue with that.” You nodded. “You guys should try the psych ward next time. It’s kinda boring at first, but when the meds kick in fully? Top tier fun.”

At this, Megumi looked up at you with wide, almost frightened, eyes. In their cell, Shoko raised an eyebrow while Ino practically smushed his face between the bars, unwilling to miss the tea. He knew you spent some time in a mental facility before going to Tokyo Jujutsu High, but he’d never brought it up.

“You’ve been to a psych ward before?” Nobara asked, unable to hide her fascination, as if your certified insanity was something thrilling instead of concerning.

“Don’t look so impressed, Kugisaki,” Megumi muttered, shooting her a look of profound resignation.

Oblivious as always, Yuji matched Nobara’s eager posture, eyes alight with innocent interest. “What was it like?”

You narrowed your eyes, slightly offended. No one here even wondered WHY you were even committed in the first place. Did you seem that obviously unhinged? How rude. At least, Megumi had the grace to look vaguely abashed.

Huffing a small laugh, you waved your hand breezily, “Ya see, when I was fourteen, I saw a curse for the first time. Told everyone exactly what I saw. Got diagnosed with early-onset schizophrenia and psychosis. Spent like a year in there until Gojo-sensei showed up and got custody of me somehow.”

Like any child, you used to dream that one day your ordinary life would transform into something special. That somehow, despite all appearances, you were actually made of magic and moonlight, and you had a grand destiny waiting just out of sight.

When you were younger, you would read fantasy novels under the blankets long after bedtime, picturing yourself as the protagonist who would discover power beyond comprehension. The one who would be whisked away by some powerful being into a secret world of wonders and adventures.

But with adolescence came painful self-awareness - the sinking realization that you were no protagonist. That you were no magical child – Just another awkward teenager struggling to belong. That there was no grand plan, no higher purpose… only this small, ordinary life you had not asked for.

Your days became monotonous cycles of school, books, and enduring your parents’ bitter arguments. Though some small, wilted part of you still pathetically clung to those childhood fantasies for escape, daydreaming about the moment your very own Hagrid would come knocking on your door, declaring yer a wizard.

And so he did, though a little… unconventional.

The psych ward was clearly not expecting visitors that day, unless depressed white walls and itchy hospital socks counted. Yet there you were, sitting across from quite possibly the most wildly out-of-place person you’d ever seen. Silver hair all spiked up like a Dragonball character, a stupid blindfold over his eyes, rocking a suit sharper than the cafeteria knives they didn’t allow patients to touch.

Maybe you should be more concerned that this psychedelic anime daydream man had somehow slipped past the visitors screening, but you were a little too busy wondering if you had accidentally been given hallucinogens instead of your good ole antipsychotics this morning.

“You’re a jujutsu sorcerer,” the flamboyant man repeated, his grin spread so wide it was unsettling. You couldn’t tell if he was another mental patient off his meds, or just really committed to… whatever cosplay therapy routine he was trying here.

Was that supposed to be the line? Shouldn’t it be wizard? The haze of medication made it hard to think straight, so you simply blinked at him slowly.

“Not in the mood for conversation, huh?” The man chuckled, leaning further across the table. “What a shame. I was so curious how you managed to tear apart a second-grade curse with your bare hands. You don’t seem to be any higher than grade 3. Gotta say, your cursed energy reserves are pretty disappointing, too.”

Gojo was rude as f*ck even back then. But he came for you when your own family had left you behind. That had to count for something, right? So, you let his questionable social skills slide. You always had.

Shaking off the lingering gloom from those memories, you firmly redirected your thoughts back to the present. You didn’t tell your friends about the actual incident itself, though. Even years later, those vivid memories still twisted your insides. Some demons were better left buried, for now. No need to reopen barely healed wounds.

But still, a heavy silence fell over the small cell. Yuji and Nobara exchanged an uneasy look, the playful fascination in their eyes shifting to discomfort as they fully registered your words. Megumi peered at you intently, his gaze quietly troubled.

Yuji opened his mouth once as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it, his shoulders uncharacteristically slumped. For once, even Nobara was at a loss for words. The cheerful atmosphere from moments before faded away. You sighed, offering them a half-hearted smile, both gentle and resigned. You hadn’t meant to sour the mood. The past was the past, after all.

“Buuuut on the bright side…” You laughed off the air of unease. “Me and my roommates got up to some pretty wild sh*t. Y’all should see the nurses’ faces when Gojo-sensei finally busted me out.”

Tanaka, the head nurse, looked ready to break down sobbing in relief when Gojo so graciously volunteered to make you his problem instead of hers. You didn’t blame Tanaka, considering the escalating prank war you accidentally started that month that had almost burned down the hospital and put half of your fellow mental patients in solitary confinement.

With your positively nostalgic laughter, the heavy mood dissipated like fog in the sunlight. Nobara’s irrepressible smile could not be contained for long.

“That sounds like fun!” She grinned and pulled you into a sudden fierce hug, hiding her misty eyes. “We should totally try it next time. I call dibs on being your roommate, senpai!”

Before you could respond, Yuji wrapped his arms around both you and Nobara with a loud cheer. “We should all be roommates!”

On your other side, Megumi reached out to gently pat your back, the closest he could manage to a voluntary hug, considering his personality. Though his face remained impassive and slightly disturbed at the idea of teambuilding activities in a psych ward, the subtle smile pulling at his lips spoke volumes. He’d go wherever you went.

From the neighboring cell, Shoko took a contemplative swig from her flask. “I’ll bring snacks.”

Face still smushed against the bars, Ino called over. “Let’s take Gojo-sensei, too! We’ll need someone to blame!”

Far away in the corner, Ijichi seemed to be attempting to melt into the wall. “Please don’t give them any more ideas.” He sobbed. “Where’s Gojo-san?”

As if summoned by the very utterance of his name like some ancient deity, Gojo abruptly materialized outside the cells with a loud crack.

“Did someone call for a jailbreak?” He posed dramatically, grin stretched wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

Finally, your Get Out Of Jail Free card had arrived.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Opting out of Gojo’s “search and destroy” rampage was undoubtedly one of the wisest decisions you had made in your life. The arrogant man had lived up to his penchant for ridiculously over-the-top showmanship once again — and then some.

Your initial somewhat unhinged but nonetheless ingenious scheme had called for a nice, stealthy resolution. But of course, Gojo had to turn it into a full-blown destructive spectacle of epic proportions. Reports came filtering back of the unstoppable maniac razing an entire warehouse district where that gang of two-bit curse user punks was holed up. He didn’t just take the place apart - no, that would be too pedestrian for the world’s strongest psycho sorcerer.

Gojo had to stage a grand ceremonial performance out of the whole goddamn thing. He methodically crushed and obliterated every single structure, leaving just enough room for the panicked curse users to desperately dodge and scramble for their pitiful lives. Gojo also saw fit to blow off several blocks beyond the warehouse just because he could, leaving an unmistakable trail of smoldering craters and decimation visible across the neighborhood. Thank every divine entity no civilians were around (weird, right?), otherwise Gojo’s deranged stomping grounds would’ve racked up a body count to rival the worst massacres in history.

By the time Gojo had finished indulging his deranged power-tripping tantrum, he came swaggering up to HQ’s entrance like a kid totting a bundle of snapped tree branches behind him. Except in this case, it was the mangled, barely breathing bodies of those poor bastards supposedly behind the assassination attempt on Shoko’s life.

The administrative department’s reaction was as predictable as it was depressing. Half of those paper-pushers were near hyperventilating at their desks, white-knuckling their chairs. The other withered half could only shake their heads and sigh that deep, soul-crushing sigh reserved solely for Gojo’s outlandish shenanigans.

Within minutes, the bureaucratic gears began clunking into motion on their coverup protocol number two: the old “whoops, big ass earthquake struck downtown” song and dance. You could practically hear the artful bullsh*t stories being finely tuned to downplay the mind-boggling scale of destruction Gojo had wrecked upon that ill-fated warehouse district.

Under Gojo’s ominous glowering, the guards practically tripped over themselves to release you miserable lot from your cramped holding cells. Your scheme paled in comparison with Gojo’s unadulterated devastation. You wondered if his overkill was intentional - a diversion to get you all off the hook. Though knowing that ego-maniac, probably not.

With their resources already stretched to the brink containing the fallout from Gojo’s rampage, the higher-ups could hardly bother with a disciplinary tribunal for your minor infraction. A few lackluster wrist slaps later, your crew was effectively free to go.

The results were anticlimactic, to say the very least. After all that excessive destruction and grandstanding, you’d expected the trail would ultimately lead back to some big bad overlord. A fully fleshed out villain with deliciously sinister motivations to go for Shoko’s head. Or at the minimum, a scorned ex out for vengeance.

Instead, it appeared those warehouse thugs Gojo so zealously pulverized were simply guns for hire - mercenaries willing to take on any contract that lined their grimy pockets. When interrogated, the sorry saps all swore up and down they had absolutely zero clue who the actual client was.

The best, most utterly useless description any of them could cough up was some vague mention of their shady employer being a young person with a severe bob cut, dressed in monk robes of all things. For real?! Those painfully unspecific criteria could apply to practically any teenage edgelord attempting to look wise and mysterious these days.

Anyway, the hit order against Shoko was down for the time being - that much was certain. And even if that bob-cut monk weirdo tried putting another bounty up in the future, you seriously doubted any curse user with half a functioning brain cell would dare make another play. Not after witnessing the relentless hellfire that Gojo had rained down upon those thugs foolish enough to try it this time.

As you face-planted on your dorm bed, you had to begrudgingly admit - this bizarrely convoluted sh*tshow could arguably be considered a win… if you squinted really hard and knocked back a few drinks first. Sure, your scheme had landed your entire crew behind bars while Gojo opted to bulldoze an entire warehouse district straight into Armageddon. The sheer chaos was so astronomical that Principal Yaga was allegedly seen sporting some fresh bald spots from the stress-induced hair loss.

But at the end of the day, Shoko’s safe - which was the most critical objective. The immediate threat against her had been thoroughly decimated, that hit order brutally scrubbed out by the unmistakable message of “try that again and I’ll erase you from existence” that Gojo had so enthusiastically delivered. For now, you could finally breathe easy.

Just another wonderfully routine day of controlled chaos at Tokyo Jujutsu High. As the Council higher-ups would surely reassure themselves - all was perfectly fine according to the official coverup protocol number… what damn number were they up to these days? Fifteen? Sixteen? You’d lost count ages ago of how many Gojo-related catastrophes necessitated rewriting reality.

“Ah, screw it,” you muttered, throwing an arm over your eyes as the exhaustion settled deep in your bones. “I’ve earned the right to stop giving a sh*t for eight hours.”

And so you fell into an uneasy slumber, your mind fraying at the edges and your exhaustion warped into nightmares — Sukuna’s unmistakable silhouette grinning wickedly amid the smoldering wreckage of what had once been department stores and office buildings.

Those crimson eyes seemed to sear straight through you, piercing into the deepest recesses of your soul with sad*stic delight. His razor-sharp smile was that of a primordial predator scenting fear in the air as he reached out to you with deceptively inviting arms.

“Are you not tired of this pathetic, shackled existence?” Sukuna’s deep timbre resonated with hypnotic charisma, strangely soothing despite the malevolent undercurrents. “Why choose to be weak? To be afraid? When you could be so much more…”

His honeyed words slithered through your psyche like venomous serpents, paralyzing you in unwilling awe. City ruins stretched behind him in a hauntingly familiar scene of catastrophic destruction.

As his laughter echoed all around, you found yourself utterly transfixed by his presence. He looked so cold and cruel.

And powerful.

And… magnificent.

You knew this was nothing but a fever dream. The product of all the stress and anxiety of the past few days. Still, when you looked into his eyes, so full of sugary malice and perverse divinity, you felt it - that yearning darkness unfurling deep inside you, whispering how intoxicating it would feel to step into his embrace, to become more. Even if it would mean getting devoured whole by the insatiable void eternally stretching behind his vicious gaze. You teetered on the precipice, suspended between visceral horror and terrible, terrible longing.

Eventually, your subconscious lost its tenuous grip on reality. You tumbled helplessly deeper and deeper into oblivion, consumed by darkness. Your panic gave way to an eerie sense of weightlessness. All your senses unraveled at the seams.

***

Morning light filtered into your dorm room, the cheerful glow at odds with the visions still swirling through your mind. You jolted awake with a strangled gasp that echoed uncomfortably loud across the small space. Your body was drenched in a cold sweat as if you’d just resurfaced from icy ocean depths.

For several disoriented moments, your mind struggled to separate nightmare from reality. Sukuna’s haunting laughter still seemed to reverberate through your entire being. You glanced around with wild eyes at the rumpled bedsheets, the stacks of books and papers across your desk - all the familiar anchors to pull your fractured thoughts back to the present.

Tremors rolled through you as fragmented images flickered behind your eyes - Tokyo’s skyline reduced to an endless smoldering wasteland stretching out in a desolate expanse. And dominating it all, his towering silhouette and cruel smile that were both repulsive and ruthlessly magnetic. You shuddered anew, raw dread warring with the lingering ghost of a dark, shameful thrill that set your nerves aflame.

Had Sukuna just messed with you somehow? Could he actually zap-project his ugly mug into your dreams while crammed inside Yuji’s body? That f*cking ancient freakshow.

The more you entertained the plausibility, the more your gut twisted with apprehensive “aw hell no” vibes. Maybe you’d gotten a little too up-close-and-personal with the primordial asshole lately… ever since that panicked morning of shoveling an entire curry rice special down his smug trap.

Sukuna seemed to relish tormenting you over his kingly cravings. Out of nowhere, those beady demonic eyes and set of serrated tombstone chompers would manifest upon Yuji — solely to holler increasingly unhinged demands that you present whatever bizarre modern delicacy had currently caught his morbid fancy.

Burgers, pizza, and even that diabetes-inducing cinnamon roll monstrosity from the mall food court hadn’t proven too mundane for His Majesty’s refined palate. You were starting to suspect the bastard simply got his kicks from watching you scramble to fulfill his impromptu munchie tantrums.

At least, he hadn’t yet insisted on recreating that skin-crawling family meal spectacle, forcing you all to endure agonizing civility amid his insufferable company again. Pretty sure Nobara and Megumi’s brains would’ve straight-up hemorrhaged trying to cope with round two of that fresh hell.

You dragged a hand down your clammy face as those lingering night terrors flared up with a vengeance. Avoiding his twisted ass in the real world was already nigh impossible. If that boundless cosmic douche really could party-crash your dreams on a whim too…

A fresh wave of dread curdled your gut. You really, desperately didn’t need Sukuna prancing around in your head on top of everything else.

With an aggravated groan, you collapsed back onto the mattress and slapped both hands over your eyes. Sprawling limp across the rumpled sheets, you made the executive decision to procrastinate on any further stressful thinking for a good long while. Your brain had been working overtime lately - you sure as hell deserved to cash in a mental health day already. Or week. Maybe a year, if you could swing it...

In fact, after the tornado of chaos that had whipped through your lives the past few days, your whole crew unanimously agreed today would be an enforced day off from… well, everything. No jujutsu training, no scheming, no fretting. Just a selfish 24-hour departure from any responsibilities beyond existing.

Nobara had already declared her plans to descend upon Ameyoko Market, determined to blow an irresponsible chunk of pocket money on frivolous knick-knacks and themed accessories. Yuji would probably tag along to carry her shopping bags.

As for Megumi, you vaguely recalled him mumbling something about using the free time to read or clean or… something. Honestly, his typical straight-laced plans had filtered through one ear and out the other. You were just profoundly relieved he intended to occupy himself with zero-stress pursuits for once.

Your own self-care agenda involved even loftier ambitions of accomplishing absolutely nothing at all. Maybe you’d take Nobara’s wise suggestion to heart and just sleep for an entire day straight.

You nestled deeper into the comforting sheets with a contented sigh, tension slowly leaching from your muscles as your breathing settled into an easy rhythm. The anxieties plaguing your mind began to quiet, no longer so monstrous and overwhelming in the peaceful sunlight glowing across your cozy dorm.

Adulthood and responsibilities could wait. The chaos and uncertainty of this jujutsu sorcerer life could wait. For now, you would simply exist - cradled in the quiet sanctuary of your own.

But fate could be cruel to you, as it had proven quite a few times already.

Just when you were drifting back toward blissful dreamland, the air pressure in your dorm room abruptly changed - the atmosphere taking on an electrified edge. Space itself warped with a resounding crack that jolted you violently awake. Gojo popped out of thin air amidst swirling currents of cursed energy, his presence instantly shattering any traces of peace. Here he was - once again barging in uninvited despite your frequent “discussions” about appropriate boundaries.

“My dear Spices! Here you are!” Gojo called out, obnoxiously chipper.

“Leave me the hell alone.” You grunted, wrapping yourself tighter in the blankets with your back to him in an instinctive attempt at self-preservation. You didn’t have the spare energy left to give him the blistering lecture he undoubtedly deserved.

“Wake up and dress up! We’re going on a date!” Gojo shamelessly announced before grabbing your blanket cocoon with both hands and giving it a spirited yank that threatened to fully unwrap you like a burrito.

“f*ck off, sensei! That’s inappropriate even by your standards!” You hissed, holding onto the covers for dear life.

The two of you now locked in an increasingly aggressive match of tug-of-war over your own blankets. Surely anyone who wandered in would think you’d both lost your minds.

Sensing you wouldn’t surrender the blankets willingly, Gojo switched tactics to instead grab at your exposed ankle. “Well then, how about a nice field trip instead?”

You let out an offended yelp, violently kicking your leg to shake him off. “Absolutely not! Last time I went on a ‘field trip’ with you, I almost got blown off a f*cking cliff!”

Another sharp kick finally made him let go with a laugh. “And the one before that, you ditched me on an uninhabited island for six goddamn hours!”

“This time I promise, no cliffs or islands! Just a nice walk down Akihabara. We can grab some tasty food, hang out at a nice café… I’ll buy you whatever you want!” Gojo bargained.

When you only groaned in response, he ratcheted up his pestering to violently shaking your entire mattress like a petulant child. There’s really no escaping from him.

Finally you snapped, “Alright! Quit shaking me and get the hell out so I can change!”

Gojo’s grin turned deviously triumphant like a gleeful kid getting his way yet again. “Excellent choice! I'll be outside when you’re decent and ready for our date —I mean friendly field trip!”

With an obnoxious laugh, he vanished in a crackle of energy, leaving your blankets and mattress in utter disarray. You collapsed back with a defeated sigh. Why did you always end up giving in to his madness?

***

After somehow finding the motivation to drag yourself out of bed and get ready, you stepped outside to find Gojo casually leaning against the wall, signature grin spread wide beneath his usual blindfold.

“Took you long enough! Ready for our totally safe and nice field trip?” He teased, falling into step beside you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile tugging at your lips. His enthusiasm really was infectious sometimes.

As you both emerged onto Akihabara’s crowded main street, the sensory assault was immediate - flashing neon signs accosting your eyes as groups and couples milled around lively shops, arcade music mixing with chatter and laughter in the crisp morning air. Storefront displays boasted colorful anime merchandise, the latest tech gadgets, vintage consoles, and games.

“Where are we going exactly?” You asked, narrowly dodging a pack of hyper teenagers.

“Around!” Gojo answered breezily. Thoroughly unhelpful as always.

You cursed under your breath as a rude businessman pushed past, elbowing you sharply in the shoulder. Before you could trip over the curb, Gojo’s arm shot out to catch you firmly around the waist.

He made an irritated face after the oblivious man, and for a moment you tensed, thinking he might actually pick a fight over the careless mistake. But Gojo simply guided you over to the quieter side of the walkway, staying on the outside to shield you from further risk of being trampled to death by the rivers of people flowing around you.

“Idiots everywhere not watching where they’re going.” Gojo complained. Then, he casually took your hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm before continuing on.

You looked down with wonder in your eyes, your fingers curled around the solid strength of his arm. The cacophony of flashing signs and chattering crowds faded into background static as the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.

Before long, you arrived at a bustling arcade, the entrance framed with colorful flashing lights promising whimsical fun. As you stepped inside, you were swamped with music and electronic sound effects while groups of kids and teenagers crowded around flashing game machines.

Gojo led you further inside, past racing games and dancing platforms to a dimly lit section housing prize claw machines, because apparently even the world’s greatest sorcerer wasn’t above trying to show off at rigged arcade games.

His gaze zeroed in on one filled with all kinds of snacks.

“Check this out!” Gojo cracked his knuckles with all the focus of a bomb defuser before slapping coins into the machine, fully prepared to lay the smackdown on this new nemesis.

You held back a laugh, watching him maneuver the claw with comical intensity, tongue poking out in deep concentration while trying to capture a pack of potato chips.

But at the last second, the claw’s grip slipped and he let out an offended scoff like the machine had mortally insulted his ancestors.

“This thing’s totally rigged! But I’ll show it who’s boss…”

For someone so powerful, he certainly hated losing. Inserting more coins, Gojo’s eye gleamed with manic purpose. A dozen failed rounds later, as he demanded a “rematch, you cheap piece of junk!” under his breath, you finally cracked up at the sheer indignity plastered across his face.

Gojo was a gambler. And a lousy one. Now you could see how Ijichi had ended up having to smuggle questionable stuff into state prisons to pay off his debts.

“You know, for all the money you pumped into that thing, you could’ve just bought a whole box of chips by now” You pointed out wryly.

Gojo just waved a hand. “Where’s the fun in that? I wanted to win it for you. It’ll taste way better.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You stared at him blankly. “And this sh*t is gonna bankrupt you at this rate.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” Gojo tutted before cracking his neck aggressively, prepping for round five million against the claw machine just to prove his nonsensical point.

After a few more painfully futile attempts, Gojo finally threw his hands up in exasperated defeat under your increasingly unimpressed stare. Clearly, some battles even Gojo Satoru couldn’t win.

He dragged you back out into Akihabara’s lively streets. The fresh air was a relief after that stuffy arcade. The two of you arrived at a popular bakery with decadent crepe displays that looked straight out of a child’s dream.

Gojo happily bought you both his favorite dessert crepes, piled high with fruit, chocolate drizzle, and clouds of whipped cream. You ate eagerly as you walked, the sweetness practically melting on your tongue.

“Do you even know where we’re going next or are you just dragging me around aimlessly?” You asked between delicious mouthfuls.

“Of course, I know where we’re going!” Gojo looked offended you could even suggest otherwise, though his mischievous laugh didn’t inspire much confidence as he gobbled his own crepe down in three quick bites.

Your next destination was a vacuum tube specialty shop. You squinted skeptically at the rundown storefront with its retro signage and dusty display cases visible through the fingerprinted windows.

“Why are we here? You know I hate dusty places.” You complained, already feeling your allergies acting up in proximity.

“Because I need a tube amplifier!” Gojo answered cheerfully as if it was the most obvious stop on your agenda.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You listen to music on YouTube. Why do you need a tube amplifier? What are you even talking about right now?”

But Gojo just grinned, cryptic as always. “You’ll see! Stay out here if you don’t wanna come in. I’ll be super quick, promise!”

Before you could demand any actual explanation, he vanished into the cluttered shop, leaving you huffing at his retreating back. Just perfectly logical.

True to his word, Gojo emerged a short while later clutching a paper bag, likely containing the mysteriously needed tube amplifier. Then, he was off again, dragging you along some new unknown trajectory through Akihabara’s winding streets.

His next abrupt stop was at a hole-in-the-wall used music shop crammed with vinyl records and vintage posters. While you lingered near the entrance, Gojo eagerly perused the stacks of vinyls in faded, weathered sleeves.

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re shopping for now?” You pressed, curiosity eating away at you. “I mean, you never listen to classical music. Does this have something to do with that tube amp for some reason?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” Gojo laughed over his shoulder, meticulously flipping through one crate of records. “Everything happens for a reason, Spices. Just enjoy the mystery a little longer.”

With an exaggerated groan, you let your head thunk back against the shop wall. This was supposed to be your self-care day of rest and relaxation. And now here you were, watching Gojo crate dive for obscure vinyl records instead of catching up on sleep. Fantastic.

After flipping through several teetering stacks, he finally made his selection - an LP of soundtrack music from some old foreign film you’d never heard of. Clutching his newfound prize, Gojo breezed right past you out the door without explanation. Again.

“We’re not just randomly buying more vintage stuff, are we?” You called after him hurrying to catch up. Gojo just plunged back into the lively foot traffic, seemingly locked onto some new mysterious destination only he was privy to. “Seriously, just tell me where we’re going next or I'm bailing!”

Gojo glanced back mischievously.

“Just a few more stops and you’ll see! Here…” In a smooth motion, he wrapped an affectionate arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer against his side to avoid the rushing crowds.

After another lengthy and winding trek through Akihabara, Gojo finally halted in front of a small corner shop, its bright yellow signage crammed with Japanese characters. Peering inside, you saw rows of gachapon machines and display cases showing off the encapsulated surprises they contained - everything from tiny stuffed animals to decorative keychains shaped like mushrooms.

“A gachapon store?” You asked incredulously, watching Gojo dig through his wallet for spare change. “What, are we taking a detour to buy more random crap now too?”

He looked up with an impish grin. “Hey, these aren’t just any normal capsule toys! They’re like mini mystery boxes - you never know what cute or cool thing you might get!”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, even something as simple as a capsule vending machine would trigger Gojo’s gambling addiction.

“We better get something good if you’re wasting 500 yen a pop.” You demanded. “I want that cute mushroom with the little frog on it.”

“Deal!” Gojo laughed, rubbing his hands together with childlike excitement.

But despite pumping coin after coin into the machines, the elusive frog shroom continued escaping his grasp. Instead, he scored a horde of ugly poisonous mushroom keychains.

You snorted. “Wow, you really suck at this.”

Gojo huffed, squinting at the fine print. “Hey wait, it says that the one we want has a 0.1% chance of dropping! So if I just buy 1,000 capsules...”

“That is not how statistics work,” you cut him off sharply before he could dump a small fortune into the machines. “And no way I’m letting you spend 500,000 yen on stupid keychains!”

Gojo pouted, gearing up what was sure to be a passionate mathematical debate in defense of blowing cash on more gacha rolls. Honestly, the man had the financial responsibility of a sugar-rushing toddler.

“Just gimme that fugly shroom!” You insisted, plucking one of the poisonous mushroom keychains from his towering pile of capsule toys and clipping it onto your bag. “There, you won me something already.”

Gojo’s pout flipped instantly back into a dazzling smile. He rummaged through the keychain piles before extracting an identical ugly shroom. With all the triumphant theatric of an Olympic medalist, he clipped it onto his own belt loop.

“A perfect match!” He declared, admiring the hideous shrooms on you both. Then, he promptly unzipped your bag and dumped the remaining mushroom horde into it.

“Souvenirs for everyone back at the school!” Gojo gave a satisfied nod as he zipped your bag back. You prayed that vengeful priestess did not mind her beloved bow being buried under ugly mushroom toys.

What followed could only be described as an epic montage of impulse shopping detours as Gojo flitted from one distraction to the next like an easily excitable squirrel. His first unplanned stop was a computer shop, where he became utterly engrossed in testing out all kinds of mice, critiquing the ergonomics and grip styles while you tapped your foot impatiently.

Next, he insisted on wandering into an electronics store, spending almost half an hour customizing a shoulder massager with more intensity settings than a NASA control panel. You had to swat him away before he could try attaching the complicated contraption to you like a mad scientist.

This pattern repeated itself ad infinitum - Gojo getting utterly sidetracked by whatever spur-of-the-moment activity captured his interest. You trailed behind as he lost himself critiquing manga in a crowded bookstore, testing video games from a sidewalk street vendor, and even almost signing up for a ramen eating contest at one point after catching a whiff from a restaurant.

By hour three of what was meant to be a quick “field trip,” you finally arrived at the nice café Gojo had promised early on - although you couldn’t exactly say you approved of his choice upon seeing the glittering sign for “Angel Maid Café Mischievous ✨ Cupid!”.

The sheer cringe factor of being waited on by pretty girls in frilly costumes had you balking outside the doorway. In contrast, Gojo practically vibrated with excitement. After much bickering, you reluctantly allowed him to lead you inside, where you were greeted by a barrage of high-pitched welcomes from maids sporting doll-like curls. Gojo eagerly allowed the bubbliest maid to adorn him with a rainbow halo and plastic angel wings, striking cutesy poses that had them both giggling wildly.

When the girl tried to decorate you as well, the withering dead-eyed stare you learned from Shoko quickly dissuaded her from further attempts. Instead, you zipped past them to a window table with a cappuccino approximating liquid sugar and their best-selling pancakes, watching Gojo and his new friend have an impromptu magical girl photoshoot.

While you were aggressively sawing through your fluffy pancakes, movements in the abandoned building next door caught your eyes - a distinctly eerie glow pulsing within the dirty windows that didn’t seem natural. Upon focusing closer, your senses caught the distinct crackling of cursed energy permeating the structure. Though you couldn’t pinpoint the exact source.

Interesting. It seemed this cafe location hadn’t been as random as Gojo pretended.

When Gojo finally bounced back from his sparkly photoshoot, you subtly gestured toward the creepy building:

“If you brought me along for that, then I’m afraid I don’t have a clear shot. We’ll have to go in there.”

Gojo’s bright expression clouded at your words.

“I brought you along because I wanted to hang out with you.” He somehow frowned through his blindfold. “We never seem to get much quality time lately, just the two of us.”

“I have enough time with you already.” You pointed out. “You should spend time with the first years. I mean, Yuji and Nobara barely see you.”

You trailed off with an exaggerated sigh. “Actually wait, have they even seen your face at all? You’re always hiding behind that gaudy blindfold. I’m not sure they even remember who you are.”

“How could anyone possibly forget this handsome face?” Gojo gasped. To prove his point, he struck a model-esque pose, chin tilted to show off his striking profile as he tossed his silver hair back dramatically. The angel wings and halo weren’t working in his favor, though.

You snorted at his antics. “So, we’re really just here for the pancakes?”

“Well, I also have big news for you! Guess what?” Gojo grinned widely.

You quirked an eyebrow, keeping your tone purposefully casual despite the apprehension churning within. “I’m being promoted to first grade, right?”

“Eh?” Gojo deflated, his previous excitement collapsing into bewilderment. “How could you already know about that? I was gonna surprise you with the good news! Who told you?”

His sulking at having his thunder stolen would have been amusing in lighter circ*mstances.

Megumi had overheard someone from HQ discuss it with Principal Yaga earlier. He had been trying to tell you but the whole Shoko shenanigan made it hard to talk in private. So, he’d decided to just text you last night. But you were not one to rat out your informants, so you just shrugged.

“I have my sources. But it wasn’t you who pulled the strings?”

Gojo tensed almost imperceptibly. “No. This came down directly from the higher ranks.” His uncharacteristic cold voice sent a chill down your spine.

Megumi thought this irregular promotion was suspicious, and your own unease said he was right. By normal standards, you were nowhere ready for first grade’s dangerous missions. It took years of experience - which Gojo surely wouldn’t jeopardize simply for expediency’s sake.

And beyond lacking the requisite field time, you also lacked an innate technique, unlike almost all first-grade sorcerers. The only first grade without an innate technique was Kusakabe. And regardless of your personal beef with the man, you had to acknowledge that Kusakabe was strong as hell. To say you could be placed on the same level as Kusakabe felt ridiculous and deeply unearned.

The timing also struck you as calculated. With everything transpiring lately - Sukuna’s reincarnation, the attempt on Shoko’s life, her old project suddenly approved, and now this… There were too many puzzle pieces in front of you, and none of them quite fit together no matter how you tried twisting them.

As if sensing your unease, Gojo flashed a bright, reassuring smile and reached across the table to ruffle your hair. “Don’t stress so much, everything will be fine! I made sure Nanami would be assigned as your supervisor for all your trial assignments.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling your muscles relax at the mention of Nanami. Gojo was right. If Nanami was there to watch your back, everything would be fine.

Gojo slid your plate of fluffy pancakes closer, drizzling even more syrup over the top. “Now come on, no more worrying! We’ve got a celebration brunch to finish here first.”

His ridiculous waggling eyebrows coaxed an involuntary laugh from you. You both dug into the sweet pancakes. For a few minutes, chatter ceased as you simply enjoyed the decadent food. Naturally, however, the peace couldn’t last long before Gojo tried stealing a bite of your pancakes and pouted when you effortlessly blocked his sneaky fork with your own. Your usual bickering resumed. It was strangely comforting.

After finishing up your pancakes, you followed Gojo back to the creepy abandoned building next door. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with cursed energy - tendrils of energy slithering up the walls from some unseen source. No matter how much you focused your senses, you still couldn’t be sure where the curse was hiding. It felt almost like the entire building was the curse.

Gojo held up the strange tube amplifier purchased earlier, his grin flashing bright in the dim space. “A little special recipe to draw out shy curses from hiding! Those old analog frequencies really give them a headache.”

Before you could inquire further, he had set up the amplifier and switched on the crackling vintage record player. Haunting foreign music echoed eerily through the empty building. You sensed the dark energy around you starting to swirl in response.

“There! Now our creepy squatter will eventually get annoyed enough to show its face,” Gojo declared cheerfully. “Then we can deal with it properly!”

You shook your head at his odd curse-flushing methods but couldn’t argue with the results. As you and Gojo stepped out of the haunted building, animated voices from the maid café next door caught your attention. There stood Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara - the first two squirming under Nobara’s furious glare. She seemed to be scolding them intensely.

“I told you! We’re only following Gojo-sensei and Spices!” Yuji insisted, his cheeks blushing intensely.

Nobara remained unconvinced, rounding on Megumi next. “Uh huh sure! Itadori is one thing, but you too, Fushiguro? You played innocent with me the whole time! But you’re just a lecherous creep!”

Megumi looked offended by the accusation. “It was an unavoidable consequence of following them. I was not interested in… that.” He gestured at the glittery café decor with thinly veiled disgust.

“An unavoidable- hey, what do you mean I’m ‘one thing’ ?!” Yuji cut in indignantly while you and Gojo exchanged amused glances.

As it turned out, Yuji and Megumi had been following you and Gojo around Akihabara the entire time. Usually, you would have sensed them right away. But the cumulative anxiety of recent events and all the unsettling nightmares (thanks for that, creepy ancient asshole) had left you drained. Not to mention the blinding intensity of Gojo’s cursed energy in close proximity making everything else feel blurry and insignificant by comparison. You supposed you could be forgiven for missing a couple of amateur spies.

Still, as the first years bickered loudly, you suppressed your cursed energy and stealthily snuck up behind them while Gojo watched on with a sh*t-eating grin.

“And why exactly were you following us?” You asked quietly.

They whirled around with startled yelps, Megumi’s face flaming while Yuji gaped at you.

“S-Spices?! How did you… where did you come from?!”

You simply crossed your arms, staring them down expectantly. After an awkward silence, Yuji cracked under the pressure.

“Well, today’s our day off, you said you’d sleep in but then we saw you with Gojo-sensei. We were worried so we followed you.” He blurted out. “But only because you looked like you were on some secret date!”

“If I recall, that assumption was entirely yours.” Megumi swiftly deflected.

Yuji shot him a betrayed look. “Hey! You’re the one who pointed out they were holding hands earlier!”

As the finger-pointing blame game rapidly devolved into petty fights, you finally threw your hands up in exasperation.

“Okay wait, time out! First of all, this was clearly not a date.” You gestured firmly between yourself and a cackling Gojo. “We were just hanging out, grabbing food, messing with curses - you know, normal stuff.”

At their skeptical looks, you doubled down. “And we were most definitely NOT holding hands either. I just had my hand on his arm so I wouldn’t faceplant trying to match his freakishly fast pace!”

You demonstrated by grabbing Gojo’s arm again, mimicking trying to keep up as he continued laughing. “See? Perfectly normal arm-linking! Nothing scandalous!”

“Suuuure…” Nobara drawled, looking sorely disappointed by your logical explanation ruining any chances for delicious drama.

Meanwhile, Megumi’s eyes narrowed further. “Well then, would you care to explain what possessed you both to visit a questionable maid café then?”

Before you could snark back that it was hardly the worst establishment Gojo had dragged you to over the years, Gojo happily slung an arm around your shoulders.

“We were actually preparing a surprise gift for you three!” He gestured grandly at the haunted building nearby. “That building next to the maid café is mostly empty, but it’s been the subject of rumors on horror websites and is known for being a haunted spot.”

“Yeah. I can confirm. It’s haunted as f*ck.” You nodded wryly.

“I planned on using it as a training ground for your group later, but as luck would have it, I now have all three of you here. So this will be a good challenge for today!” Gojo said brightly.

“No way! Today’s our day off!” Nobara immediately protested, while Yuji visibly paled at the prospect of exorcising curses on their precious time off.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already stationed the vacuum tube amps inside.” Gojo breezily continued. “According to the rumors, playing records agitates the curses, so I’ve got that going. You’ll be able to confront curses that have some real kick.”

At this, Megumi looked oddly eager, much to Yuji’s confusion. “Why do you look so excited about this?” He asked warily.

“That sounds better than wandering maid cafés and game centers all day,” Megumi replied flatly with a shrug. “Anyway, let’s roll out.”

Yuji recoiled from his enthusiasm. “Damn, you’ve fully shifted into battle mode already!”

“Well duh, because he’s just jealous he didn’t get quality hand-holding time with Spices himself today,” Nobara cut in slyly, her eyes glinting.

“I am NOT jealous,” Megumi instantly fired back, bristling.

“The look on your face says you are.” Yuji piled on, as Nobara nodded along with a satisfied smirk.

You swiftly raised your hands. “For the last time, there was zero hand-holding.”

Ignoring the students’ heated bickering and protests over their day being ruined, Gojo waved a dismissive hand. “You kids have fun storming the haunted castle! Spices and I are gonna go grab some deep-fried manju.”

They all gaped at his casual announcement.

“Wait, you have room left for more food after that giant crepe? And the pancakes?” Yuji asked incredulously.

Megumi, however, seemed to have reached a state of resigned acceptance. With a long-suffering sigh, he grabbed his two complaining classmates. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Noooo, goodbye rest day!” Yuji cried dramatically, being dragged along by the collar.

“And goodbye shopping at Ameyoko!” Nobara added, aggressively twisting out of Megumi’s hold to cling onto his arm instead.

With his usual smirk, Gojo watched the first years going on their not-so-merry way into the haunted building before turning to you, mischief bright on his face.

“How about some normal arm-linking so you don’t fall on your face as we go?”

You couldn’t help a snicker at his teasing. But still, you slid your hand into the crook of his offered arm.

Together you meandered down the lively street, no particular rush in your pace. Gojo’s aimless chatter filled the space between you - commenting on shop displays, making bad puns about desserts, musing about what historical figure would think boba tea too bizarre. All while keeping you tucked protectively against his side.

You let his rambling voice wash over you, the ever-present tension in your shoulders easing bit by bit. No curses, no missions, no watching for threats over your shoulder… just this. Simply being together without agenda or expectations.

In the madness that was your world, these fragmented pieces of stillness and peace felt sacred… yet frighteningly fleeting. As afternoon faded into dusky evening, the light caught Gojo’s sharp profile, his silver hair glowing like stardust, making him seem almost ethereal.

Untouchable. Unreal.

Like a fragile daydream.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Destiny was a cruel, fickle thing.

Just this morning, before you left for your first-grade promotion briefing, Yuji was still playfully bickering with Nobara as they always did, their friendly back-and-forth as natural as breathing. Megumi held up an aloof front, pretending to be above their childish antics, but you knew he relished those moments of carefree normalcy as much as anyone. You had all made plans for your usual dinner and movie night later, the future seeming to stretch on endlessly.

But now, as you stood in Shoko’s sterile lab, the harsh fluorescent lights casting deep, unforgiving shadows across Yuji’s lifeless body laid out on the cold steel slab, the memories of only hours ago felt somehow distant. As if they belonged to some alternate reality - a happier existence.

You clenched your jaw until your teeth ached, your eyes burning yet not a single tear fell. You wondered numbly if you had any left to cry. The pain was evident in the tense line of your shoulders, the way your nails dug crescent moons into your palms hard enough to draw blood.

Your breath hitched as you recalled Yuji’s bright smile from just this morning over breakfast, cracking dumb jokes despite the early hour. Laughter ringing through the halls, sunlight glinting in his perpetually tousled hair. You refused, on some primitive level, to believe that was the last time you’d ever get to see him so vibrant and full of life. This felt like a nightmare or some kind of mistake.

But the broken body resting on the slab before you was undeniable. The gaping, ragged hole in his chest almost seemed to mock you with its obscene presence, whispering “Look. See? His heart is gone.”

You reached out a trembling hand, fingers seeking the reassuring warmth of Yuji’s shoulder, half-expecting – desperately hoping – that upon your touch his eyes would flutter open. But his body remained horrifyingly motionless beneath your fingertips. His skin was like wax – stiff, clammy, devoid of the warmth and affection that had surrounded you this morning.

You felt like the sun had gone out and taken all the light in the world with it.

The twisted irony of it all was almost too much to bear. You had once again outlived another friend. First Shino, taken from you far too soon in a cruel mirror of this moment… and now Yuji as well, laid out on that very same steel slab that had cradled Shino’s mangled body three years ago. It’s happening all over again.

A traitorous voice whispered that everyone you had dared to love would ultimately leave you, one by one, until you were utterly alone. But you shook it off.

No, that’s not right. Not fair. They didn’t choose to leave you. They were taken from you. One after another after another.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Gojo and Ijichi slumped in their chairs, as if the weight of this loss was physically crushing them. A short distance away, Shoko leaned stiffly against the wall, her eyes vacant and haunted. Tension crackled like static electricity through the spacious lab.

You bit down hard on your lip, using the sharp spike of pain to ground yourself amidst the roiling emotions battering you from all sides. It lent you a fleeting anchor of focus to rasp out the question burning through you – the one you desperately needed answered, even as you dreaded the response.

“What the hell happened while I was away?”

Your voice cracked like splintering glass over the words, raw and fragile. You could taste the faintest metallic tang of blood from your lip.

Ijichi winced, a visible spasm flickering across his anxious features before he could smooth them over. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of whatever platitude had been perched on his tongue, then tried again with obvious effort.

“The mission went wrong somehow… we didn’t anticipate—”

“That’s not what I asked!” You snapped, cutting him off with a ferocity that made the man physically recoil.

Your nails biting tighter into your palms, but you barely registered the sting. Of course, the goddamn mission had failed abysmally. That much was painfully obvious from the lifeless body behind you. Yuji’s skin already waning grey beneath the fluorescent lights.

You swept an unforgiving gaze over each of them in turn, taking in the heavy, suffocating silence that hung thicker than the cloying antiseptic stench of the lab. When you finally spoke again, your voice was soft – the sort of deceptive calm that warns of a gathering storm about to break.

“I want to know exactly how he died.”

Ijichi paled further, seeming to shrink back against his chair as if your words carried tremendous force. Before he could summon some vapid, diplomatic non-answer, Gojo leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he met your stare unflinchingly. His typical veneer of disaffected playfulness was glaringly absent.

“Sukuna took over during the fight. Ripped his heart out to make sure the boy couldn’t switch back.” A muscle feathered briefly along Gojo’s jaw. “But Yuji managed to force control again at the end. Not that it saved him.”

Those words drop like jagged stones in the pit of your gut, punching the air from your lungs. You turned back to face Yuji’s body once more, but you no longer truly saw him before you. The haziness clouding your mind evaporated, your thoughts crystallizing to an almost transcendent state of cold, terrible clarity.

You reached out with shaking fingers, lingering along the edges of the ragged hole marring Yuji’s chest, then with a strange sense of detachment, pushing deeper to brush against the slippery wetness of his hollow ribcage. When you finally faced Gojo and Ijichi again, your eyes were ice cold.

“It was intentional, wasn’t it?”

Your quiet accusation seemed to suck what little warmth remained from the room, the air growing leadenly oppressive. Your cursed energy, normally a grounding, comforting presence, now thrummed with a sharp, cutting edge.

Gojo huffed a hollow chuckle. “Of course, it was. The enemy was a special-grade curse. Five rescue targets who weren’t even confirmed alive. No one in their right mind would send a squad of fresh first-years for that.”

He shook his head, mouth curving into a bitter facsimile of a smile. “They were setting my kids up for slaughter from the jump. Used the mission as a convenient way to be rid of him, and taking out Fushiguro and Kugisaki in the process would’ve just been icing on the cake.”

The bile rose swiftly in your throat as Gojo’s words fully sank their barbs home. He had pulled every string, called in every favor owed to get Yuji’s grossly unjust death sentence suspended. Yet in his absence, the higher-ups found a way to circumvent him by sending Yuji out on what was so transparently a suicide mission from the outset.

Ijichi flinched, seeming to wilt beneath your glare, the lighting casting his already sickly pallor into grotesque shadows. “But when the mission was assigned, there was no indication—”

“Save it, Ijichi-san.”

Your voice remained dangerously level, but your body tensed with the frigid fury rapidly taking root.

“This is just like what happened with Shino all over again. They kept sending her on more and more dangerous missions. Toying with her life until they finally took it.”

Shino’s father was the youngest, most progressive member of the High Council. A lot of his radical ideas clashed with the older councilmen. The power struggle had gone on for far too long before his only daughter paid the ultimate price.

An uncomfortable stillness settled over the room, the quiet thickening until it felt like death itself.

You quirked an eyebrow at Gojo, unease slithering snake-like over your skin:

“I suppose this must be why they so generously promoted me to first grade, right? To conveniently get me out of the way. And to hang the threat of my life over your head as leverage. If you lash out after this, it will be my neck on the chopping block next.”

Shoko was too valuable of an asset to dangle around, so your average, mediocre ass would have to do. As long as Gojo played nice, you would only be sent on nice, comfy missions. But the moment he acted up, they would surely have the worst, deadliest curses lined up just for you. Even Nanami’s supervision wouldn’t be enough to keep you alive for long.

Gojo exhaled a ragged sigh that seemed to rattle in the empty hollows of his chest. “I believe that’s their intention, yes.”

The utter lack of surprise in his tone was somehow more chilling than any outburst could have been.

For a moment, you heard Sukuna’s words from all your recent nightmares, echoing once more in your mind with hypnotic persuasion. And when you gazed down at Yuji’s lifeless body, something fractured inside you then. It was Yuji’s heart that had been ripped out, but your own felt just as flayed and torn apart.

As if Sukuna had plunged a clawed hand into your chest and shredded your heart to ribbons along with Yuji’s. Agony bloomed, red and raging.

You realized Sukuna had been right. Or at least, your dream version of him. You were so very tired of your pathetic existence, of constantly being powerless. How you wished you could swear a blood oath to avenge Yuji and Shino. To make all those Council Elders pay for every bright life they had snuffed out with their machinations.

But reality had never cared for the hopes of the weak. There was no justice, no vengeance for those too weak to take it into their own hands. And you were tired of being weak, of being helpless.

You walked over and pulled a steel chair to sit across from Gojo, the harsh scrape echoing in the spacious lab. You weren’t sure if he could see your eyes through the blindfold concealing his, but if so, he would see them gleaming with terrible purpose.

“Have you considered just killing them all?” You suggested, your tone casual, yet laced with a dangerous undercurrent.

Gojo laughed, but there was no mirth in it, only a bitter, hollow sound as he leaned back in his chair. “Only every day.”

Nearby, Ijichi blanched, eyes darting between you two with uncertainty and unease. His knuckles stood out white as he clenched the arms of his chair. Clearly, your brazen talk of treason and mass murder didn’t sit nearly so well with him.

You were not Gojo’s strongest student, but you were surely the one taking after him the most. Chaos and ruthlessness ran bone deep for both of you. Though your calculating mind gave you an even sharper edge than Gojo at times. It made you even more unpredictable, more volatile.

Shoko stirred from her spot by the wall, her mouth pressed into a thin line, but you noticed a spark of dark appreciation in her eyes. She had always had a soft spot for your unhinged scheming, your willingness to consider the unthinkable.

“Killing all the Council Elders alone would change nothing,” Shoko said evenly. “They are cogs in the machine just as much as we are. Removing them would only create a power vacuum, easily filled by more of the same ilk.”

You tilted your head, considering all the implications of her words. Perhaps she was right – the Elders were merely symptoms of the rotten corruption strangling the jujutsu world from its very foundations. Very well then. If that was the case, you would simply keep tearing it all down until you hit bedrock. Start fresh if that’s what it took.

You met Shoko’s weary eyes directly and gave a casual shrug like you were only discussing idle plans for renovation rather than upheaval on a cataclysmic scale. “Then, we’ll just have to do this properly.”

While Ijichi shifted with unease, Gojo stroked his chin, a sly grin spreading across his features. He seemed to come to some silent decision as he smoothly segued to another topic.

“You know, I have a lousy personality.”

Ijichi nodded. “I’m well aware.”

Gojo responded by delivering a threatening slap to his shoulder before continuing. “I’m just not the teaching type...”

Behind the blindfold, you could picture his otherworldly eyes glowing with a dangerous intensity.

“So why would someone like me end up at a place like Jujutsu High? Because I have a dream.”

You straightened with interest. “A dream?”

“Yup...” Gojo continued. “The higher-ups are scum - selfish idiots, bloodline bigots, proud blowhards. They’re strangling the life from jujutsu society. I’m going to reset this crappy world we’ve inherited.”

You felt an answering glow kindling inside you as he spoke, his determination resonating with your own simmering rage.

“It would be easy to kill everyone in charge,” he made a sharp gesture as if cutting the air, “but as Sho said, others would just take their place. Nothing would truly change. And it’s not as if people approve of senseless massacres anyway.”

His voice hardened further. “So I’m turning to education instead. I need strong, intelligent allies who can see the rot at the core of our society. They’re all great.”

Gojo turned to look at you as he finished his sudden spiel. “Some of them will be as good as me someday.”

“Whatever you think you are doing, you better hurry, sensei.” You said bitterly. “Before the higher-ups kill the rest of us off.”

Silence settled over the room once more.

Nearby, Shoko pulled on a gown and gloves, the plastic crinkling loudly as she prepared for Yuji’s autopsy. She motioned at you. “You don’t have to be here, Spices. I can handle this one alone.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment as the lights flickered erratically, matching the unsteady heaviness in your chest. You willed your breath to still and your emotions to even out, if only temporarily. When you opened your eyes again, they were still a little blurry, but your jaw set stubbornly.

