Work Text:
Utahime fidgeted with the clasp of her bracelet absently, snapping it open and shut, open and shut, with a faint click click click that filled the back of the quiet taxi. She stared out the window, conscious of the increasingly familiar landmarks they passed.
The leisure centre where she used to play badminton with her friends. Her junior school and the tree out front where she’d had her first kiss (she’d been nine years old). The Lawson convenience store where she had once taken her brother to spend their allowance on slushies on hot days. The sealed-off torii gate that led up to the abandoned shrine where she used to work as a young teen, before a curse had destroyed everything overnight and put her on the radar of Jujutsu Society. Her life had never been the same since then.
A warm hand closed over her wrist, ceasing the restless fiddling with her bracelet. “You’re going to break it,” said Gojo.
She sighed, knowing he was right, but still annoyed to be corrected.
Gojo chuckled lightly. “Why are you so nervous?” he asked. “It’s your family. Shouldn’t I be the one quaking in my boots?”
Yes, that would make more sense, but Gojo looked the picture of ease. It was as if he impressed future in-laws all the time. He’d dressed perfectly for the occasion too; a cream turtleneck to ward off the cool spring air, and a long black wool coat that landed anywhere between well-to-do barista and dressed-down billionaire. Smart; not too formal. She knew she could trust Gojo’s sartorial sensibilities to get it right, but it wasn’t his appearance that could upset tonight’s delicate meeting.
Utahime chewed on her lower lip. “I just want them to like you,” she whispered.
“You think they might not…?” He looked at her, the picture of innocence, as if it was unthinkable that anyone could possibly dislike him. The Satoru Gojo. Only the single biggest source of stress for herself and most other people she knew.
Utahime suppressed a flutter of anxiety. “Look, they’re just… old fashioned. Mama was a miko and a housewife, and Dad’s salt-of-the-earth distillery worker, like my brother. They’re kinda conservative. So…”
“So…?” Gojo stared at her.
“So don’t talk about sorcery - they don’t approve of that sort of thing. They think I’m just a religious education teacher. And don’t mention being bi; they won’t understand that. Don’t make it too obvious you’re a vegetarian or Dad will never let it go. And absolutely do not mention that we’re already engaged - they’ll string me up if they think I got engaged to a man they haven’t met yet. Oh and - no sunglasses. It’s dark. They’ll think you’re a lunatic.”
She reached up to draw the black frames from Gojo’s face. In the darkness of the taxi’s cabin, Gojo blinked, his blue eyes glowing just softly enough to cast a blue hue on his lashes. Utahime hastily replaced his glasses. “Ok, never mind.”
“You worried I’m going to embarrass you?” asked Gojo, considering her with a slow smile.
“Yes.” There was no kinder way to put it.
“Look, it can’t be any more of a disaster than the time I took you home to meet my family,” he said, sliding his fingers around hers. He was smiling, but Utahime felt queasy just remembering that day - a meeting that had ended with her throat almost cut open and Gojo decapitating his own father in front of the whole clan. Bad first impressions were difficult to recover from, and relations with the Gojo clan hadn’t improved much since that day.
“Yeah, let’s add your family to the list of things not to mention,” she whispered faintly, feeling her pulse begin to pound in her temples.
His hand squeezed hers. “You hide a lot from your family, huh?”
“Only what I have to,” she said, looking down at their hands distractedly. “Why are you wearing your ring still? I told you to take it off.”
As Gojo affected a suffering sigh and began to twiddle the silver engagement band free of his finger, Utahime noticed the taxi had finally turned down the very road she’d grown up on. “Oh - here we are! Sir, you can drop us off here, please!”
“Here?” Gojo asked, astounded as he stepped out of the car onto the road. There was no pavement here, just a grassy verge and a short drop into a wet ditch. “This is the middle of nowhere.”
“What did you expect?” she called, passing money to the driver. “This is a farming town.”
Gojo seemed to be in a state of gentle shock as he took in the field beside them, fenced off with rusting chainlink mesh, and the big, white polythene tunnels beyond. There were only a few houses along this dirt track road, spread apart, and composed of a great deal of corrugated metal fascias. Every car in every driveway was either a mini-truck or a kei van. Gojo swung toward her. “I was always kinda joking when I called you a hick,” he said slowly. “But you’re a hick.”
“Alright, calm down,” she grumbled, setting off along the road. She’d walked this path many times in her life. Some things had changed from what she remembered - some trees had come down, some new walls had gone up, and the open field where a neighbour had once grown broad beans had now turned to seed and was a grassy meadow of wildflowers. But it was still home, and she felt the same tug of nostalgia she always felt when she returned to this place.
The leaning fence they were walking along ended and her parents’ house appeared before them suddenly. The porchlight was on, inviting. Moths danced around in the glow above her mother’s potted hydrangeas. Utahime took a deep breath. “Here we are.”
“Oh, nice,” said Gojo, scanning the house. “Very nice.”
She turned to him suddenly, seizing both his arms. “Remember what I said!”
“Right,” he nodded. “I am a totally straight teacher from Tokyo who eats enormous quantities of meat and I’m currently banging you with zero intention of marrying you. Oh, and I’ve never killed any member of my own family, not even once.”
