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Chapter Text

The library existed in that specific kind of silence that made your skin itch - the kind broken only by pages rustling like dried leaves and the tired hum of fluorescent lights that buzzed like dying wasps overhead. Your eyes drifted past the textbook you'd been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes, pulled toward the window where the world outside moved in fast-forward while you sat frozen behind glass.

Across the street, the tram station pulsed with life. Bodies shuffled in and out of frame, faces catching brief flashes of pale afternoon light before dissolving back into the crowd. Some hauled bags that looked like they weighed more than their will to live, others clustered in twitchy groups, half-watching the tracks while their mouths moved in conversations you couldn't hear. Nobody looked happy to be there. Nobody ever did.

You watched it all from your aquarium seat, separated by glass and something heavier you couldn't name. Like you were the exhibit and everyone else got to keep moving.

The billboard loomed beyond the library window - massive and shameless, plastered across a building like it owned the block. It didn't whisper. It punched you in the face with bold, glossy letters that demanded attention. And okay, fine. You had to admit the font was kind of sick.

No, not one of those cheap, crusty perfume fonts that looked like they crawled out of Microsoft Word 2007 and died there. This one had budget. This one had a stylist and a film deal and probably its own Wikipedia page.

Because fonts mattered. They set the whole vibe. Imagine getting a medical diagnosis in Comic Sans.

Actually, scratch that - you did get your COVID diagnosis in Comic Sans. The nurses probably thought it was hilarious. Maybe it was. You were too busy dry-heaving and Googling "can you die from covid reddit" to laugh about it. Because everyone knew adding "reddit" at the end gave you the real answers. Or sent you spiraling into some unhinged subreddit debating bone structure at 3 AM...

Anyway.

The conventionally attractive actors stared down from the billboard, faces airbrushed into oblivion. You'd been seeing that damn thing everywhere lately - bus stops, Instagram ads, those unskippable YouTube commercials that made you question capitalism's entire existence. Even the rundown café with the perpetually muted TV had it playing on loop like some cursed prophecy nobody asked for.

Your feed was drowning in fan edits. And the worst part? It was working. You were getting nostalgic for a movie you hadn't even seen yet, maybe wouldn't ever see. Somehow that made it worse.

You flipped a page just to look busy, but you weren't fooling anyone. Especially not yourself. Your eyes stuck to that billboard like gum on a shoe. It looked good. Really good. The kind of thing people wouldn't shut up about for weeks.

You thought about going. Sitting back in one of those plush theater seats with a bucket of popcorn that cost more than your dignity balanced on your lap. But then that ugly voice crept in - the one that always knew exactly where to punch.

Who would you even go with?

You scrolled through your mental contacts rapid-fire. No. Nope. Hell no. Absolutely not. Until you landed on the obvious answer: nobody. Either they were busy or they'd hit you with that weird polite laugh that translated to "why would you even ask me?" Because you hadn't talked to half of them in months. Some, maybe years. You hadn't even liked their Instagram stories, and now you were gonna swoop in with a "hey wanna go to the cinema w me?" Like some friendship resurrection spell? Yeah, no. You weren't delusional. At least not that delusional.

For half a second you considered going alone. The thought flickered through your brain like a bad idea you kind of wanted to poke - just to see how much it would hurt. What if you walked into that packed theater solo? Bought your little ticket, sat there with your overpriced popcorn, surrounded by couples sharing hoodies and friend groups whispering inside jokes while accidentally kicking the back of your seat.

Yeah, no. That wasn't it. That was a whole humiliation ritual.

They'd probably all laugh at you too!

You could already picture it. Some random kid seeing you sit down alone and elbowing their friend like "muahaha what a loser freak creep with no friends lol." And yeah, okay, you knew that was stupid. In reality nobody would give a single fuck. Half the people in there would be too busy sneaking food out of their hoodies or texting under the seats to even notice you existed.

Yet.

Yet.

The idea gnawed at you anyway, slow and ugly, like a mosquito bite you couldn't stop scratching even though you knew it would leave a mark.

The cinephile community would hate you for thinking this, but... streaming it later sounded way safer. Probably. Maybe.

God, why was something this dumb somehow the most complicated thing in the world.

Outside near the station, a couple stood in front of the map. Their gestures came out awkward and uncertain, glancing at each other like they were both silently wondering if the other had any clue what was going on. You watched them for a moment, brow furrowed, feeling that weird mix of irritation and envy that made your chest tight. At least they wouldn't have to worry about going to the cinema alone. Ugh. Fuck happy couples!

Two agonizing hours had crawled by since you sat down, and every second felt like personal torture. You'd told your parents you'd spend the entire day buried in textbooks, so leaving now would make you look like a complete joke. Not that you weren't one. They knew it too - probably better than anyone. You could already picture their faces if you showed up early, admitting defeat after such a pathetic attempt.