“No. I’d like to stay with Yuji. I think he’d have liked that, too.” Your voice was firm.

Shoko exchanged a weighted glance with Gojo, but neither of them argued. So, you moved to stand opposite Shoko across Yuji’s body.

As Shoko readied her scalpel and the tension in the room reached a crescendo, Yuji suddenly jolted upright with a shocked gasp. The gaping hole in his chest was gone, smooth skin knitted flawlessly back together. Rosy color returned to his face as he blinked around in confusion, very much alive and whole.

For a suspended moment, no one dared breathe.

“Yuji?” You whispered, swaying as your legs nearly buckled with overwhelm.

Around you, reactions exploded into stunned motion. Ijichi staggered back, knocking over a tray table with a deafening clatter. Shoko fumbled her scalpel, nearly embedding it in her foot before Gojo snatched it in midair.

But you only had eyes for Yuji.

You reached out to touch his face, your hand trembled uncontrollably as you felt warm, living flesh instead of the cold waxiness from before. He turned to you with a small smile, as bright and affectionate as always. “Oh, senpai?”

The flare of emotions inside you was indescribable – relief, joy, lingering grief – all compounding into a dizzying, electric sensation prickling over your skin. You traced shaking fingers over Yuji’s chest, finding only solid muscle where a gaping hole had been mere minutes ago. Could it really be that simple for him to just come back from the dead?

“You’re alive,” you finally choked out through the tears you didn’t realize were flowing freely down your cheeks. As it turned out, you still had some tears left to cry, apparently.

“I am.” He said gently, arms already reaching for you like it was pure instinct.

At that moment, you both moved forward simultaneously – you launching yourself desperately onto the steel slab and into his embrace, as Yuji’s hands grasped your waist to lift you and tug you firmly against him.

You buried your face in his neck, clinging to him with a ferocious intensity as sobs wracked your frame. You could hardly believe this was real – that he was here, solid and breathing, his heart thrumming steadily against you in a comforting rhythm.

Yuji wrapped himself fully around you, one hand stroking your hair in a soothing gesture while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, holding you close.

“I was gone for a while,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that you felt reverberate through his chest “but I made my way back to you.” His smile pressed softly into your hair as he inhaled your familiar scent, savoring your presence as much as you did his.

As the initial shock began to fade, an overwhelming sense of rightness settled through your very bones. The unbearable weight that had crushed your chest dissolved, and you could breathe again – deep, shuddering breaths that filled your starved lungs. The chill that had seeped into your fingertips retreated as they pressed into the warm, living muscles of Yuji’s back. With his arms enfolding you in their protective embrace, you felt anchored once more, the world lurching back into its proper alignment after being violently askew.

An awkward cough sounded from behind you, shattering the moment with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

“I’d hate to intrude...” Ijichi spoke up, his eyes suddenly finding great interest in studying the intricacies of the ceiling tiles. “But you really should put something on, Itadori-san. You’re totally naked.”

Oh.

In the whirlwind of emotions and Yuji’s miraculous resurrection, the mundane trivialities of autopsy protocols had clearly slipped your mind. Corpses didn’t require the modesty of clothing after all.

At Ijichi’s polite reminder, you and Yuji sprang apart, faces flaming with embarrassment.

And then, like any self-respecting person confronted with such a delicate situation, you… looked down before your higher brain functions could intervene. Your gaze dropped low, very low, all noble intentions abandoned in favor of inappropriate curiosity.

In your periphery, you noticed Gojo pounced in your direction with lightning reflexes. In a swift blur of motion, he yanked you back and clamped a firm hand over your eyes, robbing you of your ill-gotten visual spoils.

“Stop ogling him, Spices!” Gojo scolded, though the mirth in his voice made it abundantly clear just how entertained he was by the entire debacle.

“I wasn’t ogling!” You protested, wiggling in vain against Gojo’s restraining hold in a futile attempt to reassert your dignity. Your cheeks burned hot at being caught out in the act. And by Gojo, no less.

After much undignified struggle, finally, Gojo trusted you enough to tentatively lift his hand. As the haze of embarrassment dissipated, you saw Shoko wrapping a medical gown around a very flustered Yuji while Ijichi stared dutifully at the ceiling.

Gojo leaned down to whisper in your ear, mischief thick in his voice. “Didn’t peg you for the shameless type.”

You elbowed him sharply in retaliation, which only made the incorrigible man laugh harder. He would never, ever let you live this down.

When everything was in order and Yuji was decently covered, Gojo stepped forward and high-fived him, his usual playful demeanor returning. “Welcome back, kid!”

Nearby, Shoko sighed, seeming almost disappointed as she stripped off her gloves, no longer needing them for Yuji’s abruptly canceled autopsy. “Well, I guess we’ll have to change the official report.”

Gojo shook his head, his silver hair swaying with the motion. You noticed his free hand closing into a fist, a subtle tremor in his shoulders belying the light tone. This was personal for him too.

“No, leave Yuji as deceased on paper for now. Before the higher-ups target him again, I’d like to get some basic training in, at least give the kid a fighting chance.”

Bitterness welled up in you as you watched the exchange, crashing over your earlier relief. You shouldn’t have involved Yuji in your scheming. He could have spent all that time studying jujutsu theory or training for combat instead of learning to crochet stupid plushies. It wouldn’t have been much, but it could have made a difference.

Perhaps, if Yuji had been just a little more prepared, he might have had a chance to defend himself. This wouldn’t have happened. You were supposed to train him, to look out for him, but all you had done was drag him into your crazy, reckless stunts. You had failed him utterly.

Oblivious to your guilt, Shoko and Gojo were locked in their argument.

“If Itadori is marked dead in the records, he won’t be able to come back to school or live openly. He’ll have to go into hiding for the rest of his life.” Shoko pointed out, ever the pragmatist.

“Nah! That won’t be necessary!” Gojo countered smoothly. “I’ll have him ready to make a splashy reappearance at the upcoming goodwill event. Easy peasy, public return.”

When Shoko looked unconvinced, Gojo placed a steady hand on Yuji’s shoulder, meeting each of your eyes in turn. “I refuse to let him or any student waste what should be the best years of their lives afraid and in hiding. Things are going to change around here.”

Then, Gojo turned to face you, his jaw set gravely. “That means you have to keep this a secret from everyone else, too. Including Fushiguro and Kugisaki.”

He raised a hand as you opened your mouth to argue, cutting off your protest. “I know they deserve to know the truth. But if those two suddenly aren’t grieving over Yuji’s death, it’ll raise questions we can’t afford right now.”

You stared at him, aghast. “You’re using their grief as a strategic distraction?” The accusation fell from your lips, full of incredulity. “That’s low, sensei. I thought I was supposed to be the evil schemer, not you.”

Gojo crossed his arms, silver bangs shadowing his face as he seemed to weigh your words. His lips pressed tight. Was that a flicker of doubt crossing his features? Or just cold dismissal?

“It’s a necessary evil for the greater good. This charade keeps Yuji safe while we prepare.” He said, at last, his voice hardening to brook no dissent. “Promise me you’ll keep our secret. For his sake.”

At your shoulder, Yuji shifted uncomfortably, a frown tugging at his brow. Even he didn’t seem fully on board with deceiving his closest friends in such a way, no matter the circ*mstance. But before you could argue, Gojo gripped your arm, his smile was too sharp and his expression too commanding.

It was clear Gojo would not even listen to what you had to say. His decision was final. It always was.

You exhaled, your breath seemingly crystallizing in the suddenly chilled air.

Gojo cared for you deeply, of that you had no doubt. He would raze down the world itself for you, just as he would swallow his own pride if his rampage put your life at risk. The Council Elders knew this well enough to hang your life over his head. You were truly his fatal weakness.

But his affection for you was colored, perhaps even blinded, by his perception of who you were. In Gojo’s mind, you were someone to be indulged with his attention, spoiled rotten, and protected at all costs. Someone who wouldn’t know any better. Someone whose opinions he needed not consider when it came to important matters. Because he was Gojo Satoru, he was your provider and protector, and he always knew what was best for you. For everyone, without exception.

You wanted to be angry at him, but you couldn’t quite muster the ire, not when the roots of his hubris stemmed from depths you understood all too well. He had known you since you were a drugged-up, neglected child wandering the psych ward’s halls barefooted with dried leaves in your knotted hair.

Perhaps, in some deeply buried recess of his mind, you had never truly grown up in his eyes. He was simply used to dragging you along in the wake of his shenanigans, putting you in increasingly absurd situations, and you would still always follow him around and do exactly as he said. Sure, you butted heads with him often enough, but it was never serious and you would always give in to him. Always so pleasant and agreeable. Was that malleability what he loved the most?

But you supposed it was time for that to change. If he truly loved you, he would have to learn to love the grown-up version of you as well - the you with your own defiant agenda and blistering rage.

When you looked at Gojo, you forced your expression to brighten, matching his false cheer with unsettling ease.

“Alright.” You nodded and smiled tightly. “For Yuji.”

Gojo either didn’t notice or care about the storm brewing behind your eyes. He had your word, and that was all he needed from you for now.

Shoko’s perceptive gaze moved between you and Gojo, missing nothing as always. She noted the tension in your furrowed brows and the familiar scheming glint resurfacing in your eyes. Gojo might have extracted your promise, your begrudging compromise, but Shoko knew better than anyone what that pleasant nod and smile truly meant. She was your mentor just as much as Gojo was, if not more. And you had learned well from them both.

As Shoko ushered Yuji toward the exit for tests, she slowed her pace beside you, just for a second. Subtle pride flickered in her eyes amidst the silent warning as she inclined her head the smallest fraction. There – the barest nod of encouragement before she moved on without a word.

Gojo moved to take his leave as well but paused mid-step as if some instinct prompted him to glance back over his shoulder at you. Your gaze lifted to meet him, open and guileless on the surface. You wondered if his Six Eyes could see through the razor’s edge underneath.

Gojo seemed like he wanted to say something further, but then he just turned and continued on his way. As you watched him go, your mind was already turning over possibilities, shuffling scenarios like a deck of cards as the gears began to turn in earnest.

Gojo had his plan, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have your own designs.

As the room emptied, leaving you alone with your whirring thoughts, you felt the first trickles of a new, more intricate web of deception taking shape in the background, lurking in the shadows where you so often stood, carefully constructed from behind the scenes while Gojo’s bold gambits unfolded in the foreground.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

You spent the evening helping Shoko document falsified reports and analyze Yuji’s test results. Meanwhile, Gojo had spirited Yuji away somewhere underground, off all records for the time being. At least, Yuji still had his phone.

It was past midnight when you finally returned to the dorm common room, emotionally and physically drained from the events of the day.

As you stepped through the doorway, you found Megumi and Nobara huddled tensely together on the couch. Even from across the room, grief rolled off them in palpable waves. They were both still covered in bandages, though Shoko had healed the worst injuries. They didn’t notice you coming in.

In Nobara’s lap rested the two crocheted cat plushies Yuji had so proudly crafted, their cheerful button eyes now striking a heartbreaking discordance against the backdrop of raw grief.

“He told us to live a long life,” Megumi said quietly, recounting Yuji’s final words. His cursed energy felt muted, like the heavy greyness of the sky before a storm, thunder rumbling distantly.

“What use is he dead?” Nobara bit back bitterly. Still, pain roiled beneath her prickly facade. Raw, aching, at odds with her flippant tone.

She turned to study Megumi more closely, perhaps hoping to see her own hurt mirrored in his expression. “Is this the first time a friend of yours has died?”

Megumi tensed, his gaze fixed on some distant, haunted point that only he could see. “A classmate.” He corrected, though the distinction held little weight. Death cared not for such arbitrary labels.

“You seem fine, though.” Nobara pressed on, a tint of accusation in her voice.

Megumi’s jaw tightened, his temper flaring briefly to match her own rawness. “Look who’s talking.”

“Of course, I’ve only known him for two weeks.” She tossed back with a bravado that rang increasingly hollow. “I’m not some silly girl who cries over a guy like that.”

But even as the callous words left her mouth, Nobara’s lower lip trembled. She bowed her head, letting her long bangs fall over her eyes. The sight twisted that knife of guilt deeper into your gut.

Beside her, Megumi shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Nobara’s bared anguish clearly affecting him as well. Then, tentatively, he reached out, laying an arm across the back of the couch. A silent offering of comfort.

After a taut pause, Nobara leaned subtly into his side, turning her face to hide against his shoulder. In a moment, the tears came freely, soaking into his shirt as her shoulders quaked with the effort to muffle the sound of her own crying. Gently, as if handling something spun from the most delicate glass, Megumi’s arm encircled her fully, squeezing her closer in quiet understanding.

You lingered uncertainly in the doorway, feeling like an intruder encroaching on a private grief not of your own to share, not fully. Yes, you had loved Yuji and mourned his loss, too. But for Nobara and Megumi, the pain cut so much deeper. It resonated between the two of them on a wavelength of their own - one that had been fractured irreparably by Yuji’s absence.

They were his classmates, his partners in every sense. The three of them had been inseparable despite all the bickering and barbs. It was them who had come with Yuji on that catastrophic mission. Who had come back without him.

So, you waited in respectful silence until Nobara’s muffled sobs slowly faded into the occasional hiccups. At last, when she had quieted, you cleared your throat softly.

They straightened up with a start, Nobara hastily wiping the evidence of tears from her cheeks while Megumi withdrew his arm quickly as if burned.

“God, you need to stop sneaking around like that, Spices!” Nobara hissed, some color rising to replace the earlier pallor as her defenses slammed back into place.

When Megumi looked up at you, his expression had already fallen into its familiar impassivity. “You’re back, senpai.”

You nodded once, gesturing for them to follow you. “We need to talk.”

Confusion flickered in Megumi and Nobara’s eyes as they exchanged an apprehensive glance. Still, they eventually unfolded themselves stiffly from the couch and followed you down the dim, empty hallways without a word. Grief hung tangibly around them, slowing their steps.

Once inside your dorm room, you swiftly locked the door and cast the strongest barrier you knew over the walls - sealing even the hairline cracks. This should be enough to ward against anyone who’s not Gojo Satoru himself.

Megumi eyed you warily as he perched on your desk chair, his whole body tensed and his knees bounced faintly with nervousness. Meanwhile, Nobara threw herself onto your bed but immediately sat back up, chewing her nail as her foot tapped out a rapid, impatient rhythm on the floor.

“What’s this about?” Megumi asked.

But you waved him off, pulling out your phone to text Yuji first.

From: The Spiciest Spices

Sensei still there?

From: Idiot Yuji

He’s just left.

Why?

From: The Spiciest Spices

Good.

Nobara huffed with annoyance at being brushed aside. “Did you drag us here just to make us watch you play with your phone?”

You took a deep, steadying breath and shook your head.

“No. I want to talk about Yuji.”

At his name, Megumi flinched, while Nobara’s frenetic movements stilled. Their grief flickered back to the surface like an exposed nerve. A pregnant pause stretched between you.

But before you could get the truth out, Megumi’s quiet voice pierced the heavy air.

“I… I let my guard down. I shouldn’t have…” His composure wavered as he turned his face aside in shame. “I’m supposed to watch over Itadori, but I messed up, senpai.”

“It’s not your fault, dumbass.” Nobara cut him off, her own self-directed anger and guilt rising. “I… I’m the one who fell into that stupid void. I should have brought more nails... ”

Nobara’s voice broke, and this time she didn’t bother to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

Those were the words they couldn’t voice out loud earlier, even to each other in the depths of their shared grief. Yet somehow, here in the calmness of your presence, as they looked at you – the one who they both trusted, who understood their pain, who had known and loved Yuji as much as they did – now they finally managed to get the guilt off their chest. Did they think you would blame them?

Because of course, they blamed themselves for Yuji’s death. Megumi picked apart his every action, seeking the pivotal moment he had failed his friend so spectacularly. And Nobara’s mind spun relentless circles questioning what if she had only watched her steps more carefully, if she had brought just one more box of nails.

You understood their pain all too intimately. You had been there, walking the same razor’s edge yourself in the aftermath of Shino’s death. For months, you had blamed yourself for not being there to watch her back. Though logically, you knew you would have died, too, your mind still twisted over infinite possibilities and what-ifs. Even now, a small, fractured part of you still carried that insidious belief - that had you been present, you would have been able to scheme your way out, to save her.

Seeing Megumi and Nobara flaying themselves upon those same thoughts lanced you with a familiar ache. You opened your mouth, some force of habit driving you to offer reassurances that the tragedy hadn’t been their fault. But the words died on your lips as you recognized the futility of such hollow platitudes. Words would never be enough.

So, instead, you simply held their gazes and said:

“Yuji is alive.”

You could practically see the meaning blossoming within them like a deadly nightflower unfurling its petals - first confusion, then hope so bright it was almost blinding, quickly overshadowed by a creeping suspicion as the implications began to take root.

“Wait…” Nobara straightened, swiping angrily at her damp cheeks as her eyes narrowed to slits of accusation. “What the hell are you saying, Spices? Don’t f*ck with us right now!”

Megumi, meanwhile, remained utterly still and silent.

You met Nobara’s furious glare head-on. “I'm saying exactly what it sounds like. Yuji is alive and well. He survived.”

The truth shattered against them like a physical force. For a breathless eternity, they could only gape at you, stunned into silence by the scope of the revelation.

Then, all at once, the maelstrom broke.

“Damn it, Spices!” Nobara hissed angrily, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and desperate hope she didn’t dare voice. “I swear to God if this is another one of your crazy schemes…”

“It's impossible,” Megumi gritted out, his voice strained as he fought to maintain his composure. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as the memory assaulted him – vivid flashes of Yuji’s heart being violently ripped from his chest and thrown away like trash, of cradling his best friend’s lifeless, cooling body. “I saw his heart being ripped out. I held his cold body in my arms!”

“I know.” You lifted your own trembling fingers as if to physically grasp the memory. “I touched the inside of his empty ribcage with my own hand! But it’s the truth!”

Then, you held up your phone and video called Yuji, angling the screen so that Megumi and Nobara could see. When Yuji’s face appeared, his image smiling and very much alive on the display, Nobara and Megumi recoiled as if struck. Shock and disbelief warred across their features as the foundations of their reality cracked and splintered.

Yuji, for his part, was initially surprised but then his expression brightened into a warm, affectionate grin. “Fushiguro! Kugisaki! Hi!” His brow furrowed as he turned his attention to you. “Senpai? Not that I’m complaining, I’m happy to see everyone, but ain’t we supposed to keep this a secret?"

You sighed. “Let’s say I took a calculated risk.”

You hoped fervently that you weren’t terrible at math when the consequences truly mattered.

Nobara, however, wasn’t ready to accept this reality so easily. With an animalistic snarl, she lunged forward, almost snatching the phone from your grasp as she hissed venomously at Yuji’s image. “How do I know this isn’t a recorded video or some sick trick?”

Yuji’s eyes widened at her outburst, equal parts hurt and earnest sincerity reflected in their depths.

“Why would I do that?” He shook his head vehemently. “This is really me, I swear! I’m literally talking to you right now, Kugisaki!”

His words trailed off as he took in the devastation across Megumi and Nobara’s expressions. At that moment, the cheerful mask slipped from Yuji’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, pain lending his words a fragile quality. “I never wanted to put you through this hell.”

Nobara tried to slow her rapid breathing, the emotions boiling within her threatening to materialize into tears again and potentially ruin her perfectly curated facade. She squinted her eyes at Yuji with suspicious scrutiny: “Prove it. Prove you’re real, Itadori.”

Because if he wasn’t, there would be hell to pay for this cruel prank.

Yuji blinked, momentarily taken aback by the demand. "But how?"

He scratched his head, the concept of ‘proving reality’ was particularly perplexing.

That’s when Megumi spoke up in a carefully measured tone, managing to sound as dryly matter-of-fact as if he were placing a food order rather than requesting evidence that his best friend wasn’t just a walking corpse.

"Take off your shirt, Itadori. I want to see your chest."

To make sure there wasn’t a gaping, fatal wound. He didn’t voice the rest, he didn’t need to. You all understood it well enough.

Nobara snorted indelicately, somehow finding amusem*nt even in this moment. She poked at Megumi’s side with the very obvious intent of being as obnoxious as humanly possible.

“Wow, you’re actually quite bold. I like that.” She batted her lashes exaggeratedly.

As soon as Yuji had risen from the grave and came back to them, they had all subconsciously slipped right back into their usual combative banter without even realizing it - the well-worn patterns as comforting as they were exasperating.

Megumi swatted her hand away, his features schooled into an impassive mask that somehow only made his long suffering more pronounced. Even potential resurrections couldn’t spare him Nobara’s nonsense, it seemed.

Yuji, the good-natured soul that he was, just laughed - that same bright, infectious sound they had all resigned themselves to never hearing again. Without hesitation or fuss, he complied, stripping off his shirt to reveal smooth, unblemished skin.

Megumi exhaled a shuddering sigh of relief at the sight. Nobara, meanwhile, inched impossibly closer to the phone screen with predatory focus, eyes raking over every visible inch of newly resurrected real estate with the sort of intensity normally reserved for weighing the pros and cons of skincare products.

Then, she quirked a teasing grin, falling back on her customary blasé irreverence.

“I’m not sure I can see well from here. What if you’re fake? Zoom in closer please.”

To which Megumi scowled and nudged her away from the screen with annoyance, his own barriers rebuilding even as wonder sparked bright in the creases around his eyes.

Some things, it seemed, were immutable constants - the sky was blue, curses were a pain in the ass, and Kugisaki Nobara would forever be a menace of her own league.

After recounting Yuji’s miraculous resurrection in Shoko’s lab, the air still hung thick with a mixture of cautious relief and incredulity. Nobara’s usual snark had picked up where it left off, her teasing remarks cutting through the tension like a hot knife. But even her brash humor couldn’t completely dispel the lingering shadow that Yuji’s death had cast over all of you.

For a moment, you just sat there, taking in the sight before you - Yuji, bright and full of life on the crackling video call, Megumi’s brow furrowed in intense contemplation, Nobara’s eyes still gleaming with the thrill of revelation. It was so achingly familiar, this group dynamic of bantering and bickering, and yet you couldn’t shake the discordant feeling, the haunting reminder that things would never quite be the same again. Yuji might have defied death itself, but you’d be lying if you said his resurrection fully erased the grief you’d carried.

Finally, Nobara broke the silence with her trademark bluntness. “Alright, so now what?”

You sighed, your lips twisting wryly. “Now you two have to pretend our resident dumbass is still very much dead and buried,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Yuji’s pixelated form. “I want mournful scowls, glares full of repressed rage - really sell it so the vultures don’t catch wind of this.”

Turning to Yuji, you fixed him with a pointed look. “And you, try not to give Gojo-sensei an aneurysm for the time being. I’ll break the good news to him myself.” You paused, rubbing your temples. “Which he’s absolutely going to love, I’m sure. Can’t imagine why he’d be even a little pissed that I completely disregarded his plan.”

Nobara snickered, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Easy enough,” she declared with a toss of her hair. “My acting skills are flawless. And Fushiguro is always scowling gloomily anyway.”

She punctuated her jab with a sharp elbow to Megumi’s side. He grunted, glaring daggers at her. “I don’t always scowl.”

But even as the words left his lips in a petulant grumble, his brow was deeply furrowed, mouth set in a tight line - the very picture of moody brooding.

Nobara’s laughter pealed out, as bright and mocking as ever. With devilish glee sparkling in her eyes, she reached out to pinch Megumi’s cheek between her fingers. He swatted her hand away with an annoyed huff. His scowling intensified. You stifled an amused snort - if this kept up, his face might get stuck in that permanent glower.

As the rowdy meeting of mutinous minds concluded, Yuji’s voice piped up across the crackling video feed, brimming with unrestrained delight. “I’m so happy to talk to everyone! I’ve missed you guys!”

In a whirl of fiery hair and indignant dramatics, Nobara rounded on him, pointing an accusing finger at the screen. “Oh, don’t get all comfy there, Itadori. You’re not off the hook yet!”

Yuji’s expression crinkled with confusion. “What? Why?”

An irritated huff escaped Nobara’s lips. “Because you dared die, idiot!”

The unspoken words hung thick in the air, too raw to give voice to - how could he sacrifice himself so readily? And then had the audacity to tell them to live a long life?

Though she didn’t give it breath, the sentiment rang clear to you, Megumi, and even Yuji himself. His responding smile held a gentle, reassuring warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he soothed. “I’ll make it up to you guys, I promise!”

Beside you, Megumi muttered under his breath, “Just don’t die on me again and we’re good.”

With everything mostly settled, at least for the moment, you ended the call so Yuji could focus on his training without any more distractions. Nobara was the first to make her dramatic exit, offering an exaggerated salute as she sauntered out of your room, lips still curved in that insufferable smirk that never seemed to leave her face entirely.

Megumi, however, lingered behind like a stubborn storm cloud refusing to disperse. As the door clicked shut, sealing you both in the privacy of your quarters, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Thank you for telling us.”

His gaze held a weight of understanding that needed no elaboration. Megumi knew better than anyone the sheer enormity of what you’d done - defying a direct order from the Gojo Satoru himself. Megumi recognized the significance of such blatant insubordination, especially given the long, tangled history between you and your mentor. A history layered with nuances and complexities that even Megumi, despite the years he’d known Gojo and all those months he spent around you, couldn’t fully grasp.

Truth be told, he likely hadn’t expected such rebellion from you. In all the time Megumi had observed your dynamic with Gojo, he’d only ever seen you grudgingly giving in to the man’s most outrageous whims and demands, trailing in his wake with a weary sort of obedience. He clearly had underestimated you. Both Gojo and him.

You offered Megumi a sly smile, holding his inquisitive gaze with an unflinching calm. It hadn’t been an easy choice, naturally - few worthwhile decisions ever were. But deep down, in that twisted mess of conviction and sass that passed for your moral compass, you knew you’d done the right thing. As Ino had once imparted in one of his increasingly infrequent bits of sage wisdom - what mattered was doing the right thing, not the easy thing.

If you were completely honest, you cared little about the world. You wanted to make it a better place - yes, for the people you loved. What was the point of changing the world if it meant the ones you cared about most would be suffering the entire process? You were no hero, no protagonist. It was not your job to consider the big picture, the grand scheme of things.

Not everyone had to be the savior. Let Gojo do that if he wished. You were only one average person. So, you could only take care of your people, and that was okay. Even as you schemed and plotted against the corruption festering in the highest ranks of the jujutsu world, you would not lose sight of what’s truly important to you. Of what it meant to be true to your soul.

***

The next day unfolded with the return of the second years - Maki, Inumaki, and Panda - fresh from their extended mission. As expected, they wasted no time in rounding up Megumi and Nobara, ruthlessly conscripting them into the preparations for the looming Goodwill Event with Kyoto Jujutsu School.

And just like that, the relentless training regimen commenced in full force.

Thanks to his regular sparring sessions with you, Megumi managed to hold his own against Maki’s grueling physical drills… to a certain extent. You were no where near Maki’s level of martial prowess. So of course, under your mediocre training, Megumi could not even come close to her standards. By the end of each session, he more closely resembled a sweat-drenched, panting heap of abused muscle than a human being. But survive, he did.

The same couldn’t be said about Nobara. Her cursed technique simply didn’t necessitate this level of physical conditioning. As such, she had no chance against Panda’s and Inumaki’s onslaughts. More often than not, she ended up unceremoniously flung about the training grounds, much to her mounting ire and their seemingly oblivious persistence. The sight of the fiery Kugisaki Nobara repeatedly introduced to the harsh embrace of the dirt patches would have been comical, if not for the palpable waves of irritation rolling off her in increasingly potent bursts.

There was method to the madness behind the second years’ unrelenting training routine - a harsh necessity, given the formidable line-up Kyoto Jujutsu School had assembled for this year’s Goodwill Event.

From the intelligence you’d gathered, they weren’t pulling any punches, fielding an elite roster comprised of their finest students. If your crew had any hopes of avoiding an unceremonious collective ass-kicking, you’d all need to bring your A-game.

Since you had participated in two previous Goodwill Events, Maki had promptly demanded you brief them on the specifics, no doubt hoping to leverage your senior’s experience. And because you thrived on making everyone’s life as needlessly complicated as possible, you’d prepared a meticulously crafted PowerPoint presentation for the occasion. Of course, you did - you made PowerPoints for everything short of picking out your daily outfit.

As you clicked through the incriminating slides, Kyoto’s line-up glaring out from illicitly procured social media photos, Nobara eyed you with her patent skepticism. “How did you even get this intel?”

You simply shook your head with infuriating nonchalance, lips curved in a maddening not-quite smile. Truthfully, you’d enlisted Shoko to pry these nuggets from a very drunken Utahime during one of their... indulgent evenings. But you’d be damned if you disclosed the details of your information pipeline so readily.

A low whistle of appreciation pierced the tense silence, the unexpectedly human sound emanating from Panda’s distinctly… well, panda-mouth. “Damn, they mean business.”

You didn’t even know he could whistle, since he was literally a panda. The wild image nearly made you miss Maki’s smug interjection.

“They’re clearly coming for your ass, senpai.” She taunted, a feral grin stretching across her face.

Her blunt assessment made you wince reflexively. Unfortunately, there was no denying the cold truth - Kyoto was undoubtedly gunning for you specifically this year.

Megumi’s brow arched at you in a wordless question, one you could practically hear in his incredulous voice: “What did you do to the Kyoto school?”

The scent of potential drama proved too tantalizing for Nobara to resist. She perked up instantly, eyes glittering with ravenous curiosity. “Did you set their campus on fire or something?”

A nervous laugh slipped past your lips as you wrung your hands, pondering just how to delicately unpack the glorious beef fueling this spirited rivalry.

You began slowly, “Well, you see…”

Ah, the tangled web of pettiness and spite that catalyzed Kyoto Jujutsu School’s long-burning vendetta against you. A saga so utterly soaked in antagonistic glee and shameless mischief that merely recounting it risked setting the room ablaze with second-hand embarrassment.

Let us turn back the clock to the previous year’s Goodwill Event when fate had first aligned to provide you with the most delicious opportunity. You, along with your classmates Hakari and Kirara, were initially slated to represent Tokyo Jujutsu High in the sacred inter-school competition. A simple enough affair, one would assume.

That was, until Hakari’s indomitable spirit for chaos reared its head on your behalf, erupting in a tragic confrontation with one of the higher-ups — a transgression serious enough to see both him and Kirara promptly blacklisted by the stern hand of Gakuganji himself, Kyoto’s esteemed principal, Council Elder and apparent stickler for propriety.

But in a fleeting moment of presumed benevolence, Gakuganji had extended an olive branch most backhanded. You, as the last remaining representative of Tokyo’s decimated delegation, would be crowned team captain and permitted to hand-select two fresh first-years to hastily replenish your line-up.

To any reasonable soul, the prudent choice would have been abundantly clear – recruit among Maki, Inumaki, and Panda. Build a team befitting the spirit of this sacred event, one capable of showcasing your school’s honor through fair competition and admirable restraint.

Alas, you were anything but reasonable when pettiness and spite were on the menu.

No, instead of being the bigger person and taking the high road, you opted to completely scorch the entire path.

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you made the utterly disastrous decision to pick only one first year: Okkotsu f*cking Yuuta.

The sheer, dumbstruck horror that must have dawned across Gakuganji’s face when you strutted into their campus arm in arm with Yuuta? A memory to savor for years, no doubt.

“Wreck them.” You had instructed Yuuta with a sh*t-eating grin. And that had been the only command he needed.

Unsurprisingly, the ensuing competition proved little more than a slaughter, with Yuuta effortlessly mopping the floor with Kyoto’s entire roster of hapless competitors. An exhibition of overwhelming power and effortless superiority that rendered the entire Goodwill Event a mockery by default - a fact you had greatly reveled in from the sidelines where you mainly served the role of “moral support.”

In the aftermath, one could only imagine the unadulterated fury detonating behind Gakuganji’s cracking composure. The seething resentment and burning humiliation of being so brazenly upstaged on their own grounds. The sting of your calculated insult, your impudent show of antagonistic force. An embarrassment surely not soon forgotten nor forgiven, if their present actions were any indication.

You shrugged nonchalantly, feigning an air of wide-eyed innocence. “I mean, I was totally expecting some form of retaliation for last year’s… theatrics. But this magnitude of vengeance?”

You gestured expansively at the overcompensating display of elite combatants marshaled by Kyoto. “This seems just a tad excessive, no? Like, full-blown overkill at this point.”

Nobara, ever the instigator, collapsed into a peal of bright laughter that filled the room with its unbridled mirth. “That’s f*cking gold!” she wheezed between gasping giggles. “I have no idea who this Okkotsu Yuuta is, but I already like him.”

From beside her, Inumaki offered a curt nod. “Salmon,” he proclaimed succinctly - a bizarre yet quintessentially Inumaki endorsem*nt of your brash antics.

Megumi, however, seemed torn between exasperation and reluctant amusem*nt, pinching the bridge of his nose as he mumbled, “I can’t believe Principal Yaga actually let you pull that off.”

You threw your hands up. “Well, Gojo-sensei may have… helped me switch the official roster at the last possible minute. I imagine Yaga-sama was simply too preoccupied to double-check the final line-up.”

Maki’s eyes became thin, calculating lines as she surveyed the overwhelmingly stacked Kyoto delegation. “Well, look what you did,” she purred, utterly unbothered by the inevitable fallout as she jabbed a finger aggressively toward the portraits glowering back at you all.

“These f*ckers are clearly out for blood this year.”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

You clapped your hands together, determination sparking in your eyes as you rallied the troops. “Alright, alright – the past is the past! What’s done is done. We can still handle these Kyoto hot-shots if we play our cards right.”

Despite the overwhelming show of force from Kyoto, your own line-up for this year's event was nothing to sneeze at, after all. Even without the absolute nuclear option that was Okkotsu Yuuta, you were confident your squad could hold their own through strategic maneuvering.

With a decisive nod, you shifted focus to dissecting Kyoto’s first competitor. A few deft clicks of the mouse later, and Nishimiya Momo’s photo filled the projection screen.

“Nishimiya isn’t really a direct combat girlie,” you explained, lips pursing contemplatively. “She mainly serves as their scout and recon. But don’t let that fool you – her technique allows her to fly and strike with winds. Painful as f*ck.”

From the sidelines, Nobara squinted at Nishimiya’s photo, eyes narrowing in a critical once-over before her lips split into an irreverent snicker. “There’s no way that ugly-ass hairstyle isn’t some kind of binding vow. Maybe that’s how she can fly.”

Maki made no effort to stifle her snort.

“That’s mean, Kugisaki,” Panda rumbled, fixing Nobara with a disapproving look that might have been more effective if not for the ever-present grin plastered across his face.

Nobara, never one to back down, simply scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “What? Don’t pretend you’re not thinking that too.”

You were inclined to agree with Nobara, but you knew you needed to steer the briefing towards formulating an actual cohesive strategy.

Clearing your throat, you refocused attention on Nishimiya’s abilities. “Nishimiya is invaluable for their team as a highly-skilled scout and reconnaissance asset. Which is precisely why during the group battle, we’ll need to take her down first.”

You gestured toward her cursed tool on the screen, “A good shot at that broom and she’s effectively grounded and neutralized as an immediate threat.”

Leaning back, your mind wandered into the recollections of your very first Goodwill Event. That year, you had been matched with Nishimiya for the individual combat rounds – likely an unremarkable pairing from the audience’s perspective, just two of the weakest underdogs awkwardly trading pot-shots and trash-talking each other.

Your archery skills back then could generously be described as “a work in progress,” and you hadn’t gotten your hand on Soulstring yet. It took an embarrassing number of loosed arrows, your quiver all but depleted by the time you finally managed to nail that damned broom and send Nishimiya crashing unceremoniously to the ground.

However, upon assessing your unassuming appearance more closely, Nishimiya cackled in delight. Obviously, even as a scout, she had completed her compulsory hand-to-hand combat training, and so she clearly had thought she could trounce your scrawny ass in a fistfight. Of course, the obnoxiously misguided girl failed to account for the sheer depths of Gojo and Hakari’s sad*stic training regimens from hell that made military boot camps look like playground romps.

When the inevitable came to pass and the boring fight devolved into an even more boring brawl, Nishimiya was most displeased to discover you were, in fact, decently good at throwing hands.

You swiftly moved on to the next subject of scrutiny – Miwa Kasumi, a second year. Catching Nobara’s side eye, no doubt already gearing up to unleash another barb about this girl’s choice of hairstyle as well, you pressed on before she could interject.

“Miwa’s a close-range fighter. She’s pretty good with that sword,” you stated plainly, your tone all business as you assessed the potential threat level. “Doesn’t seem to be exceptionally gifted when it comes to cursed energy reserves or overall combat prowess. But don’t underestimate her. From what I’ve gathered, Miwa is absolutely committed to anything she sets her mind to – a true grinder.”

A series of nods of acknowledgment rippled through your assembled crew as they processed the intel. Satisfied, you smoothly transitioned to the next competitor.

“Now, Zen’in Mai on the other hand…” You gestured toward the stern image of the second-year marksman glaring out from the screen. “She’s an excellent sharpshooter, no two ways about it. Precise, calculating, utterly merciless. Also, she’s annoying and she plays dirty, so watch your back—”

Before you could elaborate further, Maki calmly raised her hand. “No need to worry about Mai. I’ll deal with her myself.”

An electric sort of tension crackled in the silence that followed as the others’ gazes flicked between Maki and the screen, Nobara and Megumi’s eyes widening almost imperceptibly as the obvious yet unspoken dynamic registered.

It was not the time nor place to dredge up their history though, you decided with a small shake of your head. “Alright then.” You said simply, respecting Maki’s boundaries as your briefing continued onward.

“Next up, we have Kamo Noritoshi,” you announced, the third-year’s photo appearing on the screen with a few clicks. “His particular skillset is… distinctly unpleasant, to put it mildly.”

You grimaced involuntarily as you recounted the details.

“Blood Manipulation – that’s his game. The guy coats his arrows in his own blood and can even alter their trajectories mid-flight. NEVER allow Kamo to back you into enclosed spaces or tight corners. And for the love of all that’s sacred, do not – I repeat, DO NOT – let even a single drop of his blood make contact. Carry water with you at all times during the event. If he does manage to tag you, wash it off immediately. Or throw water at him. Diluting his blood makes it harder for him to maintain control over his technique.”

Nobara fidgeted, lips pursing with morbid fascination, while Megumi’s brow furrowed in a contemplative frown. Maki, however, remained utterly impassive, her gaze coolly assessing as she processed the strategy.

“That said,” you continued after a calculated pause, “Kamo does possess one potentially exploitable flaw: the man loves the sound of his own voice. Favorite topics include duties and honor. If you find yourself outmatched against him, keep him talking. Inflate that ego, distract him with conversational vanity until an opportunity to disengage presents itself.”

After a few murmurs, the room settled into a focused calm as you transitioned to the final two competitors – undoubtedly Kyoto’s biggest guns.

Clicking to the next image in the lineup, you caught Nobara’s sharp inhalation from the corner of your vision.

“Wait, hold up,” she sputtered incredulously. “That’s literally a goddamn robot. Is that even allowed?”

You sighed, massaging your temple in a futile attempt to stave off the impending migraine. “Unfortunately, yes. Despite the… dubious nature, this mechanical menace is indeed an official competitor.”

The photo on the screen was indeed of a literal robot – all sleek curves of polished metal crowned by a pair of glaring optic sensors. He was probably controlled by some reclusive nerd tucked away safely in Kyoto while this murder machine did their bidding. But you couldn’t get much intel on the student puppeteering the robot, so you stuck to the facts you had.

“He goes by the rather unsubtle moniker of ‘Mechamaru,’” you explained with an eye roll. “A semi grade one, and an absolute bastard of a combatant by all accounts. Huge pain in the ass and borderline indestructible.”

You allowed that tidbit to sink in for a moment before delivering the final unpleasant truth. “Our best recourse will likely be trying to avoid direct engagement with Mechamaru during the group battle if at all possible.”

Ever the curious, Panda piped up, voicing the obvious question on everyone’s minds regarding the mechanical menace. “Is there really no way to beat him though?”

You pondered his question for a moment, fingers tapping against your chin.

“Well, in theory at least, since he’s literally just a very advanced robot, if you caused enough physical damage you could potentially render him inoperable. His joints and sensors are probably the weakest points. But let’s be real here – picking a fight with a murderous hunk of metal seems like a terrible idea even on paper.”

The rest of your crew slowly nodded in grim agreement with your analysis, all parties seemingly satisfied for the time being as you opted to shelve that particularly thorny issue.

With a deep breath, you pressed on to the pièce de résistance – the final combatant whose very inclusion constituted a clear statement of uncompromising hostility by Gakuganji: Todo Aoi, third-year student and grade one sorcerer. Literal monster.

Todo’s sneering portrait appeared on the screen, all muscle and raw strength radiating an aura of power and danger that was palpable even digitally.

Slapping at your slide with perhaps more force than necessary, you gritted your teeth so hard you could feel the enamel grinding together.

“None of us – and I cannot stress this strongly enough – none of us can reasonably take this psychotic bastard on directly. Not alone, and likely not even all at once.”

Your words seemed to suck the very air from the room with its grimness.

“Todo’s a grade-one sorcerer, which puts him leagues above us in terms of power. But it’s not just his abilities – the guy is utterly deranged. He lives for combat and has zero qualms about lethal force or collateral damage.”

You fixed them all with a stern look. “He’s crazy and he will kill you. So listen to me very closely – you see that son of a bitch coming your way on the field, you run. Don’t try to fight, don’t stop for anything. Just turn around and haul your ass in the opposite direction as fast as humanly possible.”

It’s hard for them to imagine someone could be even crazier than you. Your certified insanity and unhinged scheming were legendary these days. But the look of dread etched onto your features, the uncharacteristic seriousness in your tone, suggested you were absolutely not joking about this Todo Aoi.

At your dead serious warning, Inumaki spoke up in his trademark word salads. “Sour pickled plum, sesame?”

You let out a weary sigh that seemed to emanate from your very soul, rolling your eyes so hard you could practically see your brain rattling around in there. That was such an Inumaki thing to say. Not a beat passed as you processed the profoundly stupid query he just lobbed your way.

“Look, man, I got no f*cking clue what Todo’s cursed technique is.” You admitted with a huff. “But from what I’ve heard last year, Todo punched the sh*t out of a whole swarm of grade-one curses like they were nothing. Just waded in and started wailing on them with his bare fists.”

You shake your head slowly, lips pressed into a tense line. “So, the specifics don’t really matter. That tells us all we need to know.”

Inumaki’s nose scrunched up, whether in distaste or simple contemplation is anyone’s guess. A curt “Caviar” is his only reply.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You murmured with a tired nod. The weight of the situation seemed to physically slump your shoulders.

Nobara’s incredulous gaze ping-ponged between the two of you, eyes widening further and further. Finally, her patience reached its limit.

“Okay, I’ll bite – how do you even know what the hell he’s talking about?" She pointed at Inumaki before whirling on the rest of the crew. “Hold on, do y’all really understand this weirdo’s cooking channel mumbo-jumbo? Am I seriously the only one who doesn’t get it?”

Maki responded with a nonchalant shrug. “Panda and I can usually get the general gist from context, more or less. But only Spices and Yuuta are capable of having full conversations with Toge.”

Megumi shook his head. “You should see the three of them arguing over movies. Like, in-depth cinematic critiques. Just bonkers.”

The sheer bizarreness of it all was simply baffling. Even you weren’t entirely sure how or when you’d become so damn fluent in Inumaki’s gibberish. One day it just… clicked, his skewered semantics suddenly making some sort of demented sense to your addled brain. It was one of life’s great mysteries, right up there with how Panda managed to perfectly style his perpetually luscious fur.

But now wasn’t the time to plumb the murky depths of your dubious linguistic talents. With a glare aimed squarely at Megumi, you forcibly steered the conversation back on track. “Alright, enough of that. We’ve got more pressing matters here, people!”

You gestured at the full line-up of batsh*t your school would be up against this year.

Maki’s snicker cut through the tension, her gaze bright with undisguised schadenfreude. She was most definitely still pissed she didn’t get to participate in last year’s Goodwill Event.

“Gee, I wonder how this whole catastrophic escalation came to be?” She mused, relishing the opportunity to rub your face in your havoc-wreaking antics. “Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you siccing Yuuta on those Kyoto bastards last year?”

Your glare swiveled towards the shameless delinquent. “Hey, you damn near busted a gut laughing your ass off for a solid hour straight when you heard how Yuuta utterly wrecked their collective sh*t last year. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Maki’s answering smirk didn’t even attempt to feign innocence. “Oh, I absolutely did.”

With a dismissive snort, you waved away her theatrical baiting - the aftermath of your destructive pettiness had certainly proven highly entertaining. So much so that Shoko had even allowed you to bend the rules and have beer for the first time in celebration of your anarchic glory. That celebratory party, ultimately, had led to another whole disastrous mess. But that was a story for another time.

For now, all humor evaporated as you regarded the Kyoto line-up again. Pettiness and spite could only sustain you for so long. Nothing could change the impending sh*tstorm headed your way now that the Kyoto school had clearly made it their mission to settle the score.

While the Council Elders still needed your life as leverage against Gojo, Gakuganji probably wouldn’t let his devil’s spawns actually murder you. Though beating the ever-loving sh*t out of you was definitely on the table. You would need every scrap of preparation and strategic foresight to weather Kyoto’s scorching retaliation.

Running a hand through your hair, you turned to face your friends with a wide, unrepentant grin.

“Yeah, well, petty revenge has its price. And like it or not, this year, y’all are stuck paying up your dear senpai’s debt.”

So, your whole crew spent a few moments studying the lineup of Kyoto competitors, mulling over the threat assessment, expressions radiating varying degrees of “oh sh*t” – ranging from curious intrigue to outright apprehension to the faintest hints of excited anticipation.

Finally, Panda broke the stilted silence. “‘A’ight, so what’s the play here, senpai?”

And there it was – the million-dollar question that ensured a solid night’s sleep would continue eluding you for the foreseeable future.

“The hell we running from those murderous f*cks for?” Nobara cut in with her own uniquely cavalier brand of suicidal bravado, wagging a finger at the ominous photos of Todo and Mechamaru. “Where’s the fun in backing down before we even get our licks in, huh?”

Of course, only Nobara could be more concerned about maintaining an entertaining thrill factor when faced with deranged psychopaths quite literally hell-bent on murders.

To which Inumaki rumbled with an authoritative nod “Spicy… cod roe,” as if bestowing some form of sagely encouragement upon Nobara’s reckless sentiments.

Shaking your head, you tossed the laser pointer towards Maki with a resigned flick of your wrist.

“Well, I’m just the schemer around here, not some master tactician,” you declared with an airy shrug. “I’ve laid out everything I could dig up on those Kyoto bastards. For the nitty gritty battle tactics, you take the lead, Maki.”

Maki snatched the pointer from the air with reflexes honed by years of close-quarters brawling, her features registering brief surprise before melting into a wolfish grin as the gravity of your trust and acknowledgment sank in. For all her teasing jabs and brassy exterior, the two of you always had an unexpectedly close bond - underdogs recognizing shared struggles in one another.

Her expression sobered, settling into one of intense, laserlike focus as Maki glanced around the room, surveying your assembled crew with the sharp, analytical eyes of a born fighter strategizing their next move.

Maki zeroed in on the intimidating images of Todo and Mechamaru: “Those freakshows are gonna need some extra strategizing time.” She whipped the pointer around. “But for this opening group battle circus, here’s how we’re gonna play it.”

Maki’s tone took on the clipped, no-nonsense cadence of a commander issuing field orders.

“We’ll split into pairs – one long-range fighter teamed with one close-quarters combatant. That way we can cover all our bases and be prepared for any situation.”

Nobara immediately perked up like an overexcited puppy, eyes shining at the prospect.

“I’ll be Maki-senpai’s partner!” She all but yipped, hand shooting up eagerly.

For some bizarre reason, Nobara had gotten weirdly attached to Maki’s hip in the short time they’d known each other, seeming to adopt a devoted puppy-like admiration that was both bemusing and endearing.

Maki’s expression softened ever so slightly as she smiled down at the excitable girl, indulging her with a nod. “Okay. You’re with me.”

It was a shockingly gentle response coming from the typically brusque and standoffish Maki – the kind of tender indulgence she usually reserved solely for her precious Yuuta. The obviousness wasn’t lost on you or the others.

Megumi raised his hand politely, but before he could even open his mouth, Maki swiftly waved him off with a curt shake of her head. “No, Fushiguro. You can’t pair with Spices. You’re both predominantly long-range fighters. And there’s no point stationing two scouts in one place together.”

Despite his clear displeasure at being talked over, Megumi seemed to grudgingly accept that Maki was the one calling the shots on this operation. With a resigned exhale, he pivoted strategically. “Then I’ll pair up with Inumaki-senpai.”

The reasoning was evident to everyone – Megumi was clearly angling to get you teamed up with the group’s other heavyweight hitter, Panda.

Megumi would argue it made perfect sense from a pragmatic standpoint – Kyoto had made it abundantly clear they wanted payback specifically aimed at your troublemaking ass. So having you roll with one of the muscle-bound bruisers watching your back was just smart tactics. If Megumi couldn’t look out for you himself, he had to make sure someone as strong as Panda would be there to cover you.

But of course, Maki swiftly overruled Megumi’s carefully calculated strategy once again. “Nah, that’s not how we’re lining this bitch up.”

Megumi’s face fell into a deep frown, lips pursing as frustration crept into the taut lines around his eyes and mouth.

“But why?” he demanded, sounding eerily like a toddler being told he couldn’t have a third cookie before dinner. “I have an offensive cursed technique – I’m far better equipped to provide cover for Inumaki-senpai out on the front lines than Spices. It makes more sense strategically to pair Spices with Panda-senpai.”

The implication that you were the weaker link was clear in his argument. Not that you could find it in yourself to take any real offense. The smug little prodigy wasn’t exactly wrong in his assessment of the strategic value you brought to a head-on fight. Your real game was more about melting into the background and stalking people, as well as crafting batsh*t crazy schemes from the shadows. In the openness of the group battle, getting your average ass handed back to you was a confirmed outcome.

