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Chapter Text

Prologue

Location: Mountains of Kyoto, Japan

The ancient temple clung to the mountainside, its weathered stones drinking in the darkness as two figures knelt on the tatami, candlelight dancing across stone walls, flickering over their still forms.

Steam rose from the clay cup cradled in calloused hands. A deep voice rumbled through the silence with quiet authority. "Are you prepared, Sakura?"

Across from him, a woman bowed with flawless posture, her tone detached. "Hai," she paused, "Otou-sama."

"The Six Eyes user grows stronger each day. He's threatening the balance we've maintained for centuries." The cup clinked against the low table. "You understand what's required, don't you?"

Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Control him or risk the collapse of Jujutsu society."

"And?"

The question hung between them. Sakura's fingers pressed against her thighs, knuckles white beneath the fabric of her kimono. "Avoid attachments."

"May I take my leave?"

He nodded, shadows shifting across his face as the flames flickered. "Go." he said, voice colder. She rose in one fluid motion, bowing precisely before moving toward the window. Without hesitation, she stepped through and vanished into the darkness of the mountains.

Chapter 1: Reunited

Location: Sendai, Japan

Neon signs buzzed overhead as Satoru wandered through Sendai's crowded streets, listening to the electric hum mixing with distant laughter and the clatter of late-night diners. His white hair caught the city lights, blindfold concealing his blue eyes, while around him, civilians moved through their evening routines, unaware of the spirits lingering at every corner.

A familiar speck of cursed energy tugged at his senses, drawing a mischievous grin.

Haven't felt this in a while, he thought, as he slipped away from the crowd into a dimly lit alley. The familiar thrill of a hunt stirred in his chest as he moved through a hidden barrier.

Inside, he found a Grade 2 curse resembling a giant disfigured alley cat screeching as it lunged at something in the blackness. Satoru moved closer, catching a glimpse of pink hair darting away from the creature's claws.

His grin widened.

The creature's target leaped backward, landing gracefully in the open where Satoru could see her clearly. I'd recognize that hair from a mile away. He watched the woman drop into a combat stance, power crackling around her knuckles as it coursed up her arms.

Still going all out, huh? he thought as he leaned against the alley wall, arms crossed.

He took in her appearance, noting that she had abandoned the usual Jujutsu High uniform. His hidden blue eyes traveled to the way she tightened her black gloves, to the red utility belt at her waist clinking with cursed tools as she shifted her stance again. The sleek sleeveless top, fitted shorts, and knee-high boots marked a change from her previous style.

Before he could study her further, the curse launched at her with a desperate roar, claws extended. The woman sidestepped at the last second, causing the creature's talons to rake emptiness where she'd stood. Pivoting on her heel, she drove her charged knuckles into its flank.

The blow sent it stumbling, but it recovered quickly, attacking again with frenzied rage. The woman's expression didn't change as she extended her arms, power pulsating in her palms. The curse lunged forward one final time. Satoru watched as the woman drew back her arm and then—

"SHAAAA-NNAAAA-ROOOO!"

Her shockwave punch met the creature head-on. The ground beneath them shook as the impact shattered the surrounding walls. Satoru grinned, entertained by the curse's struggle to withstand the small woman's monstrous strength. The cursed spirit emitted frantic cries as its form began distorting while it fought to maintain its physical presence.

In a final surge of power, the woman released another blow that consumed the curse entirely, reducing it to wisps of vanishing smoke that scattered and disappeared. The alley fell quiet for a moment before the oppressive feeling of the domain broke apart, allowing the veil to lift, returning them to the ordinary night.

Satoru clapped slowly as he approached her, a playful smirk spreading across his face. "Impressive as always... Sakura-chan."

She turned, shoulders dropping slightly as the adrenaline faded. "What are you doing here, Gojo?"

Ignoring her use of his surname, Satoru lifted his blindfold with one finger and sent her a playful wink. "Why, I'm here to cheer you on, of course." He answered smoothly with a casual shrug. "And I just so happened to be in the neighborhood."

"You're a long way from home." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously while she looked at him.

"Well, I actually had a Grade 1 a few blocks over," he admitted. "But when I sensed your cursed energy, I thought I'd see what all the commotion was about." His grin widened. "You always did put on quite a show."

She ignored his comment and let out an exasperated sigh, her attention already shifting to the injured man. "Well, since you're here, make yourself useful. Dispel the residuals while I handle the victim."

Her hands glowed as she knelt beside the unconscious man, his weathered face pale with shock. Healing light seeped into the jagged claw marks that had torn through his legs. The harsh lines of her face softened as she worked, and for a moment, Satoru saw traces of the woman who used to patch him up after his intense training sessions.

The ambulance arrived within minutes, paramedics efficiently loading the unconscious man onto a stretcher. Sakura watched them go with an unreadable expression.

"His grandson didn't make it," she said quietly.

Satoru moved to stand beside her. "You can't save everyone."

"I know." She agreed, but her palms were still trembling slightly.

Satoru stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You know we can't be in two places at once, Sakura. You did everything you could. At least his death was quick."

She nodded faintly. "Yeah... let's head back. I'm exhausted."

They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing through the quiet alley. Satoru glanced at her face, noting the shadows under her eyes. There was something different about her, something he couldn't quite place. The way she carried herself, maybe? Or was it her eyes? They seem a bit duller. His gaze lingered, trying to determine what had changed.

The silence stretched as they emerged onto the main street, city lights casting shifting patterns across their faces. Finally, he quickened his pace, cutting in front of her playfully and cocking his head to the side.

"So... long time no see, Sa-ku-ra." He drew out. "You been avoiding me?"

She sidestepped him without breaking stride. "Don't start."

"Start what?" He asked innocently as he fell into step beside her, hands casually tucked in his pockets. "I'm just making conversation."

"You're fishing."

"Maybe a little." His grin faded as he studied her expression. "It's been a whole year, Sakura."

She kept walking, eyes fixed ahead. "Has it?"

"You know it has." His tone lost its playful edge entirely. "You vanished without a word. No calls, no messages. Even Shoko couldn't track you down. If it wasn't for the higher ups, I wouldn't even know if you were still alive."

"I was training."

"Training doesn't require disappearing off the face of the earth." He drew closer, lowering his voice. "Was it because of Suguru? Or because of what happened with—"

"No." Her word came out sharp and final. She stopped walking and turned to face him fully. "It had nothing to do with you, or Suguru, or the school. I just needed space."

"Space from what?"

She looked away, jaw tightening. "From everything."

They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, people flowing around them like water around stones. Satoru studied her carefully. Her green eyes wouldn't meet his, and her shoulders were rigid with tension.

"You could have said something," he said quietly. "Left a note. Sent a text. Anything. Did you think about what your absence did to your students or your patients?" he asked with a seriousness.

She finally looked at him, and for a moment, her mask slipped. A flash of guilt crossed her features. "Would it have changed anything?" She paused. "I trust them with Shoko."

He considered lying, then shrugged. "I would have tried to convince you to stay. Your students needed you."

She tensed up at that statement. Trying to lighten the mood, he added with renewed playfulness, "I do miss sparring with my favorite cherry blossom though."

Something flickered across her face. But it was gone before he could identify it. She resumed walking. "I should head back to my hotel."

"Come on, let me buy you dinner first. There's this place a few blocks over that does amazing—"

"I'm tired, Satoru..." She hesitated, as if realizing what she'd said. "Another time."

He studied her face in the streetlight, noting the tension in her jaw, the careful way she held herself. "At least let me walk you back. It's dangerous out here." He said jokingly.

She was quiet for a long moment, nostalgia hitting her before considering. "Fine. But no more questions."

"Scout's honor." He raised his hand in mock salute.

"You were never a scout," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Details." He retorted with sarcasm.

Despite everything, the corner of her mouth twitched. It was barely there, gone in an instant, but he caught it and that made him smile.

They walked the two blocks in relative silence, the city's night sounds filling the space between them—distant music from a bar, the hum of late-night traffic, the chatter of people heading home.

At the hotel entrance, Sakura turned and held out her hand, green eyes peered up at him. "Your phone."

He raised an eyebrow but handed it over without question. She input her number with quick movements, small fingers flying over the screen. The familiar action brought back memories.

"Tomorrow. Breakfast." She pressed the device back into his palm, her fingers lingering against his skin for just a moment too long. "Seven AM. That café on Jozenji-dori."

"The one with the terrible coffee?"

"The one with good pastries." She corrected, already retreating toward the hotel doors. "Don't be late."

Before he could respond, she was gone, swallowed by the hotel's revolving doors.

Satoru stared at the space where she'd been, then down at his phone. The contact simply read: Sakura.

He then turned his attention to the brief warmth that lingered on his palm. His infinity had recognized her presence and allowed her to touch him as if they're still close. Can't let that happen again, he thought, shaking his head at letting his guard down around that woman.

What is she scheming now, he thought, pocketing the device.

In her hotel room, Sakura wasted no time undressing as she entered the steaming shower. Letting the hot water cascade over her like a cleansing torrent. She tried to calm her breathing as her thoughts churned beneath the surface.