But damn, you'd just turned 18, and somehow in the span of a week you'd developed this strange, unfamiliar thing called pride. It wasn't exactly a regular feature in your emotional toolkit, but now it clung to you like an annoying badge of adulthood. Sure, you still lived with your parents, didn't have a driver's license (you fucking failed), and called your mom for help with every stupid minor inconvenience, but... you were an adult now. Adults should be able to sit in a library for a few hours and actually study for their upcoming exams without spiraling into existential dread, right?

Right?

Your stomach had other plans.

Skipping breakfast had been a massive mistake. Your stomach rumbled again, loud enough that you swore it echoed off the walls. A couple people glanced your way. Each time, you shifted in your seat, pretending to read the same paragraph over and over, hoping to melt into the upholstery. The embarrassment crawled under your skin, hot and itchy, until you just wanted to grab your things and bolt.

But no. You stayed. Glued to the seat. Stewing in your own misery.

You wanted to die.

The coffee mocked you from the table - too hot when you first made it, so you'd dumped cold water in to fix it. Naturally you overdid it, ending up with a bland, watered-down mess that tasted like regret in a cup. It sat there, a constant reminder of just how badly you'd fucked everything up.

Your mind scattered in twelve directions at once. Every time you tried focusing on the textbook, the words blurred into meaningless shapes. You knew you had hours of revision ahead, but your brain was clearly on strike. If this didn't start making sense soon, you were pretty sure you'd lose it.

Tchaikovsky in your headphones wasn't helping either. Classical music was supposed to help with focus, right? Yeah, no. Big fat lie. The violins and booming crescendos weren't soothing - they were making everything worse. The more the music swelled, the more your frustration did. You paused, rewound, skipped tracks. Nothing worked. It was like trying to concentrate in the middle of a hurricane. At one point you just sat there, blinking at nothing, wondering if maybe those "10 signs you might have ADHD" TikToks made by 13-year-olds were onto something.

For the tenth time you reread the same paragraph, but the words slid off your brain like oil on water. Frustrated, you slumped deeper into your chair, clutching your stomach in some half-assed attempt to muffle its endless protests. 

Honestly? The whole day was one long, drawn-out trainwreck. Very yikes-y.

The sharp sensation of someone moving closer caught your attention, but you ignored it at first. Maybe they weren't talking to you. Maybe it was the girl next to you. If you answered and it wasn't meant for you? That would be your 13th reason.

You felt the weight of their gaze before they cleared their throat, forcing you to reluctantly pull your eyes away from your phone.

When you looked up, it was you they were addressing. Thank god. You yanked out your headphones a little too fast, the motion clumsy but familiar, like Oops, didn't hear you coming. Sorryyyy. You offered a halfhearted smile, hoping it would somehow erase the awkwardness of being caught off guard. It probably wouldn't.

"Hi, sorry, can you watch my stuff? I have to go to the bathroom real quick," the guy asked, gesturing toward his seat two rows over.

You nodded a little too eagerly, embarrassment creeping up your neck as you realized just how eager you'd looked. "Oh, yeah, sure, yeah," you replied, then immediately cursed yourself for the overenthusiastic tone. Why are you like this?

He gave you a sheepish smile, nodded, and walked off without a second thought. Of course you were just the nearest warm body in the library - nothing special. The place wasn't exactly bustling. Maybe nine people total, tops. Statistically, you were the most convenient choice. Still, that tiny voice in the back of your mind insisted he'd picked you for a reason. Your energy. You weren't sure what exactly, but you liked to think you gave off some aura of trustworthiness. Whatever the hell that even meant.

You hid a satisfied smirk (because seriously, who even smirks? Well - you do now). Yeah, this was main character energy. Chosen One realness. It wasn't just some leftover individuality complex from all those books you inhaled growing up - Harry Potter, Divergent, The Hunger Games, the whole lineup. No, this was different. This guy saw you. Trusted you. Not everyone could say that. In fact, out of the nine people - well, eight now - in this room, only you could. And damn, that did things to your ego.

Fueled by that microscopic high, you sat up straighter.

The task was simple, but you were gonna do it well. Nobody was getting their hands on his stuff. Not on your watch. A soda, a laptop that looked like it belonged in a Y2K nostalgia post, and a book. All of it, safe and sound.

The girl beside you shot you a look - a sharp side-eye, like she could see right through your little internal pep talk. Her expression said it all: Calm down, girl. It's not that deep.

But it was deep. At least to you. You found yourself glancing at his stuff every few seconds, like you could physically will it to remain untouched through sheer force of focus. Your mind spun in anxious loops, checking and rechecking.

By your seventh - or maybe tenth - stolen glance, the realization finally hit: the idiot had left his wallet sitting wide open on the table next to his laptop. Bold move for someone in a public library. You swallowed the urge to groan at your own slowness in noticing. Tsk, tsk, the youth.

For a moment you debated. Most people at a library at one in the afternoon didn't exactly scream "criminal mastermind," but still. The wallet was right there, unattended, practically begging for some opportunist to make it their own. You weren't that person, obviously. But seriously, what was this guy thinking? Just because you'd asked someone to watch your stuff didn't mean you could leave your goddamn WALLET out in the open like that.

A buzz on the table yanked your attention away. You blinked.