He punctuated this declaration with a winsome smile that could have outshone the porchlight. Utahime felt a fresh wave of panic. “Just - be - normal!”
He laughed. “That’s really funny. That’s what your mother just said.”
“Eh?” Utahime stared at him.
“Your mother,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “They know we’re here - they saw us coming up the road, and your mom’s in the kitchen telling the rest of them to be cool.”
Sometimes she forgot that Gojo could literally see through walls - and lipread pretty well too. “You’re not being very normal right now,” she hissed.
“Just,” he said softly, stepping toward her, “relax.”
He bent to kiss her, but Utahime bent back just as far to avoid it. “No public displays of affection!”
Before Gojo could argue, she slipped away and dashed up to the front door. It was never locked, and there was never the expectation that she should knock. “Hello!” she called, throwing it open. “I’m home!”
“Utahime!”
Her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. She was always a little bit greyer each time Utahime saw her, and lately she’d taken to wearing her hair short around her ears. “You’re right on time! Dinner’s almost ready and…”
Her mother’s gaze slid past Utahime - and upward - to take note of the man stepping into the house behind her. In these old builds, anyone over six feet had to stoop beneath door frames, and Gojo was no exception. Utahime glanced back to see him removing his sunglasses in one suave move, while presenting a bow of perfect depth to convey respect and ease. His smile was one he must have been practising daily in the mirror since he was twelve - precisely executed for maximum charm. “Mrs Iori,” he said smoothly, “How nice to meet you at last.”
The effect was devastating.
“Oh - w-welcome,” Utahime’s mother gave a quick bow, suddenly rather red-cheeked. “Utahime didn’t mention you’d be so… so… tall.”
Utahime made a mental note of the score so far. A decent opening, a little over the top, but definitely a positive impression.
│Mother Likes Handsome Men: +20 points│
“Mama, this is Satoru Gojo. Satoru, this is my mother, Keiko Iori.”
“I - ah - hope you like beef gyudon, Mr Gojo,” said Keiko Iori.
“I love beef,” said Gojo, “and many other kinds of meat too.”
It was a good thing her mother was too flustered to pick up on that droll comment, or the exaggerated wink he then directed to Utahime. Her stress levels were climbing, and they were still only just inside the door. She quickly shucked her heels off and stepped up to embrace her mother. “I’m sorry it’s been a while, I’ve just been so busy,” she told her.
“Well, you’ve definitely been busy!” her mother chortled, shooting Gojo another appraising look. “But you’re here now. Come. Come along, dinner’s nearly ready.”
The kitchen was full of steam and savoury smells when Utahime stepped into it. It was only a modestly sized room, but the dining table took up most of the space. Her father was already seated at the head, in deep conversation with her brother over the quality of the bottle of sake they had opened. Her sister-in-law was at the rice cooker, spooning up bowls. The moment Utahime appeared with Gojo, all activity ceased as the rest of the family turned - all eager for a good look at the man Utahime had been in love with for the best part of a decade.
“Everyone, this is Satoru. Satoru Gojo.” Utahime gestured to her fiancé. “Um, Satoru, this is my father, Hiroshi Iori.”
Hiroshi stared, removing his spectacles slowly as if he didn’t want to see anymore.
“My brother, Kenji Iori.”
Kenji’s cup of sake had been making its way to his lips, and now he knocked it back hard.
“And my sister-in-law, Kenji’s wife, Chiho Iori.”
Chiho had already dropped a dollop of rice on the kitchen counter, too busy staring at Gojo.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” said Gojo smoothly.
“You can say that again,” Chiho suddenly sprang back into motion. “Satoru - why don’t you take a seat - yes, right there - next to me.”
“Your voice sounds familiar,” Gojo said with a smile, pointing at her. “Have we talked before?”
“On the phone - I rang Utahime once and you answered. We had a nice chat. Do you remember?” Chiho had turned as red as Utahime’s mother. “It’s so nice to put a face to a voice at last!”
As Gojo sat down, Chiho moved behind him and met Utahime’s eye, mouthing something along the lines of ‘YOWZA’. Utahime schooled her expression. It was safe to say her sister-in-law was easily pleased by a pretty face and smooth manners. Predictable, but not bad.
│Chiho Also Really Likes Handsome Men: +20 points│
│Total: 40 points│
But a quick glance at her brother and father drew her dismay. Kenji was not looking at Gojo but at his wife, with the same kind of expression Utahime held when she wasn’t happy with Gojo’s antics.
│Immediately Jeopardised Brother’s Marriage: -10 points│
│Total: 30 points│
“Welcome, Satoru,” said her father, lifting a bottle towards him. “Do you like saké?”
“Actually,” said Gojo, covering his cup politely. “I don’t drink.”
That was at least one rule he wouldn’t break. The reason why he didn’t drink was an old story, going back to his teenage years when one drunken night out on the town had resulted in a careless use of his powers against innocents. Lest the family wanted to see their dinner floating off, it was best Gojo stick to water.
But her father, a man whose life and career had revolved around the distillation of saké, simply looked confused. What sort of man didn’t drink?
