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It is an uneventful afternoon like everyday in the Occult Research Club, where Iguchi, Sasaki and their underclassman gather up to discuss the mysterious urban legends around the local area. Always the enthusiastic pioneer, Sasaki stacks the centering table with heaps of newspapers and her own research.
“Guys, check this out.”
At her cue, Iguchi tears his eyes away from the magazine to set on her proud display.
“Sasaki-senpai, what are these,” the youngest fishes out an old newspaper, staring at the monochrome images.
“That’s exactly our topic today, an abandoned mansion on the hill behind our school,” the girl can’t stop her smile from widening, she expounds while tracing the article lines “It’s said that the house belongs to a wealthy but broken family, the Yoshino household, they only had one child but unfortunately, he was cursed.”
Itadori cocks his head, “Cursed?”
“Yep, the child was cruel and apathetic to others’ misery. Therefore, he was cursed as a punishment. Only when he learned his lesson would the curse be undone.”
“So cool,” the pink-haired boy says with sparkling eyes, “Like a fairy tale.”
“Oh no, the story doesn’t end there. The child was so angry that he locked himself up, isolated from the outside world. Day by day, the mother became ill because of sorrow and age. When the child begged the locals for help, but for he was cursed, he received the same malice he had shown them. He withered after his mother's death and his curse affected both him and the mansion in the end. Anyone dares to trespass shall face his wrath.” Sasaki opens a book she borrows from the library.
“As you can see, in the 90s, there were a total of 9 reports of the disappearance of teenagers. The next week, their bodies were found near the Yoshinos’ mansion. Years later, a series of missing cases continued and somehow, all the victims were found dead on the Yoshinos’ hill. The locals had tried to pull down the building but workers related to the construction project would either get in an accident or unexplainably disappear. In the end, they could only tell people to stay away.”
Both Iguchi and Itadori gasp out in shock upon the gruesome images as they flip through the pages. The bodies were mostly mercilessly misshapen that one might deem they weren’t human and all have one thing in common - a hollow on the left side of their chest.
“Um, so are we going to this place?” interrupts Itadori. He doesn’t mind venturing into haunted buildings or whatsoever but he can’t help the thought of being disrespectful to the victims.
“Of course, after all, rumours are just rumours,” says Sasaki with determination, even though she herself is scared as hell. Nonetheless, Itadori Yuuji is here, the boy is fearless and reliable despite being younger so she fears not. And the fact that they always reap naught at the end of their adventure makes Sasaki doubt their chances of actually encountering a ghost or spiritual entities.
“Well then, you guys free at twelve?”
“Seriously, tonight?” Iguchi questions with disbelief. Even though there aren’t that many unfinished assignments, the fact that they go at night to a strictly banned place makes anyone in their right mind would be reluctant, let alone having to sacrifice his sleep.
“Duh, the best time to explore a haunted house is midnight,” states firmly the girl.
Discerning his other upperclassman’s worries, Itadori raises his hand, suggesting. “Sasaki-senpai, how about taking a closer look at the house first? I’ll go. If the rumours are all false, then you needn’t have to waste your time.”
Sasaki’s eyes widen, “Will you be alright by yourself?”
“It’s fine Senpai.” Sasaki can only thank the boy internally.
No further objection is made so they quietly pack the girl’s research so they can go home. At least, the upperclassmen.
After bringing his grandfather flowers despite the old man’s protest, the pink-haired boy departs when visiting hours end. Dim light of the streets flicker as the boy trudges up the hill and further into the night.
Moonlit streaks seep through foliages, mapping out his path. Steps after steps, in the cacophony of cicadas and the breeze of late hours, he wanders. Steps after steps, by the sparse nearby accommodation and through the dense vegetation, he ventures. Into the woods as darkness slowly swallows him whole.
As he travels deeper, the atmosphere seems strangely chilling, misty and ominous. Sounds of his pace, of cracking branches, of falling leaves and something neither belongs to him nor nature.