You didn't even bother putting your phone on Do Not Disturb anymore. No point. Not even in the library. Nobody texted you for shit.

Every time you went to the movies with your mom - which wasn't often, but still enough to sting - you'd do the whole ritual. Silencing your phone, flipping it face down on your lap like you were about to be bombarded with urgent texts and life-changing updates and love confessions and "lets hang out". Like someone, somewhere, was dying to reach you.

And every time? Nothing. Radio silence.

You'd sit through two and a half hours of some overhyped Oscar-bait drama, legs going numb halfway through, trying not to die of secondhand embarrassment every time your mom leaned over to whisper commentary like she was hosting a podcast. Or worse - asked questions out loud. "What's the main character's name again?" Mom. It's an eponymous movie.

The popcorn would taste like packing peanuts. The soda would be flat. And when the credits finally rolled, you'd turn off Do Not Disturb with this tiny, pathetic shred of hope. Maybe, just maybe, someone had texted you.

One notification.

From your period tracker.

Apparently your nipples were sore, your estrogen was doing backflips, and now was the perfect time to get pregnant.

Wow. Thank you, science. Exactly the type of encouragement you needed while walking out of a movie theater next to your mom.

But this time it wasn't the app.

You glanced over, half-distracted, and there it was. Your phone screen lit up with a new notification. Not from your grandma forwarding another terrifying AI-generated Jesus video from Facebook. Not your calendar reminding you about something you already forgot. No - her.

The friend who treated texting like a seasonal activity.

She'd vanish into the void for weeks, then suddenly pop up with a half-assed "lol sry i was sleeping" as though weeks of radio silence could be explained away by a particularly ambitious nap.

And the worst part? You couldn't even be mad. Because that was exactly the kind of shit you did too.

Ghosting people was practically your hobby. Keeping up with conversations drained you faster than a cursed spirit in broad daylight. (Damn. You'd really been spending too much time rereading Jujutsu Kaisen.) Even sending a heart emoji felt like filing taxes.

But this? This hit different. Seeing someone else pull your own move on you gave you perspective. Real ugly perspective. You were suddenly very aware of how annoying it must've been when you'd leave people hanging for two weeks - even though you'd spent the entire two weeks glued to your phone, swiping through nothing, staring at messages you had no intention of opening.

Now you knew. And it sucked.

With a sigh, you forced your attention back to your task. It was stupidly simple, but somehow you'd made it your mission. Watch his soda, his ancient laptop that sounded like it was preparing for liftoff, and a paperback so damaged it flaked like a croissant. (Ugh, great, now you were craving a croissant.) Why? Who the hell knew. Maybe you just needed a win today, even if it was as small as keeping someone's laptop from disappearing.

Then you saw him.

A figure moved toward the guy's abandoned stuff, face obscured by a mask. Wait - hold up. A mask? Like an actual ski mask? You blinked, half-expecting the image to glitch like some bad video game rendering, but nope. Real. Damn. You genuinely didn't realize people wore those in real life. You thought that was strictly a TV trope. Huh. Well, guess you learned something new today - though not exactly the kind of knowledge that would help you ace those life-ruining exams you came here to study for. Still, something new. Learning is learning.

Still. What. The. Hell.

How had he snuck in here unnoticed? This was a library, not an episode of Criminal Minds. Libraries were supposed to be safe - quiet, sterile sanctuaries of stress, not the backdrop for some Louvre-heist-gone-wrong scenario.

Your heart spiked. A clumsy, stuttering beat. Your brain scrambled to connect dots that refused to align.

Shit. What now?

You hadn't actually expected anyone to try stealing the guy's stuff. This whole "I'll watch it like a hero" thing was just supposed to be your excuse for avoiding your own responsibilities.

This was a library, for crying out loud. A place where the biggest crime should be someone coughing more than once or clicking their pen too many times. Not this Criminal Minds spinoff you'd been unwillingly cast in.

Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up - just another one of those habits you couldn't shake. "Dude, go rob someone else," you shot back, tone way sharper than you'd expected. "That's a broke college student's wallet. If you find anything in there, I'll be genuinely impressed."

You didn't really know what you were expecting. Maybe him doing a dramatic turn and strutting off in shame, learning a valuable lesson about not messing with you, a person who absolutely cannot be messed with. Or, better yet, he'd fall madly in love with you right then and there. Because obviously you're not like those boring girls who are smart enough to shut the fuck up and not vocalize their impulsive thoughts.

And then - because your imagination knows no bounds - he'd peel off the ski mask, slow and cinematic, and reveal that he's actually your middle-aged celebrity crush. The one you told people you liked "ironically," but deep down you meant it.

Yeah. No. Definitely not.

Instead - plot twist - the masked guy just froze.

Fuck.

You shot a quick look at the girl beside you, raising your eyebrows in a silent I told you this shit was serious.

Her eyes were wide, face pale as she processed the situation. Her lips parted, trembling slightly, but no words came out. The sound of her breathing seemed louder than the faint rustle of pages around you, and the air felt thick.