Utahime felt her palms tingling with sweat.
│Snubbed Father's Favourite Saké Which He Brought Out For This Special Occasion: -15 points│
│Total: 15 points│
A little small talk followed. Was the journey from Tokyo ok? Had they seen the size of the full moon? Wasn’t the weather unseasonably cold and wet for this time of spring? Utahime monitored the table carefully. Chiho and her mother could be relied upon to keep things light and friendly, but Kenji was uncharacteristically quiet, and though her father was smiling pleasantly, she sensed no warmth. She might just have to accept that. Her last relationship had spanned several years in her mid-twenties, and while her father had eventually accepted Tenshi, he’d never truly warmed to him. He probably wouldn’t be happy with any man Utahime brought home who wasn’t a blue-collar worker with a long history of workplace injuries and whose idea of dressing smartly concerned putting on a slightly cleaner polo shirt. A man like himself.
“Would you like some help, Mrs Iori?” Gojo asked, noticing the elder Iori had her hands full with the dishes coming off the stove.
Utahime noticed her mother’s pleased flush, even as she refused the extra pair of hands.
│Offered to Help Mother: +5 points│
│Total: 20 points│
“So how did you two meet?” Kenji asked, staring suspiciously at Gojo, perhaps because it had never occurred to him in all his thirty years of life to help his mother in the kitchen.
“You know how we met,” Utahime said witheringly. She’d been talking about Satoru Gojo for most of her life - back as a teen she’d told them about an irritating twerp in the lower years, who’d then become an annoying colleague, and then she’d clammed up about him for a few years before more recently admitting she was head over heals in love with him. She hadn’t always referred to him by name, but they’d always known who she’d meant every time she referred to ‘That Idiot’ she worked with.
“I want hear it from him,” said Kenji, pointing a chopstick at Gojo. His wife firmly forced his hand down. “I want to hear if your stories match up.”
“Match up?” Utahime spluttered. As if they were a pair of criminals who needed to keep their alibis straight!
“We met at college,” said Gojo pleasantly, oh so casually capturing Utahime’s stiff hand in his. Unconcerned to the burning red of her ears, he graced her with an adoring look. “She was a few years above me, but age is just a number. I was in love at first sight.”
“Oh,” Keiko Iori put a hand to her chest, as if struck breathless for a moment.
Utahime smiled painfully. Her recollection was that he’d bullied her incessantly since the moment of their first meeting. He’d mocked her clothes, her hair, her jujutsu skills and her taste in music. She could only be forgiving in retrospect now that she better understood that he had been an idiot who didn’t know how to express himself, and she, admittedly, had been quite sensitive in those days.
“So you’re a religious nut too, huh?” Chiho asked, easing into the seat beside him. At some six months pregnant, she had to sit quite far back in her seat to make room for her stomach.
“Chiho!” Utahime scolded.
“No judging!” Chiho held her hands up.
“Hmm.” Gojo thought for a moment. Utahime had already warned him that, as far as her family were concerned, she had dedicated her life to shinto and buddhist teachings since a traumatic fire broke out at their local shrine, and he should regard every mention of religion as a metaphor for jujutsu. “I suppose you could say that… in our circles, I’m probably the biggest religious nut you’ll ever meet.”
Ohgodno. Utahime had to whip her hand away from him and fold on on her lap beneath the other, because they had started to shake with the urge to smack Gojo’s shoulder.
│They Think Gojo is a Religious Nut: -25 points│
│Total: 5 points│
“Oh,” said Keiko Iori, some of her adoration beginning to cool. Even as a former miko herself, she didn’t necessarily approve of fundamentalism.
“He’s joking,” Utahime wheezed. “Satoru’s sense of humour is - l-legendary.”
“But you teach in the same college now, right?” Chiho asked him.
“Sure do.” Gojo grinned at her. “I became a teacher because of Utahime.”
Utahime looked at him sharply. “What?”
“It’s true,” he said. “After I graduated I felt a little adrift, just going from assignment to assignment, trying to figure out how I was supposed to make a difference in this world. Then one day Utahime was attacked by-”
The family reacted like he’d dropped a dead animal on the table.
“Attacked - what - when?!” Kenji interrupted.
“By… uh… muggers. Long time ago.” Gojo waved away their concern. “Well, I saw how her students loved her, tried to defend her, and how they listened to her, and I realised that’s how you change the world. You become a teacher.”
Utahime blinked. “Really?” she asked meekly.
He smiled at her, guilelessly. “Yeah. Really.”
“And what do you teach?” asked Hiroshi Iori.
“Gymnastics,” answered Gojo without missing a beat.
│They Think Gojo's a PE Teacher: -5 points│
│Total: 0 points│
“That explains the physique,” said Chiho, openly admiring how well Gojo filled a turtleneck sweater. Kenji made a faint noise of irritation that drew Gojo’s attention.
“It’s so funny - are you two twins?” he asked Kenji, on the verge of laughing. “You’re so similar to Utahime, it’s disconcerting.”
“It’s the angry huffing, right?” asked Chiho.
“Right!” gasped Gojo. “And the nose wrinkle!”