He still looks at me the same way.

She pressed her forehead against the tile, closing her eyes as the heat seeped into her bones. After a few minutes, she emerged from the shower and faced her reflection in the mirror. Black markings appeared from the purple diamond in the middle of her forehead. The dark ink slowly crawled down her face, throughout her arms and body.

She watched as her green eyes began to glow, and teeth lengthened into something inhuman. Fingernails sharpening into points.

Is this what you wanted, Father? A perfect weapon ?

Deep in her chest, something stirred. Not her voice, but something else. Something patient and hungry.

Soon.

She closed her eyes and let the transformation recede, black markings fading until only the diamond remained. Tomorrow, she would sit across from Satoru at breakfast and pretend her heart didn't race when he smiles at her.

Tomorrow, her mission begins again.

Chapter Text

(Three years earlier – around Jujutsu Kaisen 0 Arc)

The man flexed his fingers. Cursed energy tingled beneath his skin as he surveyed the mountain clearing that had become his training ground. Sweat rolled down his neck despite the cooling air.

One more time.

Power formed in his fingertips as he aligned his thumb and forefinger. Violet light erupted from his hand, casting shadows against the orange sky before tearing into the ground below, carving through stone and earth until only a smoking crater remained.

Blue eyes studied the destruction, tracking the trajectory of the attack.

"Well... that was ugly," he muttered, brushing ash from his sleeve.

The white-haired sorcerer had been at this for hours, perfecting a technique through endless repetition. But precision mattered. In his line of work, being off by even a few degrees could mean the difference between saving someone and watching them die.

At 25, Satoru Gojo had already claimed the title of strongest sorcerer alive, but titles meant little when real lives were on the line. Recent events had taught him that all too well. Riko's death, the confrontation with Toji, Suguru's defection. Each incident had reinforced the same truth: he needed to be stronger.

So, he trained relentlessly. Pushing himself to perfect techniques that others considered impossible. Every mission, every fight, every life he would eventually save depended on his ability to be flawless when it mattered most.

He began shaping Lapse Blue, intending to repair the damage from his earlier blast. The technique responded to his will, pulling scattered debris and torn earth back together like invisible hands reassembling a puzzle.

That's when he sensed it.

A fast-approaching presence, heading straight for him.

Before the intruder could land a blow, Satoru pivoted and leaped backward just as a cloaked figure struck down where he'd been standing. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed his uninvited guest.

Black cloak. White mask. A cat's face stared back at him.

ANBU? he mused.

"Well, well. It's rude to catch someone off guard," he drawled, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips as curiosity flickered in his covered eyes.

The attacker didn't respond. Instead, they stood still, seemingly calculating their next move. Satoru's posture remained relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes stayed razor focused as the figure sprang into motion again.

This time, the assailant launched upward in a tight arc, twisting mid-flight, then came down hard. Right leg extended, aiming for his skull.

Satoru shifted sideways effortlessly. The strike missed him by inches.

BOOM.

The ground where the foot landed shattered. A crater burst outward beneath the impact. Dirt and rock sprayed around them like shrapnel.

If I were just some average guy, that would've left a mark, he noted inwardly.

"Oh? So you're not just playing dress-up," he remarked out loud, brows lifting slightly.

The masked figure didn't hesitate.

Using the crater's edge as leverage, they launched themselves forward again with a flurry of jabs then a lightning-fast knee toward his ribs.

Satoru flowed between the blows like water, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

"Fast and aggressive," he noted, eyes gleaming. "Definitely not a rookie."

His hand came up in a casual flick. A barrier activated the moment a punch came within inches of his face. The attacker's fist froze midair, suspended by the invisible boundary.

Their masked head tilted slightly, registering the effect.

"You can hit hard," Satoru said casually. "But it's kind of useless if you can't touch me."

The figure stepped back, and for a moment, Satoru expected them to retreat. Instead, they sprinted toward a massive tree near the clearing's edge. With a single, brutal motion, they ripped it from the ground, roots, soil, and all, and hurled it toward him.

"…What the—” Satoru blinked. That was unexpected.

The cloak concealed most of the attacker's frame, but judging from their height, they were no taller than Inumaki, maybe even shorter. And yet they had just launched a 30-foot tree like it weighed nothing.

He hesitated from bewilderment at the giant log hurtling toward him. Snapping back to reality, he shot skyward just in time, the massive trunk tearing through the spot where he'd stood.

Hovering midair, he stared down at where the tree had landed, stunned.

"Did you seriously just throw a fucking tree at me?!" He paused, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Okay. Now I reallllly can't take you seriously. But if you wanna dance so bad, then let's tango."

Descending smoothly, his eyes gleamed with anticipation as his boots touched the ground with deliberate intent. Across from him, the masked figure dropped into a fighting stance, low and coiled.

"Alright, Mystery Person," he said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Why don't you tell me who sent you before I stop playing nice?" They didn't answer. Instead, they charged.

So be it then.

Satoru launched first.

A blur of silver hair and motion, his fist cutting through the air with a lightning-fast punches aimed squarely at the attacker’s masked face.

The figure moved like a cat, slipping to the side just as the blow passed, cloak flaring out like liquid shadow. In one swift counter, they struck a low, kick aimed for his side.

He twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the strike. Touching down lightly, Satoru pivoted and unleashed a storm of rapid jabs and hooks. The attacker weaved between the blows, absorbing some with their arms while struggling to deflect others.

“You’re starting to get tired,” Satoru said casually, not even winded.

They circled each other warily, waiting for an opening. Without warning, Satoru struck again with a spinning roundhouse kick aimed at the head.

The figure ducked low, cloak trailing behind, and countered with a sweeping leg strike.

Satoru leapt over it and landed effortlessly in a crouch before rising with that same controlled calm. "Why are you after me?" Satoru asked, voice light but probing. “Here on someone else's orders? Or is this some sad little assassination attempt?”

He swayed backward to avoid a punch, laughing. “Or maybe you just really enjoy getting your ass kicked.”

The cat mask concealed the assailant’s expression, their movements showed no sign of stopping. They continued to move, deflecting Satoru's strikes and launching their own in response.

But his patience was wearing thin. Enough playing. He spun sharply, launching a powerful kick to expose the attacker but it was caught with their forearm, staggering them. Satoru didn’t let up. He pressed in with a flurry of punches until one connected.. A direct hit to the center of the mask.

Crack.

The porcelain split as fragments scattered across the ground. The force from the blow knocked the hood back, pink strands spilling free as the figure fell into the dirt.

They twisted away, one arm instinctively moving to shield part of their face. Shoulders rose and fell with sharp breaths.

As the dust began to settle, so did Satoru’s intense expression. Suddenly his face gave way to one of genuine surprise.

His sharp eyes locked onto the bright green orbs that peered back up at him, framed by a cascade of soft, vivid pink hair that stood out in stark contrast to their surroundings.

Satoru blinked.

…It’s a girl… no… a woman, he thought, gaze drifting across her features. Delicate. Is how he would describe her. Flushed with adrenaline. She looked... gentle. Too gentle for the chaos she’d just unleashed, his eyes narrowed slightly. Something doesn’t add up.

Satoru recovered from the slight shock, his trademark smirk returning as he walked forward until he was directly in front of her.

She didn’t move. Still on the ground, shielding part of her face, like she was bracing for another strike.

But instead, he crouched. Slowly lowering himself until his face hovered just inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin, his voice low and deliberate. “Are you…” He noticed her breath hitching as he spoke. “…one of those chicks with the kinks?” he continued, gauging her reaction.

Her green eyes narrowed, irritation showing on her face before returning to a neutral calm.

Satoru stood up straight again, placing a finger to his chin in mock contemplation.

“What do you call it again…? a dominatrix, right?”

A sly smirk curled at his lips as his gaze lingered on her face, clearly enjoying the moment.

She didn't respond, Instead, she stood gracefully, brushing dust from her uniform. Then she reached up and unclasped her cloak. The garment slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground in a silent heap.

Beneath it, her form was fully revealed, clad in the dark, fitted uniform of the ANBU: an elite covert operations unit tasked with tracking and eliminating curse users and rogue sorcerers. Her attire was sleek, designed for speed and discretion.

But her hair, that bright bubblegum pink cascading over her shoulders, and her eyes, wide and green, seemed almost too vibrant for that profession.

Satoru's grin deepened as understanding dawned.

"I was right, so you are ANBU." he said, straightening to his full height. "You people don't usually introduce yourselves by throwing trees at me."

She said nothing. Instead, she dropped back into her fighting stance and charged.

This time, her strikes came faster, more focused. But Satoru was ready. He met her assault with his own rhythm, dodging and weaving with fluid grace.

"You know," he said, slipping past a particularly vicious punch, "I have a lot of fangirls..." He ducked under a sweeping kick, pivoting smoothly. "But none of them have ever tried this hard to get my attention."

She faltered. Just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Satoru slid inside her guard, caught her arm, and twisted it behind her back. This time, he made sure his grip was secure as he leaned in close, his lips almost brushing her ear.