When his locks are messy of sweats and lazy strokes, a fence could be vaguely seen from afar. Itadori carefully approaches, admiring the scene opening before his eyes but doesn’t miss the mat of warding off bands. Behind the rusty bars wrapped by vines and chains is a quaint mansion, old-fashioned with aesthetic patterns of architecture but dismal looking like bleeding color to the surrounding greenery, dyeing them with ash and quietus. The garden is choked with withered weeds and warning signs written by death-resembling paint, the only things alive must be no more than insects from decomposing animals, the boy deems.
Itadori mutters a small apology then hops over the metal barrier effortlessly thanks to his blessed physique. He takes in his surroundings once again, nothing new but the intensity of the dense stench of something rotten and the alarm of his survival instincts. Wordless cautions resonate through the rustle of trees and coos of wind but “Just a quick glance,” he promises himself as he tests the door handle of the building. Contrary to his assumption, wooden planks open with a long creaky sound, divulging the interior space.
Dark. Although he can make out some bumpy texture, probably of furniture, it’s still pitch-black dark.
The boy casts his flashlight upon the seemingly limitless void, paving his way as he treads. The hall is generous in size, some paintings and marble poles engraved with artistry and leads to a large staircase covered by a maroon carpet cascading from the top to the entrance. Except for veils of spider webs and thin layers of dust, everything is less deteriorated than what Itadori has imagined upon the house’s structure and decorations which appear to be centuries old.
No sooner does the boy travel further than a deafening slam can be heard. Itadori wastes no time to dash to his chief light source. However, belatedly. The door is unpassibly shut, unmoving despite loud thuds and bangs.
At his futile attempt, Itadori tries to stay as calm as possible. Okay, he’s trapped, now what? The boy lightly ruffles his hair, feeling rather surprised than actually scared. Oh well, maybe he will find another entrance, or more straightforward, breaking windows. With that thought, the teen nonchalantly proceeds his adventure.
Climbing up the unused but mostly intact stairs, he can’t help but stare at the endless collection of paintings which line the confinement of the hall. Most of them are torn, ripped, slashed and ruined in the most offensive ways possible, but Itadori can faintly guess they are portraits of one man. Probably the child from his upperclassman’s story, Itadori deduces. Weirdly, those portraits are not only repetitive in how they are framed, their objects are all identical. A young man, black hair and faceless.
Curiosity taking over, Itadori steps closer to a painting which he considers the most unharmed, fingers reach up to trace and glue back the torn pieces of canvas.
“Don’t touch it.”
Itadori jerks upon the sudden voice whose speaker is nowhere to be seen. Just as the boy is about to unravel the newcomer’s identity, his flashlight malfunctions. Rendered helpless by the lack of light, Itadori can only stand there while nervously hoping his eyes adjust to the dark fast enough before he is doomed.
“Um, hello?” he casually converses but his mind is ringing.
“Who are you? You shouldn’t be here,” the other deters his attempts with a cold tone.
“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m really sorry for intruding into your home but I couldn’t open the door and got stuck…”
“You fool,” a guttural response.
Now that Itadori has somewhat acclimates to the tenebrosity, he becomes more wary. Although the large black fabric covers most of his figure, the other must be 7 feet tall at best. The boy's throat feels weirdly dry as the other flatly explains. “Once you step inside, you will be cursed to be imprisoned in this place forever. Time doesn’t pass here, neither shall you die.”
“What?” the boy squeaks.
“Do whatever you want, this house has nothing to offer anyway.” With that, the man turns his heels and heads to another room. “Wait,” Itadori runs towards the departing silhouette, “who are you?”
The man stills and the boy gulps. “A-are you cursed too?”
“What are you going to do if I am?” his bumpy back faces the boy, his voice even.
Itadori sighs in relief, much to the other’s surprise. “I’m sorry for what happened to you but could you show me the place? Maybe we’ll come up with a plan to escape,” the pink-haired boy gives out his hand and beams.
The taller doesn’t shake it, curtly adds “Give up boy, it’s useless,” but he doesn’t dismiss him when the shorter follows him either.
