Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking up to the sound of cicadas is common this time of year. Well, common if you sleep until noon. Oh god, NOON ALREADY?!?!?! You unplug your phone and hop out of bed, scrambling to find your slippers. You have a meeting with the principal of your new school in an hour. The school is 25 minutes away. You brush your teeth and shower in record time, making sure to wear light makeup and quickly iron your pleated skirt. “Bye mom!” you shout to an empty house, forgetting she’s already left for work. There’s no time to catch the train, not at this hour. So you call for a taxi instead, and have it drop you off at the Kuzuryu Shrine, the meeting place given by your hopefully soon to be teacher, Gojo-sensei.

“Good Afternoon!”

Gojo-sensei is tall, muscular, and has an intimidating presence. But most of all he seems to be, well, a bit of an idiot.

“Good Afternoon sensei!” you say while bowing. “I’m very excited to meet principal Yaga.”

“Well, excited until you actually have a conversation with him.”

“Huh?”

“Nothiiiing!” “Just a joke, really!”

Upon stepping into Principal Yaga’s office, you can tell that Gojo-sensei was definitely NOT joking. Principal Yaga is an interesting character. He’s brooding and serious, despite being surrounded by stuffed animals. The conversation feels more like a police interrogation than a school admission interview. After nearly 20 minutes of back to back questions, Principal Yaga pauses, stands up, and gestures toward the courtyard.

The campus is beautiful. The ancient architecture combined with the sounds of nature make the school feel more like a spa resort than anything else. I guess I answered the questions correctly? Gojo-sensei pauses once you all get to the east wing of the main building. After a silence that goes on for way too long, he jumps up, landing with his knees bent and flashes jazz hands. “CONGRATULATIONS!” “LET ME SHOW YOU TO YOUR ROOM!” What in the hell is up with this guy? Unfortunately, you love whatever is wrong with him and begin to laugh. “See Yaga, someone appreciates my whimsy!” You glance over at Principal Yaga who is rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. “Congratulations, you were already in, I just ask those questions as a formality.” Really, I got grilled for no reason? “Thank you so much Principal Yaga and Gojo-sensei” You say while bowing to each of them.

Settling into your new space doesn’t take long at all. You’ve always liked decorating your room. It was the one positive thing about moving around a lot. After mom and dad split up, mom had a tough time holding down a job. At some point she was basically just doing side quests. But a year ago, she found a decent job as a hotel assistant manager in the countryside. The seclusion made training easier. The school there was fine…well aside from the bullying. While you’re considered to be a pretty girl, you can admit to yourself that you’re a bit odd. But I mean, can't a girl read BL manga, listen to metal music, and eat in peace without classmates staring at her? Apparently not. You didn’t make any friends, but maybe that would change. After all, you’ll have something in common with these classmates.

April 9, 2012 - 7:15 a.m.

Your first class is at 9:00 a.m., but getting to sleep last night was an impossible task. Partly because one of the other first years, in the room next to yours, was blasting Katy Perry until midnight; but also because of the anxiety of starting a new school.

At 8:45, you’re already in the classroom, anxiously awaiting Gojo-Sensei and the other two students. You can only assume there are only three of you based on the number of desks. Only three students in the freshman class? That’s kinda depressing. Being called on to answer questions is going to be a lot more likely. Ugh, is it too late to run away? The classroom door slides open, distracting you from your anxious thoughts. In walks a boy your age, with unwashed black hair down to his shoulders, dark eyes and some serious eye bags. He bows and introduces himself, “Good Morning, my name is Urasawa Souta.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you Urasawa-san.” You say, standing quickly to meet his bow. You sit there together, patiently waiting for the other student and Gojo-sensei. At 9:05 you hear footsteps barrelling down the hallway. The classroom door slides open. A short girl with auburn hair and brown eyes is standing at the door, panting and sweating. “I made it before the teacher!” she exclaims. There’s another set of footsteps rapidly approaching. Before the auburn haired girl can take a step forward, she is knocked over by Gojo-sensei. His white hair clinging to his forehead like he just ran a marathon. He stands up, dusting off his uniform, and directs his attention toward you and Urasawa-San. “I see you two have been acquainted; great!” Looking down at the girl he just trampled, he finally helps her up. “My apologies Ms. Igarashi.” “Alright you two, this is your third classmate, Igarashi Kaede!” Poor girl looks like she just took a beating. Nevertheless, you all exchange awkward glances before laughing.

By the time break comes in July, you’re all close friends. Urasawa-san just becomes Souta, and Igarashi-San becomes Kaede. Maybe it’s the small size of the class or the intensity of the training that brings you all so close so fast. Whatever it is, it feels like a lifelong bond. You can’t imagine your life without these two. Late night study sessions, sparring in the courtyard, going on missions together, spending off days together at a museum or arcade. These days are the happiest of your life. The bullying at your previous school; moving around constantly; making dinner for yourself when mom had to work long hours; none of it mattered now. Aside from sending money to your mom each month, and the weekly phone call; there’s nothing tying you to your past. The future, this bright future, is all that is certain. Spending the rest of your life fighting alongside your friends and mentors, making sure that non sorcerers are protected from curses. Your life has a purpose and meaning. Life is truly amazing.

May 12, 2015 - Mother’s Day

It’s been a little over a month since your second year at Jujutsu High School started. You are added to a group text with Souta, Kaede, and Gojo-sensei.

9:16 a.m. Gojo-sensei: “Helloooo my favorite students! Please meet me in our normal classroom ASAP! 🙂”

When you all get to the classroom, Gojo-sensei is to everyone’s shock, already waiting.
“Alright second years!” “Today, we have a special treat for you kids!” “There’s a semi-special grade terrorizing a mushroom farm in Katashina Village; and youuuuu guys are gonna exorcise it!” He smiles wildly and looks around the classroom expecting cheering or something.

“A semi-special grade?” Kaede questions, her voice slightly cracking.

“Yeah, Gojo-sensei, are we ready for that?” you ask. Honestly you’ve managed to get a hang of your 10 shadows technique and think you could take the semi-special grade by yourself. After all, your technique is the reason you’re ranked as a special grade sorcerer. Souta just lightly shakes his head, silently taking in the unrealistic expectations that Gojo-sensei has for them.

“Well, in my professional opinion as your super amazing and handsome teacher, I say you three are more than ready!” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck, glancing toward the floor. “Well, that, and the fact that I’m being sent to handle two special grades, and the older students who are actually in Japan are also on missions.”

“Ooooh, I see, so we’re the last hope.” you retort.

“Well, uh, I, um….yeah!” “Kinda heroic, right?”

After a quick pep talk and basic instructions, the three of you are escorted to the farm by Ijichi, who wishes you all luck before putting up a veil.

The curse isn’t huge. Maybe the size of a sumo wrestler if it had eaten like two more wrestlers. Its green and brown colored skin is oozing out a disgusting yellow liquid. Something clearly poisonous. You shout, “Divine Dogs!” summoning your black and white beasts. Surely you’ll need them both against whatever this thing is if it’s a semi-special grade. Souta is in a fighting stance. He may be quiet and reserved, but he speaks loudly through his fists. Kaede has decided to use her katana, her favorite cursed tool. She is an anxious girl; but when she fights it’s almost like whichever cursed tool she uses gives her the confidence needed to defeat any curse. The curse wastes no time selecting its target. It heads toward Souta, probably assuming he is weak because he is using only his brute strength. Souta focuses his cursed energy to his fists, making sure to use some to coat his entire body like armor against the poison. Souta jumps and throws a fist toward the curse’s head, leaning into the punch, leading him into a spinning kick to ensure damage. While the curse is reeling from the hits, you send out your dogs to grab at the curse’s arms. They tear the limbs off easily. Is this really a semi-special grade? You’re feeling confident until you hear a strange gurgling noise to your left.

You turn to look at Kaede. She’s a pale blue color, streaks of purple stringing up toward her eyes. “KAEDE!” “SOUTA!” Souta looks over in horror. You both run toward Kaede. The cursed spirit spits his poison toward you, splashing onto your arms as you try to block. You feel your skin bubbling and know this is going to leave a nasty scar.

“You think you’re smarter than me because you’re sorcerers?” “You’re children, nothing more.” “I guess you weren’t prepared for an advanced curse.”

The fact that this curse is able to communicate so well is concerning. But what’s even more concerning is the pale glow radiating beneath the ground, headed toward Kaede. “Orochi!”, You summon your serpent to assist the divine dogs in attacking the curse. As you run toward Kaede and Souta, there’s a terrifying sound of roots ripping out of the ground. Before you can even attempt to assess the situation fully, Kaede’s head jerks backward violently, roots jutting up from her throat and into the sky. She grips onto her katana and falls to her knees, and in a split second there is a loud squelching pop. Blood, guts, and larger pieces of Kaede scatter across the ground. The arm Souta had attempted to grab is now detached, hanging limply in his hands. He falls to his knees, sobbing and inconsolable. In the next few minutes, all you can hear is the sound of your own screams. Screams of horror and of anger. Your anger swells in you to the point that you can’t hear anything aside from your racing heart. Orochi and the dogs have mostly killed the curse on their own. Looking around you see Kaede’s katana, the sunlight catching it as her dismembered hand is still lightly gripping its handle. Without hesitation, you remove her hand and grab the katana, imbuing it with some of your own cursed energy. Your running turns into a sprinting leap toward the curse. You sink the blade into its head, slicing it straight down the middle. You direct the divine dogs to dig up the roots it placed in the ground. Orochi wraps itself around the curse’s body, squeezing any remaining life from it before causing its body to explode. As the final piece of the curse falls to the ground, the veil falls as well.

When you walk back to Ijichi, you are wide eyed and covered in blood, a gash across each arm caused by the cursed spirit's poison. Souta trails behind in the a similar state, still holding Kaede’s dismembered arm. Ijichi looks on in horror, scrambling for his phone to call Gojo-sensei. Within minutes, Gojo is there. There is an expression on his face that you’ve never seen before, something like rage mixed with regret. “Please return to school with Souta and Ichiji.” Souta refuses to let go of Kaede’s arm until Gojo finally takes it from him and consoles him as much as possible. “Ieri Shoko-sensei is going to be here soon,” “We will collect Kaede-san’s body and take care of it, please, just go back to the school now.”

When you get back to campus, the world feels darker despite the sun shining through the windows. The first and third years look at you both with sad eyes. Sadness that the third years are all too familiar with, and that the first years can’t even imagine. You take a shower and get into comfortable clothing. It would be a good idea to check in on Souta. His room is on the West wing of the building, and it’s eerily quiet. You knock, and then enter without permission as you always have. Souta is sitting at the end of his bed, still covered in blood, and holding a phone with a pink case and Keroppi charm. It’s Kaede’s phone. “Souta?’ you say, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turns toward you, tears silently spilling down his cheeks onto his uniform. He turns the phone toward you to see a list of missed calls and unanswered texts.

10:03 a.m. Mom: Kaede, baby, I hope you’re enjoying your Sunday off! Maybe come see me.
1:13 p.m. Mom: Are you okay? You always call me.
1:30 p.m. Mom: Did you forget that it’s mother’s day?
5:34 p.m. Mom: Just call me when you can, okay? Love you baby

“It’s mother’s day…who’s going to tell Kaede’s mom?” Your heart sinks as you reach for your phone to call Principal Yaga. Apparently he and Gojo-sensei have already delivered the news to Kaede’s mom. You collapse on the floor, tears falling violently to the floor before calling your own mom.

After Kaede’s death, nothing feels the same. Nothing keeps your interest anymore. And while you should be comforting Souta, you can hardly comfort yourself. Instead, the two of you grow apart. Did the people at the mushroom farm even thank them? Sure they couldn’t see the curse, but their workers were being killed and the crops were being poisoned. You and your friends put an end to it. Kaede paid with her life…and the farmers didn’t have a clue. A curse that was born from the years of stress from the harsh work environments. A curse that was created by non-sorcerers. That’s what killed Kaede, and has killed so many others. Is this what it means to be a jujutsu sorcerer? To die for ungrateful humans at the hands of the curses that those same humans create? Maybe the real problem here is the amount of non-sorcerers. It’s a crazy thought but would Japan be better off if non-sorcerers ceased to exist? Maybe that’s a thought that’ll have to stay in the diary.

The school year comes to a close, and the new one starts before you can even get a breather. After Kaede’s death, you started going on missions alone; scared to witness the death of another classmate. At least if you died on one of your missions, no one would have to witness it and suffer like you and Souta have. But I guess death has a way to weasel itself in, no matter how you try to avoid it.

That is made abundantly clear when September 5, 2014 comes. It would have been Kaede’s birthday. You haven’t talked to Souta much since her death, but this seems like a good time to be together and remember her. You approach Souta’s room with strawberry mochi in hand; it was Kaede’s favorite. For old times sake, you knock on the door once before entering. Your blood goes cold as your eyes travel up toward the ceiling. Souta…It’s clear that he’s been hanging there for a while. As if second nature, you place the mochi on the bed; pull out your pocket knife to cut the rope away from the wooden beam in the ceiling; lay Souta’s body on the bed; and exit the room, heading toward the class that Gojo-sensei is currently teaching. Without warning, you slide the door open and receive worried looks from the younger students, gesturing for Gojo-sensei to come with you. You can't find the words to say or the tears to cry. You feel numb. The next week you are being sent on a mission overseas, to Germany, with a sorcerer Gojo-sensei’s age, Nanami Kento. Principal Yaga and Gojo-sensei claim that it’s a mission; and sure, there are a handful of weak cursed spirits to exorcise, but it’s clear that this is more of a “sorry your classmates died and you’re depressed” mission.

A little over a year later - September 11, 2015

You’re officially the only 4th year student at Jujutsu High School. The first 4th year at the school in almost two decades. Working with Nanami-senpai was a much needed break and great learning experience. But time has not healed your wounds or gotten rid of the thoughts gnawing inside you…what is the purpose of all this? Why do we need to protect the unappreciative non-sorcerers?