But Maki wasn’t having any of Megumi’s motherhen-concern-concealed-as-pure-logic. She crossed her arms over her chest, fixing him with a stern, immovable look straight out of her older sister’s playbook. “No offense, Fushiguro, but between you two, Spices is better at hand-to-hand combat and also a lot more versatile. You’ll get more mileage having Panda watching your back.”

She jerked a thumb in your direction with a smirk. “Plus, Spices is the only one here who can fully understand Toge. Being able to communicate with your partner is kind of an important factor on the battlefield.”

Megumi’s brow furrowed mutinously as he opened his mouth to protest further, ready to dig his heels in over the strategic disagreement. But Maki shut that notion down with a single, withering glare that could have curdled milk.

The tension between Megumi and Maki was rapidly mounting, both of them locked in a silent battle of wills as they glared at each other with challenge in their eyes. Which was exactly the kind of needless infighting and macho posturing you definitely didn’t need muddying the waters right now.

Before the simmering conflict could escalate further, you moved to swiftly diffuse the situation – placing a gentle but firm hand on Megumi’s tense forearm. The surprise contact seemed to momentarily break his intense staring contest with Maki as he glanced over at you quizzically.

You offered him a small reassuring smile, giving his arm a light squeeze as you leaned in closer.

“It’s alright, Gumi. If you’re worried, we can schedule some extra one-on-one training sessions,” you said in a low tone.

Though honestly, you knew full well that Maki was likely to run you all into the ground with her notoriously intense training regimens. Finding the time and energy for some supplemental practice between just the two of you would be rather exhausting, if not entirely impossible.

But your calm voice and soothing cursed energy flowing over Megumi seemed to do the trick in smoothing down his ruffled feathers. You could visibly see the fight draining from his shoulders as he let out a slow exhale through his nostrils and gave you a tiny nod. Crisis averted.

Turning your attention to Maki, you asked: “So, how exactly do you want to whip our sorry asses into shape for this fresh hell?” The familiar teasing lilt took any potential sting out of your words.

Maki’s expression remained impassive, but her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk as she twirled the laser pointer deftly between her fingers.

“We’ll start by doing situational drills focused on our assigned pairings,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Get used to each other’s movement, timing, strengths and weaknesses when working closely.”

She aimed the pointer towards the ceiling in a shrug. “Then we’ll pit the pairs against each other in mock battles – moving on to full-scale simulations with all three teams in the fray once we’ve sharpened our fundamentals.”

Maki swept her gaze over everyone. “We need to become intimately familiar not just with our own team dynamics, but how to attack and defend against the others as well. No blindspots or unknowns once we hit the real battle.”

“Alright, ma’am.” You clapped your hands decisively, grinning brightly at your crew. “Time for hell!”

Your words might have been teasing and flippant, but your message was clear. Maki had taken the reins, and you’d all be following her lead without question from here on out. No more distractions or infighting. All in.

***

Maki’s “special” training regimen lived up to its ominous billing from day one.

While the other pairs struggled to find cohesion and rhythm as they adapted to their new partnerships, you and Inumaki seemed to hit the ground running with a surprising degree of synergy.

Inumaki’s Cursed Speech was as much a double-edged blade as it was a formidable weapon. On one hand, if his cursed energy reserves overpowered his opponent’s, he could effectively bend them to his will through spoken commands laced with binding cursed energy. But if they proved strong enough to resist, Inumaki had little choice but to cut his losses and outright flee – a tactical retreat being vastly preferable to getting himself killed.

As a result, his entire fighting style boiled down to two key tactics: dominate or evade.

An elegant simplicity that nonetheless demanded blinding speed, agility, and split-second decision making to pull off successfully. Dude had to be a twitchy, hyperactive whirlwind of perpetual motion lest he get his narrow ass boxed in and mercilessly pummeled by anyone whose cursed energy outclassed his.

In simpler words, Inumaki was fast as f*ck.

Despite his lean, almost delicate appearance, he was an absolute beast of coiled, wiry athleticism – all tightly bundled muscle and explosive kinetic energy waiting to detonate.

During your hand-to-hand sparring sessions, you could barely keep up with his dizzying flurry of feral feints and lightning-quick strikes. Despite not being a brawler kind of guy, just his speed alone made Inumaki incredibly difficult to deal with. The only reason you weren’t too embarrassingly overmatched was that you knew him well enough and were able to read the subtle nuances of his cursed energy fluctuations.

Even still, Inumaki kept you scrambling and desperately backpedaling more often than not as the two of you danced around the training room in a blur of clashing fists and feet. It was as exhausting as it was thrillingly invigorating. For all his quirks, Inumaki was ultimately a semi first grade sorcerer not to be messed with.

The other pairs, however, weren’t having nearly as smooth a transition in acclimating to their respective partners’ vastly differing combat styles and abilities. More than once during the joint group sessions, you caught glimpses of Megumi and Nobara looking increasingly harried and out of sync as they got the ass-kicking of their lives. Nobara, in particular, seemed to be greatly questioning her decision to match with Maki. Meanwhile, you were just glad that you were not at the receiving end of Panda’s rocket barrages.

In between getting your ass ritualistically handed to you during Maki’s soul-crushing combat drills, you and Inumaki carved out pockets of time to sharpen those archery skills of yours on the shooting range. Only instead of the predictable movements of the boring standard moving targets, Inumaki helped kick things up several notches to somewhere between “Oh holy f*ck” and “I’m gonna die out there.”

He’d careen around that range like a methed-up circus performer, flinging water balloons with his freakish speed from every conceivable blind spot and angle imaginable. With Soulstring, things were manageable, as long as you could lock in your targets, your shots never missed.

But you also practiced with your normal bow and arrows just in case. And that was how you got several icy water balloons in the face. Just one split-second lapse in concentration, and WHAP – bullseye. How did he even get that good at throwing sh*t?!

During your breathless breaks, Inumaki would indulge you with clipped anecdotes from his own first-grade trials, offering small insights into the dangers that potentially awaited you.

“Chicken teriyaki,” he concluded between gulping down water with that thousand-yard stare of his.

You let out a slow whistle, temporarily forgetting the dull throb of your aching shoulder as your mind whirred with the precious intel.

“Thanks, Toge. I’ll keep that in mind.”

In exchange for Inumaki’s delightful insights, you told him of your own recent scheming hijinks. Like that whole fiasco with Shoko that managed to land pretty much everyone you knew behind bars for half a day.

Recounting the absurd chain of events – from the car chase that had prompted you to destroy a public highway to the rapidly escalating madness of Shoko’s fake murder scene, all the way through Gojo razing down a warehouse district to the part where you all got arrested, interrogated and jailed in the High Council’s HQ – had Inumaki alternating between bemused headshakes and wheezing fits of laughter. By the time you got to the part about Yaga’s fresh bald spots, he was damn near convulsing, chest heaving with silent guffaws.

As you wrapped up the Shoko Incident, Inumaki could only flash you an enthusiastic thumbs up and an approving “Salmon roe” through his residual chuckles.

Once the giggle fits finally subsided enough for coherent breath to return, you caught that hawk-like gaze of his sweeping over you with an unmistakable furrow of scrutiny etched across his brow. Following that intense stare, you realized Inumaki had zeroed in on the careful way you’d been minding that battered left shoulder between labored rolls and grimaces.

The lingering aftermath of almost getting buried under the giant bookshelf in the library that week, dangling outside a speeding car, all the recent stressful events, and now the relentless training… well, let’s just say that shoulder had been through the wringer lately. This latest over-extension during your hand-to-hand drills with Inumaki was just the cherry on top of an already unpleasant sundae.

Before you could even sputter some flimsy reassurance about being perfectly fine, Inumaki was already sliding around behind you, hands hovering with a tentative “Mustard leaf?” as he co*cked his head in question.

You groaned, “Yeah, you’re right, Toge. I guess my shoulder could really use a reset right about now.”

You clenched your jaw tightly, bracing for that familiar onslaught of sharp, stabbing pain that inevitably accompanied a shoulder reset, like the way Shoko had casually popped your dislocated shoulder back in place before applying her reversed healing.

Only Inumaki’s initial touch was shockingly… tender?

His hands descended with surprising gentleness, the pads of his fingers gently probing along the knotted ridge of the muscles along your neck and upper back at first. You waited for that wince-inducing pressure to kick in, but none came. Just a gradual escalation of firm, undulating kneads targeting each gnarly little bump with an almost clinical precision.

There was no wrenching, no harsh twists – just those skilled thumbs working in calculated little spirals, slowly unspooling the tangled fibers bit by bit. You felt the rigid tension slowly thinned out in waves, your muscles cautiously relaxing under Inumaki’s deft ministrations until you found yourself involuntarily slumping forward with an undignified grunt.

“Oh f*ck me running,” you rasped out in a drowsy mumble, the words slightly slurred, head bobbing as the stress and residual aches metabolized out of your system in one glorious purge.

Inumaki’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before he chuckled quietly and resumed his craft.

For his part, Inumaki seemed wholly unconcerned with maintaining any pretense of propriety or personal space at this point. Having reduced you to a pile of noodly goo, he simply kept kneading away – putting that peculiar skillset of his to maximum usage, fully devoting himself to his newfound calling as an amateur masseuse.

Some time later during these tranquil moments, Inumaki’s roaming fingers tentatively trailed up the taut line of your neck, tenderly squeezing out the ever-present strain in a gentle glide until goosebumps rippled across your suddenly hyper-sensitized skin. He cradled the base of your head, one palm anchored against your upper back as the other began lightly circling your hairline in soothing kneads.

“Maybe I should start paying you by the hour for this magic sh*t, Toge.” You managed a dopey-ass compliment between blissful sighs.

Inumaki just arched an eyebrow, his lips curled up slightly as his fingers combed upwards through your damp hair strands in a slow, almost sensual caress that had every last follicle tingling pleasantly.

Around you, the harsh atmosphere of the training room had inexplicably shape-shifted into a hazy cocoon of muted tranquility. The air became subtly charged with a dreamlike rustling – slow breaths and softened edges replacing the oppressive weight of expectations and consequences, if only for a fleeting span of relief.

“Mackerel… spicy cod roe…”

You dimly registered his muffled voice droning with each measured exhale. With your eyes losing focus, his murmurings took on a strange, ambient cadence flowing like a meditative river over your senses.

At some point, you became distantly aware of fingers brushing along your cheekbones and jawline with achingly tender reverence – brief, looping trails of heat radiating across your skin fleetingly. Or perhaps that, too, was merely your imagination as your body felt both overwhelmed and so, so free.

Suspended in a state of blissful, almost borderless equilibrium where the outside world fell away entirely and literally nothing else mattered, your eyes finally fluttered shut.

“Sleep well.”

Your last memory was his familiar whisper, spoken softly with a slight tinge of cursed energy, just enough to lull your consciousness into heavenly stillness. Your body fell into the comfort of his gentle embrace.

For the first time in a long time, you slept in perfect serenity. With no nightmares and no spinning thoughts.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

You never would have guessed that Inumaki’s Cursed Speech could work such wicked wonders for sleeplessness and those pesky nightmares that had been plaguing you. But hot damn, after that epic shoulder rub and the “sleep well” command he laid on you yesterday, you had snoozed harder than a tranquilized bear – in the best possible way.

This morning, you had awoken feeling fresher than a spring daisy after April showers. Relaxed, yet buzzing with far more energy than you could remember having in recent memory. So much pep in your step that you briefly entertained delusions of being able to take down the corrupt dinosaurs on the High Council all by yourself. Well… maybe not literally. That was pushing it a little. But you did feel unstoppable in a metaphorical sense at least.

Before you could get carried away plotting any ill-advised coups, you had your usual assistance duties with Shoko to attend to first. No problem, you smiled to yourself, throwing on your uniform. With this Inumaki-blessed energy buff, getting through that stuff would be a breeze.

So, now sitting at Shoko’s desk, you plowed through the towering stacks of reports, test analyses, and other paperwork with a refreshing effortlessness.

Just then, the door swung open with a creak, revealing a very bedraggled-looking Ijichi. The poor guy looked like he’d been wandering the desert for weeks without a drop of water. His eyes were ringed darker than a raccoon’s and his whole vibe screamed “why am I still alive?”

“Ijichi-san!” you greeted with a friendly wave. “Looking a tad rough around the edges there. Everything okay?”

He shuffled fully inside, each step seeming to require monumental effort. “I was… feeling a bit off,” Ijichi mumbled, sounding just this side of mostly dead. “Thought I’d see if Ieiri-san could… check me over.”

You glanced pointedly at the clock on Shoko’s desk. Just past 10 am – far too early for your perpetually sauced boss to have even considered emerging from her inevitable gin-soaked slumber.

“Well, Ieiri-san is probably still sleeping off whatever bender she was on last night, so she won’t be in for a couple of hours minimum,” you told Ijichi.

As Ijichi dragged himself to the chair across from your desk and collapsed into it, you gave him an appraising look. A “bit off” seemed like one hell of an understatement – the guy looked utterly wrecked.

Suddenly, you had a brilliant idea.

“But maybe I could whip you up one of her reinvigorating herbal blends? A special mixture of ginseng, reishi mushrooms, and like, twelve other flowery things I can’t pronounce. Supposed to have you feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in no time!”

The very suggestion seemed to drain what little remaining lifeforce poor Ijichi had left, he looked like might be sick right there. “Ah… th-thank you, but I can wait for her,” he stammered out quickly.

Clearly, the man didn’t have much faith in Shoko’s alternative medicine recipes. Or maybe he just didn’t trust your brewing capabilities. Well, whatever. His loss. You shrugged, returning your focus to the paperwork instead.

But then, Ijichi rummaged through his leather briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers, placing it in front of you with a weary thump. “Here. Profiles of everyone who had access to my report of that incident within the first three minutes. I cross-referenced them with the list of staff having security clearance to obtain Ieiri-san’s schedules like you asked.”

You perked up with interest: “Oh, that’s fast work. Thank you, Ijichi-san.”

You quickly flipped through the pages. Only five people on the list. This should make stalking, eh… investigating them easier.

Ijichi winced as if he could see the scheming gears starting to turn in your head. “You’re welcome. But keep that to yourself, please,” he urged in a low tone, eyes darting around furtively.

You nodded with an easy smile. “Of course, but you know, you could have just emailed me instead of wasting all this paper.” Couldn’t let an opportunity to playfully rib the poor sap slide when you were feeling so chipper. “You could’ve saved a few trees and done your part for the environment while you were at it.”

Ijichi just shook his head nervously, sweat beading on his brow. “If anyone finds out, I didn’t give you this, understand? Just say… you found it here and you picked it up yourself.”

Chuckling under your breath, you had to give Ijichi some credit. Despite looking like a zombie extra who stumbled off a horror movie set, the guy was still sharp as a tack when it came to covering his tracks.

“Understood.” You agreed with an exaggerated wink.

Your words didn’t seem to ease Ijichi’s nerves at all. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack just having this conversation.

But Ijichi somehow found the strength to continue, his voice dropping to a hush. “About the other thing you asked me… The case is officially closed. They’ll release Ieiri-san’s… um, stunt double body in a few days. I’ll have her cremated then.” He paused, hesitating. “What do you want me to write on the name plate?”

Ah, right.

But cadavers didn’t usually come with their own names. So you tilted your head as you considered Ijichi’s question: “Let’s call her... a friend.”

Ijichi simply nodded, his expression a mixture of resignation and something like sadness.

“Thanks for the trouble, Ijichi-san. I owe you one,” you told him, offering a smile of gratitude.

Somehow the prospect of owning you a favor seemed to fill the already weary man with a particular sense of dread. He fixed you with a strange, searching look.

“I don’t know how you do this, Spices,” Ijichi muttered, shaking his head slowly.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Do what, exactly?”

Ijichi seemed to carefully consider his words before responding. “Sometimes you are just… off the wall crazy. Well, most of the time, really.” His mouth twisted wryly. “But then you also care so much.”

There was a sad, almost mournful note in his voice that you couldn’t quite place. An odd mix of emotions flickered across his worn features. You weren’t sure how to feel about this.

On one hand, having others label you as “off the wall crazy” was practically a badge of honor in your line of work. But then, the fact that you also cared… From Ijichi’s tone, he clearly viewed that as more of a tragic flaw.

“Is that… a bad thing?” you asked hesitantly.

Ijichi’s smile was tight, forced. “You’re so young, Spices,” he said at last, an unexpected heaviness weighing down the words. “This jujutsu sorcerer life… it wouldn’t do you good to care so much about so many things. Not in the long run.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the two of you as his words sank in. There was a wistful melancholy to his expression. You studied the man carefully for a tense moment, then you decided it was still too early in the morning for an existential crisis. So, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

Roughly an hour later, Shoko arrived, looking like she had been hit by a hurricane. Her hair was a tangled mess, her makeup smeared, and there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes that could give Panda a run for his money.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” you quipped as she stumbled in. Shoko just grunted and waved you off before turning her bleary focus to Ijichi.

After a brief examination filled with plenty of poking, squinting, and head-shaking, Shoko concluded that Ijichi was simply overstressed and rundown, not actually ill. She pressed a brown paper bag with an assortment of herbal teas and vitamin supplements into his hands.

“Take these and get some rest,” she said, already looking like she was ready to face-plant right there on her desk. But then her eyes widened slightly as a thought struck her. “Oh, by the way, you should come over after work. Let’s grab a few drinks, blow off some steam.”

At those words, Ijichi immediately perked up like a marionette on strings. His tired eyes brightened and a hint of color returned to his cheeks as he gave Shoko a hopeful look. “O-oh? A drink? With you?”

You had to bite back a snort at how quickly he came alive at the prospect. The poor man was utterly lovestruck.

“Uh-huh. I know this killer place downtown,” Shoko responded casually, seemingly oblivious to the effect her words had. “Real nice vibe, great drinks. I think you’ll like it.”

“Of course!” Ijichi gave an eager nod, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “I… I’ll see you tonight.”

You watched in silence as he began fidgeting and straightening his tie, no doubt already picturing what dashing outfit he’d change into later. He left with a noticeable spring in his step. Man, this guy had it bad.

Once Ijichi was gone, Shoko turned to you: “Wanna come too? They have great appetizers.”

“Wait, isn’t this supposed to be, you know... a date for you two?” You arched one incredulous eyebrow at her. “Are you really gonna drag your kid along, mom?”

Shoko outright cackled at that, not even trying to stifle her amusem*nt. “Oh please. I never said it was a date. Actually, it’s Gojo’s idea. He thinks Ijichi’s been too stressed lately and could use a night to blow off some steam. Get sloppy drunk, do something stupid and embarrassing for once in his uptight life, you know? Gojo’ll be there, too.”

The realization of what was happening hit you like a ton of bricks. Your jaw dropped as you processed the sheer heartbreak Ijichi was going to receive when he showed up tonight. This was going to be an utter massacre.

“You’re evil, Ieiri-san.” you sputtered out in a shocked laugh. “The man thinks he’s going on a romantic date with his dream girl, and you’re just using it as an excuse to get him blitzed out of his mind?”

Shoko shrugged innocently. “It’ll be good for him to unwind and have fun. You should come, Spices.”

You shook your head firmly at Shoko’s invitation. “Thanks, but I definitely can’t be drinking.”

The memory of last year’s Goodwill Event celebration party after Yuuta demolished the Kyoto team came flooding back with mortifying clarity. Shoko had allowed you to try alcohol for the first time in appreciation of your incredible, history-book-worthy prank against Gakuganji.

Just a couple of beers. What could go wrong, right? Famous last words.

There were different categories of drunks out there – the happy, jovial kind, the loud and confrontational angry drunks, the reckless daredevils. But you, unfortunately, seemed to fall into one of the most cringeworthy subsets: the emotional wreck.

A couple beers in was all it took to reduce you into a sobbing, incoherent mess, blubbering uncontrollably about every little thing that crossed your mind.

You could still vividly recall breaking down into a hysterical puddle simply because you saw a lost little ant wandering aimlessly, prompting Yuuta to hastily launch into an impromptu karaoke musical in a desperate bid to distract you. But you just started bawling harder about how beautiful his voice was.

At one point, Maki had to physically extract you from the party. An effort made infinitely more difficult by the way you pathetically clung to her, alternating between wailing about how unfair the ant’s life was and gushing over how impossibly soft her hair felt.

A full-body cringe rippled through you as more memories from that disaster of a night emerged in your brain.

Shoko’s raucous laughter confirmed your deepest fears. She clearly remembered the incident vividly as well.

“Oh right!” She wheezed, slapping her knee delightedly. “Back then you made Gojo piggyback you while running laps around the entire campus grounds until midnight. Just bawling your eyes out about how you were gonna miss him so much when he got all old and ancient and died before you!”

Your face burned hot with renewed mortification at the recollection. All because Gojo happened to be over a decade older than you, your drunken brain had forgotten that he was literally god and warped that tiny detail about his age into a hysterical meltdown, convinced he would soon wither away into dust while you still walked the earth.

Hence, you had ended up clinging to Gojo like an overgrown koala, forcing the most powerful sorcerer alive to huff around carrying your weeping ass, devastated by your preemptive grief over his theoretically imminent demise. For hours on end, no less, while you soaked the back of his shirt with pitiful tears and incoherent wails. Didn’t want to let go and kept babbling about how you needed to cherish your time together before he croaked from old age.

Utterly humiliating didn’t even begin to cover the mortifying spectacle you turned into under the influence. You groaned, slapping a hand over your eyes as if that could somehow erase the memories. “I’m never, ever drinking again for as long as I live, this life and the next.”

When Shoko’s laughter finally died down enough for her to speak again, she wiped away mirthful tears from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Spices. This is just a family restaurant I had in mind,” she reassured you. “They’ve got plenty of soda and non-alcoholic drink options too. That’s why I picked this particular place. Gojo can’t really drink either, remember?”

She gave you a sly wink, as if expecting this fact to sway you. But still, you shook your head. “Nah, you adults go ahead and have your adult time. I’m good.”

While avoiding a potential rerun of your humiliating drunken disaster was certainly motivation enough, you also had another reason for wanting to skip out on this supposedly casual group hangout.

Ever since your disagreement with Gojo regarding Yuji’s situation, things had been... strained between you two, to put it mildly.

Gojo, who usually bombarded you with near-constant texts and calls throughout the day – even while literally in the midst of fighting curses – had gone essentially radio silent. He didn’t reply to any of your messages either. This cold-shoulder treatment made it abundantly clear he was displeased. Or perhaps, he already figured out you had gone behind his back.

As much as you hated to admit it, disappointing Gojo stung hard. His approval meant too much to you. You needed to work out this tangled mess of emotions in your chest before dealing with Gojo. Hanging out with him right now would just be too awkward. And the adults did need their adult time, anyway. As strange as their dynamics might be, Shoko, Gojo, and Ijichi had been friends since they were your age. It would not be right for you to intrude.

Shoko seemed to pick up on your meaning immediately, her earlier mirth fading into a more pensive expression.

“Suit yourself,” she said at last with a nonchalant shrug. “But for what it’s worth, don’t stress so much. Give Gojo some time. He’ll get around.”

“Thanks, Ieiri-san.” You smiled.

Shoko smiled back before wading into the infirmary to sleep off her hangover.

You thought about Shoko’s words for a few minutes and then, with a sigh, you turned your focus back to the assorted files and busywork in front of you.

Step one was getting through this morning. You still had Maki’s hellish training waiting in the afternoon.

***

The day had turned out to be a productive one, all things considered. You and Inumaki even managed a hard-won victory over Megumi and Panda during your paired sparring session, though admittedly through some rather underhanded tactics.

To secure your win, you had to resort to hitting Panda’s greatest weakness – telling him that his fur looked disheveled and there appeared to be some unsightly dirt matted into his back. Before Megumi could process your dirty trick, Panda was already craning his neck, desperately trying to contort himself around to inspect and groom the perceived unkempt area that didn’t actually exist.

In that split second of distraction, you and Inumaki capitalized on the opportunity to launch a decisive joint attack, subduing the pair while Panda was still consumed with anxiety over his immaculate appearance.

Cheap? Absolutely. But also an undeniable win that allowed you to end the training session half an hour early so you could change out of your sweat-drenched clothes and have a nice hot shower.

By the time you were in your cozy pajamas and ready to dive onto your inviting bed, a brisk knock at your door interrupted the blissful moment. Seconds later, Nobara let herself in without ceremony, her usual total disregard for personal boundaries on full display.

“This training thing sucks, Spices,” she groaned, throwing herself onto your bed with a petulant huff, limbs splayed out gracelessly. “I suck!”

You let your body flop down onto the bed beside Nobara, relishing the opportunity to let your aching muscles fully relax into the plush mattress. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re still pretty new at all of this intensive training. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Nobara made a vague, noncommittal grunt in response. “There’s not enough time,” she stated, her voice uncharacteristically serious.

Then, she glanced away from you, seemingly struggling with herself for a moment before continuing: “I didn’t tell any of you this but… I… I promised Itadori I would look out for him. Because he was such an idiot that he didn’t even know how to properly fight curses back then. So I made him a deal – he carried my shopping bags, and I’d watch his back on missions.”

Nobara’s eyes took on a haunted, faraway look. “But then we went on that stupid mission. I got myself stuck falling into some stupid void, and…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “And Itadori ended up dying because I wasn’t there to protect him like I promised.”

Her raw regret hit you like a physical blow. Turning to face her fully, you searched Nobara’s expression and found her bright eyes shining with unshed tears. Her jaw was set firmly in a desperate attempt to project an air of nonchalance. But the anguish was evident, written plainly across her features.

Even though Yuji had come back to life, the pain of losing him still lingered. Especially since the higher-ups would come after him again as soon as they found out he cheated death. All this madness could happen again very soon, and this time, he might be gone for good.

What could you possibly say to make any of this better? So instead, you reached over and gave Nobara’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, your thumb brushing soothing arcs across her knuckles.

Nobara squeezed your hand back, entwining her fingers with yours in a tender grip. Warmth flowed between you in the rare silence of her emotional vulnerability.

Then, she shifted slightly, the pad of her thumb gently caressing your palm. The barely-there touch felt both affectionate and grounding, like she drew profound reassurance simply from mapping the contours of your hand with her own.

Finally, she spoke up again. “Next time, I’ll be there to properly watch his back. So teach me how to be stronger, Spices.”

You let out a resigned exhale. This was going to be a tough endeavor. You were, at best, an average sorcerer of average skill and cursed energy reserves across the board. Nobara, on the other hand, was an extremely talented sorcerer with a powerful cursed technique and immense untapped potential that far eclipsed your own.

Still, you didn’t argue. “I can definitely give you more specialized combat training if that’s what you want. And if you’re interested in learning to use cursed tools, I could try teaching you archery or the basics of swordsmanship. Though I’m not that good with a sword.”

Nobara gave an inelegant snort at that. “Nah, I’m not talking about that boring stuff,” she dismissed with a shake of her head. Her gaze took on a focused intensity as she studied you appraisingly.

“It's just… you’re so fluid. Adaptable. Like you can just roll with anything thrown your way in a fight,” Nobara explained quietly. “Last time, I got my ass kicked because I f*cking ran out of nails.” Her jaw clenched, her voice barely above a whisper. “I would’ve straight up died too if Fushiguro hadn’t come to bail me out when he did. How f*cking embarrassing is it that I almost got taken out by a bunch of lousy curses, just because I was out of ammo?”

Shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly as she relived the past failure weighing on her mind, Nobara’s eyes bored into yours. “But I bet if it had been you there, you would’ve figured your way out. That’s what I need you to teach me, Spices.”

In truth, your so-called adaptability likely stemmed more from necessity than any true talent – as an average sorcerer without an innate technique to rely on, you had to get creative and think waaaay outside the box if you wanted any chance of survival.

But maybe a little creativity and improvised chaos would be exactly what Nobara needed. You mulled over Nobara’s words, chewing your lip as you considered her technique. Sure, it packed a mean punch when she had all her gear primed. But get disarmed or run outta ammo and she was pretty much cooked.

“Okay, so humor me for a sec,” You began, fixing Nobara with a curious look. “Your technique is all about channeling your cursed energy through that hammer and those nails, right? Like, those are specific conduits for your attacks?”

Nobara nodded slowly, clearly unsure where you were going with this line of questioning.

“But do you actually need a hammer, though? Can you use other things instead? Or just slap at the nails with your hand?”

Nobara blinked at you. “I… huh. Never really thought to try that, honestly.”

And that was the thing with all these fancy inherited cursed techniques – everything was set in stone from ages ago. Guidelines, rules, strict procedures for how they were supposed to work.

Sure, that made training and perfecting the technique way easier when they had defined frameworks to work within. But it also meant sorcerers got real narrow-minded and limited in how they approached their abilities. If the ancient teachings said “thou shalt only channel cursed energy through this specific medieval tool,” then by god, that’s what they stuck to without question.

Nobara’s whole nail-hammer schtick was definitely one of the most old-school, traditional techniques out there in the jujutsu world. You could practically hear the dusty elder instructors from the 1500s droning on about “acceptable conduits” and “sanctioned striking implements.”

The general consensus was pretty much “if it works, don’t fix it.”

Which meant chances were good that Nobara had just been following the predetermined motions all this time, never really stopping to consider if there were more ways to wield her power. Why reinvent the wheel when the tried-and-true methods still did their job, right?

Well, until now.

“And about the nails themselves. Does it have to be construction nails specifically? Or, could you theoretically pump your cursed energy into something with similar shapes? Like, bobby pins? Needles? Chopsticks? As long as they could handle your cursed energy without breaking?”

By this point, Nobara looked utterly gobsmacked, frantically trying to keep up with the storm of hypotheticals you were throwing at her. You were officially on a roll.

“Hell, do the ‘hammer’ and ‘nail’ components of your technique need to be physically separate? What if you swing one of your ridiculous high heels at the curse? Like, the ones you wore in Akihabara that day. I mean, the shoe and the heel could work as both a blunt hammer force AND a piercing nail point. Built-in hammer-nail combo, nothing could stop you from whacking all the ass!”

A charged silence fell as Nobara seemed to wrestle with the paradigm shift you were proposing.

“You’re really certified insane.” She managed at last, huffing out an almost giddy laugh as she raked a hand through her disheveled hair. “My whole technique, the thing I’ve been drilling for years now. And your unhinged ass just… just blows it wide open with all these crazy what-ifs.”

“I don’t have a technique so I don’t know. Maybe I’m really just being crazy here. But your technique was born with you. I think it should be about you, not about your tools.” You grinned brightly at her. “It’s more fun that way, right?”

Nobara snorted, rolling her eyes, but the excitement dancing across her features said it all, really.

“So, if hammer doesn’t have to be hammer and nails don’t have to be nails, I guess my strawdoll doesn’t have to be a literal strawdoll, either.” Nobara said slowly as she began to latch onto your wild train of thought.

“Possibly.” You agreed with a cheerful snap of your fingers.

“Then, perhaps I could use other similar stuff. Like, paper cutouts.” She continued, emboldened.

“Teddy bears!” You suggested with an unholy cackle.

Nobara’s face split into a delighted grin. “Those ugly mushroom keychains Gojo-sensei bought us!”

“Umm, well that may be stretching it a bit too far. Doesn’t it have to, um, kinda have a human shape?”

“Dunno. We should probably test it.”

“Yeah, why not.”

For the next hours, you and Nobara both leaned into the madness, cycling through an increasingly absurd array of test subjects and workarounds for Nobara’s technique. From binding twigs into a makeshift strawdoll to literally just drawing a little stick person doodle on a napkin and trying to infuse it with her cursed energy.

“Have you just gone totally insane, or am I the one losing my mind right now?” Nobara asked at one point, her words thick and blurred slightly.

You blinked slowly, letting your heavy eyelids flutter shut. “I have no f*cking clue anymore. Let’s sleep on it?”

Unsurprisingly, the next morning, you woke up to Nobara violently shaking you with all the manic glee of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Wake up, you crazy ass!” She crowed, her eyes alight with fervor. “Come help me put your insane ideas to the test!”

You jolted upright, still half-trapped in the tendrils of sleep as you blinked owlishly up at Nobara. Then, comprehension came trickling in. A wide grin stretched across your own face as you sprang out of bed in a tangle of sheets, filled with that same reckless energy that seemed to be fueling her. You didn’t care that you were still squinting against the harsh morning light in rumpled PJs, or that your hair was a frazzled rat’s nest sticking up in every direction.

“Let’s get f*cking wild.” You declared, grabbing her hand and allowing her to yank you out of your bed into the chaotic unknown.

It was gonna be one hell of a day.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Ever since that one sleepover when Nobara crashed at your room after pulling an all-nighter dissecting her cursed technique, the girl had gotten way too comfortable inviting herself over. Like, all the time. She’d barge into your room, plop herself on your bed like she owned the place, and declare “Slumber party!”

Sometimes she’d insist on you coming over to her room instead for these “self-care nights” she was so into recently. You’d get dragged there and she’d go all martial arts master on your face, scrubbing every pore spotless with those fancy exfoliating products she hoarded. Then the two of you would slap on her ridiculously expensive sheet masks that made you look like Jason from the horror movies and veg out watching Netflix. More often than not, you’d pass the hell out mid-episode because Maki’s sad*stic training regime for the Goodwill Event had y’all running on fumes.

Megumi had started giving you both the side-eye, clearly thinking the sleepovers were weird. But he complained about everything, so you brushed it off. The sleepovers did feel strange at first. You were used to starfishing freely on your own bed, not having to share space. But you didn’t mind having Nobara as your semi-permanent sleepover buddy. Her presence seemed to chase away the nightmares of Sukuna’s destruction that used to plague you.

But of course, the sleepover crew couldn’t be on 24/7 duty. Some nights, you were so utterly zapped from Maki’s torture sessions disguised as training that you’d straight up faceplant onto your bed the second you hit the dorms, out cold before your head even hit the pillow.

Other times, like today, for instance, Nobara’s snuggle privileges got revoked on medical grounds. She took a nasty hit to the ribs during a paired sparring match with Panda and ended up looking like she went ten rounds with a truck. Shoko had ordered her to take it easy and steer clear of any rigorous activities. Which, in Nobara’s world, apparently included co-sleeping with you – something about you being a wild sleeper who flailed around like a deranged octopus all night, putting her busted ribs at risk of getting your boney elbow jammed into them.

So with your favorite body pillow out of commission, you two reluctantly agreed to go back to your separate sleeping quarters for a while. And of course, the second you tried to catch some Zs without your portable dream catcher, your nightmares came roaring back with a vengeance.

One minute you were out like a light, snuggled up in your comfy blanket burrito. The next, you jolted up gasping, drenched in cold sweat as your mind plunged you straight into another harrowing hellscape. This time it was the now-familiar setting of reddened sky and reeking smoke, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood and ash. And there, sitting amidst the carnage with that trademark sad*stic sneer, was Sukuna himself, seemingly waiting for you.

Those first few nightmares with Sukuna crashing the party? Utterly soul-shaking. Like, the kind of heart-pounding, sweat-drenched, scream-caught-in-your-throat terrors that had you whipping your head around in panic, desperately trying to convince yourself it wasn’t real. But after being subjected to the same haunted dreamscape on a loop, you eventually got a little desensitized to the jump scares.

Tonight though, you were just straight-up done with Sukuna’s games. Which was why, when you found yourself transported into yet another apocalyptic vision of scorched ruins and that ancient psycho seated among the rubble, the fear took a back seat to flat-out annoyance.

You crossed your arms and shot Sukuna a withering glare. “You really gotta stop crashing my dreams like this. It’s getting old.”

Sukuna’s lips stretched wider in a wicked grin. “You were the one calling out for me, pup.”

“Oh god, don’t start with the gaslighting crap again!” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Why the hell would I invite this nightmare fuel into my head?”

Sukuna co*cked his head, his sneer faltering as he actually pondered your words. “What’s gaslighting?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck. “Are you serious right now?”

Sukuna just stared at you blankly with all those glowing crimson eyes of his. So many eyes. The smoke swirling around you both reeked of char and death. Crumbling concrete crunched under your sneakers as you paced in agitation. Then, you suddenly remembered Yuji had told you that Sukuna had access to his memories as well. Whatever he knew, so did Sukuna. Gaslighting was probably too advanced of a concept for the boy’s simple brain. And the term most likely didn’t exist in the Heian era either.

“It’s when someone messes with your head, makes you question reality and stuff. Y’know, like how you keep pretending I’m the one calling out for you to haunt my dreams!”

You punctuated the accusation by jabbing a finger toward Sukuna’s form sprawled lazily among the rubble.

His permanent sneer twitched slightly. “I do not pretend, little pup.”

You barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Then why are you here?” Flinging your arms wide, you gestured at the smoldering devastation surrounding you both. “I used to have such chill, refreshing dreams. Like, unicorns and puppies and sh*t. But ever since you show up, it’s just… flames, destruction, the musty stench of your rotting old man feet!”

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed menacingly. If this had been real life, you probably would have straight up passed out from fear. But dreams never made sense, and neither did our actions in our dreams. So, instead of cowering as you should, you stomped right up to loom over him, jabbing a finger against his chest.

“Don’t give me that crap! Either get out of my head, or at least if you wanna hang out, redecorate this goddamn nightmare with some blue sky and fluffy clouds and… and…” You trailed off, snapping your fingers as you searched for a suitable contrast. “I don’t know, some wildflower meadows!”

You thought Sukuna would get pissed at your snippy attitude, but he just swatted your hand away dismissively. Probably because the dude was always giving off big “angry at the world” vibes, so there was no visible shift in his perpetually surly expression.

Instead, he spoke slowly in that infuriatingly condescending tone, like he was trying to explain basic concepts to a particularly stupid toddler. “I told you already, pup. You were the one who called me here into your dreams. We’re inside your head right now. If you want a nicer setting, then manifest it yourself.”

You paused, genuinely taken aback. “For real? But how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Sukuna merely sneered wider, obviously getting a kick out of your cluelessness. His gravelly voice dripped with unsettling amusem*nt. “It’s not my burden if you’re too dense to figure it out on your own. This hellscape suits my tastes exquisitely.”

The King of Curses clearly wasn’t about to offer dream interior design tutorials for free. You backed away a few cautious paces, putting some distance between you and Sukuna, just to be safe. Not that he could actually hurt you in your own head… right? He would’ve murdered you already if that was possible. This was just a dream, after all.

You studied the smoldering ruins and charred remains surrounding you both, considering his cryptic words. Then, you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing hard on your most favorite place: A lush meadow in some corner of the world Gojo would whisk you to when he had the free time. Waves of tall grass rippling in the breeze. Colorful wild daisies fluffing in sunny patches. A serene azure sky, wispy clouds drifting lazily by. The gentle warmth of morning light caressing your face.

When you cracked one eye open hesitantly, you damn near choked on your own spit. Instead of the dreary devastation, you and Sukuna now stood amidst a stunning wildflower-dotted field swaying in a light breeze. Cheerful daisies and deep green grass stretched out to meet a brilliant blue sky. Warm sunbeams filtered through the scattered clouds, casting everything in a tranquil glow.

“Holy sh*t…” You breathed out, scanning the idyllic scene with wide eyes. A startled laugh bubbled up from your chest. “You were right!”

“I am always right.” Sukuna said as he regarded the new surroundings with disdain, his sinister aura feeling ridiculously out of place surrounded by all the saccharine beauty. You snickered at the absurd juxtaposition.

“Thanks for the lesson.” You laughed, flinging yourself backward into the plush grasses, earning a face full of flowery aromas and beaming sunlight.

Sure, having Sukuna squatting in your subconscious was still annoying as hell. But as Nobara had said, you were someone who could roll with whatever thrown in your way. Even if it was the King of Curses himself.

To your immense surprise, instead of angrily storming off or cursing the flowery meadow, Sukuna actually waded through the tall grasses toward you. For a split second, you considered scooting away to put some space between you and the literal embodiment of pure evil invading your personal daisy patch.

But then you thought, screw it – this was your dream, he was just an unwanted guest. He couldn’t actually do anything to you here. If he tried any funny business, you’d just whisk his demonic ass away to a circus tent next, surrounded by jovial clowns and screaming kids.

So you held your ground, sprawled leisurely in the soft grasses and wildflowers as Sukuna settled beside you with a distinctly sour expression, glowering down at you like a malevolent garden gnome.

Speaking of the primordial asshole, Sukuna was very clearly not a fan of the tranquil meadow vibe you’d manifested. What was his problem? You couldn’t exactly put your finger on what you’d done to personally offend him this time. Or any other time, really. You had been nothing but nice and accommodating to him since day one. And your early retirement funds had suffered greatly to his kingly demands for random food. He should definitely be nicer to you.

Since this nightmare didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, you figured you might as well try making conversation.

“So…” You eyed him warily. “You said I was the one who called out to you. How exactly does that work?”

Sukuna’s sneer twisted into a sharp, fanged smile – the kind that seriously made you consider just dropping out of school and waiting tables for a living.

“Your soul is full of chaos, pup.” He rasped, sounding almost gleeful. “It calls out to power… to mine.”

You squinted at him, unimpressed with the not-so-subtle bragging routine. “Okayyy, but if that’s true, then it means you didn’t actually have to answer my booty call, right? You chose to be here. Why?”

Sukuna tilted his head slightly as if pondering whether to demand you explain what a booty call was, but then, thankfully, he decided to not bother with it. Probably had rummaged through Yuji’s memories and found the meaning. So instead, he shrugged. “Why, indeed. Perhaps… I was bored.”

The King of Curses emanated such powerful menace, even in this idyllic dream setting. Yet he was also giving big bastard energy with that flippant admission. Ruining your chill vibes just because he had nothing better to do with his cursed existence? You couldn’t decide if you were more amused or annoyed.

But as you mulled it over, you started to see that Sukuna was probably telling the truth. He really didn’t have much going on while stuck inside Yuji’s body, unable to take full control. He must be straight up losing his mind from the boredom if he decided the best use of his time was crashing your dreams just to bicker.

Well, if Sukuna was in a chatty mood for once instead of his usual killer vibe, you might as well take advantage. Could be your one chance to get some rare insight straight from his mouth. Damn, if you played your cards right, you could probably write a whole-ass book with whatever intel you squeezed out of him. That would fly off the shelves in jujutsu society faster than Gojo could clear a battlefield.

Emboldened by your grand literary ambitions, you propped yourself up on one elbow to scrutinize Sukuna more closely. At a glance, he looked exactly like Yuji – same messy pink hair, same boyish features. And yet, it was all twisted and warped. In place of warm brown eyes were vivid crimson irises. Winding, intricate black markings trailing across his skin made the demonic aura seeping out of your friend’s hijacked image abundantly clear.

Though the physical form remained the same cheerful boy you knew and loved, Sukuna’s sheer ancient malevolence radiated from every line and angle. A version of Yuji that was so fundamentally corrupted as to become a sickening perversion of itself. Like if cruelty could take human form.

Sensing your studying gaze, Sukuna’s borrowed features hardened as he narrowed those eerie red eyes in your direction.

“What are you gawking at?” His deep voice carried a dangerous edge.

Rather than be intimidated, you simply shrugged with a nonchalance you didn’t fully feel. “Just trying to figure out why you still look like Yuji even in the dream world.”

Sukuna scoffed at your comment, somehow making the act of rolling his eyes look utterly disdainful. “What you see me as is merely the limitation of your own pathetic mind. A fleeting shadow, a hollow mockery. Your consciousness could never begin to capture the breadth of my true, immense form.”

You blinked at the vaguely ominous declaration, considering it from a few angles. Your brain did currently have exactly one reference point for what Sukuna looked like. Obviously, it would be tough for you to picture him as anything else.

You bit your lip, freely regarding him with a frank look only afforded to a particularly fascinating museum exhibit. “So, you don’t actually look like Yuji right now. But I can’t perceive your true form because, um, I’m dumb?”

Sukuna gave you a curt nod, apparently deciding to simply accept the simplification with reluctant impatience rather than attempt to explain further.

“Precisely. This meager vessel is all your consciousness can grasp.” He sneered again, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “A profound insult to my magnitude, but an inevitability given your crippling limitations.”

“Do you really have to insult me every other sentence?” You shot Sukuna an exasperated glare.

Sukuna snapped back, lips stretching in a mocking leer. “It’s the truth, foolish pup. Don’t fancy yourself so greatly. I have no need to insult an existence as pitifully insignificant as yours. You are quite simply not worth my attention.”

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back a snippy retort about how he certainly seemed to be exerting plenty of attention and energy on you right now. But you ended up just shaking your head and letting out a grudging chuckle instead.

He wasn’t completely wrong though. You were indeed insignificant. But being insignificant did have its perks. Like, how you had been keeping him present and engaged in conversation so far. Pretty sure not many great sorcerers managed that back in the Heian era.

You hummed contemplatively at Sukuna’s response about this so amazing ‘true form’ of his.

“Alright, that’s fair I guess.” Pushing yourself up to sit cross-legged, you steered the focus back towards the ancient curse himself. “So, when you take full control of Yuji’s body, would you then transform back into your true form?”

The question was phrased with deliberate care. Despite your typical tendency to blurt out whatever unfiltered thoughts sprang to mind (much to Shoko’s frustration and Gojo’s delight), you did have the ability to shape your words when deemed strategically beneficial.

For a long, stretched moment, Sukuna simply studied you through narrowed crimson eyes, his malicious features unreadable. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he seemed to deem you insignificant enough to not warrant suspicion or subterfuge. He answered flatly, “Your miserable kind is not worthy to lay eyes upon my true, unrestrained glory.”

So that was a roundabout yes. If this had been anyone else, you would have laughed off the arrogant bluffing, but Sukuna wasn’t called the King of Curses for nothing. He could, and would do so once he encountered someone he considered deserving of that privilege. Gojo, perhaps. Which could only mean that state would grant him immensely more power and capabilities than the body of his vessel allowed.

You nodded along absently as Sukuna continued issuing grandiose insults against humanity, and you in particular. But your mind was already whirring, rapidly processing this new intel Sukuna had just dropped, slotting it into the larger context.

Previously, you had pitched your crazy theory with Shoko – that somehow, someway Sukuna’s increasing influence and manifestations within Yuji could potentially be medically regulated and kept under control. Shoko had actually been down with giving it a shot.

After all, since Yuji munched down on another of Sukuna’s gross old fingers, the tests she ran started pinging some wonky numbers. Shoko theorized that, at least, those physiological changes catalyzed by Sukuna’s cursed energy could potentially be suppressed or counteracted with specifically tailored pharmaceutical co*cktails.

However, the major stumbling block was the severe lack of data and understanding of Sukuna’s precise manifesting mechanisms. You couldn’t outright experiment on Yuji lest you spook Sukuna. So, instead, Shoko had been reduced to running preliminary tests on some seriously unlucky possessed critters (thanks for the generous research grant, Council dinosaurs). The odds weren’t great, but hell, with what Sukuna let slip, suddenly it was your best bad plan.

This new insight from Sukuna himself changed the game. The stakes, already immensely high, had abruptly skyrocketed into existential territory.

Finding ways to suppress Sukuna’s influence over Yuji took on even more dire urgency. At best, maintaining the status quo of Sukuna’s semi-restrained condition. At worst… you would need contingencies to actually slam the brakes and reverse any full-blown transformation. You made a mental note to fill Shoko in on these new developments as soon as possible.

At your sudden pensive silence, Sukuna reached over without preamble to rudely poke at your cheek with one of his sharp, claw-tipped fingers. “What are you scheming about now, pup?”

Of course, Sukuna would be aware of your various unhinged schemes – he was along for the ride, experiencing everything Yuji did. It was probably his only source of entertainment these days.

Sukuna actually looked vaguely interested in whatever nonsense you were cooking up. But you couldn’t just come right out and admit you were scheming to take his ass down. Quick, you needed a deflection.

You batted his clawed hand away with a look of mild annoyance, briefly reminded of how he had ripped out Yuji’s heart. Pain and hatred flared up within you, but you pushed the emotions down even before they could show on your face.

“I was just thinking about how they portray you in the historical records and literature. Would you like to know how you’re remembered?”

Sukuna scoffed, leaning back with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I care not for the ignorant prattlings of your kind.”

Sure, pal. Sure.

You needed to keep him engaged, keep those conversational gears turning if you wanted to pump him for more intel. So you pressed on.

“There’s a lot of wild legends and speculation, but no real definitive accounts. The general scholarly consensus seems to be… you were kind of a massive dick who kicked a lot of ass back in your day.”

Your flippant characterization earned a pointed snarl. “Mind your worthless tongue when addressing me, pup.”

But there wasn’t much legitimate venom behind the rebuke – well, no more than his usual baseline of evil menace. You made an exaggerated show of compliantly schooling your features.

“Right, of course. I mean, the stories say you were pretty much universally feared and reviled by all those elite sorcerers running around in your era. That you left a mountain of corpses in your rampaging wake, having slain thousands of the most powerful sorcerers.”

A cruel smirk played across Sukuna’s borrowed features. “And they would be correct in that regard.”

Ah, that was how he wanted to play this.

Sukuna demanded the utmost respect, and rightfully so given his status as potentially the most powerful sorcerer in all of history. Empty flattery would be pointless. No, he expected acknowledgment of his greatness as an immutable fact of existence itself.

With the new perspective in mind, you gave Sukuna a little sneaky side-eye before posing the next question carefully. “Alright, real talk though – what was the whole deal with you just straight-up eating people back in the day?”

Sukuna’s lip curled in clear derision at your query, as if the mere notion was laughably simplistic.

“Why not?” He scoffed.

You had to bite your tongue to keep from making some kinda smart-ass remark. Instead, you continued probing in a softer, more deferential tone. “Would you eat me?”

That seemed to catch Sukuna off-guard, giving him a momentary pause, his crimson eyes narrowing calculatingly before he finally sneered: “Are you offering?”

You quickly shook your head. “Of course not. Just that when we first met, you did say something about eating my brain, didn’t you?”

Sukuna let out a derisive snort. “I would indeed, were you to continue vexing me senselessly. But there would be no value in that.”

You hummed thoughtfully at that, filing away the subtle implication. So, the great King of Curses didn’t just eat random people for sh*ts and giggles. Well, maybe he did occasionally. But it seemed like there had to be some greater value or payoff he got from his… atypical diet choices. There was clearly some system or criteria governing which humans he deemed a worthy meal.