“The famous wrinkle of the nose,” Chiho nodded sagely.
“Not twins,” said Utahime shortly, accepting a cup of saké from her father. It wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of sharing a womb with her brother, as their similarities ran deep. They had the same sombre brown eyes, straight nose, and serious mouth, and even a similar sort of stature. When they were a little younger, it would have been possible for them to swap clothes and haircuts and passed as each other fairly easily.
Gojo looked between them once more, his gaze lingering with interest on Kenji. “It’s like I’m being tested,” he mused. Utahime looked at him sharply. He’d made enough jokes about wanting to check out her mother, but perhaps it wasn’t her mother she should have been warning him away from. Kenji glaring at him wasn’t going to put him off. Utahime knew Gojo was deviant enough to like that sort of thing.
The food was finally arriving on the table, and she just hoped they might soon be too busy filling their mouths to talk. As usual, her mother hadn’t skimped on the side dishes and there were plenty of vegetables to choose from. It might escape her father’s notice if Gojo was avoiding the beef.
“This looks delicious Mrs Iori,” praised Gojo, making the older woman blush all over again.
│Compliments to the Chef: +5 points│
│Total: 5 points│
“This is nothing,” she said, flapping her hands at him as she took her seat on Utahime’s other side. “I’m sure your own mother cooks much better than me.”
Utahime shoved a great lump of sticky rice into her mouth and chewed fretfully. They were wading into dangerous waters. She glanced up at Gojo, but he was only smiling politely.
“Where is your family from?” asked Hiroshi Iori.
“Kyoto,” said Gojo, simply.
“And your father? What does he do for a living?”
“He also taught gymnastics,” said Gojo, before turning to Keiko. “Mrs Iori, the marinade on this beef is stunning, maybe you could give me the recipe to take home?”
“You like to cook?” Keiko asked, surprised.
“I cook for Utahime frequently,” he said cheerfully. “I think it’s one of the main reasons she fell in love with me.”
“Such a modern man! Utahime, you need to hang on to this one,” said Keiko, looking to her husband, as if reconsidering something.
│Mother Thinks Gojo is a Modern Man: +10 points│
│Total: 15 points│
While it seemed like her mother was only one more bat of white eyelashes away from formally adopting Gojo as her own son, Utahime looked anxiously at her brother and father. There was nothing to impress them about Gojo so far.
"Yes, these modern Tokyo men. Almost difficult to tell the young men apart from the women these days with all their perfumes and fashions and passion for cooking," said Hiroshi Iori, who had been downwind of Gojo's cologne for some time now.
│Father Thinks Gojo is a Modern Man: -10 points│
│Total: 5 points│
Utahime had to do something, and quickly. “Dad,” she began, beaming at her father. “Gojo has been getting quite into baseball in the last few years.”
“Oh?” Hiroshi’s ears practically perked up. Besides saké, baseball was his next true passion. “Who’s your favourite team?”
“The Kyoto Crawfish,” said Gojo.
Utahime grabbed his knee beneath the table, squeezing hard. That was not the team they had chosen in rehearsal. “I thought you liked the Seibu Lions?” she queried him pointedly. It was her favourite team, but most importantly, it was her father’s favourite team too.
“The Crawfish don’t win anything, ever,” said Hiroshi dismissively. “They’ve never even broken into the big leagues.”
“What can I say? I love an underdog. They might be weak, but that has a certain kind of charm.”
He patted her thigh too, but just ostentatious enough that it was clear to everyone else at the table where his hand was at that moment. Utahime pressed her knees together and resumed stuffing her face.
│They Think Gojo is Groping Me Under the Table: -20 points│
│Total: -15 points│
“What I don’t get,” said Kenji, gesticulating toward them with his chopsticks again, “Is that I thought Satoru Gojo was the one who died.”
Utahime’s own chopsticks hit the side of her bowl with a loud crack. “What are you getting at?” she asked, voice high.
Kenji stared at her. “Well, is this not the same guy? I don’t get it.”
“Well, obviously he’s not dead, dear,” Keiko murmured to her son.
“That’s what I don’t get! Are there two of him?”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Utahime hedged.
“What misunderstanding?” Her brother didn’t exactly raise his voice, but he wasn’t about to drop this bone. “She was in mourning, we all saw that, right? She missed my son’s birthday because it was the forty-ninth day memorial. ‘Sorry Kenji, little Asahi will have a birthday every year, but Gojo only gets one death’, that’s what she told me. So this is a different Gojo?”
Utahime looked quickly to Gojo, looking for collaboration on how to explain this one away, but found him looking at her with odd melancholy. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said to her. “Your nephew was more important than some dead guy.”
Her throat closed up. She couldn’t easily explain that it hadn’t been a simple choice. Yes, she had observed the customary forty-nine days of morning for Gojo, including visiting the shrine on the Tokyo campus every five and six days, alternating, but on the final and forty-ninth day she had been in no fit state to attend birthday parties for small children. She had been locked in a prison of raw grief, as the reality of life without Satoru Gojo had begun to sink in, and a hundred regrets had drowned her. She had stayed away from him for years out of her own wounded pride and fear of rejection. She had been waiting for him - waiting for those promising little touches and looks and words to manifest into something more, something substantial - and then time had run out and she’d lost him completely.