You’re happy to be back in Japan, and to see everyone. Gojo-sensei runs to greet you and wraps his abnormally long arms around you. For a second, you feel truly content and safe. You’ve definitely missed the tall idiot. The younger students have grown so much in the past year. But to you, they’re still kids that don’t realize how difficult their lives are going to be. You can’t help but wonder how many of them will live to see graduation. While you love all of the younger students, Kinji-san and Kirara-san are two of your favorites. You’re pretty sure that they’re dating, and maybe even planning to leave the school. But you can’t prove it. In the grade below them, there’s Zenin Maki, Panda, and Inumaki Toge. Those three are an interesting group. They remind you a lot of yourself, Kaede, and Souta. Well, aside from the fact that one only speaks in rice ball ingredients, and another is a panda.

Not letting your depression get the best of you, you decide that all six of you should go out to dinner and to an arcade. The younger students seem excited about this; all prepped with questions about your time in Germany with Nanami-senpai. Maki-san is especially excited, although her face will never show it. She looks up to you, and has asked to train with you more times than you can count. She has great potential.

That night, you all head out toward your favorite restaurant, Sumibi Kushi Yaki in Shinjuku City. Just 9 minutes away from the restaurant, you see a man approaching your group, making direct eye contact with you. He is almost as tall as Gojo-sensei and just as muscular. He even kind of dresses like Gojo-sensei on his off days; it’s a little spooky. His black hair is pulled up halfway in a bun; his eyes are dark and enticing, and he has stretched earlobes like the metal musicians you love so much. His fox-like features are mesmerizing and you can’t look away. He stops in front of your group.

“Excuse me” his lips pressed together in a thin smile; his eyes almost in crescent moon shapes.
“Are you all students at Jujutsu High School?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. How does he know? Who is this guy?

“I’ll take that silence as a yes.” he continues, “Do you ever question what exactly the purpose of a Jujutsu sorcerer is?” “Is it to die for people who can’t see curses, who don’t appreciate your sacrifice?” “I’m aiming to create a world where non-sorcerers don’t exist.” “None of you deserve to die young; I’m sure you’ve already lost a few classmates.”

The other students are offended by what he’s saying. They disagree, believing that they are sorcerers for a good reason. But your eyes meet his before you focus your attention to the ground below you. Sure the guy sounds insane. I mean, who starts a conversation like that? But what he’s saying resonates with you, and he can tell. The students begin to look at you for backup since you’re the oldest. You make eye contact with him again, something lingering there, letting him know that you want to talk, but have to save face.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’re clearly insane.”
“Dude, just give us a pamphlet for your weird church or whatever, but don’t preach to us on a night out.”

He understands exactly what you mean, and hands you a card with his number on it, like he was prepared for this. Your fingers brush against his as you take the card and your eyes meet again. You feel something warm inside of your stomach.

“Thanks, we’re gonna go now” you say, rolling your eyes.

You shove the card in your pocket and make sure your underclassmen are okay. You all get to the restaurant and enjoy your food, but you can't stop thinking about that strange, handsome, slightly crazy man who knows too much about you all. You try to get it out of your head and enjoy your night. When you get back to your room, you shower and sit on the bed, contemplating the events of the night and the words from the stranger. Tears escape from your eyes. Tears you haven’t let out since Kaede’s death; tears you never got to let out after you found Souta. You glance over at your jeans on the floor in the corner of your room. You grab the card from your pocket and send a text to the number

“Hello, this is the girl you gave your number to earlier.”
“You spoke to me and my friends tonight and I asked for your contact information.”
“I apologize for being rude to you; I needed to defend my underclassmen, but I am interested to learn more about your philosophy.”
“In all honesty, I relate to what you said, but I could never tell anyone else that.”

Maybe you’ve said too much. You just sent back to back texts to this strange man and it’s almost 2 a.m. This is a bad idea, he probably wont even respond.

*ding*

“Hello, there is no need to apologize for being protective over your peers.”

“I can tell that you and I are similar; and I would love to meet and have a discussion soon.”

A few minutes later another text comes through with an address: 2-19 Kubomachi, Kawagoe, Saitama 350-0055
“Let’s meet here on Sunday around noon?”

You pause and contemplate for just a second. You should say nevermind and block his number. You should tell Gojo-sensei what’s happened…but against your better judgment, you reply with, “Thank you, I will see you then.”

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

Chapter Text

Walking Toward the Wrong Light

September 13, 2015

Why in the hell did I agree to this? The question cycled, heavy and humid, in the few silent corners of your mind. And why the hell are we meeting at a dog cafe?

You couldn't really complain, though. The velvet cushion of the booth was soft beneath you, and the air was thick with the comforting smell of fresh espresso, herbal tea, and fresh pastries. A tiny three-legged Pomeranian, a ball of trembling black and brown fluff, was currently attempting to climb your shin. You’re more of a cat person, but hey, Serotonin is a hot commodity; get it where you can.

Ten minutes past the agreed-upon time, the cheerful chime of a bell slices through the gentle background noise. The hard working barista, without missing a beat, shouts, “Welcome in!” You turn to see a cascade of black hair—a glorious, familiar river of silk—settling over broad shoulders as the door closes. His hair is completely down today, his clothing is casual again. And that face…It was a face that someone would go to war to protect.

“Good Morning!” he calls out, his lips pulling into a tight, almost shy smile. His eyes becoming small crescent moons.

You stood up, giving a casual, measured wave. God, he may be crazy, but he’s handsome.

Almost as if he knew that you were wondering why he was late, he let out a low, genuine chuckle. “My apologies. The train was unexpectedly slow. So, what can I get for you? My treat.”

You hadn’t expected the offer, but hey, why not? Free food is the best food. “A chai latte and a plain croissant, please. I definitely need the caffeine.”

He gave a polite nod, his form moving with a quiet, lethal grace toward the counter. You watched him go, feeling an unfamiliar heat rising in your cheeks. Were the feelings stirring in your chest from the gorgeous man that was now paying for your lunch? Or maybe the anxiety from this secret meeting. Honestly, you feel like you’re a spy handing over secrets to a foreign nation. A few minutes later, he returns.

When he returned, placing your latte and his simple black coffee on the table, a tangible silence settled. It wasn't the silence of awkwardness, but the heavy, charged quiet before a storm. You could feel the weight of his attention,resting on your face.

“So,” you finally broke the quiet, swirling the foam in your cup until the cinnamon spiraled into a dark vortex. “I know it’s bad form at this point, but I feel I should know the name of the man who invited me to a rendezvous with puppies.”

He let out a light chuckle and took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee. “Right. I never did properly introduce myself. My name is Geto Suguru.”

The name hit you like a low-grade curse—sharp, sudden, and deeply unsettling. Geto Suguru. Why was that name hitting you so hard? Before you could connect the pieces, he spoke again, his voice dropping to a confidential pitch.

“I was like you. A student at Jujutsu High. And, perhaps more importantly, I was in the same class as your sensei, Gojo Satoru.”

The chai latte suddenly felt like ash in your mouth. What?! Gojo-sensei had never spoken a single, solitary word about this man; yet you remember reading his name somewhere.

“I know, he’s probably never mentioned me,” Geto continued, a shadow of pain crossing his features as his gaze drifted out the window toward the indifferent, blue Tokyo sky. “But we were... we were best friends.”

He pulled his attention back to the black surface of his coffee, stirring it gently. “We had a difference of opinion. Specifically, regarding the role of sorcerers in the lives of non-sorcerers. Initially, I believed that our mission was pure: to protect the weak.”

He paused, and the air around him grew colder, thinner. “That was until we were tasked with delivering the Star Plasma Vessel to Master Tengen. I won't burden you with every ugly detail, but the short of it is: the vessel, Riko, was murdered in front of me after I promised her I would take her back home.”

The warmth had entirely leached from his voice. His eyes, fixed on some unseen point on the tabletop, had become flat, heavy plates of amber and shadow. You could feel the residual agony seeping from him. “I was never the same after that. I began to see a world without non-sorcerers as the only peaceful option. I tried to shake the feelings, but then... another classmate was killed on a mission. A boy with an endless smile.”

The weight of his words settled in the space between you, a silent, damning indictment of the jujutsu world. It sounds a lot like my own experience.

“My thoughts eventually turned into action,” he stated, the shift from sorrow to steel sudden and sharp. “I was dispatched to a small village. I found two young girls being accused by the non-sorcerers of being the cause of the village’s downfall. The villagers were terrified of them, and they were ready to kill the girls to ease their fear.”

Geto finally looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity. “I decided that removing non-sorcerers was the best, the most reasonable solution. Over a five-day period, I killed every person in that village, saving only the two young girls.” He paused, allowing the gravity of the confession to crush the surrounding air. “I returned to my home, and I killed my parents as well. They were collateral damage in the pursuit of the ideal world.”

You felt your jaw clench, your breath hitching. The sheer scale of his atrocity was horrifying, yet the logic was a dark, magnetic North. Not wanting to seem judgmental, you jerked your gaze down, focusing your attention on the smooth, cool ceramic of your latte cup.

“Geto-san,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper that struggled past the lump in your throat. “How did you feel... after the killing was done?”

“I felt vindicated in my idea,” he said, a slow, relieved smirk appearing. He seemed utterly unburdened, happy to finally share the awful, beautiful truth with someone who might listen and understand. “By removing those 112 villagers from the earth, I prevented the possibility of 112 curses being born or strengthened by their fears. It was a net gain for humanity, the one we are sworn to protect.”

A long, shuddering sigh escaped your nose, and a weight you hadn't realized you were carrying lifted from your shoulders. It was the relief of recognition. “Geto-san, I... I’ve been wrestling with the same idea for a couple of years now,” you admitted, the confession tumbling out. “I lost two of my classmates—no, my best friends, Kaede and Souta—to curses. They died for a cause I don’t believe in, and the non-sorcerers they sacrificed themselves for didn’t even care.” Your vision blurred with sudden, warm tears, and a fresh wave of grief threatened to drown your words.

Geto reached his hand out, warm and lightly calloused, gently covering yours. He rubbed small, hypnotic circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “I am so sorry that you had to experience that. That pain should not be yours to carry.” His voice was softer now, genuine, loving.

“I know this is very forward,” he offered, his gaze intense, seeking a single answer in your eyes. “But I would like for you to visit my temple this weekend. I will show you around. Introduce you to my family.”

“Your family?” you asked, your head tilting slightly. “Are these people... like us? Sorcerers that share our ideas?”

“Yes,” he said, his expression melting into something heartbreakingly tender. “I want you to join me. To join us. To finally leave that old way of thinking behind.”

You felt your hand tremble beneath his. The conviction in his voice was a physical force. You felt the same, deep-seated rage, but were you ready for such a definitive, dramatic leap? Were you ready to become an outlaw in Jujutsu society?

“I... I appreciate the offer, Geto-san,” you managed, pulling your hand gently back. The sudden absence of his warmth was a shocking loss. “I will definitely consider it. I may need a little time.”

He smiled, knowing he would get what he wanted. “So, I’ll see you on Saturday. Let’s say 11 a.m. I will send you the address.”

You hesitated, just for a second. “Absolutely. I’ll see you then.”

Wednesday, September 16th

The few days that followed felt distorted, viewed through a thick pane of glass. “I felt vindicated.” The phrase was an anchor in the chaotic sea of your thoughts. You should have shuddered at the memory of his calm confession, but instead, you felt a strange, solid contentment. For the first time, someone truly, profoundly understood the ugliness and logic of your grief.

Before you could sink too deeply into the spiral, a familiar, earnest voice pulled you back.

You looked over at Maki, the young woman whose seriousness and tenacity you admired. “Maki. You know you can just call me by my first name, right?”

She looked sheepish for a second, adjusting her glasses. “Well, yeah, but you’re my superior. It feels weird not to speak to you like that.” She was a fortress of toughness who only let this soft side peek out for you.

“You’re silly, Maki,” you replied, the small smile feeling genuine. “What’s on your mind?”

“The weather is perfect,” she said, the familiar competitive glint returning to her eye. “Want to help me train a bit?”

You sighed internally, a gentle defeat. “Maki, you’re at my level, if not stronger. I’m not sure what more I can teach you.” But the disappointment in her eyes was a fresh, bright pain. Sigh. “Fine. But only for an hour. I have paperwork.”

“Yes! Time to finally kick your ass!” Well, at least she was calling you by your first name.

The hour was a blur of sweat and motion. The sun beat down on the practice field, the dry grass whispering underfoot. You beat Maki again, your strikes fluid and precise. You stood over her, breathing heavily as she lay sprawled in the grass, utterly defeated.

“Look, Maki, don’t be disappointed,” you said, your own chest heaving. “I’m probably only winning because I’m older and I’ve had more years to hate the world.”

Panda and Inumaki were watching nearby. Panda, deciding to be a menace, chimed in, “Nah, Maki, I think you just kinda suck at this.”

Inumaki nodded his agreement. “Tuna tuna.”

“Don’t listen to them. You’ll beat me one day,” you reassured her, offering a hand to help her up. She took it, smiling, and the others began to joke and banter, the sound of their youthful laughter washing over the training ground.

And there it was. That innocent, pure joy. It confirmed what you already knew, what Geto had cemented: these kids do not deserve to have their smiles wiped away by a system that values their lives so little.

Meeting Geto wasn't a coincidence. It was fate.

“So!” you said, clapping your hands together, the sound sharp in the twilight air. “Who wants to have a game night in my room on Friday? I just got an import of American snacks that will change your life.”

Friday, September 18th, 8:00 p.m.

Thursday was a haze of cursed energy and paperwork. You killed a few curses, had a minor panic attack in the bathroom, and tried not to think about the fact that tomorrow you would be standing on the verge of a life-altering defection. The anticipation of meeting Geto again was a low-grade fever that wouldn’t break. You’re making the right choice. You have to be.