With all his monologuing about worth and value, his ideal diet must have included those powerful sorcerers back in his days. Who, unlike your insignificant ass, would actually provide real benefits. But what kind of benefits, exactly? Except for the taste (you still thought you would taste pretty nice), maybe cursed energy? Cursed techniques? The possibilities were endless.

However, you realized you’d squeezed about as much juicy intel from Sukuna as you could reasonably expect in one dream conversation without arousing too much suspicion. Any more grilling about his powers risked tipping him off that you were trying to gather ammo against him. Best to tap the brakes for now while you were ahead.

Switching gears, you decided to pivot hard into more mundane, surface-level chatter territory. Keep that malevolent psycho engaged in casual conversation, but without diving too deep into anything. Sukuna might act all lofty and untouchably powerful (and let’s be real, he was, indeed), but you’d picked up on an unmistakable streak of thinly veiled curiosity about all the weird intricacies of modern human culture he now found himself an invasive part of.

You vividly recalled that one time he demanded – in his zero-negotiation demonic tone – that you go procure him one of those Japanese shaved ice treats. Specifically, a towering monstrosity of a Kakigori absolutely buried under a gluttonous avalanche of sticky syrups and sweet azuki bean toppings. As if the thing wasn’t already inherently messy and impractical enough.

No matter how much ominous glowering and general aura of menace Sukuna projected, he had clearly been enthralled by the novel treat. He feigned indifference, but you could tell he paid rapt attention anytime you rambled on about some new aspect of the contemporary human world that piqued his interest.

Case in point: that ridiculous amount of time you spent painstakingly detailing the fundamental physics and internal components that allowed microwave ovens to so effortlessly heat food with their space-age science rays. What started as an offhanded comment about maybe microwaving some popcorn for your movie night the next day derailed into you essentially lecturing a full undergrad course on radiation frequencies and thermal energy transfer mechanics that made those magical kitchen amenities possible.

All the while Sukuna just sat there, arms crossed with his trademark sneer and a disaffected air of general disdain… even as he peppered you with deceptively engaged follow-up questions whenever you paused for breath. The dude was seriously a lowkey knowledge sponge about all things modern.

Maybe you could leverage his morbid fascination with modern ingenuity to keep him appeased, at least for the time being.

And just like that, your weird dream hangout sessions with the literal King of Curses became a bizarrely normal part of your routine. At least these meetups were drastically more pleasant now that you knew how to get rid of the typical death, destruction, and generalized sense of pervasive doom that tended to follow Sukuna around.

Most times, you opted for that idyllic wildflower meadow when the ancient asshole came stalking – a natural serenity about as far removed from Sukuna’s usual ominous auras as possible. Occasionally, you’d switch it up with a vast, starry night sky stretching endlessly overhead, just to mix up the ambiance a bit.

Aside from his seemingly hardwired compulsion to shower you with insults about every other sentence, Sukuna actually wasn’t entirely abysmal at conversation when he chose to indulge your queries. You’d get some fragmentary glimpses into his world back then, what it was like in the golden age of jujutsu.

Trying to parse his offhand cultural references and esoteric turns of phrase could give you one hell of a headache sometimes. Sukuna’s speech patterns already leaned pretty heavily into melodramatic grandiosity as it was. But he’d also randomly interject what you could only assume were painfully niche allusions to classical poetry or some seriously archaic jujutsu sh*t from his era – might as well have been utter gibberish blasting straight over your modern peasant ears.

It was honestly what finally convinced you that these dreams weren’t just your brain pulling some batsh*t insane puppet show. As messed up as your brain was on a good day, there was just no way you could make up dialogue this delightfully unhinged. Sukuna was really hanging out with you, spitting out line after line of unintentionally hilarious nonsense.

Not that it was that big of a hurdle to overcome in your little chats. Whenever he started veering off into those weird poetic expressions, you’d just nod along sagely. Maintain an air of polite understanding, like “Oh yes, of course – quite, quite.” Until eventually, Sukuna would snap out of his reverie and circle back around to casually insult you. Something you could actually engage with on your level without having to fake it.

Like, in another dream, as the two of you lazily sprawled underneath an endless starry sky, you had casually asked if the night sky looked much different back in his time. It was supposed to be a mundane, harmless conversation starter.

Sukuna responded with a sardonic huff of contempt. “It was far more vast. Grander. The world itself held infinitely more wonder in those times.”

He could’ve just left it at that wistful little nugget of nostalgic musing. You would’ve understood the sentiment just fine – all powerful demigods-turned-curses from ages past were naturally prone to a bit of romanticized longing for their glory days, right?

But no, this was Sukuna. So of course, he just had to immediately follow up by spitting some fresh insult about the patheticism of your entire modern existence.

“Your world now is puny. Pathetic. Crawling with worms and maggots. Women, children, weaklings everywhere. What is even the point of your desperate, meaningless spawning into this worthless plane? You will all die meaningless, pathetic deaths regardless.”

You just slowly blinked at him a couple times, letting that little burst of Sukuna’s signature sunshine personality wash over you. It took literally every shred of willpower you could muster to suppress the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes so hard they would shoot out the back of your skull. To not immediately clap back by pointing out that for all his immense power, the His Majesty did in fact croak at some point… and would’ve remained utterly erased from existence if not for that Idiot Yuji bravely and recklessly munching on those nasty fingers.

You shrugged off the insult dismissively. “For the record, I haven’t exactly gone ‘spawning’ anything into this world either. As for why people keep perpetuating human existence against all logic… damned if I know. I guess it’s just life?”

You punctuated the remark with a little uncertain twirl of your finger, the universal gesture for “sh*t’s random, what can ya do?”

Sukuna seemed briefly taken aback by your unruffled reaction to his scathing dismissal of the human condition. He’d probably expected you to launch into some impassioned defense of your kind’s merits, or maybe a sugary speech about how love and hope gave meaning to the cycle of life, blah blah blah.

But you opted against taking that pointless rhetorical bait. The King of Curses didn’t exactly strike you as the warm-and-fuzzy kind of guy who assigned much value to abstract concepts like romance or optimism.

So, instead, after those eerie crimson eyes narrowed suspiciously at you for a beat, you added, “But does everything really have to be driven by some grand, cosmic point or meaning though? Way I see it, if something is genuinely fun or enjoyable for its own sake, why not just roll with it? What’s the point of always having to have some deeper point?”

To your mild surprise, Sukuna actually looked… pensive for a fleeting moment at your random philosophical musing, almost like he agreed with your rambling on some level. However, he quickly snapped out of it with a mocking half-smile.

“Do you find it fun to be so endlessly weak, pup? To spend your entire existence groveling and seeking the approval of others? Scampering around in a futile struggle to merely prolong your pathetic, fleeting life for a few more pitiful moments?”

Wait a minute.

That line of questioning sounded oddly familiar.

The disturbing smile stretching across those borrowed features reminded you uncomfortably of some of your darker nightmares. Of an insatiable desperation and hunger for more.

You turned to fully face Sukuna, mesmerized despite yourself by the all-consuming darkness emanating from him. Despite every rational instinct screaming at you to scramble away, you found yourself enraptured as his chilling smile widened a fraction.

Even knowing this was merely a dream, you could feel your blood thrumming with an unbidden thrill as you drank in his overwhelming presence. The undeniable magnetism of his bone-chilling cruelty. The allure stemming from the sheer magnitude of power radiating from his very being.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your suddenly dry throat.

Somewhere in the deepest, most primal depth of your mind, an insidious thought took root.

What you wouldn’t give to become this powerful.

And as if he could physically smell the unfurling of your most shamefully guarded yearnings, Sukuna reached out with one clawed hand to roughly cup the side of your face. The sharp tips trailed ghostly, threatening lines across your skin as he leaned in, his smile taking on a decidedly predatory edge.

You managed to shakily whisper the same question you’d asked him many times before, yet only received cryptic non-answers in return. “Why are you here?”

Sukuna leaned in closer still, his cold breath fanning across your face as he savored your trepidation like a predator delighting in the fear of its cornered prey. You could all but taste the intoxicating promise of divine ruination woven into his very presence surrounding you.

“I can taste the chaos roiling in you, little one.” He purred in that low, rumbling tone that seemed to reverberate straight through to your marrow. “I saw how your eyes lit up at the sight of destruction before your miserable morals kicked in. You revel in devastation just as much as I do.”

With agonizing deliberation, Sukuna traced the lethal point of his claw along the throbbing artery pulsing just beneath the fragile hollow of your throat. You instinctively stilled under that deadly touch, scarcely daring to even swallow against the faintly pricking threat. You wanted so badly to argue, to swat him away. Or to just wake up.

But you were frozen. And not entirely by fear.

His words slithered straight past all your fracturing defenses to curl around the deepest recesses of your psyche.

“You want power. True power.” He continued, the rough pads of his claws grazing your feverish skin in a searing caress.

Your pulse hammered like a caged thing as the full, irresistible gravity of Sukuna’s smoldering presence commanded every fiber of your being. He seemed to delight in the shameful longing on your expression. His lips peeled back in a sad*stic smirk. For he already knew the truth, didn’t he?

“Serve me, little one, and you will never have to bow your head to those pathetic worms. None of them will dare to even look upon you askance. You will never know fear again.”

The words seemed to materialize from the very fabric of existence itself rather than merely spill from Sukuna’s lips – violating and transcendent all at once.

You thought of power and all the things you would do with it. Of the vengeance you would rain on those who had wronged you. Of all the people you would be able to protect. The ones you loved. The ones who would surely suffer at his hands.

And just like that, your mind cleared. Like a bucket of ice water upended over your head.

A strange clarity washed over you, snapping you out of Sukuna’s hypnotic hold. His words had an unexpected effect, pulling you back to reality – or at least, as much reality as there could be within the context of these recurring demonic nightmares anyway.

He was here buttering you up for a reason, that much was obvious now. And it wasn’t just to idly hang out and banter. You’d been trying to suss out his true motives from every mundane conversation, probing him from all angles. Finally, the pretension slipped.

Sukuna wanted something from you. He wanted you to serve him – and not merely by indulging his whims for strange foods or keeping him company. No, he wanted you for something else entirely. And based on that grandiose sales pitch about showering you with earth-shattering power, his gimme wasn’t gonna be anything good.

The sly bastard had been toying with your hopes and your desperation this whole time. And you had gotten so used to him that you unknowingly lowered your guards. You thought you had some kind of bond with him. You were wrong.

That ancient manipulative asshole.

“Hands off.” You hissed through gritted teeth.

Surprise flickered across Sukuna’s features, thrown by your sudden hostility. “What?”

Sukuna had clearly expected you to simply agree to whatever binding vow he was cooking up. He legitimately looked blindsided when you flipped the script.

Not gonna lie though, you had to hand it to the bastard – Sukuna knew how to work those mind games like a fiddle. Peeling back all your layers of insecurity, unspoken wants, and suppressed self-loathing to customize the perfect co*cktail of temptations practically designed to make your fragile human psyche short-circuit.

You had been overconfident to the point of arrogance. Because you always had a way out, didn’t you? You always figured things out. You could deal with whatever thrown your way. Or so you thought. Well, as it turned out, you couldn’t always scheme your way around. Not when it came to the King of Curses.

You got so very lucky that you snapped out of it just in time.

That rule by my side over all mortals spiel would have done the trick, you supposed, if your mind had not been so whacked already. You were not entirely sure how, but it seemed his game couldn’t fully register on the intended cognitive frequency. Your best guess? Probably your chaotic brain was too cosmically twisted and tangled up for even an eldritch terror like Sukuna to fully manipulate.

Anyway, you were just glad your personal brand of f*cked-up finally came in handy.

You repeated, enunciating each word clearly: “You heard me, grandpa. I said, get your hands off me.”

You tried to keep your voice level and steady, even though you were shaking to your core after that unsettling experience. Damn, that had been a close call – too close for comfort, you realized.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but to your relief, he did withdraw his clawed hand. He looked visibly displeased. Good.

You forced yourself to take a few deep, steadying breaths, willing your thundering pulse back under control. This made it clear – you overestimated yourself and almost got everyone you had known and loved f*cked over. You needed to stay the hell away from this primordial asshole for a good long while after this.

Between all the messed-up headgames, you’d gotten enough valuable intel from him already. It was time to forcibly boot his tainted ass out of your mind before he could sink his claws back in and drag you down any further.

Leveling Sukuna with a stern look, you said: “That was seriously rude of you, you know. I don’t have time for any more of your manipulative bullsh*t.” You punctuated the statement with an annoyed gesture directed at him.

The King of Curses regarded you coolly, that ever-present cruel smirk playing across his features as if he found your annoyance mildly amusing. As if promising this was far from the last time he would f*ck with you. Still, you didn’t back down.

You realized that if what Sukuna claimed was true – that you had somehow subconsciously called him into your dreams – then it stood to reason you could forcibly expel him as well. Closing your eyes, you willed his sinister presence away.

f*ck off, ancient asshole.

When you opened your eyes again, it was already morning. The first rays of dawn were peeking through your curtains. You let out a heavy sigh as your mind caught up with the reality of your current state – drenched in sweat, bed a tangled mess, pillows flung clear across the room like you’d been tussling with a wild animal rather than just stuck in another messed up nightmare.

“Well, isn’t this just a gorgeous look for me,” you muttered, raking a hand through your damp, disheveled bed-head.

It was honestly impressive at this point how spectacularly your brain could turn a simple night’s sleep into a borderline hostage situation with your subconscious. Though to be fair, having the worst special-grade curse deciding to drop in and psychologically torture you wasn’t exactly something you could just sleep off with some warm milk and counting sheep.

You grimaced as glimpses of the vivid dream flitted back – his dark predatory gaze, the thrill of his power calling to the small, shameful part of you that craved it. You shuddered. This was bad.

These accursed night terrors always hit you hardest whenever you attempted to tough it out alone. You’d slept far more peacefully back when Nobara had still been bunking over. Her blissful snores and the comfort of having a close friend nearby seemed to keep your demons at bay. Maybe you could wrangle her into another slumber party situation once those bruised ribs finally healed up. Hell, you’d happily take crashing on her floor at this point if that’s what it took.

Or perhaps you could ask Inumaki to bless you with another one of his sleep-well commands. Anything to stay away from that primordial psycho.

Absolutely anything.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

After a few days of rest, Nobara’s ribs had healed up enough for Shoko to clear her for full training again. A huge relief washed over you – the sleepovers could finally resume. The past few days of having Inumaki put you to sleep with his Cursed Speech were starting to feel… well, just plain weird.

Not that Inumaki ever complained, but you could see the concern etching deeper lines into his face with each passing night he tucked you in. You didn’t want to get him involved any further in your mess if you could help it. Things were just simpler crashing with Nobara. You didn’t have to explain anything.

As soon as you’d changed into your ultra-comfy mushroom pajamas (Yuji’s gag gift after the ugly shroom keychain souvenirs Gojo dumped on everyone), your bedroom door burst open. Nobara swept in without knocking, pillow tucked under her arm and hair adorably askew.

Instead of making herself at home like usual, she announced with a devilish grin, “Get your ass up, Spices. We’re going to make Fushiguro’s night hell.”

You matched her mischievous look, snatching up your gloriously overstuffed pillow. As partners-in-crime, the two of you set off down the hall, fuzzy slippers pattering softly like excited little gremlins.

Megumi’s room was just around the corner. You led the charge, rapping sharply on his door in the most obnoxious rhythmic pattern known to mankind.

The second he pulled the door open, his eyes instantly narrowed at the sight of you two decked out in pajamas, pillows brandished like weapons.

“What’s this?” He asked flatly.

Nobara barged right past him into the room. “What’s it look like, genius?” She made a show of flopping across his perfectly made bed, limbs splayed impolitely. “Sleep. Over.”

Megumi had been giving you and Nobara the oddest looks ever since the sleepovers started, like his brain was a computer endlessly buffering, unable to process the concept. You figured he just felt left out from all the fun. Well, if he got in on the sleepover crew, maybe he wouldn't find it so bewildering.

You wiggled your way into his room after Nobara, chirping cheerfully, “I think you could use our great company for a change!”

Megumi’s eyes went wide as you boldly invaded his space. He rushed to close the door behind you, sputtering. “Absolutely not! You can’t just barge in and take over my room like this!”

But it was too late – you’d already launched your pillow across the bed before flopping down next to Nobara amid the rumpled blankets. She snickered at Megumi’s outrage.

“Overruled!” Nobara declared.

Megumi looked utterly flabbergasted, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words to protest this unannounced slumber party invasion. Finally, he crossed his arms sternly. “You can’t be serious about staying in here all night.”

As you bounced on his bed, testing out the firmness, you quickly realized there may be a logistical problem with your brilliant plan. Megumi’s bed simply wouldn’t fit all three of you.

Seeming to reach the same conclusion at the same time, Nobara complained loudly, “Ugh, Fushiguro, your bed is way too small for this.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, as if it were his own personal failing.

“Because it’s meant for one person!” Megumi shot back, his glare intensifying. “As in, just me. My bed!”

Nobara wasn’t fazed. With a sly grin, she puffed out her cheeks in an exaggerated mimic of his grumpy resting face. “Or maybe it just shriveled down from being exposed to your dramatic scowling all the time?”

You collapsed in a fresh wave of giggles at her antics, nearly tumbling off the tiny bed as Megumi’s cheeks burned crimson.

You had to admit, Megumi’s bed situation was less than ideal for hosting a proper sleepover. The standard issue dorm beds were fine for one person, maybe even a cozy squeeze for two scrawny pals like you and Nobara. But trying to cram all three of you on there? Total clown car material.

Huddled together on Megumi’s now terribly rumpled sheets, you and Nobara put your devious minds together to strategize how to make this impromptu slumber party work. Nobara’s eyes danced with mischief as she not-so-subtly suggested, “I mean, the obvious solution is Fushiguro sleeps on the floor tonight.”

You poorly smothered a giggle at the idea, “That’d be so mean!” Even as the words left your lips, your obvious delight gave away the lie.

The boy in question looked utterly affronted at the very idea. “Or how about you gremlins just leave instead?” he shot back, voice rising indignantly. “I’m not sleeping on the floor of my own damn room!”

You and Nobara waved off his protest with identical eye rolls. But then, a brilliant idea struck you. You sat up straight, eyes sparking excitedly as you turned to your co-conspirator.

“Wait, I got it!” The words tumbled out in an eager rush. “We should totally crash Yuji’s room instead! His bed is way bigger than this tiny thing.”

It was true – when the school furnished the room Yuji was assigned, they must have just grabbed whatever bed they could find on clearance. The thing was pretty damn ugly for sure, all bulky with an obnoxiously bright orange frame. But the bonus was it had wayyy more space.

You’d tested it out during that time you all crashed there prepping for the “Shoko Incident.” You, Yuji, and even brawny Ino had all fit comfortably without issue.

Nobara’s eyes lit up with unholy glee at your suggestion to relocate. “Oooh, you’re a genius, Spices!” She clapped her hands together decisively. “Why are we even wasting time in this cramped little shoe box?”

Without further ceremony, the two of you scrambled off of Megumi’s bed, pillows in hand. You each grabbed one of the loudly-protesting Megumi’s arms, hauling him along with you as you bounded next door to Yuji’s room.

Luckily, Yuji never remembered to lock his door – basic security wasn’t really his strong suit. It worked in your favor tonight as you all piled into his room without issue.

The second you were in, Nobara made a beeline for the spacious monstrosity of a bed, belly-flopping onto the mattress with a squeal of delight. She rolled around happily, basking in the luxurious space.

“We totally lucked out they haven’t cleared his stuff out yet!” she exclaimed, looking as pleased as a house cat in a sunbeam.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I asked the staff to leave everything be for now. He’ll be back soon anyway.”

On paper, Yuji was declared dead after that mission. The standard protocol would have been boxing up his meager belongings and recycling the room. But given… everything that went down, when you asked the staff to hold off, they had simply assumed you were grieving, and so graciously agreed to leave his space undisturbed without asking too many questions.

The pitying looks they gave you every time you passed by were almost unsettling. Like they expected you to burst into dramatic, heaving sobs at any moment. But it made for a convenient ruse to keep prying eyes off Yuji’s trail, so you leaned into the mournful act. Thanked them profusely with quivering lips and suspiciously wet eyes, letting them jump to conclusions about your “fragile emotional state.”

The school had more than enough empty rooms to spare, so there was no huge rush to clear Yuji’s out. Which was perfect for your little sleepover.

Megumi looked between you and Nobara with pure exasperation, the long-suffering expression on his face deepening by the second as he realized there was simply no escape. You could practically see the resigned acceptance wash over him as he heaved yet another irritated sigh.

“You’re really not going to leave me alone, are you?” he asked, more statement than question at this point.

You and Nobara responded in cheerful, synchronized head shakes, cheeky grins plastered across your faces. Sleepovers just were simply more fun with an unwillingly third wheel roped in to torment, after all.

Megumi rolled his eyes so hard, you worried they might get permanently stuck in the back of his skull. “Fine,” he groused, waving a defeated hand. “Just for tonight then. But I swear, if you gremlins try bothering me with this nonsense again tomorrow…”

He leveled you both with his intimidating glare, one that would surely have lesser beings quaking. “I won’t hesitate to kick both your asses into the next school year.”

His vaguely threatening words didn’t seem to bother Nobara in the slightest. She simply scoffed, already happily burrowing into the nest of blankets she’d constructed atop Yuji’s ugly bedspread.

“Oooh, I’m shaking in my PJs!” she snarked, picking at a loose thread. “As if you could ever land a hit on me. I’d nail your dramatic ass to the wall before you got within three feet!”

With the grumpy third wheel successfully beaten into submission for the night, you proceeded to tackle the next all-important sleepover issue – the sleeping arrangements themselves. Both Nobara and Megumi immediately started squabbling like toddlers, adamantly refusing to be the one stuck in the dreaded middle spot.

“Ugh, no way am I getting sandwiched between you two,” Nobara groaned with a cringe. “Having to deal with Spices’ octopus limbs on one side is enough of a nightmare.”

Megumi huffed imperiously. “I’m not doing it either. I’d quite literally rather sleep on the floor.”

Then another issue quickly arose – Nobara was insisting with crossed arms that she absolutely couldn’t take the spot on the side next to the wall under any circ*mstances.

“I’m putting my foot down on that one!” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards Yuji’s… questionable taste in decor along that stretch of wall space. “I am not sleeping anywhere near those bikini model posters that perv has taped up!”

You stifled a snort at the full-body shudder that rippled through her frame. “Who knows what disgusting things he did while ogling those!” She grumbled darkly.

After several more minutes of intense bickering and negotiations that nearly devolved into physical violence, you finally managed to hash out a compromise through sheer stubborn willpower.

Megumi got stuck with the questionable decor side by default. You planted yourself in the middle spot, an unhinged grin spreading across your face. If they both wanted a violent starfish in the middle so badly, they would have it. That left Nobara to claim the outer side.

The lights went out, plunging the room into peaceful darkness. After some final grumbling from Megumi and muffled snickering from Nobara, you all settled in, letting a comfortable silence blanket the space.

You had almost drifted off yourself when Nobara’s whisper sliced through the quiet. “Hey… Can we talk about him?”

Immediately, Megumi’s irritated voice rang through the gloom. “No. Go to sleep.”

You chuckled softly at his brusque shutdown. Rather than be deterred, you raised one hand slowly towards the ceiling, summoning your cursed energy forth in wispy tendrils. The impossibly thin strands began weaving outwards from your outstretched fingers, painting intricate glowing patterns across every surface as you murmured a few enchantments under your breath.

When the last syllable fell, the barrier solidified with a faint hum, sealing the room in a dome of privacy. You felt Nobara shift beside you, clearly impressed by the display as she took in the glowing designs now draped over every inch of the space.

“Damn, Spices,” she murmured admiringly. “You’re really good at this barrier stuff.”

Megumi, unsurprisingly, was far less enthused. He let out a low grumble of displeasure. “Just make it quick, Kugisaki. We have training first thing tomorrow and I’m not suffering through another gr—”

His words were cut off with a pained hiss as Nobara flung one leg over your body, using you as a springboard to deliver a sharp kick to Megumi’s shin in retaliation for his crap attitude. As he sulked, rubbing the sore spot, she swiveled to face you, clearly unbothered.

“So what d’you think Itadori’s up to right now anyway?” She chewed her lip, poorly veiling her concern.

Megumi exhaled a put-upon sigh. “It’s nearly midnight. He’s asleep, alone and at peace.” A bitter pause. “Unlike me.”

You could hear the latent annoyance still coloring his tone at being roped into this sleepover-turned-gossip session. Nobara seemed to pick up on it too, opting to turn her full attention your way instead.

“Do you at least know where he is?" Her voice was hushed but laced with worry.

Pulling the covers up a bit more, you settled deeper into the mattress with a thoughtful frown. “Some basem*nt somewhere, from what I know. Gojo-sensei hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with the details.”

It was maddening not having more information to go on. But you supposed it was better that way – the less you knew, the less potential risk to Yuji if anyone slipped up. Still, it didn’t make the uncertainty any easier to swallow.

You felt the mattress shift slightly as Megumi turned his head in your direction, voice lowering. “Have you talked to Gojo-sensei? Is he mad at you?”

A short laugh escaped your lips at the amusing mental image of Gojo red-faced seething over your defiance. “No, he’s been ghosting me ever since. I’m sure he’s absolutely fuming.” You shrugged nonchalantly, even though the motion was lost in the darkness. “Tough luck for him, I guess.”

Beside you, Nobara let out an unimpressed huff. “Well, let the geezer sulk then. You absolutely did the right thing telling us, Spices.” There was a slight edge to her tone as she added, “Otherwise, I probably would’ve had to kill you myself for lying to us too.”

You nodded, the weight of her words not lost on you. “I know.”

An uneasy silence fell for a beat before Nobara pushed onwards, seeming to shake off the momentary tension. “Whatever. Bet that idiot is missing us like crazy right now. Me in particular, obviously.”

Megumi sighed deeply, the sound of long-suffering easily audible even without seeing his face. You could practically picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in the darkness.

“I’m sure he misses all of us a ton. But it’s just for another month or so until he’s back, right? That’s not too bad.” You said in a soothing voice.

Nobara sniffled softly beside you, clearly more affected than she let on. “Yeah, but then what?” she asked, voice strained. “Those asshole higher-ups are just gonna try killing him again, aren’t they?”

To your surprise, it was Megumi who firmly responded this time. “They won’t succeed. Not this time.” There was a heavy pause before he added, more gruffly, "I… No, we will have his back from now on. They won’t be able to touch him again.”

“Yeah…” Nobara muttered, sounding oddly subdued. “You’re right, Fushiguro.”

The moment stretched onwards before she continued, a contemplative lilt entering her voice. “Has either of you guys ever really wondered why the hell we’re even doing this jujutsu sorcerer thing, though?”

You could practically hear Megumi’s eyes rolling in the dark as he let out an irritated groan. “Don’t start getting philosophical now, Kugisaki. Just shut up and try to sleep.”

There was a rustle of blankets as he abruptly turned over, wrapping himself more securely. Nobara, predictably, paid his grumpy dismissal no mind whatsoever.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, sounding more pensive than argumentative for once. “I mean, the actual curse-whacking part is fun and all. But all the other garbage?” Her voice took on an uncomfortable bitterness. “All the political bullsh*t and backstabbings… why do we keep putting up with it? What’s the point?”

You let out a heavy sigh, her painfully relatable words weighing on you. You knew what she meant but you couldn’t tell them about your plan yet — not when it was still so bare and full of holes.

“I don’t really have much choice elsewhere to go, if I’m being honest…” You drove the conversation in another direction instead, feeling Nobara’s gaze even without seeing it. “Gojo-sensei took me in. Him, Ieiri-san, you guys… you’re the closest thing to family I’ve got.”

Your unexpectedly raw words seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. Of course, Nobara and Megumi were already aware of your complicated background. But perhaps they’d never paused to truly consider how isolating that baldly stated reality was.

An uncomfortable tension lingered in the air. Nobody seemed willing – or able – to dispel it right away. Because what could they possibly say to that?

Finally, you added with a carefully light tone. “If I quit all this sh*tty jujutsu stuff, I could probably just crash with Ino for a while. Get some sort of… normal person job, I guess?”

Of course, the truth was you had absolutely no idea what an existence beyond the jujutsu world would even look like, much less how to go about building one from scratch.

The thought inevitably turned your mind to Nanami and the path his life had taken before coming back to the jujutsu world. He’d walked away from it all once upon a time, trying his hand at a so-called “normal” salaryman career for a while. But from what you understood, that perceived escape had proven just as soul-sucking and unsatisfying as staying put, if not more so.

Both paths were equally sh*tty in their own ways, so Nanami had simply chosen to stick with the one he was inarguably talented at and found some semblance of purpose in. His no-nonsense rationale had always stuck with you in a strange way. As jaded as Nanami’s outlook could seem on the surface, you had to admit there was a certain pragmatic wisdom underlying it all.

Besides, you still had scores to settle with those Council Elders anyway. Now was not the time to plan your retirement just yet.

The heavy subject matter seemed to settle over the three of you like the world’s most depressing weighted blanket. Until eventually, Megumi let out a tired exhale from his side of the bed.

“Look, you two existential disasters…” His words sliced through the moody stillness as he turned over to face your direction once more, tone taking on a gentle cadence. “Just… sleep on all that heavy stuff for now, okay? We’ll have plenty of time to stare into the soulless void later.”

He paused, letting that brilliant wisdom of simply shelving the discussion for the night sink in before continuing pragmatically. “If you keep babbling at each other, we’re not going to survive Maki-senpai in the morning. And I’d rather not be turned into a human punching bag because of your insomniac word-vomiting.”

His clumsy attempt at lightening the mood with his usual pep-talk finesse (all the charm of a cactus) seemed to work. You felt the oppressive tension slowly bleed out of the space between you all like a balloon losing air. Nobara didn’t even raise a peep of protest for once, apparently too drained from the emotional back-and-forth to keep fueling the angst train.

With a subtle snap of your fingers, you diffused the barrier enchantments until the room was cloaked in simple, peaceful darkness once more. Only the faint sounds of your mingled breathing — and Megumi’s judgmental nasal exhales — pervaded the cozy quiet.

True to his self-appointed role as the grumpiest resident motherhen, Megumi reached over to gently tug the rumpled blankets more snugly under your chin with surprising tenderness, effectively tucking you in. You felt the corners of your mouth quirk upwards as you gave him a tiny nod.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s just f*cking sleep already.”

Flanked on both sides by the grounding, familiar presence of your two emotionally constipated friends, you felt the anxious whirlwind in your mind blessedly begin to still. Ebbing away into blissful, dreamless rest as you let yourself get lulled by the cocoon of safety enveloping you. For tonight, at least, there were no nightmares to be had. Only quiet comfort and the faint scent of Nobara’s coconut shampoo.

When the morning light finally filtered in, your eyes fluttered open to the delightfully tangled pile of limbs you’d all devolved into overnight.

At some point during the night, your adamant insistence on not getting squished together had blissfully blurred into a big cozy puddle.

Nobara was now snuggled up tightly against your front like a contented koala, her face nuzzled into your chest. You could feel her deep, even breaths fanning across the thin fabric of your pajamas in warm little puffs. Her slender arms were locked in a vice-like embrace around your waist, fingers lightly grazing the sliver of exposed skin where your top had ridden up. One of her legs was hooked shamelessly between your thighs, calves brushing teasingly with each sleepy shift. Your arms reciprocated the closeness, curling around her frame, holding her flush against you.

The solid warmth of Megumi pressed along the entire length of your back made you instinctively lean back into his embrace. His chest expanded with each measured breath, rising and falling against you in a soothing rhythm that lulled you deeper into the cozy haze. You felt the whisper-soft graze of his parted lips ghosting across the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, his warm exhalations ruffling the fine baby hairs there in a way that sent a shivery parade of goosebumps skittering down your spine. The steady thrum of his heartbeat seemed to align itself with your own in synchronized pulses that shouldn’t have felt as comforting as they did.

One of his arms was curled under your head, toned bicep providing the perfect tucked nook to nuzzle your cheek into like a pillow that smelled tantalizingly of his minty body soap. His other arm stretched across your midsection in a casual claim of territory, large hand splaying possessively over the curve of Nobara’s hip as if she were his own personal body pillow.

In that bleary, half-awake state, you felt utterly surrounded by the warmth, security, and care of your closest people. Despite the undoubtedly compromising position, there was no awkwardness or discomfort. Only a profound sense of being safe, loved, and cherished.

Not wanting to relinquish this moment just yet, you let your eyes drift shut once more. The gentle rise and fall of Nobara’s even breathing against your chest, coupled with the reassuring weight of Megumi enveloping you from behind, was simply too blissful to voluntarily extract yourself from. You decided to indulge in this moment a little longer before facing the day and its responsibilities.

Behind you, Megumi seemed to reach the same unspoken decision. Either that, or he was still blessedly conked out and unaware that he was practically fused against your back, not an inch of space between your bodies for even a gentleman’s modesty.

Then, in a drowsy move he would later blame on morning grogginess (or maybe a subtle desire to test the waters), Megumi nuzzled his nose deeper into the nape of your neck. You felt the gentle caress of his lips brushing ever-so-slightly across the bared skin there, maddeningly soft in a way that had your pulse kicking up instinctively as he inhaled deeply, savoring your familiar woodsy fragrance. A small, subconscious part of you wondered fleetingly if it counted as a kiss. Probably not. Megumi would never… would he?

This indulgent thought was abruptly interrupted as Megumi’s large hand, which had been resting possessively on Nobara’s hip, began to move. He tightened his hold, pulling you both even more fully against his solid frame in an utterly shameless morning maneuver that threatened to elevate this cuddle situation to at least an R-rating if it continued.

Whether roused by the movement or simply stirring in her dream, Nobara shifted minutely. It was unclear if she had cracked open her eyes yet or was still lost in slumber. But like the two of you, she seemed to instinctively burrow deeper into the shared cocoon of body heat and affection.

Her face mushed more insistently against your chest, the tip of her nose almost grazing the exposed space between the buttons of your pajama top. You could feel her contented hum reverberate against your skin as she melted even further into your embrace.

As you hovered in that blissful state between wakefulness and dreams, a fleeting thought managed to pierce the cottony haze – something felt… not quite complete about this.

Yuji.

Of course, that was the missing piece.

As wonderful and magical as this moment felt, it would have been utterly perfect if Yuji were here too.

You could perfectly imagine the way his broad, muscular frame would drape over Nobara’s other side, effectively squishing her between your chests in the best possible way. Part of you wondered idly if the poor bed could even accommodate all your bodies like that at once. You supposed you would find out when Yuji finally returned from his enforced exile.

If the four of you did attempt to cram onto this same mattress, Megumi would undoubtedly insist Yuji take the side along the wall. That way he’d be situated right next to all those risqué bikini model posters he had tacked up. Yuji would instantly get defensive, sputtering about how there was nothing pervy or “gross” about appreciating the human form through art photography. They were simply celebrating the beauty of the female body!

And Nobara would mercilessly tease and rag on him the entire time for being such a typical horny teenage boy trying to justify his pitiful excuses for wank material. You could perfectly envision the impish grin playing on her lips as she relentlessly got under Yuji’s skin about it. Maybe she’d even wack him upside the head with a pillow or three for good measure, drawing out those yelps of protest that she so delighted in.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you imagined the chaos that would ensue. How it would feel so natural, so right… and so very, very whole.

Your collective decision to indulge in that lazy morning cuddle quickly proved unwise, however. After waiting over twenty minutes in the designated training area, Maki’s limited patience had officially worn thin. With a huff of annoyance, she stormed out to locate and personally drag your lazy asses out of bed by the ears if necessary.

She started with Nobara’s room but found it empty and cold – clearly unoccupied that night. Your own room yielded the same result. As did Megumi’s when she moved down the hallway, brow furrowed in mounting irritation.

However, Maki’s rising anger stilled as she stood perplexed outside Megumi’s room. Faint sounds of rustling and movement seemed to emanate from Yuji’s room just next door. Concern piqued, she gently cracked open the door to investigate the source of the curious noises.

Framed in the soft, golden light of early morning, the three of you were an achingly tender tangle of entwined bodies and limbs atop Yuji’s rumpled bed. The air seemed to still around you all as Maki’s breath caught in her throat.

In that fragile moment, the three of you seemed utterly at peace.

Maki felt her heart stagger in her chest as the wind rushed from her lungs in a harsh exhale. She hadn’t known the secret about Yuji. So, the pile of people she saw now painted such a terrible picture of raw grief. Of those who had just lost a dear friend far too cruelly and too soon. Those who would seek solace in the lingering warmth of his personal space, clinging to any remaining vestiges of his very presence. This bed, these rumpled sheets and belongings strewn about, were all that remained of your beloved friend.

Tears blurred Maki’s vision as a profound wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her usual steely composure. Her heart ached fiercely for this bright boy she had never known – for the gaping void his absence left in the lives of those he cherished most.

For a fleeting moment, Maki’s stoic facade cracked as she swallowed hard against the burning lump in her throat. But she was Zen’in Maki – the strongest, toughest girl any of you had ever known. With a fortifying breath, she ruthlessly tucked away the swell of emotions. There would be time for this later. Now, she could not – would not – allow you all to simply wallow in your misery. She knew this well enough: the only way out was through.

There was still the Goodwill Event and those Kyoto hotshots you would need to deal with. And Maki was certain Yuji would not want you all to get your asses kicked in his untimely absence either.

Squaring her shoulders, Maki quickly scrubbed the cuff of her jacket across her damp cheeks and swept into the room with minimal preamble – a woman on a mission. Without ceremony or warning, she seized a fistful of Yuji’s rumpled bedding, planting her combat boots in a wide, stable stance.

The heavy covers went flying as she unleashed a bellow at absolutely maximum volume.

“Wake up, you pathetic asses! Do you idiots have any damn idea what ungodly time it is already?!”

The three of you were startled so violently awake that you practically levitated off the mattress with undignified yelps of sheer terror. Your hopelessly tangled limbs flailed as you were forcibly dislodged from the bed, bodies tumbling unceremoniously in every direction to thump against the floor.

You all groaned pitifully from your crumpled positions on the ground, blinking up at the terrifying sight of Maki looming over you. It took a few moments for your sleep-addled brains to reboot and process what calamity had just befallen you after that wake-up call from the depths of hell itself.

Maki didn’t give you losers any quarter to ponder or protest. As you staggered upright, squinting and shaking off your lingering grogginess, she planted her hands firmly on her hips in a power stance. Her glare was unrelenting as she barked out the next order in a tone that brooked no argument whatsoever from anyone who valued their vital organs remaining intact.

“Fifty laps around campus, RIGHT NOW! Maybe that’ll snap your useless bodies back to reality properly!”

A chorus of pitiful groans echoed around the small room, but not a single one of you dared protest her directive. When Zen’in Maki spoke in that lethal tone, you simply zipped it and obeyed without question. Unless you had a death wish. She looked fully prepared to toss all of your asses straight out of the window if you didn’t get a move on soon enough.

So, exchanging weary glances of commiseration, you all hastily shuffled towards the door to begin your training in various embarrassing degrees of sleepwear and bedhead. Dealing with Maki’s wrath was brutal enough – no need to risk invoking her ultimate rage. Really, this was the lesser of two evils.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

From that night onward, for some inexplicable reason, the co-sleeping arrangement took root. Even Megumi didn’t so much as lift a disapproving eyebrow about it anymore.

Sometimes, if the prodigy boy happened to wrap up his evening training grind before you peasants, you’d wander into Yuji’s room to find him already there. He’d be lounging comfortably, either engrossed in a book or scrolling through his phone with a perplexed squint. But his own pillow and blanket would be neatly stacked atop Yuji’s bed.

Nobara never failed to clock Megumi’s cozy nest and throw him a sly glance accompanied by an exaggerated snicker. But she surprisingly didn’t rag on him about it beyond that. An uncharacteristic show of restraint from the girl who lived to piss him off. Maybe she felt a tiny pang of sympathy for Megumi finally embracing his inner soft boi tendencies.

On the rare occasions you all still had some dregs of energy reserves after enduring Maki’s literal hell, a Netflix binge therapy session with some hot new buzzy series that everyone was obsessing over was definitely in order.

Nobara and Megumi would get heated over every inane plot twist and ill-conceived character decision. Then, you all would end up placing bets on whether it would get canceled after a single season.

They had even stopped complaining about your habits of writhing and thrashing about like a deranged starfish while you slept. Some deeply buried part of you wondered if they strategically sandwiched you on purpose to subdue your wild flailings.

The co-sleeping carried on undisturbed for a couple of blissful weeks. Until one day, after a typically soul-crushing training slog, you three zombies had dragged your battered carcasses back to the dorms, ready to just face-plant on Yuji’s bed. Only to stumble right into a goddamn SWAT team of cleaning staff methodically stripping Yuji’s room bare, packing away every last possession into sad little cardboard boxes littered haphazardly about. Some were even in the process of peeling his treasured bikini model posters off the walls.

The instant Nobara registered what was happening, she predictably flew off the handle. A feral growl ripped from her throat as she blurred into motion, clearly intent on violently intervening. Only Megumi’s quick ninja reflexes and bear-hugging prevented a gruesome bloodbath. And her expulsion.

“Calm down, Kugisaki!” He barked harshly through gritted teeth, struggling to contain her thrashing fury.

But no one in history who was asked to calm down actually ever calmed down.

“I’LL MURDER EVERY LAST ONE OF THESE DISRESPECTFUL PRICKS—” She howled before Megumi clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. You really didn’t need her suspended right before the Goodwill Event.

You decided a more tactful approach might be wise before anyone got grievously nailed to the wall. Channeling an eerie facade of calm, you stepped towards the closest staffer – a scrawny dude who immediately shriveled under your mere presence.

“Oh hi,” you raised your hands placatingly, catching his guilty glance. “Didn’t we have an understanding about leaving this room and all its sh*t untouched? Like indefinitely?”

The poor guy physically recoiled from you, panic and guilt warring across his face. He swallowed hard before meekly replying.

“W-We’re very sorry. But the faculty has requested this room be cleared out as soon as possible.”

Oh, now this was a spicy new sprinkle of bullsh*ttery. At this absolute clown school, the only “faculty” existing were Gojo Satoru himself and Kusakabe.

Gojo had been boycotting this school after the cosmic f*ckup with Yuji went down. And he never gave a sh*t about dorm rooms anyway. So, Kusakabe.

What the hell did think he was doing?

Your vision practically tinted red at the realization.

In the span of a few rapid heartbeats, you recovered. Locking away the raging inferno behind a customer-service-worthy smile, you turned back towards the clearly rattled staffer.

“There must have been some kind of misunderstanding here,” you stated pleasantly. “It was actually Gojo-sensei’s idea to keep this room preserved exactly as is. I’m not certain he would be very happy at all to see it handled so… carelessly.”

You let that vaguely ominous implication linger in the air, your friendly smile never faltering despite the glacial undercurrent. There – you’d played the Gojo card to optimal effect.

Every single staff member within earshot immediately flinched as if stuck by a taser at the mere utterance of his name. A palpable wave of cold terror rippled through their ranks as they began exchanging panicked, deer-in-the-headlights looks with each other.

Of course not a damn one of them would dare risk calling your bluff by actually attempting to check with Gojo. Everyone here knew you were his most spoiled student. He would always take your side anyway. And Gojo’s wrath was stuff of such horrific legends, no sane person would ever gamble with provoking it under any circ*mstances.

The guy who was talking to you swallowed, visibly sweating bullets as his complexion rapidly paled. “R-Really?” he stammered, voice pitching upwards in fear. “We didn’t – that is, n-no one informed us of any such…”

Your smile somehow widened even further as you let them all mentally stew in their self-created nightmare scenario for a few more sad*stic seconds. Watching the sheer dread and panic steadily escalate across their faces was almost amusing.

Almost. Working here probably sucked enough, you didn’t feel like making their lives more difficult than they already were.

“It’s quite alright,” you finally stated in a tone that could have soothed rabid animals. “Why don’t you all just leave everything right here? I’ll… sort through this misunderstanding and get everything cleared up properly with Gojo-sensei.”

A tremor of relief washed through the entire crew at your diplomatic suggestion. They didn’t even bother responding with more than a few stammered gratitudes and fervent nods.

The staff were practically trampling each other in their desperation to evacuate the scene, fleeing the room at a dead sprint – their self-preservation instincts wisely overruling all other priorities for now. Within a matter of minutes, you, Megumi and Nobara were left alone amid the chaotic ruins of Yuji’s torn-apart sanctuary.

An exhausted silence fell over the three of you in the aftermath. You were all too emotionally and physically drained to even consider attempting to restore any semblance of order to the ravaged space.

Without needing to exchange a single word, the collective decision was made to simply ignore the chaotic disaster surrounding you… at least for this one night. With heavy sighs and leaden movements, you piled atop Yuji’s stripped mattress.

For a long span, not a sound disturbed the quietness beyond your mingled breaths gradually syncing into a shared, meditative rhythm. Until eventually, Megumi’s low rumble broke through.

“This is about you specifically, isn’t it?” his tone was devoid of accusation, just pragmatic observation.

You exhaled a bone-tired sigh, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as Nobara added to Megumi’s blunt speculation.

"For real though, what’s the deal between you and that guy? Don’t tell me he’s still sore over that whole stunt with Ieiri-san?”

Another even heavier sigh punched out of you as you dragged a hand wearily down your face.

“Yeah, it’s probably about me,” you admitted ruefully.

Honestly, the whole deal between Kusakabe and you was just… complicated as hell. For lack of a more polite term. And that was putting it far too mildly. But the three of you were in absolutely no fit state currently to properly unpack anything right this moment. So the unspoken consensus was to simply table this mess. You’d deal with Kusakabe later.

You’d anticipated having at least a day or two to prepare for this whole Kusakabe deal. But of course, he just had to subvert expectations in the most obnoxious way possible.

Not even 24 hours after literally desecrating your sanctuary, Kusakabe’s terse text summons pinged through, curtly demanding your presence for a one-on-one training session.

As absolutely pissed off as you were, the man was your teacher. So, you had no legitimate option other than dragging your furious ass to the training room, scowling the whole way.

When you arrived, Kusakabe was already standing there, looking annoying as hell with two practice wooden swords in hand. He tossed you one casually, like this was just another ordinary session. “You’ve been slacking on practice, Spices.”

You glared daggers at the man but still complied, snatching the wooden sword out of the air. The familiar weight felt almost mocking in your grip. With a resigned huff, you stepped onto the mat to face him.

“My apologies, sensei. I’ve been a little busy,” you bit out, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

The training room stretched out around you, the polished wood floors and mirrored walls making the space feel both expansive and oppressive. You could smell the faint tang of sweat lingering – remnants of earlier sessions that day. Loose strands of hair were already sticking to the back of your neck in anticipation.

Gripping the practice sword tightly, you shifted into your opening stance, feet set apart and body angled to present a smaller target. You knew better than to make the first move against Kusakabe. So instead, you waited, eyes narrowed and chest lightly rising and falling with controlled breaths.

Kusakabe wasn’t wrong. You had been thoroughly slacking on sword practice recently, attention divided by the whole Shoko Incident, then Yuji’s supposed death, prepping for the Goodwill Event, all the scheming and plotting and generally dealing with the colossal mess your life had become.

The sparring match began, and you immediately remembered why learning swordsmanship made you want to jump off the nearest cliff. Kusakabe’s strikes came at you in a relentless flurry, his movements so controlled and efficient that the bastard may as well have been a finely tuned machine.

You managed to deflect a few blows, the resounding cracks of wood-on-wood ringing out as you parried desperately. But Kusakabe was just getting warmed up, his dark eyes glinting with an unnerving focus. With a grunt of exaggerated effort, he battered against your shoddy defenses.

Each strike carried enough force to sting your arms even through the practice sword. You backpedaled frantically, struggling to maintain your stance as sweat began prickling along your hairline. Smooth moves, these were not.

“Your forms are sloppy, Spices,” Kusakabe lectured between blows, forever the demanding teacher. “Even though we’ve been working on this for over a year!”

You hissed, ducking a vicious slash that likely would have taken your head off.“Maybe— that has something to do— with the fact that— I’m literally an archer!”

You pivoted, putting some much-needed space between you and Kusakabe. Using the momentum, you launched a counterstrike that he deflected almost casually. “Why the hell— do you keep making me— learn sword fighting anyway?”

If you’d been using real steel instead of wood, you’d have been carved into a grotesque collection of Spices’ chunks about thirty seconds into this warm-up session. Kusakabe fought with a seamless intensity and skill that always left you feeling flustered, backpedaling, and wondering why the grizzled son-of-a-bitch insisted on these extra lessons in getting your ass handed to you.

Kusakabe calmly answered between strikes, never letting up the assault. “You don’t have a cursed technique, Spices. You need to be versatile in battles.” He punctuated the point by raining down a flurry of blows that had you backpedaling even more desperately. “What if your bow got knocked out of your hand?”

Thanks for the f*cking reminder of your distinctly average combat skills compared to powerhouses like him. With a grunt of anger-fueled effort, you managed a sweeping strike that grazed Kusakabe’s shoulder – though the glancing blow wasn’t even enough to scruff his outfit.

You barked back, chest heaving, “What if YOUR sword got knocked out of your hand? You’re the one who’s not versatile!” In a bout of reckless abandon, you gestured wildly with the practice blade toward the entrance. “Let’s take this to the shooting range and see how you do, old man!”

The taunting challenge hung in the air, as nonsensical as this whole sparring spiel. Was Kusakabe’s sudden intensity fueled by your recent promotion to first grade? Some misguided attempt to push your combat skills further now that you would soon be on his same rank? A thought flickered across your mind that maybe, just maybe, the man was actually trying to look out for you in his own way.

You immediately laughed off the ridiculous notion, barely deflecting another furious volley of strikes. Why the hell would he? You’d been nothing but a pain in his ass ever since that awful day…

As your mind started to wander back to the past, your concentration lapsed. You failed to properly parry an incoming strike, the wooden blade slamming squarely into your torso and sending you flying backward despite your attempt to cushion the blow with your cursed energy.