"But there are better ways to introduce yourself, you know," he whispered huskily.

She blushed.

A moment of red. Gone in an instant as she wrenched herself free and retreated several paces, but the damage was done. Her face now carried the faintest trace of shame

So she's not as cold as she pretends. Satoru chuckled, shaking his head at the woman’s visible embarrassment.

"Come on now," he said aloud, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Why are you here? You're obviously not an assassin, unless ANBU started recruiting bashful types."

Still no answer. Instead, she drew back her fist and drove it straight into the ground.

The shockwave that followed was immense. The earth beneath their feet cracked and heaved, sending tremors through the entire clearing. Satoru staggered, caught off guard by the sheer power of the technique. She’s barely using any cursed energy.

I must’ve hit a nerve, he realized, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Reminder: Don’t judge a book by its cover.

When the tremors subsided, he looked up to find her watching him with those unreadable green eyes.

"Look, lady," he said, brushing dirt from his sleeves, "I don't know what your problem with me is, but I don't have time to stand here and play ‘Street Fighter’ with you all day."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t advance.

"If you're not going to tell me why you're here..." Satoru shrugged and turned his back to her. "I'm leaving."

I'll figure this out later, he decided. I've got to meet with Yaga about Megumi's progress anyway.

He began walking toward the tree line, half-expecting her to attack again. When she didn't, he glanced back over his shoulder.

"If you're trying to kill me..." he called back with a lazy wave, "try harder next time."

Then, with a grin that was equal parts challenge and invitation: "But hey, if you ever want to ‘talk’. Don’t be shy, you obviously know where to find me."

With that, he vanished beyond the trees.

The woman remained motionless for several long moments, staring at the spot where he'd disappeared. Then, just under her breath, she whispered to the empty air:

"So... that was Satoru Gojo, huh? Interesting."

With a shimmer of cursed energy, she vanished, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.

Temple in the Mountains of Japan

A hush hung over the ancient stone structure, broken only by the flickering of distant torches casting shadows along the temple walls.

"How did it go?" asked a deep, scratchy voice from within the shadows.

"As planned," came the calm response. A woman’s voice measured and cool. "He thought I was there to kill him. He didn't use his techniques on me, but his martial arts alone… is strong.

A pause.

"Did he see your face?"

"...Yes."

A low chuckle rumbled through the darkness.

"Good. You have his attention now. That's the first step." The voice grew colder. "You're dismissed."

The woman bowed her head.

"Thank you, Otou-sama."

She turned and vanished into the temple's depths, her footsteps fading into silence.

At Jujutsu High

"YOU'RE LATE!" barked Masamichi Yaga, his voice echoing off the training hall walls.

Satoru strolled in casually, one hand behind his head, completely unfazed.

"Sorry," he drawled, "I was in a life-and-death scuffle with a pink-haired Tinkerbell during my training session."

Yaga narrowed his eyes. "...What?"

Satoru's expression grew more serious, though his casual posture remained unchanged.

"I think there might be another contract on my life," he said. "A woman in ANBU gear ambushed me mid-training. She held her own better than most sorcerers I've faced."

He gestured vaguely. "About this tall. Ridiculous pink hair. Bright green eyes. Never seen her before, but she could pack a punch.”

Yaga's frown deepened as he crossed his arms. "There aren't many female sorcerers with that description in the database. I'll check with my contacts, see what I can find."

He paused, studying Gojo's face for any sign of concern.

"In the meantime... how's Megumi doing?"

Chapter Text

Still in flashback - The next day

“Megumiiii-channn!” Satoru sang out as he stepped into a modest apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo, his tone loud enough to make birds scatter from the nearby power lines.

A girl with midnight hair appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "Gojo-san! You're early," she said with a gentle smile. "Megumi should be home from school any minute. Would you like some tea?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just checking in." His eyes drifted across the neat apartment that came out of his paycheck every month. "How's the brat settling in? Still picking fights at school?"

Tsumiki sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked down. "He's... still standing up for the other kids. The teachers keep calling, but he won't talk about it. He’s becoming a bit of a vigilante.”

"Sounds like him." Satoru chuckled. "Always brooding and punching above his weight class. I'm thinking of getting him into Tokyo Jujutsu High once he turns fifteen. He needs to be around others like him.”

"As long as it's what's best for him," Tsumiki said softly. "He's been so distant lately..."

Before she could finish, the front door opened with a tired creak.

"I'm home," came a flat voice.

Blue eyes lit up. "Megumi-chan! Perfect timing!" Satoru called out cheerfully.

Megumi stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark hair sticking up in defiant spikes. He brushed past the tall man without a glance.

"Why's the weirdo here again?" he muttered to his older sister.

The tall man clutched his chest dramatically. "Still so cold, Megumi-chan."

"Don't call me that."

Tsumiki smiled fondly. "Gojo-san came to check on you."

"Actually," Satoru said, leaning forward with renewed interest, "I came to ask if you want real training."

Megumi arched a suspicious brow. "Are you finally serious about teaching me, or is this going to be another YouTube tutorial session?"

"That was educational," Satoru deadpanned. "Besides, this time I'm offering the real deal. Hands-on training. You got potential, kid. I can help you reach it."

Megumi eyed him cautiously. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," Satoru replied with a wink. "Wellllll... maybe a strong ally one day. Can't have you getting rusty before high school."

Tsumiki placed a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder. “He’s right, Megumi. You’ve wanted this. You should give it a shot.”

After a long pause, Megumi gave a small nod. "Fine. But no more online tutorials."

"Deal!" Satoru clapped once. "Meet me at the Jujutsu High training grounds in three days. I've got a mission out of town, but we'll start when I get back."

Megumi gave a small nod. “I’ll be there.”

With a satisfied grin, he headed for the door. "Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, kid!"

Later That Night - Narita International Airport

"Reports from Saitama indicate a spike in cursed energy activity, possibly connected to the Akiruno incident," Ijichi continued, flipping through his clipboard with mechanical precision. "There's also been movement near the Okinawa barrier, though nothing's been confirmed."

Satoru's attention had already drifted. His elbows rested on the airplane armrest, one hand propping up his chin as he stared out the window. 

"Gojo-san?" Ijichi prompted, glancing up from his notes. “Are you listening?”

"Mmhmm," Satoru hummed absently.

Ijichi sighed and adjusted his glasses. "There have also been reported sightings of Suguru Geto near Kanagawa. The accounts are inconsistent, but if he's targeting non-sorcerers again... We'll likely have to respond... soon."

"Still slipping through the cracks, eh?" Satoru murmured to himself as his fingers tapped against his jaw.

If they send me after him, could I actually do it?

The silence stretched before he spoke again. "Kiyotaka."

"Yes?"

"Any leads on the bubblegum woman?" His tone shifted, more serious than usual.

Ijichi sweatdropped at the nickname and adjusted his glasses nervously. "Still searching. Pink hair isn't exactly rare in Tokyo, especially around Harajuku."

"She had green eyes. A purple diamond marking on her forehead, and a red spiral on her right shoulder." Satoru's voice sharpened. "That should narrow it down."

"The diamond mark is unusual," Ijichi confirmed. "But the red spiral connects to an older ANBU division that was disbanded decades ago. No confirmed operatives from that era are known to be active." He paused. "Modern ANBU avoid markings to protect their anonymity, which makes her tattoos even more interesting. It's also possible she used a wig and colored contact lenses to obscure her identity, which complicates the search."

Satoru remained silent, blue orbs hidden behind his blindfold as city lights faded beneath the clouds.

They had another hour before landing in Busan. The Korean Ministry of Supernatural Affairs had reported a spike in curse-related incidents: an unsettling rise in disappearances, train derailments, and mass hallucinations across the southeastern provinces. Initial assessments suggested an S-grade curse was involved, which meant the higher-ups had no choice but to assign their strongest sorcerer. Satoru had wanted to handle it alone, but the geezers insisted Ijichi accompany him for 'supervision'.

Tch, he frowned, annoyed.

Busan, South Korea Airport 

The plane touched down just after 10PM. Rain slicked the tarmac, and dampness hung heavy in the air.

"I'll check into the hotel and coordinate with the local office," Ijichi said, stifling a yawn. "Please try not to destroy anything. We're guests here."

"No promises. But if it happens, I'll make sure it bleeds paperwork," Satoru replied with a smirk.

Without waiting for Ijichi's response, Satoru slipped into the rainy night, blindfold tilted just enough to catch the faint glow of streetlights.

Busan was quieter than Tokyo. The rain tapped steadily against rooftops as he walked dry through the downpour, his senses stretching across the city without focusing on anything particular, simply taking in the atmosphere.

According to reports, the attacks happened between 1 and 3AM on the coastal train line, always on the same stretch of track, so he adjusted his course toward the station.

When he reached it, the platform was nearly empty save for a vending machine humming beside a flickering schedule board. He studied the route map posted near the tracks. The coastal line cut through the southeastern districts where the incidents had been reported, with trains running every thirty minutes until 2AM.

