Chapter Text
Gojo. Not a name you want to be associated with, per se. You actually rather have people call you a murderer.
Sadly, you can't really choose not to belong to the infamous clan of the six-eyes and limitless ability. Born into the family only two years after the miracle child already made your existence less important and your life mundane. Your future had already been planned out before your cries entered the world but changed quickly once the family head had seen the state you were in.
Black hair, dark irises. No sign of the six-eyes.
Your future turned from being forced to play maid for your cousin, to getting locked into the storage closet when guests were over, in hopes of concealing the family disappointment that just so happen to come in the form of your growing body. Your mother pretended you weren't her child, your father didn't. He was very much aware that he had created you, and he made sure to make you suffer for it.
Beatings were normal, especially when you dared to sneak out for food or water, hell, even a quick toilet break could get you thrown into that awful room.
"The room" was punishment for when your father was in a particularly bad mood. Filled to the brim with curses, ranging from fourth to first graders, he sent you inside with nothing but your bare fists to protect yourself. The time you'd spend inside "the room" would last from three days up to thirty, depending on the gravity of the situation that got you in there in the first place. Sometimes your father "forgot" to let you out, leaving you to fight for your life for another two to four days more than what the punishment originally entailed.
It was then that you found out about your limitless ability. If it weren't for the sudden appearance of your technique, you wouldn't have survived more than a day. Your parents knew of it, they just didn't care enough to train you. You learned how to write and read from the various maids while training your technique in secret whenever the rest of your family was out of the house.
When you were four, the miracle boy came to visit. Your parents were over the moon, giving him all the treats and praise you could only ever dream of. At that time, you had only listened through the walls while being locked away, noticing how cheerful your mother's voice sounded whenever she spoke. Not long after he and his part of the family left, they barged into the storage room, beating and berating you before dragging your small body back to where the curses slept.
A couple months after his visit, Satoru's parents invited your family to their home, asking kindly to see their child. They tried to keep you a secret, but your parents were well-known individuals in the Gojo clan, and everyone knew of their pregnancy as another potential six-eyes holder could have been born. The maids made sure to cover your body with layers and layers of fabric, hoping to distract outsiders with the patterns of your kimono from the bloodied bandages covering every inch of your skin.
At the main house, you've met the white-haired boy for the first time, staring into his icy blue eyes with your black ones.
Upon first glance, you could tell. You hate him. You loath him. You want him dead. The way he looked at everyone but doesn't seem to see. The way his ego already started to become bigger and bigger with every word of praise. You didn't even try to hide your distaste for the boy. Everyone in the room could feel the murderous intent coming from your small body. Because even though your body was small and still growing, your cursed energy supply already surpassed that of many of the adult sorcerers.
Your father warned you silently, threatening you with "the room" before going back to kindly smiling at Satoru.
The only one that wasn't bothered by your aura was the grumpy buff guy that came to visit on behalf of the Zen'in. He had short hair and a cut on his lip. And while all the adults looked at you with angry and disappointed eyes, he was smirking at you from across the dining table, chuckling slightly whenever your gaze hardened upon hearing the six-eyes speak.
He came to find you after dinner ended, and you fled the scene, telling the maids you needed fresh air.
At the time, you couldn't feel his presence until he spoke up, scaring you half to death in the process. He introduced himself as Toji before telling you to dial down the murderous glances you sent people. "It would be too obvious who did it once they're dead." Is what Toji said. You couldn't help a small giggle. After some time, he noticed your bandages, sighing sadly before telling you to fight harder before your body gives out too soon.
You hadn't been able to talk to him after that first encounter as your parents kept you under strict house arrest for the next few years. The maids weren't allowed to let you leave, and whenever there were guests over, you'd be locked in the basement instead. You trained on your technique whenever you could, but no matter how much you were able to use your cursed energy, you had no real technique behind your hits.
You needed a teacher. Not from the Gojo, they would never teach the family disappointment. But you needed someone to show you how to properly use your energy, or else your body will give in. Like Toji said.
You picked up a sword for the first time when you were eight, stealing it from the Dojo while being alone at home. While the maids had to make sure you never left the house, they didn't have to follow your every step, giving you the best opportunity to test your skills.
Like a natural, you held the Katana in your left hand, swinging it gracefully in the air.
Weeks later, you took your newly honed skills to "the room", swinging at every curse that looked your way. It was then that you created your cursed technique, developed from your limitless ability. Counter. You counter their attacks, sending them right back with a single strike. Whenever you get injured, you could use a revenge counter to move your injuries to them, and whenever you had no sword on you, you'd use your hands. With two extended fingers, you'd strike the air, cutting down curse after curse.
You'd come out bloodied from head to toe, but smiling like a maniac.