At 8:00, the inevitable knock came. Panda, Inumaki, and Maki piled in, their energy an infectious warmth. Soon, the room was filled with the rhythmic tapping of pieces across the board and the low, competitive chatter of Tokaido, your favorite board game. For a few hours, you were just a student, sharing new imported snacks and laughing with your friends. They deserved to grow stronger, to reach adulthood. They deserved better than what this world offered.

As the hour grew late, the yawns started. One by one, your friends retired, until only Maki was left, carefully placing the game pieces back into the box.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft, worried, and entirely too perceptive. “You’ve seemed... distant lately.”

How could she tell? Had you made it that obvious?

“I’m fine,” you lied, the ease of the deception chilling even to you. “Just haven’t had much sleep. The cursed spirits this semester have been brutal. And probably all the sugar I eat, too.”

Maki didn’t believe you; you could see it in the slight tightening around her mouth. But she was kind enough to let it go. She simply gave you a small, knowing smile and a quiet “Goodnight” before leaving.

Left alone, a thought struck you with the force of a punch. Geto-san said he was Gojo-sensei’s best friend. You had to know more. You needed the final piece of the puzzle, the last reason to confirm this was the right path. It was reckless. It was stupid. But you’ve always been known to think with your heart instead of your brain.

You quickly gathered a small bag of your best snacks, texted Gojo, not asking for an invitation, but rather a warning that you were about to commit an invasion of privacy, and headed for his suite. The other students didn't know the location, but your seniority had its perks.

“Gojo-sensei!” you called out, knocking a rapid rhythm on his door. After a few seconds, it slid open, and you were immediately pulled into a tight, all-consuming hug that smelled faintly of expensive cologne.

“How’s my favorite student?” he teased, ruffling your hair. You settled into his sparsely furnished living room, and after a few witty exchanges about his poor taste in television, you carefully guided the conversation toward the past—a subject he usually kept guarded.

You learned about the tragedy of a friendship that burned too bright, about a companion lost not to a monster, but to an ideology. His voice, for once stripped of its trademark arrogance, was heavy with grief. He described Geto’s philosophical breakdown, the spiral of self-doubt and hate. When the story was done, you realized Geto hadn’t lied about the friendship, only what it had cost him. Satoru, the strongest, still blamed himself for not being strong enough to save the one person who mattered most.

The hurt on Satoru’s face was a raw, visceral wound. It looked as fresh as if the betrayal had happened yesterday.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up. I was just... curious about your old classmates,” you said softly.

“No, it’s okay,” he replied, his gaze distant, lost in the memory. “He may be gone, but it’s important to remember him. I need to reflect on my failures so I don’t repeat them.”

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but you knew better. You carried the same regrets. If you had been more focused, Kaede would still be alive. If you had just checked in on Souta, he wouldn't have ended his life.

“Satoru, you are the furthest thing from a failure. You’re a good person, and a good friend,” you said, reaching out to place your hand lightly on his arm. “I’m thankful for you.”

He smiled at that, a genuine, blinding smile that chased the shadows from his eyes. Together, you cleaned up the crumbs and empty wrappers from your snacks before you parted ways.

Saturday, September 19th, 10:50 a.m.

Well, here goes nothing.

Stepping over the stone threshold of the temple gates, the contrast to the worn wood of Jujutsu High was immediate and profound. The air was thick with the faint, clinging scent of burning cedar and deep incense, and the silence was so heavy it pressed in on your eardrums, almost uncomfortable. It wasn't a temporary calm; it was a silence of deep, unsettling conviction. Could someone like Geto-san truly be the leader of a movement that felt this sacred, this deeply rooted in spiritual discipline?

Before you could take another breath, a woman appeared, gliding across the polished floor. She was stunning, with a cascade of wavy pale pink hair, dressed in high-end fashion that felt jarringly out of place yet somehow perfectly chosen. “I’m Suda Manami; you must be our new member. Suguru spoke of you.” Her smile was wide, bright, and unsettlingly genuine. She was either a master of customer service or genuinely happy to see you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Manami-san,” you replied, offering a stiff bow, a trained reflex from your old life.

“No need for the formalities!” she exclaimed, dismissing the bow with a graceful wave of her hand. “You’re going to be **family** soon; please, just call me Manami.”

Family? The word snagged in your mind, too big, too premature. I haven’t truly made up my mind. Is coming here proof enough that the decision is already made? “Well, in that case, it’s nice to meet you, Manami.”

She led you down a hushed corridor and into a large room with clean, worn **tatami** flooring. At the far end sat a small, elevated stage. She closed the sliding door behind you, leaving you alone in the scent of aged wood and expectation.

Family. The word echoed again. You walked slowly, feeling the dry, woven fibers of the mat beneath your socks. The thought was intoxicating: a place of belonging, built on an ideology you already shared. A place where your grief wasn't a weakness, but a righteous catalyst.

The shoji door slid open, interrupting the silent monologue. You heard the light, quick step of wooden **clogs** on the floor outside, and then Geto Suguru stepped in. He was utterly transformed. Gone were the casual clothes; he wore the formal, elegant robes of a monk, half of his black hair pulled up into a high, precise bun. The look wasn't a costume; it was a statement. He was a spiritual leader, an ideologue made manifest.

He crossed the room and gently gestured for you to join him on the stage. You approached, feeling slow, heavy, as though the weight of the temple itself had settled on your shoulders. You sat beside him, and without warning, he reached for your hands. His grip was firm, warm, and possessive, pulling your hands close to his chest, right over the dark fabric of his robe.

Your heart instantly began to race, not from fear, but from a terrifying, electric vulnerability. You could feel a light blush creeping across your cheeks. His sheer presence was overwhelming—a magnetic field of power and conviction—yet his touch was utterly calming. His words were slow, reassuring, filled with a deep, careful attention you had never received from anyone. He spoke not of slaughter, but of salvation, laying out the **tragic nobility** of your shared path.

You couldn't look away from him. His eyes, usually shadowed, were now focused solely on you, burning with a feverish intensity. It felt less like a conversation and more like a celestial event—as if the two of you were destined to meet and have this talk, the missing halves of a perfect, dark equation. For nearly an hour, he spoke, and with every word, the agonizing conflict within you dissolved. You no longer felt conflicted; you **had to leave Jujutsu High.**

When he finally paused, a silence fell, broken only by your own choked breathing. Geto reached up, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, his touch feather-light. It was only then that you realized he was wiping away a tear. How long have I been crying?

The two of you stood, his hand now simply holding yours, and the formal tour began.

The temple was breathtaking. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the decor made it feel like a small palace. As you walked through the halls, you exchanged glances with strangers who bowed gracefully toward you. Followers? Family? They were disciples, loyal and willing. Finally, you arrived at a room dominated by a large, dark wooden door.

“This will be your room,” Geto announced, a note of quiet pride in his voice. “It’s next to mine, at the end of the hall. No one will disturb you here.”

As he pushed the door open, your jaw slackened. It was enormous: a huge bed, a rich wardrobe, a quiet reading nook, and was that—an **en suite bathroom**? Upon closer inspection, it was a cavern of luxury: a large soaking tub, a rainfall shower, marble flooring, and intricate wallpaper. It was a far cry from the functional, shared bathroom of the school. You could definitely get used to this place.

While you were lost in this thought of sudden, beautiful comfort, you glanced over at Geto. He was watching you, an expression you could only describe as **admiration** softening his features. The emotion was unmistakably gentle and protective; it was soft and filled with genuine care.

“ By the way, It’s Suguru for you,” he said, his head tilting, his narrow gaze holding your eyes captive. “Don’t use the formalities anymore.”

If you didn't know better, you’d think that he liked you.

“Sorry, Suguru... thank you for the tour. It’s beautiful.”

The sound of his name, your voice finally granting him that intimacy, made his breath hitch—a small, almost imperceptible falter—and his gaze deepened, growing fonder.

“Please call me once you’ve decided on the date to leave the school,” his tone suddenly shifted back to the strategic, looking directly into your eyes. “I’ll need your help getting past the veil, but I will help you gather your things.” He held your gaze, the request becoming sharp. “I will also need to stop at the weapons room to retrieve something important to me.”

So, you weren't just running away to join the enemy; you were also going to commit theft on the way out. Well, if you're going to be a criminal anyway, you may as well commit some petty theft on the way out.

“Honestly, Suguru, I may just ask you to come get me tonight.” The words slipped out with ease, but the ghost of your past lingered. The logic of the cause had won, but the faces of the underclassmen, and of Satoru, flashed in your mind. “But I’ll need to tell everyone goodbye first. The right way.”

Suguru’s stare softened, a flicker of profound understanding in his eyes. He knew that feeling of needing a final farewell, a proper ending that he himself was never afforded. He tilted his head, giving you that tight-lipped, complex smile you had already come to love. “Of course, take your time.”

Later That Day

After running a few errands, your feet led you back to Jujutsu High, clutching a small, white bakery box. After a quick shower, you headed to find Satoru in his suite. When he opened the door, he looked at you with his usual, goofy affection before looking at the box in your hand.

“Hey! What’s with the gift? Did you finally start appreciating your favorite teacher?”

“No reason!” you chuckled, the sound thin and strained. “I just went out for a run to grab some mochi and saw they had your favorite triple chocolate cake!” You thrust the box into his hands.

His fingers closed around the cardboard. Then, his hand brushed against yours, lingering for a microsecond. The smile vanished. His eyes widened, and he took a sharp, unsteady step back, his breath visibly catching in his throat.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You hadn’t thought about the residuals. After the long, hot shower I just took, how could any traces of Suguru’s Cursed Energy be left?

“Satoru, is everything okay?” you asked, forcing the nonchalance into your voice. “Do you suddenly not like triple chocolate cake?”

His blue eyes, usually so light and playful, met yours. For the first time since you’d known him, you saw pure, unadulterated terror in them. The look was one of raw, terrifying agony, like a man seeing his greatest fear not in a nightmare, but in his own reflection. He calls out your name, his voice low, guttural, and undeniably dangerous. “Where did you go earlier today?”

Oh, god. You can’t know. “I went to run a few errands and then came back here. Why?”

It was a lie so easy; yet it tasted like bile in your mouth. He clearly didn’t believe you, but the denial was a lifeline. He didn’t want to think about the fact that you could have met with Suguru in secret. He couldn't face the reality that his former best friend, the man who had betrayed the world, was now stealing his student. He simply couldn’t.

Sunday Night, September 20th

The campus was utterly silent, wrapped in the cool, blue-grey hush of a crescent moon in the night sky. You were already packed, your tote bag slung over your shoulder, your suitcase in your other hand. You pulled your phone from your pocket, your fingers surprisingly steady. A final text thread.

“Ready?” you typed.

The response was immediate. “I’m ready. I’ll lift the veil for a split second and meet you at the weapons room.”

You slid your phone into your pocket and made your way to the outdoor weapons room, your heart beating a cold, slow drum against your ribs. You temporarily created a break in the heavy perimeter veil—just long enough for Suguru to slip in. He was familiar with the campus, his footsteps silent as he caught up to you. He was dressed like a normal person again, all the elegance of the monk robe replaced by practical, dark clothing, but you had to admit, you missed the dramatic flair.

“So, which Cursed Tool are we taking?” you whispered, the sound feeling too loud in the quietness of the canpus.

He gave you a soft, knowing smile that was equal parts charm and chilling conviction. “I’m looking for Playful Cloud.”

“Don’t worry, I know exactly where to find it.” Sure enough, he moved toward the back of the room and pulled out an interesting-looking, three-sectioned weapon. Its body was a rich, ominous red. You had seen it before; Satoru had pointed it out years ago, back when you, Kaede, and Souta were wide-eyed first-years being shown the wonders inside the room.

The memory was a sharp, painful farewell to your old life.

The lock clicked shut with a low, metallic snap that seemed deafening in the silence of the night. Suguru returned the padlock to its hook, his movements economical and practiced. Together, you moved quickly, silently, toward your room, your footsteps hushed by the worn, old wooden floorboards that had always been your soundtrack here. As you passed the empty classrooms, Suguru paused, a flicker of something ancient and wistful crossing his face.

He looked around the dimly lit hallway, his gaze lingering on the chipped paint and the faint chalk dust still clinging to the air. Nothing had changed. Not one bit. A small, genuine **smile**—the kind that made his eyes look like crescent moons—finally appeared. It was the smile of a ghost visiting his old home.

When you reached your door, he slid it open gently. “So, are these all of your things?” he asked, gesturing to the medium-sized, slightly battered suitcase and the canvas tote bag resting on your bed.

“Yep, pretty much!” you whispered, the sound feeling oddly loud. “Well, aside from a few things I left for the underclassmen.” You gestured toward your desk.

It was a scene of calculated farewell. A stack of Nintendo Switch games and your well-loved Tokaido box lay neatly stacked, a sticky note on top reading: “For Panda and Inumaki. Play nice.” Next to it were a few of your favorite, slightly too-cute shirts and skirts for Maki, and closest to the wall, a ridiculously high, **haphazardly stacked pile of brightly colored candy**, topped with a note that simply said: “Only for Satoru. No sharing.”

The pile of candy caught Suguru’s attention. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in the sheer volume of sugar, a silent testament to the nature of your relationship with the man he used to know. “So, you two are close?” he asked, his voice soft, but edged with curiosity and something else—a residual pain.

You looked down at your hands before replying, the truth heavy and inescapable. “Yeah. We’re on a first-name basis. Go shopping. Have late-night snack time at least once a week.” Without thinking about the past between him and Satoru, the words slipped out, raw and honest: “Satoru is kind of my best friend.”

The air in the small room stilled, growing heavy and cold, a moment of profound, painful realization sinking in. History wasn't just repeating itself; it was mocking him. Satoru had now lost two best friends. Not to the predictable violence of cursed spirits, but to the slow, agonizing betrayal of a divergent purpose. As badly as it hurt you to leave, you knew this cut would be even **worse for Satoru**.