Understandable.

The masked guy tilted his head just a little, a move that felt calculated - like he was sizing you up. His gaze, or whatever passed for one under that mask, zeroed in on you, unflinching. His voice came out low, sharp, and heavily distorted, like it was being filtered through some cheap mic. "Is there something more valuable in yours, then?"

Your heart slammed against your ribcage - too hard, too fast. Thump, thump. Like it was trying to punch its way out and flee the scene before your mouth could get you in deeper. That tone of his, the nonchalance? Like this was nothing. A pit stop. A random Tuesday inconvenience. Not a masked standoff in a goddamn library!

Your stomach twisted hard, but you didn't flinch. You forced your eyes to stay locked on him, even as your skin prickled cold and your brain screamed run.

"Uh, no," you said, voice flat but coiled tight, like a rubber band right before it snaps. You aimed for unimpressed. Aim was all you had. "I'm even worse. I'm just a high schooler. If you wanna look, we can look for the money together, because I have no clue where it is either." Seriously, is he dumb or what?

Ah, the good old coping mechanism: joke your way through it. Because if you can laugh about it, then it can't be that bad, right? Plus, you definitely didn't want the girl next to you to get the ick. C'mon now.

And then there's that nagging fear - what if someone's filming this for social media? What if you survive this, but now there's a viral video of you begging for your life all over the internet? Ew. No. Absolutely not.

The corners of his mask twitched - was that a smirk? So people actually smirk in real life. Good to know. First time seeing one up close. His laugh came out low and hollow, the kind that never reaches the eyes - assuming he had any under there.

"We'll see," he said, voice sharp and clipped.

Then everything snapped.

A flash - metal. His arm moved slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Then it was there. A gun. Just sitting in his hand. Heavy, ugly, so out of place it might as well have been glowing. Like the whole scene had been waiting for this moment to make sense.

The air squeezed tight around you. Dense. Electric. That thick, tense silence that hums right before everything goes to shit.

Then -

The shot.

Not like the movies. Louder. Rawer. It cracked through your bones. For a moment you didn't even know what had happened. Only that something inside you shifted.

Then your chest blew up with heat.

Not pain at first. Just pressure, like someone slammed a fist into your ribs. Then the burn spread, fast and merciless, like fire trapped inside, eating you alive.

Time cracked open. Tilted. The edges of the room melted away. Sound crawled back, distant and weird - like you were underwater. Somewhere someone was screaming. Somewhere else a chair hit the floor.

You couldn't catch your breath. Each gasp came shallow and frantic, like your lungs forgot what to do. Your hand rose on its own, pressed to your chest, and -

Warm. Wet. Wrong.

You looked down.

Blood. Thick. Dark. Coating your fingers, slipping through them. Your brain tripped trying to catch up to what your body already knew.

You were bleeding out.

And weirdly, the first thing that hit you wasn't panic. It was pure, dumb annoyance. This is how it ended? In a library. Over some dude's crusty dusty soda and a busted laptop you didn't even like - you'd judged that thing the second it hit the table.

Your head lolled to the side. A ceiling tile came into view. Stained. Probably mold. You'd meant to email someone about that. Like it mattered. Like anything here ever got fixed.

Voices swirled around you - muffled, urgent. Someone said keep her awake. Another talked about pressure, and sirens. Words floated by like balloons, the strings just out of reach.

You really wished someone would ask you what your blood type was. Not because you knew it - hell, you weren't even sure - but because you wanted to deliver that line. "B positive." And they'd panic, like "I'M TRYING TO BE POSITIVE." Classic.

But of course you couldn't have some stupid, corny punchline in your final moments. That would've been too easy. Too sitcom.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your vision flickered like a busted lightbulb.

You were so damn tired. Not sleepy - bone-deep, soul-surrendered tired. Like your body had quit on you.

You wanted to say something. A joke maybe. Something petty and final -

'Tell that guy I better be in his will.'

'Please delete my browser history.'

'This better get me out of that stats final.'

'I'm hiding 1 million under the-'

But your mouth wouldn't move.

So you just stared at the ceiling and thought, Figures.

Of course this would be your legacy: bleeding out on a library floor because you got bored and nosy. God forbid a girl try to be environmentally conscious and mind someone else's abandoned Lenovo!

None of this was supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be here - dying under fluorescent lights with the smell of old books and antiseptic in your nose - your only crime being what? Watching someone's stuff too hard? Cracking one too many smart-ass comments because you're always on the defensive because you're the unofficial family feminist who argues with her uncles at every reunion and somehow ends up being labeled "aggressive" while your cousin who believes women shouldn't vote gets a goddamn plate of leftovers to take home and a pat on the back?

And somewhere deep inside, that familiar voice piped up: yeah, that's on you, girl.

You blinked slowly at the ceiling tiles and thought, wasn't therapy supposed to shut these voices up?

You tried to move, tried to breathe through the panic scratching up your throat, but nothing worked like it should. Your limbs felt like dead weight, disconnected. Everything blurred - the library flickering in and out of focus like you were slipping away.