It felt good, the warmth of blood on your skin and the sickening smell of rotting flesh in your nose. It was comforting in one way or another as you had usually been the one injured. It was usually you to smear blood. Now you caused it. Your father found out not long after, watching as you trudged through the hallways with bare feet and dripping wet hair, clothes soaked in fresh blood.
Your father didn't look at you ever again after that.
At ten, the six-eyes came over again, just this time you stayed out, looking at him with dead black eyes as he and his parents as well as a couple of maids stepped into the tea room. The bags weigh heavily under your eyes, but you didn't dare blink during the starting contest, turning away only after he had left your field of vision.
Later, he would approach you in the garden, asking about the Katana strapped to your back. You kept it there as you were too small to keep it on your hip. You didn't answer at that time.
The fight that broke out between you two came out of nowhere. It was unprovoked and over quickly, leaving you dying on the grassy ground, choking on the blood from your slit throat. You can't even remember how he managed to take you down so fast or why. Maybe to assert his dominance or to show you what a real Gojo should be capable of, seeing as you're the exact opposite of what the clan wants their kind to look like. Whatever it had been that provoked him to almost kill you that day, you never found out.
He stood above you, watching with his disgusting icy blues while you withered away underneath him, gurgling the blood in your throat while clutching onto the cut with your tiny hands.
If it hadn't been for one of his maids that came looking for the boy, you'd be long gone.
Everything had happened so fast that you didn't even think of drawing your sword to use your counter-revenge on him. Not that you had the strength to do so in that moment. Your hands were slippery from the blood, unable to grasp anything. And your body went cold much too fast, numbing your fingers and feet in a matter of seconds.
That was the only time you came even remotely close to death. Because after your eleventh birthday, you fled the house, running away with only the clothes on your body as well as the Katana on your back.
You didn't flee without a plan. You had heard rumours of a man that killed off one sorcerer after the other. A man that, for some reason, couldn't be detected. The struggle to find Toji almost had you starving, taking days until you managed to track him down. Or rather, how to contact him. But after arranging a meeting with the sorcerer killer, your plan was finally able to take flight.
You asked the man to take you in as a student, begging and pleading for him to teach you. He was resistant at first, denying any and all of your requests by saying the same thing over and over again. "I can't teach someone with cursed energy." But you knew that already. As he is affected by the Heavenly Principles and doesn't harbor even a single drop of cursed energy in his body, you could feel the lack of energy emitting from him. You knew he wouldn't be able to help you out with your cursed technique. But that's not what you wanted him to teach you. You deliberately went and asked him to teach you because he's restricted by the Heavenly Principles.
A limitless curse user that fights like someone affected by the Heavenly Principles has never been heard of before up until that time, and you wanted to be the first.
After insisting for what felt like an eternity, Toji agreed. He reluctantly accepted you as his student and started teaching you how to properly fight with your weapon of choice. The Katana strapped to your back, which you hold in your left hand. Toji had told you that your fighting style had already been rather peculiar and that he'll try to train you accordingly.
With a strict diet and a training regime that could potentially kill a normal person, he started to build up your strength and stamina before eventually showing you ways to conceal your presence. Soon enough, he taught you how to kill people, too. Not before making you question your own mortality to toughen you up, of course.
On your 15th birthday, he tells you about his kids, Megumi and Tsumiki, as well as his late wife. Toji had long abandoned the Zen'in name, going by Fushiguro. Upon mentioning his children, the man became soft like marshmallows, speaking softer and quieter with every word. It freaked you out a little. A buff guy like Toji speaking so kindly about his kids, speaking so fondly of his deceased wife. You had never seen the man like this before that moment.
And when he smiled sweetly while patting your head, wishing you a happy birthday, your view of Toji changed.
Despite all of his wrongdoings and flaws, he was still human. The humanity you thought he had left behind with his clan was simply hidden underneath layers upon layers of scar tissue, safely kept hidden under his facade while he committed one sin after another.
Half a year later, Toji died. He had been killed by the hands of your cousin. The miracle boy. The six-eyes. Gojo Satoru.
It was the last time you cried, mourning over the death of your teacher who had treated you more like a child of his own. Toji was the father you never had, and you'd be damned to let his legacy die by the hands of the person you despise the most. You contacted the people Toji worked closest with, informing them that if they ever needed the service of the sorcerer killer again, they should contact you from now on.
Your teacher's legacy would live on with you until you take your last dying breath. And no matter what it takes, you would make sure to let the Gojo pay for the atrocities they've committed over the centuries.
You spent the rest of your teens and early twenties cutting down curses and sorcerers alike, taking on every commission you get from Toji's old employer. As long as you get to feel the blood soaking into your clothes. As long as you have the smell of death surrounding you to remind you of the time with your teacher. Though, Toji rarely smelled like death. The smell of death became a form of comfort for you way before you started to learn under him.
The smell of death wasn't what comforted you. It was the memory of "the room" that did.