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Yaga watches the Gojo heir blink forcefully with his head tilted to the sky. He has heard reports that the boy was a prodigy in more than utilizing cursed energy. There was an uproar in the jujutsu community when he was born. He had just graduated school when the boy’s praises and curses were spat when news came that he inherited both of the coveted techniques of the Gojo clan.
Although he doesn’t care much for the clans despite coming from sorcerers himself, he remembered pitying the boy who had hits put on his head from the moment the news broke. It was cruel, but the world of curses never promised to be kind. Yaga can’t say that he hadn’t wondered about the boy and the power that hadn’t been seen in centuries, but he was unlikely to cross paths with the boy.
Accepting the school’s offer to become a teacher had given Yaga a lot of opportunities, one of those being meeting the Gojo heir for himself.
That’s what brings him to the Gojo family’s courtyard while the school’s headmaster talks to the Gojo clan head. The topic of their discussion, the future enrollment of one Gojo Satoru. If he were to matriculate, he’d be Yaga’s pupil for his first year at least.
For someone all seeing, the boy doesn’t make a move besides a slight stilling of his movements from where he’s laying on the ground. The attendants interspaced in the courtyard all look vaguely perturbed, whether it’s because the heir is laying on the ground in a light blue kimono or an outsider approaching the heir is for anyone to decide.
The boy continues to squeeze his eyes shut at intervals, his jaw clenched the only sign of his discomfort. Yaga is surprised to hear the boy speak, his voice smoother than what he would expect from a thirteen year old. “You’re strong,” he remarks his eyes still shut and facing the sky. “That’s good. It’d be unfortunate to be that much stronger than my sensei.”
Yaga feels his eyebrows raise. “Happy to meet your standards,” he responds amusedly.
The boy squints at him and Yaga can see slivers of crystalline blue behind his pale eyelashes. “What’s your technique, ojisan?”
Yaga snorts at the title. “I make cursed corpses, it allows me to infuse objects with my cursed energy and control them. And yourself?”
The boy frowns, opening his mouth, before turning back to the sky. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
Yaga moves to sit cross legged by the boy in the grass, “I know that you have two inherited clan techniques, but I might be misinformed considering you seem to only have two eyes.”
The boy scoffs, “What were you expecting? A spider?”
“Most spiders have eight eyes, not six,” He corrects.
The boy hums disinterestedly bringing his hands to cover his eyes. They lapse into a silence when the boy answers his question. “I have the infinity and six eyes cursed techniques. Try to touch me.”
Intrigued, he reaches for the boy’s shoulder when he reaches a barrier.
“I can do a lot of things with it, but the easiest is slowing shit down before it touches me. Technically your hand is still moving towards me, but at an infinitesimal pace.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Of course, it is,” the boy reprimands and his eyes are still shut so he can’t even see the unimpressed look Yaga’s giving him.
Despite working with teenagers for ten years now, their attitudes still tip between amusing and irritating. Choosing the former, Yaga huffs, “And your other technique?”
The boy's mouth tugs down before he responds, “It’s a little complicated for someone else to understand, but I can ‘see’ cursed energy and how it moves among other things.”
Yaga frowns, connecting the boy’s words to the way his eyes have been closed shut for the majority of their acquaintance. “Can you turn it off?”
He shrugs, “I can turn off infinity.”
That is not what Yaga asked and the both of them know it. He imagines constantly seeing the flow of cursed energy and “other things” overlapped with what human eyes are meant to see. It is not a sight that he’s particularly envious of. Studying the boy’s face for a moment, delicate features pronounced by soft waves of white hair, Yaga thinks rustles into his inner pocket where he knows he keeps a pair of darker tinted circular shades for when decides to take naps. He has a large enough collection that these won’t be missed too terribly.
“Here.”
The boy opens one eye to him with a scrunch between his brows, before looking at him fully.
“They’re not going to hurt you,” Yaga goads.
Scoffing, the boy sits up and snatches it from his hands. “I know that .” His indignation melts into bewilderment, “Why?”
The man shrugs, “If I’m going to be your teacher, I might as well teach you style.”
The boy looks over Yaga’s bland faculty uniform, but doesn’t call him out on the lie. He stares at the glasses for a moment before putting them on. The glasses slide slightly down his nose, the fit made for a 32 year old man, not a thirteen year old boy, but Yaga watches pleased at the way the tension melts from the boy’s jaw and shoulders.
“I can barely see anything through these,” he says softly, more to himself than Yaga.
“I wouldn’t know but it’s quite comfortable to nap with.”
The boy laughs and Yaga notices the surprised air coming from the attendants as though they’ve never heard the sound before. It’s funny knowing how godlike the jujutsu community views this boy who looks every bit of a boy in oversized circular shades and tousled white hair in the Gojo family estate.
The boy leans back on his palms, cocking his head at the man. “Your boss is coming, but it was nice to meet you, ojisan.”
Brat. He stands up and sure enough the shadows of the headmaster are heading this way. He turns back to the boy, “Shouldn’t you be saying sensei?”
The boy gives him a smirk that if his eyes were visible, he doesn’t doubt that they’d be glittering in mischief. “Can’t wait to see you in class, Ojisan Sensei .
Shaking his head, Yaga raises his hand in farewell heading to his boss. At nineteen he hadn't thought he'd do more than cross paths with the Gojo heir, but it seems as though he'll be seeing a lot more of Gojo Satoru.