Her family couldn’t even begin to understand this, so Utahime stayed silent. But she was grateful that, beneath the table, Gojo’s hand found hers, to remind her that he was here with her now.
“I’m sure there’s more than one Gojo out there,” said Chiho awkwardly, perhaps noticing the sudden pall that had come over the couple. “I think my first three boyfriends were all called Yusuke. It got super confusing, especially since there was some… overlap.”
But her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t land. Utahime still looked as if someone had run over her puppy.
Gojo finally dragged his gaze away from her. “No… he’s right,” he said heavily. “That was me.”
“I knew it,” Kenji said, straightening. “This was some insurance fraud thing - right? Or you were faking your death to escape some criminal charges-?”
“Kenji!” Utahime snapped. “You watch too many movies!”
Her brother never backed down from a spat with his sister. “Then how can you possibly explain this one? Because it sounds to me like he really did you dirty, and I can’t understand why you’d be with someone who’d fake his own death and let you grieve the way you did!”
The gears in Utahime’s brain whirred desperately for a response that would make sense, but Gojo was ahead of her. “It really was all a misunderstanding,” said Gojo smoothly. “You see, I had an accident with a vaulting horse during gymnastics class one day, and I was declared legally dead. I came round in the hospital, but my head injury was so bad that I had no memory of who I was or what my former life had been, and so I became a florist for a year while I began to lose hope that I would ever recover the memories I had lost. But then one day, Utahime walked into my flower shop and found me, and through her dedication and unfailing affection I began to remember everything, including my feelings for her.”
Utahime pressed her hands over her face.
Judging by the silence that followed the end of this story, not one person had believed it.
│My Family Think Gojo Faked His Own Death: -50 points│
│Total: -65 points│
“And you say I watch too many movies?” Kenji asked, sitting back.
“I think Mr Gojo is telling us to mind our own business,” Keiko suggested lightly. “Would anyone like seconds?”
“Satoru, you’ve not touched your beef yet,” Chiho pointed out. “Something wrong with it?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he said. “No, I’m just a vegetarian.”
│He's a Vegetarian: -40 points│
│Total: -105 points│
Utahime’s appetite had dried right up. She hoped that part of the interrogation was over, but her father was twisting his bottle of sake round and round as he scowled. Vegetarians were, in his book, a slight on how wife’s cooking skills. “Mr Gojo might not be able to explain his inexplicable rise from the dead, nor stomach fine meat, but perhaps he could explain why he’s wearing a wedding ring while visiting the family of his new girlfriend?”
Utahime flinched, eyes darting to where Gojo’s hand held a cup of water to his lips. The plain silver band on his ring finger was hard to miss. But she’d told him to take it off in the taxi! Did he have the brain of a goldfish that he’d immediately forgotten her request?
“Oh, that’s not a wedding ring, that’s an engagement ring,” said Gojo casually. Noticing Utahime's stare, he added, “But don’t worry though, I’m not engaged to your daughter or anything.”
│The Family Think Gojo is A Womaniser: -50 points│
│Total: -155 points│
Then a horrible thought occurred to Utahime. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she breathed.
“Hm?” Gojo leaned his ear down toward her, as if he hadn’t quite heard her.
“Excuse me,” she said, her chair screeching against the floor tiles as she stood up from the table and grabbed Gojo’s arm. “I need to have a word with my boyfriend.”
“Oh - yes - give Mr Gojo a tour of the house! What a good idea!” Her mother called after them, as Utahime bodily dragged Gojo out of the kitchen and away through the house to the furthest room where they were less likely to be overheard.
It also happened to be her old bedroom. Utahime pushed Gojo inside and slid the door shut, and when she flicked the light on found herself standing in a time capsule of her old life. All the same posters still hung on the walls, her dressing table still hosted her favourite dolls, and the bed against the wall still bore the sakura patterned covers she’d chosen for herself. “Do you want my family to hate you?” she asked Gojo, who was looking around with great interest. “Because it seems that way to me!”
“How is this all my fault?” he asked her, smiling at a poster of Ayumi Hamasaki hanging above the dressing table. “You’ve woven quite a tangled little web of lies for your family, and I’m doing my best to stumble through it without falling off the tightrope.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors,” she sighed. “But there’s a good reason why-”
“Is this your room?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “But listen, you need to behave yourself if-”
“I thought it was, this is so cute.” His eyes went to the dolls on the dresser. “This is exactly how I pictured your room. I expected more pink though.”
“Why? I don’t like pink,” she said, then snapped her fingers at him. “Focus! I need you to watch what you say in front of my parents. Dad doesn’t like you.”
“Yeah, he’s kinda irritating me,” admitted Gojo, looking speculatively at the single-width bed. “I know - bend over the bed. I’m going to deflower his daughter right under his roof.”
“You are not!” she hissed, rapidly backing away from him. “First of all - I have been pretty thoroughly deflowered at this point, and secondly, I’m in my thirties with one major failed relationship in my past - I promise you it’s not going to shock my parents that I have sex. They’re already grandparents, Satoru! Do you want to join this family or not?”