It was a chilling thought you couldn't shake, and tears began to form, hot and involuntary, stinging the corners of your eyes. Before a single one could fall, Suguru gently dropped the bags and grabbed your hand, pulling you toward him. He embraced you in a warm, solid hug. He knew this feeling all too well—the terrible certainty that you were causing irreparable, necessary damage for a perceived greater good.

You pulled back slightly, craning your neck to meet his gaze. You gave him a small, firm smile and a decisive nod. It was time to go. This was the hardest decision you had ever made, yet as you remembered the innocent smiles of the underclassmen, you solidified your resolve: creating a world without non-sorcerers was what was **best for them**. It was what was best for everyone; even Satoru.

After all, if there were no more non-sorcerers to create and strengthen curses, Satoru wouldn’t have to be this monster, this weapon constantly used by the corrupt Jujutsu higher ups. He could finally be free.

Suguru took the luggage, his expression solemn, and together you exited the building. You couldn't help but turn to face the silhouette of the school, its dark mass holding years of grief and flawed purpose. “Goodbye,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. You took a deep breath, and for one fleeting second, you lifted the veil, allowing both of you to exit the high security barrier undetected.

Outside the campus, under the vast, inky sky, Suguru summoned his giant manta ray shikigami. You quickly hopped on, settling in front of him as he held you tightly in place. The cold night air felt incredible against your skin, a sharp, exhilarating distraction from the crushing weight of the situation. You soared away from your old life, toward a future that was beautiful, terrifying, and entirely your own.

The Next Morning

Satoru was sprinting. He tore across the campus grounds in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and slippers, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was drenched in sweat and his face was a mask of frantic, crazed desperation. Something was wrong, something he hadn't felt in nearly a decade. When he reached your room, his heart didn't just sink; it ceased to beat entirely.

He slid the door open with such a force that the frame cracked, splinters raining onto the polished wooden floor. The room was nearly empty. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, and only a few piles of personal items on the desk; along with a few neat stacks of paperwork on your desk—the last remnants of a life discarded.

He started to walk toward the desk, but the air... the air was different. It was heavy, like breathing through wet gauze. And then it hit him—that same, dark, suffocating sense he had felt last night when his hand brushed yours. But this time it was stronger, like a noxious cloud of Cursed Energy that had only just begun to dissipate.

There was no mistaking it. Those residuals belong to Suguru.

The realization was a hammer to his soul, shattering the fragile denial he had clung to. His student, the one person he truly cherished in the aftermath of his greatest failure, had been taken by the ghost of that failure. It was the deepest wound imaginable, a betrayal and a confirmation all in one: he was truly alone.

For the first time in years, he didn't fight the tears. They were hot, scalding tracks on his cheeks, burning away the last vestiges of his invincible facade. He collected himself in the hollow shell of your room, the silence deafening. He knew what he had to do.

He was going to have to break the news to everyone, to the students who looked up to you. And worst of all, he knew exactly what the higher ups were going to issue the moment they heard the truth. An order for your execution. And he, the strongest, may be the one forced to carry it out, caught between a world he hated and the one student he loved, now corrupted by the man who destroyed his life.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Echoes in the Incense

It’s nice to be back in the calm of the temple. But your heart still feels heavy for leaving the school, especially Maki and Satoru. What are they thinking? Do they think you just left to go do your own thing? Do they know who you left with. Oh shit… You think back to the conversation you had with Satoru. The one where he sensed Suguru’s residuals on you. Of course they know where you went. You can’t help but to feel guilty for abandoning him. But there was no way he wouldn’t have done everything in his power to stop you. And this is a worthy cause that you couldn’t have afforded to miss out on. It’s late when you arrive to the temple, but everyone is awake, awaiting the two of you. There are six individuals in the main living room area to greet you.

“It’s nice to see you again!” Manami always seems to be in a great mood, I’m sure she’s grateful to have another adult woman here.

You flash a genuine smile before bowing and introducing yourself to everyone else. You feel a muscular arm press down across your shoulders, and glance over to see Suguru smirking lightly, his arm around you, letting his hand hang slightly above your chest.

“Everyone, please welcome her to our family.” He continues pointing at each member one by one,

“This is Miguel, Larue, Toshihisa, of course you know Manami already, and finally, my daughters, Nanako and Mimiko.”

Daughters? Oh, these must be the girls he rescued from that village. The rest of the night is spent enjoying green tea and getting to know each other. The girls seem a little hesitant for some reason. While everyone else is eager to make conversation; they’re looking away at their phones. Eh, kids are just like that I guess. Suguru stays close by your side all night long. It’s kind of comforting that he’s making sure you’re comfortable. You were honestly expecting these people to be hardened criminal curse users. Something grimy and gritty. But they truly are a family. Aside from the girls, everyone is laughing and smiling. This new life doesn't seem so bad. As the night comes to a close, everyone says goodnight and Suguru walks you to your room.

“I’m so happy to have you here; please let me know if you need anything, no matter what time it is.” His voice is smooth and warm, vibrating through you. Is it possible for a person’s voice to be intoxicating?

“Thank you Suguru, have a good night; I’m looking forward to our mission tomorrow.

The next morning

The temple is even quieter than the school is in the morning. So at least that’s not a major change. The silk sheets on the bed are cool against your skin. It’s almost impossible to get out of bed when it’s this soft and cozy. A far cry from the thin mattresses at the school. Everything feels luxurious here. You walk into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. To your surprise, all of your toiletries have been unpacked and placed in the appropriate place. I guess one of the other employees here unpacked my stuff while we were having tea? You’ve just finished patting your face dry when there’s a knock at the door. You open it to see Suguru. And dear god…he’s gorgeous. Not that he usually isn’t; but he looks especially good today. He’s wearing a black compression shirt that hugs his toned muscles, leaving nothing to the imagination. Along with baggy gray sweatpants. Honestly, you were expecting him to wear his robe while working; but that would definitely draw too much attention. He is a wanted criminal after all.

“So boss, where’s our mission?” you ask.

Suguru raises an eyebrow and lets out a small laugh, “Boss huh? Hmmm…let’s stick to Suguru; or ‘Sir’ if you insist on a formal title.”

At that, something stirs inside you. There’s something about calling him “sir” that really appeals to you for some reason. “Alright Sir, what’s the mission?”

Something also stirs inside him at the way your voice sounds when you call him sir. “There’s a group of cursed spirits lingering around an old warehouse.” “A lot of employees died there from safety regulation violations.”

Sounds easy enough. “That should be easy for us.” You’re confident about the skills you’ve developed over the years. Also, you and Suguru are both special grade sorcerers.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that so quickly.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?”

“Well, I want to train you to enhance your fighting ability.”

I feel like I should be offended.

“Not that your fighting skills are subpar; but you can’t solely rely on your shikigami.” “More importantly, learning how to channel your cursed energy entirely into your body rather than projecting it will help you learn to control Mahoraga in the future.”

You nod, understanding exactly what he meant. The two of you go outside so Suguru can summon his manta ray for the two of you to ride to the warehouse. The ride there is silent; giving you time to you to remember the last time you tried to control your ultimate weapon, Mahoraga; the Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General. Satoru had once told you that gaining control over Mahoraga would make you the most powerful sorcerer; even surpassing himself. The prospect of trying to tame that thing is terrifying. The last time you tried to summon him in a controlled environment; things didn’t end well. As soon as he was released, he struck you; sending you flying and breaking 15 bones in your body. The recovery was intense and you were on the verge of death. Luckily you were with Satoru in his domain expansion when it happened. Because Mahoraga was weak at the time, he was easy to send back. If Satoru hadn’t been there; Mahoraga wouldn’t have stopped until he destroyed everything. 

The two of you arrive at the warehouse and you immediately feel the presence of a special grade curse and two more, maybe second grades? God, Suguru was right. Fighting a special grade without your technique is a challenge. But you manage to channel your cursed energy into every inch of your body. Strengthening your muscles and providing protection to your major organs. Satoru taught you how to do this in your second year; but you never thought you’d actually have to fight like this. Suguru quickly takes care of the two lower grade curses before consuming them to add to his arsenal. Is he just going to sit back and watch me fight this thing alone?

“Suguru sir, are you going to help?”

He leans back on one of the beams above you and chuckles at your frustration. “Oh, no, this one is all yours; I’m simply observing.”

Okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to get punched after this. You’ve been fighting this curse for a solid 20 minutes. Why is this so difficult? Suddenly you feel a sharp pain go through your arm; the cursed spirit managed to slice you, and it’s deep. You can feel your cursed energy growing even stronger from your anger. You don’t notice because you’re focusing on your opponent; but Suguru’s eyes widen and his lips begin to twitch in the corners, mustering a smirk. The amount of cursed energy coursing through your body is immense. It’s even stronger than his. And to think, he was about to step in and help. Your anger has reached a tipping point, and within a split second you find yourself sprinting toward the cursed spirit; tearing into its flesh with your bare hands, and climbing up to its head. You press your left palm against your right fist and generate a black flash. You unleash it directly to the top of the creature’s head, pieces of him exploding all over the warehouse. Suguru stares at you in awe, what a monster, he thinks, admiring the rage and strength he’s just witnessed from such a beautiful woman. Suguru jumps down and approaches you. The expression on his face is one of admiration and awe; but also worry. He quickly grabs your left hand and makes his way up your arm with the other hand; examining the gash you sustained.

Noticing his concern, you want to set his mind to rest. “Don’t worry sir, it’s just a minor wound honestly.” It’s definitely not, and it hurts like hell.

You lay down on the cold concrete floor and focus your attention on your arm; using the reverse curse technique, you slowly heal your wound as much as possible. Reverse curse technique definitely isn’t your specialty; it takes you way too long to heal yourself. Unfortunately Shoko could only teach it to you; but couldn’t give you the talent for it that she has. Suguru allows you to heal yourself and take a breath before he helps you up and THROWS A PUNCH AT YOU?

“Why the hell did you just try to hit me?”

He laughs, god why does he have to laugh like that; you’re supposed to be mad at him. “I never said this mission would end after I absorbed the curses.” “Now it’s time to train one on one with me.”

Your jaw hangs open slightly, does he seriously want to fight you? Honestly, you owe him an ass kicking after he left you alone with that special grade. “Sounds fun, cursed technique or hand to hand?”

He shoots you a devilish grin, “Both”. 

The two of you position yourselves on opposite sides of the warehouse. You summon your demon dogs and he summons a few grade one curses. As you watch your demon dogs tear one of the cursed spirits to shreds; you catch something out of the corner of your eyes; it’s a fist. Before you know it, you’re flying directly into a beam and hitting the concrete floor. Oh, he’s serious about this. You lift yourself up and look below you; blood is dripping from your mouth. You can feel your cursed energy rise and run to attack Suguru; but he dodges. He’s unbelievably fast. But so are you; and it’s time to take this seriously. The two of you are practically running in circles trying to catch one another. But you seem to match each other’s speed. Noticing Suguru’s cursed spirits are dead, you send your dogs to intercept Suguru. They race toward him, causing his eyes to widen and his running to stop. In the split second that he’s distracted, you jump up and deliver the strongest roundhouse kick you think you’ve ever dealt. Suguru’s head jerks back violently and for a second you’re worried that you’ve killed him. He falls to the ground, nose and mouth bleeding. And oops…his nose is definitely broken. You recall your demon dogs and kneel down to check on him. To your surprise, he laughs and looks up at you.

“Okay, maybe I’m the one who needs training. At least when it comes to fighting you.”

He quickly heals his nose with reverse curse technique and the two of you leave. Well, that was definitely not how you expected today to go. But what happened that night was even more unexpected. 

After a hearty dinner with the family; you say goodnight and retire to your room. The beating you took definitely calls for a hot bubble bath. Ignoring the laundry basket in the corner of the room, you strip down and walk slowly to the bathroom where you run yourself a bath with lavender bubble bath liquid. You step in and oh my god, this is heaven. You slip further into the bath and close your eyes. You absolutely deserve this after the day you had. You’re so focused on relaxing that you don’t even hear your bedroom door open.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Your eyes pop open and widen at the sudden intrusion. All you can think to do is sink further into the bubbles and hide yourself. “Suguru, why didn’t you knock like a normal person?”

As if he didn’t just walk in on you bathing, he continues to make eye contact, “I did knock, and there was no response.” “Had to make sure you weren’t dead in here.”

You can feel that your face is flushed. You’ve never had a man see you naked; much less someone you technically work for. “Well, I’m absolutely fine, thank you for checking.” Before you can ask him to leave, he reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, pressing gently on an unhealed bruise.

“You’re sore aren’t you?” The corners of his mouth slowly forming a pout. He’s almost cute like that.

Just to make him feel better, you speak up, “It’s okay, the bruises will heal.”

He sighs before looking at you and down at the water. Turning to his right, he reaches for the shelf next to the bathtub and pulls out a washcloth. Without asking for permission, he rolls up his sleeves and dips the washcloth into the soapy water.

“What do you think you’re doing Suguru?”

“You seem to call me Suguru when you’re upset; but you prefer to call me sir don’t you?” He says this with a devilish grin on his face, the same look he had earlier that day.

You feel your face flushing again and look away. “Sit up, I’m going to bathe you; you don’t need to exert yourself further.”

You scoff at him, “Sir…Suguru, I’m completely capable of bathing myself.”

He sighs, “Let me at least scrub your back for you; it’ll make your muscles more sore.”

Not wanting to argue on your first full day there, you nod and sit up straight. You don’t let your eyes meet his, but you can feel him staring at you, examining every visible inch of your body before he positions himself behind you and begins washing your back. Honestly, you’re glad you didn’t fight him too much on it; having someone else bathe you feels incredible. Especially when that person is a 6 foot something muscular man with a beautiful face and strong hands. You close your eyes and enjoy the sensations. The warm water and washcloth pressed firmly against you, moving up, down, and in circular motions. But the sensation you enjoy most is Suguru’s large hand resting on your shoulder. Something about the moment is incredibly sensual and is embarrassingly turning you on. As your mind drifts further into relaxation; you no longer feel the warm cloth on your back. Instead, you feel another hand on your other shoulder. Suguru’s hands slowly massage your shoulders before making their way down to your breasts. Your breath hitches and you start to protest before you feel a warm breath against your ear.