After some attempts at befriending him, it turns out that the stranger is quite nice, the pink-haired boy concludes. Sure, he is rather reserved and maybe not the image of hospitality, but he does take him on a tour around the house, showing him places where he can find necessities for his tedious future ahead, not forgetting small notes in his brief introduction too. Itadori’s jaw is tired from hanging from the start to the very end of their short trip, gawking at how the other knows the mansion so well, like it’s in the palm of his hand. He must have been here for long, he supposes.
Of course, Itadori keeps breaking any window in sight as they go, but that seemingly delicate material doesn’t budge even just a little. “I told you,” although the taller says that, he lets the boy have his way with his struggles. Strangely, he understands that the younger is that type of person to be annoyingly persistent, which explains a lot why he’s so unconcerned.
Basically, he has faith in successfully getting them out.
Itadori easily shrugs and tries whenever he can.
One thing the boy finds pleasant about the mansion except the stranger himself is the floating medusae in anywhere and everywhere, illuminating with electric blue and akin hues. “They are beautiful,” the boy exclaims adoringly; “they are poisonous,” the man states dryly.
“Why do you think they are here?”
“To kill us?”
The boy laughs.
“If someone really is aiming for our heads, they should try harder.” He jokes “Plus, I bet the presumably killer at least has decency when showing this gorgeous scene before murdering us all.”
Seconds pass by soundlessly, Itadori begins to question himself whether he should apologize for unknowingly saying something offensive. The man continues tramping regardless of the younger’s stupor. Itadori quickly catches up with him and breaks the ice by adding questions from time to time despite the other’s silence and the distance he puts more between them.
After showing an empty but acceptable room for Itadori to stay, the man leaves him be and locks himself in the westernmost end of the mansion, which makes the younger can’t help the thought that he is deliberately shunning him from crossing his mind.
Well, is not that he’s complaining, but being more hospitable won’t kill anyone either, right?
Itadori sighs as he plops down into the softness of the bed. There are so many things that he wants to ask but fear of being inappropriately prying. What he has seen isn’t like what is rumoured at all, and the fact that there is an actual person living in this house? Magic like curses or voodoos exist? Wow, he feels like being in a bizarre dream, or a dark Wonderland. And, most importantly, that man hasn’t said anything about himself.
Itadori pouts, rolls over.
He is peculiar, if Itadori has to put it. He keeps blanketing in that massive dirty drape, and skillfully avoids talking about himself whenever Itadori directs the topic towards him. Is he insecure? Or is he fundamentally the mysterious type of man? And why does he feel the man is hiding something important from him? The more he ponders, the more he feels restless and unfulfilled, Itadori sighs and lies on his stomach. But, lazing around only aggravates his urge to know.
The boy shifts his weight to his arms, half-sitting. Fine, he will find out by himself then. With that, Itadori hops off the bed and further into the depth of the mansion does he venture.
Stairs after stairs, corners around corners, it’s unbelievable that the mansion can be this huge, thinks Itadori. After admiring the grandiose ballroom, the spacious dining room and their wonders while silently lamenting how it’s such a waste that the house is abandoned, he sorts for the final destination he has yet to set foot on, the library.
The room is impressive in its size with a large collection of books stacked full on ceiling-tall shelves and tables and adorned by more paintings, chandeliers. Everything appears to be tranquil, dusty but not severely damaged, probably due to being preserved in a confined space, no window in sight. At least the medusae can aid him with the lighting, no worries.
Itadori wanders through rows of documents, inquisitive. He’s not really a fan of verbiage but the large conglomerate does amaze him. Then, he notices a scarlet spine protruding from a stack of black novels. He carefully takes it and grabs the nearest chair for further inspection.
It’s an album, he realizes after flipping through some of the pages. Mostly, a youthful woman can be seen standing next to a child, black hair covering half of his face which makes him appear gloomy. Perhaps, they are the owners of this mansion, the Yoshinos.
