Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soft violin music filled the grand ballroom, guiding you through the crowd. Your emerald green dress flowed gracefully as you walked, catching the attention of those around you. The radiant glow of your hair complemented your every step in high heels. Amidst the captivated onlookers, you sensed their eyes fixed upon you—a subtle acknowledgment, or perhaps more accurately, a palpable awareness. Yet, their gazes proved a mere ephemeral diversion from your singular purpose: the man adorned in a pristine white tuxedo.

Contemplating the appropriateness of the term "man" to describe this elusive figure, you hesitated. This enigmatic entity, embodying a malevolent curse that plagued the city of New York, wore the guise of the president of a prominent corporation. Its outward appearance aimed to seamlessly integrate with humanity, concealing the sinister reality that lurked beneath. A devilish killing Special Grade Curse, the thing that made you special and different from every single person standing in the room with you : a Grade One Jujutsu Sorcerer. 

The tempo of the music suddenly accelerated, becoming increasingly danceable. Women with radiant smiles and elegant dresses—far more than yours would ever be—, touched with their gloves their husbands’ shoulders to force them to dance. Drunk on love, and champagne or red wine, they accepted, apologizing to their comrades with a subtle grimace, hiding their pain and embarrassment. No one seemed to notice you now, as you paraded toward the curse in white, followed by a couple of little friends with colorful wings.

Navigating through couples waltzing around, you traversed the ballroom until you reached the focal point of your mission. The plan was now in motion.

The room hushed momentarily, as if holding its breath, the enchanting music providing a deceptive backdrop to your feigned stumble. The descent was artful, a seemingly spontaneous mishap that concealed the intricacies of your calculated performance. The man, a skilled partner in this deceptive dance, caught you effortlessly, his demeanor mirroring concern… Until it didn’t anymore.

In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, your eyes, however, betrayed a hidden agenda. Behind the façade of a simple stumble, a subtle glint hinted at a deeper purpose. It was a fall crafted not from instability but from meticulous design, setting the stage for the intricate dance of shadows and intrigue that would unfold in the following steps. The ballroom, oblivious to the orchestrated deception, continued to waltz to the enchanting melody, masking the ominous undertones beneath the surface.

He, the embodiment of malevolence veiled in charm, offered a seemingly courteous hand. “Allow me to rectify this unfortunate mishap with a dance, my dear.”

You, maintaining a glimpse of naivety, accepted the invitation, your eyes reflecting a deceptive innocence. 

As the two of you waltzed across the polished floor, the man's honeyed words dripped with hidden intent. “You possess a captivating grace, my dear. What secrets do you harbor behind those enchanting eyes?”

It knows, you thought when you felt the energy change.

You, seemingly oblivious, replied with a demure smile. “Oh, just the ordinary secrets of a young lady, nothing too scandalous.”

The man chuckled, his gaze betraying the predatory gleam within. “But there's a hint of something extraordinary beneath the surface, isn't there?”

You, veiling your true knowledge, continued the charade. “Perhaps, but some secrets are best left untouched.”

As the dance reached its crescendo, the butterflies hovered ominously, ready to administer their poison, filling his head, his arms, his feet. They were everywhere. With a final twirl, you stepped away, your tone carrying a chilling finality, “Goodbye, forever…”

The man, oblivious to the peril he had just faced, bowed with a smirk. “Until our paths cross again, Sorcerer .” Unbeknownst to him, your farewell concealed a promise of eradication, a vow to protect the ballroom's ephemeral elegance from the hidden curses beneath. He went pale, and then a little green, he coughed, touched his face. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss…”

That was the lovely way of your butterflies. No more contact than necessary. There was nothing like the grace of your butterflies’ killer poison. Your innate technique was perfect: silent, quick and efficient. 

You watched the purple blood stains on the floor where the Curse had disappeared, almost exploding in the air where no normal person could see it. As it departed, a hint of satisfaction lingered in your gaze, replaced by confusion when an unexpected voice cut through the fading melody. 

“Well, well, if it isn't the butterfly whisperer herself.”

You turned around, your gaze locking onto Gojo Satoru, who stood with the effortless charm that was quintessentially him. A playful grin danced on his lips as he extended a hand towards you, “Care for a dance, my dear friend?”

“Gojo, this is hardly the time for your antics,” you said. “I had everything under control, no need for you here.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Control, you say? I'm not so sure about that. You looked pretty engrossed in your dance with our friend in the tux.”

You sighed, relenting to the inevitable. “Fine, Gojo. Dance away, but make it quick.”

Without missing a beat, Gojo whisked you into a dance, his movements as effortless as his banter. You, still perplexed by the sudden turn of events, found yourself reluctantly succumbing to the rhythm of the impromptu dance. 

“Nice suit you have there, where did you steal it from?” you asked, glancing at him up and down. “The laundry place two blocks from here?”

He smirked even more. “Oh, God forbid I own nice clothing. I even matched my suit with this amazing pair of sunglasses just for your beautiful self! Can’t you see that?”

Despite the annoyance, a subtle smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a testament to the enduring connection you shared amidst the chaos of curses and ballroom betrayals. 

His hand on your waist, lower than you would want it, a murderous face, and the hand going up again. That was the summary of the entire dance.

You chuckled, a playful gleam in your gaze. “Smooth, Satoru. But I'm not easily swayed by compliments nor hand placements.”

Gojo laughed, the sound of a melody that echoed through the night. “You wound me, [Y/N]. Here I am, pouring my heart out under the diamond stars, and you accuse me of being insincere.”

“I know you… and those glasses. I know what they’re here for.” You sighed as the music came to a halt. Hand in hand, you led him to a spacious balcony overlooking the expansive and vibrant garden. “What brings you here if not to disrupt my evening?”