“You did such a good job today; I’m glad you decided to come work with me; I really need you.”

He needs me? In what way? Because at the moment, it feels like he needs something more than help with his mission.

“Sir, I don't think you should touch me like that.” Your voice is shaking, unsure what’s going to happen next.

“Oh,  do you want me to stop?” He teases “Are you sure, because it seems like your body wants it.”

He gestures toward your nipples which are hard despite being in hot water. Okay maybe you do want this. You stay silent for a few seconds, maybe you shouldn’t entertain this. But you can’t deny that you’ve been having inappropriate thoughts about him since your eyes first met his.

“You can keep going.”

You hear a small laugh escape his lips before he pulls you back gently to lean your head against the lip of the bathtub. Your eyes close as you feel his hands wander back to your breasts. He begins massaging them, and cupping them in his hands, rubbing your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger gently. You accidentally let a small moan escape.

“Oh, you like that don’t you?” He really likes to tease apparently.

“Yes sir.”

As those words leave your mouth, Suguru lets out a small groan. He continues massaging your breast with his left hand, pinching your nipple lightly every once in a while, causing you to lightly moan and hiss at the pain from the pinching. His right hand travels upward to cup your jaw. You open your eyes and look up at him. To your surprise, his face is right above yours, with a smile that absolutely melts you. Letting your heart overpower your mind, you reach up with your right hand and hold his cheek, smiling back at him. The hand he had on your jaw moves to grab the hand on his cheek. He leans down further and delivers small gentle kisses to your cheeks and along your jaw line. How can this man get even more attractive? The sensuality of it all has you feeling butterflies in your chest, just like a children’s love story. You’re not one to take without giving back, so you use your hands to pull his head further down, letting your lips meet his. Kissing upside down definitely looked easier in Spiderman; but regardless, the kiss is the most sensual one you’ve ever experienced. His lips are soft and warm. You open your mouth slightly, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. He tastes like the earl gray citrus tea that you had earlier. The feeling of your mouths intertwining is nothing short of magical. It feels like the two of you have been kissing for hours, but it’s only been 10 minutes. He slowly pulls away before kissing your forehead gently and smiling at you.

“You should finish up your bath, the water is getting cold, and we have an early day tomorrow.” You stare at him, entranced by the beautiful man that just kissed you like he loves you. “Oh and you’re a wonderful kisser; we should do that again soon.”

Your face flushes, and you can’t seem to gather the words to say. All you can come up with is a meek, “You too sir.”

Over the next few months, the two of you go on more missions and complete rigorous training. But there are also plenty of free days in which you get to know your new family better. Seeing the way that their dad looks at you, even the twins begin to warm up to you; asking to go shopping, and having spa nights together. As much as you miss your old friends, being here just feels right, and you couldn’t be happier. Six months into your new life, Suguru calls a meeting. You all meet in the living room, curious as to what this meeting is about. Suguru waits until everyone is comfortable before saying the words that would truly set your lives in motion; “In eight months time, we will all go to Jujutsu High School.” “I’m hoping to recruit a promising new student; but regardless of whether he joins us or not; we will be declaring war on the school, using all of the cursed spirits I’ve accumulated.” You feel your heart flutter. You knew you’d have to confront your past; but not this soon. Can you even bring yourself to fight your old friends? There’s no use backing out now; you’re going to have to come face to face with Satoru again; this time as his enemy.

Chapter Text

They say that time heals all wounds.

Maybe that’s true for some; but not this one.

Satoru leans back in his chair, boots propped on the edge of the desk that once belonged to you. His gaze drifts up toward the ceiling, but his thoughts remain anchored to the empty seat across the room — your old seat. The air feels heavier these days. The weather still changes, missions still come in, and the students still grow stronger, but the absence of your warmth lingers like a ghost in the corridors of Jujutsu High.

Your defection changed everything.

Gojo exhales, a long, tired breath. “No need in dwelling on the past,” he mutters, forcing a half-smile. “I’ve gotta make sure Yuta’s settling in okay.”

He rises, stretching his arms overhead before straightening his uniform. His hand pauses on the back of the chair, giving one last glance at the seat that used to hold your laughter, your snark, your stubborn determination — and then he turns toward the door.

Okkotsu Yuta.

The newest addition to Jujutsu High. The boy who carries not just potential, but a curse of terrifying magnitude. Rika, the Queen of Curses herself, bound to him in love and grief. She could level a city if she wished, and yet somehow, Gojo sees something almost innocent in the boy who bears her burden.

The higher ups, of course, only see danger. They’ve already called for Yuta’s execution. Typical.

Gojo shakes his head. Idiots.

Still, the boy learns quickly — faster than anyone has a right to. Gojo hasn’t seen talent like this since…well, since you.

“Yutaaaaa,” he calls, voice light and teasing as he enters the training field. “How’s my favorite student doing?”

Yuta blinks, startled, pointing at himself. “M–me, sensei?”

Gojo laughs, the sound echoing across the courtyard. “Well obviously! Who else could I mean?” He ruffles the boy’s hair, ignoring his flustered protests. “So, how’s training with Maki going?”

Yuta fidgets, glancing toward the open field. “I think it’s going great, but… I’m a little worried. She doesn’t seem to stop training. It’s like she’s pushing for something specific.”

Gojo follows his gaze.

Maki’s form is sharp and relentless, sweat clinging to her skin as her hair slips free from its ponytail and spills across her shoulders. Each strike of her weapon cuts through the air with brutal precision. There’s fire in her eyes; fire that Satoru knows all too well. It’s the same look he wore the day he realized you had left… and who you had left with.

Since your defection, Maki’s been unyielding. The plan had always been for you two to fight side by side as equals on the battlefield. But now her anger fuels every motion. What was once admiration has curdled into fury. She tells herself she trains to uphold duty, to protect others…but deep down, she’s training to face you.

To destroy the friend and mentor who became a traitor.

The morning she woke to the news of your disappearance, something inside her broke. You weren’t just a teacher or an upperclassman; you were someone she confided in, someone who saw her for who she really was. And then you were gone.

Now, to her, you’re nothing but a criminal.

A criminal that Gojo Satoru himself has been ordered to execute.

If Maki channels her grief into rage, Gojo does the opposite. He tries and fails to bury you in the back of his mind. Every hallway, every classroom, carries echoes of your voice. He hasn’t touched the mountain of sweets you left behind, not even the mochi, your favorite shared indulgence. He hasn’t stepped foot in your room since that morning, after the investigation.

That day replays in his head more often than he’d admit.

The Morning After Your Disappearance

The door crashes open under Gojo’s hand, the sound cracking through the dormitory like a gunshot.

He stands in the doorway of your empty room, his chest tightening. The air still smells faintly of you — faintly of Suguru?

Items are neatly arranged on the desk, small tokens left for others; a stack of charms for the students, a note tucked beside his own stash of sweets. But it’s the residue of cursed energy, sharp and unmistakable, that makes his pulse stop.

This is without a doubt Suguru's cursed energy.

The calm, ocean blue of his eyes darkens into something stormy. His jaw tightens. The only word that makes it past his lips is raw and trembling.

“Fuck.”

He steps back, breath unsteady, and bolts from the room; the splintered remains of your broken door crunching under his shoes. By the time he reaches Yaga’s office, his control has all but evaporated.

“She’s gone,” he blurts, voice hoarse. “She-she's gone.”

Yaga blinks, confusion melting into dread. “Gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” Gojo admits, raking a hand through his hair. “Her things are gone. And her room…” He swallows. “It has Geto Suguru’s residuals all over it.”

Yaga’s fist slams against his desk. “Geto was here?”

Gojo’s silence answers for him.

“There was no sign of a struggle,” he says finally. “I think she left with him willingly. This was planned. She helped him. They broke into the weapon storage and stole Playful Cloud.”

Yaga stares at him, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “A special grade sorcerer, a good person — and she sides with Geto? To steal Toji Zenin’s cursed tool, of all things…none of this makes sense.”

Gojo exhales sharply, voice cracking on the next words. “Maybe this is her. Maybe we made the same mistake with her that we made with Suguru. We didn’t notice when they started slipping.”

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The silence says more than words could.

When they finally report to the higher-ups, the response is cold, immediate, predictable.

No hesitation. No meeting. No mercy.

You’re listed as a wanted curse user. Sentence: execution. Executor: Gojo Satoru.

The weight of it crushes him. He couldn’t kill Suguru when the time came, and he knows, deep down, that if he sees you again, he won’t be able to kill you either.

Breaking the news to the elders was easy, they never cared about you.
Telling the students is another story.

The air in Yaga’s office is thick with disbelief when Gojo gathers them all. Panda stares at the floor. Inumaki doesn’t speak. Maki’s entire body shakes, her nails digging so deep into her palms that they draw blood.

The betrayal burns hotter than grief.

Present Day — At the Temple

Six months have passed since then.

The temple you now call home hums with quiet life. The morning air smells of cedar and incense, sunlight spilling across the courtyard as Mimiko chases Nanako through the hallways, trying to get a look at something on her phone. They’ve grown fond of you; always asking to be trained, always shadowing your every move. Suguru, ever the protective father, refuses. “They can use their techniques,” he says, “but they will not fight hand to hand.”

And you respect that. Mostly.

Suguru has been… perfect. Too perfect. Living and working beside him feels effortless, though neither of you has addressed that night in your bathroom. The tension still hums between you, unspoken but undeniable. Each time your eyes meet, your heartbeat stutters.

There’s no time to dwell on it; not with strategy meetings and preparations for the upcoming war consuming your days.

Suguru’s voice cuts through the low chatter of the room. “So the gist is this; we’ll go to the school. I’ll attempt to recruit the new boy, Yuta.”

You nod, tracing your finger along the edge of the table. “If it works, we take him in. And if not…?”

He answers calmly. “Then I defeat him and absorb Rika, the Queen of Curses. Her power will bring us 10 steps closer to our goal.”

You hesitate. “Sir… how can you be sure you’ll be able to defeat him?”

The room falls silent. All eyes turn to you. For a moment, it feels like time itself freezes.

Suguru doesn’t scold you; instead, he smiles faintly. “I can’t be sure. But after watching him fight, I don’t think I’ll have much to worry about. Rika will be my true opponent.”

You want to believe him. You want to trust the calm certainty in his tone. Still, something twists uneasily in your gut.

The rest of the meeting drags on; the same plans, the same outcomes. You, Miguel, and Suguru will handle the sorcerers in Shinjuku. If Yuta joins up with Suguru, he’ll either go to the temple and wait it out or help fight. Suguru will face Satoru alongside you. If Yuta refuses, you and Miguel will hold off Satoru long enough for Suguru to deal with Yuta himself.

When the meeting finally ends, you’re halfway to the door when a hand wraps gently around your wrist.

You freeze.

His touch is warm. Familiar.

“Hey,” Suguru murmurs, voice soft enough for only you to hear. “How do you feel about taking a walk and having a picnic? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

His smile is genuine with those crescent moon eyes you can never seem to look away from.

Your heart skips. “Sure,” you manage, cheeks heating.

You change into something simple: loose joggers, a fitted band tee, sneakers. Comfortable, casual. It’s not a date, you tell yourself. Except it feels dangerously close to one. Suguru seems to have had the same thought; his gray sweatpants and plain shirt mirror your own effort at looking casual.

The two of you walk side by side through the woods behind the temple. The path is quiet, lined with towering trees that cast dappled shadows across your faces. Sunlight slips through the branches, catching in Suguru’s hair, turning it a deeper shade of black.

You hadn’t noticed before how beautiful his eyes are when the light hits them. They're brown, but with a faint purple hue that’s almost otherworldly.

When the trees finally part, the forest opens to a wide field blanketed in green and gold. Wildflowers dancing in the breeze.

Suguru spreads a blanket across the grass, and for a long, suspended moment, neither of you speaks. The silence hums with something unspoken, heavy but sweet.

When you finally both speak, it’s at the same time.

“So I—”

The synchronization makes you laugh. He gestures for you to go first, lips twitching in amusement.

You swallow hard. “I wanted to talk about the… um… the bathtub incident.”

His eyebrow arches, then softens into a knowing smirk. “I wanted to talk about that too.”

Your pulse quickens.

“I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” he continues, eyes holding yours, “because I’ve never had to before. But I really like you.”

You blink, stunned. “Oh.” Then, breathless: “I like you too… a lot.”

He exhales, smiling. “I also owe you an apology for how forward I was that night. I can’t say I regret it, though.”

Something bold sparks in you. “Then don’t apologize. Because… I agree. We should kiss more often.”

That makes him blush. Actual color rises in his cheeks, and for a moment, you think he’s as flustered as you are. He leans in, hand cupping your cheek, gaze questioning — may I?

You nod.

The kiss crashes over you like a wave. His lips taste faintly of green tea and citrus, sweet and grounding. It’s deep and hungry and real; tongues sliding, breath mingling, hands tangling in hair. You lose yourself in it completely, until his body hovers above yours, both of you flushed and trembling.

When you finally part, Suguru grins breathlessly. “I guess I was right. We definitely should kiss more often.”

You laugh softly, dazed and glowing.

The rumble of your stomach breaks the tension, and Suguru chuckles. He opens the picnic basket. It's filled with sandwiches, tuna onigiri, edamame, fruit, ramune, water bottles and strawberry mochi. The sight makes your heart pinch. Satoru. He always used to buy extra mochi for you.

But this isn’t the time for ghosts of your past. Not when Suguru looks like that — hair loose, and staring up at the blue sky, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

When he looks down and catches you staring, he laughs. “You’ve got mayo on your face.”