“Relax, I’m still working my charm. I promise you that by the time we leave this house, every Iori will want to marry me, not just you.”
Utahime narrowed her eyes.
“Ok?” he asked.
She had no choice but to trust him. They only had one shot at a good first impression, but at least it couldn’t trend much worse than it already had. They might be deep into in the negative points at this stage, but there had been unlikelier comebacks.
“Ok. Just behave,” she reminded him, and accepted his hand.
They emerged from the bedroom together and made their way back to the kitchen. Utahime smiled reassuringly at her family, then faltered, for the row of faces looking back at her were as stony as Mount Rushmore in their abject hostility. Even her mother, who had been a fountain of positivity all evening, looked dejectedly down at a tea towel clenched tightly in her fists.
“Is everything ok?” Utahime asked her family.
Kenji glanced at Chiho, who set her shoulders back and lifted her phone for Utahime to see the screen. “So we just googled your boyfriend and it says right here he’s wanted for mass murder,” she said plainly.
│The Family Thinks Gojo is a Mass Murderer : -2000 points│
│Total: -2115 points│
As Utahime’s head filled with the white noise of incomprehensible panic, Kenji snatched up the phone and began to read the quikipedia articles.
“Satoru Gojo, special grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, and principle suspect behind the 2018 Shibuya Incident that claimed the lives of an estimated six thousand civillians and exposed the existence of curses and sorcery to the general public.” Kenji said, flipping the phone around again. “I mean, this is him right? His picture is right there. That’s him.”
Utahime was gone. She was travelling to her safe place, somewhere far away, where the ocean was blue and the breeze was gentle and the sand was soft beneath her toes.
│???///&%49: -120^9 points│
│Total: -ERROR│
Gojo looked at his catatonic fiancée. “Do you need to lie down or something?” he asked her.
“I think you need to leave!” Kenji said, standing up in a meaningful way.
“Look - anyone can edit those articles!” Gojo argued. “Did you even scroll down to the little section at the bottom that says I’ve been exonerated of all charges?”
“Is that before or after the section about how you're suspected to have killed the Minister for Public Safety?!” Kenji said, standing up.
“Ah, no, that was my evil doppelganger,” insisted Gojo.
“Utahime, did you know about this?!” Utahime’s mother asked her, staring in bewilderment at her daughter. “Did you know this man was a terrible sorcerer?”
Utahime gradually floated back into her body, shock fading. “Actually, he’s a very good sorcerer,” she said weakly. “And so am I.”
Her family stared at her.
Very slowly, Utahime sank into her seat at the table, her hand still clenched in Gojo’s. “Mama… Dad… Kenji…” she began heavily. “I… I’ve been lying to you for a long time. About what I am. What I do.”
She took their silence as assent to continue.
“Do you remember the incident at the shrine I worked at?” she asked them.
“Of course, we remember. It burned down,” her mother said softly. “It was such a tragedy… I didn’t want to send you away, but the school administrators said it would be the best thing for the trauma-”
“It wasn’t a fire, Mama,” Utahime said. “It was a curse. It was drawn there by my cursed energy and it attacked and killed everyone. Jujutsu Sorcerers came and saved me, and told me I needed to go to Tokyo to learn how to develop and control my power-”
“Your power?” her father interjected.
“I’m a Sorcerer, Dad” Utahime said.
“No, you’re a teacher,” said Kenji. “You teach religious-”
“I teach Jujutsu Sorcery,” Utahime said. “And these days I sit on the Jujutsu Council.”
“She’s head of the council,” Gojo said impatiently. “She’s kind of a big deal.”
In the silence that followed, she could see her family looking at each other, trying to gauge their own reactions. “Why… have you never said anything about this before?” her mother asked.
“I couldn’t, not at first,” Utahime said helplessly. “There were rules against revealing the existence of curses and sorcery to civilians, and then after everything got blown wide open anyway… there were so many negative stories about sorcerers in the news, I couldn’t just come out and tell you that I was mixed up with the very people everyone was saying was responsible for all the death and mayhem.”
She paused as her father aggressively poured another cup of sake.
“But please believe me,” Utahime went on. “The work I do helps people. The people I work with save lives. Satoru is a good man, and I hope you trust me and my judgment over the half-truths that get spread in the news. He did die. Ok? Dead - stone cold dead and gone - he gave his life to stop the calamity in Shinjuku and you all owe your lives to him, whether you realise it or not. He came back to me because…”
She trailed off, unsure how to explain it to people who barely knew or understood what sorcery was. If she started rambling about centuries old sorcerers with resurrection powers who revived Satoru for the purpose of stealing his eyes, she knew her family would get lost at the first hurdle of believing anyone could ever be centuries old.
“I came back because I loved your daughter enough that even death could not keep us apart,” said Gojo, squeezing her hand.
“Oh,” Keiko Iori sniffed, her eyes turning watery.
Kenji’s face was frozen incredulously. “Seriously, what the hell does that even mean…?”