“You maintain your characteristic directness; I appreciate that."

Taking a step back to create some distance, you remarked, "Satoru, just be straightforward. No games; you could have called me for this."

Gojo's demeanor underwent a sudden transformation. While he retained his usual cocky persona, a notable seriousness permeated his expression.

“Something bad is about to happen back home, you need to come back.”

“Look, Satoru, I left home for a reason and haven’t come back since Sug— Geto had his little cult.”

He threw his head back for a moment. “Look, [Y/N] we need— I need your help.”

You flinched. It was unusual for Gojo Satoru, renowned as the strongest, to seek assistance, especially considering your enduring friendship. He rarely sought help, even during the previous year when he had to confront the unthinkable regarding his best friend on his own.

“Are the rumors true, then?” you asked, hoping the worst. “Is the King of Curses awake again?”

“I guess rumors do travel continents…, but no. Not exactly.” Gojo walked toward the fence and rested his arms there. “Sukuna is inside one of my students.”

You frowned. “What do you mean inside?”

“My student ate a couple of his fingers…” Gojo chuckled.

You looked straight at him. “What?! How many exactly?!”

“At least five.”

“What a dumb kid… He didn’t know what he was up to, I guess,” you said, joining him at the fence. “I can’t believe you let him do that.”

“Well, in my defense, I couldn’t stop Suguru from starting a human-hating club, so…”

Observing him closely, you focused on the corner of his light blue, shining eyes—the infinite itself. The myriad desires and regrets they held remained uncertain.

“You’re a bad teacher but not a bad friend, you know that, right?”

Gojo chuckled again and gazed back at you. “Are you coming home or what? I’d be an even worse teacher if I can’t manage to convince you.”

You sighed and stepped back again. “Fine, but I want a bigger pay than last time.”

He followed you, a broad, confident smile on his face. “Deal. On the condition that you occasionally lend me a couple of your butterflies to spy on Nanami. Are they following you at the moment? Perhaps I can take them now.”

The two of you re-entered the balcony and the ballroom, making your way towards the exit. “No chance; my butterflies don't respond to annoying, narcissistic men; they remain close to me at all times... Plus, Nanami ? Has he finally resumed working as a Jujutsu Sorcerer?”

“Just part-time for now, but he'll return eventually. He has encountered Itadori Yuji now, so a change is evident.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Itadori Yuji... Is that Sukuna’s vessel?”

“Yes, the foolish finger-eater.”

You chuckled. “Disgusting.”

Exiting the ballroom into the crisp night air, a growing sense of unease enveloped you. The fact that Gojo had journeyed to New York expressly to seek your assistance hinted at an impending calamity. Although the exact nature of the impending crisis eluded your thoughts—whether it be an apocalypse, a storm of curses, or an approaching tsunami—the presence of your long standing friend and your venomous butterflies left you with an unsettling calmness as you made your way home.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic rise and fall of Satoru Gojo's breaths, beneath an unbuttoned white pearl shirt, set the quiet morning scene. He lounged on a two-person couch in your living room, his spiky hair falling casually. As you sipped your coffee, his calm presence contradicted the usual exuberance associated with the pride and joy of his clan and the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

This was an unusual calmness, a departure from Gojo's lively persona. His vibrant blue eyes remained closed, and you couldn't help but watch, even as the coffee in your hands gradually cooled. A touch of self-consciousness crept in as you realized the extent of your prolonged observation.

A sudden smile appeared on his lips, and without opening his eyes, he spoke, “Quit staring… I'm getting shy.” 

Even in the morning, he was a narcissistic idiot. It was clear he had been awake for a while, patiently waiting to see your reaction. “Sure thing,” you replied, “I don't think I've ever seen you sleep this much. I thought you were dead or something.”

A mischievous laugh left Gojo's mouth before he responded, “Don't worry; even if you stare at me forever, my beauty won't stick to you, or my power.”

As his vibrant blue eyes finally opened, an intense gaze met yours. They had a soul-piercing quality, making you briefly look away before meeting his eyes again.

You couldn't help but feel sympathy for his enemies. If your supposedly indifferent gaze had this effect on you, one of his friends, you could only imagine the fate of those who dared to challenge him.

“What a shame,” you retorted, a playful mockery infusing your voice. “That means you’ll be ugly forever even if you spend your life spying on Nanami. Now I get why you needed my butterflies.”

In a swift motion, Gojo propelled himself up, relying on his right hand as a springboard to land gracefully by your side. His breath, now in close proximity, initiated a subtle dance with the fine hairs adorning your head, sending a chill cascading down your spine.

There were moments when you could easily forget how towering he was, but situations like these served as vivid reminders; for example, like  how his head would look down everytime you were near one another. Yesterday in the ballroom, because of your high heels, the height difference wasn’t a big deal, but now that you were bare feet standing in your New York apartment, Satoru Gojo looked like a snow-capped mountain.

Gojo chuckled, “Quite the jokester in the morning, aren't you?” He reached into his shirt pocket, just above his heart, retrieving his round black glasses. “Unfortunately, I'm the opposite of that. Mornings? Not my thing. But duty calls.”

You sighed, “Let’s head back home then.”

As you packed up, surprisingly, most of the talking was done by you. You found yourself admonishing Gojo for meddling with things he had no business touching—underwear, delicate china, and most notably, old photographs. The lecture ceased abruptly when he fixated on one picture.

“Why hang on to this?” he inquired, a hint of uncertainty betraying his usual confidence. “This is from ages ago.”