Before you can react, he reaches forward and wipes it away with his thumb. The small, thoughtless gesture sends your heart into chaos.

“Thanks,” you murmur, cheeks pink. “I was gonna ask what you were thinking about when you were looking up a second ago.”

He hesitates, glancing up at the sky again. “The last time I had a picnic like this was with Satoru and Ieri.”

His voice falters slightly on their names.

“You miss them,” you say softly.

He nods. “Of course I do. Especially Satoru. Leaving him was… harder than I let on.” His fingers find yours, gentle but sure. “You miss them too, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens. “I do. Satoru was my mentor. My friend. I wanted to be like him… but I couldn’t stay.”

Suguru brushes away a tear before it can fall, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “You know…we’ll both have to face him soon. Are you prepared?”

You stare at the grass for a long moment before whispering, “I am. I have to be. When the time comes, I won’t hold back; no matter what my heart says.”

He nods, understanding, and for the rest of the afternoon, you eat and talk and laugh like the war ahead doesn’t exist. The food disappears. The sun dips low.

At some point, you lie back against the blanket, shoulder brushing his. Clouds drift lazily across the sky that is now orange and yellow, and you find yourself pointing out shapes; a dragon, a rabbit, a heart.

You don’t notice him watching you until his gaze meets yours. Slowly, you shift closer, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, his chest warm beneath your head.

Suguru stiffens at first, then relaxes, an arm wrapping around you protectively. His fingers thread through your hair, slow and tender, before he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

For the first time in months, the world feels still.

For the first time since leaving, life feels… right.

Chapter Text

The temple has a way of making even the most mundane days feel peaceful.

Morning light spills over the eaves and down across the courtyard, catching in the soft moss between the stones. Incense from the inner hall still clung faintly to the air. Not heavy, not cloying, just the last trace of something sacred. Wind moves through the pines like someone slowly exhaling. From inside, the muffled sound of Mimiko scolding Nanako for stealing her hair tie floats out, followed by Suguru’s patient, fatherly tone telling them both to keep it down.

It has been like this for months now.

A quiet, stolen domesticity in the middle of a life that was anything but domestic.

You sit behind Suguru on the stone bench just outside the temple entrance, the stone cold and slightly damp beneath you, but the air warm and bright enough that you don't mind. Suguru sits on the lower edge, legs relaxed, back leaning into you, eyes closed as if he had finally been given ten minutes where he didn’t have to command, convince, or parent.

His hair had gotten longer.

It made him look older and younger at once: older in the sense of a man who had made irrevocable choices, younger in the way his shoulders soften when your hands were in his hair.

You draw the brush through the dark strands, slow and careful. It was your mother’s brush; lacquered, a little worn along the handle, but sturdy — something from a quieter time. You never let anyone else touch it. Suguru knew that, which was why he sat so still, as if he were honored.

“You really won’t let me cut it,” you murmured, lips curving.

His eyes stay closed, mouth tipping up at the corner. “No. You’re doing a fine job without the scissors.”

“You’d look good with it a bit shorter.”

“I looked good with it shorter,” he corrects you, amusement in his tone. “I look better like this.”

You roll your eyes, but the gesture was all fondness. “Arrogant.”

“Confident,” he corrects you again. “Besides, the girls like braiding it for me.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said, even as you thought, And I’ve been stealing that job lately. There was a quiet, unapologetic satisfaction in that.

To everyone else, he's still Suguru Geto; the defector, cult leader, curse user, man bold enough to call non-sorcerers “monkeys” with conviction. Someone the higher ups call a stain on the jujutsu world. Someone they’d told Satoru to execute, the same way they’d told him to execute you.

But here, in the soft morning light, with the brush in his hair and his head tipped back into your lap, he doesn't look threatening.

He looks like the boy you’ve seen in old photographs sitting in a box in his wardrobe. Photos of him laughing beside Satoru and Shoko. The boy who should have grown into a man teaching classes and sneaking sweets with his best friend.

Being here with him, so close for so long, you could see it clearly: when he's with you and the girls the anger unknotted. He became the version he must have been before the world let him down.

A soft breeze lifts the ends of his hair. He makes a small hum, the kind people only make when they feel entirely safe in someone else’s hands.

You shouldn’t feel safe with me, you thought briefly. I’m a wanted curse user too now.

But maybe that was why he could feel safe with you.

You're almost finished brushing when your phone rings.

Not the burner phone for the family; your real phone. The one with dozens of missed calls from Satoru and the others. The one that you still keep around for some reason.

The sound punches through the lazy morning like a miscast curse.

Suguru’s eyes open; and you look down at the screen. An Osaka number?

His eyes meet yours immediately, and with the slightest shake of his head — don’t — he reminds you that your phone can be traced.

The phone rings again and again.

Six times in total.

By the third call, your stomach sinks. Someone wouldn’t call you six times unless something was very, very wrong.

The voicemail notification pops up; and you look at Suguru.

He still doesn't like it. His mouth is pressed in a displeased line, but there was something else there too, concern. The way his brows pinched told you he’d already picked up on your dread.

He sits up straight, turning half toward you, as if he’s ready to steady you, to stop you, to hold you— he didn’t know which yet.

You put the phone to your ear. The voice on the other end is professional and apologetic at once.

Osaka National Hospital. Transported from Ikoma. Major trauma. Pedestrian Hit and Run. Coma. Trying to get in contact with family.

You can't remember any of the other words; just those that stuck out to you. 

The world narrows to a single image: you mom, stubborn and cheerful, the one person you haven’t told the truth to. Not when you defected, not when you followed Suguru, not when you chose this path. The woman who brought you into this world is now lying on a hospital bed with machines doing the work her body can’t.

Your mom, who thought you were overseas, working, growing, shining. Who would have told you to chase your happiness no matter what.

The phone feels heavy in your hand.

For a second it's only breath; ragged, fast, shallow. Suguru reaches out to you.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” His voice is steady but tight, a leader’s voice forced through a man’s panic. He cups your cheek with one hand and lays the other on your shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding you.

“My mom,” you barely get out, voice breaking on the second word. “She—she was in an accident. A truck — it hit her and drove off. She—she’s in Osaka. In the ICU. She’s in a coma.”

His eyes widen, only for a heartbeat and then soften, the way he always did with you, like you were one of the few things in this world he still allowed gentleness for.

Your mind begins to spin; not just with fear, but with guilt.

You haven't called. Haven't written. Haven't told her that you were even alive, just…elsewhere. You chose a man the jujutsu world called evil, chose an ideal you believe in, chose a future that puts you in direct opposition to people you once called friends. You had not chosen to be a good daughter apparently.

And now your mom lays in a hospital bed in Osaka — a major city that visiting might mean risking being recognized. The thought of not going twists something in your chest until it hurts.

Suguru saw it.

“Go,” he said quietly.

You blink at him. “But—”

“Go,” he repeats, firm, but still soft. “You need to see her.”

“But Osaka is a big city, and if—”

“I know.” His thumb brushes your cheek, collecting the tear that finally fell. “I know, and I don’t like it. But I’m not going to ask you to stay here and wonder if you missed your chance to see your mother.”

You swallow, throat tight. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

“It’s my trouble too, now.” He gives you a small smile.

He continues, already planning, already shifting back into the calculated, sharp man who orchestrates every movement. “Osaka’s about four hours by train. I won’t have you taking the train the whole route since you might be spotted. I’ll take you partway with one of my cursed spirits. Somewhere far enough that no one will see; and then you take the train the rest of the way. Mask your energy as much as you can. Keep your head down. And…” He hesitates, hating the limitation even as he said it. “Just for a day. Please. I don’t want to keep you from her, but I also don’t want to hand you to Satoru to be killed.”

The name lands between you both. Your mentor. Your friend. The man who used to share snacks with you while you watched low budget movies.

The same ache you hear in Suguru’s voice whenever he talks about Satoru flickers through you too. You miss the same person.

“Thank you, Suguru,” you said, and truly meant it.

You lean forward and kiss him — not rushed, not careless — a grateful, aching press of lips that promised you would come back.

He kisses you back with equal promise.

The two of you move quickly after that.

Within the hour, you stood just outside Mikawa-Ōtsuka Station in Gamagōri, seawind faint in the air. He couldn’t follow, not openly, but he stays close long enough to make sure you were okay.

“Contact me on the other phone when you’re ready to come back home,” he says with a hand on your arm.

You nod and give him a smile.

He bends down to kiss you goodbye. The kiss is slow, lingering, nothing obscene, just the kind of kiss that said come back; and you held onto it all the way to the station.

The train ride to Osaka should have been uneventful, but it wasn’t.

Your mind wouldn’t stop playing that morning like a tape. The urgency in the nurse’s voice, the sterile words, Suguru’s eyebrows knitting together, the way his hair had felt in your hands just moments before, the way you’d brushed it like any other morning, completely unaware the day was about to split in two.

You stare out at the blurring scenery. Rice fields. Towns. Tunnels. Halfway there, your phone rings again.

This time, it was a relief: your mother has woken up. The nurse says that she is responsive, confused, in pain, but stable.

Something in your chest loosens.

You press your forehead to the train window, eyes closing, thanking what ever God still listened to your prayers.

You reach Osaka, the city feels huge and loud and exposed. You hadn’t realized how used to the temple’s quiet you’d become — to the way sounds there were predictable: girls laughing, heavy footsteps from family members, the creak of an old floorboard. Here everything was moving, pulsing, talking. A dozen kinds of cursed energy skim just below the surface. But you kept yours locked in tight.

You don’t look like a criminal, and you know that. But you can’t help but to feel eyes on you anyway. You feel like you’re being watched.

You detour into a small café, a place that sold melonpan for too little and coffee for too much. Not the most cautious move, but one made with the hope that you could bring something to your mom that wasn’t hospital food.

You step back into the street after making your purchase; and immediately stop dead in your tracks.

Two familiar faces look up at the exact same time…Hakari and Kirara.

For a heartbeat, the street disappears and you imagine that you are at school again, standing in the halls of Jujutsu High, wondering why Hakari never follows the rules and why Kirara always seems one step ahead of every conversation.

Your mind races in spirals: Do I Run? Explain? Fight? Would they shout? Would they report me? Would they try to take me in? Would Satoru know where I am before I even leave the block?

Hakari lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, smiling in that cocky, easy way he always has. “Hey. Long time no see, huh?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. He wasn’t on guard. He wasn’t even flaring his energy.

“Yeah,” your voice sounds a little raw. “Long time no see.”

You could lie. Could throw up some half explanation about coincidentally being in Osaka. But it feels wrong, standing in front of people who’d once been classmates, to pretend.

“Look,” you begin, voice tight. “I know we weren’t close, and I know you’ve heard things. I’m—” Your throat feels like it’s about to close. “Please. I’m only here because my mom is in intensive care and I need to see her. Please don’t report me to the higher ups.”

Not your proudest moment. Begging in the middle of the street. But today has snatched any remaining pride out of your hands.

Kirara looks at Hakari. Hakari’s mouth twisting into a smirk. “We heard about you,” he says, not unkindly. “Pretty ballsy to run off like that. And with a mass murderer too.”

Your body tenses.

Then he continued, shrugging. “I can’t begin to understand why, and honestly, I don’t want to. Don’t wanna be involved, y’know?”

Relief crashes into you so hard your knees almost give out.

Kirara sighs, hand finding Hakari’s. “Funny enough, we also defected,” they said, as if sharing gossip. “For different reasons, obviously.”

Hakari jumps in. “Higher ups didn’t like my side gigs,” he says, tone dismissive. “But who wants to stay in that stuffy school anyway? All rules, no fun.”

They laughed.

You did too, weak but real.

For a second, it almost felt like you were all still in the dorms.

But then Kirara’s expression sobered.

“Listen,” Kirara says. “You should know… Gojo is messed up over you. Not mad messed up…sad messed up. He stopped teaching for a while. Just sent everyone out on supervised missions.” Their eyes flick away. “He still isn’t really himself.”

Your stomach drops.

You’ve imagined it, of course, that he’d be hurt, but imagining it and hearing it were different.

Kirara went on. “And Maki… she cried in front of me. I never thought I’d see that. Now she trains more than ever. It’s like she’s getting ready for something.”

You knew exactly what.

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” and it was the only honest thing you could give them. “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

They part with half smiles and small waves, like people who might still meet for drinks if they could.

Your visit with your mom was harder.

The injuries were bad, even though the truck had apparently slowed down before hitting her. The bruising was ugly, the tubes and staples uglier. Despite it all, she still smiled, albeit weakly. And she still believed every lie she was told about your overseas work, about missions.

Lying to her, when she was so grateful to see you made you sick.

But what was the alternative? I left the school to join a man the jujutsu world wants dead, I broke into the armory and stole a cursed tool, I helped the one person Gojo couldn’t kill, and now I’m about to invade the school with him.

You couldn’t tell her that. So you lie.

For the new world, you tell yourself. For the future. For the place where sorcerers wouldn’t have to die for regular people or be directed by a council of old men.

By the time you make it back to the temple the next day, it was late in the afternoon.

You thank Suguru for taking you to see your mom, and then you go quiet.

The dinner table is loud. Miguel and Suguru trading observations, the girls eavesdropping, one of them making a face at the pickled vegetables. You didn’t add to the conversations. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t even comment on Miguel’s threat to move out if Suguru kept drinking all of his favorite imported green tea.

They notice your silence…of course they notice.

Suguru watches you from the other end of the table, measuring, waiting. The girls exchange a look that says, She’s upset. Miguel’s brows dip.

As soon as you finish eating, you excuse yourself and leave.

The hot water of the shower didn’t wash away the events of yesterday. Didn’t wash away the image of Maki training until her palms bled, of Gojo sitting in his room alone, of your mom’s smile even with a bruised face.

This is the cost.

You knew, but it hit harder when people you loved bled and cried over the choices you’ve made.