Perfect timing. The next train would put him in the target zone right just in time.

When the train pulled into the station, Satoru chose the center car. The doors slid shut behind him with a tired hiss. Inside, the cabin was dimly lit, fluorescent lights flickering in silent protest. A few passengers sat scattered like shadows, slumped and half-asleep in their seats.

Definitely creepy, he mused as he surveyed the scene, settling into an empty section toward the middle.

He stretched across two seats and closed his eyes. The train rocked gently as it pulled away from the platform, wheels clattering over the tracks in a steady rhythm.

The train made its routine stops through Busan's quieter districts. A few passengers got off, fewer got on. The car grew emptier with each station until only the most persistent travelers remained.

There was a noticeable shift as the air grew heavier, thick with something that made even his skin prickle. The regular passengers seemed to sense it, shifting restlessly in their seats before falling asleep.

Then he felt it clearly.

Violent cursed energy pulsing from three cars back. It made no attempt to conceal itself. This curse wanted to be found.

Gotcha. He rose in one slow, deliberate motion.

The train jolted violently. Steel groaned under invisible pressure. The lights flickered once, twice, then died completely.

Thick malevolent energy soaked into the metal frame, pulsing through the train with a viscous, living rhythm. He moved toward the source, sliding open the door to the next car.

The transformation hit him immediately. The air reeked of copper and rot. The floor was slick and warm beneath his boots, and the linoleum seemed to writhe with each step.

Flesh now lined the walls, blackened and pulsating muscle threading through steel. Sinew coiled around seats, and faces, dozens of human faces, bulged from the surfaces with mouths agape in silent agony.

Two passengers slumped near the end of the car, caught in an induced sleep. Their eyelids fluttered, faces caught between bliss and terror as they experienced whatever nightmares this creature was feeding them.

A low, echoing laugh rippled through the air.

From the ceiling, the spirit emerged. Long and eel-like, with a human torso fused where its head should be. Its spine twisted as it descended, arms outstretched, long fingers ending in syringe-like needles that dripped black fluid.

"So many dreams, and yet all of them wake into suffering," the curse hissed, its voice layered with whispers, dozens of them speaking slightly out of sync. “You…” it called out as it looked directly at Satoru. "You're too awake."

Satoru rolled and stretched his neck. "A special grade that can talk and manipulate its surroundings. How fun."

"Yeah," he continued, "I've never been good at playing along."

The curse lunged with a scream that made the walls pulse in rhythm, the entire train car becoming its domain, a disturbing womb of illusion.

Satoru didn't flinch. He stepped forward and casually cracked his knuckles.

"All right. Let's get this over with." He sighed.

Aftermath

Minutes later, Satoru stood in the half-destroyed train car, wind howling through the jagged opening where the rear cars used to be. He'd moved all passengers forward before engaging, using a short-range spatial technique to shift them without sound. To them, it had felt nothing more than a jolt or skipped track.

He'd obliterated the rear three cars entirely, leaving nothing but twisted metal and smoke. But at least no one was dead.

Kiyotaka's not gonna like this, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Gojo-san," Ijichi answered immediately. "We just detected a massive surge..." His voice carried that familiar note of barely contained panic. "Please tell me that wasn't you."

"Relaaax," Satoru said smoothly, glancing at the destruction behind him. "There's minimal damage. I exorcised the curse and no one got hurt."

"...Define minimal" Ijichi said weakly.

Satoru scratched his neck. "Like... 'replace-the-back-half-of-the-train' minimal."

"...Oh my god."

"Calm down. Handle the usual cover story and coordinate with the Korean Ministry. You know the drill."

"And the passengers?" Ijichi’s voice carried resignation.

"Sleeping curse. They'll remember weird dreams and maybe some nausea. No one saw anything."

"You can't keep doing this."

"Sure I can."

Click.

He tucked the phone away and stepped off the ruined machine, boots crunching on scorched gravel. A trail of residual energy led into the darkness beyond the tracks, drawing him toward the hills that rose against the night sky.

The rain had stopped, but mist still clung to the hillside as Satoru followed the trail upward. It led him to what remained of an old shrine.

The structure was small and wooden, half-rotted from neglect. Its slanted roof sagged under the weight of rain and time. Paper talismans fluttered limply from cracked beams, their protective seals long since burned through. The air buzzed with malice.

He knelt before the altar where the earth had been disturbed. Half-buried in the dirt was a mummified hand, curled tightly around a black stone. Its nails had grown into claws with seals still clung to the wrist, some scorched, others peeled back.

The aura pouring off it was bitter.

"A hatred fetish," he whispered, looking around the disturbed shrine. "Someone planted this."

He extended one hand. Space shimmered faintly between his palm and the object as he carefully compressed the item and sealed it into a charm box pulled from his pocket.

The pressure in the air broke instantly. The spiritual buzz fell silent, and even the forest seemed to breathe again.

Satoru stood slowly, studying the scene. There were footprints in the mud leading in from the north and back out the same way.

"Definitely bait," he muttered, giving the disturbed altar one last glance. No point in standing around.

He tucked the box back into his pocket and started back down the hill, boots squelching through wet earth and tangled roots. By the time he reached the city's edge, streetlights were flickering off one by one, and the first hints of dawn touched the eastern horizon.

He slid on his sunglasses and suppressed a yawn. "Sleep," he muttered to himself. "Then sugar."

The next day

It was past noon when Satoru finally emerged from his hotel, fully rested but with his mind still turning over the previous night's events. The job was technically complete, but whoever had planted that cursed object would probably be back. They have sorcerers here who can handle it, he reasoned. He had two days before meeting Megumi. Plenty of time to see what other surprises Busan had in store.

The autumn air carried a crisp breeze as he wandered through Gwangbok-dong's bustling shopping district. He'd traded his usual uniform for something more comfortable: an oversized navy jacket over a light gray hoodie, dark slacks, and narrow sunglasses that couldn't quite hide the flash of blue beneath. His white hair fell freely without the blindfold holding it up, drawing occasional glances from passersby who probably assumed he was some kind of model or entertainer.

Street vendors called out in rapid Korean, their voices creating a lively soundtrack punctuated by sizzling pans and the gentle clink of coins changing hands. The scent of freshly fried hotteok and melonpan drifted between stalls, mingling with roasted chestnuts and sweetened tea that made his stomach rumble in appreciation.

He paused outside a small dessert shop nestled between a quiet bookstore and what appeared to be a busy medical center. A pastel sign hung above the door, advertising bingsu and chiffon cakes in soft, whimsical calligraphy that looked completely out of place next to the sterile efficiency of the hospital next door. He was debating between trying the local sweets or finding actual food when something made him stop dead in his tracks.

Through the window of the dessert shop, he caught a flash of pink.

There she was. His mysterious tree-throwing assailant, completely absorbed in a book.

How convenient. He studied her through the glass. No way this is a coincidence.

He didn't move immediately. Just stood and observed, cataloguing details.

Her long hair was down, catching the soft lighting that filtered through the shop's windows. The violet mark sat clearly visible in the middle of her forehead.

So it's not a wig? He continued watching her as her gaze moved steadily across the page, occasionally pausing on a particular section.

She wore a soft, long-sleeved blue turtleneck dress. Form-fitting, he noted, the hem brushing mid-thigh. Black boots covered the bottom half of her legs. A light coat was draped neatly over the back of her chair, and a leather satchel rested at her feet.

Most surprisingly, he couldn't sense a trace of cursed energy from her. Not even the faint background radiation that most sorcerers carried. If he didn't know any better, he might have mistaken her for a regular civilian. Aside from her strange color palette, she looked completely ordinary.

But he did know better. He remembered the craters she'd created with those deceptively small feet. Yeah... definitely not ordinary, he thought dryly as he walked towards the shop.

Satoru stepped through the doorway, the bell chiming softly overhead. The scent of powdered sugar and roasted soybean flour enveloped him, mixing with the quiet hum of conversation and the gentle clink of ceramic cups.

He slid his hands into his pockets, sunglasses still in place, and took his time crossing the floor. His boots made barely any sound against the polished wood, but he knew she was aware of him. Her shoulders tensed slightly, and she paused in her page-turning.

When he reached her table, he stopped and waited. She continued reading, stirring her latte with casual movements

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, voice light.

Her hand tightened around the spoon, but she gave no other sign of acknowledgment. She continued stirring, eyes never leaving the pages of her book.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, amused rather than annoyed by the cold shoulder. "Igoring me after everything we've been through? I'm hurt."

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the ambient sounds of the café and the soft scrape of her spoon against ceramic.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down without asking, one arm on the table, posture loose.

"You know," he said, low and casual, "for someone who throws trees for a living, you hide in cute dessert shops surprisingly well."

That did it.

She snapped the book shut with a clean thud. Her emerald gaze lifted, locking onto his covered ones.

She parted her lips, clearly about to speak—

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

An urgent electronic tone cut through the quiet café. Her eyes widened, and her entire demeanor shifted from irritated to alert.

Turning away from him, she pulled a small device from her satchel and scanned whatever message had appeared on its screen. Jaws tightened as she read.