You needed something to hold onto. Anything. But there was nothing.

The noise around you dropped to a dull hum, like you were drowning. You knew people were moving and shouting, but it didn't matter. Your body wasn't listening anymore.

Survive.

The thought wasn't even yours. Just a quiet flicker, barely there.

But the dark was already pulling you down, swallowing the room whole. And as it dragged you under, one last thought stuck, sharp and stubborn -

Not like this. Not here.

Your mind spun, clutching at ridiculous, spiteful thoughts like pettiness could keep you alive. You cursed the universe. Cursed your friends who always excluded you. Cursed your unemployed uncle who did nothing but annoy you!

You cursed your middle school biology teacher for humiliating you in front of the whole class. Like seriously, why go out of your way to wreck a twelve-year-old? What the hell was her problem?

And then there was Naoya. Oh, fuck Naoya. His smug, punchable face shoved itself into your head uninvited. Maybe because you'd just reread the part where Maki wiped out the Zen'in clan, and your brain was getting ideas.

If you made it out of this, you'd dedicate your life to a full-time Naoya hate account. Mhm. No breaks. No sleep. Pure, nonstop slander. Every second spent making sure his name stayed rotting in the dirt. Right where it belongs.

But even the fire in your chest couldn't let you hold onto that anger forever. It burned your thoughts to ash, leaving only fragments behind.

Lavender.

That was it. The soft, lingering scent of lavender perfume from the girl sitting nearby. It should've been irrelevant, something small and inconsequential in the middle of this nightmare. But somehow it held you. It was the only thing that didn't feel like it was collapsing in on itself. Too soft, too normal for a moment like this, but it was there, stubbornly refusing to be drowned out by whatever the hell was going on. 

People were shouting. Voices rising. But the words blurred, melted into static, like someone had cranked the volume too high and then pulled the cord.

Mom.

The thought came out of nowhere - clean, cold, slicing right through the noise.

You saw her face before anything else. That exact second she picked up the phone. The way it would crumble. Her hands shaking, her voice trying to hold steady and failing.

"Please, please -" she'd say, repeating your name like it might stitch you back together. Like saying it out loud could rewind the scene. Undo everything.

But you couldn't do that. You couldn't undo this. The pain was too real, too jagged, too much. Every breath scraped your throat raw. And somewhere deep in your gut, you already knew.

And then - because your brain has no boundaries, no sense of timing - it veered into the most deranged place possible.

What if you end up on a true crime podcast?

Panic slammed into you like a second bullet. Not even the actual dying part - no, what really hit was the possibility of getting turned into some lukewarm cold case content for bored commuters.

You could hear it.

"Oh, this is actually kind of mellow compared to last week," one of the hosts would say, too chipper. "I'm so desensitized now from all the research. A chill case for this week because next week we'll be covering John Wayne Gacy. Anyway, she mouthed off to the robber, soooo... sounds like she was already suicidal, honestly."

Cue ad break.

"If only she had BetterHelp, today's sponsor -"

You snorted, internally. It hurt.

You knew what came next: "Maybe don't insult your local robbers, people."

But wait - what if they didn't even cover it? What if your whole story didn't even make it to airtime?

No stalker. No messy ex. No creepy Reddit threads. Just some idiot teen bleeding out in a library over a guy's dusty-ass laptop.

Who's gonna care about that?

And if they did cover it? You already knew the comments would be a dumpster fire:

"Is it just me or have the cases been boring lately? Shucks considering this is my fave podcast..."

"Honestly, not to victim-shame or anything, but she had it coming. Don't talk back next time."

"I used to love this podcast, but this one? Snooze."

"Skip."

Oh HELL nah.

You were haunting every single one of them.

Their Spotify accounts? Totally cursed. Their Bluetooth headphones? Straight-up possessed. They're gonna be hearing "the bluetooth device is, uh, connected successfully" on loop for the rest of their lives.

And that one who said "skip"? Yeah, she's waking up to static and cold spots every damn night forever!

Your chest jerked with a wet, ragged breath, and someone nearby flinched. You could feel it, the way the sound ripped through the room, ugly and raw, like something already too far gone.

The world tilted. Harder this time. The ceiling lights stretched into a narrow tunnel, everything else slipping out of focus - faces, movement, sound - all of it smeared and flickering like a bad recording. But the lavender clung to the edges. Stubborn, too soft for how brutal everything felt.

Your brain fumbled for something - anything - to anchor to. Some last thread that would make all of this mean something.

Maybe the guy whose laptop you were guarding like an idiot would come back. Maybe he'd see your body and freeze, stunned silent by the mess his carelessness made. Maybe it'd ruin him a little. Yeah - he'd better fucking cry about it. Cry hard.

But even that flicker of vengeance was too thin to hold.

It dissolved into the haze, swallowed by fluorescent glare and the garbled noise of people shouting words you couldn't grab onto. Your ears were full of cotton and static. Everything pulled further and further away.

And at the very end, the only thing left was the bitter joke of it all.