Closing your suitcase, you approached a table near the window, where you safeguarded the most cherished photographs. Gojo clutched one of your favorites—a snapshot capturing a moment after training with you, him, and the late Geto. Shoko's cigarette smoke lingered at the edge of the frame, she was the one who had taken it. The four of you were classmates at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

The image froze a moment in time, a snapshot from the days before Geto's downfall. Suguru's arm draped casually around your shoulders, Gojo's arm rested atop your head. He was just as exasperating then as he is now, but your bright smile reflected a carefree attitude toward his antics.

Those were the last good days: there was no girl to be saved, no tribute to be sent away. Just teenagers with immense power flowing through their veins that had no idea what their future held; the pain and suffering were on their way. Oblivious to the trials awaiting them. 

Adult you would think twice before posing in a photo with Gojo —as he would certainly stand out. And well, Suguru Geto was dead, killed by the man holding the photograph at that moment, so recreating this old thing would be impossible, too.

***

“I'd think twice before doing that, Satoru,” you had cautioned when Gojo playfully positioned his hand behind your head, mimicking bunny ears. “I'll kick you in the balls if the picture I send to my mom shows me getting ridiculed by one of my classmates!”

“You and I both know you can't do that with my amazing skills!” Gojo had laughed, stuck out his tongue, and mockingly danced. He was like a five-year-old child. “You'll never beat me, [Y/N], I'm the strongest!”

As soon as Gojo finished boasting, one of your butterflies —the Blue Morpho, a formidable companion —flew above him, releasing one of its potent venoms: a tranquilizer. Satoru settled down beside you, finally resting his arm on your head with a loose smile.

“Are you two done yet?” Geto had asked, arms crossed. “Let's get on with this; I'm hungry.”

“Now, Shoko!” you had exclaimed, urging Geto back to your side. Fortunately, he was easier to handle than Gojo. “Before he fights back my venom!”

“One… Two… Three!” Shoko had counted. “Say, 'Best Jujutsu Sorcerers but still idiots!'”

“Cheese…?” Gojo had mumbled, awakening from his fever dream.

“There you have it, [L/N]: a perfectly taken photograph,” Shoko had said, returning your flip phone. Shortly after, you sent it to your mother, who promptly replied with a happy face.

“Agh, [Y/N], you're so mean!” Gojo complained after the tranquilizer's effects wore off. “They were just bunny ears! Your mom would've loved that because you looked even more beautiful than you already are!”

You ignored him completely. “Hey, Suguru! Wanna go eat?"

Geto brightened up. “Yes, please,” he said with a happy smile. "But we shouldn't bring him …”

“I HATE YOU BOTH!”

With silent coordination, you slipped away, leaving Gojo absorbed in his own antics. The vibrant garden, filled with the rustling leaves and the occasional cawing of distant crows —courtesy of your mentor, Mei-Mei—, became your sanctuary as the two of you made your way to the canteen.

Inside the bustling canteen, the scent of food wafted through the air, and the ambient noise of conversations created a lively backdrop. You and Geto found a secluded corner, away from the hustle and bustle, and sat down to enjoy your meal.

As you shared bites of your food, the tension of training dissipated, replaced by the easygoing ambiance of the big room. It was here, amidst the clatter of trays and the chatter around you, that the foundation of your camaraderie deepened.

Your discussion meandered through the intricate world of jujutsu, but a recurring theme emerged —your shared annoyance with Satoru Gojo. 

Geto rolled his eyes with a faint smirk, “Honestly, that guy is insufferable. His arrogance knows no bounds, he truly believes he has the right to do whatever he wants.”

You chuckled in agreement, “Tell me about it. Every little thing turns into the Satoru Gojo show.”

A rare smile crept across Geto's face, “You know, sometimes I wonder if he's more of a curse than the ones we're supposed to be dealing with. I can't decide what's worse —his constant banter or the curses.”

You laughed in agreement, “At least with curses, you know what to expect. Gojo is a whole different kind of unpredictable.”

“But damn, he’s good!” Geto stated, sounding like he just couldn’t believe what he was saying. “He’s the best there is. Thank God he isn’t a curse, though, the world would be doomed if that were the case.”

You smiled warmly. “Hey, you are just as good as he is. Or at least you can become better, if you wanted to,” you said to comfort him, even if you really didn’t believe that deep down. “I’m thankful you’re not a curse either.”

The soft glow of the canteen lights played on Geto's features as he listened intently, his eyes following your every expression. Yet, before Geto could thank you for your kindness, your phone rang. An unexpected tension crept into the room as you excused herself to answer. Geto's gaze lingered a moment longer than usual; the faintest hint of a furrow on his brow betrayed a silent discomfort.

The distant murmur of your boyfriend's voice — your human , non-sorcerer , normal boyfriend — echoed, infiltrating the sacred space two of you had carved out for your exchange. Geto's eyes, usually composed, flickered with something indefinable. It was in that unspoken pause that a subtle shift could be sensed —an almost imperceptible undercurrent of emotion.

The interruption, brief yet impactful, left an indelible mark on Geto's thoughts. Was it just annoyance at the disturbance, or did it run deeper? As you returned, oblivious to the fleeting unease, Geto masked his feelings with a practiced smile. But beneath the surface, a seed had been planted —a seed that hinted at a sentiment not fully explored, a sentiment that would quietly weave its way through the tapestry of his character. 

It was a seed that would flourish in an unstoppable way.

***

Gojo's sigh cut through the air, jolting you back to the present as you grappled with his unexpected question. A heavy pause hung between you, filled with a quiet melancholy that seemed to grow with each passing second.

“This is a good memory, Satoru,” your voice softened, attempting to dispel the discomfort. “One of the last I have of him. Everything else… well, sucks .”