She rose to her feet, pulled a folded bill from her coat pocket, and tossed it onto the table. The currency fluttered across the surface and bolted for the door. 

The café bell jingled as the door swung shut behind her, leaving Satoru alone at the table with her abandoned drink. He watched through the window as she disappeared into the medical center next door, pink hair visible for just a moment before the sliding glass doors swallowed her up.

He thought about going after her, when he noticed something on the floor. A thin white rectangle that had apparently fallen from her bag, now lying half-hidden beneath her chair.

Satoru reached down and picked it up, turning it over to examine both sides.

KJMA | Korea-Japan Medical Alliance
Name: Dr. Sakura Shimura
ID#: 0487-KSM
Clearance Level: Class-S Medical
Designation: Trauma Specialist — International Rotation

His eyebrows rose slightly. The photo showed the same face he'd just been looking at. "Sakura, huh? How original" voice low. “So, she’s a healer too. Interesting.”

He pocketed the ID card and settled back in his chair. Through the window, he could see the controlled chaos of the hospital. People in scrubs moving urgently, patients being wheeled past on gurneys.

Special clearance, he thought. That's not standard for most doctors. What exactly does a "trauma specialist" need that level of access for?

At least now he knew where to find her. He placed an order for bingsu as he enjoyed his first meal of the day.

Hours later – Medical Center

To say she was exhausted was an understatement.

After returning from Japan, she'd been booked solid with surgeries, then slammed with emergency calls at all hours. Today was supposed to have been her day off. She just wanted one quiet afternoon to sit in her favorite Korean dessert shop, sip an overpriced latte, and catch up on the latest research regarding cursed poisons and their treatment.

But no. Of course not.

Her target—that target—decided to materialize out of nowhere like some cosmic joke. Right in the city she was temporarily stationed in. What were the odds?

She sighed deeply and dragged herself from the locker room, white coat slung over one shoulder and hair hastily tied back in a bun that was already coming loose. Her shoes clicked dully against the tile as she walked beneath fluorescent lights that buzzed annoyingly.

I just want to sleep, she thought bitterly. Right here. On this floor. On a pile of clean gauze. Anywhere that doesn't require standing upright.

She stepped into the main hallway and rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the tension. The thirty-minute walk back to her hotel loomed ahead.

She muttered under her breath in Japanese, "Maybe I should just pass out in the break room. Pretend the world doesn't exist for eight hours."

The automatic doors of the hospital lobby slid open, and she stepped through expecting to see nothing but empty chairs and the nightshift receptionist scrolling on her phone.

Instead, she froze.

Because there he was. Again. Leaning against the reception desk with far too much confidence for someone who had no business being at her hospital.

Gojo Satoru stood chatting with the receptionist, his sunglasses perched lazily on top of his head so his infamous eyes were fully visible. That calculating gaze was currently sparkling with mischief and directeded at the poor girl.

"I'm just here to pick up my girlfriend," he was saying with exaggerated sincerity. "She gets cranky when she doesn't get enough sleep, but I find it charming."

The woman giggled nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Sakura stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing.

He turned to her and his grin immediately widened.

"Sakuraaaa," he called out, stepping away from the desk. "There you are. Took you long enough. Ready to go home?"

She glared at him suspiciously, her exhausted brain struggling to process this development.

How does he know my name?

“Why are you here?” she asked.

So she can speak, he mused.

"To walk you home, obviously," he replied as if they were familiar. "You look like you're about to collapse when you ran off earlier. Thought I'd be a gentleman and make sure you make it back safely."

She stared at him, utterly confused. “ You wait for me until 2 in the morning?...”

"2:17, to be exact. But who's counting?" He held out his hand. "Come on. You'll trip over a pigeon in your current state. Let me escort you, Dr. Shimura. It's dangerous out there at this hour.

A pause, during which his grin sharpened.

"Never know who might be lurking in alleyways, waiting to attack."

The implication hung between them. He knew. Somehow, he'd figured out who she was, or at least enough to know to know she’s more than a doctor.

Sakura felt a familiar weight settle in her chest. The realization that her mission had just become more complicated sunk in. If something attacked her on the walk home, she probably wouldn't stand a chance anyway. Her reserves were almost completely depleted.

She sighed deeply. "I'm not answering any of your questions."

Satoru's grin widened. "That's fine. We’ve got plenty of time for answers later. Besides, I already canceled all your appointments for tomorrow. Told them you'd be taking a personal day."

She stopped walking and turned to stare at him. "You did what?"

"Relax. I may have implied I was your concerned boyfriend who was worried about your work habits. Very touching story. The head of surgery was practically in tears."

"You can't just—"

"Already done." He gestured toward the exit with exaggerated courtesy. "Shall we?"

Outside, the night air was cold and damp, carrying the salt smell of the nearby harbor. A sleek black car was waiting at the curb, engine running.

The driver's window rolled down to reveal a thin man with glasses who looked uncomfortable.

"You said this was urgent," Ijichi muttered, glancing between Satoru and the pink-haired woman beside him. His expression suggested he was losing faith in Gojo’s life choices.

Please don't tell me he dragged me out here to play chauffeur for one of his hookups. That asshole!

Satoru gestured toward the backseat. “It was urgent. I found Tinkerbell! We're giving her a ride home.”

Tinkerbell? Ijichi's eyes widened as he glanced at the woman.
This is who who attacked him? That can’t be right.

Then he asked her, “Where to Miss?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. "Gwangbok Hotel. Near the harbor."

Satoru blinked in genuine surprise. "Seriously?”

She gave him a look. “Yes.”

He chuckled. “Hmm. What are the odds.”

Sakura didn’t ask what he meant, she just slid into the backseat and immediately slumped into the corner, resting her head against the cool glass of the window.

Satoru got in beside her, maintaining a respectful distance.

By the time Ijichi pulled away from the curb, her eyes had already closed. The gentle motion of the car combined with the warmth knocked her out within minutes.

Satoru glanced at her profile, noting the complete absence of tension in her posture. No cursed energy. No defensive positioning. No awareness of potential threats. She was either reckless or she genuinely didn't consider him a threat.

He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and studied her face in the glow of passing streetlights. Sleep had softened her features, erasing the careful control she maintained while awake. She looked younger and more vulnerable than someone with her apparent abilities had any right to be.

If she's really ANBU-level, he thought, she's either the best actress I've ever met, or there's more to this situation.

The contradiction bothered him. The woman who had ambushed him had been sharp, calculated, and dangerous. This woman looked like she wouldn’t harm a fly.

Is this the same person? The more he considered it, the less certain he became.

Ten minutes later, the car slowed in front of the Gwangbok Hotel. Satoru smirked with amusement that it was indeed the same building where he and Ijichi had been staying.

He nudged her gently with one knuckle. "Hey. Wake up, sleeping beauty. We're here."

She stirred then blinked once with the confused disorientation of someone waking up from deep sleep, then seemed to remember where she was. Without a word, she gathered her things and stepped out of the car.

At the hotel entrance, she paused and looked back at him. "Don't follow me."

The white-haired man raised both hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Green eyes glanced at his face for a moment, probably trying to determine whether he was lying, then turned and disappeared through the doors.

Same hotel. Same building. I don't need to follow her, he reasoned. I just need to wait and see what happens next.

In the elevator, Sakura slumped against the mirrored wall and watched the floor numbers climb. Her reflection stared back at her, looking exactly as she felt.

Her room was everything she'd been craving for the past twelve hours: dark, quiet, and blissfully cool. She dropped her coat by the chair, kicked off her shoes, and didn't even consider changing out of her clothes.

The moment she hit the bed, consciousness fled.

She wouldn't have to return to Japan immediately. The council's orders still hung over her head, but the situation had shifted in an unexpected direction.

Her target had come to her.

Troublesome, the word barely forming before darkness claimed her completely.

Back in the lobby, Satoru leaned casually against a marble column, arms crossed and sunglasses tilted just enough to catch the overhead lighting. Ijichi stood nearby, adjusting his tie and looking tired.

"Was she asleep?" Ijichi asked, glancing toward the elevator.

"Out cold before we even reached the hotel," Satoru confirmed. "Didn't even wake up when the car stopped."

Ijichi nodded, expecting the conversation to end there. When it didn't, he began to feel that familiar sense of impending doom.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, voice lowering. "Find out her room number and how long she’s been staying here."

There was something in his tone that made Ijichi reconsider any objections he might have raised. Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Right. I'll check with the front desk."

Satoru remained where he was, staring at the closed elevator doors. She's not hiding, but that doesn't mean she isn't dangerous.

Either way, he intended to find out what she was up to.

The next day

A sharp knock pulled Sakura from the depths of unconsciousness.

She blinked slowly, her mind thick with sleep. Her body felt heavy from the past few days. The room was still dim from the drawn curtains, and her limbs ached from too many hours on her feet.

Another knock, harder and more insistent this time.

She sat up slowly, running her hands through hair that had completely escaped its bun sometime during the night. Yesterday's clothes clung to her uncomfortably, and she could feel the pillow case impression on her cheek.

