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The train running along the track had become dull background noise for Shoko. Her nose was buried in a medical journal-- the third one she’d read since they left Tokyo. Gojo was across from her with his long legs stretched out to take the seat next to her. (An older woman had chastised him for his bold behavior to which he waved her off.) For what it was worth, Gojo was quiet. He busied himself scrolling through his phone. Every now and again, he would show Shoko a picture that piqued his interest.
Somewhere around Odawara, Gojo set down his phone and nudged Shoko with his foot. She peered up at him from her book. “Yes, Gojo?”
“I’m bored~”
“What do you want me to do about it?” Shoko asked, closing the journal.
Gojo rubbed his chin in thought. He held up a finger. “Tell me a story!”
“A story?” Shoko repeated. She gazed out the window. The scenery reminded her of Sendai Bay, where she and Shiori had grown up. She often looked back at her childhood with fondness. Her lips pulled up in a small smile. “I’ve got the perfect story.”
“Do tell,” Gojo chorused. He leaned back in the train seat and folded his arms behind his head.
“You know Mirai and I are childhood friends,” Shoko began. “It’s only fitting that this story is about her. We grew up on Sendai Bay and Shiori lived in this old, traditional house. The engawa made the worst noise you’ve ever heard.”
“Like when Yaga-sensei would scratch on the chalkboard to get my attention?” Gojo wondered.
“Much worse. You couldn’t touch a toe to the wood without the whole village hearing you. It was an awful creaking sound.” Shoko emphasized with her hands; Gojo chuckled at her antics. “Mirai’s parents always knew when someone came in and out of the house. She used to hate it.
“Anyways, a new girl had moved to town whose name was also Mirai. So I tasked myself with making up a nickname to distinguish the two. The name I came up with was Mishi .”
Gojo laughed out loud. “No way!”
Shoko nodded her head. “Sure did. At the time, I thought that it was a cool blend of her given name and family name. But Mirai did not feel the same way. She got all red in the face and screamed at me for making fun of her creaky engawa. She then spun it as me calling her fat-- it was a whole mess.” Running her fingers through her hair, Shoko grinned harder. “She vowed never to forgive me.”
“She clearly hasn’t held up that promise.”
“She said it to me again when I reunited her with Nanami.”
The white-haired sorcerer perked up. “Do you think she remembers?”
“I’m sure she does- you’re not planning on her calling that, are you?”
Gojo didn’t respond.
Shoko shook her head in light laughter. “First, you drop her honorific, and now you want to call her by her despised childhood nickname. You don’t want her to end up like Nanami with no respect for you.”
Humming, Gojo smirked. “We’re closer than you think, Shoko.”
“Cryptic,” Shoko commented.
Opening her book, she went back to reading, though she couldn’t shake the smile that seemed to etch itself on her face. The passing view was truly similar to her childhood village. She missed it. Life was so simple then; it was her and Mirai against the world. Her Mishi . Shoko still was unsure how Nanami found the courage to leave her in the dark about his death. Even to this day, she ate herself up about her last interaction with Mirai before leaving for Jujutsu Tech.
In a perfect world, she and Mirai would’ve attended the local high school together. They dreamed as little girls of moving to Tokyo for college and living together. Shoko was glad Mirai still accomplished that dream, even if she couldn’t be by her side. It hurt, sure, but it led Mirai to Nanami. That was good enough. The path was rocky and had some dead ends, yet it worked out. Soon, her two friends would be married. Shoko’s next battle was fighting Gojo for the status of godparent; she highly doubted he would share the title.