You landed hard on the edge of the mat, ribs screaming in protest as the air was driven from your lungs. Damn, that was gonna leave a mark. You didn’t even try to get up, chest heaving as you glared at the ceiling like it had personally offended your entire lineage.

Seeing you lay unmoving, Kusakabe actually had the grace to look worried for a split second. He rushed over, practice sword lowering slightly as concern flashed across his features. But then you shot him a death glare, and the bastard just huffed in response.

“Get up. We’re not done yet,” he barked, using the tip of his sword to poke at your belly in a distinctly patronizing way.

Like a petulant toddler in the midst of a world-class tantrum, you simply rolled away from the prodding, refusing to engage or make any effort to rise. When Kusakabe tried gripping your arm to physically pull you upright, you shook him off and rolled in the other direction with a defiant grunt.

This ridiculous dance repeated a couple more times – Kusakabe grabbing at you while you squirmed and rolled away like a greased eel. Eventually, Kusakabe lost his cool.

“You little brat…” he seethed, trapped halfway between exasperation and grudging amusem*nt at your antics.

“Stop acting like a child and get up!” Kusakabe’s rage made you want to dig in your heels further, a toddler embracing the joys of a full-blown tantrum. “Your missions are going to get a lot more dangerous. You may be a smart ass, but you won’t always be able to scheme your way out of a fight with a first-grade curse!”

Ah, so this sudden bout of tough love was really about your upcoming promotion. How precious. You fixed him with a withering glare from your spot on the mat. “Well if you’re so fed up with me, why don’t you go ahead and call the staff to haul my smart ass off?” You injected just the right amount of snark into the words.

The thinly veiled accusation about his request to clear out Yuji’s room hit home. Kusakabe’s expression did that familiar cringe-and-wince combo he deployed whenever acknowledging he’d been a royal jackass. His frown deepened as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside your petulantly turned back. “You’ve been camping in the boy’s room for over two weeks now, Spices. This can’t be healthy.”

You scoffed, keeping your face angled away. “Funny, I don’t recall you busting Nobara or Megumi’s balls over this. They were right there with me, or did you conveniently forget that tiny detail?”

There was a weary sigh from the man. “This has nothing to do with them. It’s you I’m worried about.” His voice took on a gentle tone that somehow chafed even more. “If you intend to be a jujutsu sorcerer, you can’t keep taking every loss to heart.”

As you tensed up, Kusakabe continued: “I know you’ve still got that box of Yanagi’s belongings stashed away somewhere.”

The mention of your best friend’s name made you flinch hard. You clenched your jaw, fighting the upwelling of emotion. Kusakabe was wandering into damn dangerous territory, whether he realized it or not.

He seemed to take your stubborn silence as an engraved invitation to kick off an unwanted heart-to-heart.

“You won’t last long in this line of work if you keep… being like this.”

First Ijichi, now Kusakabe – why did everyone keep trotting out that wearily pessimistic forecast about your supposed lack of longevity? As if you were a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode spectacularly. You could almost set your watch to these soul-baring pep talks.

Criminally oblivious to the thunderous scowl darkening your face, your gloriously insightful teacher steamrolled onward. “It’s been over two years, Spices. What happened to Yanagi wasn’t your fault.” The damn audacity of this man. “You need to let it go.”

He reached out with a tentative hand as if to pat your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. You recoiled from his touch like he was a venomous viper, hissing out a biting refusal:

“You first!”

Kusakabe jerked back, confused: “What… do you mean?”

Your jaw clenched until you felt like you could grind enamel into powder. “I’ll let go of it when you do that first.”

And just like that, the meticulously composed mask he always wore in your presence shattered into a thousand pieces. For one vulnerable moment, you saw the naked pain, the guilt, and the regret he’d carried with him all this time. Kusakabe opened his mouth, but whatever platitude he’d been gearing up to unleash died on his tongue, unvoiced.

But you were on a roll now, the heated words tumbling out in an impassioned rush as everything you’d bottled up for years finally burst forth.

“It was never about f*ckuoka, was it? The reason you’ve been tolerating my bullsh*t all this time? It was never really about what happened in f*ckuoka.”

You watched the shame dawned on Kusakabe’s face as he processed your meaning. Your mind rewound back to that fateful morning of your first year when your dear Shino was so cruelly taken from this world. With Gojo away on assignment, Kusakabe had stepped in to lead your class – he was supposed to be the one looking after you all.

But then he had signed off on letting Shino go handle a supposedly simple collection mission. An honest mistake that soon revealed itself to be a lethal misjudgment as Shino had ended up walking blindly into a nest of first-grade curses, outnumbered and overwhelmed with no backup.

You remembered the uneasy, insistent feeling you had that morning, the inexplicable need to accompany Shino on that mission. The suspicion that had crept into your heart as you read through her mission brief. Something was off. The wording looked weird, like some parts of the sentences had been removed, doctored somehow. You had begged Kusakabe to let you go with Shino so she would at least have some backup.

But Kusakabe overruled you, insisting you stay behind for extra combat training because your forms “needed work” and Shino was already a semi first grade at that point so obviously, she could handle this simple mission alone and you were just being paranoid. A decision that had cost Shino her life and saved yours at the same time. If you had been there with Shino, you would have died right alongside her.

The burning regret etched into the creases of Kusakabe’s expression made it clear he knew that horrible truth as well as you did. In reality, he couldn’t have predicted or prevented the tragedy, yet he still brutally blamed himself for letting her walk into her cruel death. And you… you viciously blamed him for not believing you, for not letting you go with her. That tormenting what-if – what if you had been able to do something, anything?

That’s why when Kusakabe slipped up on a mission you took together in f*ckuoka later on, you seized on it as the perfect way to unleash your bitter rage. A pathetic excuse, maybe, but one you clung to as justification to lash out with every coarse jab and jagged barb you could muster. All your pain directed at punishing him for failing Shino, for failing you both. It was easier to have someone to blame, to be angry at. So, Kusakabe had let you be angry at him.

The training room blurred around you as you glared at the man, harsh words clawing up your throat despite your better judgment.

“You’re not the one to lecture me on this sh*t, sensei. You’ve been wallowing in guilt all this time, letting me get away with bloody murder, because you know you screwed up back then. You know Shino would have lived if you had listened to me! You know you’re the reason she died!”

There was no word, no adequate description that could capture the sheer pain etched onto Kusakabe’s face at that moment. An anguish so raw and visceral that seeing it twisted something deep in your chest.

You knew, rationally, that your accusations were unfair. Of course, you knew Shino’s death was never his fault. If anyone was to be blamed, that would be those Council Elders and this entire rotten system. Kusakabe might be a coward by default, but he was also the kind of man who would not hesitate to put his own life on the line to protect his students. You knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to die for Shino if he could. But you had been too preoccupied with your own hurt, drowning in that wellspring of jagged grief to be rational and kind about any of this.

Kusakabe simply bowed his head, features shadowed as he rasped out a wretched, “I’m sorry, Spices. I’m so, so sorry.”

As your earlier vicious words faded, the righteous fury drained out of you, leaving you hollowed out and weary. Looking at the utterly broken man before you, your heart shattered anew. Honestly, you had long outgrown the unjust resentment you once felt toward Kusakabe. But you didn’t know what to say, what to do to salve these years-old wounds that had never properly closed for either of you. It was just simpler to keep being angry at him. Until now.

“I don’t need your apology,” you said at last, voice thick with bitterness. “It won’t bring her back.”

A muscle tensed in Kusakabe’s jaw, but he merely nodded. “I know. I’m just… I’m trying to make up for it, somehow…”

The silence that followed seemed to press down on you both like a physical weight. In that moment, the grief you shared twinned you together in your misery, two lost souls unable to break free.

You barked out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “If you tell me Shino would have wanted me to move on, I’ll shave off your entire head, old man.”

Your threat against his amazing hairstyle brought an unexpected chuckle rumbling up from Kusakabe’s throat. Knowing your reputation for unhinged behavior, the idea of you sneaking into his quarters when he least expected it to make good on shaving off every last strand of his hair was likely all too plausible in his mind.

After his chuckle subsided, Kusakabe gave a weary nod. “Okay. I won’t say it, then.”

The heaviness of unresolved hurts and bitter memories thickened in the air. You could practically taste the awkwardness, the lingering threads of sorrow between you. Finally, it was Kusakabe who broke first, his voice subdued.

“I’m sorry for clearing out Itadori’s room. I overstepped my bounds there.”

You waved a dismissive hand, scoffing. “It’s fine. I made them put everything back anyway.”

“Of course you did.” The audible eye-roll in those words grated against your nerves, but you refused to rise to the bait, instead opting to ignore his resigned tone entirely.

“Also…” Kusakabe paused again, seeming to consider his words carefully before pressing onward. “I’m sorry… about everything, Spices. I really am.” His voice was little more than a hushed rasp of sound.

You closed your eyes for a long moment, weariness settling over you like a shroud. If only the two of you could have had this kind of talk two years ago. But you supposed you could accept this now. It didn’t mean your grief would heal any time soon or ever. But at least, you would try to take the very first step – to let the man know you no longer resented him. He hated himself enough for the both of you already. And he really should not.

Opening your eyes once more, you sat up to look Kusakabe straight into his eyes. “Don’t be sorry, sensei. I don’t blame you.”

When he simply stared at you skeptically, you let out a hefty huff of frustration. “Well, I mean I did blame you for the longest time. But despite that, I have always known it’s not your fault. And you need to know that, too.”

Leaning forward, you jabbed a finger squarely into the center of Kusakabe’s chest, letting some of the intensity burning in your veins bleed into your blunt words.

“Whatever your stupid guilt tries to tell you, sensei, know that it’s not your fault, okay?” You held his gaze firmly. “If you want me to let it go, you gotta try with me.”

Shoko had said something similar to you once upon a time. You supposed now it was Kusakabe who needed to hear that.

His weathered, calloused hand closed over yours where you had been insistently jabbing at his chest. Kusakabe bowed his head, a sad smile ghosting across his features.

“Okay,” he rasped out. “Let’s give it a try.”

You squeezed his hand, grounding him with your touch.

“And you should stop torturing me with this pointless sword training sh*t. You know damn well I don’t have the physique for close-quarters combat. If you really want to look out for me, teach me something actually useful.”

Kusakabe considered your words for a moment before giving a slow nod of acquiescence. “How about Simple Domain?”

Your eyes went wide as saucers as his offer sank in. Was the old bastard actually serious?

You threw up your other hand, pressing it roughly against Kusakabe’s mouth to halt whatever he was about to say next.

“Are you crazy?” You hissed. “Doesn’t Simple Domain come with a binding vow that you can’t teach it to anyone who’s not a disciple of the New Shadow Style? If you try to teach me, your own Simple Domain won’t work anymore!”

Kusakabe raised an amused eyebrow, swatting your hand away from his face with a little smirk. “So you still have the heart to worry about me, huh?”

You shot him a withering glare, struggling against the faint warmth blossoming in your chest at his teasing. “Of course I do, you old bastard! I’m a brat, not a monster.” You threw his earlier insult back at him defiantly.

The lines around Kusakabe’s eyes crinkled as he actually laughed at your snippy retort.

“I’m not teaching Simple Domain to you, Spices,” he assured you, still chuckling. “Sure, there’s a default binding vow that forbids teaching outsiders. But if you just so happen to see me performing it, and you’re able to copy and learn it yourself without my instructions, then it doesn’t break my vow.”

You instantly perked up at the obvious loophole, eyes sparkling with intrigued possibilities. But then his next words came like a dousing of cold water.

“So if you want a chance to learn Simple Domain that way, you’ll need to start showing up for sword training sessions with me again. I may… accidentally expand my Domain a few times where you can observe it closely.”

Grumbling under your breath, you tugged your hand free from Kusakabe’s grip, deeply annoyed despite the enticing offer dangling in front of you.

“What is with your stupid obsession with making me learn sword fighting? Admit it. You just want to kick my ass as payback for all those times I messed with you.”

Kusakabe chuckled again, the rusty sound filling you with a warmth you hadn’t expected after your heated confrontation just moments ago.

“It’s not just about sword fighting, you brat.” He reached out and flicked the tip of your nose in a gesture of surprising playfulness. “I know you’re built more for ranged combat and scheming. But your reflexes and reaction time are subpar. You are about to go on first-grade missions soon. You need to be prepared for any situation, even ones that put you up close and personal with an enemy.”

You scrunched your face up at him, “Please don’t be so lovey-dovey with me. It’s cringy.”

“I’m not.” Kusakabe laughed again, the deep rumbling contagious enough to have the corners of your own mouth tugging upwards into a reluctant smile against your will. “Do you want to see my Simple Domain or not?”

The tantalizing prospect of learning Simple Domain was too enticing. It would give you an incredible edge in combat.

With an exaggerated groan, you flopped backward onto the mat, glaring up at the ceiling. “Fiiine, you win this round, Kusakabe-sensei.”

The chuckle that answered you was almost… affectionate? No, you were surely imagining things. But the ease now filling the air between you and Kusakabe admittedly felt nice. For the first time in so long, it felt like the two of you were finally on the same page.

Just when you thought the impromptu therapy session was over, Kusakabe took advantage of your momentary distraction. In a swift motion, he grabbed onto you and bodily hauled you back to your feet before you could protest.

“Hey!” You squirmed against his iron grip, but Kusakabe simply shoved your practice sword back into your hands with a grunt.

Then, without any warning, he launched into another blistering assault. You yelped in surprise as a flurry of strikes drove you backpedaling again, spluttering indignant curses with each parry.

“Strike me back, Spices!” Kusakabe demanded over the clack of wood on wood. “You can’t just parry and evade the entire fight!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me!” You snarled back defiantly.

And so the brutal practice session continued, with your vivid cursing growing more and more colorful and creative as Kusakabe relentlessly pressed the attack. The man didn’t even break so much as a bead of sweat, his movements infuriatingly controlled and precise.

You, on the other hand, were a gasping, sweaty mess – arms burning from the effort of deflecting blow after punishing blow. This had gone far beyond mere training at this point. Through the haze of exertion, you began seriously considering sneaking into Kusakabe’s quarters and shaving all the hair right off his smug head while he slept.

Just wait. Kusakabe-sensei. Just you wait.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

The addition of sword practice sessions with Kusakabe layered even more stress onto your already overburdened routine.

Today’s grueling sessions had left their marks – Megumi sported angrily bruised ribs from his sparring bout with Maki, while you had twisted an ankle and earned a lovely bruise blooming across your cheek from an ill-advised face-first meeting with the mat during your sword practice. You mentally cursed Kusakabe yet again. Blaming him had become a comfortable reflex at this point.

Thanks to Shoko’s hardline policy of only using her reversed cursed energy healing for life-threatening injuries, anything less severe had to heal the old-fashioned way. Which meant the sleepovers with Megumi and Nobara needed to be put on pause to avoid messing up both your injuries even more. Yours weren’t particularly bad, but Megumi’s required some serious rest. Nobara wasn’t pleased with that, mumbling about how you both being weaklings, always needing downtime. As if she hadn’t gotten her own ribs busted just a short while ago.

Anyway, tonight, you were back in your dorm room alone, hunched over your laptop researching the precious intel Ijichi had given you earlier. One of these people was the mole who had leaked Shoko’s whereabouts and Ijichi’s report. You needed to figure out exactly who.

It wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be. These were high-ranking administrators and executives. There was not much information about them online. But their families on the other hand? Well, let’s just say you had plenty of cyber-stalking to do.

A sharp rap at the door broke your concentration. “For f*ck’s sake,” you muttered.

Definitely Megumi coming to fret over you again despite his own beaten-up state. Nobara at least would have just barged right in and spared you the effort of limping to open the door.

You shoved the laptop aside and levered yourself up with a pained grimace. The knocking grew more insistent.

“Keep your pants on, I’m coming!” You snapped, wading through the organized clutter to make your way to the door.

You yanked open the door, already gearing up to give Megumi an earful about his motherhening habits. The words withered in your throat as you found not Megumi, but Gojo himself.

You stared at Gojo, dumbfounded, as if he’d just sprouted a second head right before your eyes. Was this real life? Gojo Satoru actually bothering to knock and request entry instead of just flinging himself brazenly into your personal space like the egotistical ass he could be?

Several beats of awkward silence ticked by as you studied him warily from across the threshold, half-expecting this polite pretense to shatter at any moment. But Gojo remained rooted in place, regarding you with an unnervingly serious expression you struggled to read.

Finally, he broke the tension: “Can I come in?”

The simple question snapped you out of your stupor with a blink. “Uh, yeah… sure,” you managed, stepping back stiffly to allow him to enter.

As Gojo brushed past, that achingly familiar dark, rich cologne washed over you – a subtle scent you definitely hadn’t pined for even once in a while during the weeks of frosty silence. Nope, not at all. You totally didn’t miss having his arrogant ass around to aggravate the ever-loving sh*t out of you on a daily basis.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, you turned to find Gojo had made himself at home but not in his usual infuriating manner – basically owning any space he occupied by virtue of sheer audacity. Instead, he perched stiffly on your rickety desk chair, hands gripping the sides like a man awaiting sentencing.

Was the world ending? Had the revered Gojo Satoru gotten himself a supernatural concussion that knocked all the swagger out of him?

As you limped your way further into the cramped room, Gojo’s gaze seemed to zero in on the bulky bandages on your ankle. Even with those ridiculous opaque sunglasses obscuring his eyes, you could practically feel the intensity of his stare.

He started to rise from the chair, as if intending to come over and assist you, but you’d already shuffled across the short distance and plopped down heavily onto your bed with an audible grunt of relief.

Gojo’s frown deepened as he seemed to take in the vivid bluish-purple marring your cheekbone as well. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching with what you could only assume was worry despite his inscrutable expression.

“What happened?” he asked tightly, gesturing first at your bandaged leg and then your face.

You shrugged one shoulder, aiming for nonchalance even as a dull throb of pain lanced through you from the simple movement. You would need to beg Shoko to fix this shoulder properly.

“Practice went wrong,” you answered.

When Gojo’s brow shot up further with concern, you added, “If you think this is bad, you should see Megumi.”

Gojo’s frown somehow managed to deepen further. “I’ll ask Sho to fix those for you,” he stated, not asked.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his authoritative tone. Something never changed.

“It’s fine, they’re not as bad as they look,” you countered breezily. “Ieiri-san’s got a firm policy, you know that.”

At that, an expectant silence fell between you once more, thick with unspoken tension and the weight of weeks kept studiously apart. You couldn’t help but trace your gaze over Gojo’s features – the sharp planes of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the straight line of his nose.

He looked… tired, you realized with a start. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, a tightness around his mouth that spoke of sleepless nights and burdens weighing heavily on him. For perhaps the first time, Gojo Satoru seemed almost human.

Normally, Gojo would have immediately pounced on you for so brazenly drinking in his otherworldly beauty, firing off some quip about your inability to resist his charm. But tonight the teasing jab never came, the silence stretching on unbroken.

After a while, Gojo spoke up, the sound of his deep voice startling you from your thoughts. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

You blinked at him, then felt your face twist into an indignant scowl as the sheer audacity of the question sank in. This jackass had been giving you the cold shoulder for weeks on end without so much as a peep of acknowledgment. And now he just strolled in here, serious as a heart attack, and demanded you start unburdening yourself to him?

“Well, maybe I have, like, fifteen things to tell you,” you shot back acidly, whipping out your phone and pulling up the message thread to illustrate your point with a dramatic flourish.

Gojo’s brow furrowed as he eyed the admittedly one-sided conversation. “All of those were just a ‘hey’,” he pointed out gruffly.

Your scowl deepened as you glared right back at him. “So you did see them, huh?”

To your surprise, Gojo simply nodded. “I did.”

You crossed your arms across your chest, reverting to petulant body language as the indignation flared hot within you. “So why didn’t you text me back?” you demanded, tone taking on a childish edge.

Rather than rise to meet your immature provocation, Gojo simply leaned back in the chair, seeming to study you carefully through the impenetrable barrier of his opaque lenses.

“I needed time to think,” he answered at last.

You opened your mouth, a biting retort ready on your lips, but then snapped it shut as the meaning of his words truly registered. Oh god, he was actually giving you the dreaded ‘I need some space’ speech, wasn’t he? Your cheeks flushed with a potent mix of anger and incredulity.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you forced yourself to regain some semblance of composure. He was here now at least, you reminded yourself. He’d even made the unprecedented effort to respect the norms of personal boundaries by knocking and awaiting permission before barging in. Hell, the man had forgone his usual entitled slouching across your bed in favor of the rickety chair.

If Gojo was willing to meet you halfway by doing the bare minimum, you supposed you could return the favor.

“I told Megumi and Nobara about Yuji,” you admitted in a harder tone, eyes locked unwaveringly on his. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Otherwise, why would he have been ghosting you? You braced yourself for the blowup, for Gojo to lose his sh*t and lash out at you in that overwhelming whirlwind of intensity he would so often direct at others, Ijichi for example.

But instead, he just nodded again. “I know.”

You didn’t know quite how to respond to Gojo’s unexpected calm. So, hoping to buy yourself a little time to collect your thoughts, you asked the first question that came to mind.

“How did you find out?”

As far as you were concerned, you, Megumi, and Nobara had been putting on an absolute masterclass in acting over the past weeks. Not a single slip-up or indication to anyone. Even Kusakabe had been thoroughly convinced you were mired in grief to the point of intervention. The only liability was Yuji. That dumb, overeager kid and his inability to keep a lid on things.

Your suspicion was all but confirmed when Gojo let out a dry chuckle.

“Yuji’s been too happy,” he stated simply. “That night when I left, he was a wreck. But then, the next day I got back, he was walking on clouds, couldn’t stop smiling like a fool.”

Gojo shook his head minutely. “And then I remembered the way you looked at me back then. Knowing you, I should have realized you’d never actually keep that secret. Not from those two.”

You winced slightly, unable to meet his pointed stare as a tendril of shame wormed its way through your annoyance. As furious as you’d been, you’d still agreed to Gojo’s request and then disregarded it without a second thought.

Squaring your shoulders, you forced yourself to make eye contact once more. “Are you mad at me?”

The question came out smaller than you’d intended, colored by a surprising hint of vulnerability.

Gojo’s features softened into a rueful smile that looked almost out of place. “I’m not mad at you,” he said, shaking his head. “I can never be mad at you, Spices.”

He paused, uncertainty flickering across his face. “I just… don’t quite know how to feel about this situation.”

“Well, I’m not apologizing,” you stated firmly, jaw set in a hard line. “It was the right thing to do. And so far, things are fine here. No one suspects anything out of the ordinary.”

Gojo inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I’m not here to scold you,” he replied evenly. “You’re all grown up now.”

His words, delivered without a hint of condescension or sarcasm, caught you completely off guard. All this time you’d been psyching yourself up, mentally shuffling through your arsenal of scorching retorts –ready to wage total war to wrestle Gojo to a grudging acceptance that you were no longer the meek, wide-eyed child blindly following him around. That you’d become your own person now. That if he truly loved you the way he claimed, he would have to love ALL of you.

But now, hearing the acknowledgment pass so plainly from Gojo’s lips, you felt the defensiveness deflate within your chest, replaced by something softer and a lot more confusing.

“You don’t sound so thrilled about me growing up and making my own calls, sensei,” you countered with a small huff as your mind scrambled to reformulate the heated comebacks you’d spent hours perfecting in your mind.

Rather than take offense, Gojo chuckled – a warm sound that had always managed to settle something inside you, no matter the situation.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I be?” he asked easily, fixing you with a maddening intensity and fondness. “My dearest student has grown up to be the smartest, kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known.”

There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice that made your cheeks flush despite yourself. But just as quickly as the warm sincerity appeared, it faltered, Gojo’s expression turning somewhat strained once more.

“It’s just…” He shook his head, seeming to search for the right words. “I just wanted to protect you.”

There it was again. His overprotectiveness. You held his gaze steadily, feeling an unexpected surge of boldness rising within you, lending you the courage to push back.

“Back then, you said you became a teacher to nurture the next generation of sorcerers strong enough to help you reset this sh*tty jujutsu world we inherited,” you reminded him firmly. “Well, sensei, if you want allies worthy of that goal… You can’t keep doing everything your own way. You have to learn to trust your allies. To trust me.”

Gojo sighed heavily, the sound weighing with weariness beyond his years. “Of course I trust you, Spices.” He paused, a glimmer of mischief briefly flickering across his features. “Well, not with my credit card or my wallet.”

He let out a low chuckle at his own quip, no doubt expecting you to play along with the attempted humor as you so often did. But in that moment, you felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to kick him – the only thing stopping you was the vivid throb of pain from your injured ankle. So you settled for shooting him your most withering glare instead.

“Can you ever be serious for more than five goddamn minutes?” you gritted out, exasperated.

Rather than looking properly chastised, Gojo just smiled – a softer, more earnest curve of his lips than the co*cky smirks you were accustomed to. “I am serious,” he murmured. “I trust you with my life, Spices. Truly.”

The veil of control slipped further as Gojo’s piercing stare bored into you.

“I just didn’t want you to be bothered with all that sh*t,” he continued, each word feeling weighted like a confession of some kind. “All the endless political mind games and scheming and plotting…” He shook his head, jaw tensing. “Let’s be honest. You’re good at it, terrifyingly so. But that kind of darkness shouldn’t touch you if I can help it.”

Gojo seemed to struggle inwardly for a beat before abruptly rising from the chair and moving to kneel before you. You tensed instinctively as he reached out, but his large hand came to rest with a feather-light touch against your uninjured leg, carefully avoiding jostling your bandaged ankle.

When he lifted his gaze to yours, his expression was utterly stripped of pretense in a way you’d never witnessed before. His voice was weighted with a desperate sincerity.

“You’re so good, Spices. You deserve nothing but the very best of what this world could offer.”

The sight of this imposing, godly figure kneeling so humbly before you was jarring, to say the least. With all Gojo’s towering height, so often you had to crane your neck up just to meet his eyes. But here he was, willingly on his knees, allowing you to look down upon him in such unguarded vulnerability, you suddenly felt as though your perspectives had been upended.

His hand lifted, seemingly of its own accord, fingers featherlight against your bruised cheek in a devastatingly tender caress.

“I just want you to be happy…” Gojo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, but he pressed on with painstaking care, “...and carefree, without these burdens.”

His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “What’s the point of being the strongest if I can’t even protect what matters most?”

The undisguised adoration in his words seemed to charge the air around you both. Unable to resist the compulsion, you reached out to gently remove his dark glasses, needing to meet his eyes directly, unobstructed. Gojo’s stare was somehow even more intense than you had remembered.

In that fragile moment, you saw the untamed force of nature that was Gojo Satoru laid bare – all his power and protectiveness, hubris and aching vulnerability spinning together in a dizzying spiral within those vivid eyes.

“I know you’ve grown up now. That you don’t want me dragging you around anymore… that you don’t need me like you once did.” His gaze shone with equal parts affection and heartbreak. “But I just… I can’t help it, Spices. I can’t help wanting to protect you. To keep you safe. It’s like a reflex.”

“I understand,” you said softly, fighting past the lump constricting your throat. “It’s not that I don’t need you anymore. Who gave you that stupid idea?” You managed a faint smile. “And I’m grateful, truly, for everything you’ve done for me over the years. I know… I know I’m not easy to love—”

Gojo’s fingers moved swiftly to press against your lips, silencing the self-deprecating words before you could give them full voice. His brow furrowed in a rare display of disapproval.

“What are you even saying?” he admonished. “I didn’t spoil you rotten all these years just for you to keep thinking like that about yourself, Spices.”

His thumb stroked along the line of your lips with gentleness even as his piercing stare remained uncompromising. “I gave you every comfort and luxury so you would know how you deserve to be treated. I took you everywhere with me so you would understand that I always want you by my side.”

Gojo shook his head firmly, features softening into an expression of pure adoration that stole the breath from your lungs. “You are not difficult to love at all. In fact, I’d say the opposite – you bring me more light and joy than anything in this miserable world. You ARE my joy.”

You felt your lips trembling against the rough pad of his thumb as your eyes burned traitorously. You blinked rapidly, fighting to keep the tears at bay even as Gojo’s fingers trailed lower to trace the edge of your jaw.

“But why?” The question slipped past your defenses in a sniffle before you could rein it back in. “Not even my own parents wanted me.”

The insidious thought – a seed of doubt you could never quite uproot despite Gojo’s persistent indulgence over the years – came tumbling out in a broken whisper. Some small, gnawing voice persisted in telling you that this whole loving charade would eventually fall apart. That for all his proclaimed affections, Gojo would inevitably grow bored and cast you aside like all the others once the thrill of your chaotic novelty wore off.

That he only loved you because you were so pleasant and eager to please, always following him around like a duckling imprinting on its mother. But once he saw the true you, the you who were prickly and defiant – That would prove a bridge too far. He would look at you with new eyes and find you lacking, no longer worth his time and devotion.

You supposed that nagging fear was the true root of your hang-up. Make no mistake, you knew within your soul that you had done the right thing. You would have done it all over again without hesitation. But at the same time, you couldn’t stop the fear and desperation creeping in. What if doing the right thing would truly cost you his love? But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask that out loud, so you had settled with a simple question of why. Why would he want you when even your own parents hadn’t?

At your question, Gojo’s expression softened into a warm, unguarded smile.

“I don’t know, Spices,” he said with a pensive shrug, as if pondering the mysteries of the universe itself. “Why does the sun rise each morning? Why do we need air to breathe?”

Hot tears slipped free at last, carving shining trails down your bruised cheek despite your efforts.

His gaze held yours, utterly guileless. “Why do I keep thinking about you when I’m away on missions? What new treat should I bring back for you this time? Would you prefer mochi or monaka?”

Gojo’s eyes briefly danced with impish delight. “Or how can I track down that stupid mushroom keychain with the little frog you wanted?”

You couldn’t stifle the watery laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected tangent. “Don’t tell me you’ve been wasting money on those gachapon machines again.” You huffed, even as your heart swelled at the incredibly Gojo-esque gesture.

He just chuckled warmly, not even attempting to deny the frivolous act. “Well, I’ve tried a few different gachapon stores by now. I might have ended up with enough ugly keychains to supply my entire clan for a century or two.”

You gaped at him, torn between exasperated affection and absolute bafflement at the ridiculous depths of his indulgence. “I can’t believe you…”

But Gojo’s smile didn’t falter, warm and utterly devoted in a way that made your breath catch. “I want to give you anything your heart desires, Spices,” he murmured, cradling your tear-streaked face in his rough palms. “Anything at all that could make you smile. And I will – I promise you that.”

His thumbs tenderly brushed away the dampness on your cheeks, blue eyes bored into yours with intense conviction. “It doesn’t change, even if you want to do things your way. Even if you have outgrown me. I’m here with you, now and always – whether you want it or not.”

You felt the last remnants of your carefully constructed defenses cracking and crumbling as the dam finally burst. Pressing forward, you leaned your forehead against Gojo’s, wrapping your arms tightly around his broad shoulders as you surrendered to the torrent of emotions. Tears streaked freely down your cheeks, falling on his chiseled features, but he didn’t shy away.

You became aware of a peculiar sensation washing over you – a subtle prickling of his cursed energy, like a rush of wind across your face. You realized Gojo had dispelled his Infinity, opening himself up to your touch in absolute vulnerability. You understood the silent truth: In this moment and perhaps every moment from now on, he was with you, utterly and completely. Mind, body, and spirit laid bare.

The intimate trust inherent in such a gesture, combined with the physical closeness, stole what little remained of your breath. All that was left for you to do was let yourself fall without fear, safe in the knowledge that Gojo would be there to catch you.

One of his hands slid up to cradle the back of your head with exquisite care. The other splayed between your shoulder blades. You could feel the pads of those roughened digits dragging deliciously across the sensitive flesh as he traced indistinct patterns, imprinting himself into your very nerve endings.

Your own hands fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt, bunching the fabric as you clutched him closer still, silently committed to memory the powerful flex and shift of muscle and bone beneath your grip. The familiar, intoxicating scent of his cologne surrounded you, grounding you even as racking sobs wracked your frame.

His forehead remained pressed to yours, he murmured indistinguishable words of solace against your face, hot breath fanning on your parted lips.

You had no concept of how long you remained like that. At last, the sobs subsided into hitching breaths.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Spices,” he whispered. “I was wrong to brush you off. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

You took a deep breath as, instinctively bask in the strong, reassuring warmth of him.

“You once told me that one day, you and I would change this world together.” Your forehead shifted minutely against his, allowing you to meet his piercing stare head-on, soul-to-soul. “Did you mean that?”

Gojo’s eyes crinkled at the corners with his gentle smile, lighting up his whole expression with overwhelming affection. “Of course I did.”

You felt your own lips curving in response, a sense of determination settling into your bones alongside the comfort of being so inextricably seen and unconditionally accepted.

“Then I think it’s time we made that happen, sensei,” you said. “Together.”

After what felt like an endless suspension, you finally straightened slightly. Gojo responded instantly, dropping his hands and leaning back to grant you the physical space, though the longing in his eyes betrayed his reluctance. Nevertheless, his expression quickly morphed back into that insufferably smug smirk you knew so well.

“You have already got some new scheme brewing in that devious mind of yours, don’t you?” His tone was light and teasing, yet an underlying affection coated every syllable like melted caramel.

You answered his sly grin with one of your own, feeling lightness bloom in your chest at the familiar rapport settling back into place, steadied by the new foundation of trust and understanding.

“I’m working on something. I’ll fill you in when I’ve gotten all the details sorted out.”

You reached out to tenderly brush away the dampness your tears had left streaking his face.

Gojo laughed fully at that, catching your wrist and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Deal, you pretty little schemer.”

You squeezed his hand back, realizing this was your turn now to offer a truth, a leap of faith just as Gojo had so freely given you just moments ago.

“Sensei…” You wet your lips, hyper-aware of his strange stare tracking the nervous motion. “I need to tell you something. But you have to promise not to get mad at me.”

sh*t, you already sounded like a petulant child again despite your best efforts.

Gojo’s thick brow arched in an infuriatingly mature manner, even as interest and wariness warred behind his gaze.

“What did you do this time?” he asked blandly, the rasp of amusem*nt in his tone suggesting he was already preparing to be exasperated with you.

You shook your head quickly, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment and sudden trepidation. “No, I didn’t do anything exactly. I mean… I didn’t start it?”

The halting string of words emerged as more of a question, your bravado rapidly deflating under the weight of Gojo’s intent study. So much for being grown up and all that.

Gojo’s expression settled into one of those unreadable half-smirks he seemed to have perfected solely to rile you up, though you didn’t miss the slight tightening around his eyes belying the attempt at nonchalance. “Alright, let’s have it then. I already told you, I’ll never be mad at you.”

His gaze sharpened. “So just tell me what fresh hell you didn’t start this time.”

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, feeling your pulse kick up a notch as you psyched yourself up.

“Um, well…” You fidgeted. “I’ve been… seeing Sukuna. In my dreams. Lately.”

The reaction was immediate. Gojo went rigid. Every muscle in his powerful frame locked taut with unspoken tension. “You’ve been having nightmares about him?” His tone was deceptively even.

“I’ll get you some of those herbal sleep blends Sho made for me,” Gojo continued, clearly working to project a reassuring tone that fell just short of the mark. “They taste like hot garbage, but they should help keep the night terrors at bay until—”

You stared at him, momentarily thrown by the unexpected revelation that even the great Gojo Satoru was plagued by night terrors as well – enough so that he had sought Shoko’s questionable alternative medicine remedies. But now wasn’t the time to pester him about that.

Mustering your focus, you shook your head firmly as you realized he had misunderstood.

“No, it’s not just regular nightmares, sensei.” You insisted, waving your free hand for emphasis. “I mean, I thought they were at first too… But it turns out Sukuna is actually crashing my dreams.”

His grip on your hand tightened reflexively, bordering on painful. You searched Gojo’s taut expression, feeling your own pulse thrumming in your ears with anxiety.

“I’m still not sure how he does that. But he just… appears in my dreams sometimes now. Babbling nonsense about how my soul is full of chaos and that it’s drawn to his power.”

The crease between Gojo’s brows deepened. When he spoke again, his words seemed to be carefully measured out.

“And what does he want from you?”

To his credit, Gojo didn’t immediately write off your words as hysteria or delusion. That was good. You considered for a moment before replying, keeping your tone light:

“I don’t know. I’ve tried to bait it out of him, but the smug bastard is playing coy about whatever his game is. All I know for now is that he seems to want me for something.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened as he processed your matter-of-fact admission, tendons protruding against the taut cords of his neck. For a disconcerting moment, you wondered if he might actually fly off the handle.

Then his eyes slipped shut, thick lashes fanning across those sharp cheekbones as he visibly wrestled to collect himself. When he reopened them, his gaze had taken on a renewed intensity.

“How long has this been going on?” His tone was dangerously neutral, but somehow it felt more unsettling than any explosive rage could ever be.

“A few weeks, I think?” The words emerged with a hint of inflection, as if you weren’t entirely certain of the timeline yourself. Everything felt blurry these days.

Gojo’s brow furrowed into an impressive scowl as his eyes bored into you. “And you didn’t think to tell me before right now?”

You flinched but still refused to back down.

“I texted you like fifteen times,” you shot back, conveniently omitting that all of them were a mere ‘hey’ as he’d so dismissively pointed out earlier.

He exhaled a measured breath through flared nostrils, forcibly unclenching the taut line of his jaw. “Did you…” Gojo paused, seeming to weigh his words with immense care to not tick you off. “...get into any sort of binding vow with him?”

“Of course not!” The vehement denial rushed out before you could hesitate.

Though… you had admittedly come perilously close to falling for whatever snare that ancient freakshow was tempting you with. Gojo definitely didn’t need to know about that slip, not when he was already buzzing like a live wire beside you.

Sure enough, some of the rigidity bled from Gojo’s intimidating frame as he expelled a sigh of relief that ruffled his tousled white strands.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Alright, I’ll figure something out. There should be some kind of barriers or cursed tools that can keep him away. I’ll check my clan’s storages—”

“That won’t be necessary,” you quickly interrupted before Gojo could work himself into even more of a frenzy. “I’ve already got this mostly figured out.”

Gojo’s intense gaze snapped back to you, skepticism writ across his features. “You have?”

Nodding, you decided to forge ahead. “Yes, really. I think Sukuna can only crash my dreams when I’m sleeping alone. The nights I’ve had sleepovers with Megumi and Nobara, nothing. Totally Sukuna-free sleep.”

It wasn’t even entirely a lie. Your theory did seem to track. Though you had a gnawing suspicion that the true key was maintaining that profound sense of comfort and security that came from their presence rather than splitting hairs over the physical logistics.

Gojo seemed to consider your explanation for a pause before dipping his head in a shallow nod of acceptance. “And what about tonight?” He asked.

You jerked your thumb towards your injured leg with a snort. “Megumi is even in worse shape. Ieiri-san recommended we avoid getting squished together for a while. I guess I’ll just ask Toge to put me to sleep with his Cursed Speech. That works, too.”

But Gojo’s sharp gaze saw right through. “Except you didn’t ask him. It’s getting rather late.”

You sighed. “Yeah. I kinda forgot that. But I can just boot Sukuna out if he appears again. I think. I did it last time.”

As Gojo was about to say something, you suddenly remembered there was something else critically important you needed to tell him first – the thing you actually intended to do before the conversation took this sidetrack into damage control.

Raising one hand, you halted Gojo mid-thought. “Wait, sensei,” you cut in, hesitating just a beat to ensure you had his full, undivided attention once more. “I actually wanted to tell you something else as well.”

You proceeded to unload every scrap of intel you’d managed to wheedle out of Sukuna during your unsettling episodes. Then, you hurried to add reassurance:

“I swear it’s not just my hyperactive imagination running wild, sensei. Sukuna did tell me some stuff about his era as well. So, I fact-checked what I could. It’s true. I know I can be unhinged at times, but even my messed up brain can’t just whip up obscure Heian historical facts and poetry on a whim!”

To your palpable relief, Gojo nodded slowly. “I believe you, Spices.”

He lapsed into a heavy silence then as he digested and contextualized everything. At last, he seemed to surface from the depths of his ruminations as he looked at you again: “Who else have you told about these… encounters with Sukuna?”

“Only Ieiri-san and now you,” you assured him, not missing the way some of the tension bled from the rigid lines of Gojo’s body at your words.

“Listen Spices, I’m not telling you what to do…” Gojo raised his hands placatingly, clearly recalling the disastrous fallout from his latest attempt to control you.

You couldn’t quite smother a small huff of laughter at that, “I know, sensei. And I won’t tell anyone else this time. Seriously.”

The relief that flickered across Gojo’s features was unmistakable then. He realized you both understood the stakes.

“Not even Ijichi,” Gojo reiterated firmly, holding your gaze. “The High Council can’t get wind of this.”

You met his eyes with honesty. “I know.”

With the serious matters thoroughly addressed, the focus inevitably turned back to your sleeping arrangements for the night. Gojo raised one suggestive brow as he leaned in, re-invading your personal space with that insufferable smirk you knew so well.

“Well then, looks like you’ll be needing a bedmate to keep any uninvited nighttime guests away, hm?” He purred, blue eyes bright with mischief.

You promptly kicked out with your uninjured leg, not hard enough to actually make contact but still conveying as much indignation as you could muster. “Absolutely not, you shameless old lecher!”

Chuckling, Gojo easily dodged the halfhearted swipe. “What’s this? Getting shy on me all of a sudden?” He tsked melodramatically. “It’s not like I haven’t known you since you were just a scrawny brat.”

You snatched up the spare pillow, hurling it towards his stupidly handsome face with uncanny accuracy born from years of practicing this exact move. “Don’t make this weird!”

But Gojo just continued laughing at your flustered outburst, swatting away the projectile with insulting ease and pinning you with a wicked grin. “Alright! I’ll just take the floor then, since my beloved student has no love left for this frail, elderly sensei’s brittle bones.”

He made an exaggerated show of settling himself cross-legged on the ground next to the head of your bed, muscles rippling beneath his fitted shirt as he leaned back against the metal frame with a contented grunt.

You rolled your eyes. “For the last time, you don’t need to pull guard duty in here. I’ll be fine, so go sleep in your absurdly fancy private quarters already.”

Gojo just shrugged lazily as he made himself at home, one shoulder propped casually against your mattress as he whipped out his phone, “Nah, I like it right here just fine.”

Any further protests died on your lips as a series of rapid pings emanated from your phone nearby. Quirking a bemused brow, you glanced over to see Gojo methodically working his way through replying to every increasingly irritated ‘hey’ you’d fired off into the void when he had been ghosting you.

Huffing out a weary sigh you didn’t feel in the slightest, you reached past his shoulder to flick off the bedside lamp, plunging the cramped dorm room into semidarkness broken only by the cool illumination slanting in through the window from the streetlamps outside.

You settled back down on the mattress, this time deliberately facing away from Gojo as you pulled the covers up to your chin with a petulant air. Some small, deeply buried part of you had to admit… his presence was reassuring after everything. There was a rustle of movement beside you before his palm came to rest in a warm, grounding weight between your shoulders.

“Goodnight, Spices,” came the low, rumbling murmur beside your ear accompanied by one comforting pat of his broad palm.

You offered a sleepy hum as you allowed your eyes to drift shut, safe in the knowledge that absolutely nothing and no one, not even Ryomen Sukuna, could mess with you when Gojo was here – watching over you as he always did.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

An obnoxiously loud holler reverberated through your dorm room door first thing that morning in late August.

“Come on Spices, let’s go mess with Gakuganji!”

You flinched at the booming volume, a spike of irritation piercing your skull like an ice pick. Of course, it was Gojo bellowing through the paper-thin walls without a care. Didn’t that man have any sense of decency before noon?

At least these days Gojo respected basic boundaries – ever since that tense heart-to-heart, he hadn’t dared teleport himself directly into your room unannounced again. Safe from any inappropriate nudity, you supposed that was progress.

Tugging on your uniform jacket, you hefted your bag over one shoulder and yanked open the door, scowling up at the insufferable man-child grinning down at you. Blue eyes danced with impish glee behind those black glasses.

“For f*ck’s sake, sensei!” You jabbed an accusatory finger towards his sh*t-eating grin. “Were the wake-up screams really necessary? Pretty sure they could hear you all the way in Kyoto with that set of lungs.”

The man looked absolutely delighted at getting such an over-the-top reaction out of you first thing in the morning. You glared as he chuckled, the sound far too amused for your not-yet-caffeinated state.

“Just wanna hype you up!” He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated waggle. “You must have missed your old pal Wrinkly the Hutt!”

Gakuganji was a special-grade bastard, there was no denying that. One of the highest-ranking and oldest Elders on the High Council. For some important preparation ahead of this year’s competition, he had arrived to discuss matters with Principal Yaga. But because he was a prick, the geezer refused to step foot on Tokyo’s campus, instead demanding they meet at some fancy estate miles away.

And now Gojo wanted to hijack that meeting solely to piss off Gakuganji? You couldn’t resist an opportunity like that to get under the old crow’s skin if you tried.

“Yeah, alright, let’s go give Elder Gakuganji a stroke,” you agreed, a devious glint sparking in your eyes as you fell into step beside Gojo.

Maki would probably snap your neck for skipping practice, but Gojo’s offer was just too enticing to pass up. You had to admit a certain perverse eagerness was already bubbling up at the prospect of watching Gojo stick it to the geezer, especially after all the crap he pulled.

The long drive to the estate gave Gojo a chance to catch you up on his latest misadventure. He launched right into it without preamble.

“So get this – last night I was ambushed by some weird ass cursed spirit that looked like a damn volcano.”

You eyed the ugly scribble he shoved in your face skeptically. The volcano monstrosity was so abstractly depicted, you could hardly make out any defining features beyond the vague conical shape and smattering of red scribbles meant to be… lava? Fire? Who the hell knew with this man’s kindergarten-level drawing ability.

“So let me get this straight,” you said slowly, tapping the notepad. “You’re telling me this was a special grade cursed spirit that’s not even registered? And it could talk like a human?”

Gojo nodded, blue eyes glinting with amusem*nt. “Yeah, and it had a terrible personality too.”

You snorted. As if anyone could have worse people skills than him on a good day. “And let me guess – it tried to kill you?”

“Tried being the operative word,” he chuckled darkly, brushing off the attempted murder as nothing more than a pesky inconvenience. “Luckily its sh*tty personality was only outmatched by its even sh*ttier skills at, y’know… murdering me.”

Shaking your head, you summed it up. “So a rogue, unregistered volcano-looking cursed spirit with horrendous social skills and equally bad judgment.”

“Exactly.” Gojo went back to furiously scribbling on his notepad for a minute before flipping it around. “And then there was also this other special grade. Probably nicer than Ol’ Volcano Head.”

You squinted hard at his latest piece of crap modern art – a crude scribble of a twisting, branching… thing. You even tried tilting your head in hopes of gaining any sense of perspective on this nonsense.

“What, am I supposed to be seeing an actual tree here?” You gestured vaguely at the paper with your hand. “Or is this more of your bullsh*t contemporary minimalism?”

Gojo at least had the decency to look somewhat sheepish at your utter derision for his sketching talents.

“Yeah… yeah, it’s meant to be a tree cursed spirit.” He tapped the page with the end of his pen. “Apparently a fairly strong one too. Its cursed energy was almost undetectable.”

Your brows climbed in surprise. “Wait, so there were two unregistered special-grade cursed spirits? One has a hate boner for you..." You eyed the tree squiggle critically. “And another one just… happened to be around to play backup?”

Something about this whole scenario wasn’t sitting quite right with your finely-honed sense for bullsh*t.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together if these rogue cursed spirits had any connection to all the other sh*tty things that had been going on these days, with the reincarnation of Ryomen Sukuna and all that. Something serious had to be going on for not just one, but two unregistered special grades to appear out of nowhere.

Before you could voice your suspicions, however, Gojo just kept babbling away obliviously. “But hey, some good did come out of it! Yuji got a superb lesson!”

You felt your blood pressure spike. You honestly thought you might spontaneously combust right there in the backseat.

“Sensei, for the love of all that is unholy, tell me you did NOT drag that kid into your fight against a SPECIAL-GRADE, VOLCANO-LOOKING CURSED f*ckING SPIRIT!”

Gojo looked mildly chagrined as he raised his hands in a placating gesture after you loudly enunciated each incensed word directly into his stupidly handsome face.

“Nothing dangerous! Jeez, Spices, I’m not that reckless. I merely showed him my Domain in action. That kind of stuff is way easier to understand when you see it in practice, you know?”

“Oh god…” The phrase slipped out in a dismayed whisper as you sank back against the seat.

Undeterred, Gojo kept steamrolling on in that chipper tone. “Now Yuji knows all about how Domains really work! It’ll be super helpful for his training going forward to have that foundational knowledge and—”

“SENSEI, I SWEAR TO ALL THE CURSED SPIRITS!”

The rest of the drive passed by in a blur of you alternating between shaking the man by his collar and outright screaming abuse directly into his ear. Miraculously, Ijichi kept his eyes locked firmly ahead, clearly a man wise in the ways of self-preservation when it came to your emotional outbursts.

You were mere seconds away from actually biting Gojo’s head off when the car finally pulled up to your destination – an obnoxiously opulent traditional estate that looked more like a castle than a meeting place. Releasing your stranglehold on Gojo’s shirt, you huffed out an aggravated breath.

“Un-f*cking-believable,” you muttered, shoving the door open.

It was time to put your rage on hold.

The labyrinthine hallways of the estate seemed designed to disorient, each corridor an indistinguishable mirror of the last. You followed closely on Gojo’s heels, unable to shake a sense of unease prickling along your spine. This whole setup reeked of Gakuganji’s flair for obstructive pomp.

Finally, you reached the designated receiving room. You could hear Gakuganji’s irritated grumblings about how time was far too precious for decrepit old fools like him to be kept waiting.

Gojo didn’t even give the opener courtesy of a knock before whacking the sliding door open loudly and pulling you through with a dramatic flourish. Gakuganji’s eyes snapped up. He was already visibly bristling, lips pressed into a severe flat line as he took in Gojo’s cavalier entrance. Then his already sour expression curdled into outright murderous when he saw you trailing in behind.

“Principal Yaga will be a while yet,” Gojo smirked, clearly relishing in provoking the Elder’s ire.