A forced, short laugh escaped Gojo's lips, but there was nothing light about it, an unsettling undercurrent that charged the atmosphere. “You're lying,” he declared, his eyes holding an intense gaze. “You didn't keep it for the good old memories.”

Confusion etched your features. “Why would I lie about this? It's stupid, Gojo.”

His laughter took on an ironic, almost sinister note, wrapping the room in an unspoken tension. “You feel guilt, [Y/N]. Admit it.”

Swiftly, you retrieved the photograph from his hands, the action unexpectedly assertive. “You're crazy. Why would I feel guilt? I didn't do anything. I tried to stop him, but if you, his best friend , couldn't do it, why could I ?”

Gojo turned his head to lock eyes with you, a charged silence pulsating between you two. “Because he loved you,” he asserted in a hushed tone, the words hanging in the air, a tangled thread of unresolved emotions. “He loved you, and you played with his heart. You keep his photo to punish yourself—”

Tears welled in your eyes, the room heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. “Satoru,” you pleaded, cutting him off. “Please, just stop.”

As tears traced down your flushed cheeks, a charged silence lingered between you and Gojo. The air was thick with the unspoken, an intricate dance of emotions that left an electric current hanging in the room. In that poignant moment, Satoru Gojo hovered close, the unresolved tension and the unspoken desire building an uncharted path, leaving you both on the precipice of something more.

“He loved you, and you're drowning in the guilt of what you believe you should have done.” His words cut through the silence, adding another layer to the already complex web of emotions. “But I understand that guilt, [Y/N], because I share it. I, too, have failed him.”

The admission lingered in the air, a confession heavy with regrets and unspoken truths. The weight of his words pressed upon you, the gravity of the shared burden palpable, as if an invisible thread bound you both in the aftermath of a collective tragedy.

In Satoru’s vibrant blue eyes, a maelstrom of emotions swirled—regret, sorrow, and an unspoken desire. The space between you crackled with tension, defying clear definition. In that charged moment, your hearts beat in unison, and Gojo's hand ascended, drawn by an unseen force, hesitating just inches from your face.

The proximity became agonizing, the magnetic pull between you two reaching its zenith. Tension built, a taut wire teetering on the brink of snapping. Something lingered in the charged air, a silent plea for more, a yet-to-be-defined longing.

However, as the moment hung suspended in time, Satoru withdrew his hand, breaking the spell. The room seemed to exhale, tension dissipating like smoke. Yet, unresolved emotions lingered—a promise unfulfilled, leaving an ache in the air, a persistent tension yearning for resolution.

Without a spoken word, Gojo stepped back, leaving the uncharted territory between you two unexplored. The room, once pregnant with anticipation, now echoed with what could have been—an not-yet-finished story.

“We need to go,” he simply said, pushing back his round sunglasses. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

You watched him opening the door and leaving in mere seconds, while your hands crushed the photograph against your chest. “I loved him, too,” you said. 

But there was no answer to your whispers. Nor will there ever be.

Chapter Text

As soon as your feet stepped inside the entrance of Jujustu High in Tokyo, Gojo’s nonchalant attitude came back as it had never left to begin with. His round dark sunglasses had disappeared, though, being replaced by a black blindfold that covered his eyes instead. His cocky smile was back, too, and he talked to you in his usual detached tone; almost like the situation in your apartment had never happened. 

But it had; you couldn’t forget it even if your mind lost all senses and memories. His voice remained in your ears, his breath lingered in your face.

Every time your sight traveled towards Gojo’s face while you chatted walking to the central office of the school, your heart skipped a bit, remembering his intense yet cold closeness back in New York. He felt so distant now, but you would rather not face this problem just yet, there were so many things to deal with before —other than your and Satoru Gojo’s unresolved sentimental issues. 

If Gojo was playing dumb, you would do it too; because now that you were already halfway into an isolated pathway, uncomfortable silence was not an option. 

In a moment of silence, you decided to observe the familiar surroundings. The place you lived in through your entire teenage years. Nestled in Tokyo's serene outskirts, the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College unfolded its campus adorned with buildings echoing traditional Japanese architecture, cleverly masquerading as a venerable Buddhist temple. No ordinary human was able to come here unless they were accompanied by a Jujustu Sorcerer. It was, probably, one of the safest places on Earth. 

Probably. 

There was a bigger problem for you, though: this wasn’t just a school… It was also the headquarters of the Jujutsu Organization. Ex alumni wandered around the place frequently, as the teaching situation was different from other schools in the country: everyone who had attended Tokyo Jujutsu High was involved, in one way or another, with the current students. So, if you weren’t keen on seeing old friends or foes, this place wasn’t the best to avoid them. But at least you were having a nice experience outside the concrete jungle that you had lived in for many years. 

“How does it feel to breathe normal air again?” Gojo asked, finally breaking the ice after many minutes without opening his mouth. He had his hands behind his head, and paced quickly a few steps in front of you. He had also changed his clothing, he didn’t wear his white shirt anymore ( thank God , you thought), and was now wearing an uniform, similar to the one you used to wear when you were at school: a dark blue zip-up jacket with a high collar, slim-fit matching black pants and black dress boots. “I only stayed there for two days and I felt my lungs getting weaker by the minute.”

“Well, I haven’t been surrounded by this much nature since… I don’t even know when,” you said, taking in the beautiful scenery around you. “It’s so… peaceful. When I visited Tokyo last year I didn’t even come here, so it feels great to be back — at least for now. ”

Gojo lowered his quick pace and let you arrive by his side, offering you a gentle smile, “Well, it wasn’t always ‘peaceful’ this year; we were attacked last week,” he stated, your confusion only raised. “It was during the annual Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event — which we won, by the way ,” he added, as if it were more important. 