Barefeet padded across the room and cracked the door open just enough to see who had decided to disturb her sleep.

Of course it was him.

White hair perfectly messy, dark sunglasses on his nose, hands tucked casually into his pockets as if he'd been waiting outside her door for hours.

"Good afternoon, Doc.," Satoru said with cheerful politeness. "You look...” eyes scanning her form “… rested."

She squinted at him through the gap in the door. "What do you want?"

"We have plans, remember?” He said lightly.

She stared at him blankly, processing last night’s events.

He tilted his head at her expression, tone turning serious. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Clean yourself up. I’ll be in the lobby.”

Then he turned and walked away, not waiting for a response.

Sakura closed the door and rested her forehead against it, taking several deep breaths while she tried to organize her thoughts into something resembling a coherent plan.

Why did I agree to this...

She exhaled through her nose, pushed off the door, and headed for the shower.

She stepped into the lobby twenty minutes later, dressed in a fitted turtleneck and slate-gray slacks, hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her emotionless mask was back in place.

Her target was waiting by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor, bathed in afternoon sunlight that made his white hair appear almost luminous. He turned the moment she approached, and she caught the flash of his eyes as they assessed her appearance.

"There’s my mystery woman," he said with approval. "Ready?"

Sakura walked past him in silence.

He fell into step beside her, matching her pace.

"Such enthusiasm," he commented cheerfully. "I can tell this is going to be fun."

She didn't dignify that with a response, but something in her posture suggested that her definition of 'fun' and his were probably not aligned.

And just like that, the game resumed.

Chapter Text

Still in flashback - Busan, South Korea

Sakura’s POV

Know Your Target. Become the Ideal. Control the Pace. Maintain Mystery. Weaponize Eye Contact. Create Tension, Then Break It. Blur the Line Between Real and Fake. Stay One Emotion Ahead. Never Lose Control. Leave a Mark.

In no particular order, the rules echoed in Sakura's mind as she walked beside Satoru Gojo through Busan's bustling afternoon streets, her footsteps deliberately measured despite the chaos inside her head.

Control the Pace. That felt like a mockery now. His appearance at the hospital shifted everything. The plan called for her to pull the strings, yet somehow she was the one following his lead through the crowded sidewalks.

The autumn air carried the scent of street food and distant ocean salt, but all she could focus on was the man beside her. He stood tall enough that she had to tilt her head to catch his expressions, close enough to see his white hair shifting with each step. Space seemed to bend to his presence.

Maintain Mystery. Another rule in ruins. He knew her name, where she worked, her profession, and even where she stayed. All within three days of their first encounter. Had he been investigating me since the training ground? The thought made her jaw tighten.

"You're thinking pretty hard over there," A honey-smooth voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Something on your mind, Doc?"

Green eyes stayed fixed ahead, watching the flow of pedestrians ahead of them. "Just wondering where exactly you're taking me."

"Somewhere we can talk without interruption." His tone was light and conversational, but she caught the undertone of intent.

Weaponize Eye Contact. This rule had required extensive practice. She learned to use her eyes as a tool, to hold gazes just long enough to create intimacy, to look away at precisely the right moment to seem shy or mysterious. But every time she glanced at him, curiosity crept in about what was happening behind those dark sunglasses. Was he studying her the same way?

They paused at a crosswalk. The crowd pressed closer, and she became acutely aware of the small space between them, close enough that his presence felt warm against her side but far enough to keep things appropriate.

Create Tension, Then Break It. The distance should be hers to control, stepping closer when he wasn't expecting it, brushing against him accidentally-on-purpose. Instead, she found herself maintaining the gap like a protective barrier.

"So," he said as they crossed the street, "yesterday you looked like you were going to say something before your pager went off. I'm curious what it was."

The memory of their unexpected encounter made her stomach tighten. His sudden appearance had caught her off guard. What was he doing in Korea?

"Maybe I was going to tell you to leave me alone," the response came out evenly.

"Maybe." His grin was audible in his voice. "But I don't think so. You looked... conflicted. Like you wanted to say something but couldn't decide if you should."

Too perceptive. That was going to be a problem.

Stay One Emotion Ahead. The rule seemed impossible when she wasn't even sure what emotion she was experiencing, let alone what he was feeling. There was something almost nostalgic in his demeanor, like he was enjoying a private joke she wasn't part of. But underneath that friendliness, she sensed a sharper attention, the way a predator might watch potential prey while appearing relaxed.

Never Lose Control. Yet she felt like she was losing it with every step. Her mission parameters had been clear: establish contact, build attraction, make Satoru Gojo trust her completely. Make him want to give her everything. Simple enough in theory. In practice, though, she was walking in uncharted territory.

The crowd thinned as they moved away from the main shopping district. She realized he was leading them toward upscale part of town overlooking the water.

"You know," he said, slowing his pace so she could adjust her stride, "for someone who sought me out first, you're being awfully quiet."

Blur the Line Between Real and Fake. This was supposed to be her specialty. Being authentic enough to be believable while maintaining the performance. But she wasn't sure which parts of her reactions were genuine anymore.

"I'm not much for small talk," The admission was true enough. "Especially when I don't know someone's motives."

"My motives?" He sounded offended. "I thought you were the one with mysterious motives, considering you're the one who..." He paused, searching for words. "Well, let's call it 'came looking for me'."

The reminder of their first encounter made her skin prickle. She'd been so focused, so confident. Now that seemed like another lifetime, another version of herself who hadn't yet realized how completely outmatched she was.

Become the Ideal. The most crucial rule, and the one she had the least information about. What did he desire? What kind of woman caught and held the attention of someone like Gojo? The information she'd been given was frustratingly vague, focusing more on his techniques and history than romantic preferences. If Danzo chose me for this mission, there had to be a reason. But what if he was wrong about me?

She caught him glancing at her as they walked, his attention lingering on her profile in a way that made her hyperaware of every expression that crossed her face. What is he thinking now?

"Here we are," he said, stopping in front of a sleek glass building that rose toward the cloudy sky. The restaurant's entrance was understated but expensive-looking, the kind of place that screamed exclusivity.

She arched a brow, "You seem very familiar with the city's upscale establishments."

As he moved to open the door for her, he grinned. "What can I say? I have good taste but more importantly, I'm starving! Aren't you?"

Sakura felt the weight of all ten rules pressing down on her consciousness. She was about to walk into whatever trap he'd laid, armed with theories and training that already felt inadequate against the reality of the man beside her.

Leave a Mark. The final rule. By the end of this encounter, she was supposed to ensure he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Looking at his boyish smile as he held the door, she had the sinking feeling she might be the one left marked by whatever was about to happen.

Inside the Restaurant

The elevator ride stretched in silence. Sakura was grateful he didn't fill it with idle chatter. According to his file, he was supposed to be talkative, but perhaps he was saving his energy for whatever conversation he had planned.

When the doors opened, she immediately understood why he'd chosen this place.

The restaurant was practically empty. She watched in awe at how the dining room bathed in warm amber light from afternoon sun streaming through windows. Only one table was set near the glass overlooking the sea, plates of food already waiting, steam rising gently from the dishes. Someone had prepared this in advance.

This is a setup. She thought.

"You arranged this," No point pretending otherwise.

"Guilty." Satoru moved to her side and pulled out her chair with practiced ease. "Can't have a proper conversation with people hovering around now, can we?"

Every instinct screamed at her to leave. This was a trap, and she was walking directly into it. But turning around now would be more suspicious than staying, and she needed to know how much he'd figured out.

Besides, she reasoned, information gathering was part of the job.

So she sat, fully aware that the action committed her to whatever game he wanted to play.

While settling into the chair, she felt his fingers brushing against her shoulder as he helped push it in. A contact so brief it could have been accidental, but the slight pressure suggested otherwise. Her muscles tightened involuntarily.

He's testing my reactions.

Green eyes tracked him as he moved around the table and settled across from her, watching as he smoothly shrugged off his jacket. The black polo underneath clung to his frame, emphasizing the lean muscle beneath. His white hair caught the light, and she could see the edge of his eyes behind the dark sunglasses.

He must have noticed her staring because a cocky smirk tugged at his lips. She'd been warned about his attractiveness. His appearance alone probably made most women forget their own names.

Credit to @mossmaybe1 on X. 

Focus. You're not here to catalog his physique.

"You didn't go to all this trouble just for Korean barbecue," Chopsticks lifted as she spoke, while averting her attention to the food laid out in front of them.

"No, but it's a nice bonus." He smiled gleefully. "Here, try some." Long fingers reached across the table and placed a strip of perfectly grilled meat on her plate, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. "You look like you need it."

Her treacherous stomach chose that moment to growl audibly. Heat crawled up her neck, but she kept her expression neutral.

The meat was tender, perfectly seasoned. Damn it, this is actually good! The flavor made her want to close her eyes and savor it properly.

Across from her, Satoru ate with obvious satisfaction. "See? I don't take people to bad restaurants. That would be rude." He took another generous bite and made an exaggerated sound of appreciation. "This is incredible! Most people don't realize how much skill goes into proper barbecue—the marbling, the seasoning, the timing..." He gestured with his chopsticks like he was giving a lecture. "I'm basically a connoisseur at this point."

