Chapter Text
Their first meeting, Utahime had laughed.
She hadn’t meant to. Gojo Satoru was famed already for his power in the jujutsu world. She had meant to be respectful and polite in meeting the new students
But all she’d been able to think, upon seeing him, was that her mother was glaringly and devastatingly right. A truth she’d been running from ever since she left her home. And she’d had to laugh at the irony. She’d been pretending for so long that jujutsu society could be a home and a safeguard for herself.
But Gojo Satoru’s very existence was evidence that wouldn’t be the case.
Her laugh . . . it . . . hadn’t gone over well. Gojo had flicked sunglass-covered eyes in her direction, a frown wrinkling his brow. “And what are you laughing at?”
“Uh, nothing.” Utahime tried to recover. “Apologies, it was a stray thought. I’m—“
Gojo had waved his hand, a gesture so impolite it had startled Utahime into silence. “Doesn’t matter. You’re too weak to be of importance, anyway.”
He’d turned then, to follow behind Yaga-sensei. Utahime was left awkwardly with the two other first years, who seemed unsure whether to follow Gojo or stay with her.
“I’m Iori Utahime,” she’d said weakly.
All in all, it was a poor start to their relationship.
“I’m to do . . . What?”
Yaga-sensei raised an eyebrow at her. “You are to accompany Gojo on his first mission. See how he carries himself.”
“Shouldn’t . . . a teacher . . .” she suggested uncertainly.
“Last time we had talked about your plans after graduation, you had mentioned wanting to teach.”
She was backed into a corner. “Yes, sensei.” And that was it.
Utahime slowly made her way through the campus. There were various groups of students congregated together. She picked out Gojo’s group easily. There was something in her that twisted at the sight of the easy affection between the three first years already.
“Gojo,” she called out, as soon as she was close enough.
Despite her voice being loud, Gojo ignored her, continuing whatever story he was telling to Ieiri and Geto.
“Gojo,” Utahime tried again. “Yaga-sensei has assigned me to watch your first mission.”
At that, Gojo turned around. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he said. “And I’m higher ranked than you. Why should you watch me?”
Utahime grit her teeth. Her mother’s voice was harsh in her ear. Grace. No negative energy, it’s bad enough we have to use the energies we are cursed with.
“I am merely to be there as an evaluation on technique and behavior during a mission, nothing more,” she said.
Gojo snorted.
“At least you got a mission, man. I’ve got another week before I can take one,” Geto said.
“I don’t know why you boys are in a hurry to do extra work,” Ieiri drawled. “Go on, Gojo. Get it over with.”
Utahime nodded her thanks to the two of them, startled as Gojo stood, his lanky frame placing him a head above her. Gojo smirked down at her, hand flitting out to tug at one of her pigtails. “Let’s go, sensei.”
“Senpai,” Utahime corrected coolly.
“I like sensei better.”
Utahime cast her mind about for a conversation topic as they reached the edge of the school. She had been forced to half-jog at times to keep up with Gojo’s stride.
“How are you adjusting to Jujutsu Tech?” she asked.
Gojo snorted. “Adjusting?”
“Is it difficult, being away from family?” Utahime tried to clarify.
She had pushed things in the wrong direction. Gojo barked out a laugh as he turned his full attention to her again. “My, what a rock you must live under.”
Utahime didn’t like what he was trying to imply. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”
“Doesn’t it?” he inserted smoothly. Utahime flinched back as he leaned down, pulling his glasses partway down his nose. “Poor little Utahime. Lost in all these big politics.”
If Utahime kept grinding her teeth together like this, she would crack one. “I was merely inquiring after your well-being. Apparently, you could still use a parent around to teach you manners.”
She must have hit a nerve. It should’ve felt rewarding, after feeling put down by him throughout all of their interactions, but it somehow didn’t. His eyes went cold before her. She had never seen such expressive eyes before, no wonder he wore sunglasses. “No,” he said. “I only use manners on those who deserve respect.”
She did her best not to feel the insult. “Shouldn’t all people deserve at least basic respect?” she argued.
“No.”
“You must be loads of fun around civilians,” she muttered, left without another insult that would fit.
The car driving up interrupted them.
“We should go over a game plan,” Utahime broke their awkward silence in the car.
Gojo was slouched over, resting his head against the door. Utahime bit down the urge to tell him to put his seatbelt on.
“No need. You’re not engaging.”
“As someone present, though, I should know what your plan is.”
Gojo seemed to get a little energy in the way he suddenly shifted, head turning towards her. “Oh? Trying to learn my secrets?”
Utahime rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to do my job.”
“So boring.” His voice had become high and childish. “I am the strongest!”
The way he proclaimed must be a dour echo of the hundreds who had told him so before. Utahime felt pity flash through her, battling with the irritation. What must it have been like, growing up with the pressure and attention of everyone in the jujutsu community? The paragon of everything her mother had taught her to dislike.
“The curse is a grade one,” the Window murmured from the front seat.
Utahime sat up straighter. “A grade one? But—“
“Only a grade one?” Gojo groaned. “This really will be boring.”
Utahime bit her lip. “Maybe we should check in with Yaga-sensei. They can’t have meant . . .”
“Just because you’re a weak grade two doesn’t mean you have to hold me back.” Gojo said.
Irritation won. “What’s your problem?” Utahime snapped. “Are you such a jerk that you need to push other people down to make yourself feel better?”
There was glee in the flash of blue she caught behind the funny round sunglasses. She shouldn’t have risen to his goading.
“We’re here,” the Window interrupted.
Utahime resisted the urge to slam the car door behind her. The cursed energy was rolling over her in waves. A trickle of fear made its way down her back. She’d never been up against a grade one curse.