Photos after photos, the mother’s perpetual smile is completely in contrast to her son’s moody expression, Itadori notices. They posed rather stiffly, or to be precise, the child. Is his disposition related to the wounds he has? Although the kid mostly wears long-sleeved shirts, bruises and scratches can be found on his wrists, knees, ankles and face. Itadori can only suppose he was bullied, regarding how shy and sorrowful he looks. He turns the page once again, then, nothing. No more pictures, just yellow-tainted blanks, as if they magically evaporated out of existence. Stories his upperclassman has said suddenly gong in his mind, that the mother turned ill and passed away.
The pink-haired boy exhales and closes the album and returns it to its rightful place, strangely heavy at heart. Even though knowing that nothing can change the past, he still wants to do something. But what?
Noticing the slow increase in brightness, he cranes his neck up. A jellyfish, rather small this time, levitating inches above his head.
“Hey there, little guy.”
Different from other idle medusae, this one seems quite energetic, its tentacles flutter wildly, as if beckoning him, then it leans towards a grimy shelf, wriggling. Itadori tries to decipher its signals. The tiny creature keeps lunging forward the wooden furniture, only to be bounced back and then repeats its cycle. There is something on the shelf, he translates. The boy mindlessly touches the books to the shelf, tapping, brushing his fingers and doing anything he can think of to whatever there is in front of him.
A pull, then, a rumble.
The pink-haired boy takes a few steps back out of surprise as the shelf slowly moves aside with the creaking noises of some hidden engine, revealing the stone stairs which lead downward. Before he can question himself, the glowing creature already heads straight into the dark, leaving Itadori no other choice but to follow.
Besides the leading jellyfish, the absolute blackness of surroundings makes it hard to tell where and how long he has walked. Thank god, when the ominous feelings just about to eat off completely his composure, a medium door can be seen, marking the end of the stairs. Itadori swallows, lightly pushes it and enters.
It is a narrow room with a series of glass tanks, all are covered in talismans. The machinery which attaches to the tanks gives off a modern look compared to the other parts of the mansion. Curiously, Itadori makes his way to one of the tanks to have a closer look.
Behind the thick translucent material and inside the dense liquid, bubbling slowly is a creature of raw red and naked flesh, breathing in the rhythm that Itadori is too familiar with. It’s an organ, a fresh, beating heart preserved carefully, to be precise. His breath hitches while his eyes widen as Itadori casts his gaze around, at the nauseating collection of organs in other reservoirs, all moving in sync with the ache in his chest.
“They are wonderful, aren't they?”
Too occupied by his own disbelief that the pink-haired boy fails to notice another presence in the room, his shoulders turn stiff at the newcomer’s question. The man asks not for a response, he continues.
“In Japanese culture or not, the heart depicts love and understanding, or emotions in general. However, its symbolism is no other than people’s pathetic excuses for their own greed. People kill and die every day, the heart is just a bluff to avoid the inevitable. How stupid,” although the man faces one of his masterpieces, Itadori can feel his gaze set on him intently, inspecting, preying.
“If the heart truly symbolizes virtue, humans don’t deserve it anyway.”
“That’s why you took it from them, Yoshino Junpei?”
The man finally shifts his form in the teen’s direction, rather taken aback at how one can say something so insolent with ease. The victims’ wounds, the newspapers, it all adds up now.
“So, you knew,” his tone is even as he slowly closes their distance. Itadori instinctively takes a few steps back, away from the other, away from the only way out of the basement, beats of sweat gliding on his nape.
“Let me tell you a story about a lonely boy who was bullied awfully, but no one said anything. He was cursed by the human heart, so he sought kindness from it. But it was all fake, meaningless for if not, the curse wouldn’t have changed his soul and body. And he still sought kindness until this very day, a heart that could save him.”
The man bends down, forcing the boy trapped between him and the dead end to directly meet his eyes, deformed hand reaching forward to feel the frantic tempo through layers of clothes, making the pink-haired boy jolt.
“Will you save me, Itadori Yuuji?”