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A voice was summoning him.
It was a gentle voice this time, melodic in nature as the muffled words his summoner was chanting pulled him out of his slumber. Gojo opened his eyes, feeling the gravitational pull of the summoning call beckon at the shackles of his being. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt a force so powerful, so eager for his presence and for his help. He grinned wickedly. Perhaps, he’d make a contract to grant impossible wealth, or to wipe out an entire nation again. It’d been too long since he’d last committed war crimes, and the thought of that filled him with glee at the soul he’d claim to be eternally damned by the end of his deal.
Rising up from his hellish realm, he took a step forward into the mortal world. The air thickened and rippled as he materialized inside the new space, his eyes glowing like sapphires as he observed his surroundings.
This…was not a lavish mansion or the castle of a power-hungry tyrant as he expected. It was more… a shack than anything else. A small, homely dwelling with books and papers sprawled about everywhere from his flashy entrance. A summoning circle laid by his feet, drawn hastily onto the wooden floor with chalk. Rubbing the back of his hair, Gojo kicked a book out of his way and he stepped out of the circle. A loud gasp caught his attention, and he turned to look in the direction of the noise.
A wide-eyed, petite girl with jet-black hair tied into two pigtails stared at him in pure shock, her hands trembling as she held the spellbook in her hands. Most notably was the scar that ran through the middle of her face, marking her otherwise demure features with a wound from her past. His Six Eyes could sense the cursed energy coming from her otherwise unassuming appearance from the depths of her soul.
Iori Utahime. A witch.
Not the typical customer he dealt with, but a soul was still a soul by the end of the day. But before he could say anything else, the girl’s ear-piercing scream cut him off. The book she was holding clattered to the ground.
He winced. “I know I’m good-looking, but you don’t need to scream like that.”
“You–who are you?!” Utahime yelled. Her arm reached out, swiping a kitchen knife that had been sitting on the table beside her. Shakily, she raised it up in front of her, her amber eyes never leaving his side.
The sight of the knife was enough to make him snort. “Is this a joke?” he asked, moving closer to the girl.
“I–I’m not joking!” she shouted back, pointing the knife straight at him. “Get back or I’ll–!”
“Utahime,” her name rolled off his tongue like butter. “You summoned me.”
Widening her eyes, her grip tightened around the knife. “How–how do you know my name?!”
He moved his hand, the knife flying out of the girl’s hand and straight up, embedding itself into the ceiling. Utahime gaped up at it, then back at him with her mouth hung wide open. “Now,” he said. “Are you willing to calm down and have a chat?”
“Who–what are you?” she asked again.
“Seriously?” When Utahime’s bewildered expression didn’t change, he let out an annoyed sigh. “I’m Gojo Satoru.”
“Gojo…That Gojo?” Realization flickered across the girl’s features as she stared at him in horror. “You’re…a demon.”
“That’s right,” he replied, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Not just a demon. The strongest demon.”
“Oh,” she murmured, her face going pale. Her eyes looked him up and down. She shook her head, a hand running through her tousled bangs. “Oh, oh no. I didn’t mean to summon you . I meant to summon a troll, not…you.”
“A troll ?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised, half in amusement, half in offense. “You mean to tell me that you summoned me…by accident?”
Slowly, she nodded.
It made no sense. He was one of the most powerful demons in hell–there was no way the petite…weak looking girl with nothing to her name other than the dusty shack he’s standing in had been able to summon him by accident .
But yet…here he was.
“Well, fine,” he said, plopping down in a wooden chair nearby. “The faster I finish this contract with you, the faster I can leave then. What do you want, Utahime?”
“Contract? Wait a minute!” she exclaimed, sounding panicked. “I didn’t agree to sign a contract with you –”
“You did the moment you summoned me here. Surely, you meant to summon that troll with something in mind? Unless,” he drawled, a smirk spreading across his face. “You don’t mind me hanging around here for the rest of your life.”
Her mouth trembled, as she narrowed her gaze at him in annoyance. The agitation on her face was cute, he thought, almost like an irritated kitten. With a measured exhale, she lowered her head. “Fine. I’ll make a contract with you then.”
“Cool!” He crossed his long legs, smirking. “You do know what that means, right?”
A deal. An agreement forged by the bounding of her soul to be condemned to hell.
Looking solemn, she nodded. “Most witches go to hell, anyways,” she murmured.
“Good. Well, I’m all ears.”