He made to steer you towards the ornately patterned sofa across from where Gakuganji sat seething, his hand guiding you by the elbow. However, before he could try seating you down, you smoothly extricated yourself from his grasp with a subtle shake of your head.

Just because you and Gojo had agreed to change the world together didn’t mean you literally had to sit side-by-side with him while he poked at the cantankerous old bear. As much as you appreciated Gojo’s recent effort to involve you, sitting directly across from Gakuganji like you were on equal footing would absolutely send the arrogant geezer into hysterics. Not that you cared overmuch about his antique sensibilities, but there were more pressing matters to address before giving him an aneurysm.

Blending into the background was your preferred modus operandi anyway – it suited your fighting style as an archer who specialized in ambush, both literally and metaphorically.

So, you settled back against the wall, hands tucked casually into your pockets as you adopted a deliberately relaxed stance. Keeping up an air of nonchalant disinterest always served you well – it allowed you to fade into the background, observing every micro-expression and loaded barb unnoticed.

Miwa Kasumi, the Kyoto student tasked with escorting Gakuganji, shot you a polite if somewhat confused look as you took up your chosen position beside her. You offered the barest dip of your chin in return acknowledgment.

Gojo seemed to understand your motivations immediately. He flashed you a conspiratorial smile before making a show of getting comfortable, draping himself over the sofa with all the indolent posture of a fratboy lazing about on a weekend. You had to fight back the urge to shake your head at his overt disrespect. That was Gojo for you though – deliberately pushing buttons for his own amusem*nt. Well, maybe for your amusem*nt, too.

Sure enough, Gakuganji’s face flushed an even deeper shade of puce. His grimace morphed into outright hostility upon making eye contact with you. Clearly, the memories of last year’s Goodwill Event still stung. But Gakuganji made the calculated decision not to waste his precious time on earth berating a small fry like yourself. Not with the far bigger irritant that was Gojo sitting across from him.

“What do you want?” Gakuganji bit out through clenched teeth, keeping his focus locked on Gojo.

Gojo’s response was to cross one ankle over his knee, the very picture of nonchalant ease as he co*cked his head back. “Let’s talk about it,” he drawled with deliberate obtuseness.

You could practically see the vein throbbing in Gakuganji’s temple as the old coot fought to keep his composure. With a deep, bristling inhale through his nose, he smoothed bony fingers over the scraggly white hair of his beard in a useless bid for patience.

“It? What are you talking about?” the elder hedged, his tone carrying a false veneer of polite confusion.

Oh, the temptation to simply stride over and yank that silly excuse for facial hair right off his smug face was strong. You smirked to yourself at the mental image of Gakuganji’s scandalized howls.

Gojo was clearly relishing every blustering second of the confrontation if his widening grin was any indication. “Don’t play coy, old man,” he chided with mock sternness. “This is about Itadori Yuji. You were involved, weren’t you?”

The air in the room shifted abruptly, the previous verve of needling irreverence giving way to a taut tension. You pushed off from the wall slightly, unconsciously straightening your spine. So, they were going there right out of the gate, huh?

You watched the heated back-and-forth unfold with a carefully impassive expression, inwardly rolling your eyes as Gakuganji launched into yet another condescending tirade about “the disrespectful youth of today.” His rebukes landed on Gojo like water off a duck’s back, with him gleefully firing back barbs to further provoke the old coot’s ire.

Beside you, Miwa fidgeted, lips pursing in indignation as she struggled against the urge to defend her elder’s honor. “Hey!” she huffed out, visibly puffing up like an affronted bird. “How dare you speak to Elder Gakuganji that way! I’ll report this insubordination to Headquarters!”

The threat didn’t even make Gojo’s sh*t-eating grin falter. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he continued cheerfully needling Gakuganji. “Go right ahead! I’m sure they’ll be real concerned about his hurt feelings.”

You eyed Miwa skeptically, finding your attention drawn to the curious fluctuations in Miwa’s cursed energy. There was a strange, fizzy undercurrent threaded through it – like an excitable thrum bordering almost on… giddiness?

You blinked, head tilting as you studied the younger girl from the corner of your eye. Despite her furrowed brows and attempt at an irritated scowl, Miwa didn’t seem all that upset on a deeper level if your read of her cursed energy was correct.

Holy sh*t, was Miwa… fawning? Her narrowed gaze darted back towards Gojo with unmistakable moony longing, those sparks of cursed energy practically pulsing in time with her wildly pounding heart.

A startled huff of breath escaped your lips before you could stop it. This Kyoto girl had a massive crush on Gojo! Her faux outrage was just a shameless ploy to engage his attention. As Gojo continued verbally eviscerating the flustered Gakuganji, Miwa’s swooning only intensified. Her cursed energy shuddered with potent Heart-Eyes vibes, forcing you to subtly inch further away to avoid the overpowering waves of raw smitten energy she radiated.

At least Gojo seemed blissfully unaware of his admirer’s cringeworthy infatuation as he continued berating Gakuganji. Though frankly, said obliviousness wasn’t terribly surprising. The man could be shockingly dense about some things when he put his mind to it.

“It’s not just outside enemies we have to worry about these days,” Gojo was lecturing, stabbing one finger toward the bristling elder. “Hakari, Okkotsu, even the kids from your own school – the new generation is getting frighteningly powerful. Don’t you get it, old man? This wave of power change that you old farts have been ignoring to preserve your stupid traditions and status quo? It’s approaching like a tidal wave. Whether you want to sink or swim is entirely up to you.”

His words seemed to rattle Gakuganji to his core, his flinty eyes widening almost imperceptibly as the not-so-subtle threat hung in the air.

Satisfaction unfurled in your chest as you took in the old bastard’s shift in his carefully curated mask of disdain. Yes, that bluster and feigned superiority were starting to show some razor-thin cracks.

Sinking back into your peripheral role, you remained a silent observer, committing every telling microexpression to memory for later analysis. And all the while, the Kyoto girl practically swooned beside you. God, this whole over-the-top crush situation was nauseatingly painful to experience secondhand… but also too delightfully awkward to look away from. Damn Gojo and his pheromones.

Gakuganji’s face flushed as he leveled a withering glare at Gojo. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, boy…”

Gojo merely grinned, completely unfazed. “I’ve said my piece, so I’m outta here.” He rose fluidly to his feet and strode over to grab your arm and haul you bodily out of the door without a backward glance. “Oh, and Principal Yaga should be here in two hours or so to actually discuss business!” he called over his shoulder with a parting taunt.

You had to smother a burst of giggles at the deliberate slight. Let Gakuganji twiddle his thumbs and fume in incandescent rage for the next two hours. Served the bastard right.

Once you’d made it safely outside the estate walls, Gojo’s steps slowed to an ambling stroll. The familiar comforting scents of late summer greenery surrounded you, the grounds well-kept and picturesque in a way that almost made the earlier unpleasantness fade away.

Looping one arm around your shoulders, Gojo pulled you into his side with an exaggerated swing of his hips. His eyes were sparkling with mischief behind those ridiculous glasses.

“So, how was that, huh?” He elbowed you lightly with a smug grin. “Pretty damn cool for your sensei, eh?”

You couldn’t fight the laughter that escaped, giving him a playful shove. “Oh, you were definitely a co*cky bastard back there, as per usual.”

Another thought flitted across your mind. You found yourself debating whether or not to out Miwa and her obvious crush. On one hand, it would be entertaining to tease Gojo. But on the other, it felt mean-spirited towards Miwa, even if you didn’t know her well, or at all.

Then again, if Gojo caught wind of the girl’s infatuation, he would absolutely make things awkward and uncomfortable for her throughout the entire upcoming Goodwill Event with his trademark shamelessness. The poor girl didn’t deserve to be subjected to that.

Just as you decided to keep Miwa’s secret to yourself, the rapid cadence of hurried footsteps reached your ears. Exchanging a surprised look with Gojo, you both turned to find Miwa rushing toward you with flushed cheeks, one hand clutching her phone.

“Gojo-sensei!” She skidded to an abrupt halt before you, chest heaving with exertion and… something else. Her gaze was bright, almost feverish with admiration directed solely at Gojo. The girl had it bad.

Gojo arched an inquisitive brow at her. “Ah, Miwa-san, wasn’t it? Everything alright?”

Miwa twisted her hands anxiously, visibly steeling herself before blurting out her request. “Could I… maybe get a selfie with you please, Gojo-sensei?”

You choked on your inhale. This smitten girl had zero chills, did she? Daring a sidelong glance at Gojo, you found him looking similarly wrong-footed by the blunt request, one hand lifting to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Eh, well I suppose that would be… fine?” he said while eyeing you strangely.

Was Gojo at a loss over how to gracefully handle an ardent fan and needing your advice or something? Weird. You thought he’d have to be an expert at this entire thing with that handsome face and shameless personality.

Miwa practically glowed at his halting agreement. “Thank you so much, Gojo-sensei!” She hurriedly sidled closer, holding out her phone in a grip that was just barely shaking.

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral, you took a pointed step back to give the girl some space. You caught Gojo’s faintly nervous expression when he looked at you and had to turn aside to muffle the snickers threatening to burst out, studiously averting your gaze to give them some semblance of privacy for the selfie moment.

Once Miwa had gotten her fill of over-eager selfies with her idol, she turned her phone around for Gojo to inspect the results. He immediately leaned in, chin almost resting on her shoulder as he pored over each shot with exaggerated scrutiny. You watched with pursed lips and arched brows as Miwa vibrated with delight at the opportunity to crowd up against Gojo.

“That one looks nice!” he proclaimed with an approving nod, carelessly pointing out a particularly devastating angle that really accentuated his unfairly chiseled jawline. “Actually, I look pretty dashing in that one. You should definitely send it to me, Miwa-san!”

Up went your eyes in a spectacular roll at his utter lack of self-awareness. Of course, the shameless flirt would ask the girl blatantly mooning over him to directly share the thirst-trap selfies.

Miwa’s eyes lit up at the prospect of getting to exchange contact info with Gojo. “O-Of course, sensei!”

As Gojo whipped out his own phone, her gaze drifted down to the gaudy little charm dangling from it. “Aw, that’s such a cute phone charm...”

Then she seemed to remember something, her eyes flickering over to you, locking onto the identical ugly keychain hanging off your bag – a pair of cartoonish, brightly-colored poisonous mushrooms that Gojo had insisted on pouring his money into some gachapon machine during your “field trip” to Akihabara back then. You’d begrudgingly accepted the trinket in an attempt to stop Gojo from dumping all his money into the stupid machine (which he later did behind your back anyway), but he’d gone the extra mile fashioning his into a phone charm for whatever reason.

Miwa’s enthusiasm took an abrupt downturn as some kind of understanding suddenly dawned on her face. She hastily backpedaled away from Gojo, hands flying up to cover her mouth. “I-I see you two have a matching pair. I didn’t realize…”

Her voice dropped to a mortified whisper. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I had no idea you two were… Um, I didn’t mean to... Please forgive me!”

You felt your own face flaming as the meaning of her words clicked.

“Whoa, whoa!” You held up your palms frantically, shooting Gojo a scathing look as he outright cackled. “You’ve got it all wrong! He’s literally my teacher!”

Miwa seemed to shrink in on herself, shoulders hunching as she kept her embarrassed gaze averted to the ground. “I understand. This kind of… relationship between a student and teacher is obviously frowned upon,” she mumbled awkwardly.

You felt your eye twitch violently as the absurd misunderstanding only compounded further. What was wrong with this girl?!

“I didn’t mean to out you two or anything!” Miwa barreled on, waving her hands frantically. “But please, don’t worry – I swear I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone else. Your secret is safe with me, I promise!”

Miwa just had to take your denial as some sort of veiled admission of… impropriety.

Before you could sputter out a desperate attempt to correct her completely baseless assumptions, Miwa had already turned on her heel and dashed off, clearly broken-hearted over her crush being so scandalously “taken.” Words died on your tongue, leaving you gaping wordlessly in her wake.

You fought the urge to slam your head repeatedly into the nearest tree, while Gojo struggled to stifle his incessant snickering beside you.

“Well, that was just… great. Amazing. Wonderful,” you ground out through gritted teeth, each word dripping with more scorching sarcasm than the last.

Gojo, naturally, seemed utterly oblivious to the offense he’d indirectly caused through his obnoxiousness. He brushed away an imaginary tear of mirth, shoulders still shaking with lingering amusem*nt over Miwa’s hasty exit.

“Oh man, did you see the look on her face?” He let out another undignified snort, seemingly missing the way your fingers had begun twitching with the need to summon your bow. “Like she’d stumbled onto some world-breaking secret about the two of us!”

The pointed toe of your boot struck the dirt path with enough force to leave a divot as you took one seething step toward him. “Yes, sensei, I did notice the look of someone who now clearly thinks we’re engaged in some sort of forbidden romance!”

You threw up your hands, fingers splayed wide in a gesture of pure, outraged disbelief. “Which, thanks to your juvenile cackling, she’s now hurried off to either combust from embarrassment or start gleefully penning her secret fanfiction of our imagined scandal!”

Stabbing an accusatory finger against his chest, you leaned up until you were nearly nose-to-nose, jaw clenched. “If this bullsh*t gets out somehow… Or if I so much as get a whiff of you messing with that poor girl in the upcoming Goodwill Event… I will make you regret the day you decided to have tacky f*cking phone charms like some pre-teen girl!”

Gojo, damn him, didn’t even have the grace to look chastised at your furious tirade. Casually catching your wrist, he squeezed placatingly, stalling your increasingly aggressive jabbing before you inadvertently broke your finger.

“Whoa there, no need to blow a gasket!” he soothed, patting your knuckles with an infuriatingly placid smile. “Everything is gonna be fine! Miwa will keep our secret!”

You opened your mouth, a scathing retort primed about how there was literally no secret and even the most innocuous of misunderstandings could blow up into catastrophe given human pettiness and assumptions...

...only to ultimately snap it shut once more with a frustrated growl. As much as you wanted to ream Gojo until he understood the gravity of the situation, chances were the thick-headed jackass would just laugh it off. Better to just monitor the fallout for yourself and take any redirecting actions as needed.

Jerking your wrist free, you shot him one final acidic glare before stalking past him down the path. Yeah, nothing to worry about there, he’d said with his signature oblivious confidence. You’d be assessing the incoming damage from Miwa’s “forbidden romance” delusions yourself, thanks.

And Gojo had better pray the girl kept things under wraps. Because if even a whisper of impropriety flared up due to his carelessness, the consequences would be utterly dire.

“Aw c’mon, you gotta admit it was a little funny!” Gojo bounded along beside you with far too much residual glee.

“Yeah, real hilarious,” you deadpanned. “Remind me again why do I even tolerate you?”

“Because you loooove me!” Gojo sing-songed, utterly unrepentant.

You shoved him hard enough to send him stumbling off the path.

The car ride back to campus was an exercise in battling incandescent levels of outrage and embarrassment. You had wisely chosen to sit up front in the passenger seat next to Ijichi, wanting to avoid any close proximity to Gojo after that painfully awkward encounter. But every time you chanced a glance toward the rearview mirror, you were met with Gojo’s exaggerated sultry pouts and overblown smoldering looks, clearly intent on milking Miwa’s scandalous misunderstanding for all it was worth.

You gritted your teeth so hard, you were surprised Ijichi didn’t comment on the sound. The man looked increasingly flustered the longer Gojo kept up his juvenile antics – shoulders stiff, eyes flickering constantly between the road ahead and the mirror.

Finally, he seemed unable to take the tension any longer. Swallowing hard enough for his adam’s apple to bob prominently, Ijichi leaned fractionally in your direction without taking his eyes off the road.

“I… I don’t mean to pry,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper of discomfort. “But is there… some sort of disagreement happening that I should be aware of?”

“It’s nothing, Ijichi-san. Don’t worry.” You heaved out an aggravated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as Gojo puckered his lips in an obnoxious kiss.

Ijichi shifted uncomfortably, shooting you furtive, pleading glances. “Whatever is going on between you two, please make him stop. I’m about to throw up.”

You huffed, stubbornly keeping your gaze fixed out the window rather than giving Gojo the satisfaction of a reaction. “He’s just being an ass. As usual.”

While your curt response clearly didn’t ease Ijichi’s nerves much, the blessing was that Gojo seemed to tire of his kissy game, opting to drawl out his next moronic comment rather than act it out.

“Now, now, is that really any way to talk about your dear sensei?” His honeyed tone was thick with mocking reproach. “Especially given the forbidden nature of our relationship and all.”

You groaned loudly, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands or possibly yeet Gojo directly out of the moving vehicle. Whipping your head around, you fixed him with a furious glare. “Are you hearing yourself right now?!”

Being stuck in the car with Gojo’s idiocy felt like an impending migraine taking root, and judging by Ijichi’s paling complexion, he was rapidly reaching similar levels of strained patience. At this point, the notion of just rolling down the window and jumping out was sounding more appealing by the minute.

“What? You know, some may say such affection between us is forbidden.” Gojo’s voice lilted in a saccharine tone from the back seat.

You turned slowly in your seat, fingers visibly twitching – itching for your bow if only to put the infuriating man in his place with a well-aimed arrow to the kneecaps. You wondered if a fully loaded shot from Soulstring could pierce his Infinity. It was a special-grade cursed tool after all. Perhaps if you would make a binding vow to boost the output to maximum levels…

Unfortunately, the frantically bewildered expression painted across Ijichi’s face stayed your hand. The man was clearly losing his grip on the situation, eyes anxiously pinging between you and Gojo as if expecting a full-on brawl to erupt at any moment.

With an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you settled for reaching behind you and landing a solid smack against the side of Gojo’s head.

“Keep that sh*t up and you’re going to find out just how forbidden our little relationship can get,” you bit out in a low, warning tone.

Gojo simply cackled in response, clearly undaunted by the implicit threat of violence. But at the very least, his antics seemed to have run their course for the time being – Ijichi’s pallor receded somewhat as you settled back into a brooding slouch.

This was all a temporary reprieve, though. Because once you got back to campus and away from innocently terrorized drivers, all bets were officially off dealing with that incorrigible jackass.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

You had a feeling every time you left the Tokyo Jujutsu High campus, some crazy sh*t inevitably went down. As soon as you returned from the irritating trip with Gojo, all you wanted was to hit the training field and catch up on some much-needed practice. Flush the annoyance caused by his obnoxiousness out of your system. But of course, your life was never that simple.

On your way across the grounds, raised voices and a palpable surge of cursed energy drew you toward the eastern courtyard. Rounding the corner, you stumbled upon your underclassmen locked in a tense standoff with two unmistakable Kyoto students – Zen’in Mai and the towering form of Todo f*cking Aoi.

Your eyes rapidly took stock of the unsettling scene. Megumi was draped limply over Panda’s shoulder, his face a mass of purpling bruises and already out cold. He must have put up one hell of a fight. Nobara was faring a little better. However, her training clothes were tattered like she’d stumbled into a savage catfight. Numerous nicks and scrapes peeked through the tears, a few deeper gashes angrily weeping beads of blood down her pale limbs. At least, she was still on her feet.

Inumaki had his jacket collar tugged down, jaw clenched. Maki gripped her staff tightly, coiled like a cobra about to strike.

Across from them, Todo stood shirtless, fists clenched as that arrogant sneer played across his lips. Mai was reloading her gun, unfazed by the rising tensions.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. In less than a heartbeat, Soulstring was in your hand, the reassuring weight of the sturdy wood grounding you as you pulled the bowstring taut. Cursed energy thrummed through your veins. Your aim laser-focused on Todo’s smug head – prioritizing the greater threat.

“What the hell is going on here?” you growled.

Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound of your voice.

Panda’s ears perked up. “Oh, senpai’s back!”

Maki glared at you, mouth twisting in displeasure. “Where have you been?”

You waved her off with a slight shake of your head. There were far more serious concerns than your absence from yet another tedious morning practice.

Your steely focus remained locked on the Kyoto sh*tbirds as Mai’s gaze zeroed in on you. She smirked, perfectly groomed brows arching.

“Well, well. If it isn’t our beloved Spices? I’d almost forgotten how you can completely suppress your cursed energy like that. Still feels downright creepy.”

The mocking lilt in her tone as she purred out your nickname immediately raised your hackles. You barked back, patience already frayed thin as a thread, “It’s senpai to you.”

Keeping your bow trained on the bigger threat, you hissed at Todo. “Looking for a fight, asshole?”

Of course, you were scared sh*tless. Todo could snap you like a twig without breaking a sweat. But you were the senpai here. You’d be damned if you let your juniors get their asses kicked in front of you without doing something about it.

To your surprise and immense relief, Todo simply shrugged, completely unbothered by the open challenge. “I only wanted to see if these new guys were worthy replacements for Okkotsu. I’m simply being nice, you see. But they all turned out to be dull.”

His eyes glinted with the promise of further violence. “So I may need to drag out Hakari instead.”

“Wait until the Goodwill Event and we’ll see who’s dull,” you bit back on pure reflex, more empty bravado than any actual threat now that you were staring down Todo’s giant form.

Mai let out a derisive snort, no doubt preparing to call your obvious bluff. But then her sharp eyes caught onto something, her expression morphing into one of utter bewilderment.

“What’s with all the hideous mushroom keychains though? Is this some new tacky trend in Tokyo?” she asked incredulously, disgust coloring her tone.

Following her line of sight, you cringed at the sight of the garish mushroom keychain dangling from your bag’s zipper pull. A quick glance confirmed the awful truth – all your friends were sporting similar monstrosities.

Megumi had one clipped to his belt loop. Nobara’s was dangling on the zipper of her ruined jacket. Maki’s mushroom swung from the end of her training staff. Inumaki fixed his to the front pocket of his trousers. And sure enough, Panda was inexplicably sporting one on his fluffy ear. The image made you shake your head in dismay. You still didn’t know how he even pulled that off.

“Stupid gifts from Gojo,” Maki supplied helpfully.

You sighed. Hopefully, when Mai inevitably recounted this whole keychain debacle to Miwa, she would realize the ugly pair of identical shrooms you and Gojo had on was absolutely not an indication of some forbidden dalliance.

Todo regarded you with a measured look for a long moment, clearly sizing you up. “You’re a third year, correct?” he stated more than asked. “Then either bring out your classmates or call Okkotsu back from wherever you’ve stashed him away.”

Before you could fire off a biting retort about how you and your crew were more than enough to handle his pompous ass, Maki piped up in that trademark tone that meant she was angling to stir up trouble.

“No need to drag Yuuta into this,” she said with a sly grin. Taking a deliberate step forward, she gave you a small nudge that propelled you a few paces ahead. “Everything Yuuta knows about a sword, he learned from Spices. If you want a challenge, you’ve got it right here.”

You spluttered incoherently for a beat, caught off guard. “Hey, that’s… that’s not…”

“That’s the truth and everyone knows it.” Maki’s grin widened into sh*t-eating territory.

You snapped your jaw shut, not wanting to fight her in front of these Kyoto assholes. And Maki was technically correct. It was true that you had taught Yuuta the fundamentals of sword fighting. When Gojo oh-so-helpfully decided to chuck a katana at the poor boy with zero guidance beyond a flippant “point the sharp end at what you want dead,” Yuuta kept getting his ass handed to him during training.

“I don’t mind getting my ass kicked if I’m actually learning,” Yuuta had admitted with those big, soulful eyes brimming with tears of frustration. “But this… this isn’t working, senpai. I’m not getting any better.”

The problem was no one had bothered teaching him even the most basic things like how to properly grip and stand with a damn sword. With Kusakabe away on assignments, you had been the one to step up and drill Yuuta through the bare essentials to help him build a foundation.

That had been the extent of your tutoring before Yuuta’s rapid progress far outpaced your own sloppy skills. He was a f*cking special-grade sorcerer after all.

You couldn’t believe the audacity of Maki’s intentionally misleading words.

Todo was now regarding you with a new, appraising look as he reconsidered the prospect of fighting you.

“Well, you don’t look like much,” he said, crossing his bulking arms over his broad chest. “But looks can be deceiving. A genius like me knows that better than most.”

How was he able to deliver that cringy line with such a straight face?

Reining in the sarcastic clapback on your lips, you simply shrugged. “I’m all what I look, I’m afraid.”

To your bafflement, Todo actually clapped his hands together, letting out a sudden delighted laugh that was deeply unsettling coming from him. “Still waters run deep. You’re quite humble, I see. It seems like this will be fun after all.”

You could only gape at him, at a complete loss for how to respond to this wildly veering conversation. Todo Aoi was truly deranged.

Pointing one finger squarely at you, Todo’s expression morphed into renewed enthusiasm. “Tell me, my friend – what’s your type? Guys? Girls? A little of both, perhaps?”

Nobara made a noise of pure exasperation, throwing up her hands. “Oh for f*ck’s sake, not this sh*t again!”

Your eye twitched in synch with the sudden throb of your temple muscle. “What does my damn type have to do with any of this nonsense?”

But you got the sense that with Todo, very little made sense in any conventional way.

He tapped his foot impatiently against the ground, the heavy thudding reverberating through the tense silence. His gaze flickered to his watch briefly before he seemed to lose what little patience he had left.

Throwing a lazy wave in your general direction, Todo declared in a bored tone. “Let’s continue this conversation later. I’ve got to run – Takada-chan’s meet and greet event is about to start. What if I miss the train and don’t make it in time?” He let out a theatrical gasp. “No telling what sort of unspeakable crimes against humanity I might be driven to commit out of sheer disappointment.”

Before any of you could formulate a suitably bewildered response, Todo had already grabbed Mai by the elbow and started hauling her off the premises in his usual caveman fashion.

The rest of you could only stare after their retreating figures, wearing identical expressions of confusion and disbelief. After a solid minute of silence, you shot Maki a glare heated enough to blister paint.

“If that psychotic gorilla murders me during the Goodwill Event, I will 110% come back as a vengeful cursed spirit to haunt your smug ass,” you bit out.

Ever the antagonist, Maki just threw back her head and laughed like the sh*tty little gremlin she was.

Panda, somehow always managing to be the sole voice of reason, patted your shoulder sympathetically with one fuzzy paw. “Don’t worry, senpai. We’ve got your back no matter what crazy stuff goes down.”

Inumaki flashed you a reassuring thumbs up, “Salmon.”

You could only shake your head. This Goodwill Event was going to be even more batsh*t crazy than you had expected.

It seemed the violent visit from the Kyoto students lit a new fire under Megumi and Nobara. As soon as their injuries from the beat-down were patched up, they launched into training like demons possessed. Clearly, the humiliation at Todo and Mai’s hands was fueling their every grunt and grimace. Good – a little righteous fury never hurt anybody’s motivation.

“Don’t pull anything vital,” you called out dryly. “We still need your asses for the Goodwill Event.”

Nobara paused just long enough to flip you a certain rude gesture before redoubling her efforts. Megumi merely grunted, sweat pouring down his furrowed brow in concentration. Perhaps Gakuganji wasn’t too far off – Kids these days really had zero respect for their elders.

While your underclassmen raged against the Kyoto machine, you had your own first-grade trial duties to prep for. Not that Maki seemed overly concerned – her sole focus was the upcoming competition. As long as you and Inumaki kept kicking ass as a duo, she was content to let you handle the trials on your own time.

“Just don’t be late for Ino’s simulation training,” she ordered, leveling you with a pointed look.

You rolled your eyes so hard, it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck spinning. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there with bells on.”

Ino had promised to swing by in a few days to work some mind-bending magic with his technique. Creating hyper-realistic simulations of the Goodwill Event’s opening battle was the plan. If Maki wanted everyone to experience the pressure and chaos with startling clarity, you had to admit it was a smart tactic.

Speaking of smart tactics… you sighed as Gojo’s annoying voice echoed through your mind.

“Nanami just won’t talk to me no matter what I do!” Gojo whined in that exaggerated pout he put on whenever he wasn’t getting his way.

You arched an unimpressed brow. “Have you considered, oh I don’t know, stop sending him dick pics?”

He gasped, clutching at his chest like you’d grievously wounded him. “Those most certainly were NOT dick pics! They were simply… handwritten notes I crafted with thought and care!”

Leveling him with a flat stare, you deadpanned, “Handwritten notes in which you drew ugly dicks all over them like a five-year-old boy with a crayon fixation.”

The caveman version of dick pics – how romantic. Gojo harrumphed, puffing out his chest defensively.

“It’s our long-standing inside joke! Those drawings were meant as a reminder of our deep, meaningful friendship built on years of trust and camaraderie.”

“Yeah, well that’s probably why he doesn’t talk to your creepy ass anymore.” You scoffed.

Gojo was damn lucky Nanami hated him enough to not misread those disturbing scribbles as pathetic booty calls. Though perhaps the man’s restraint meant Gojo would be the unlucky one in that scenario.

“You just don’t understand my artistic vision!” Gojo waved his hand dismissively, chin raised in a haughty sniff.

You huffed an irritated breath. “And so because of your artistic vision, now I have to do your job for you?”

With a nonchalant shrug of those annoyingly broad shoulders, he countered, “Well, you’re going on a mission with Nanami anyway. It’s hardly an extra burden to ask him to keep an eye on Yuji while I’m away.”

Well, Gojo had you there. It wasn’t that big an ask, all things considered. Especially for Yuji.

“...Alright, fine,” you sighed. “I’ll make sure to pester Nanami-san about it.”

A moment later, Gojo’s large hand descended to ruffle your hair in an affectionate gesture.

“Just be careful out there on your mission too, Spices,” he said. “Stick close to Nanami, and if anything goes wrong, you call me right away. I’ll come get you myself.”

You found yourself offering a nod, touched in spite of yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got this. Now get out of here before you turn this into another Hallmark moment.”

A flash of that familiar, infuriating grin told you the moment had passed.

“That’s my Spices! Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone!”

And so, having successfully dumped extra responsibilities on you, Gojo swanned off to who-knows-where for god-knows-how-long. Typical Gojo behavior.

***

Working alongside Nanami as your supervisor for the first-grade trials was a welcome reprieve after dealing with Gojo’s antics. There was something reassuring about being partnered with a responsible adult for a change.

Your first trial assignment had you both deploying out to Hokkaido. As Nanami explained during the briefing, he felt these missions away from HQ served an important purpose beyond the obvious duties.

“As jujutsu sorcerers and active members of society, having the chance to unwind away from our colleagues is indispensable,” he said. “It allows us to vent our souls, so to speak. Without that fresh air outlet, we risk becoming depressed and stagnant.”

Nanami made a fair point. Even hardened sorcerers needed the occasional breather to recharge. His keen eyes studied you over the rim of his coffee cup.

“That said, I’m rather pleased this particular assignment has me paired with you, Spices. We’ve tackled quite a few missions together at this point.”

You forced down the start of an eager smile, trying to maintain your typical nonchalant front. But you couldn’t deny the tiny blossom of warmth that bloomed in your chest at his words. Of all your seniors, Nanami had long been your favorite.

“You’re easily my most productive partner,” he continued, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Our efficiency is unmatched – I never have to worry about going into overtime when we team up.”

That was putting it mildly. Thanks to your skills complementing each other so well, you and Nanami always had excess time and funds left over from completing assignments quickly. Time that the two of you ritualistically “wasted” by treating yourselves to leisurely meals and tourist distractions, all billed to the High Council.

“In fact, I seem to recall we have a reservation at that renowned ramen place after we wrap things up…” Nanami mused, a rare indulgent smile ghosting across his lips.

Yes, working with Nanami would be a nice palate cleanser before the madness of the Goodwill Event arrived. For now, you could actually enjoy this mission away from the daily insanity.

The two of you continued ambling down the bustling downtown stretch of Odori Avenue, allowing the flow of pedestrian traffic to guide your path. Much like Kyoto’s layout, Sapporo’s streets formed an organized grid pattern – as long as you followed the clearly posted signs and maps, it was virtually impossible to get lost.

Still, getting the hang of navigating all the one-way streets and pedestrian crossings took a little trial-and-error. But at least wandering on foot through the central ward proved surprisingly convenient for sightseeing compared to constantly being stuck in vehicles or the subway systems of bigger cities.

A familiar aroma wafted past, catching your attention – the smell of buttered potatoes being cooked over open flames by a streetside vendor. You nudged Nanami toward the stall with a questioning look. At his nod, you veered over to join the short queue, fishing out some crumpled bills from your jacket.

“Gojo’s enthusiastic recommendation, if I’m not mistaken,” Nanami remarked dryly as you paid for two piping hot servings dripping with melted butter and savory seasonings.

Cradling the foil-wrapped treats in your palms, you gestured with a tilt of your head at a nearby park bench framed by a riot of blooming chrysanthemums in vibrant reds and golds. You settled onto the worn wooden slats with a contented sigh, already peeling back the foil as the mouthwatering scents filled the air between you both.

“Gojo-sensei has a point about these buttered potatoes,” you agreed around your first indulgent bite, the creamy explosion of flavor making your eyes flutter with unabashed delight. Comfort foods for the win.

A brief, comfortable silence lapsed between you as Nanami tucked into his own serving with a bit more restraint. The two of you sat side-by-side, munching contentedly on the rich snacks as the lively sounds and scents of the park swirled around you both.

Nanami took another few savoring bites of the hot, buttery potato before remarking, “I have to admit, I totally underestimated these street snacks Gojo raved about.”

You gave his shoulder a playful nudge with your own. “Just like you underestimated me back then.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from his chest as he inclined his head. “Yes, indeed. I suppose you’ll never let me live that down, huh?”

Smiling around another indulgent mouthful, you shook your head firmly. Rather than take offense, Nanami’s expression melted into one of shared amusem*nt, no doubt recalling the same rocky start to your now well-worn partnership.

“I simply could not fathom what insanity had gripped Ijichi-san to saddle me with a snotty first-year brat as backup.”

You laughed outright at his deadpan candor. “To be fair, I’m fairly certain the sentiment was somewhat similar on my end, Nanami-san.”

Your mind drifted back to that very first mission alongside the then-unfamiliar Nanami. It had seemed straightforward enough on paper – dealing with some lingering disturbance at an abandoned mental hospital on the outskirts of the city. How difficult could it be? Except, three second-grade sorcerers had been sent there and none had returned.

Which was likely why Ijichi felt the need to saddle Nanami, a first-grade sorcerer, with you as backup just to be safe. But even as Ijichi assured Nanami that you were the best scout and ranged fighter they’d got at the moment, Nanami remained skeptical. It probably didn’t help that Ijichi had introduced you as Spices out of habit instead of using your given name.

Nanami had leveled you with a look of utter annoyance when the pairing was first announced, no doubt wondering what fresh hell this spicy brat would unleash. And not just any brat but Gojo’s most spoiled brat of all people.

To his credit, Nanami was a professional. He swallowed his obvious irritation at the situation and simply motioned for you to follow as he outlined the mission parameters.

“Listen up, kid,” he’d addressed you in that all-business tone, fixing you with a stern look. “Your skills are best suited for recon and ambush, correct? So I’ll take the main entrance. You circle around and breach from the roof. Keep a safe distance and don’t get in my way.”

You bristled at being treated like a dumb kid, but gave a polite nod nonetheless. This was your first mission with a first-grade sorcerer after all. Better to reign in your spiciness and trust the adult. No point arguing with a pro like Nanami.

“If you see something you can’t handle, call for me. Don’t try playing tough guy. Got it?”

The urge to make a sarcastic salute was strong. Instead, you settled for an eye roll. “Of course, leave the tough stuff to the big tough guy. I got it, Nanami-san.”

Oh, you were a lot spicier back then.

Nanami’s jaw ticked, like he was resisting the urge to snap back at your flippant tone. But this was his reality now – getting stuck babysitting Gojo’s most spoiled brat while going into an assignment that had cost three second-grade sorcerers. Wonderful.

He drew a harsh breath through his nose. “Just don’t screw this up. Let’s go.”

Honestly, you had wondered how Nanami always managed to seem like he had a stick permanently lodged up his ass. Which, frankly, might explain why he was so anal about everything. As he turned on his heel, you couldn’t resist muttering “Jerk” under your breath.

As irritated as Nanami’s condescending attitude made you, you still begrudgingly listened and did as you were told. You might have been spicy and foul-mouthed with enough sass to piss off a saint, but you were a professional too when it counted. A team player, despite how little Nanami seemed to want you on his team.

Even though it grated on you, your role was providing backup for Nanami. So you’d stubbornly make sure to watch his annoying back whether he liked it or not.

Suppressing your cursed energy, you circled around the derelict building. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you began climbing up the exterior toward the roof. Bits of decayed brick crumbled under your fingers as you hauled yourself up. The acrid reek of mold flooded your nostrils as soon as you pulled yourself over the edge.

After catching your breath, you made your way to a rusted access door, forcing it open with a protesting screech of metal hinges. A billow of stale, cold air rushed out, carrying a smell of profound disuse and rot. You wrinkled your nose and felt your stomach churn as the putrid stench wormed its way deeper into your lungs. Swallowing against the sudden wave of nausea, you pressed on, dropping down into the shadowy attic space.

Thick cobwebs draped everywhere like lace curtains, swaying slightly despite no breeze. The dim light slanting in through grime-caked skylights created stark, almost mobile shadows in the corners of your vision. A shudder ran down your spine as an irrational sense of dread prickled over your skin. You wiped cold beads of sweat from your forehead, heart pounding for no discernible reason.

The hospital interior was even creepier than the exterior let on. A thick layer of dust and grime coated every surface, undisturbed for decades except for the occasional scattering of tiny tracks marring the dust here and there. You breathed shallowly through your mouth as you crept down the creaking, termite-eaten stairs to the third floor.

The hallway looked straight out of a horror movie – peeling wallpaper strips exposing water-stained drywall, rusty pipes snaking across the ceiling and dripping in an erratic patter. Up ahead, a half-open door swung lazily, like something had just passed through and disturbed it. Spindly cobweb anchors swayed from the door frame, severed threads dancing in the stillness.

You reached out with your senses, searching for any hint of cursed energy. The heavy atmosphere seemed to press in from all sides. This place definitely had a vibe, one that trickled icy tendrils of unease down your spine. Your eyes were inevitably drawn to the dark stains freckling the rotting floors. You tried not to dwell too much on what those rusty blotches could be.

With cautious steps, you made your way forward, straining to latch onto that faint, elusive pulse of cursed energy. It was there – you could feel the malignance prickling at the back of your neck like a warning. But it was subtle, diffuse, difficult to zero in on with your still-developing skills. You clenched your jaw in frustration, trying to focus.

Room by room, you meticulously swept the third floor – Soulstring at the ready. The groaning floorboards and your own ragged breathing seemed thunderous. Your gut twisted as you accidentally crushed what looked like a dislodged tooth underfoot, the ceramic crunching obscenely ...along with a few scattered bits of cobweb-like debris.

The decaying hospital seemed to watch you with a thousand empty eyes – the shattered windows like unseeing sockets. Despite the warm sunlight lancing through, the cloying stench of mold and decay and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit, seemed to grow thicker with every room you cleared.

You could have sworn muffled whispers tickled the edge of your senses before falling disturbingly silent when you stopped to pinpoint the sounds. Blind shadows seemed to flicker in the corners of your vision, just at the limits of your sight. The longer you lingered, the more the crawling unease blossomed in the pit of your stomach.

The first room was little more than a shell, every surface water-stained and crumbling. Broken tiles crunched underfoot as you swept your gaze around. Something small skittered in the shadows, disappearing before you could catch a glimpse. You swallowed against a sudden dryness in your throat and moved on.

The next room was oppressively cramped, filing cabinets and desks haphazardly overturned like they’d been flung about in a frenzy. A faint scraping noise had you whipping around, bow half-raised before you registered the source – just a tattered curtain shifting in a draft from a shattered window. Still, your heart was jackhammering as you slipped through the shards littering the sill and continued your search.

The cursed energy’s faint pulse seemed to beckon you onward, but it kept sliding just out of your grasp whenever you tried to focus on it. Sweat prickled your skin despite the chill causing you to shudder. You couldn’t tell if you were imagining the faint scrabbling noises in the ducts and walls or the distant sound of mournful weeping. But the irrational dread continued to coil tighter with each empty room you finished scouring.

Cold terror washed over you as you descended to the second floor and spotted Nanami up ahead. At first glance, nothing seemed amiss – he was standing in the middle of the corridor, back turned. But something felt deeply wrong. His posture was unnaturally stiff, blade still sheathed. The flow of his cursed energy felt muted, disturbed. Anxiety bloomed in your chest as you attuned your senses to the surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of wrongness.

That’s when you felt it – the cursed energy signature you’d been tracking. It was concentrated here, shrouding Nanami in its sinister presence. You bit your lip, straining to make sense of the faint wisps you could detect.

Then, with a sickening lurch of your stomach, you spotted it. On the exposed side of Nanami’s neck, just above the collar of his jacket, perched a tiny red spider.

The realization crashed over you in visceral clarity. Your throat constricted with a choked noise of pure fear. Because surrounding Nanami was not just a maze of webbing, but an undulating, shimmering sea of silk – each gossamer strand seemingly laden with hundreds upon hundreds of squirming horrors.

Spiders. Your deepest, greatest fear. Converging on Nanami from all sides, a steadily tightening web closing in around him.

“Sh-sh*t…” the strangled word slipped out as your entire body went rigid with revulsion.

Your breath caught in your lungs. Paralysing terror washed over you. Your hands turned clammy. Primal terror took hold. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the suffocating panic clawing at your mind.

But then you saw another one of the nightmarish arachnids crawling perilously close to Nanami’s exposed neck, and something inside you snapped back into focus.

Nanami was trapped, helpless. He needed you. Right now.

Tremors wracked your body. You lifted Soulstring with a monumental force of will, fingers feeling like they belonged to someone else. You pulled back the string, a thin bolt of condensed cursed energy coalescing along the taut line. Holding your breath to steady your aim, you released in a shuddering exhale.

The energy bolt flew true, slicing through the air to sever the spider perched on Nanami’s neck. A red line welled up from where it grazed his skin, but you didn’t have time to worry over that.

In that instant, it was like someone flipped a switch – your panic and fear cut out, replaced by a strange, lucid clarity. Your frantic thoughts went preternaturally still and calm washed over you. With eerie precision, almost inhuman speed and economy of movement, you rapidly cycled through the motions, firing off shot after shot.

Energy bolts sheared through the webbing surrounding Nanami. Wherever they struck, your cursed energy detonated in explosive bursts that incinerated every last spider crawling along the threads. You didn’t pause, didn’t flinch, your arms simply continued the steady cadence of draw, release, detonate with each measured breath cycle. The oppressive hospital corridor became a chaotic killzone of streaking lights and acrid smoke as you systematically worked your way through the spider horde, operating on pure instinct and adrenaline.

Finally, the last string of spiderweb fell away and your shoulders slumped, letting the bow’s taut string slowly slacken. The unnatural trance broke like a rubber band snapping – leaving you suddenly, violently aware of your own ragged breathing and the tremors still coursing through your body.

Nanami crumpled to his knees with a loud thud that made you flinch.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

When you reached out with trembling fingers to touch Nanami’s face, his skin was disturbingly cold and clammy.

Dread coiled tighter in your gut as you sensed how tangled and turbulent his cursed energy felt – like it was being stifled from within. Of course… this had to be a mental curse. At an abandoned asylum nonetheless, the perfect vector. It made terrible sense why the sorcerers sent here previously never returned.

Mental curses were renowned for being some of the deadliest, even to first-grade sorcerers. This curse seemed to operate through spiders. The amount of cursed energy in a tiny spider was simply too minuscule for most sorcerers to notice. And this was an abandoned building, of course, spiders were everywhere, no one would even pay attention to them.

Just one spider latching on the target was enough. The curse must have gotten to Nanami before he realized what was happening. You simply got lucky that you had completely suppressed your cursed energy before entering the premises. The curse couldn’t detect you.

Your mind raced as you tried to remain calm and formulate a plan.

Mental curses trapped their victims in personalized manifestations of their deepest fears, regrets, and insecurities. Chains forged from their own doubts and memories, binding them in inescapable illusions within their psyches. Even a powerhouse like Nanami wouldn’t be able to break free on his own. Trying to forcibly wake him could fry his brain permanently.

You squeezed your eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath. You had this. You could do this. All those dusty texts and scrolls that you’d begrudgingly studied suddenly took on importance. You knew the principles for safely extracting someone from a mental curse’s thrall. You just needed to stay calm and focused.

With a steadying breath, you let determination override the lingering tendrils of fear. First, you concentrated your cursed energy into casting the strongest protective barrier you could manage around both yourself and Nanami’s unconscious form. It shimmered into place, a defensive dome that would ensure the curse couldn’t interfere while you worked.

Then, bracing yourself, you leaned forward until your foreheads touched. You allowed your cursed energy to flow outward, a gentle blanket enveloping Nanami as you carefully traced the disturbed patterns of his inner energy flow. Slipping into a meditative state, you focused your mind, pulling up every mental image and sense memory you had of your prickly senior.

His polite smile that first moment you met, though his eyes betrayed annoyance at being stuck babysitting a rookie. The faint hint of his cologne. The irritated scowl that seemed to be his default expression whenever you opened your mouth. The firm, no-nonsense tone of voice as he laid out mission orders, expecting you to just shut up and follow them without backtalk.

You concentrated on every little detail until it coalesced into a clear mental picture of Nanami. And then, seamlessly, you felt your consciousness slip inward, pulled along the tether of energy connecting you to his trapped consciousness.

When your awareness resurfaced, you certainly weren’t expecting the scene before you. Rather than a twisted nightmare, you found yourself standing on a beautiful, pristine beach. Soft white sand stretched out before gently rolling waves of the bluest ocean you’d ever seen. The sky was so vast and clear it made your heart ache.

For a long moment, you could only stand and gape at the unexpected beauty surrounding you. This was… Nanami’s inner world? You pressed onward, following the line of the shoreline as you searched for any sign of him amid this paradise.

Up ahead, you finally spotted him – a solitary figure came into view further up the beach. Seated with his arms loosely wrapped around his bent knees, Nanami stared out at the ocean with a serene expression.

As you neared, he glanced over – his eyes widening slightly in surprise at your presence before settling into a friendly smile. “Well, what are you doing out here all alone, kid? Where are your parents?” he called out in a light, affable tone. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes as he addressed you.

Bewildered, you opened your mouth to respond – and promptly froze. Because as you looked down at yourself, you were no longer in your normal body. Instead, you now appeared to be an actual toddler, complete with chubby little hands and feet peeking out from an absolutely mortifying dinosaur-themed onesie.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. Of course – you were in Nanami’s dream, a product of his subconscious. This was a reflection of how he perceived you in real life. You, his annoying rookie subordinate, manifested as a literal snotty brat.

You could feel the indignant huff building in your tiny toddler lungs. The audacity of this man! Grinding your baby teeth, you waded a bit closer on your miniature feet, trying to push aside the rising tide of irritation.

Shock or distress could severely harm Nanami in his fragile psychological state. You needed to approach this delicately, guide him to realize this was a dream on his own.

Taking a calming breath, you pasted on an innocent expression.

“I’m not alone, mister! My… dad is right there!” You pointed vaguely back along the beach, buying some time to think. “I jus’ went a lil’ too far, heh…”

You did your best to look suitably cute as a tiny toddler, kicking your little feet in the sand while plopping down next to Nanami. “Whatcha doin’ out here?” You asked in a high-pitched lilt.

Nanami’s features softened into an indulgent smile you didn’t think he was even capable of. Had he always looked this… handsome?

“I’m on vacation. Needed some time away from work to rest. Catch up on my reading list,” he explained, gesturing to a pile of books that certainly hadn’t been there moments before.

Dream logic made about as much sense as usual. You pondered for a moment, gaze catching on the thin red line along Nanami’s neck – Right where your energy bolt had grazed him. Without warning, you scrambled right into his lap, reaching up toward the mark with grabby hands.

“You have a scratch there. Does it hurt?” You piped up in concern.

With a mild look of surprise, Nanami automatically wrapped his arm around you to steady your tiny body. He rubbed at the spot on his neck with a confused furrow of his brow. “I didn’t notice…”

Seizing the opportunity, you pressed, “How did you get it? Did something bite you?”

But Nanami just shook his head, brow furrowing deeper. “I… I don’t remember.”

You sighed – a petulant noise of frustration. This wasn’t working.

At the tiny sound, Nanami’s features softened again as he looked down at you with unmistakable fondness.

“It’s not safe for a little kid to wander the beach alone. Why don’t you stay here with me and wait for your dad? If he takes too long, I’ll help you find him,” Nanami said gently.

If only he could have been this nice to you in the real world, you thought wryly. Your toddler lip pushed out in an involuntary pout. This man really did see you as nothing but a snotty brat, dream or not.

Still, overtaken by a strange sense of security in Nanami’s solid embrace, you found yourself snuggling closer as you tried to figure out your next move.

Spotting the stack of books beside Nanami, an idea sparked in your mind. You reached up, tugging insistently on his sleeve. “Can you read me a story?” You asked sweetly, putting on your best pleading doe-eyes.

Nanami actually chuckled, the rumbling sound startling you a bit with how unfamiliar it felt coming from his usually all-business demeanor. “Sure, kid.”

But as he reached for one of the books, Nanami suddenly froze, brow furrowing once more as he studied the opened pages. “This… this doesn’t make sense.”

You leaned up in his lap, trying to catch a glimpse – only to find the book’s contents were nothing but indecipherable squiggles and shapes. Sure enough, the dreaming mind couldn’t properly render written text.

For a moment, Nanami looked distinctly thrown, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. But then that familiar stubborn set returned to his jaw as he snapped the book shut and settled you more securely in his lap.

“How about I just tell you a fairytale instead?” He compromised, clearly determined not to dwell too long on the odd logic failure.

And so, despite your muted protests and disdainful pout, you soon found yourself nestled in the cradle of Nanami’s legs, his muscular arms wrapped comfortably around your tiny form. You grumbled and squirmed halfheartedly as he launched into a horribly botched recounting of Cinderella, frequently stumbling over details or blatantly fabricating lines.

Still, there was something immensely soothing about the rumbling timbre of his voice and the protective warmth of his arms curved around you while you watched the gentle ebb and flow of the waves. Tucked against his solid chest, surrounded by his faint, comforting scent… part of you couldn’t deny this feeling of profound contentment. You could envision remaining here forever in this paradise, safe and cherished in Nanami’s caring embrace, and considering it a storybook happy ending of its own.