Not some dramatic betrayal. Not a big final stand. Just a string of nothing decisions, small and forgettable, quietly lining up until they ended right here.

This.

This stupid moment.

And the fucked up part? It didn't even feel big enough to be called an ending.

Consciousness didn't return so much as it ambushed you - clawing its way up from the pit of whatever void you'd been dumped in. Before your eyes could even open, a voice sliced through the fog.

"Wake up, you female."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Misogyny? Already? Before breakfast? You hadn't even clocked back into life yet and someone was out here gendering you like it was a slur. Love that for you.

The words hit harder than the migraine blooming behind your eyes. Sharp, throbbing, and unnecessary. Every cell in your body protested, like your atoms were still debating whether or not reassembling was even worth it. Still, that sentence lit something in you. Not rage, not clarity. Just irritation. The kind that drags you upright out of spite.

You let out a groan. Weak, but heartfelt.

With an effort that felt Herculean, you cracked one eye open. The world blurred and spun, but your determination stood firm. "Excuse me," you rasped, voice sandpapered raw but laced with just enough venom to count. Propping yourself up on trembling elbows, you squinted at the source of your suffering.

"I am not an exotic species for your observation. I am a woman. A lady, if you will. Refer to me as such. Got it, male?" You spat the last word like it left a bad taste in your mouth.

Your irritation only seemed to fuel him, like some discount villain feeding off his own smug existence. He was this close to twirling a mustache he didn't even have!

The first thing you clocked as you squinted up at him was that he was "relatively tall." Relatively doing a lot of heavy lifting here - because if the bar was set in hell (where your middle school biology teacher definitely ruled with an iron fist), then yeah, maybe he cleared it. Barely. His build was lean, not lanky, but definitely more "runs track for fun" than "threatening presence."

Sharp brown eyes locked onto you without flinching. His hair - dyed blonde so faded it looked like he gave up halfway through - was interrupted by unapologetic black highlights, framing his face like a warning label.

Three piercings lined his left ear: one on the lobe, two more trailing up into the cartilage. Just enough to suggest he once considered teenage rebellion, but not enough to make grandma side-eye him at dinner or clutch her pearls. The rest of him, though? Full-on traditional. Crisp white shirt, dark blue kimono draped over it like he'd stepped out of a period drama, light-colored hakama brushing his ankles as he moved. And sandals.

Yeah, you were checking him out, but not like that. It was more of a "who the hell are you and how detailed do I need to be for the cops later" kind of scan.

And him? He didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Just stood there soaking in your visible irritation like it was morning sun and coffee. That same annoyinggrin plastered across his face - like he woke up and chose to be someone's very specific problem.

You weren't sure what was more aggravating: the smugness radiating off him like a damn heatwave or the way his presence seemed to suck the air out of the room. Either way, your fists itched. Just one good swing. Right across that punchable face. But unfortunately, you had bigger problems than committing assault right now. Like figuring out where the hell you were and who this walking advertisement for male entitlement even was.

Still, his silence was pushing you to the edge. The longer he stood there, the more your irritation bubbled, threatening to spill over. And finally, it did.

You squinted at him, sizing him up like a particularly obnoxious stain on your favorite shirt - the kind that refused to come out no matter how many times you scrubbed at it. Your head still throbbed with that dull, persistent ache that made thinking feel like wading through mud.

"So... what's the deal here?" The question came out slower than you intended. "Are you cosplaying as that misogynistic bitchboy from the manga?"

The guy's face did something complicated - a micro-expression you couldn't quite catch before it smoothed over.

You kept going, because apparently your mouth had decided to operate independently from your brain's better judgment. "I adore cosplay and all, but this just isn't the time to talk like him too, you get me?" You gestured vaguely at his whole... everything. "Great cosplay, though. You got the energy and everything!"

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you couldn't help the sarcasm that dripped from your tone. What kind of twisted fate had you stumbled into? Why the hell would you wake up to a Naoya Zen'in cosplayer instead of, say, an actual friend or family member? A loved one, perhaps?

Did your parents orchestrate this weird scenario as some sort of fucked-up surprise, knowing your ridiculous obsession with Jujutsu Kaisen? If so, why pick a Naoya cosplayer of all characters? Why not someone, you don't know, less irritating to wake up to? Or was this a prank? Some cruel joke you'd somehow been thrust into? What the hell was going on?

Your sarcastic remark didn't land the way you'd hoped... or maybe it did. Yeah. It did. You just didn't like what came after.

His expression shifted so fast it felt like whiplash. That damn smirk - so smug it practically needed its own postal code - collapsed into something meaner, colder. The glint in his eye dimmed, snuffed out by something darker simmering just underneath. Something that made your skin crawl.

Well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your own actions.

He didn't speak right away. Didn't have to. His jaw clenched tight, like he was grinding down a reaction too big to fit in his mouth. Then his fingers clamped around your arm - tight, punishing - and pain shot through your nerves like a live wire. You tensed, biting back a hiss.

He leaned in.

Close.

Too close.

His breath brushed your skin - hot, bitter, like bad intentions wrapped in warm air. Gross!