He studied her. Her soul, which burned the color of amber, was marred by shadows. Judging from the enigmatic scar etched into her otherwise unblemished face, the witch had a complicated relationship with humans. She was sheltered in this shack hidden within the woods for a reason, living in secrecy away from other mortals. Perhaps, she’d make a deal with him to eliminate the nearby townspeople that would be enough to satisfy his bloodthirst. He smiled. After murdering a village, he’d go back down to hell with condemned souls of humans and a witch.
Utahime takes a breath, her pink lips parting to utter her request that would bind her soul to his contract.
“I want you to help me bake a pie.”
Gojo wasn’t sure he heard her right. “Excuse me?”
“An apple pie,” she repeated. “I want you to help me bake one.”
He blinked in disbelief. "You accidentally summoned me—the most powerful demon in hell—and now you’re asking me to help you bake a pie ?"
She nodded again, and he would have laughed if it weren’t for the serious look on her face.
“Fine,” he grumbled, sighing. “I, Gojo Satoru, will help you, Iori Utahime, bake a pie in exchange for your soul.”
In all his immortality, he’d certainly never expected that something so minuscule and ridiculous would be requested by him. But, a contract was a contract by the end of the day, no matter how absurd it was. And he’d help her bake a devilishly good apple pie.
Under the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy, Gojo followed Utahime along the winding trail that meandered through the heart of the woods near her home. The earth beneath their feet was carpeted with fallen leaves, crunching beneath each footstep. As they walked, the distant murmur of a stream provided a soothing noise in the background. The trees rustled with the flutter and the distant trill of unseen birds. Gojo wrinkled his nose, the scent of pine mingled with the earthy fragrance of the ground filling the air.
Everything felt too alive, and he didn’t like it.
“So you’re a witch right?” he asked, breaking the eerie ambiance of nature. He observed the way Utahime’s pigtails bounced behind her with each step. “Can’t you cast a spell to make a pie appear out of nowhere?”
She casted him a look behind her shoulder. “My abilities don’t work like that. I can only summon spirits and creatures.”
“That’s all?” He threw back his head and let out a laugh. “You’re weaker than I thought!”
She turned red. “Sh-shut up! I managed to summon you, didn’t?”
“Yeah, but by accident .” He sighed, dramatically. “How a weakling like you even did that is beyond me.”
“Look, I have no idea what I did wrong!” Utahime snapped. “Somehow I ended up with you, but it’s fine as long as you help me bake this.” She turned back around, focused on the road ahead. “I just want to make sure it’s good.”
“Sure. That’s what our contract’s for.”
Soon, they reach a majestic apple tree, its branches hanging high up in the air. The vibrant red and green apples hung like jewels against the backdrop of the blue sky.
“This tree was planted many, many years ago by one of my ancestors, so it’s nearing the end of its life,” Utahime said, gazing up. “The apples left on the very top are the best, but I can’t reach them.” She turned to Gojo. “Can you grab a few for me?”
The ridiculousness of the situation was beginning to get to him. To think that a demon of his caliber would be asked to retrieve apples for this weakling of a witch. Surely, he’d be the laughing stock in all of hell if anyone else heard about today. But a contract was a contract, he reminded himself, and he was bound by duty.
He lifted his hand in the air. Eyes glowing ablaze, he made a pulling motion with his index finger. As if responding to an invisible command, the apples trembled on their stems. Then, they all flew off the branches, hurling towards them on the ground. Utahime shrieked as she ducked her head, a rain of apples falling around them like a hailstorm.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes looking around them in distraught. “You–what have you done?” she gasped.
Gojo shrugged. “I picked the apples for you, didn’t I?”
“Th–they’re all on the ground!”
Catching a loose apple with his shoe, he rolled it around before kicking it over to her. “Some of these are fine, aren’t they? Go get those.”
She bit down her lip, glaring at him.
“Aww, don’t look at me like that.”
“You’re awful!”
“Well, duh.” He scoffed. “What did you expect? I am a demon after all.”
“Clearly,” she spat, and he almost let out a chuckle at how irritated she looked.
Utahime cursed at him under her breath as she bent down to collect the stray apples that weren’t crushed from the impact. Gojo brought an apple to himself and took a bite, the tangy sweetness filling his mouth as he watched her in amusement.
The witch had quite the temper, didn’t she?
Back at the witch’s dwelling, Gojo twirled a finger around the air, the skins of the apples unraveling while Utahime gathered a collection of other spices onto the table. The bare apples landed into a bowl, and Utahime brought the bowl over to her side. She brandished the kitchen knife again (that Gojo had to help pull out from her ceiling), and chopped the apples, yielding perfectly even slices.
He watched as she mixed the spices together in a bowl and began to coat each slice in a dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg. As she went about the steps, a gentle melody began to emanate from her lips. She was humming. A humming so delicate, it seemed to float on the air like a wisp of mist.