You slip into comfortable clothes, loose shorts and an old shirt, and sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. You don’t know how long you sat like that. But it was long enough for a familiar, gentle knock to make its way to your door.

“It’s Suguru. Can I come in?”

You didn’t want to talk. But I mean, this was Suguru.

“Sure,” you said, voice small.

He steps in.

He takes one look at you; damp hair, hunched shoulders, eyes that look like they’d seen too much in one day; and his expression folds into something close to pain.

He sat beside you without asking, arm snaking around your waist, the other hand resting warm and steady on your thigh. He didn’t crowd you. Didn’t demand you look at him. He just made himself an anchor.

“How was she?” he asks quietly.

“She… looked horrible,” you say as your throat tightens. “They said she was lucky the truck slowed down before impact.”

He hummed, empathy low in his chest.

“And,” you add, because you couldn’t hide it from him, “I ran into two classmates.”

He tensed, just slightly.

“It’s okay,” you rush to assure him. “They defected too. They won’t say anything. But they told me about everyone. About Satoru. About Maki. About how much I hurt them.”

The words came out in a rush now, everything you’d been holding in since Osaka.

“I knew it would hurt,” you say with tears welling faster than you could blink them away. “I knew they’d be angry. But I didn’t think — I didn’t think Maki would cry. I didn’t think Satoru would just… stop.”

You cover your face with your hands.

“I’ve destroyed my life,” you whisper. “I’ve hurt everyone I love. I made Satoru depressed. I have Maki training to fight me. I lied to my mom. I’m a monster, Suguru.”

He didn’t let you finish your spiral.

“Hey,” he says, firm but gentle, and he takes your face in his hands, bringing your forehead to his, anchoring your eyes to his. “You are not a monster.”

A statement, not just a comfort.

“You chose a path,” he continues. “You chose to believe in something. You chose to act on it. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you someone with conviction.”

You choke on a laugh. “That’s what they used to say about you.”

“And they were right,” he says, eyes soft. “They were just too afraid to admit it.”

He brushes your tears away with his thumbs, slow and patient, like he had all the time in the world.

“Think about it,” he says. “Is it really that bad to lie to your mother about where you’re going? Would you rather she worry herself sick knowing you’re wanted? Or would you rather she believe her daughter is out there, living, doing good?”

You stare at him, not able to disagree.

“And as for Satoru…” his voice gentled even more, and there it was again, that old ache. “Of course he’s upset. Of course he’s hurt. I haven’t seen him in ten years, and it will still be hard to stand across from him again.”

Your eyes widen a little. “Tomorrow,” you whispered, remembering the meeting, the plan. “We really will go to the school.”

“We have to.” He didn’t sugarcoat it. “We can’t build anything new if the old structures stay unshaken. You know that.”

And you did. You hate that you did.

“He still cares about you,” Suguru added. “Maki does too. That’s why it hurts them so much. You don’t get that kind of grief if you don't matter.”

The logic is cruel and comforting at once.

You take a shuddering breath as he wipes another tear.

Somewhere in between tears and breaths, between ache and reassurance, the air changed.

You look up at him.

He’s close, too close, eyes dark and warm and so full of something you’ve been pretending not to notice.

Love? Maybe not spoken yet. But it was there in the way he looks at you, like you’re one of the most valuable parts of his life.

He leans in and you meet him halfway.

The kiss isn’t explosive like the one in the field had been, days ago under the sun. It’s slow and searching, tasting of tea leaves and shared sorrow. He kisses you like he understands exactly what you’d lost today and exactly what you were about to face tomorrow.

You kiss him back with the same hunger.

Maybe it was the awful day. Maybe it was the grief. Maybe it was the knowledge that tomorrow they would stand against the very people who had once sat around them laughing, trading snacks, dreaming about the future.

Whatever it is, it puts urgency in your fingers as you slide your hand under the hem of his shirt.

He catches your wrist, breath hitching, eyes searching yours for hesitation. But you look back at him steadily.

He exhales, something hungry and reverent passing through his expression, and then, as gently as if you were something precious, he guides your back onto the mattress.

“I’m sorry Suguru, is the touching a bit too much?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead he looks at you with an expression you’ve never seen, something akin to a hungry lion looking at its prey.

He slides his hand underneath your shirt making his way to your bra. “May I?”

“Of course Suguru, you can do anything you want to me.” And he obliges, happily. 

He uses his hand that was holding your back to quickly unclasp your bra. Now sitting up, he helps you take off your shirt and bra. His hands find their way to the back of your head, fingers lacing into your hair and pulling gently as he graces your skin with gentle kisses. 

His mouth travels down your neck, collar bones, and finally your breasts. He looks up at you, his pupils blown out in lust, before rolling his tongue around your left nipple, massaging the right breast with his hand. 

A light gasp escapes from your throat and you allow your eyes to close, tilting your head back to soak up the sensation. His mouth is hot, and his lips are soft and wet from kissing just moments ago. He gently lays you back down, continuing to massage your breast, but trailing his kisses lower and lower until…Oh...his lips are pressed against your underwear, kissing the fabric, letting the wetness seeping through coat his lips like a gloss. You lean up, resting on your elbows and forearms, watching his every move. He looks right back at you, his expression even more hungry than before. He takes his time pulling down your underwear inch by inch, before throwing them somewhere across the room. 

He tilts his head with that devious smirk of his, one that you absolutely adore. “You’re already so wet.” He presses his thumb directly onto your clit, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep inside of you. 

He begins rubbing circles on it, gently, but with the right amount of force. He dives in, needy and desperate like a starving man. He uses the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe on the outside of your pussy, licking up your wetness. He uses the point of his tongue to pry the lips apart and dig deep into your entrance. He works his tongue in and out, thumb still rubbing your clit, now with vigour. 

You feel your back arch, and he notices that you’re in heavens, but he has an even better idea. He removes his thumb from your now throbbing clit. You pout and let out a small noise of disappointment. 

He looks up and lets out a small laugh and then smirks, “You taste so sweet. So don't worry, I’m not done, I’m not even full yet.” 

He uses his ring and middle fingers to rub up and down your slick folds, gathering the wetness before slipping in both fingers at the same time, and it burns.  He leans down, putting his head back between your thighs. This time he gives a slow, hard lick to your clit, before slowly moving his fingers in and out of you. His lips suctioning around your sensitive clit, and his tongue circling it at the same time. 

The sensation is intoxicating, and your body is beginning to adjust to the long fingers inside of you. This feels even better than before, and you can feel yourself coming undone. Your breaths are shallow, and your legs begin to tremble. Suddenly, he hits a spot inside you with his fingers and sucks on your clit just right and that’s all it takes. 

Your back arches off the bed and your legs begin to shake as a whiny moan comes out of you. Suguru removes his fingers and continues to lick and suck your sensitive pussy, overstimulating you, but God, it feels so good. 

“Su-suguru, stop…mmm…please, I can’t take anymore.” You pull on his hair and lift his head up. His nose, mouth, and chin are soaked with your essence. He smiles devilishly and crawls up to you, hovering above you. He takes the fingers that were inside of you and presses them to your lips, tugging lightly on your bottom lip. You open your mouth and he slides the fingers in. You glide your tongue around them before sucking, tasting yourself while looking into his eyes.

You can feel his erection growing larger in his pants, pressing against your bare body. He takes his fingers away and before he can kiss you, you press your hand against his mouth, 

“Uh-uh, nope…it’s my turn now.” He must have forgotten how strong you are, as he looks shocked when you manage to flip him over, putting him on his back. You straddle his clothed crotch, soaking the front of his pants. 

He places his hands on your hips, “You’re so beautiful like this, angel.” His smile is soft and almost innocent despite the situation you’re currently in. 

You blush and let out a light chuckle; “I like the nickname, but I don’t think an angel would do what I’m about to do to you.” You kiss him deeply before lifting his arms up, taking his shirt off. Your lips make their way to his neck, sucking on the skin below his earlobe, then down further to his chest. You press your lips to his skin, going all the way down until you reach the top of his sweatpants. Looking down you can see that he’s even harder than he was before. 

You grab the band of his sweatpants with a quickness and with his help you take them off, throwing them beside the bed. 

Your hands grab onto the hem of his boxers and you quickly snatch them down, his cock springing out, leaking precum from the tip. He’s a slow and steady type of man, but you, not so much. You are so impatient in general, but for him, you’re even more impatient than usual. You examine him and holy shit it’s big. The length is well above average and the girth…is that even going to fit? Oh well, you’re in it to win it now. 

You grab his cock, making sure to look up at him, and he savors the look in your eyes. “You look even better in that position than you did on top of me.” “So ready to have me in your throat aren’t you?” 

You smile and nod innocently before licking up his length, applying pressure with your tongue. He groans, and that does something to you, making you want to do nothing but please him. You pull his boxers off the rest of the way and spit into your hand. Using his precum and your spit, you stroke his member slowly at first, using your mouth to lick and suck on his balls gently. 

His breath is almost becoming a pant; as you speed up your strokes, he lets out a whine. The groan was hot, but the whine? Oh, you’re about to ruin this man for anyone else. 

Without warning, you remove your hand and kiss the tip of his cock before using your tongue to circle around the tip. You look up and see that his brows are furrowed, his mouth slightly agape. In one swift motion, you take all of him into your mouth, lips reaching his pelvis. He instinctively bucks his hips up, pushing himself impossibly deeper into your throat, causing you to gag. 

He’s moaning now, his voice low but smooth like honey. You bob your head up and down while using the tip of your tongue to apply pressure to the vein running down the underside of his cock. The noises of your gagging and slurping are definitely not angelic, they’re downright pornographic. 

His breaths become uneven, and you know he’s about to cum. “I-I need to pull out.” You laugh inside your head before gripping onto his sides, continuing to bob your head up and down, paying special attention to the tip each time you make your way up. You tighten your throat as much as possible and take him down slowly when you feel warmth shoot down the back of your throat. You swallow and lift off of him. Your teary eyes meet his and he looks absolutely fucked out already. 

You glide your tongue up his happy trail and chest before making your way to his lips, kissing him and allowing him to taste himself. His eyes widen and he looks absolutely feral. Wrapping one arm around you, he flips you over onto your back and sits up, resting on his knees. He grabs your thighs and yanks you down to him. Grabbing his cock, he rubs it up and down your slick cunt. It’s like torture waiting on him to put it in. 

“Suguru, fuck me…please.” You pout. 

He tilts his head, poking out his bottom lip to mimic your pout. “Hmm, what’s the magic word, angel?” You already said please so what could he mean?...Oh…

”Please fuck me, Sir.” With that, he presses his thick member against your entrance, slowly pushing into you. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate his size. You both let out a heavy sigh as he enters you further. Slowly, he works his way all the way into you, pushing against your cervix. He grabs one of your legs underneath the thigh, pinning it up against your chest. Slowly he pulls most of the way out before thrusting back in hard. 

You can’t help but shout, “Oh f-fuck!” “You’re so deep, oh my God.” 

The feeling of his cock inside you is overwhelming all of your senses. He leans down, somehow pinning your leg further against you, and touching his forehead to yours. He kisses you and strokes your cheek gently before thrusting inside you hard again, this time covering up your moan by pressing his mouth against yours. 

He grabs your other leg, pressing it against you just like the other. Pressing his fingertips deeply into the flesh of your thighs to hold them in place as he begins slowly sliding in and out of you before increasing his speed and depth. 

He has you in a mating press at this point and the feeling is otherworldly. Your breath becomes irregular and you dig your nails into his back, drawing blood. 

He lets out a deep groan the more you claw at him. Your legs begin to shake and you involuntarily roll your pelvis up and down, taking in as much of him as possible before you lose control. With your head lifting off of the bed, you feel yourself come on his cock, a loud wet noise between you. 

He smirks, unrelenting, and continues to fuck you. He slows his thrusts, bringing his hand down to your wet clit and begins circling it with his thumb again, at the same time thrusting into you as deep as possible. 

It’s almost embarrassing, but you already feel like you’re coming undone again; completely fucked out and breathless now. But you’re not the only one.

Suguru’s thrusts become irregular, “F-fuck, you’re so tight angel…I-I’m gonna…” his breath shudders and you tighten yourself around him. He leans down, pressing your lips together, still holding you in a mating press. With one more deep stroke, you feel warmth spill out into you, coating your insides. Releasing your legs, Suguru pulls out, looking down to admire the mess he made spilling out of you onto the sheets. With one swift movement, he falls over next to you.

You lay side by side, the room dim, the air warm with the scent of skin and sweat. Suguru lays flush on his back, hair spilling across the mattress, his breathing even, eyes half lidded.

He looks…exhausted and unguarded.

Propping yourself on your elbow, you look over at him. “Suguru…why haven’t we fucked before now?”

He huffs a laugh, eyes sliding to meet yours. “If I knew that’s what I was missing out on, I might have taken you in the bathroom the first time we kissed.”

You can’t help but to blush and grin, tired and happy all at once.

He sits up after a moment, smoothing a hand over your hair like he couldn’t not touch you. “You should use the restroom,” he says, practical even now. “Then we can shower.”

You try to get up, but your legs protest.

He laughs, causing you to gently slap his arm, before he helps you up.

The two of you take a steamy shower, washing each other’s hair. Suguru changes the sheets for you, moving slowly as if time wouldn’t pass.

You lay down on the bed, ready to sleep when you feel the mattress dip next to you. No words are needed, just a glance, and you slide over to make room for him. He slides in beside you like it’s the most natural thing, like he’d been doing it for years.

He’s asleep within minutes.

You lay there a little longer.

Outside, the temple is quiet. Everyone is settling in, unaware, or all too aware, that tomorrow would be a turning point in your lives. Tomorrow everyone will go to Jujutsu High. Tomorrow Suguru would stand in front of Yuta Okkotsu and offer him a new life. If he’s denied, then he will stand in front of Satoru and declare war. Tomorrow you would stand across from friends who now sought to kill you.