"When you're my wife," he said, voice low and careful like each word was a brick he wanted to hit you with, "that filthy mouth of yours is only gon' be used to praise me."

His grip yanked you forward, just enough to make your ribs lock up.

What the actual hell?

Pain bloomed in your arm. You jerked back instinctively, but he held firm, like letting go wasn't part of the plan.

"Wife?" you barked, way louder than intended. "No. Nope. Absolutely not. I'm planning on marrying a woman, thanks!"

Having a wife was so... chic.

Plus, it was still legal to get married to another woman - though with how the world was going, you had a sinking feeling that wouldn't last long. Better profit off basic human rights while they were still available, like some kind of fucked up limited-time offer.

His fingers clamped down tighter.

He twisted your arm. Hard.

You yelped. Not chic. Not even remotely.

Chapter Text

"Ya deaf? I told ya to tell me what happened," he pressed, brows inching up like that was supposed to scare you.

It didn't. Or rather, it should've. But the voice - his voice - wasn't exactly what you expected. It was soft, almost lilting, with a strange, sing-song cadence that made everything sound like a joke you weren't in on. The kind of voice that smiled as it spoke, even when the words were anything but friendly. If a valley girl accent and a Southern drawl had a cursed Japanese love child, it would sound exactly like this.

You blinked. Hard. Once, then again.

The last thing you remembered was the library. The echo of a gunshot. Pain, sudden and blinding. The sick, wet sound of your own body hitting the floor. You shouldn't be here - wherever here was. And he definitely shouldn't be speaking Japanese.

Except... he was.

And worse, you understood him. Every word, every inflection. Not just the gist of it - you understood him like you'd grown up speaking it.

You opened your mouth. You didn't even know why. To ask where you were? To ask who he was? But the second your voice came out, it wasn't English.

It wasn't even hesitant.

The words spilled out smooth, unbroken, fluent.

You froze. Mid-sentence. Like your own throat had rebelled.

Panic hit so fast it made your stomach lurch.

You didn't speak Japanese.

You didn't speak Japanese.

But you had. Just now. Like it was second nature.

Your lips clamped shut. Hard. Your chest felt tight, every breath shallow and too loud. The room tilted slightly at the edges.

Across from you, the boy - man? - tilted his head, watching you like you were some kind of puzzle he was too lazy to solve.

He smiled. Just barely. Not the nice kind.

The light buzzed above your head. A cart clinked outside the door. Somewhere down the hall, a TV played too loud in a language you were never supposed to understand.

You were supposed to be dead.

Instead, you were here. Wherever here was.

And now you spoke Japanese.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

"Okay, nope," you muttered under your breath, shifting uncomfortably. You were gonna lose it if this kept up. You needed answers - and not just about what happened to you, but how the hell you were speaking a language you'd never learned in the first place.

Confusion painted your face as you looked at the cosplayer guy, only to be met with his visibly strained expression. "Um, may I know who you are, and why I can suddenly speak Japanese, and why you're dressed like that?" you asked, words tumbling out in a rush. "It's a... um... cunty outfit, don't get me wrong, just a little... unexpected." You tried finding the right words to convey your thoughts without provoking him further. Asking a Japanese man why he was wearing traditional Japanese attire without coming off like a complete asshole turned out to be way trickier than you'd imagined.

His lips twisted into a half scowl, half smirk, an expression you hadn't thought was possible outside romance novels. It was oddly captivating... in a bad way. "The hell? Fakin' insanity, really?"

"Last thing I remember is getting shot in a library," you admitted, voice laced with uncertainty. You immediately regretted it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Unless I've somehow survived that, spent a few years in Japan, and gotten shot again, resulting in amnesia... I can't think of anything else that might explain this."

"Amnesia?" He scoffed. "I wish amnesia came with ya forgettin' how to speak and finally shuttin' yer trap." He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly unimpressed. Damn, okay then.

You didn't respond. Instead, you found yourself fixating on the room - the thing that somehow made sense amid everything else.

Soft beige walls stretched up, their smooth surface unbroken except for the occasional discreet air vent. The floor beneath was polished wood, its gleam muted by dim lighting spilling from the overhead fixture, casting a calming glow over everything. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, harsh fluorescents of the library. The faint scent of cleaning supplies mingled with something floral, too delicate to identify, as the low, rhythmic beep of a nearby monitor kept time with your heart. To your left, an IV stand stood tall and clinical, clear tubing snaking up toward your arm like a lifeline. The bed was large, navy blue sheets neatly tucked, the plush quilt weighing heavily over your legs in a way that made you forget this was supposed to be a recovery space.

Soft beige curtains draped over the window, shutting out whatever view might have existed beyond them, and the air felt thick with privacy. A small wooden desk sat off to the side, stacked with a couple of neatly arranged notebooks and a pen, untouched. Beside it, a chair was tucked neatly, as though someone might have been waiting here for hours, their presence barely breaking the stillness. A few potted plants sat quietly by the window, adding a faint touch of green to the otherwise neutral tones. Even with all the medical equipment, it didn't feel as clinical as you'd expected - there was a certain calm in the space. You liked it.