Your eyes widened at the revelation, the tranquility of the surroundings suddenly juxtaposed with the unexpected chaos Gojo described. 

“Attacked? During the Goodwill Event?” you echoed, a mix of surprise and concern coloring your voice. The familiarity of the annual event clashed with the notion of danger. Yes, the event itself did leave some students a little harmed, but never in a serious way. “By whom?!”

Gojo's smile held a touch of pride, a glimmer of mischief dancing in it. “Oh, it was quite the spectacle. Our students showcased their skills in a wonderful manner… Plus, we made sure Kyoto knew who the top sorcerers really are.” His nonchalant demeanor belied the underlying intensity of the encounters he spoke of. “On the downside however, we were ambushed by curses, and they managed to snatch something valuable.”

That was why you had described Tokyo Jujustu High as probably one of the safest places on Earth. Because now, you weren’t sure if it was. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at the revelation, the picturesque landscape now carrying the weight of an unseen threat. “Curses in the school grounds…? What did they steal?” you inquired, a sense of urgency coloring your words. You felt so dumb and yet wanted to ask every single detail.

“They took six fingers —Sukuna’s fingers, that is.” Gojo sighed. “I didn't really like the idea of making my student swallow them, but now I feel like we should’ve made him do it sooner… This is going to be a difficult battle.”

The gravity of the situation sank in as you considered the implications: an unknown enemy has taken just what Jujutsu High needed to manage Itadori Yuji’s situation. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Do you reckon Sukuna is the leader somehow?” you asked. “Maybe he is communicating with them.”

Satoru shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. He lives inside Itadori, I find it hard to believe there’s a way for him to communicate with the outside without using him ,” he admitted. “These curses are probably just some fans of some kind, wanting to revive him.”

“Sukuna is the king of curses, after all…”

“Yeah,” he answered, “but all kings must fall someday.”

Gojo’s mouth finally closed as the two of you arrived at the central building. Your eyes traveled around the place, memories of younger years rushing through your mind.

In the heart of the mountain, nestled between towering trees and a bustling baseball field, stood a majestic, centuries-old building. Its walls, adorned with intricate stone carvings, told the story of a rich history, where generations of sorcerers continued to live and thrive. The building's grand courtyard, shaded by the looming trees, offered a serene oasis, where one could escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The chimneys, with weathervanes, proudly displayed the symbols of the school’s heritage, while the baseball field, just beyond the courtyard, hummed with the excitement of a previous game. As the sun casted its golden rays upon the scene, the old building stood proud, a testament to the enduring spirit of its people… and victims . 

Just like the kid approaching in a rapid way toward you.  

“ Sensei!” he yelled, obviously not at you. “You’re back…!” He stopped running, lowering his pace once was nearer. “Who’s this?”

His orange (or rather pink) spiky short hair moved sideways when he titled his head after arriving at your side. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. He was wearing the blue school uniform, so he was obviously a student there, but he looked so young; you imagined he could only be a first year student. It was weird, though, you felt like this kid held as much power inside of him that you would ever have.

‘Sukuna’s vessel ,’ you thought. That was the only possible explanation. 

“Yuji Itadori, how rude of you!” Gojo said in a high-pitched voice. “This is my old friend [L/N] [Y/N], aka the butterfly whisperer. She’s come here to help.”

“Oh!” Yuji Itadori exclaimed. “Now I understand why there were so many butterflies on campus! I was starting to believe that Mei-Mei began controlling them as well as those scary crows…”

Your heart skipped a bit. “Is Mei-Mei here?” That was not an encounter you were hoping for, really. 

Gojo let out an usual cocky laugh. “When is she not here, though?” he said. “Mei-Mei might hate this place, but when money is involved… Well, let’s just say diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

He continued, “Anyway, now that you’re both acquainted, [Y/N] and I have an important, yet short, meeting with the Principal. Yuji, gather the other two in the training grounds; I figure we’ll be there in fifteen minutes—”

“—Or maybe less,” a figure emerging from the door interrupted Gojo. Masamichi Yaga: the Principal of Tokyo Jujustu High. “You’re late… Though that doesn’t surprise me coming from you, Satoru.”

Yaga stood tall, his muscular frame complemented by sun-kissed skin. His hair was short, spiky, and black, with the sides of his head shaved. Thick eyebrows framed his gaze, above a mustache and goatee combination. Just like at that moment, you had never seen the Principal without his sunglasses. They reminded you of Gojo’s, but Masamichi Yaga’s were perfect rectangles. 

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, sir.,” you said, bowing. “I wish our encounters were under different circumstances. Every time.”

He nodded. “I agree. Unfortunately, we don’t have much time, come on in.”

The Principal entered the main building, and before the two of you followed him inside, Gojo spoke again, “Go, Itadori. This is nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“Sure, Sensei .” As soon as Itadori finished the sentence, he rushed towards the other side of campus, leaving a thread of earth behind. 

‘Huh, just like a cartoon,’ you thought watching him leave.

The main building appeared deserted, or at least its hallways did. There was no sign of anyone around, and the silence felt eerie for a school of such magnitude. No training sessions were underway, so the usual sounds of combat or instructors' voices were absent. 

You found the silence unsettling; living in the bustling city of New York, where you fought American curses, noise was a constant companion. The hum of cars, the rumble of buses, and the chatter of people filled your days. Even during your previous time here, in this literal Buddhist temple, silence was rare. Gojo’s frequent outbursts, his banter with Geto, and Shoko's peculiar music always filled the air.

“Still a man of few words, I see,” you broke the unpleasant silence, referring to the Principal. Gojo chuckled in response. “… Has he got good hearing, though? I wouldn’t want him to listen and have a bad impression of me.”