You think briefly, of Gojo in the old classroom, feet propped up on the desk, pretending he isn’t thinking about you. You think of Maki swinging her weapon again and again under the afternoon sun, jaw tight with determination and hurt. You think of how, all these months later, even there, even at the school you’d left, your absence still feels like a missing limb.

And here you are, in the bed of the man who took you in, who allowed you to go see your mother despite the risk, who let you cry, who kissed you like you weren't broken.

The ache doesn’t disappear; but it settles.

You scoot closer, fitting yourself against him, arm over his chest, leg thrown over his hip as if you’ve done it forever. He’s warm. Solid. Real. Not a dream, not one of his memories of some sunlit picnic with Satoru and Shoko from ten years ago. This is now, the present.

Tomorrow is the day…but at least you’ve gotten some of your tension out tonight.

You try not to think too hard about it, snuggling up to Suguru, placing a kiss on his cheek, and let your eyes grow heavy, hoping to dream of the man beside you; the man you can finally admit that you’re in love with.

Chapter Text

The air in the room is cool and faintly sweet, carrying the scents of bergamot, pear, and musk from your shampoo and body wash the two of you shared. Light presses through the sheer curtains in soft ribbons, pooling over the sheets tangled between the two of you. Suguru is still asleep, face turned toward you, hair spilling across the pillow like dark silk. For a moment, you only watch him breathe — slow, steady, unguarded — and you can’t help but to think that for all the world’s cruelty, there’s still this: quiet, warmth, and the impossible peace of being next to him.

The alarm goes off once; but Suguru doesn’t move.

You reach out, poking his nose, then brushing a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, tucking them behind his ear. “Suguru,” you whisper, trying to sound serious and failing. Nothing. You poke again. “Suguruuuu.”

A low sound escapes him — half sigh, half protest — before his lashes lift. The light catches in his eyes, the faint violet threaded through the brown. Even half-asleep, he was devastatingly beautiful.

He blinks slowly, then reaches up to rub his eyes. When his hand drops, it comes to rest against your cheek, rough knuckles trailing warmth across your skin. “Did you sleep well?” he murmurs.

“I did,” you say teasingly, “but it took foreverrr to wake you up.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “After the work I put in last night, can you really blame me?”

You swat at him playfully, allowing him to catch your hand and press a kiss to each knuckle. “So, we’re official now, huh?”

One brow arched. “Officially the hottest curse user couple,” he says, smirking. He props himself on one elbow, pretending to ponder. “Maybe they’ll put us on the cover of *Jujutsu Weekly*. Tabloid section, obviously.”

You catch yourself gaping at him. “Suguru Geto, I didn’t know you could be so sassy.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through the room. You meet in the middle for a slow kiss. One that tastes like laughter and leftover dreams. When he finally pulls back, his voice is soft. “Alright, angel,” he says, a thumb brushing your jaw. “Are you ready to win this war?”

The word *war* cut through the warmth like cold water. For a heartbeat, you pushed today’s date to the back of your mind. In a few hours, you’ll fight your former friends.

You and Suguru part ways, deciding to get ready separately, though the echoes of the night before linger in every breath. Tying your hair back, you catch yourself smiling — reminiscing on his hands, his voice, the way he says your name like it’s sacred. The fact that most sorcerers fear him feels almost ridiculous.

You rinse your mouth and spit before sliding on your slippers and stepping into the hallway.

Breakfast is a blur of motion — chatter, clinking dishes, the faint hum of nervous energy that always came before something big. Suguru sits at the head of the table, appearing to be calm as ever. Larue is reviewing the plan while the twins whisper to each other, glaring at the adults every few seconds.

“Ugh,” Nanako groans, slumping forward. “Why can’t we just stay here and wait for you guys?”

You look up from your tea, unamused. “Nanako. Mimiko.” Both girls freeze. “Didn’t you beg us to take you to get crepes on Takeshita Street?”

Two pairs of eyes light up instantly. They grab each other’s hands, squealing, the sound briefly dissolving the tension in the room. Suguru’s lips curve in a small, private smile. The two of you shake your heads, amused.

You help clear the dishes, grateful for the distraction from today’s plans. The air hums with the kind of stillness that comes before a storm.

You’re heading back to your room when Suguru’s door opens. He steps out quickly, catching your wrist, and tugging you inside before you can speak. The surprise leaves you breathless — his hands are already at your waist, his mouth finding yours in a kiss deeper and hungrier than the one that morning.

You’re both flushed and breathless when you part. Resting his forehead against yours, he speaks, voice low and smiling,“Sorry, I wanted to show you something.”

You blink, curious.

He turns, opening his wardrobe, and pulling out a garment bag. The zipper’s quiet rasp fills the silence; your breath catching as he lays it across the bed.

It’s a robe; a gojo-kesa like his, but smaller, the colors reversed: deep green squares outlined in gold instead of gold outlined in green. The high quality stitching shimmering in the morning light. When did he have the time to have this made? Was he always planning on your relationship to blossom into something more? What’s the purpose of having matching robes? 

Your fingers brush the fabric reverently. “Suguru… I can’t believe you got this for me.”

Sneaking up behind you, his arm snaking around your waist. “I want everyone to know that you’re my equal.”

Your heart stutters. “Your equal? You’re the leader. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says simply, turning your face to his before grabbing your hands. “You’re just as powerful as I am; probably more so. If anything happens to me, I want you to take my place.”

The words struck harder than he probably meant them to. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” you snap back quickly. “Right?”

He smiles, easy and confident. “Of course not. But I want the Jujutsu world to see us for what we are. Equals. And I’m not shy about letting them know you’re mine.”

He kisses your hands as he says that, warmth spilling into your chest.

You can’t fight back a smile, no other words are able to escape you aside from a simple, “Thank you.”

“Put it on when you’re ready. We leave in thirty.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, already turning toward his wardrobe, shoulders straight, calm and certain as ever. At least, he appears that way. But you know better. You linger for a bit longer, tracing the robe’s pattern with your fingertips. The fabric is heavier than it looks. The symbolism, even heavier.

The robe fits like a second skin. Luxurious, flexible, meant for movement. Now it makes sense why Suguru loves wearing his robe when fighting. The reflection in the mirror makes you look… different. Wiser, sharper, the lines of your face more defined. Matching Suguru is both absurdly sentimental and strangely empowering.

You step outside, the others already waiting. Suguru stands near the courtyard, summoning his Pelican cursed spirit. Why have I never seen this one before?

“How do we ride this one?” you ask warily.

Suguru glances over his shoulder, smirking. The others exchange looks, trying not to laugh.

“What?” you demand, not wanting to be left out of the joke.

No one answers, but the Pelican opens its beak.

You feel your face fall. “Oh my god, we’re going inside its mouth? That’s disgusting.”

Laughter broke out immediately. Even Larue snorted. Suguru squeezes your hand, amusement softening into affection. “It’s cleaner than it looks,” he promises.

It was. Mostly. Warm, dry, and strangely scentless. You can feel the hum of cursed energy around you, almost like being inside of a heartbeat. The trip was quick — maybe fifteen minutes, though it felt longer. Every minute closer to Jujutsu High making your pulse climb.

As the cursed spirit descends, sunlight flashes through its slowly opening mouth.

The temple’s quiet is gone, replaced by the order of Jujutsu High’s grounds. Gravel paths, trimmed hedges, the faint shimmer of a broken veil still dissipating in the distance.

And unexpectedly waiting for you all at the entrance: Yuta, Panda, Inumaki, and Maki.

The students freeze.

Maki’s gaze locks on you instantly — sharp, cold, unmistakable hatred. She moves forward until she's barely a breath away. “What are you doing back here?”

Her voice — familiar and furious — hits harder than expected.

“Maki,” you start, forcing a difusing smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

“Don’t,” Maki snaps. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. It’s Zenin for you.”

You don’t respond, what could you possibly say? It’s not like her anger is unwarranted. Panda and Inumaki are looking anywhere but at you. Yuta watches the situation unfold from a few steps back, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Suguru’s voice slid smoothly into the tension. “Yuta Okkotsu,” he says warmly, stepping forward. “You’ve grown stronger than I imagined.”

He clasps the boy’s hands, and you watch him work — calm, charismatic, the practiced cadence of someone who’d turned belief into weapon. You’ve seen him inspire crowds and influence politicians, but this was different. Personal. Hypnotic. Even knowing his tactics, it was hard not to be drawn in.

Yuta looks torn between awe and confusion. The others, less so. Maki’s hand tightens around her cursed tool until her knuckles begin to turn white.

The air shifts. Cursed energy flaring— powerful, familiar residuals closing in fast.

They arrive in a blur: Nanami, Shoko, Mei Mei, Yaga, Ino — and, of course, Satoru.

The sound of his voice hits you like a blade. “Can you stop spewing your weird religious nonsense to my students?”

He’s standing at the edge of the courtyard, blindfold in place, but every line of his body is taut.

Suguru turns, one arm still loosely draped around Yuta’s shoulders. “Satoru, long time no see.”

Gojo’s scoff was almost too casual. “Of course you would make a dramatic entrance like this.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers towards you— your cue.

You step forward, attempting to match Suguru’s confident tone. “Satoru. It’s nice to see you again.”

The words come out steadier than you feel “We wanted to meet your new student. Yuta’s reputation precedes him.”

Without warning, Maki lunges.

You barely block the strike, arm snapping up in time to catch the tool. “Maki,” you warn softly. “That isn’t a good idea.”

Suguru appears at your side, voice cool. “Maki Zenin,” he says, mock sympathy lacing his tone. “The Zenin clan’s failure. A monkey who can’t even see curses.”

You can’t help but to wince inwardly, even as you keep your face composed. Maki’s fury began to burn stronger, raw and visible, and for a moment you wanted to tell Suguru to stop — but this wasn’t the place. Not now.

Yuta finally spoke, trembling but firm. “I don’t really get all that stuff you were talking about. But I really don’t like anyone who insults my friends like that.”

Your eyes met his, seeing something familiar in their sincerity. “Sometimes, “the path you’re on isn’t the right one. Sometimes, harsh words are the only way to wake people up.”

He hesitates, gripping onto his katana's strap. “You must be the student who defected. They say that you were a great sorcerer and an even better person.”

Before you have a chance to speak, he continues.

“You know,” he murmured, “that good person’s still in there. I can tell.”

Your heart twists. “I appreciate that Okkotsu, but I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Suguru’s hand finds yours, steadying you. Also provoking exactly the reaction he expected.

Gojo’s voice cuts through the moment. “Suguru,” he says flatly. “I didn’t take you for the type to groom younger women.”

Every head snapps toward him. The courtyard is silent.

“I thought this was about ideals,” Gojo went on, “not about sleeping with my old pupil.”

Suguru didn’t flinch. “Oh, Satoru,” he says almost fondly. “Always so dramatic. We bonded over beliefs — the rest followed naturally.”

Gojo’s jaw tightens. “So the matching outfits are a statement piece?”

You step forward before Suguru can. “They’re not just for show,” you say, crossing your arms. “Suguru and I are equals. If anything happens to him, I will be taking his place.”

The words hit like thunder. Even the air seemed to still.

Shock rippled through the crowd of sorcerers — disbelief and something between betrayal and fear. The idea that you weren’t just following Suguru, but succeeding him, shattered whatever positive image they still held of you.

Maki charges again. This time, she doesn’t hold back.

Your hand closes around the weapons shaft. Wood cracking, the weapon splinters under your grip.

Maki stumbles back, stunned. Panda’s eyes widen. Even Gojo’s head tilts slightly, surprise breaking through his usual composure.

Suguru’s smirk deepens. “Impressive, isn’t she?”

Gojo’s voice is now sharp. “Why did you come here?”

Suguru straightens his posture fully. “To declare war,” he says simply. “Everyone gathered here today, I want you all to open your ears and listen closely. When the sun sets, we shall begin the Night Parade of 100 demons.”

The weight of the declaration drops heavy on the students and staff, undoubtedly unprepared.

Gojo steps forward, every inch the strongest sorcerer alive. “You think you can just declare war and walk away?”

Suguru doesn’t answer with words. Instead, no less than thirty cursed spirits burst into the courtyard, surrounding the students in a spiral of shrieking energy.

“Satoru,” he calls lightly, “you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your precious students, would you?”

Chaos flares. The twins were already climbing back into the Pelican, whining about their favorite crepe shop closing soon. Suguru laughs, dramatically hanging from the bird’s leg like a performer taking a bow. “See you at the war!”

Gojo exorcises every curse within a minute.

The students are shaken but unharmed. Maki sinks to the ground, weapon fragments scattered around her, fury building. “How could she?” she whispers. “How could she do this?”

Yuta looks toward the horizon, expression unreadable. “She’s stronger than I expected.”

Gojo stood behind them, hands in his pockets, voice low. “Her strength has grown. Suguru must have helped her master her technique.”

Nanami’s brow furrows. “You mean she’s fully learned to control him?”

Yuuta blinks, confused. “Control who?”

Gojo’s head tilts back, sighing heavily. “Mahoraga,” he says. “The divine general. The pinnacle of her Ten Shadows technique.”

The name hangs in the air like thunder.

Yaga swears under his breath. “If that’s true, we’re in trouble. We’ll need every sorcerer available. If she summons Mahoraga and Suguru releases that many curses—”

“We won’t stand a chance,” Mei Mei finishes quietly.

Gojo didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, softly, “If she summons Mahoraga… that fight’s mine.”

Yaga hesitates. “Gojo, are you sure you can—”

“She won’t summon him,” Gojo interrupts. “She wouldn’t do that to us.”

The words come out calm, almost gentle, but the undertone is something else — the thin, fragile thread of hope wrapped around grief.

“She’s not too far gone,” he says finally, almost to himself. “Not yet.”

The wind shifts, carrying the sorcerers inside quickly to strategize and assemble more forces. And carrying you and your new family toward a war that would go down in history.