She studied him carefully before responding. "Trying to impress me?" she asked, allowing the slightest hint of amusement to flicker in her eyes.

His grin widened, clearly delighted. "Maybe a little. Is it working?"

Sakura took another slow bite, while she considered her answer. Don't give him too much, but don't shut him down completely.

"I suppose I'm still here," she said finally, meeting his gaze briefly before looking back at her plate.

"That you are." He seemed pleased, as if she'd passed some small test.

They settled into eating then, but the silence felt charged rather than comfortable.

Finally, he set down his chopsticks and leaned back slightly, his entire demeanor shifting. "So." The single word carried weight. "Want to tell me why you visited me the other day?"

Here we go.

Sakura finished chewing before responding, using the time to choose her words carefully. "I wanted to see if the rumors about the strongest sorcerer were true." Feed his ego.

"And your verdict?"

"Still forming an opinion." She kept her tone casual, neither impressed nor dismissive.

"Most people start with less violent introductions." There was amusement in his voice.

"I prefer the unconventional approach."

"Unconventional." He repeated the word thoughtfully. "And how exactly did you find me? That training ground isn't accessible to regular sorcerers."

"Sounds like you answered your own question."

Blue eyes lit up at her response. "Right. You're definitely not regular. Which raises more questions about your... identity."

She kept her chopsticks steady, proud that her voice remained level. "Such as?"

"Well, for starters, most doctors can't create mini earthquakes with their bare hands." He leaned forward slightly, studying her with uncomfortable intensity. "And they definitely don't run around in tactical gear. The two fields don't exactly overlap... Unless you count precision under pressure, but even then..."

He tilted his head, and she could feel his gaze studying her even through the sunglasses.

"ANBU operatives avoid identifiable marks, yet you've got that pretty little diamond right there on your forehead. So, what are you really, Dr. Sakura Shimura?"

His tone was casual, but she caught the trap in it. He knew her full name, knew about her medical credentials, knew enough to connect her to ANBU. The casual way he laid it out told her he'd been investigating since their first encounter like she concluded.

"You seem to know a lot for a high school teacher," she said, deflecting with a hint of sharpness.

"I make it my business to know about people who might have an interest in me." His smile turned predatory. "Speaking of which, why would they send someone so..." He paused, eyes visibly assessing her. "...inexperienced after me?"

The word hit like a slap. Sakura kept her expression neutral despite the awareness of how his voice dropped when he was being serious. Inexperienced? How dare he!

But her training held. No flinch, no change in breathing, no subtle tells that might give her away. She simply continued eating.

"Sa-ku-ra," he said her name slowly, drawing out each syllable. "Is this..." A predatory smile spread across his face. "...what I think it is?"

He couldn't possibly be talking about her mission. Something must have shown despite her control, because his eyes widened with victory.

"I thought so." He leaned forward, voice dropping to intimate volume. "I'm curious about something, though." He paused and breathed slowly before whispering "Did they bother checking my taste before they sent you?"

What? "What are you talking about?" she managed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on. If you're going to run a honeytrap, at least do your homework properly."

He leaned back, his demeanor shifting from sultry to conversational, eyes motioning to her appearance. "Let me guess—you were supposed to make me interested, lure me in with that tough girl act, get me to open up to those innocent green eyes. Yadda yadda. Pretty standard playbook."

He paused before continuing "The question is, what's the endgame here? Are you after information? Control? Or were you actually supposed to kill me? That's the part I can't figure out."

The way he easily dissected her entire mission made her blood run cold. She didn't move, didn't blink, but something inside her went very still.

"The thing is," he continued, apparently enjoying himself now, "you're not really my type."

Heat flashed behind her eyes, but she forced her voice to remain level. "And what exactly is your type?"

Damage control. Get information.

"I like my women tall, dark, and confident. The kind who could actually kill me in my sleep if they felt like it." His grin turned almost fond, as if he were describing a pleasant memory. "You're strong, sure—I'll give you that. But..." He gestured dismissively at her appearance. “I can't get with the pink hair. Amongst… other things."

The rejection ignited something in her chest. All her training, all her preparation, reduced to 'not his type' with a wave of his hand.

"Plus," he added, as if the insult wasn't complete enough, "the whole cold and dangerous act doesn't really work when I know you're a 'kind-hearted doctor' according to my sources."

Sakura set down her chopsticks with deliberate force and stood, every movement controlled despite the fury building beneath her skin.

"If you're finished with your assessment," she said, her tone ice-cold, "I have other places to be."

"Awww, do the anbu get their feelings hurt now?" He was purposely antagonizing her, pushing to see how far she'd break. "You're not exactly living up to the fearsome shadow unit reputation."

But she was already walking away, her heels clicking loudly against the polished floor. She didn't look back, didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words had affected her, didn't let him see the way her hands were trembling with suppressed rage.

The elevator doors couldn't close fast enough.

Stay one emotion ahead, she thought bitterly as the floors ticked by. Never Lose Control.

Mission parameters: utterly demolished.

Her cover: completely blown.

Her pride: in ruins.

Perfect.

Satoru's POV

Satoru didn't move as the elevator doors closed behind her. He knew he'd see her again.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, reaching for his drink with unhurried movements while his mind analyzed every layer of their encounter. The afternoon light slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the empty restaurant.

So the higher-ups had finally decided to try a more... creative approach to keeping him in line.

A honeytrap. He should have felt insulted. Or amused. Instead, he just felt disappointed.

The ANBU division reported directly to jujutsu society's upper echelons. The same narrow-minded old men who had spent years trying to balance their fear of him with their need for his power. They'd probably convinced themselves that controlling him through his emotions was preferable to the more direct methods they might otherwise have to employ. It was almost laughable in its simplicity.

What they hadn't counted on was him recognizing it so quickly. Though to be fair, "Dr. Sakura Shimura" wasn't exactly subtle. A doctor by day, killer by night? The timing of their encounters, the convenient overlaps. It was almost insulting in its transparency.

Still, there was something about her that didn't quite fit the profile.

Real ANBU operatives didn't usually get that flustered when their covers were blown. They certainly wouldn't storm off in wounded pride. This woman had actually blushed during their fight, had tensed when he’d barely brushed her shoulder. Either she was an exceptionally talented actress, or...

Or they sent someone completely inexperienced.

The thought made him frown slightly. If the higher-ups had recruited someone green for this kind of assignment, that made it dangerous for her. These operations required particular skillsets, certain ruthlessness. From what he'd observed, Dr. Shimura seemed to possess neither.

Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out her ID card—the one she'd dropped at the dessert cafe. He'd been carrying it since yesterday, waiting for the right moment to return it. The photo showed the same face he'd just been looking at, professional and composed.

The credentials were real. According to what he'd been able to dig up, she was a renowned surgeon who'd been rotating through international hospitals for the past year. That level of medical expertise didn't just materialize overnight for a cover identity.

So either this was an incredibly deep, long-term operation, or she was exactly what she appeared to be: a skilled doctor who'd gotten recruited for something she wasn't prepared for.

The card spun between his fingers.

The way she'd reacted to his dismissal suggested genuine hurt rather than a calculated response. And when he'd called out the honeytrap, she hadn't denied it or tried to deflect. Instead, she'd just gotten angry.

Interesting.

Her cursed energy was another puzzle. He sensed it, but it was muted, almost to the level of a regular civilian. There was also something strange about her aura that he couldn't pinpoint it with his six eyes.

He could have confronted her more directly from the start, could have pressed harder when he first approached her table yesterday. But where was the fun in that? It had been a while since his routine had been interrupted by something this intriguing. He wanted to see what she, or the council, would do next, now that their scheme had been uncovered.

Satoru finished his drink and stood, sliding the ID card back into his pocket. Through the window, he could see the ocean stretching out below, boats moving slowly across the gray water.

She'll go back to her hotel, he realized. Try to process what just happened, maybe call her handlers.

The smart thing would be to let her regroup, give her space to make her next move. BUT the entertaining thing would be to keep the pressure on, see how she handled being off-balance.

A few hours of distraction would clear his head, and by then, Dr. Sakura Shimura would have had time to stew in her failure.

Perfect.

Outside the restaurant, Satoru paused on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, sunglasses reflecting the cloudy sky. He pulled out his phone and scrolled to a familiar contact.

Time to head back to Japan.

"How did it go?" Ijichi asked immediately upon answering.

"I was right about most of it. Book us out for early tomorrow." He needed to get back and meet with the kid tomorrow.

"Already done. We'll leave at 5 in the morning and land in Tokyo by 7."

Satoru hung up without another word.

Sakura's POV - Hotel Room

Sakura stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, hands gripping marble countertop until knuckles went white. The mission had been compromised before it truly began. That pompous bastard.

"You're not really my type."

His words replayed like a broken record, each repetition making her jaw clench tighter. She'd spent months preparing for this assignment, studying every scrap of intelligence they had on him, drilling those ten rules until they were second nature. And he'd dismantled it all in under an hour.