“Don’t worry,” Satoru answered. “I do it all the time and nobody cares.”

A sassy smile formed on your lips. “But they are used to your antics by now. Everyone hates you, Satoru.”

“Yeah…, that’s what comes with being the most powerful sorcerer in the world.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your whispers only turning into normal talking. “And the most narcissistic, I bet.”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “Ah, but you forgot the most charming,” he countered, his tone dripping with mock modesty.

You chuckled, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Charming? That's one way to put it,” you teased, your smile widening. “I suppose your ego needs feeding somehow.”

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock pain. “My ego? Perish the thought,” he exclaimed dramatically. “It's merely a side effect of being so undeniably talented.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged him with your elbow. “Modesty has never been your strong suit, has it?”

“Who needs modesty when you've got charisma?” Satoru shot back —and you bet he would have added a wink if his eyes weren’t covered—, his grin widening as he enjoyed the banter.

“You sound like children,” Yaga interrupted again, stopping in front of a random door, probably leading to an office where the meeting was going to be held. “I would remind you that you left this same school ten years ago, but you are here now, so, I should just warn you.”

He continued, “Behind this door, there are people who don’t like you.” Your eyes quickly glanced at your old friend. “ Neither of you.” Gojo smiled ironically. “So, best behavior . I want you two to agree to everything they say, no matter if you want to start a war right there.”

“But what if they ask us to battle to death in the next goodwill event?” Satoru asked. “That wouldn’t be fair for my little [Y/N] here.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m older than you.”

“Figuratively little, then.”

“Enough!” the Principal protested. His voice was rough and his demeanor showed his annoyance. “I’m being serious here, Satoru. You know who is inside this office. They would do anything to see you down into the mud… And blame me in the process, too.”

Satoru’s expression shifted, the playful facade fading into a more serious demeanor. “Understood, Yaga-sensei. We'll tread carefully.” His tone, though respectful, carried a hint of defiance, a silent declaration that he wouldn't bow down easily.

You nodded in agreement, a sense of determination settling over you. “We won't give them any reason to doubt our intentions.”

With a final nod from Yaga, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with stern-faced figures seated around a large wooden table. The air was heavy with tension as you and Satoru entered, exchanging brief nods with familiar faces, each one harboring its own history and grievances.

As the door closed behind you, sealing your fate for the impending confrontation, a wave of apprehension washed over you. The stakes were high, and the outcome uncertain. 

“Ah, Satoru Gojo and [Y/N] [L/N],” a stern voice greeted you from the head of the table. It was Principal Gakuganji, a man known for his strict demeanor and unwavering dedication to tradition. Beside him sat the members of the board, each one wearing a stoic expression that gave nothing away. 

You exchanged a quick glance with Gojo before taking your seats, bracing yourselves for whatever was to come.

“So, care to tell me how a mere butterfly whisperer is going to help you, the so-called strongest sorcerer, chase these special grade curses?”

And Gojo just smiled, clenching his fists beside him.

Chapter Text

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate any stray noise. Every breath felt like an intrusion, echoing in the silence that enveloped the chamber. Satoru’s stoic presence beside you only accentuated the gravity of the situation, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. Despite the stillness, you could sense the undercurrent of anticipation coursing through the air, a silent prelude to the confrontation.

As you cast a secret glance at Satoru, you found his gaze fixed resolutely ahead; even behind his blindfold, you could sense his eyes staring directly Yoshinobu Gakuganji’s head —as if he were trying to pierce it with a mere look. His unwavering composure served as a reassuring anchor amidst the uncertainty, a silent reminder of the strength that lay within.

Your only ally was the strongest person in the room. 

You shouldn’t have been afraid at all.

The weight of the council's scrutiny bore down on you, their silent appraisal casting shadows across the room. Each member seemed to radiate power, their presence a testament to their authority and influence. In the face of such overwhelming opposition, your options felt extremely limited, your voice drowned out by the weight of expectation.

But as the silence stretched on, broken only by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, a flicker of determination sparked within you. You may have been outnumbered and outmatched, but you refused to cower in the face of adversity. 

You smiled. “It’s been a long time, Principal Gakuganji. How awful we have to meet in such difficult circumstances,” you said.

Maybe repeating the words you had said to Principal Yaga would make you feel less intimidated. Those two held the same rank, so they deserved the same treatment. And nothing more. 

Gakuganji’ expression remained impassive. “Indeed, [Y/N] [L/N],” he replied, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “Difficult circumstances often have a way of bringing old acquaintances together.”

Satoru continued to remain silent. You could sense his angrily discomfort, his usual cocky demeanor momentarily subdued in the presence of the people who hated him the most.

Gakuganji’s attention turned to Satoru. “And what of you, Satoru Gojo?” he inquired, his tone sharp and probing. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, or shall we proceed?”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the room. “I'm all ears, old man,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Though, that’s all I have to say… For now. ”

Gakuganji’s eyebrows twitched imperceptibly at Satoru’s casual tone, a flicker of irritation passing through his otherwise composed demeanor. “Very well, then,” he said evenly, his voice betraying none of his inner turmoil. “Let us address the matter at hand.”

Turning his attention to the rest of the council members, Gakuganji began to outline the situation with a precision that bordered on clinical. He spoke of the recent attacks by cursed spirits, the theft of Sukuna’s fingers, and the escalating threat posed by these powerful entities.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. The gravity of the situation was clear, and the council's expectations weighed heavily upon your shoulders. But you refused to let it show, maintaining a calm facade despite the roiling turmoil within.