“Well anyway,” Utahime coughed, trying to move swiftly on. “We’re getting married, and I’m sorry I didn’t introduce him before the engagement, but it all happened very quickly.”
She produced her own ring from the pocket of her skirt and slipped it back onto her finger. At once, her mother and Chiho grabbed for her hand. “Let me see - oh!” Her mother welled up again. “It’s so pretty!”
“Is ‘Jujutsu Sorcerer’ even a real job?” her father asked Gojo.
“Yeah,” said Gojo plainly. “We’re employed by the Japanese Government.”
A degree of surprise sparked in Hiroshi Iori’s face. “I see. A public servant then? Good pension?” He would have infinitely more respect for a sanitation worker toiling for the city than a banker or a lawyer any day.
“The best,” answered Gojo.
“You know, now that you mention it, I’m pretty certain my greenhouse is haunted by a curse. Do you think that’s something you could take a look at?” Hiroshi asked.
“Dad!” Utahime barked.
“No, he’s not wrong,” said Gojo. “There’s totally a flyhead curse out there. I can get rid of it after dinner, if you like, Mr Iori?”
Her father sat back in satisfaction, looking at his wife who was rolling her eyes. “See? Didn’t I say that it was haunted, dear? We have a professional Sorcerer here saying I was right on the money!”
“Yes, dear,” Keiko Iori sighed.
Sure enough, they all stumped out to the garden once the plates were cleared away to take a look at the old greenhouse leaning against the garage. Utahime didn’t see any little curses flying around it, but Gojo made a very convincing inspection before holding up his hand in an authoritative manner. “Curses, begone!” he shouted at the greenhouse, and used a little of his power to make it shudder and jump.
“All sorted, Mr Iori,” he said, dusting off his hands. “You shouldn’t have any more trouble now.”
“Amazing!” exclaimed her father, testing the greenhouse door. “That’s even fixed the squeaky hinge.”
Utahime would forgive Gojo’s little charade this time, noticing that her father was now eagerly bringing him into the greenhouse to show him his spring crops and the damage the curses had done to his flowering courgettes. Damage which looked almost exactly like the nibbling of pesky rabbits.
“He’s a charmer,” said her mother as they left the men in the greenhouse and walked back to the house. “It took Tenshi three months to earn your father’s approval enough to show him his crops.”
Charm was something Gojo had never been in short supply of, but she knew that wasn’t all there was to it. He’d been quick to figure out that her father approved of useful people and hard workers. She sighed, looping her arm through her mother's. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth all these years,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t want to worry you all. It’s not exactly the safest job.”
“You didn’t get that scar in a car crash, did you?” her mother asked.
Utahime shook her head. It was just one of many close calls. Her mother didn’t know about the myriad of other scars beneath her clothes.
“It’s a parent’s job to worry,” said Keiko. “I’m afraid no matter what you did, I would always be worrying about you. But I’m glad you have someone like him. The way he looks at you…”
Utahime blinked at her mother. “What way?”
Keiko smiled. “He looks like a man who’s been in love with you for a very long time, and someone who will love you for a long time ahead,” she explained. “That’s enough for me.”
“Thank you,” Utahime said, emotion choking in her throat. She hadn’t realised how desperate she’d been to hear someone in her family approve of Gojo until she felt the relief flood her like a warm wave.
“He’s also very tall and good-looking,” continued her mother. “That is also enough for me.”
Utahime chuckled, kissing her mother’s cheek.
“That man will make beautiful babies.”
“Ok, cut it out,” Utahime said more sternly.
When they returned to the kitchen, Chiho was clearing away the plates, but Kenji was still brooding over his phone at the table. “Says here,” he said, “that your fiancé massacred your Jujutsu council in 2018 and again earlier this year.”
Utahime bit back a groan. “Have you tried googling me, Kenji?”
“Yeah, let’s see what Miss Secret-Sorcerer has been up to,” Kenji said, tapping away at his phone. After a few minutes of scrolling, a terrific frown descended. “What the hell? They’re calling you Satoru Gojo’s puppet… complicit in the Shibuya Incident? What?”
“Maybe don’t believe everything you read?” Utahime suggested. “Unless you think I’m capable of killing innocent people too? Or that I’m Satoru’s puppet?”
“Clearly not - I’ve never seen a more whipped Idiot,” Kenji grunted dismissively. “It just bothers me. Why have you never said anything about this to us? And if sorcery stuff is in the family… what does that mean for my kids? Asahi and his little sister? What if one of them ends up as a sorcerer?”
“Then you send them to Auntie Uta, and I’ll look after them,” said Utahime, punching his arm. “Or they just go and do something else with their lives. Seriously, no one is forced to be a Sorcerer, Kenji. It’s just a choice I made because I didn’t want what happened at the shrine to happen to anyone else if I could stop it.”
“I just don’t like it,” Kenji reiterated. “I thought I knew my sister… but it turns out I don’t.”
“I’m just glad you’re not really a weird religious nut,” said Chiho blithely. “I feel like I can swear in front of you now. It’s a fucking relief.”
Utahime’s mother coughed politely. “That’s my grandchild you’re swearing in front of, Chiho.”