“Watch and learn,” Gojo reached to the heavens with a stretch that pulled his shirt up to expose his midriff. Utahime glanced away. She followed him unwillingly towards the middle of the bridge. The curse slithered over the edge, drooling at the sight of them.
“What’s your plan?” she tried one last time.
The grin Gojo gave her was wild and a little terrifying. “Kill everything,” he said.
“Iori, if you would demonstrate.”
Utahime rose slowly from her chair. The joint lessons with the first years had become her least favorite. But she needed to overcome this embarrassment, if she did want to eventually become a teacher.
She opened her mouth and immediately clamped it shut as Gojo let out a noisy yawn.
“Gojo,” Yaga-sensei said sternly.
“Yes, sensei?” he asked innocently. Utahime didn’t need to look back to know he was leaning precariously on two legs of his chair.
She tuned it all out, dipping her fingers into her cursed energy. She picked out the strain that would make the energy appear as a lure to curses, gently singing it into existence. The point of the lesson was switching between techniques, so she quickly twisted the song so it became a push to stay away, before turning it once more into a weapon that hovered in the air.
She opened her eyes to find her classmates all staring at her. She quickly sat down.
“Now, did you see the way that Iori was able to smoothly change her technique? Many of you have various techniques imbedded in your cursed energy that you may be able to draw out. The trick is to become quick at switching depending on what weapon you need in your arsenal.”
Utahime dared to finally sneak a glance at Gojo. She had expected him to immediately mock her cursed technique, but he was uncharacteristically silent.
The class turned to discussion, other students demonstrating their techniques or merely practicing their transitions.
Geto reached over and tapped on Utahime’s sleeve. “Iori-senpai. The first two seemed like opposites, but you didn’t turn it into a complete reverse. How did you keep it so subtle?”
“I—I think I focus on remaining calm through my intention change.” She swallowed, nervously. “I switch keys when I sing, and that helps them stay distinct, but they’re natural changes, not a jarring one.” Geto’s focus was unnerving.
Gojo chose to butt in, and Utahime was surprised to find it a relief from the other student’s attention, even if it was negative. “So you put on a little performance for the curses, huh?”
“Yes,” Utahime grit out.
“Why even bother, then?” Gojo twisted a pen around his fingers smoothly. “Leave it to us. Unless . . .” he trailed off. Utahime was a little alarmed to see him tilt his glasses down his nose. Six Eyes.
Defense was the best offense, right? Utahime scowled at him. “Just because all of us weren’t born sparkly and special doesn’t mean we can’t have value on the battle field.”
Gojo grinned. “Sensitive?”
“Show some respect! I’m your senior!”
Gojo laughed. Utahime breathed a sigh of relief as his attention turned to Ieiri, who was muttering to herself as she fiddled with her reverse technique.
The common room was dark, except for the flickering light of the TV. Utahime had expected to find someone asleep in front of it. She hadn’t expected to stumble upon Gojo, Geto, and Ieiri, a comfortable looking puppy pile on the couch.
She stumbled back, hoping to avoid being seen, but that was a foolish wish.
“Sneaking around, this late at night? My, my, how the mighty fall!” Gojo’s neck craned back over the edge of the couch, enough to let her see the smirk slashed across his face.
Something in the air made Utahime feel off-kilter. She needed to make her tea and leave as soon as possible. “Sorry to intrude,” she said quietly. “I’m just going to make some tea. Do any of you want some?”
To her surprise, that got her Geto’s attention. “Yes, please, Iori-senpai.”
Utahime glanced at Ieiri, but realized the girl was asleep, practically curled up into a ball in-between the two boys. Utahime felt a twinge of ugly jealousy in her gut that she pushed down with familiar skill. She couldn’t afford to feel that way. To be able to be close to someone . . . anyone . . . that wasn’t possible.
She realized she was standing still, staring at them for too long when Gojo snorted, turning back towards the TV.
Her mind went into a sleepy, numb place as she went through the steps of making tea. She took one cup, slowly walking around the couch.
She was too tired, and hadn’t quite expected antagonism at this time of night. The foot that shot out to trip her was effective, and Utahime went sprawling, with the hot tea thankfully spilled away from any of them. She leapt to her feet, feeling her face going red with embarrassment and anger.
“What were you thinking?” she hissed.
Gojo grinned. “I thought you might have better reflexes. Pity, I guess my original assumption was right.”
“I could’ve spilled the tea on one of you.” Utahime felt her fingernails biting into her palm with how angry she was. “What kind of immature, selfish—“
“Hey, now.” Ieiri had woken up. “No one was hurt. Gojo, don’t do that again.”
The younger girl meant well, but it was yet another score against Utahime, as her junior was able to diffuse the situation far more effectively than she was.
There was wetness on her cheeks. Distracted, Utahime slowly lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling it. Tears. She was . . . crying.
“Aw, Utahime is a wittle crybaby.”
“Lay off, Satoru.”
“Come on, Suguru. She’s the one who interrupted our movie night.”
“And she was making me tea! And you made her drop it! Apologize!”
Utahime interrupted their squabble with a laugh. It burst out of her without warning, just like the first time she had met Gojo.
The three underclassman stared at her.
Ieiri cleared her throat. “Senpai?”
Utahime shook herself out of the strange stupor she was in. “Forgive me.” She hurried around the couch, getting the second cup of tea and carefully handing it to Geto.
She was vaguely conscious of him thanking her, and of three uncertain gazes following her out of the room. It didn’t matter, though.
She had cried. She had shed tears. Utahime had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling again, too loud and unhindered for this time of night.
They weren’t all dried up, gone and captured and exorcised. It was one small victory.