What’s worse was he'd treated the entire thing like a joke.

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash away the heat of humiliation. In the mirror, her green eyes looked too bright and too affected. Real ANBU wouldn't have let his insults get under her skin like this.

She'd failed spectacularly at all seduction rules.

Her phone buzzed against the bathroom counter, the sound sharp in the silence. The caller ID made her straighten instinctively, muscle memory from years of training taking over.

She answered on the second ring. "Report," came Danzo's gravelly voice.

"The target identified the operation," she said without preamble. "He knows I was sent to but doesn't know why.”

A pause. "As expected."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. Expected? "You knew this would happen?"

"Satoru Gojo didn't earn his reputation through power alone. He would have seen through you immediately." Danzo's tone carried a note of satisfaction that made her stomach drop. "This was about getting him to want to play the game with you."

"Why wasn't I informed of this beforehand?" The question came out sharper than she'd intended, frustration bleeding through her composure. She felt blindsided.

"You wouldn't have reacted naturally. His eyes see everything. Every micro-expression, every twitch and every fiber. I couldn't risk you appearing rehearsed."

"And if I had failed entirely?" she asked, voice low.

"You didn't. Satoru Gojo appreciates intelligence, enjoys a challenge. You've piqued his curiosity, which was the objective."

Sakura closed her eyes, forcing herself to think past the anger. "He stated I don't fit his tastes." She admitted bitterly. "Are you aware of what those preferences are?"

Silence stretched over the line.

"You'll adapt," Danzo said finally. "Physical attraction isn't the only weapon in your arsenal."

So he didn't know. The intelligence had been incomplete, possibly deliberately so. How many other details had been omitted from her briefing?

"What are my orders now?" she asked, moving past her frustration to focus on practical matters.

"Pack your belongings. You're being transferred back to Japan tomorrow."

Sakura felt a jolt of surprise. "Back to Japan? Won't that seem suspicious?"

"He already believes he has the upper hand by exposing you. Let him think he's won this round." There was something calculating in Danzo's voice. "Proximity breeds familiarity. And familiarity reveals weaknesses."

She pressed the phone closer. "Where in Japan?"

"A rural medical posting. Remote enough to avoid scrutiny, close enough to maintain contact." His tone shifted to the particular cadence that meant the conversation was ending. "Satoru Gojo believes himself untouchable. That arrogance will be his downfall."

The line went dead.

Sakura stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it aside. Danzo was keeping her in the dark about key details. Satoru’s files had been inaccurate and incomplete. How was she supposed to succeed when she was working with faulty data?

She thought of Ino, back in Japan. Beautiful and experienced, with an understanding of attraction and manipulation that came from years of successfully completed missions. If anyone could help her navigate this mess, it would be her.

Moving to the main room, Sakura pulled her suitcase from the closet and began folding clothes with mechanical precision. As she packed, she reminded herself why this mission mattered.

Gojo Satoru represented a fundamental threat to the stability of jujutsu society. His unchecked power attracted increasingly dangerous curses. His attitude encouraged young sorcerers to question established authority. His very existence upset the careful balance that protected both sorcerers and civilians.

He thinks I'm weak, she thought, remembering his offhanded assessment. Inexperienced.

A slow, cold smile curved her lips as she folded the last of her belongings.

Let him think that. Underestimation can be its own kind of weapon.

If he wanted to play games, she'd learn to play them better. The first round had gone to him, but this was far from over.

Tomorrow, she'd return to Japan. And when they crossed paths again she'd be better prepared.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Why is he here?

Through the peephole, she caught the masculine silhouette. White hair tousled as always, posture relaxed, but he held something small between two fingers. Her missing ID card.

Of course. She'd completely forgotten about losing it. That explained how he'd known so much about her background.

Sakura unlocked the door but kept the chain secured, opening it just enough to see his face. "What do you want?"

He held up the card with a faint grin. "Thought you might be missing this."

She extended her hand through the gap, palm up. "Thank you."

"What, you're not going to invite me in?" His tone was playfully disappointed.

"What reason do I have to do that?"

Satoru leaned slightly closer, amusement flickering in his visible eye. "Isn't this the part where things heat up? You know…part two?"

"Part two?" What is he talking about?

"Where you lure me inside and try to seduce me properly. That's usually how these things go, right?"

She slammed the door and locked it with a loud click.

A moment passed. Then another knock.

"It's a joke! Come on, Doc. Five minutes," he called from the other side. "I was an ass earlier. Just…let me apologize. Properly."

Silence stretched as she considered her options. Walking away from lunch had been a luxury she couldn't afford twice. She needed to salvage something from this disaster.

He continued knocking. "Playing hard-to-get won't work on me," he added, voice carrying that familiar note of amusement.

She let out a quiet breath and opened the door fully. "Five minutes."

Satoru stepped inside, and she immediately regretted the decision. Her hotel room felt smaller with him in it, his presence somehow taking up more space than his tall frame should have allowed.

His gaze swept the room in a single, practiced motion. Noting the packed luggage in the corner, the neat stacks of folded clothes, the medical journals she'd left on the desk. When his attention returned to her, she felt like he'd catalogued everything of importance in those few seconds.

"Leaving already?" he asked, moving toward the window without invitation. "Didn't peg you for someone who runs."

The door closed softly behind him. "I don't owe you explanations."

"That's one way to keep things interesting." He leaned against the windowsill, completely at ease. "Wanna bet we'll see each other again in, say... a week?"

"I don't gamble."

"Didn't you gamble when you fell asleep in front of me last night?" He took off his glasses, blue eyes piercing through her soul. "Trusting I wouldn't kill you while you were unconscious?"

The question caught her off guard. "I knew you wouldn't."

"What made you so certain?"

"I let you in here to return my ID, not to interrogate me."

"And to apologize," he reminded her, his expression growing uncharacteristically serious. "For earlier. I shouldn't have said what I did."

She studied his face, looking for signs of deception. "That's unexpectedly self-aware of you."

"I have my moments." He paused, running a hand through his white hair. "I should have pretended I didn't know what you were up to. I just... I can't help myself when the councils try these moves. I like calling them out."

The apology sounded honest, but she'd learned not to trust anything that came from him easily. Still, there was something different about his demeanor now. Less performative, more genuine.

A tense silence settled between them. He moved to the small chair in the corner and sat, legs stretched out.

"You're not very good at this," he said finally.

Her eyes narrowed. "At what?"

"Staying detached." He gestured vaguely at her defensive posture. "Real operatives don't get this worked up over criticism. They adapt; they improvise. You're still thinking like someone who expects things to go according to plan."

Heat crawled up her neck, proving his point. "I'm not—"

"You are." His tone wasn't mocking, just matter-of-fact. "Whatever they trained you for, it wasn't this. You react like everything I say actually affects you."

He stood, expression growing more serious. "Anyway. Just wanted to drop that off."

He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "What are you going to do now that you know I'm onto you?"

Sakura met his gaze steadily. "Complete my assignment."

"Even knowing I'll see through whatever you try next?"

"Especially then." Something cold flickered behind her green eyes.

He studied her for a long moment, and she had the unsettling feeling he was seeing something she hadn't intended to reveal.

"Fair enough," he said finally. "Well, this has been... educational." He turned the knob. "For what it's worth, you almost had me convinced you were just an unlucky doctor who got caught up in something over her head." His eyes met hers one last time. "Almost."

With that, he was gone, leaving her alone with the weight of everything that had just shifted between them.

Sakura stared at the closed door for several long moments, heart beating faster than she cared to admit. The conversation had revealed more than she'd intended. Both about her mission and about herself.

Satoru's POV

Outside in the hallway, Satoru paused at the elevator.

She's stubborn, he realized. Even with her cover blown, she's not backing down.

That was... unexpected. Most people would retreat and regroup after being exposed so completely. But she seemed determined to press forward with whatever her mission actually was.

Could be interesting.

He pulled out his phone as the elevator descended, scrolling through his contacts until he found what he was looking for. A name he'd picked up while exploring the city. A beautiful brunette who'd made it very clear what she wanted from him and had absolutely no connection to jujutsu society.

"Hey, it's Satoru," he said when she picked up. "You still awake? I was thinking we could continue that conversation from last night..."

The Next Morning

Satoru finished getting dressed in his own hotel room. He'd left the brunette's apartment hours ago. He never stayed after these encounters. A few hours of distraction was one thing, but sleeping in front of someone? That was a level of trust he didn't give to anyone.

This kind of temporary arrangement had served him well over the years. No strings, no expectations, no tools that could be used against him later.

His phone showed three missed calls from Ijichi and a text reminding him about their flight. He dressed quickly, left a note with the hotel's concierge service to send flowers later, and headed down to collect his things.

The brief encounter had done exactly what he'd needed. Cleared his head and put the previous day's complications into perspective. Dr. Sakura Shimura and her misguided judgment would provide some entertainment for a while, break up the monotony of his routine.

By the time he met Ijichi in the lobby, he was ready to return to business as usual.