Her humming stirred something within him, a foreign fluttering sensation that put him on edge. “So, what’s the pie for? Are you gonna put poison in it to feed it to someone?” he asked, interrupting her. He wasn’t one to ask questions when fulfilling contracts, but he couldn’t sit there in silence and listen to the witch hum for another second.
“Of course not!” she replied, making a face at him. “That’s cruel.”
“Huh? You’re a witch asking help to make a pie from a demon. It’s more weird that it’s actually a pie you’re baking.”
“Well,” she said, moving onto the dough. Her hands pressed and rolled the dough, and she began to carefully arrange spiced apple filling within the pie crust, layering each slice with precision. “I just want to make sure it’s the best pie I’ll ever make.”
He raised an eyebrow. “For a lover?”
“I have nothing of the sort,” she replied, and for some reason, he finds himself relaxing a bit. She latticed a second layer of dough over the top, and wiped some residue off her nose with her sleeve. “But it is for someone I love.”
“Not a lover but someone you love…Interesting.” His eyes lingered on her face. “How’d you get that scar anyways?”
She looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. “Why are you asking that?”
“No reason. Just want to know.” He doesn’t quite understand why he’s asking about her past either–she’ll be a soul he drags back down to hell by the end of the day anyways. Yet, an unexplainable curiosity tugged at the edges of his being.
Utahime turned back to the pie, a faraway look in her eyes as she coated the dough with a glossy sheen of egg wash. “My scar…” she began, her words barely above a whisper.”My family got attacked one night when I was child. Some townsfolk burned down our place after finding out that we practiced sorcery. My parents hid me, so I survived, thankfully…but.” Her sentence trailed off, the unspoken aftermath echoing through the room.
“They didn’t,” Gojo finished. He made a disgruntled noise. This was the reason why mortals were never his favorite to deal with–always so eager to kill one another for power or out of the fear of the unknown. “And yet,” he said. “You don’t want to make a contract to kill those people that killed your parents?”
Utahime shook her head. “That would make me no better than them, wouldn’t it?”
He snorted. “Y’know, for a witch, you really are awfully weak, you know that?”
Utahime rolled her eyes at him. She stood, taking the pie with her as she went to the kitchen. As the oven door closed with a soft thud, the scent of baking pie enveloped the room. She got up, a small smile dancing on her lips. “You said you’re the strongest, right? I guess that’s why I needed your help to bake this then.”
Gojo followed Utahime through the woods again, the scent of the apple pie she was holding wafting through the trees. Despite his indifference to worldly affairs, he’d admit, the pie did smell quite tantalizing. After a bit of walking, they reach a clearing. A quaint cottage emerged from the foliage, draped in ivy and adorned with flowers. Gojo waited in the front as Utahime approached the weathered door and knocked.
“Granny!” she called. “It’s me, Utahime!”
A few moments passed until the door creaked open, a wrinkled old woman peeking through the door. She squinted at the duo, before a welcoming smile broke out on her face and she opened the door wide. “Ah, Utahime?”
“Granny!” Here you go,” she replied, handing the pie over the old lady.
The old lady sniffed, the wrinkled lines on her face crinkling with joy. “Oh my, this smells wonderful. Thank you Utahime. Your pie’s are always a treat.”
“Thank you Granny. I made sure it’s the best one yet.”
The old lady stepped aside. "Would you like to come in and share it with me?" she invited.
“Oh,” Utahime said, glancing behind her where Gojo stood, his arms crossed as his fingers tapped against his sleeve. She shook her head. “I–I shouldn’t take up your time, Granny.”
“Oh. Is someone out there waiting for you?”
She nodded.
“Well, alright, dear. Thank you for the pie.”
Utahime, moved by a surge of gratitude, wrapped the old lady in a warm hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
The old lady reciprocated the embrace, her frail arms wrapping around Utahime. "Oh! Of course, dear.” She let go of Utahime, placing a wrinkled hand on her cheek. “You’ll be back soon, won’t you?”
Utahime bit her lip, and nodded. Waving as the door closed behind her, she joined Gojo back in the front.
“So that’s her, huh?” he remarked.
“Yeah. She took care of me for a bit after my parents passed away. You can sense it right? That’s she nearing the end of her life.”
“Yup.”
“I suppose that a devil wouldn’t be able to extend someone’s life, right?” she asked, her eyes searching for a glimmer of hope.
“I can take away lives, but can’t do the opposite. Sort of goes against the point of my existence, you know?”
“Yeah,” she conceded, her head lowering. “That makes sense.” She glanced up at him. “Then…the contract’s done?”