Which made you stiffen with dawning horror. Oh no. You were being lulled into a false sense of complacency by this idyllic dream, just like Nanami. The curse was starting to affect your perceptions too the longer you lingered in Nanami’s mind.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t,” you cursed under your breath, frustration mounting at how stubbornly Nanami’s strong will seemed to be anchoring him within this fabricated space.

Desperate, you reached out and grabbed at his arm with your tiny hands, giving it an insistent shake. “Can you tell me what time it is?” You asked, proud that your toddler voice only wavered slightly with urgency.

Obligingly, Nanami lifted his arm to check his watch – only to tense, his entire body going rigid with confusion and disquiet. You could practically see the dawning wrongness flashing across his features as he stared down at the watch face, the numbers and hands whirled in dizzying, nonsensical loops.

Just as you’d read, concepts like measured time didn’t exist in dreams.

“This… this is strange,” he murmured, low and puzzled. “What’s going on here?”

Nanami’s veneer of unquestioning acceptance began to splinter. You could feel the illusory world around you responding in kind. The brilliant sky darkened with roiling storm clouds, the once-tranquil ocean waves turning turbulent and angry as the corrosive tendrils of doubt crept into Nanami’s perceptions.

Scrambling up onto your knees, you grasped his face in your chubby hands, struggling to keep your own expression calm despite the growing maelstrom.

“It’s getting dark. We should go inside,” you urged, praying he would take the bait.

When Nanami simply stared back, the blank incomprehension clear on his face, you decided it was time to go all in. Looking up at him with big, wet eyes, you let your lower lip tremble as you whispered, “Please. I’m scared…”

That did it. Nanami visibly startled from whatever trance had been holding him. His gaze snapped back into sharp focus, his arms flexing instinctively around you.

“Of course,” he soothed, gathering you up and rising in one smooth motion. “Let’s get you home. Don’t worry, Spices. I’ve got you.”

You felt your entire body seize up like you’d been doused in ice water at the unexpected name drop.

“Wh- ...what did you just call me?” You managed to sputter out.

Nanami went perfectly, unnaturally still as the strange nickname that had slipped from his lips finally registered. “Spices...?” He echoed slowly, brow knitting in bewilderment

And then it clicked. Recognition suddenly blazed in his eyes with deafening clarity. Pieces snapping together in one cataclysmic rush of realization, you could feel that instant when the veil dropped away completely within his psyche. His gaze locked with yours.

“You’re… Spices,” he murmured, almost wonderingly.

You nodded firmly, relieved to see Nanami fully back in his right mind. As he took in the darkening skies and increasingly violent ocean, Nanami inhaled a deep breath. This mental curse was putting up a hell of a fight. Must be a special grade after all.

Tugging insistently at the collar of his shirt, you caught his attention again. “Great, you’re back. Now turn me back!” You demanded, trying not to let the tremor of fear slip into your childish voice.

Nanami’s brow furrowed quizzically, studying your tiny toddler form cradled in his arms. “Why are you a toddler though?”

“Because this is your dream and this is how you perceive me, obviously!” You all but shouted, unable to contain the huff of sheer exasperation. “The curse we were looking for is a mental curse. We’re stuck in your mind right now, so you need to wake up or we’re both f*cked. I don’t think my barrier can last very long!”

Nanami winced at the shrill volume of your tirade. Gently, he held you up higher, meeting your furious scowl. “Alright, alright. I’ve got it.”

His eyes squeezed shut in intense concentration for a long, tense moment. You waited with bated breath… only to deflate when he cracked them open again and you were still very much a toddler.

“Seriously?” You snarked, crossing your little arms in an unimpressed glare.

Nanami at least had the grace to look sheepish. “I’m… sorry.”

Your balled-up fist smacked against his chest in utter frustration, the impact doing approximately nothing. “Whatever! Just carry me out of here, old man.”

With a sigh, Nanami scooped you up closer to his chest, turning to survey the increasingly hostile surroundings. “Which way should we go?”

You couldn’t resist a snicker at that. “How would I know? This is your dream.”

Still, you cast a calculating look toward the swirling vortex of the oncoming storm in the distance – darkness and fury encroaching with every crashing wave.

“But if I had to guess?” You pointed a tiny finger decisively in that ominous direction. “We should probably head right into that nightmare. Since this curse seems so determined to scare us away.”

A violent shudder ran through you as the two of you approached the maelstrom of darkness – spiders of every horrific variety beginning to ooze forth from every crevice and shadow. You instantly stiffened in Nanami’s arms, breath catching with a spike of cold dread.

He quirked an inquisitive brow at your reaction, prompting you to admit in a small voice, “I’m… scared of spiders, Nanami-san.”

Any remaining traces of impatience instantly melted from his expression. Giving you a firm nod, Nanami tightened his protective hold around you. “I’ve got you,” he stated simply. “But I’ll need both arms free.”

With surprising gentleness, he lifted you up to sit securely on his broad shoulders. In the next breath, his blade materialized in his hand with a flicker of cursed energy. You squeezed your eyes shut once more, tiny fists winding into his hair in a white-knuckled grip as Nanami charged straight into the writhing heart of the storm.

All around, you could feel the displaced air and sense the arc of his blade as he cut through the nightmarish arachnids with almost contemptuous ease. Your breath came in terrified pants, the entire world narrowing to that singular, guttural fear as your body quaked helplessly.

If Gojo could see you now, a literal frightened toddler clinging to Nanami’s neck, he’d laugh his ass off into the next century.

Eventually, you felt Nanami’s large hand patting reassuringly against your back. “It’s okay,” his low rumble sounded close to your ear. “You can open your eyes now.”

Cracking your eyes open a slit, you finally released your death grip on his hair, trailing strands between your fingers as you blinked to reorient yourself. The two of you were no longer on the beach – instead, you seemed to have emerged in some sort of sterile, depressingly bland office space. Rows upon rows of drab cubicles stretched out endlessly in every direction.

“Where are we?” You breathed, gaze sweeping around in confusion.

Nanami sighed, the sound carrying resigned weariness. “My previous job.”

As soon as the words left his lips, the inert space thrummed with an ominous energy.

Nanami started walking forward through the office space, his steady stride causing you to grasp at his neck to steady yourself on his shoulders. As you proceeded, flickering shadows of office workers began materializing around you.

Salarymen of all types manifested – depressed, jaded, aggressively go-getting, saccharinely chipper, two-faced gossips whispering behind each other’s backs. Their indistinct shouts and overlapping phone conversations filled the air with a dissonant cacophony that felt oppressive.

You shuddered, unconsciously pressing closer against the back of Nanami’s head. Though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt the reassuring pat of his large hand against your dangling legs.

“It sucked here,” he stated flatly. “Soul-crushing kind of sh*tty. That’s why I came back to being a sorcerer instead.” A sardonic chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Both jobs suck, I guess. But at least I’m halfway decent at this one.”

You stilled at the unexpected vulnerability. Unsure how to respond, you muttered, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Nanami-san.”

The quiet huff of rueful laughter told you he understood the full meaning behind your halting words.

Eventually, the bland cubicle maze faded away, reforming into the familiar scenery of the Tokyo Jujutsu campus. You couldn’t help gaping at how eerily realistic it all seemed to manifest – the crunch of the gravel pathways under Nanami’s shoes, the cheerful chatter of passing students, even the slight breeze carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass and distant blooming trees.

“What a curse,” you murmured, unable to avoid grudging respect for the intricacy and authentic detail of this psychological prison. Nanami simply grunted in grim agreement as the two of you continued winding through the picture-perfect illusion.

Suddenly, the subtle sounds of laughter and idle chatter drew your attention. You turned your head to seek out the source. There, underneath the dappled shade of a large tree, was a group of students lounging about.

Your blood ran cold as you recognized those familiar faces. A teenage Gojo with that signature, infuriating smirk already firmly in place, silver hair glinting almost impossibly bright. Shoko, features younger and hair styled in a chin-length bob, cigarette smoke curling lazily around her as she leaned back against the tree trunk. And beside her… Geto, mouth quirked in a rare genuine smile as he leaned in to murmur something in her ear. Just like that old photo you once saw in Shoko’s office.

And then, there was someone else. A young man you didn’t know at all, with messy dark hair and warm, open features, eyes crinkling cheerfully. He perked up at the sight of you and Nanami.

“Oh, Nanami! You’re back!” That kind voice called out, face splitting in a beaming grin. “Come, come – we saved you some dango!”

You felt Nanami’s shoulders tremble underneath you, instantly recognizing the ominous shift in energy. With frantic urgency, you clutched at the back of his head, hissing in his ear.

“We need to go, Nanami-san. Right now!”

But Nanami didn’t move, rooted to the spot. Before you could smack him, that bright-eyed young stranger had abruptly covered the distance between you in the blink of an eye. His hand locked around Nanami’s bicep in a startlingly casual grip, tugging him toward the group as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bizarrely, his gaze slid right over you without any hint of recognition or reaction.

Gojo’s mocking drawl cut through the tense air. “What’s with the long face, ‘Nami? Miss me that much already?” He crooned with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Back off, Gojo,” Shoko chided without any real bite, laughing indulgently. “Nanami just got back from his mission. Give the guy a break.”

“Yeah, don’t be a dick,” Geto backed her up, likely just because he knew how much it would get under Gojo’s skin.

The entire uncanny scene played out with such natural ease, such perfectly captured snapshots of interactions and speech patterns – it was unsettling to behold as an outsider.

You could only watch, wide-eyed and silent, as Nanami was drawn into the center of that sunny sight – a relic of simpler, happier times when he was just a carefree student surrounded by dear friends.

Gojo effortlessly dominated the conversation flow, that obnoxious arrogance larger than life even back then as he needled Nanami with teasing remarks. Shoko played the indulgent older sister role, indulging the boys’ antics with a wry smile and shake of her head. And Geto… seeing him so open, so at ease, not yet hardened into the terrible man you would later know him as – it was painful to witness.

But it was the fourth figure, still an enigma to you, whose natural presence and warmth acted as the sun drawing the rest into his orbit. You watched, feeling like an intruder, as he looped an arm around Nanami and tugged him down to sit, shoving a skewer of dango into his hands with a sunny grin.

In that moment, Nanami’s rigid tension seemed to melt away, his shoulders finally loosening as he accepted the treat and let himself be drawn into the playful banter and familiar camaraderie. For an instant, the shadows weighing him down in the waking world lifted, and you caught a glimpse of the open, hopeful boy he’d once been surrounded by trusted friends.

It was achingly bittersweet to behold – because you knew, with horrible certainty, how this story ended. Geto, fallen. Gojo, dysfunctional. Shoko, perpetually drunk and haunted. And that bright, beloved soul? You could only guess what had happened to him.

You realized that Nanami was perfectly aware this scenario was an illusion of his own psyche… and yet he willfully surrendered himself to it, at least for these few fleeting moments. Of course, he would crave to relive these charmed days. These carefree times with those most precious to him – both his deepest regrets and most tender wounds.

And the curse had mastered its technique to perfection, saving this razor-edged delusion for last because it knew full well the toll it would take to rip Nanami away from it. Throat tight, you tucked yourself closer, wrapping your tiny arms around his neck as helpless tears slipped down your cheeks. Because in that instant, you understood the craving to be swallowed up in a world of loved ones alive and whole.

For a dizzying heartbeat, you let yourself wonder… if this curse could conjure such twisted illusions, what would it take to summon Shino once more in your embrace? Even knowing how horrifyingly wrong that would be… was it so awful to be tempted?

Just as a heavy veil of sorrow and regret threatened to drag you under, something within Nanami seemed to stir. He abruptly stood, his large hands coming up to securely brace you against his shoulders and chest.

Looking at his former friends – or at least, the tortuous echoes this curse had conjured – Nanami spoke up, voice thick but resolute.

“This has been… fun. But I’ve got to go now.”

Of course, the illusions protested and cajoled, trying to draw him back into the cozy fantasy with gentle ribbing and pleas to stay a while longer. You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Nanami extracted himself from their grasping hands and persistent voices one by one until they dissolved back into insubstantial shadows and whispers.

Until finally only that last bright-eyed, smiling boy remained – the one called Haibara, if you’d heard correctly. Rather than fading, his appearance seemed to inexplicably sharpen into razor focus, the contours of his face and form taking on a hyper-realistic quality that was sickening in its intensity.

“Oh come on, Nanami!” That brilliant grin stretched wider, too wide. “Stay with me!”

You could feel Nanami’s resolve waver for a heart-stopping moment before that familiar stubborn set re-settled over his shoulders. Silently, he turned and started walking away, putting distance between himself and the beckoning illusion.

Haibara’s expression twisted in outrage, handsome features abruptly fracturing as a jagged slash of red split the skin of his cheek. More horrifically, a gaping wound seemed to blossom open in his chest, blood spraying forth in spurts as his eyes bulged impossibly large.

“What?” That rasping, wet, inhuman gurgle raised the hairs on the back of your neck. Haibara lurched toward you with damnable speed. “You’re leaving me again, Nanami?? You watched me die when it should have been you!”

You couldn’t stifle the terrified hitch of your breath, body going rigid as the mutilated thing that had once been Haibara bore down on you both. “You didn’t watch my back like you were supposed to! Now you don’t even have the decency to die with me?!”

Nanami’s hands were like a vice around your thighs, his whole frame quaking with the force of his internal struggle. Without conscious thought, your tiny hands found their way over his white-knuckled grip, frantically trying to ground him.

“It’s not him, Nanami-san!” You cried, voice cracking with desperation even through the curse’s distortion. “It’s not really him – we have to keep moving!”

After a moment that seemed to stretch into agonizing eternity, Nanami inhaled a shuddering breath – composing himself through sheer force of will. When he raised his head again, there was a sorrowful acceptance in his expression.

Inclining toward the grotesque shadow before you both, he spoke in a raw voice.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help you when you needed me. That was my failure – my mistake that can never be undone.” Another steadying inhalation as Haibara’s abhorrent form seemed to sway, awaiting judgment.

“But now… my junior needs me. I won’t fail again. I really must go.”

With that, Nanami whipped around on his heel and strode away without another look back. Behind, the shredded remnants of illusion lost cohesion, dissolving away into shapeless shadow and oily smoke as the curse finally lost its grip on Nanami’s mind.

Silence and blackness swallowed you both.

The world blurred and refocused, until suddenly you were blinking back into reality, staring straight into Nanami’s hazel eyes mere inches from your own. The raw emotion burning in his gaze struck you like a physical blow – pupils blown wide, eyes reddened and glistening with tears that mirrored the damp tracks cooling on your own cheeks.

Shallow, ragged breaths puffed against your skin as he remained motionless, mind still half-trapped in that psychological torment. Moving slowly so as not to startle, you leaned back, reaching up with a trembling hand to remove his glasses. Nanami didn’t flinch or turn away, eyes slipping shut in quiet resignation as you carefully brushed the pads of your thumbs across his cheekbones, clearing away the tear tracks.

Your throat worked, thick with a tangled knot of too many emotions to process. Hesitating only briefly, you leaned in and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling Nanami into a firm embrace.

For a moment his entire body went rigid, coiled like a tightly wound spring as the unexpected contact sent him crashing back to defensive instincts. But then, like a dam breaking, the tension seemed to bleed out of him all at once. Nanami sagged forward, face burying into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as his own arms came up to band around your waist in a grip just shy of bruising.

Neither of you spoke or shed fresh tears. You simply held onto one another, drawing lungfuls of the other’s scent and presence like a tether back to reality. Until at last, the shimmering protective barrier made of your cursed energy crumbled away to dust, signaling its failure as your own reserves hit their limit.

Almost instantly, Nanami’s cursed energy flared back to life in a rippling wave, raw but controlled – enfolding you both in a potent shield. You could feel the electrifying vibration of cursed energy thrumming through his chest as he drew a deeper breath, the rasp of his voice lower and thicker than usual against the heated skin of your neck.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Your legs buckled as he drew away, the earlier drain on your reserves finally catching up with you. Without missing a beat, Nanami swept you up into his arms in an effortless carry, striding from the hospital and out into the evening air.

Only once you were deposited at a reasonable distance, as far from the curse’s range as could be managed, did Nanami straighten and turn back, stalking through the shattered entrance. The air itself seemed to thicken and crackle with the lashing currents of his cursed energy swirling ever denser around his imposing form. This time, the curse didn’t stand a chance.

The trek back to the train station passed in heavy silence, weighted with the knowledge of what you’d experienced together through Nanami’s subconscious.

You couldn’t begin to fathom what was going through his mind as he carried you on his back, his solid footfalls and the whisper of his breath the only sounds. The snotty brat he had just met this morning now had seen the deepest, darkest corners of his soul. How did one even begin processing that?

For his part, Nanami remained inscrutable, not a word passing his lips until you were both seated on a bench amid the bustle of the station’s platform, awaiting the next train back to Tokyo.

Only then did he shift almost imperceptibly, jaw tightening before he spoke in a low rumble devoid of inflection, “I’d appreciate it if you could keep what you saw today to yourself.”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Nanami-san.”

A beat of silence passed before an impish grin flashed across your face as you couldn’t resist adding, “Just please, never tell Gojo-sensei I turned into a toddler and you had to literally carry my dead weight on your shoulders the whole time.”

Despite himself, Nanami’s stoic facade cracked with a rasping chuckle escaping his throat. “You have my word,” he assured dryly.

Another long stretch of companionable quiet fell before he spoke again, voice unreadable. “For what it’s worth… I didn’t actually think you were a useless brat, Spices.”

You blinked, regarding his profile in faint surprise. Nanami’s jaw worked for a moment before he pressed on, still not meeting your eyes.

“The reason you turned into a toddler in my dream… was probably because I see you as a junior under my charge, someone whose well-being is my responsibility.” At last, his hooded gaze cut toward you, glinting in the low lighting. “And for that matter, I owe you my gratitude. If you hadn’t been there, I would have died.”

A lopsided smile tugged at your lips. You shook your head, boldly meeting his intense stare. “Well, then you’re damn lucky I took the initiative to complete all my required readings for a change,” you snarked. “No shade to them, but if it had been my classmates with you on this mission instead, your bossy ass would’ve been well and truly cooked.”

This was why later on, you always made sure to cram all the dusty textbooks down your underclassmen’s throats.

Nanami’s gaze softened fractionally. The faintest of smiles pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I’m lucky indeed, in that case.”

He briefly checked his watch before meeting your eyes again, expression shifting into one of casual consideration. “You know, we’re already well over our projected mission time at this point,” he mused aloud. “Which means there should be a decent surplus in the operation’s budget.”

Your brows hiked upward as you instantly latched on to his implication, anticipation bubbling up in your chest. Nanami’s smile kicked up a notch at the hopeful look now dancing across your features.

“How about we put some of those overtime funds to good use with a decent meal before catching our train?”

Your eyes immediately lit up like a kid being offered candy. “Now you’re speaking my language, Nanami-san! I’m absolutely in.”

Chuckling under his breath, Nanami rose smoothly to his feet before crouching down with his back turned in a wordless offer. You happily clambered on, looping your arms around his neck as he secured his grip under your thighs and straightened with ease.

Then, he set off at a leisurely pace away from the bustling train platform and toward the closest promising restaurant district.

It didn’t take long before the rich, savory scent of fresh udon being boiled and fried hit your nostrils. Mouth already watering, you and Nanami exchanged a look. He smiled, “You’ll like this place,” before altering course toward a modest but immaculately tidy shop tucked away on a quiet side street.

Clearly a favorite local spot, the interior was pleasantly lived-in – the soft clatter of chopsticks and low murmur of conversation underscored by the tantalizing sizzle of the kitchen’s woks.

You slid into a cozy corner booth, the vinyl cushions creaking pleasantly. Nanami took the seat opposite, shrugging out of his jacket now that you were out of the chill air. A matronly woman who could only be the shop’s owner appeared tablet in hand, already smiling warmly as if greeting old friends.

“The usual for you both?” She asked, gaze twinkling when Nanami nodded with a quirk of his mouth.

“You know it, Akemi-san. Though I’ll need another order of beef udon on top of that.”

“You got it! Coming right up, dears.”

While the older woman bustled off, you blinked at Nanami from across the table. “You come here a lot, huh?”

“More than I’d care to admit,” he confessed with a self-deprecating half-smile. “Their udon is something of a vice for me – simple comfort food at its finest.”

You hummed at that, quickly coming to the decision that if it was good enough for Nanami’s stamp of approval, you eagerly awaited the first bite. Settling back comfortably, you watched the chefs through the service window, admiring their deft hand-stretching of the fresh udon noodles before they were swiftly boiled, fried, or submerged into simmering broths.

By the time the spread arrived – a glorious bounty of various udon dishes topped with perfectly seared meats, crisp veggies, savory broths and garnishes – you were all but salivating with hunger. Nanami’s low chuckle across the table made you realize you’d been caught staring, to which you shrugged unabashedly.

“Don’t just sit there gawking, Spices.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. For several long, blissful minutes the only sounds were of hearty slurping, chopsticks clacking against bowls, and the occasional appreciative hum as you and Nanami demolished plate after plate with a shared gusto. Once the initial edge was dulled, you finally felt coherent enough for conversation.

“This really hits the spot, huh?” You observed around a mouthful of tender beef and chewy noodles. “I can see why it’s your favorite.”

Nanami made a noise of agreement, pausing to dab at his mouth with his napkin in a shockingly refined display. “I’m a simple man with simple tastes, I suppose. Akemi-san’s udon reminds me of the food I grew up eating – unfussy but satisfying, made with heart.”

You felt your brows twitch upward slightly at the uncharacteristic nostalgia. For the first time, you found yourself truly considering the layers underneath his all-business exterior.

Before you could formulate a reply, he seemed to forcibly shake off whatever melancholic musings had momentarily possessed him. Fixing you with that familiar glare, the barest hint of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

“Anyway, enough heavy talk – let the old man enjoy his nostalgic comfort meal in peace, would you?”

The barb struck the intended target, startling a bark of laughter from your chest as the lingering pall of tension dissipated from the air around your table. Namani’s own chuckle joined yours as you traded increasingly ludicrous verbal jabs back and forth, the mood settling into one of welcome levity despite the shadows remaining in both your gazes.

Somewhere between stealing cholesterol-laden pieces of Nanami’s tempura and trying fruitlessly to make him snort his drink with a well-timed quip, you realized that was the true beginning of your strange friendship with Nanami. Downing your third bowl with a satisfied belch, you grinned at Nanami as he rolled his eyes in disgust.

When Nanami left for the mission this morning, he most definitely hadn’t expected to become best buddies with the snotty brat he was paired with, but life could be weird like that. And yeah… you could get used to having his grumpy ass in your corner.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

A burst of laughter from nearby park-goers jostled you from your memory. Your mind refocused on your present assignment with Nanami in Hokkaido.

After wolfing down those steaming-hot, buttery little spheres of potato perfection, you cleaned up the mess like the responsible adults you were supposed to be. With your stomachs fortified, you began strolling eastward through Odori Park, the crisp Hokkaido air filling your lungs. The path led toward the unmistakable Sapporo TV Tower piercing the sky ahead, marking where the park ended and a stupidly wide street cut through the city grid like an artery pumping traffic.

You had to admit, this mission sounded just like your kind of fun. It all started with Ijichi stumbling across this sketchy website called Yomotsu Hirasaka while crawling through the darkest corners of the internet. The site was hosted on an independent server to avoid detection. But Ijichi had been getting freakishly good at this dark web sh*t ever since the whole Shoko Incident. Not much got past his hacker eyes these days.

As it turned out, this sketchy site was basically an online black market for selling one very particular, totally batsh*t insane “service” – resurrection of the dead.

Y’know, just your everyday, run-of-the-mill violation of the fundamental laws of nature and reality as we know it. No biggie.

The website let folks fill out a little request form about whose rotted corpse they wanted reanimating, and it would kindly display the address to mail their payment. Because nothing says “completely legitimate business” quite like random P.O. boxes, right?

According to Ijichi, the site cycled through twenty different drop-off locations for these “orders.” Your snark-o-meter was ringing off the charts. These scumbags were clearly running some kind of grief-profiting scam, preying on desperate people who fell for their “resurrection doll” mumbo jumbo.

Though, even a 1% chance that this creepy curse crap was legit meant the big guys had to take it seriously. Couldn’t really ignore blatant reality-unraveling now, could we? That’s why they sent Nanami, a first-grade badass on this mission.

You had a lot of beef with the higher-ups, but they were right to be paranoid about this situation. If some asshat really did unlock the secrets to defying death itself, it wouldn’t just be a world of pain – it could straight-up shatter the universe as we know it. Kinda important to avoid that wholesale apocalyptic-level clusterf*ck if possible.

The whole resurrection scheme got even weirder though – this shady business only claimed to raise babies from the dead. Your faith in humanity was already circling the drain, but resurrecting infants? That took this cursed operation’s plausibility and flung it straight into the sun. Whoever was behind these so-called “resurrection dolls” – let’s just call them the Doll Maker – was either completely unhinged or running one hell of an elaborate con.

Either way, you and Nanami’s marching orders were to investigate the Doll Maker’s hideout. No amount of skepticism could justify ignoring even a tiny chance that this freaky business was legit.

As you headed toward the location, Nanami filled you in on the urban layout. When cities maxed out their surface real estate, they started pumping outward underground too. Sapporo was no exception with its sprawling subterranean network of tunnels and facilities spanning all the way to the Susukino neighborhood.

“An underground shopping mall straight out of a Kafka novel,” you muttered, picturing the weird subterranean amenities Nanami listed off – hair salons, bookstores, fortune tellers. Who needed sunlight when you could wander an artificial cave system forever?

Nanami gave you a look. “The curse user is supposed to be operating around here. Think you can track them?”

Sapporo was a distinctive city, without the clearly delineated personality districts like you’d find in Tokyo. Here, youth culture, nerd dens, seedy shops, and the red-light district’s smorgasbord of desires all jumbled together in close proximity.

Instead of emotions sorting themselves out into separate neighborhood vibes, resentment, jealousy, anger, and all those human negatives swirled together in a chaotic gumbo throughout Sapporo’s streets.

And that bombardment of clashing feelings only intensified once you descended into the underground passages. Designed for efficiency, these subterranean tunnels funneled a constant stream of human traffic to and from the city’s main facilities. A river of bodies and pent-up emotions.

To the naked eye, this underground city seemed vibrant and impressive. But to your cursed energy senses, it felt like a crucible of the human psyche – a heaving, stagnant miasma weighing down the air.

You grimaced, the suffocating atmosphere making you nauseous. As if the whole damn place was a cursed spirit’s buffet.

Gritting your teeth, you took a deep breath and nodded at Nanami. “Something weird is definitely going on. I can take us there. But I'll need some time, it’s bad down here.”

Nanami understood your struggle immediately. He wrapped a supportive arm around your waist, pulling you close as you reached out with your senses. His familiar presence helped ground and steady you against the suffocating atmosphere.

You took the lead, guiding Nanami through the shifting crowds as you tracked the strange spike of cursed energy southward. After ten minutes of wading through the streams of humanity, you reached the end of the newer, more fashionable area.

The layout turned convoluted here, side passages and maintenance tunnels branching off. But instead of thinning out, the crowds only seemed to worsen their congestion. And somewhere amid that churning mass of people was the source of the terrible stagnation you sensed.

It came from a mother holding an infant, with a young boy of maybe five or six at her side. They appeared to be arguing, the little boy saying something about not wanting his mom to hold the baby. She scolded him for being a selfish big brother.

To the average person, it would have just seemed like a charming, if inconvenient, scene. A bratty kid throwing a fit over sibling jealousy after the new arrival. Most adults would find it an amusingly commonplace tantrum.

But you could feel the roiling of cursed energy around them. The boy’s distress went far beyond typical childish envy. This was no ordinary situation.

You tensed, alarm ringing through you as Nanami watched you closely. Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.

As the mother’s frustration with her son’s tantrum peaked, she swung her arm to strike the little boy. But her open hand never made impact. Nanami’s own calloused grip clamped around her wrist with insistent force, halting the slap in mid-motion.

The mother gaped at him, eyes widening in a mix of shame and indignant anger. “W-what are you doing?!” Her body tensed, instinctively pulling away from his restraint.

From her perspective, you and Nanami were complete strangers rudely intruding on a private, if imperfect, family moment. She knew lashing out was wrong, but the ugly impulse overrode reason in that heated instant. To have outsiders intervene so boldly was unacceptable.

“Let go of me!” She jerked her arm futilely against Nanami’s unbreakable grasp. “This is none of your business!”

Nanami’s expression was unreadable, but the steel in his voice brooked no negotiation. “Actually, it is.”

You leaned in closer, peering at the bundle cradled in the crook of her other arm. A shrill prickling ran through your body as the sinister energy eddied around the swaddled “infant.”

This was the dark work you’d been sent to investigate. The twisted resurrection dolls the Doll Maker peddled.

The mother recoiled from you, clutching the doll protectively. “S-stop it! Don’t touch Natsuki!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Nanami’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that thing really so important? More than the actual child crying at your feet?”

Her defenses redoubled, smothering the brief flicker of doubt and shame. “Of course! I gave birth to this one too!”

You could practically taste the tangled negative emotions rolling off her – desperation, fear, denial, and the soul-sick allure of the Doll Maker’s empty promises.

“No, you bought it, right?” Nanami’s words sliced through her deceptions with a surgeon’s precision.

The impact was visceral. The mother went rigid, face draining of color as if Nanami’s verbal strike had blown a hole through her psyche. It was clear she knew exactly what unconscionable act she’d committed.

Sensing the mother’s distress spiraling, you held up your hands in a placating gesture. Your voice took on its most soothing, reassuring tone.

“It’s okay, ma’am. We’re not here to judge you or anything. We just want to talk. Just a few minutes, please?” As you spoke, you projected a gentle wave of your own calming cursed energy over her, muffling the turbulent negativity.

It seemed to work. The mother’s rigid posture loosened slightly as she drew in a deep breath and gave you a small nod.

Nanami shot you an approving look. It was a wise call from Ijichi to partner you two up for this specific assignment. In addition to your scouting skills, you had a knack for defusing volatile situations (when you chose to, anyway).

As strange as it sounded, you were utterly unhinged yet also oddly personable. Somehow, people often found your presence calming, your demeanor disarming in a way that made opening up feel natural. A rarity among sorcerers.

With the mother’s emotions soothed for the moment, you gently guided her and the young son to a nearby bench, taking seats together. You started with the basics, asking about her children. Complimenting and showing interest in someone’s kids was an easy way to build rapport, especially with mothers.

As she spoke, filling the stale air with the precious details of her sons’ lives, you discreetly observed the swaddled “baby” nestle in the crook of her arm. The craftsmanship was good – each disturbing wiggle of its pudgy limbs, each tremor of its rosy cheeks would awake deep instinctual pangs of maternal adoration in any woman.

But to the eyes of a sorcerer, the creature blazed with a sickening wrongness.

You knew you had to steer the conversation toward the painful truth. Choosing your words carefully, you spoke with as much gentleness as you could muster.

“I know this is hard… This may look like your son, but… it’s only a doll at best. Cursed to move according to some program…”

No amount of delicacy could spare the mother her anguish. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched the false child to her chest. “You’re lying! I heard about it! I heard that Natsuki could be brought back, and I paid the money!”

Her aching desperation for the Doll Maker’s empty promises to be real cut you deeper than you’d expect. If only your parents had wanted you so desperately.

Noticing your strained expression, Nanami placed a supportive hand on your shoulder, taking over to spare you from the difficult part.

“As his mom, you should be able to tell from his little habits and facial expressions,” Nanami said, toneless yet gentle. “That baby doesn’t give a sense of having a living soul.”

Through his glasses, he glanced down at the older son clutching his mother’s leg, worry etched across his young features yet an ember of determination burning in his eyes as he watched her face intently.

Nanami let his words linger a moment before pressing his point home.

“Each person has their own form of truth. If the truth you want to choose is a present moment in which you haven’t lost a child, I have no right to object to that.”

He pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose.

“The fact is, you’re turning away from a present where your living child is worried about you.”

You could see the agonizing realization dawn in the mother’s eyes as Nanami’s words hit their mark. In her heart, she understood that he spoke the truth – that she had been desperately avoiding reality. She had regained what she had lost, only for the cruel light of truth to rob her of that solace once more. You both recognized the injustice of her situation, but there was no other option.

You and Nanami waited in silence as the mother’s tears and sobs eventually subsided. When she was ready to relinquish her death grip on the cursed doll, you gently took it from her arms.

From underground, you couldn’t see it, but the sun must have sunk toward the horizon by the time you and Nanami were on your way. With the cursed doll as your guide, it was easy for you to trace the cursed energy back toward its source.

The trail led you both into the oldest, most decrepit section of the subterranean city. You turned down a narrow offshoot path branching from the main open area, zigzagging behind rusted staircases and abandoned access halls.

“Charming neighborhood,” you muttered under your breath, wrinkling your nose at the stale odor permeating the air. Nanami’s lips twitched with distaste, but he remained silent, his keen eyes scanning the area with razor-sharp focus.

The funk of disuse and neglect grew thicker until you found yourselves in what was once likely an illicit drinking establishment – a dismal, shadowed space perfect for hosting shady businesses.

And hidden it was, concealed behind an amateurish curtain of cursed energy distorting perceptions. With a deft flick, Nanami swept the veil aside, revealing the dim outlines of the Doll Maker’s lair.

“Sloppy work,” he scoffed, his disdain palpable. You had to agree – this place was a pathetic excuse for a hideaway, even by your rather lax standards.

You stepped back as Nanami kicked in the door. The wood exploded inward with a splintering crack and the hinges screamed in protest, unleashing a billowing cloud of dust like a smoke grenade. You two made one hell of a rude, unannounced entrance – straight out of a yakuza action flick.

The Doll Maker shot to his feet, eyes bugging out comically. “Wh-who the hell are you people?” He squeaked, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Nanami leveled an unimpressed glare at the stammering man. “Not customers, that’s for damn sure.”

You took one look around the dimly lit interior and felt a sneer curling your lips. The place looked like a bad acid trip – it gave an entirely new meaning to the word ‘tacky.’ The decor was a confused, visually assaulting mish-mash that made your eyes bleed. Was the intended aesthetic Japanese, Chinese, Korean? Who the hell knew – it was all crammed together in an indiscriminate cluster.

Fake-ass mummified corpses lined one wall, flanked by a surprisingly decent guardian lion statue that looked wildly out of place. In the corner, a viper suspended in formaldehyde twisted in its jar like a piece of grotesque modern art. An obnoxiously garish mask that looked like it belonged in a bad souvenir shop sneered back at you from a shelf.

But the cherry on top of this dumpster fire? Undoubtedly the crazy outfit the alleged Doll Maker himself was sporting. His robes, made of fabric so cheap you could probably see through them, were a half-baked laughable attempt at imitating an onmyoji or Shinto priest’s attire.

And then there were the bandages – no, wait, those were meant to be seals crudely wrapped around his body like a mummy costume. The sad part? You could practically smell the placebo effect wafting off them – those seals couldn’t summon more cursed energy than one AA battery.

The whole ensemble looked like a five-year-old’s idea of how to dress up as a “wizard” for Halloween. This sad showman’s get-up was an insult to every self-respecting sorcerer out there. His clients might be civilians, but damn, you had to question their sense if this clown actually fooled them.

“Oh, I s-s-see... Y-you’re sorcerers!” The Doll Maker exclaimed, his voice pitching up in a strange blend of fear and manic cheerfulness completely at odds with the current situation.

Nanami’s expression hardened into a scowl, the crease in his forehead deepening as visceral disgust at the Doll Maker’s very existence etched itself onto his features. Though he held no weapon yet, Nanami subtly shifted his stance, shoulders squaring as if ready to engage in combat at a moment’s notice. His intimidating presence alone would cow most people, sorcerers or not.

You arched an unimpressed brow at the Doll Maker. “Sure, we’re sorcerers. The real deal,” you said. “So how about you do us both a favor and explain just what the hell you think you’re doing here? Give me the rundown so I have some decent notes for my report, then we can wrap this up quick and clean.”

The Doll Maker seemed to shrink back, rodent-like eyes darting between you and Nanami. “I… I don’t have any time! No time at all!” he shrieked, a discordant note of hysteria creeping into his voice.

“Neither do we,” Nanami stated flatly, already advancing on the curse user with measured steps. “It’s nearly five o’clock. This may be business, but we shouldn’t be working overtime.”

You hung back, Soulstringat the ready, casually positioning yourself to block the exit while Nanami herded the Doll Maker deeper into the cluttered room. With you cutting off his escape route, the Doll Maker was cornered with nowhere to run.

His options were dwindling. The fool could play it reckless and try to bull rush past two real sorcerers. He could put up a crude resistance by swinging some blunt object as a weapon. Or he could submit to capture without a fuss.

In the end, the Doll Maker didn’t choose any of the anticipated options. Instead, his next move caught you and Nanami completely off guard.

“H-h-h-h...help me!” He screamed, voice cracking on the desperate plea.

You exchanged a baffled look with Nanami at this unexpected outburst. What the hell was this fool playing at now?

“I...I-I-I...I’m...I’m so glad you’re here!” The Doll Maker dropped to his knees, hands shooting out to clutch at Nanami’s legs in a trembling grip. “I was actually going to look for you myself! For real sorcerers, I mean! Y-you gotta help me!”

His wild, roving gaze landed on you, eyes stretching wide with a manic sort of hopefulness. “If you want money, I have some saved up! So, please!”

That’s when the hairs on the back of your neck began to prickle. Something wasn’t quite right here. You studied the sniveling man more closely, brow furrowing as realization dawned.

The Doll Maker certainly wasn’t worthy of being called a curse user – not by a long shot. Any first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High could easily suppress this weakling, never mind someone of Nanami’s caliber. That’s just how feeble the Doll Maker’s jujutsu abilities were. Downright pitiful.

The cursed energy emanating from the doll hadn’t even been particularly strong. The technique itself was rudimentary, really – his cursed dolls were little more than cheap shams that could only respond mechanically to the most basic of human prompts. But the Doll Maker himself? He was too weak to have even accomplished that much on his own.

It was hard to reconcile the sniveling, feeble man currently clinging to Nanami’s legs as any sort of curse user, even at the lowest levels. And yet… you could sense the hint of cursed energy wafting off him, matching the output of the cursed dolls.

The pieces began to fall into place, leading you to a specific, chilling conclusion. You caught Nanami’s eye again.

“Nanami-san…”

He met your gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

“We thought he was cursing people for sport,” he said, voice low and eyes flicking back to the whimpering man. “But it turns out he’s a victim himself.”

As if those words served as some sort of signal, a disturbing change occurred in the Doll Maker’s form. He ripped off the crude seals wrapped haphazardly around his clothes, letting them flutter to the ground.

In the same violent motion, several thick whip-like appendages burst forth from beneath the tattered fabric with an unsettling sound of ripping flesh. They lashed out blindly, striking at the air.

Nanami tensed, body coiling like a spring as he made the smallest preparatory movement to dodge. But then, just as quickly, he seemed to recalculate and change tack. As Nanami repositioned himself, a flurry of small, skittering forms launched themselves from the twisted tips of the thrashing tendrils. Bug-like creatures descended on Nanami in a furious swarm.

With reflexes honed by years of training and fighting, Nanami moved on instinct – whipping off his suit jacket in one smooth motion and using the heavy material to bat away the onslaught of pests. The leathery bodies crunched sickeningly against the makeshift swatter.

But even as he neutralized that immediate threat, a more horrific transformation was taking place before your very eyes. The Doll Maker’s body began to contort and warp, human and cursed flesh melding into an unnatural, twisted amalgamation.

His neck and left arm maintained a fleeting semblance of their original form. But the entire left side of his chest and everything below the waist… became something profoundly, gut-churningly wrong. Horribly deformed and misshapen, like a nightmarish marionette.

A doll’s snarling wooden face, frozen in an expression of rabid aggravation, appeared to be biting into the man’s heart and engulfing it from the inside. Spindly skeletal appendages as sharp as bamboo grew from the malformed torso – piercing and intersecting through his mutated flesh at dizzying angles as over 70 percent of his body transformed into animated doll parts.

With each convulsing movement, the grotesque half-man, half-puppet creature took on more of a spider-like silhouette. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the macabre, shudder-inducing sight.

“Oh hell no, not this spidery sh*t again.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted your bow – Soulstring primed and ready. Even now, you still hadn’t fully conquered that deep-seated fear of spiders. A lone spider scuttling in the corner of a classroom? No big deal. But a horde of them? Fused into some nightmarish, half-human hybrid monstrosity? Oh sh*t…

“Aaaaaagh! Help, help!” The Doll Maker’s agonized wails rent the air, his voice cracking as he raved in equal parts pain and sheer panic. “Money! Money! I’ve got money, so exorcise th-this! G-g-get th-this thing out of me!”

He thrashed wildly, the countless tendrils swinging with the force of gale winds – each brutal lash strong enough to pulverize bone to dust. But as horrifying as those armored appendages were, they barely registered as the greater threat.

No, what truly made your gorge rise was the relentless, skittering swarm of insectile forms welling up from the gaping pit of the man’s mutilated torso to crawl across his disturbingly malleable flesh. You squinted, grimacing, as you realized those weren’t spiders at all.

They were cursed dolls. Hundreds upon hundreds of miniature cursed dolls continuously spawned from within the Doll Maker’s body itself, devouring him from the inside out. As they consumed his flesh and the waste of baby corpses hidden beneath his robes, the dolls grew larger and multiplied in number.

A self-replicating curse, a factory of animated horrors.

So, not spiders – Excellent news. But still, the revelation didn’t make this entire situation any less gross.

Even as you watched, more and more dolls spawned – weaving together from hair, skin, and remains in a grotesque parody of life. There was no way to gauge just how much of the man had already been metabolized, assimilated into this ever-expanding curse.

The grisly truth behind the Doll Maker’s twisted operation slotted into place with sickening clarity.

As payment for his “services,” he hadn’t just demanded money from the grieving parents desperate to have their dead babies returned to them. No, he required the ultimate sacrifice – the actual corpses of their deceased children as well.

It all made sense now. You’d been wondering what became of the flesh and remains after the Doll Maker skinned the dead babies to create his cursed dolls. The answer was more horrific than you could have imagined: He was using the leftovers to literally replace and regenerate his own consumed body mass. It was the only way he could produce such sophisticated, lifelike cursed dolls – constructs far beyond what any modern-day, third-rate curse user should be capable of creating.

Whether he had unearthed some eldritch cursed object or a supremely f*cked up cursed tool from ages past – it hardly mattered now.

The Doll Maker had almost certainly started out motivated by simple greed, establishing his deranged pay-by-mail system to rake in cash from the unsuspecting bereaved. But somewhere along the line, he had lost control of the very forces he tried to exploit.

A curse that feasted on the flesh of infants to spawn more of its kind.

A “Doll Maker” who gathered the baby corpses not just for materials, but to replenish his own flesh as it was steadily consumed and assimilated.

But even that wasn’t a sustainable solution. The Doll Maker couldn’t keep up. Eventually, the curse overran what little humanity he had left.

You felt ill just contemplating it. None of what you witnessed right now should exist in this world.

You and Nanami wore identical expressions of grim resignation. This situation had crossed far beyond the point of any hope for mercy. You had both accepted the harsh reality, and it didn’t bode well for the wheedling, possessed Doll Maker.

“Huh? N-no! H-h-help me! P-please!” he begged, voice dissolving into unintelligible blubbering as he thrashed against the curse consuming him.

“If it hadn’t gotten to this point already, Ieiri-san might be able to remove it,” Nanami stated, voice heavy. “But…”

He reached behind his back with practiced ease, retrieving the blade strapped there. Leveling the cursed tool at the Doll Maker, Nanami’s grip was steady.

“W-wait! What’s that?!” The Doll Maker’s cry pitched up in sheer terror.

“Seven to three.”

Nanami flourished the blade with a subtle flick of his wrist, the motion simultaneously graceful and lethal.

“My cursed technique divides my targets to forcibly create a weak spot at the ratio point of seven to three. That holds for both living things and non-living things. You’re a fusion of both, so it’ll treat you as a single object.”

He was divulging the nature of his technique – part of a binding vow that allowed Nanami to amplify its potency. Revealing such information carried an inherent risk, but it also increased his attack’s strength exponentially.

In other words, he was announcing his clear intent to unleash maximum damage with extreme prejudice.

“I do pity the state you’re in,” Nanami continued, words clipped. “But from the start, you were using dangerous jujutsu to make money.”

“H-h-hey…” The Doll Maker gurgled, coherence slipping as his body further warped. “You’re kidding, right? I-I’m human! W-what would a s-sorcerer do against a human being w-with that blade?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “It’s too late for you.”

“No, no! No, no, no!” The transformed man flailed in a blind panic. “...You can do that?! I brought the dead back to life! I offered comfort to the human heart! I saved them! Only I could do that! B-but now you’re g-gonna k-k-k-kill me?!”

“You can barely talk, and you’re losing control of your conscious self.” Nanami’s voice was devoid of inflection as he pointed out the inescapable truth. “And even worse…”

Nanami brandished his blade with precise, controlled movements despite the cramped quarters – each subtle shift and adjustment projecting a clear murderous intent that the Doll Maker could not fail to comprehend.

Backed against the wall now, with no remaining path for escape or negotiation, raw fear and frustration overwhelmed what tattered shreds of sanity still clung to the possessed man.

“This is because you scattered curses among people, thereby making a curse of yourself,” Nanami stated blandly.

His words seemed to sever the final fraying tensions binding the Doll Maker’s tenuous grasp on reality. What little restraint remained instantly snapped.

“I’ll kill you—”

With an inhuman bellow of primal rage, the shambling creature flung itself at Nanami in a blind, flailing rush. His singular human arm pistoned out wildly as countless twisted appendages – doll limbs fused with mutated flesh – whipped through the air with boneless flexibility.

A fresh swarm of tiny, skittering cursed dolls launched themselves in a deadly cloud, filling the space between them.

With preternatural speed and precision, you released a blinding barrage of condensed cursed energy bolts. Each shot slammed home with pinpoint accuracy, clearing out the dolls targeting Nanami’s blindspots while he deftly carved through the bulk of the onslaught with a whirlwind of his Dull Blade.

He didn’t so much as flinch as one of your shots closely zipped past his ear. After so many missions together, Nanami knew you never missed. Just as you could always predict his patterns to avoid getting in the way of his bladework. It was a lethal, chaotic dance of unrivaled coordination honed to perfection. Within seconds, the seething swarm of miniature dolls had been obliterated.

“Act like an adult and take responsibility for your actions.”

Nanami’s voice was steely calm as he leveled his blade at the thrashing Doll Maker. It took only a single, precise stroke.

The Doll Maker didn’t even have a chance to release a final gasp before Nanami’s amplified cursed technique took its grisly toll. Empowered by the binding vow, the blade unerringly segmented the mutated body – severing him at the exact ratio point of seven to three.

Nanami’s attack angle slashed downward from the shoulder in one smooth arc, bisecting the Doll Maker precisely between his remaining human part and the grotesquely fused doll mass that had almost entirely consumed him.

The severed halves flopped to the floor with a wet, meaty thump. What faint, muddled sounds issued from the Doll Maker’s throat could not even form coherent words. Like a marionette with its strings brutally cut, he simply stopped moving. In eerie synchronicity, the swarms of tiny, insectile dolls that had spawned from his mutilated body ground to a halt mere moments later. One by one, they shuddered and stilled. The cursed energy driving them extinguished.

Perhaps the unchanged portion that Nanami had severed – the pure human flesh and blood – had managed to find some infinitesimal shred of humanity at the last moment. A final, mortal death.

If so, it was a mercy for no one, least of all the broken shell that had once been a man.

You let out a long, weary sigh as the silence settled thick and cloying in the confines of the underground room. The guardian lions, fake mummies, and vipers suspended in formaldehyde remained enshrined in their glass cases – the only witnesses to the night’s event.

Had the owner of this place ever truly been human? By the time you two arrived, the truth was sadly unclear. The only evidence seemed to be the bright smears of blood streaking across the floor – vivid proof of the spark of life that had been so profanely twisted. Eventually, even those stains would be cleansed, wiped away as if this entire affair had never happened at all.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

The savory aroma of miso ramen made your mouth water as soon as the steaming bowl was placed before you at the bustling ramen joint in downtown Sapporo. Nanami had ordered for both of you, as usual – shoyu for himself, your favorite miso for you. He knew your tastes intimately after sharing countless meals after missions together.

“Finally!” you chirped, reaching for your chopsticks only to find Nanami had already separated them for you and set them by your bowl. His lips quirked in a soft smile.

“Easy there,” he cautioned as you pounced on your bowl. “Let it cool a bit unless you want to burn that smart mouth of yours.”

“As if a little heat could keep me quiet.”

Rolling your eyes, you resisted the urge to dive right in, instead tearing off a piece of seasoned nori to nibble while waiting for the miso to stop fervently steaming. The busy clatter of the restaurant made you relax after the tension of today’s assignment.

Nanami carefully tucked into his shoyu ramen, asking between small bites, “Find any bakeries you like on this trip?”

Deflecting work matters for now – you appreciated his care in keeping things light. “One or two, but that cake shop in Kyoto is still unbeaten,” you replied with a grin. “I did spot an amazing anmitsu dessert a block away from here though, if you’re buying…”

“Don’t push it,” Nanami cut you off, but his smile said you would totally have whatever you wanted from that little shop later.

You snickered, about to dig into your own ramen when he caught your eye, using his chopsticks to pluck the soy-marinated half egg from his bowl and deposit it in yours.

“You always steal it anyway,” he said by way of explanation at your raised brow.

“I would never,” you protested with a hand over your heart, even when you greedily devoured the soy-marinated egg Nanami had surrendered. Rich yolk coated your tongue as you made a show of relishing every bite, just to be a brat.

A few tranquil moments passed. You savored the umami broth – sipping it slowly to make this ramen haute-as-hell experience last. Nanami’s deep voice finally broke the comfortable silence.

“That stunt you pulled for Ieiri-san was reckless.”

Oh, here came the dad lecture. You tensed instinctively. But Nanami must’ve sensed your defenses rising like a riled porcupine’s quills. He shook his head, blond hair glinting under the warm lighting.