Utahime watched her brother, recognising that sullen downcast look. His anger was born out of concern, she knew that. He’d liked Tenshi, and he’d always given her grief for leaving such a safe, normal man, all for what he’d called an unrequited crush on a colleague who didn’t deserve her. Now he had a face to put to a name he’d already been predisposed to dislike, and it wouldn’t be easy to change his opinions overnight, especially with the heap of revelations that had been dropped on the family.
“Utahime! Look!” Gojo suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding up two enormous white radishes. “Daikon! Look how big they are! I harvested them myself - your dad said we can take them home.”
There was no faster way to a man’s heart than to compliment the size of his vegetables. Hiroshi Iori appeared in the doorway behind him. “I’ve never seen someone so excited by radishes,” he said, but he looked bashfully pleased.
As everyone returned to the table to share the last drinks, and pass around the daikon, Utahime found herself beginning to relax and enjoy herself. Barring Kenji’s lingering grumpiness, her family had accepted the nature of her real work with surprising curiosity and understanding. Her family had never had much interest in her work previously - by design, she’d tried to present it as quite boring. Now they were full of questions that she did her best to answer, while glossing over the less savoury aspects and the kinds of danger she faced. Better yet, they had not fully grasped that Gojo was a Jujutsu superstar. They were more impressed that their daughter was on the council that employed him.
By the time the taxi arrived to take them back to Kyoto, there were smiles all around as they said their goodbyes.
“Make sure you bring him again,” said Keiko Iori, hugging her daughter. “And send me his measurements, I’ll knit him some sweaters for next winter.”
Gojo had to bend quite low for the elder Iori to pat him fondly on the head as way of goodbye.
“Take care of these,” said Mr Iori, handing the daikon radishes to Gojo. “Pickle them in vinegar. Best way to have them.”
“Thank you,” said Gojo. “But there’s something I needed to ask, sir.”
Hiroshi nodded, expecting another question about radishes.
“When I marry your daughter, I’d like to take your family’s name, if that’s alright,” said Gojo. “I don’t have much of a family myself, so I’d be honoured to be part of yours.”
Hiroshi Iori just nodded, slapped him on the shoulder in a manly sort of way and disappeared quickly back into the house. Keiko Iori seemed to melt again with a soft ‘Oh’, while even Kenji looked a little ashamed of his own disapproval. Gojo turned to step outside the door, casting a discreet thumbs-up to Utahime to let her know that, yes, he had just managed to seduce all three members of her family with one line.
“Don’t be a stranger, Utahime,” Chiho told her. “And don’t mind Kenji. We’ll do some double-dates and he’ll be over himself after a few rounds of karaoke.”
“Oh, you like karaoke, brother?” Gojo asked, spinning back around with his radishes.
“I’m not your brother,” Kenji snapped.
“Next Friday night - double-date with mocktails and karaoke in Kyoto!” Gojo declared. “Frank Sinatra and Whitney Houston covers only.”
Kenji scoffed.
“Unless you can’t handle the high notes,” suggested Gojo.
“Utahime isn’t the only one who can sing - I’ll see you there!” Kenji raged, and stomped back into the house after his father.
“You see, the trick to his heart is that he’s basically you,” whispered Gojo to Utahime as they walked away, waving to Keiko and Chiho.
“Keep out of my brother’s heart,” she grumbled back, but she happily buried her nose in his sleeve and smiled. She’d walked into this house as a bundle of nerves, but now she felt like she could be walking on air, she felt so much lighter. Not only had her family accepted Gojo (to varying degrees), they had also accepted her too. She had been lying to them for so long it had become second nature, and she’d lost sight of the original reason to hide herself from them, until perhaps she’d only been hiding herself for the sake of hiding. It had taken Gojo, stumbling through the web, to see her family could be trusted to love her no matter what.
In the taxi ride back, she leant on his shoulder, sliding her engagement ring around her finger idly.
“Did I do ok, do you think?” he asked her, lips brushing her temple.
She smiled mildly. “Not bad.”
“Phew. I have to admit I was a little nervous to meet them. I wanted them to like me, for your sake, obviously, but I wanted to like them too.”
Gojo was looking out of the window, and as Uthaime looked up at his profile, she could make out the intense blue of his eyes behind the lens of his shades.
“I’d always get a little jealous when I heard you talking to your family on the phone,” he said, distant. “I used to read books when I was growing up - just the classics, you know… Tale of Genji and all that - and I figured out pretty young that even when a family doesn’t look so conventional from the outside, what makes family is love. You had it; I didn’t. I might have had relations, but I don’t think I’ve ever belonged to a family before.”
Utahime laced her fingers with his fondly. “Another part of what makes family is that you don’t get to choose them,” she reminded. “It’s too late now, Gojo. If you marry me, this family becomes your family whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t think I’ll mind that,” he said. Then he stretched, taking a deep breath. “Plus your mom’s really hot.”
He jumped and winced as Utahime drove her knuckles into his side. Then he laughed and clamped her close against his side, to show he was only teasing, and kissed her grumpy scowl away.
│Result: The Iori Family Accepted Satoru Gojo As Their Own│