Satoru, on the other hand, remained outwardly unruffled, his behavior betraying nothing of his thoughts. But you could sense the tension coiled beneath his composed exterior, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation.

But suddenly, a spark of a smile —that’d didn’t go unnoticed— appeared on his lips. 

Gakuganji’s stern gaze lingered on Satoru, his expression hardening with each passing moment. “And yet, despite the gravity of the situation, it seems that some among us continue to act with reckless abandon,” he continued, his voice tinged with reproach. “Need I remind you, Satoru Gojo, that it was your actions that led to the chaos that unfolded?”

Satoru’s lips curled into an even wider smirk, a glimmer of defiance flashing in his eyes. “Ah, care to enlighten me about how this is my fault, then?”

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “But if you insist on playing dumb, allow me to spell it out for you.”

He continued, “Your reckless actions during the Goodwill Event not only endangered the lives of our students but also provided an opening for our enemies to strike,” he explained, his words measured and deliberate. “Had you exercised even a modicum of caution, perhaps we wouldn’t find ourselves in this precarious situation.”

You watched the exchange unfold with a sense of unease, the weight of Gakuganji’s words hanging heavy in the air. 

Of course, Satoru refused to back down, his smirk never faltering even in the face of Gakuganji’s stern reprimand. “Well, isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing,” he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. “But I suppose it’s easier to place blame after the fact than to accept responsibility for one’s own shortcomings.”

“Your flippant attitude is wearing thin,” Gakuganji warned, his voice a low rumble. “But mark my words, your actions will have consequences, whether you choose to acknowledge them or not.”

You exchanged a look with Principal Yaga. His face showed an uncommonly nervous expression. Things were going south, just as he had warned you before. The higher-ups wouldn’t let this go easily. If Gakuganji mentioned these “consequences” , for the first time ever, Gojo would really be punished. 

“Satoru may have his faults,” you began, your voice steady despite the tension in the room, “but to solely place the blame on him would be a gross oversimplification of the situation.”

Gakuganji’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable as he listened to your words. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, but you refused to waver under his penetrating stare.

“Let's not forget that we were attacked by curses. We didn’t look for them or chase them,” you continued, your tone measured but firm. “Our enemies saw an opportunity and they seized it. It’s unfair to lay the blame solely at Satoru’s feet when there were multiple factors at play. He was responsible for his students’ safety, there was no previous information about the attack. He couldn’t have known, therefore, he did what he could.”

“Yet, it wasn’t enough…” Principal Gakuganji finished the conversation.

Or so he tried. 

“It never is for you,” you fought back. “You have him on your side: the strongest sorcerer in the world. You treat him as a puppet —even when he thinks he’s got freedom… You’ve made him kill his best friend and now you blame him for the breach when it is your responsibility to secure the school.”

And then, upon the silent response, you added: “What else do you want him to do?”

Principal Gakuganji’s brows furrowed, his stoic facade cracking slightly at your accusations. “You dare speak to me in such a manner?” he retorted, his voice laced with barely contained anger. “You, who have no authority here, and who was only brought here in a cry for help by the ‘strongest sorcerer in the world’.”

You held his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. “I speak the truth,” you asserted firmly. “And if you cannot handle that, then perhaps you are not fit to lead your institution nor be part of the council.”

A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of your own rapid heartbeat. The other higher-ups shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging uneasy glances with one another. Satoru, however, grinned proudly. 

Finally, Principal Gakuganji spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “You may leave now,” he commanded, his words a thinly veiled threat.

You rose from your seat, a defiant spark igniting in your eyes. “This isn’t over,” you whispered to Satoru once you stepped out of the room.

“Of course not,” he replied. “ They won’t stop until they’ve killed me, Principal Yaga, Itadori…, and now I guess you , too.”

You sighed. “The jujutsu higher-ups are trying to kill a literal child with a demon inside, a child trapped in an adult body, a well-respected school principal, and now me, a somewhat nobody… Well, I’ll just say we need new representatives.”

“And I’ll just say that’s putting it lightly.”

[…]

When Satoru and you arrived at the training grounds —an hour later than you were supposed to— you were expecting to find Yuji Itadori and his classmates, well, training. However, you were surprised to find them sitting around playing rock, paper, scissors. 

You and Satoru exchanged a perplexed glance as you approached the group of students, their competitive chatter filling the air. It was a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere of the meeting you had just left behind.

“What’s going on here?” Satoru called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the students’ game. “You were supposed to give a good impression with your training sessions ! Now Miss [Y/N] here will think I’m a bad teacher.”

You chuckled. “Don’t worry, I already think that.”

Gojo turned towards you. “You weren’t saying that the other night, darling . I remember it all too well.”

You rolled your eyes at Satoru’s remark, forcing away the memories of your shared time in New York. “That’s because the other night you weren’t trying to pass off a group of slackers as diligent students,” you retorted.

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture. “Ouch, [Y/N], that hurts,” he replied, his tone dripping with mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that I am the epitome of a dedicated teacher.”

You shook your head at his theatrics. “Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that,” you replied, faking your annoyance.

Meanwhile, the students had paused their game, watching the exchange between you and Satoru with varying degrees of amusement and confusion. Yuji Itadori, in particular, looked torn between amusement and embarrassment as he shifted nervously on his feet.

“Hello again,” he said. “You said you were coming here in fifteen minutes, so we waited… And waited… And waited. But you never came so we decided to do something else.”

You shifted your gaze towards Itadori and then behind him. Your eyes found a girl who you didn’t know the name of. She stood with confidence, her posture exuding a sense of self-assurance. With a slender yet athletic build, she carried herself with a subtle grace, every movement deliberate and purposeful. Her short, brown, almost orange, hair framed her face in a perfect square. Sharp, brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and determination. Her  features were striking, with high cheekbones and a defined jawline lending her an air of strength and resilience. Despite the intensity of the stare directed her way, she remained composed, her expression unreadable yet undeniably confident.