“The High Council isn’t forgiving when it comes to things like that. Gojo can’t always bail you out.”

You gulped, the rich broth taking on a bitter tang. If Nanami thought that whole Shoko Incident was reckless, he’d straight-up pass out once he learned about the batsh*t crazy scheme you were plotting next. Still, you appreciated that his reprimand came from a place of caring about your unhinged ass, so you tried for a reassuring tone.

“I know, I know. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Nanami grunted, but the slight crinkle around his eyes said he was temporarily appeased as he slurped another hefty mouthful of noodles. “Your promotion to first grade was… unusual, for lack of a better word. I’ve been appointed as your supervisor for all trial assignments going forward.”

He fixed you with a pointed stare. “So don’t go around taking any missions without me there to keep you out of trouble, got it?”

You blinked at him. “Pretty sure that’s not something I get a say in. Headquarters Command makes those calls.”

Nanami shrugged, not looking remotely abashed at overstepping his boundaries as your supervisor. “Think of something. Put your crazy to good use, for once. I don’t feel good about letting you run around alone.” His eyes bore into you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. “Not with everything that’s been going on.”

His meaningful pause said volumes. From Nanami’s troubled expression, you could tell he’d already connected the dots behind your meteoric rise up the jujutsu ranks. Your life as leverage to keep Gojo in line, the strongest pawn on the board.

While Gojo behaved himself, they most likely wouldn’t outright send you on deadly missions. But with all the political bullsh*t, ulterior motives, and backstabbing in the High Council, who knew what could go wrong? That’s the whole damn reason Gojo had made sure Nanami was assigned as your direct supervisor. He was the only one Gojo truly trusted to look out for you when sh*t hit the fan.

“Okay, okay. I won’t go anywhere without you holding my hand.” You grinned at Nanami, chopsticks poised like fencing swords. “Who else is gonna pay for all my food, right?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from Nanami. He regarded you with an indulgent shake of his head, eyes crinkling warmly at your incorrigible attitude. You took that as your cue to dig back into the now perfect-temperature ramen, slurping up the heavenly noodles with unrestrained gusto.

In between messy mouthfuls, a stray thought flickered across your mind – something Gojo had asked of you before leaving for the latest mission. Gulping down your current bite, you looked up at Nanami.

“By the way, Gojo-sensei is going away for a while…”

Nanami nodded, visibly pleased, “Good.”

He was obviously fed up with Gojo’s caveman version of dick pics. You snorted at his brusque response. “Wait until I finish. Gojo-sensei wants you to keep an eye on a student for him while he’s gone.”

Nanami’s eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion as he processed this new request. “In addition to looking after your reckless ass? The Fushiguro boy I assume?”

Shaking your head, you replied, “No, Itadori Yuji actually.”

Nanami’s brow furrowed even deeper, creating crevices that could harbor whole civilizations of confused wrinkles. “I heard that kid died.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, more focused on capturing the perfect bite – complete with a thick slice of velvety chashu pork.

“Yeah, kinda. But he came back to life. We’ve been keeping it on the down-low so the higher-ups don’t come after him.”

The look Nanami fixed you with could have curdled the entire vat of steaming tonkotsu broth. You simply continued to slurp away as if resurrecting from the dead was just another Tuesday. His baffled expression bordered on comical when you so brazenly glossed over the minor detail of HOW the hell did someone just kinda die and return to the living?

When you didn’t elaborate further on the logistics of Yuji’s resurrection, Nanami seemed to realize pushing for more information was a lost cause. Instead, he asked in a carefully measured tone, “So, Gojo wants me to keep an eye on Sukuna’s vessel while he’s away?”

You stilled at that clinical description of Yuji, chopsticks freezing midway to your mouth. After a tense second, you set them down, biting your lip as you replied, “He’s more than just Sukuna’s vessel, Nanami-san. Yuji is a great kid.”

Something in your expression must have shifted, because Nanami straightened up, realizing he’d struck a nerve. “I’m sorry, Spices. I didn’t mean to—”

Shaking your head, you attempted another nonchalant shrug, but it came across as more of a shudder. “It’s okay. I just…” You sniffled, the hearty broth’s aroma now stinging your nostrils. “Last time, Yuji died because he wasn’t trained properly. I was supposed to train him. But I got... carried away with that whole thing with Ieiri-san instead.”

Nanami’s stern features softened as you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re right, Nanami-san. I was reckless. And Yuji paid the price for it. I failed him.”

Before you could blink away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, Nanami reached his larger, calloused hand across the table to cover your clenched fist. His touch was warm, grounding.

“Don’t say that,” he rumbled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re his senpai, not his teacher. What happened to Itadori wasn’t your responsibility or your failure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Nanami shook his head. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Gojo for dumping all of his responsibilities on you. You’re just a kid yourself, Spices.”

Swiping at the treacherous moisture clinging to your lashes, you bit back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was in the end. What’s done is done. I can’t help Yuji now. So I’m just asking,” you continued in a smaller voice. “I hope you can prepare him a little this time. He’s a really hard worker. An idiot, but a good one who tries his best. Yuji just needs a chance.”

Your throat constricted with a potent blend of regret, hope, and an emotion you couldn’t quite identify. But you knew one thing – you would do everything in your power and more to make sure Yuji got what he deserved this time around, even if you couldn’t be the one to provide it.

Nanami gave a firm nod. “Alright then. I’ll do what I can to help Itadori.”

You brightened at his assurance, the weight on your shoulders lightening a tiny bit. “Thanks, Nanami-san. You’re seriously the best!”

A faint smile played at the corner of his lips. “Of course I am,” he replied wryly.

With that, Nanami signaled for another round of ramen – this time for old time’s sake rather than merely refueling after a tough mission. Long assignments with Nanami were always the times you cherished most.

The brief mention of Yuji’s precarious situation sent a renewed flicker of resentment burning through you toward the corrupt, self-serving dinosaurs on the High Council. Swirling the last dregs of your soup contemplatively, you looked up at Nanami with a wicked glint in your eyes.

“Say, how much would you reasonably be able to claim for a mission like this one?”

Nanami’s gaze sharpened, recognizing the true intent behind your innocuous question. He replied smoothly, “Enough to cover a tour of the local confectionaries… and two nice hotel rooms for the night.”

A slow smirk spread across your face at the unspoken invitation. As one of the most respected and valuable first-grade sorcerers, Nanami could essentially expense whatever the hell he wanted for missions, and HQ would never risk pissing him off by denying his claims.

Two could play at abusing their power, right?

You raised your cup of ramune in a mock salute. “Well then, I do believe some indulgences are in order after a job well done, don’t you agree?”

Nanami chuckled, a low rumble of mirth, and raised his own cup to clink against yours. And just like that, your evening plans for Sapporo were delightfully set, all on the Higher Council’s dime. Sometimes being buddies with an elite jujutsu sorcerer had its perks.

***

The dessert shops were absolute heaven on earth. At the first bakery, your eyes went saucers at the dizzying array of elaborately decorated cakes and pastries. You practically vibrated with unbridled excitement, almost knocking over an entire towering display before Nanami’s quick reflexes saved it from utter catastrophe.

The next stop was a quaint mochi shop where Nanami ambushed you with a full lecture on the glutinous rice cakes’ rich history and varieties. You found yourself wondering if Gojo would get sulky when he found out you’d been surrounded by his obsession without securing him any souvenirs.

At an artisan chocolatier, your sweet-tooth curiosity got the better of you. You insisted on sampling one of the more… unusual flavor combinations purely on an adventurous whim. The first bite had you regretting every life decision that led to this moment. But when Nanami arched an expectant brow, asking how it was, a trouble-making gleam flickered in your eyes.

“Heavenly,” you proclaimed with a sage nod even as your lips twitched.

Nanami hesitated, clearly skeptical, before tentatively popping the vile concoction into his mouth. You didn’t even try to stifle the cackle that erupted at the sight of his face screwing up. He shot you a withering look as you howled with gleeful laughter.

“So that’s what you consider heaven, huh?” Nanami grumbled once he could speak again, tongue scarred for life. “Do I even want to know what your version of hell is?”

The crepe cafe was the final stop on your gluttonous dessert tour. When the waitress, clearly misreading the situation between you and Nanami, cheerily asked if you’d like a table for two on the couple’s patio, Nanami turned an alarming shade of radish red.

Flashing the flustered waitress a polite smile, Nanami opened his mouth – no doubt to correct her misunderstanding. But you swiftly cut him off with a loud, shameless exclamation of “Why yes, a patio table for two would be just perfect.”

Smirking devilishly, you grabbed his arm with familiarity while Nanami shot you a side-eye that could split continents. “Now you’re just being a brat on purpose.” He huffed, but miraculously didn’t pull away.

“Don’t be like that!” you laughed, relishing the way his cheeks flushed even darker. Jabbing a finger at the most extravagantly priced, chocolate-dipped monstrosity on the menu, you grinned from ear to ear. “You’re gonna buy me that one, riiiight? Or I’ll start calling you daddy.”

The look of abject horror and mortification on Nanami’s face was enough priceless material for at least six months’ worth of merciless teasing.

“At this rate, you’re going to single-handedly bankrupt the entire High Council,” Nanami shook his head at you in both exasperation and indulgence.

The bakery and sweet shop tour through Sapporo’s confectionary paradise had left you both pleasantly stuffed and slightly delirious from the sugar high. However, when you strolled up to the front desk of that upscale hotel Nanami had booked for the night, the immaculately dressed clerk’s expression turned apologetic.

But because the universe seemed to delight in throwing chaos your way, there was a “system error” when Nanami attempted to check you both in for the evening.

“I’m so terribly sorry, but it seems there was an error with our reservations system,” she began with a practiced smile. “We’ve accidentally overbooked and only have one room remaining available.”

Dear god, it’s finally happening.

Of course, there was only one room. This must be extremely important to the plot.

As your mind started wandering into inappropriate territories, Nanami cut off that train of thought before it even left the station.

“That’s unacceptable,” he stated flatly, raising a hand to stop the clerk’s apologetic babbling. “We’ll simply book elsewhere for the night. No need to inconvenience yourselves further—”

The thought of letting Nanami drag your sugar-high ass around town on the hunt for hotel rooms at this hour gave you a shudder. Not wanting to delay your food coma another hour or more, you cut him off by snagging his sleeve and pulling the man down so you could whisper in his ear.

“It’s fine, Nanami-san. We literally slept next to each other on the floor of a haunted warehouse during that Nishijin stakeout.” You gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure sharing a room can’t be any worse.”

Nanami’s side eye said he remembered that ill-fated surveillance op all too well. “You punched me in your sleep that night. Twice. I had a black eye for days.”

Chuckling unrepentantly, you looped your arm through Nanami’s once more – if only to irk him further. “I promise I’ll stay five feet apart from you this time.”

Catching your argument with Nanami, the hotel clerk smoothly interjected. “But not to worry! It’s our premium luxury suite with two separate sleeping areas.”

Nanami visibly relaxed at that last part, placated by the promise of appropriately divided sleeping quarters. He sighed, running a hand down his face in a long-suffering gesture. But ultimately, he still allowed himself to be led into the lavish suite without further protest.

Upon stepping inside, it became apparent the “two separate sleeping areas” were in fact two generously sized, top-of-the-line beds – not just a mere privacy partition. You flashed Nanami a stunningly innocent look.

“Well, what do you know? Plenty of space to prevent any accidental punching.”

Nanami’s eye twitched in that telltale way that meant his patience was rapidly disintegrating.

Smothering a wide yawn against the back of your hand, you cast one last cheeky look Nanami’s way before heading toward the en-suite bathroom for a quick rinse. Nobara would lay into you with a fury of expletives if she found out you didn’t properly cleanse your face using the fancy moisturizing wash she bought for you. But honestly, you were simply too drained from the day’s excitement to summon the energy for skincare.

A brisk shower to slough off the day’s grime would have to suffice for tonight. As you emerged from the shower, hair damp and skin tingling from the steamy spray, you realized in your haste, you’d neglected to pack any spare clothes for the unexpected overnight stay. With no other options, you begrudgingly redressed in your rumpled uniform shirt and trousers. At least you hadn’t gotten close enough to the fight with the Doll Maker for your clothes to get disgusting.

Exiting the bathroom in a waft of humid air, you noticed Nanami had already made himself quite at home. His suit jacket and tie were draped neatly over a chair, while his ever-present glasses were rested on the nightstand – leaving his ruggedly handsome features unobscured while he remained engrossed in whatever book was open on his lap.

The sight sparked a strange fluttering in your chest that you promptly dismissed as lingering exhaustion. Shaking your damp hair, you padded over and unceremoniously plopped yourself onto the unoccupied side of Nanami’s bed.

Nanami didn’t even startle at the sudden intrusion into his personal space. Though his eyes did flick up briefly before returning to his book. Leaning in until your cheek was practically brushing the warmth of his shoulder, you tried to sneak a peek at whatever had captured his fancy. After a moment of squinting at the artistic font, your brow furrowed in bewilderment.

“Are you… reading poetry?”

Because honestly, the image of straightlaced Nanami curling up with an anthology of romantic verses was about as expected as finding the moon randomly relocated to a new orbital path.

Nanami heaved a soft sigh, the gentle exhalation ruffling your damp hair. You felt the barest tension in his shoulder before it gradually eased – whether from acclimating to your casual invasion of his space or simply fatigue, you couldn’t say.

“Surprised?” he said at last, voice subdued but not at all displeased by your proximity as you’d half-expected. “I’ll have you know, I happen to appreciate a well-crafted turn of phrase now and then.”

You tilted your head, still hovering close enough that your damp hair tickled Nanami’s neck. “Now that I think about it, you never did read me that book.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his broad chest – the rich sound resonating against your cheek where it was brushing his shoulder. “So I didn’t. Been holding that debt over my head all this time, huh?”

You grinned impishly. “How about you pay up?”

Nanami’s mouth curved in an answering smile – the lines around his eyes crinkling with a soft warmth. Shifting the book to one hand, he snagged a plump pillow and fluffed it against the upholstered headboard with the other.

“Well, we’ve got the time,” he jerked his chin in a wordless invitation. “Get comfortable.”

Eagerly scooting closer, you nestled your back against the offered pillow with a contented sigh – body finally granted a moment’s respite after the events of the day. Once you’d wiggled into the perfect spot, Nanami followed suit – the side of his thigh pressing comfortably against your own as he mirrored your reclined position.

The gentle sounds of pages rustling filled the lull as he flipped through the book. You watched his face unabashedly – the sharp line of his jaw shifting with each measured breath, his hazel eyes focused and inscrutable behind the fan of tawny lashes.

“Any requests?” his voice startled you from your lapsed reverie. “Or should I just pick one of my favorites?”

You blinked, momentarily adrift, before shaking your head with a sheepish smile. “I wouldn’t know a good poem from a grocery list anyway. Surprise me with your best, Nanami-san.”

His smile deepened with understated amusem*nt as you had both arrived at the same private understanding. Of course he knew you didn’t have a damn clue about appreciating the nuances of poetic expression as he’d claim. And yet you didn’t mind his teasing.

Nanami cleared his throat once, shifting infinitesimally closer. Then he began reading in that beautifully deep, resonant timbre – each syllable rolling from his tongue like thick amber honey.

The actual words themselves dissolved into an indistinct murmur against the rushing thrum of your pulse. You found yourself entranced not by the meaning, but simply by the rich, velvety rasp of Nanami’s voice caressing your senses, as soothing as the finest cashmere.

Your eyelids drifted shut, your awareness cataloguing each subtle detail – the clean tang of his cologne, the nearly imperceptible rustle of pages, his steady breaths gusting gently against your brow.

You had absolutely no clue how long Nanami had read for you. He could have been reciting the entire book for all you knew. Whatever poetic verses tumbled from his lips dissolved into a hypnotic stream as you surrendered into the inviting embrace of slumber.

At some point, your head must have lolled fully onto Nanami’s shoulder, because you vaguely remembered the calloused rasp of his fingers ghosting across your cheek.

“Hey, don’t sleep with your hair still damp like that,” his grumbling sliced through the veil of semi-consciousness for a brief moment. “You’ll catch a cold for sure.”

A sort of whine-groan was your only semi-intelligible response. Through your rapidly blurring vision, you saw him shift upright, no doubt preparing to forcibly rouse you from the cocoon you’d burrowed into against his side.

But before the man could shove your limp noodle of a body into some semblance of an upright position, you were already gone – slipping back under the blissful inky current of unperturbed sleep. Sayonara, responsibilities.

***

The next time you clawed your way back to wakefulness felt like an eternity later.

Pale sunlight was slanting across the plush bedding you were nestled in, forcing your crusty eyelids to peel apart. Squinting blearily, you registered the pristine white of fresh hotel sheets tangled around your legs – a contrast to the rumpled uniform shirt and trousers you were wearing…

Realization gradually pierced the cotton-muddled haze. This wasn’t your bed at all, was it? As you pushed upright into a sitting position, grimacing as your stiff neck creaked in protest from… whatever contorted position you’d managed to sleep in, the pieces clicked into place.

Across the spacious suite, your disheveled bag and haphazardly kicked-off shoes sat in the exact spot you’d discarded them upon arrival. And your designated bed – the one you had claimed because you liked it near the windows? It looked slept in, though the topsheet was tucked crisply.

So not only had you failed spectacularly to maintain any reasonable distance from Nanami, as you’d promised, but he’d clearly gone to the effort of carefully tucking you into his own bed to avoid waking you before moving himself to your claimed bed.

As you processed the absurdity of the situation, the hiss of the shower kicking on startled you. Right, of course Nanami would already be up at this ungodly hour.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, grimacing at the lingering grogginess weighing down your movements. At least, thanks to the separate beds, you hadn’t punched or kneed the poor man again during one of your infamous bouts of night flail-a-thon.

Prying yourself from the bed was a Herculean effort. But you figured you better not invoke Nanami’s wrath by blatantly loafing any longer. Gotta at least make an attempt at appearing semi-functional.

With a mournful glance back at the heavenly oasis you were abandoning, you rolled off the mattress and landed on your feet with a muffled thump. A few haphazard tugs failed to fully smooth the wrinkles from your uniform, but you supposed it was the best you could hope for under the circ*mstances.

Raking your fingers through your bedhead seemed to be an exercise in futility as well. Weird. You remembered falling asleep with your hair still damp from the night’s shower. But as you idly twirled a strand around your index finger, it felt dry and featherlight. You were about to ponder the anomaly further when the bathroom’s door swung open and those errant thoughts evaporated like raindrops on a hot skillet.

Nanami stepped out in a cloud of humid vapors, skin still flushed. His blond hair hung in heavy, damp tendrils framing his face – only enhancing the angles of his cheekbones in a way that should be illegal. But the sight that very nearly short-circuited your brain was the way his dress shirt hung open much further than propriety typically allowed, offering a glimpse at the faintly ridged muscles of his chest you’d never…

You slammed the brakes on that treacherous train of thought with the subtlety of a runaway freight hauler before it could derail into dangerous territory. Get. A. Grip. This was Nanami. The same Nanami who had been babysitting your reckless ass since forever. Nothing to see here, move it along!

If Nanami registered the brief lapse where you’d devolved into a swooning puddle, he gave no outward indication. Instead, his expression brightened as soon as his gaze landed on your half-put-together form.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I was worried we’d end up missing our flight at this rate.”

You firmly instructed your eyes to stay laser-focused on his ridiculously handsome face, but not in a weird way. Just… a perfectly normal way to gaze upon someone’s aesthetically pleasing bone structure. Yep, totally casual and not-at-all spiraling down the hormone-fueled rabbit hole to hell as Nanami smoothed his hand through those golden wet locks.

Oh god. You were turning into Miwa.

You scrambled to redirect the conversation with a casual lean against the nearest dresser. “No fancy breakfast to send us off properly, huh?”

For a fraction of a second, Nanami stared at you with those unfairly beautiful hazel eyes. Then, the corners of his lips twitched in amusem*nt as a single eyebrow arched skyward.

“Do you have any idea how much money you managed to blow through last night on dessert alone? I’m not Gojo Satoru, there are limits to what I can reasonably claim.”

Nanami shot you a pointed look before disappearing back behind the bathroom’s door, leaving you slumped against the dresser in his wake – equal parts relieved and… something else you didn’t dare name swirling in your chest. Blissfully unaware of the crisis narrowly averted, he called out one final remark over the rush of the sink faucet.

“Pack up and get a move on, Spices! We’re already behind schedule!”

Grimacing, you scooped up your discarded boots and duffel bag, ignoring the dull flush you could feel burning high on your cheekbones.

“Yeah, yeah… wouldn’t want to piss off Maki anymore than I already have now, would I?” you muttered.

And just like that, the world snapped back into focus as you prepared to leave… before any more unorthodox notions could take root in the recesses of your unhinged brain.

Everything was perfectly fine and 100% normal.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

You once joked that every time you left campus, some crazy sh*t went down. But as things stood, it was probably true. Or you were actually a distant descendant of some Cursed Speech user and you had accidentally put a curse on this clown school at some point during one of your colorful outbursts.

This noon you came back from your extended assignment-turned-food-tour with Nanami, fully prepared to have Maki ripping your ass for being late to the scheduled simulation practice with Ino.

Instead of facing Maki’s wrath, an eerie silence greeted your return to the familiar halls. No barked orders, no clashing of weapons – just an unsettling quiet that set your snark senses tingling.

Rounding the corner to the infirmary, you found the source of the ominous stillness. Nobara and Inumaki were hunched together, looking wrecked. At the sight of your friends’ rumpled forms, your travel bag slipped from your shoulder with a loud thud.

“Why is it that every time I go out, some of you guys get beaten up?” you stepped closer, eyes narrowing specifically at Nobara as you silently questioned why she always seemed to be one of the casualties.

Nobara met your judgy look with a defensive huff. “Can it, Spices! It’s not my fault this time, I swear!”

Inumaki, throat too mangled to speak, gave an emphatic nod in agreement.

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “For f*ck’s sake, what fresh hell went down this time? Don’t tell me I missed the apocalypse or some sh*t?”

The hushed silence that blanketed the halls was broken as Nobara filled you in on the situation. Shoko had been summoned to HQ for some kind of top-secret meetings, taking Ino as her bodyguard while you were away living it up with Nanami. With no one left to handle damage control, these two troublemakers had been left to fend for themselves.

You tsked loudly to drive home your dismay. “Seriously? You knuckleheads need to learn how to patch yourselves up. At least the basics. This is just sad.”

Nobara’s injuries didn’t seem very serious – just some cuts and bruises. So you turned your attention to Inumaki first. The poor guy looked like he’d been through the wringer. You stepped up to him, unzipping his jacket collar without ceremony.

“Open up,” you ordered brusquely, cupping his face.

Inumaki complied, mouth opening wide to allow you to inspect the damage. Tilting his head up, you got a better view of the angry red swelling ringing his throat. You couldn’t resist a melodramatic wince.

“Did you swallow a whole damn hornet’s nest or something?” You emphasized the question by squishing his cheeks with your hands.

“Got tear gas to his face,” Nobara supplied helpfully from the sidelines.

“Ouch,” you grimaced in sympathy. “Please tell me you at least flushed your throat with water after that?”

Inumaki nodded meekly, face still squished between your palms. At least the big idiot had that much sense. You released him with a sigh.

“Right, well let’s get you sorted out then.”

Grabbing the necessary herbs from Shoko’s cabinet, you carefully weighed and mixed them for a soothing throat tonic. All the while, your ears were tuned to Nobara’s dramatic retelling.

“So…,” you began, unable to hide the teasing in your tone. “Some random curse user – a sh*tty Cursed Speech hack, by the sound of it – got the drop on you two?”

You shot Nobara a sidelong look. “You seriously went with some shady guy who stopped you on the street and asked you to model for him?”

She bristled at your jibe, chest puffing out in outrage. “Hey, give me some credit! That dirtbag used Cursed Speech on me! I didn’t give him any info, though. He just… caught me off guard is all.” A disgruntled huff escaped her lips, ruffling that stubborn strand of hair across her face.

Inumaki poked her side with a mirthful smile, no doubt giving her a hard time even when he literally couldn’t speak. The two devolved into a heated back-and-forth, Nobara swatting him away while he gleefully needled her more. Well, at least something good came out of this life-changing field trip, you supposed.

You watched them fondly for a moment before clearing your throat. “Okay, okay, save the lover’s quarrel for later you two.” Turning to Inumaki, you fixed him with a pointed stare. “So this asshole took Nobara hostage to interrogate her about our school’s operations… and what? You just pulled some noble self-sacrificing bullsh*t?”

“That’s exactly what he did!” Nobara jabbed an accusing finger into Inumaki’s shoulder. “Idiot jumped right in front of me to take that tear gas attack head-on!”

Inumaki smiled and shook his head, unconcerned about his wrecked throat. Typical self-sacrificial fool.

You scoffed, resuming your mixture. “Of course he did. Probably thought his little junior couldn’t handle a measly face full of tear gas.”

“I could have taken it just fine!” Nobara objected hotly. “I didn’t need my throat operational to use my technique! And he should have saved his own throat to tell that dickhe*d to go f*ck himself!”

Nobara’s indignant ranting fell on deaf ears as Inumaki shrugged, utterly unrepentant.

“Damn noble idiot,” you muttered fondly under your breath while straining the herbal blend.

As the blend simmered away, you grabbed the first aid kit to patch Nobara up. She had a smattering of cuts and bruises, along with nasty chafe marks ringing her wrists – no doubt from being tied up by that scumbag curse user.

You worked efficiently, cleaning the wounds and securing bandages as Nobara continued recounting their skirmish. “Anyway, we kicked his ass in the end. Him and his lackey were hauled off to HQ already, so no big deal.”

Inumaki gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and a crooked grin.

Shaking your head, you focused on wrapping Nobara’s wrists with a deft touch. “So where the hell is Maki? I’m shocked she even let you loose these days.”

Nobara shrugged, wincing slightly as you secured the bandages. “Off with Panda-senpai on some mission. Probably won’t be back for a couple days.”

Ah, so that explained how these two managed to run amok and raise hell unsupervised.

“Oh! Oh!” Nobara’s eyes suddenly lit up with a fierce, almost feverish gleam. Before you could react, she was thrusting something tiny and misshapen right in your face. “Look, Spices! It worked!”

You jerked back, nearly going cross-eyed trying to focus on the strange little object. It looked like… a small straw doll, crudely crafted from frayed rope? Your brow furrowed in confusion until the memory clicked – that night you had spent unraveling her technique with all sorts of unhinged hypotheses.

“No way…” you breathed, a slow grin stretching across your lips. “You actually did it!”

Nobara nodded so hard you worried her head might go bobbing off her shoulders. “I mean... We did experiment on some stuff but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off in a real fight.” Her grin was almost manic. “But I did it! That asshole took my tools, so I made this straw doll from the ropes he tied me up with!”

She pointed triumphantly down at her feet. “He took my hammer and nails, so I used my heel! You were right – it worked just fine!”

Nobara was vibrating with the thrill of her newfound breakthrough, words tumbling out in a rush. “And you know my Resonance technique? Turns out it doesn’t require a biological piece of my target. It can connect using just traces of their cursed energy!”

Your eyes went wide, genuinely impressed. “f*cking awesome!”

As you finished slapping the last bandage over the cut on her brow, you couldn’t resist pulling the rambling girl into a bear hug. “That’s my girl!”

Nobara squawked in surprise but returned the embrace just as tightly. Then, Inumaki’s frame pressed in from the side, wrapping you both up in his lanky arms. He hummed out a wordless, affectionate tune, sandwiching you together in an awkward tangle.

“Don’t you dare make a single sound with that f*cked up throat,” you warned, though there was no real bite to it. He nodded against your shoulder, content to bask in the impromptu group hug.

After a moment, you pulled back, playfully ruffled Nobara’s hair. “Alright, alright – enough with the sappy bonding session. Let’s fix this idiot up properly.”

Inumaki grimaced like a petulant child when you handed him the freshly brewed tonic. He moved to knock it back in one gulp, but your stern glare stopped him before he could chug the whole thing.

“Ah ah ah, what did I say?” you tsked disapprovingly, leaving no room for argument. “You need to sip it nice and slow so it can properly coat that ravaged throat of yours. Yeah, it tastes like hot asshole, but that’s how you know it’s working.”

Inumaki looked crestfallen at your blunt reminder, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. Still, under your hawkish supervision, he obediently began taking small, measured sips – each one making him flinch with distaste. Nobara didn’t even try to hide her amused snickering at his suffering.

“Oh, shut it you,” you groused, swatting her shoulder. “At least someone around here listens to my medical expertise.”

Once satisfied that Inumaki was properly self-medicating, you launched into recounting the highlights of your mission trip with Nanami. Strategically, you avoided dredging up any of the gory mission details themselves – that sh*t was just too depressing. Instead, you hyped up the incredible ramen joint Nanami had taken you to, followed by an indulgent dessert tour that made your mouth water all over again.

What you carefully omitted, of course, was certain… unnecessarily embarrassing particulars. Like how Nanami had read you his favorite poems for what felt like hours, his deep voice washing over you in the dim quiet of the hotel room. The way you’d ended up falling asleep on his shoulder, as the words blurred into soothing white noise. And certainly, under no torture would you admit the tiny crush that had blossomed in your traitorous heart by the next morning’s light, when you awoke filled with awkward butterflies. Nope, no amount of waterboarding could pry those cringeworthy details from your lips.

***

With the Goodwill Event bearing down, Maki had eased up on her hellish training regimens. The hard-ass tactician must have decided that having one raving lunatic on the team was already one too many to handle. Her astute reasoning? While Shoko could heal any injuries sustained, it was best that everyone got some actual downtime to rest their raggedy asses and avoid getting so strung out they ended up certifiably unhinged like a certain foul-mouthed firecracker.

You sure as hell weren’t going to complain about the slightly less sad*stic schedule. The lighter load afforded you ample free time to resume your cyber-stalking routine.

One quiet night, as you meticulously built your evidence board of suspicion like a true conspiracy theorist, a sudden obnoxious rapping against your door shattered the silence.

This unmistakable, grating cadence of knuckles against wood could only herald one particularly audacious visitor. You groaned, contemplating playing dead and ignoring the disruption entirely. But the moronic knocking persisted with an almost impressive commitment to sheer irritation.

“Stop it! I’m coming!” you hollered, stomping over to fling the door open with as much aggravated force as possible.

And there he was, looking smug as ever – Gojo, grinning like a ridiculous loon from ear to ear. Before you could unleash the barrage of insults already assembling on your tongue, he got in first with a tantalizing lure. “Wanna go see your dear Yuji?”

You instantly perked up, halfway out the door before your brain caught up.

“Well, duh, of course!” Snagging your go-bag, you managed to throw it over your shoulder just as Gojo’s arm snaked around your waist.

In one dizzyingly abrupt motion, he yanked you flush against his chest before activating his goddamn teleportation. Gojo’s teleport technique had to be the most disorienting, bowel-churning method of travel known to man. You barely had time to suck down a sharp breath before reality itself warped and folded in around you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to him in an iron grip as every cell in your body stretched near to splitting, then abruptly slammed back together in an impossible new configuration. Gravity inverted, up became down, your particles temporarily scattered into the ether – no amount of preparation could ever acclimatize your poor human form to such existential anguish.

By the time you felt solid ground materialize beneath your feet, you were lightheaded and nauseous, still clutching Gojo for dear life as you cracked one eye open. Dim lighting, plush surroundings… you vaguely registered finding yourself in some kind of decked-out basem*nt as your senses recalibrated.

That’s when the first strains of cringy rom-com dialogue reached your ringing ears. You spotted the source – Itadori Yuji himself, that overgrown goofball, sprawled across a cushy couch, transfixed by the sappy trash unfolding across the massive TV display.

“Yuji!” you damn near squeaked, shoving yourself off Gojo with as much force as you could muster.

The young man startled, head whipping around at your voice. His eyes shone with a sort of desperate, ravenous light the moment he registered your presence. As if he were a shipwrecked sailor catching his first glimpse of land after years adrift. There was a heartbeat of suspended stillness, his gaze drinking you in with unabashed hunger. Then, with all the abrupt intensity of a cyclone, he launched himself off that couch in a single, explosive bound.

“Oof!”

The breath whooshed from your lungs as Yuji’s massive frame barreled into you, quite literally sweeping you off your feet. His arms crushed you against that powerful chest with enough force to make your bones creak in protest. You swore the idiot must have picked up torture-hugging lessons from Ino during that Shoko Incident.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Yuji chirped, raw and painfully earnest, as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck, nosing through your hair and gulping down greedy inhales. As if committing your scent to memory, fearful this reunion was a fleeting mirage.

You wheezed faintly, patting his broad back in a vain attempt to indicate you required oxygen to live. “Alright… I missed you too, but… you gotta let me go… or I’ll puke all over you.”

Yuji’s bright laughter filled the room as he relented, though not entirely. Instead of relinquishing his octopus-like grip, he scooped you up like a remorseless caveman and hauled you over to the couch. Plopping you down with surprising tenderness, he deposited you in the plushest, most comfortable spot amidst the nest of cushions.

“There you go!” Yuji declared with a proud grin, as if utterly satisfied with properly situating you. “Now we’re good, right?”

You had just enough time to arch one skeptical brow before Gojo’s low, melodic chuckle rang out. The devil was watching the entire reunion unfold with unhidden amusem*nt, arms crossed over his chest and lips curved in a terribly smug smile.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable?” he purred, blue eyes glinting mischievously behind the sunglasses. “Alright, I’ll be back to pick Spices up later. Now you kids have fun,” he paused, waggling his brows suggestively. “But not too much fun, okay?”

Yuji’s cheeks burned nuclear crimson at the implication while you simply huffed. In one lightning-fast motion, you snatched a cushion and launched it unerringly toward Gojo’s smirking face. But the bastard was already gone in a whirl of displaced air before it could make satisfying contact.

“Slippery asshole,” you muttered, resettling against the plush cushions as a familiar lightness settled in your chest. Well, you supposed being reunited with one idiot was better than getting stuck with two.

You shot Yuji a sidelong look, taking in the familiar angles of his face, the sheepish yet achingly fond curve of his smile.

“So. You gonna tell me what the hell you’ve been up to all this time?” You prodded, unable to hide your own grin.

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up as you drank in the comforting familiarity swirling around you. The teasing, the roughhousing, the inexplicable sense of coming home – it was all still there. As Yuji launched into his typically convoluted explanation, all wild hand gestures and irreverent tangents, you settled in to simply… exist in the moment with him.

You weren’t quite sure when the casual distance between you and Yuji had dissolved. Somehow, over the course of him recounting the increasingly harrowing details of his recent ordeals, you found yourself nestled snugly against his side. His arm draped around your shoulders as you listened in silence, fingers tracing small, soothing circles over his knee.

So little time had truly passed since you last saw him – a mere couple of months. And yet, Yuji seemed to have aged a lifetime in that span. In the low light, you studied his profile, the new hollows carved beneath his eyes. The youthful light that once so effortlessly shined from his spirit was dimmed, weighed down by a haunting gravity borne of pain and loss. He seemed… older, more haunted in a way that plucked at your heartstrings.

So much suffering for someone so good and so pure. It wasn’t right.

As his words eventually trailed off into pensive quiet, you found yourself pressing closer into the solidness of him. For a few weighted moments, the only sound was the low murmur of the forgotten rom-com still playing, now just background noise. Then, Yuji’s impossibly soft voice finally broke through the melancholy stillness.

“Senpai… you and me, we’re friends, right?”

You tilted your head back to catch his sidelong gaze, arching an incredulous brow. “Are you kidding me? I’ve seen you naked. I’ve literally had my hand inside your empty rib cage, for f*ck’s sake.” You punctuated the matter-of-fact statement with a smack to his knee before letting your palm settle over it once more. “I’d say at this point, we easily qualify as besties.”

A subdued sort of smile carved Yuji’s features at your typical irreverence. But it was fleeting, fading quickly as an inscrutable shadow clouded his expression once more.

“Yeah… you’re right. It’s just… I guess I could use the opinion of a friend right now,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, so quietly you almost missed it – “Sometimes I can’t help wondering if I even should’ve survived. After everything, you know?”

The rawness underpinning his words felt like a sucker punch driving the air from your lungs. You swallowed thickly against the sting of tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you twisted to face him. Yuji’s haunted gaze was already fixed on you, brows knitted low over those endlessly expressive eyes.

“Please don’t say that.”

Your voice came out low, ragged around the edges despite your fiercest efforts to keep it steady. Impulsively, you reached up to cradle his face between your palms, holding him in place before you, grounding him and grounding yourself.

His lips parted, beautiful brown eyes going wide and infinitely vulnerable as you spoke. You could feel the fine tremors wracking his body, like he was fighting with everything he had to keep from shattering apart right then and there.

“When I thought I’d lost you… I thought I would’ve gone fully insane for real,” you pressed in closer until your brows were nearly brushing, needing him to feel the ferocity blazing through you. “I don’t care how sh*tty the world keeps trying to make you feel. You’re still here – you survived. And you’re one of the best damn things that’s ever happened to me, to us.”

Yuji made a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat. You watched, mesmerized, as the first burning tear tracks blazed paths down his cheeks, pooling against your palms. You brushed them away with your thumbs, cradling him even closer.

“I need you around, Yuji,” you murmured, letting your forehead come to rest fully against his. “Nobara and Megumi, too. We all do. So don’t… don’t you dare even think about giving up on this life. Not for a second, you hear me?”

For a suspended eternity, you held him like that, his every shallow exhale ghosting across your parted lips in the closeness. Until, finally, his palms came up to splay across the small of your back. He held you just as tightly, like you were his only anchor against being swept away by the tide. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a haggard rasp.

“It’s just… so many people have died because of me,” his voice cracked with pain. “If I’d only died instead… they’d still be alive right now. I tried, senpai. I swear to god I tried so hard to save them. But I just… I couldn’t…”

With those words, his body started to shake with scarcely controlled tremors against you. You could feel his breathing growing more ragged and uneven, chest heaving with the desperate gulps of air he struggled to pull in. Panic was rapidly clawing its way up Yuji’s throat.

You reacted instinctively, wrapping your arms around his torso and hauling him down into your lap. His large frame folded in on itself, his head coming to tuck into the crook of your neck as your own arms strained to encompass those broad shoulders. Lowering your voice into its most gentle, soothing cadence, you murmured into his hair.

“It’s okay,” you cradled Yuji to your chest, one palm across the back of his head to tuck him closer. “It’s okay, Yuji, I’m right here. Just listen to me, alright?”

His entire body was wracked with near-convulsive shudders, hot moisture quickly seeping through the collar of your shirt as he burrowed even nearer. Every wounded, hiccuping sob felt like a physical blow ricocheting through you. You held him tighter, rocking him in a gentle rhythm.

“I know you tried, Yuji. I know you tried so damn hard, like you always do,” you pressed a lingering kiss to his hair, squeezing your eyes shut against the hot prick of tears blurring your vision. “That’s one of the best things about you – you never stop trying, no matter what, even if you’re in so much pain. You’ll keep living, and you’ll keep saving people every single day, like you always have.”

Your voice was growing thick and uneven, but you persisted without pause. Your fingers carded soothingly through his hair as you allowed the words to pour out.

“Everything’s going to be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But it will be, because you’ll never stop fighting. You’ll never stop being there for the people who need you most. That’s just who you are.”

At that, the dam utterly shattered. A choked, guttural sound tore from Yuji’s throat as he buried his face against your neck, and suddenly he was weeping – harsh, wrenching cries that could only come from the most profound depths of agony. Every gasping inhale shredded at your heart, but you didn’t dare let go – not for a second.

So you simply held him, murmuring every small reassurance you could think of in between dropping kisses to his hairline until his cries lapsed into muffled hiccups and damp, ragged inhales against the curve of your neck. Still, his muscles remained locked taut, body rigid and trembling faintly.

As the tension clung to every line of his body, a profound ache blossomed in your own chest. Maybe that’s what prompted the soft melody that soon spilled from your lips.

At first, it was just an absent-minded humming, the familiar notes of an old favorite song drifting up from somewhere deep within. But then the simple tune transitioned into hushed, slightly ragged vocals as you found yourself giving fuller voice to the lilting verse.

It wasn’t nice music by any stretch of the imagination. Your throat was still raw from the previous maelstrom of emotion, every word emerging thickened by the tightness gripping your chest. The notes were imperfect, pitched just slightly flat in a few places as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But still, you persisted, pouring every ounce of tenderness you could muster into each word.

Yuji stilled, likely caught off guard by the unexpected lullaby. But then, something subtly shifted. You felt the tension in his frame start to bleed away. His muscles went loose and pliant, body melting fully against yours as his breathing evened out to a steady cadence. One of his arms slowly lifted to wrap around you, fingers branding through the thin fabric separating his skin from yours.

As you carried into the next verse, he rumbled a quiet rasp against your collarbone. “You sound so nice…”

A flatterer, even in his wrecked state. You chuckled, the sound emerging watery yet helplessly fond as you pressed your lips to his hairline again. The soft melody didn’t falter, only your eyes slipped shut as you concentrated on just being present. The raw imperfections seemed to smooth out as the tension leached from your limbs as well.

At some point, you became aware of Yuji’s solid weight growing progressively heavier against you. His grip went loose and lax around your waist, face nestling deeper into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His breathing leveled out into the deep, even cadence of sleep. You continued holding him close, cradling the back of his head while rocking in a gentle sway.

However, that peaceful little bubble didn’t last long – it shattered in an instant with the malicious drawl of a voice as ancient as time itself.

“You have been avoiding me, pup.”

Your entire body went rigid at those mocking tone, fingers instinctively tightening in Yuji’s tousled hair. That slick, needling timbre that instantly set your teeth on edge – Sukuna, ancient psycho and the bane of your existence.

Of course, the sad*stic bastard would choose now to make his grand reappearance, spurred by some fickle whim to torment you after you’d so thoroughly locked him out of your head lately. Well, at least, now you had concrete confirmation from the bastard himself that all those nightmares were real.

Your hackles were already raising as you huffed out a low breath in response. “I don’t have the energy for your bullsh*t right now.”

A feral snarl ripped through the musty basem*nt air in the wake of your dismissal. You couldn’t see Sukuna’s manifestation on Yuji’s features – not while still holding him against you. But you could damn well envision those malicious crimson eyes glaring daggers at you. You hoped he wouldn’t decide to take a bite out of you.

“Ugh, do you ever quit with your melodramatic bullsh*t?” You huffed an exaggerated sigh.

Another resonant growl rippled the air – evidently Sukuna had a full quiver of scathing insults primed to unleash. But the ancient menace uncharacteristically reined himself in with eerie restraint.

“I’m bored,” he stated imperiously. “Amuse me, pup.”

You couldn’t resist a full-body cringe at the sheer audacity of that decree, even as an unwanted spike of adrenaline thrummed through your veins.

“Seriously?” you muttered, fighting to keep your voice low and steady so as not to disturb Yuji. “I’m not your damn court jester on-call for your amusem*nt, you know. I’ve tried being nice to you from the very start. And what do you do? Insult me every other sentence and mess with my head on a whim.”

Your free hand curled into a white-knuckled fist against your thigh as you forced yourself to keep breathing evenly. “I don’t owe you sh*t. Especially not after everything you’ve put me through.”

Sukuna had the unmitigated gall to laugh – a sinister, slithering chuckle that skittered across your nerves like icy centipede feet.

“Oh, you foolish little pup,” he crooned with naked condescension seeping through every word. “Have I not told you? You’re hardly worth the effort. I don’t need you. Nobody does.”

Something hot and prickly ignited low in your gut at those hurtful words. Just as you had prodded and studied him, Sukuna had gotten quite a lot better at getting under your skin too.

“Uh huh, sure,” you scoffed. “Well then why don’t you just crawl back into the musty hole you slithered out of and leave me the f*ck alone?”

Sukuna remained stubbornly indifferent to your open defiance, undeterred by the escalating torrent of disrespect and vulgarity pouring from your lips.

“Keep singing,” he commanded with infuriating indolence, as if it were a mere whimsical afterthought.

The statement pulled you up short, brows furrowing low over your widening eyes as you processed the outright bizarre turn the exchange had taken. Sukuna seemed to savor your momentary lapse of indignation before continuing.

“Your pathetic voice is marginally less grating than whatever drivel this brat was watching before. So sing for me, pup. For once, make yourself useful.”

Anger and outrage warred with weary resignation in your chest. f*cking bastard. Honestly, a huge part of you was tempted to just tell Sukuna to go f*ck himself sideways with the nearest blunt object.

You opened your mouth, a cutting insult already rising to your lips… only to falter when you glanced down at Yuji. At the utter peace suffusing his features as he remained blessedly undisturbed, even as Sukuna’s crimson eyes opened wide and leered at you.

A tired sigh bled its way past your lips as your shoulders slumped infinitesimally.

“Fine,” you bit out, unable to fully mask the venom saturating that single syllable.

At your heated acquiescence, Sukuna’s smirk grew wider, his gross little mouth stretching across Yuji’s cheek. Not on the side resting against your neck, thank god. You could practically feel the waves of smug satisfaction rolling off the ancient asshole in droves.

Exhaling a low, bracing breath, you ducked your chin and continued singing. The notes were soft and low, spilling out with the same hushed tenderness afforded to Yuji in that dim basem*nt just moments before. Not for whatever morbid fascination Sukuna found in tormenting you, but because Yuji deserved every scrap of comfort you could provide. Whether the primordial asshole found your voice amusing enough or not was utterly inconsequential.

For a brief span, Sukuna seemed content in the reprieve from his boredom. However, you should have known better than to expect simply agreeing to his demands would buy you peace. This was Sukuna, after all – a being comprised of pure malice and towering arrogance to his very core.

A few verses in, just as you were settling into the gentle rhythm, Sukuna rudely cut you off with an imperious bark.

“No, not this one. Sing me the first one you sang for this brat.”

You barely resisted the urge to flip him a double bird. Clearly, Sukuna derived far too much satisfaction in asserting his dominance over you through the most infantile power plays imaginable. Still, considering the current situation, you decided playing along was the path of least migraine-inducing resistance for now.

Huffing out an irritated sigh, you transitioned into that same wistful melody you’d unconsciously turned to for solace earlier. The notes emerged more frayed around the edges, yet still suffused with that same yearning warmth.

But no sooner had you moved into another song than Sukuna’s insidious rumble cut you off once more.

“Again.”

Was… was he serious? You faltered before Sukuna reiterated his demand.

“Sing it again, pup. From the beginning.”

You ground your teeth, tamping down the mounting frustration with shallow breaths. Sukuna seemed convinced his new favorite game was forcing you to perform his cherished lullaby on repeat for whatever twisted reasons. So be it. You started the song over from the top with mounting irritation. The process repeated itself an indeterminate number of times. f*cking ancient asshole.

As you reached a merciful pause to grab a water bottle for your raw vocal cords, a sudden curious thought swirled at the back of your mind.

Fixing Sukuna a side glance, you asked with a casual tone. “Unrelated, but… you can read Yuji’s mind, right?”

Sukuna’s reverberating chuckle was a sinister, syrupy oil sliding across your skin. “What? You wish to know the sorts of depraved thoughts this brat harbors about you when he touches himself at night?”

“Ew, no!” You pulled an exaggerated face of disgust, furiously recoiling before he could finish airing Yuji’s apparent spank bank highlights. “Stop being so f*cking gross!"

Sensing your genuine indignation, the Sukuna grinned wider in malicious delight. His smile was all teeth and cruel amusem*nt as he pressed on in that mocking cadence.

“Well, I assumed you’d want to know the depths of depravity your precious boy thirsts for with you every night... Don’t you love him with every fiber of your pathetic little being?”

You knew – god, you knew – rising to Sukuna’s transparent attempts at provocation would only spur him on further. That entire line of questioning was designed to unsettle and demean you through the most grotesque insinuations possible. Your expression remained unflinching as you blew a loud raspberry in Sukuna’s general direction.

“No thanks, I’ll pass on your creepy voyeur fanfiction,” you shot back with surprising vehemence. “Stop being such a creep, it’s unbecoming.”

Sukuna snickered, layering in just the right degree of disappointment to grate your nerves. “Then why did you ask, pup?”

You exhaled a harsh, grounding breath through your nostrils. Somehow, you managed to keep your tone measured and steady.

“I was just trying to make conversation,” your hand rose to card through Yuji’s disheveled hair in an absent gesture of reassurance. “I’m curious if you can actually read his mind, feel what he feels when he feels it, that kind of stuff.”

Sukuna regarded you for a prolonged beat, clearly sizing you up. In the end, he seemed to deem the subject unworthy of further needling – for now, at least. After a condescending harrumph, Sukuna’s voice rang out once more – clipped, but seemingly willing to indulge your inquiry, if only to mock you further down the line.

“I do. Satisfied?”

You allowed a measured nod, filing away the new scrap of intel in your mind. Granted, the knowledge that Sukuna could fully experience Yuji’s innermost thoughts and feelings in real time was… disquieting, to say the very least. But still, this could be useful.

Tipping the water bottle back, you took an ostentatious pull before dropping it down the couch with a dull thud.

“Good chat,” you commented blandly. “Now be a dear and stop messing with me if you want me to keep singing for you, okay?”

An odd, almost tranquil rhythm settled over the stilted “performance” as you continued indulging Sukuna’s bizarre whims. He would occasionally bark arbitrary demands for songs on certain topics with all the high-handed authority of a mob boss dictating his evening’s entertainment lineup.

Yet regardless of his momentary fancies, he always circled back to that very first song. Almost like an addict compulsively chasing a particular high, his cravings never quite sated.

You patted Yuji’s knee in a soothing cadence as the raw lyrics spilled from your lips on autopilot. In the periphery of your awareness, you could sense the faint, discordant thrum of Sukuna’s cursed energy. But rather than lashing out with its signature volatility, his cursed energy seemed to settle into a muted, languid haze. Almost as if he was… basking, for lack of a better word. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the typically aggressive psycho seemed utterly entranced.

As you began yet another repeated performance, your lashes drifted low and your mind idly spun the new puzzle piece around, trying to fit it into different places in the translucent mess of your tangled schemes.

All the while, Sukuna’s cursed energy continued its weirdly contented pulsing.