The binding the contract had on him was long gone, and Utahime’s soul burned brightly in front of him. But yet, Gojo found himself strangely hesitating before he nodded his head.
“Okay,” she said, softly. “Can I at least say goodbye to my place?”
A simple request, that he was willing to grant.
The setting sun spilled through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground as they retraced their steps. Utahime led the way back, her steps aligning with the rhythm of the forest as she began to hum again. Her notes were delicate and soft, carrying a melody that seemed to echo from her soul, holding a touch of both solace and melancholy.
Gojo, walking in her wake, observed her and found himself strangely content to listen to her. Maybe, even as a demon, he wasn’t immune to whatever spell was woven into her humming.
She sounded lovely.
He didn’t know what to call this…emotion he had inside him. Emotions that he had long thought were dormant from a distant past he couldn’t quite remember from.
They reached her cottage, which stood bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern hanging from the porch. Utahime paused, her gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings with a quiet breath. Quiet, Gojo watched her, observing the way her eyes absorbed the essence of her home—the flickering light from the lanturn casting shadows on her face. He briefly wondered how many nights she had spent alone here, away from the presence of others and in the lonely safety of solitude.
"Okay," Utahime finally said, turning around to face Gojo. Her expression was neutral as she stared at him. "I'm… ready to go."
Gojo nodded, raising his arm in preparation to fulfill the task he'd carried out countless times before. Utahime closed her eyes shut, her lips pulling tight together as she waited. Her soul burned, ready to be plucked and be brought down with him.
Hesitation seized him.
The abyss of where his soul might have existed before warred against an inexplicable something that stirred within him. For the witch–the girl in front of him who had him spend an entire day helping her bake a pie for an old woman. And, as ridiculous as he thought things would be, he didn’t mind it. In fact, it’d been…nice.
It was as if the very fabric of his infernal being was entangled with conflicting emotions—his duty versus his…desire.
It was a conflict Gojo hadn't anticipated, a deviation from the relentless routine of his existence of fulfilling contracts and collecting souls. But he felt something for the girl–something he didn’t quite understand, but taking the soul of a witch that baked pies and got annoyed a little too easily and hummed when she was in a good mood…just didn’t sit right with him.
He made his decision.
“I never did get to try that pie you made,” he said. “It smelled pretty good.”
Utahime then opened her eyes, wide as she blinked at him in confusion. “What?”
“Hmm…” Gojo tapped his chin with his finger. “It really is a shame. There’s no bakeries in hell, you know. You’d never be able to bake a pie again.”
Utahime’s gaze hardened. “Oh.”
“I guess that's why they call it hell, huh? There’s nothing enjoyable for you mortal folk to do. It really is a shame. Such a shame.”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Can you just send me down there already? I don’t get what you’re trying to do by prolonging this.”
“Wow, you’re that eager to be casted away to eternal damnation? No wonder you’re a loner.” Utahime gritted her teeth at him. He observed Utahime's reaction with a glint of mischief in his eyes, finding a peculiar charm in the way her annoyance painted her features. It was endearing the way she got annoyed. “Point is,” he said. “I’m gonna extend our contract.”
She gawked at him. “Huh?”
“As far as I see it, I’ll help you bake apple pies. Not just a pie. And then by the end, I’ll claim your soul. Or whatever. But for now, you can bake all the pies you want, Utahime.”
“Wha– why?”
He shrugged. "I just felt like it," Gojo said, his voice carrying an unexpected softness.”And you want to see the old lady a bit longer, don’t you?”
"I—I do," she confessed, her vulnerability resonating in the admission.
He grinned, snapping his fingers. “Well, then, that’s that. I redefined the terms of our contract. Next time, you’ll let me have a bite too, right?”
"Yeah," she replied breathlessly, her voice a whisper. She smiled. “I will.”
“Great!” he exclaimed, pushing her towards the front door. “Let’s go in then. Mind if I make some changes to your place? It’s kind of depressing, even for me.”
“Huh? Why are you talking like you’re going to start living here?”
“Hm? Because I’m going to.”
“ What ?!”
He grinned, winking at her shocked expression. “Someone’s gotta keep you company, right?”
“What? What about–what about hell? Isn’t that your home?”
“Silly, Utahime! We’re in a contract now! I can’t go anywhere until it’s fulfilled.”
“But– you’re a demon!”
“And you're a witch," Gojo countered.
They locked eyes, Gojo's smirk contrasting with Utahime's gaping expression. The silence that stretched between them held tension in the air until Utahime released a sigh. “Fine.” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “But you’re staying on the couch, got it?”
He grinned. “Whatever you request.”