“I like her,” you told Satoru. “I bet she has a good fashion sense.”

Satoru implied a laugh. “I sometimes like her too… Nobara Kugisaki, that is, meet [Y/N [L/N]. Long-time friend, long-time strong sorcerer,” he said. “And over there we have Megumi Fushiguro, but I think you remember him well.”

As the Megumi Fushiguro came to your sight, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. There he stood, a silent sentinel amidst the bustling activity of the training ground, his presence commanding yet enigmatic. His dark hair fell in disarray around his face, framing features that spoke of determination and resilience. There was a tension in his posture, a guardedness in his expression, as though he were bracing himself for an encounter he wasn’t entirely prepared for.

“Megumi,” you said softly, stepping closer to him, “it's been too long.”

It was the third time you had said that phrase. You were getting annoyed by it. 

He met your gaze with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty, his expression guarded yet searching. “It has,” he agreed, his voice tinged with a hint of emotion. “I didn't expect to see you back here.”

You offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “I didn't expect to be back,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But here I am.”

The tension between you lingered, unspoken words hanging in the air like a veil between you. But beneath it all, there was a flicker of something familiar, something that spoke of a bond that transcended time and distance. 

Yet there wasn’t enough time for that now. 

“Satoru,” you began, turning around, your voice tinged with a note of apprehension. You had to break the tension somehow. “I see you’ve been keeping busy with these three…, but can they fight?”

Satoru offered you a knowing smile, his eyes flickering with amusement. “You know me, always finding new recruits,” he replied casually. “And as you already know as well: students always beat their master. Most of the time, at least.”

“Then, who wants a round… with me?” you asked.

As the words left your lips, you could sense the excitement radiating from Itadori, his eyes lighting up with eager anticipation. He stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face as he eagerly accepted your challenge.

“I'll take you on!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with youthful enthusiasm.

Satoru chuckled, his amusement evident as he watched the interaction unfold. “Careful what you wish for, [Y/N],” he warned, his tone tinged with amusement. “You might be surprised by what these kids can do.”

You grinned, a spark of anticipation igniting within you as you prepared to face off against the young sorcerer. Despite the weight of recent events and the tension that lingered in the air, there was a sense of exhilaration in the prospect of engaging in combat once more.

“Let's see what you've got, Itadori,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “Don't hold back now.”

The training ground was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the sparring arena. The air was charged with anticipation as you squared off against Itadori, the eager glint in his eyes betraying his youthful enthusiasm. Across the arena, Satoru leaned against a nearby tree, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the proceedings with a bemused smile. Nobara smiled at the action scene about to happen, while Fushiguro just stared blankly at the floor. 

Suddenly, with a swift movement, Itadori lunged forward, his fists flying towards you with surprising speed. You sidestepped his attack with ease, your movements fluid and precise as you countered with a series of swift strikes of your own. Each blow landed with pinpoint accuracy, sending shockwaves through the air with every impact. Itadori staggered back, his expression a mixture of surprise and determination as he regrouped for another assault. 

You could see the fire burning in his eyes, the determination to prove himself evident in every fiber of his being. As he lunged forward once again, you braced yourself for the impact, your muscles coiled like a tightly wound spring. 

With lightning-fast reflexes, you sidestepped his attack and delivered a powerful blow to his side, sending him sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain. But Itadori was quick to recover, his determination unyielding as he pushed himself back to his feet. 

With a defiant roar, he launched himself back into the fray, his fists flying with renewed vigor as he unleashed a flurry of blows. You met his attacks head-on, your movements fluid and graceful as you danced around his strikes with ease. Each blow landed with precision, sending shockwaves through the air with every impact.

For a moment, it seemed as though Itadori had gained the upper hand, his attacks coming fast and furious as he pressed his advantage. But little did he know, you had a trick up your sleeve.

As the battle reached its climax, Itadori appeared to have you on the ropes. His attacks were relentless, each blow landing with bone-crushing force as he pushed you to your limits. But just when it seemed like all hope was lost, you reached deep within yourself, tapping into a power you had long kept hidden.

“Woah, you’re stronger than you look!” he exclaimed, his voice strained as he launched another attack. “It’s so cool!”

“You’re not too shabby yourself either,” you replied, sidestepping his strike with practiced ease.

Itadori was now on top of you, raising his fist up in the air. A small drop of blood fell from his head and landed beside your head. Thank God the uniforms were of a dark color. 

“Give it up,” Gojo shouted from the other side. “You can’t win this now.”

“Oh, but I already have,” you countered, a confident smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

With a single, decisive motion, you unleashed the full force of the butterfly’s magic —once again, the Blue Morpho— channeling its ethereal energy into a devastating attack that caught Itadori off guard. In an instant, his movements faltered, his defenses crumbling before the overwhelming power of your little companion. 

As he lay defeated at your feet, paralyzed and powerless to resist, the true extent of your strength became clear. With the butterfly’s magic coursing through your veins, you stood victorious, the unexpected twist leaving Itadori in awe of your newfound power.

“So that’s why they call you the butterfly whisperer!”

But you didn’t care for his reaction, in fact, the whole purpose of this silly fight was none other than to cause a good impression on someone else. Instead of helping Itadori, you looked up, where Nobara beamed widely and Gojo laughed at the kid lying on the floor. 

Megumi Fushiguro was nowhere to be found. 

And the image of a kid you once saw in an alley, orphaned, about to be sold into a cruel family, came to your mind instantly.