Everything started clicking into place like a puzzle that was way too complicated to solve before. You hadn't even noticed the setting - too busy trying to figure out the guy in front of you. But now, with the space in view and the lingering sense of disorientation in your brain, it all made sense.

If you'd been shot, sure, a hospital room would be the logical place to end up. Your stomach twisted as you thought about it - getting shot was bad enough, but the whole bilingual thing? That was a weird side effect you hadn't exactly accounted for. You could almost picture your brain just saying, Hey, let's unlock Japanese while we're at it, as if a bullet wound was a gateway to fluency. Nice. Really nice. You'd always wanted to learn Japanese, but you weren't exactly fond of hard work, so it seemed perfect. The idea of getting what you want without putting in the effort is the kind of life you'd prefer.

Your fingers drummed against the side of the bed, processing this new information with the speed of a dial-up connection. Savant syndrome, you thought, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it. Was that really what had happened to you? You hadn't even thought it through properly, but your brain kept spiraling, trying to make sense of a situation that was too weird to be true. "So, um... I'm in a hospital room because I got shot, right?" you asked dumbly.

But the guy? He looked completely annoyed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine just from looking at you. "Am s'posed to be your fiancé, not your babysitter," he muttered, voice heavy with disdain. "Females are so weak they can't even survive a little head injury without gettin' amnesia."

??

"Fiancé? No fucking way," you blurted out, your brain scrambling for clarity. "Did we meet on 90 Day Fiancé or something? What day is it? How much longer is this agony gonna last?"

Before he could even open his mouth - his face already flushed with anger and ready to erupt like a little volcano - a nurse breezed into the room. Her hair was neatly pinned up in a no-nonsense bun, and her uniform was crisply pressed, matching the sharpness of her polite, businesslike smile. "Oh, you're awake! And already causing a scene, I see," she said, voice light as she looked between you and the glaring cosplayer guy.

You weren't going to let him off the hook that easy. "Ma'am, this psycho is gaslighting me into thinking I'm his fiancée!" you declared, pointing at him with a wild, exaggerated gesture. And, of course, he was fixated on her chest - of course. "Can you please tell me where my real family is? And also, is it even possible to just pick up Japanese overnight after getting shot?"

She blinked at you, and you watched her face do this complicated thing - like her brain was buffering, trying to process the absolute barrage of questions you'd just thrown at her. The silence stretched out, awkward and painful, filling the space between you like something physical you could almost touch.

Finally, *finally*, she spoke.

"Oh, that young man," she started, the words coming out slow and careful. Her eyes drifted toward the guy standing there like he owned the place - which, given the vibes, he probably thought he did. "Is your family. Naoya Zen'in." 

Your brain screeched to a halt.

"And you go by both Majiwara and Zen'in."

The words landed but didn't quite connect, like puzzle pieces that *should* fit but were just slightly the wrong shape. Her gaze slid back to you, and something in her expression shifted - like she was checking off boxes on a list, running through the motions.

"As for learning Japanese... it seems you've always been able to speak the language." She paused, and her tone dipped into something that almost sounded like mockery, though you couldn't tell if it was intentional or just how she talked. "The... uh, supposed gunshot definitely didn't help that."

Supposed gunshot?

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her patronizing tone. Seriously? Was she really treating you like an idiot? Okay... maybe you were an idiot. You had just asked if getting shot could somehow teach you Japanese, after all. Still, the whole thing felt like you'd been dropped into some twisted reality show where nothing made sense, and everyone else was playing along like it was just another day.

Like The Truman Show.

You were losing it - slowly but surely unraveling. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't.

"What is happening to me?" you muttered to yourself, feeling the panic bubble up again. "I... I think I have amnesia or something," you admitted, the tightness in your chest making it harder to breathe.

She didn't seem fazed, though. The nurse flipped through her notes, voice monotone, as if she was reading off a script. "It's common after a... concussion. You may be experiencing temporary memory loss," she said, not bothering to look up. "We'll need to perform a CT scan to assess any brain damage or abnormalities."

Did she just - shrinkage? Did she really just imply you had a small brain? Fuck her!

"Um, how old am I, by the way? And what year is it?" The questions left your mouth before you could stop them, but the urgency felt real. It didn't feel like 2024, not by a long shot. Call it intuition - or maybe desperation to make sense of whatever the hell was happening to you.

The nurse shot Naoya a significant glance before turning back to you. "It's 2006, in Kyoto, and you're 17," she said, tone a careful balance of gentle and serious as if bracing you for the impact of her words.

You heard Naoya - probably - scoff, arms crossing like he thought that made him look authoritative instead of just constipated. The scowl on his face was practically engraved at this point. You just knew your aunt would've bombarded him with the classic "Stop frowning, you'll get wrinkles" if he were a woman.

"Great, now that you're mentally botched, how ya gonna serve me and my brats?"

Excuse the hell out of him?

Your blood boiled on contact. It wasn't just simmering - it was spitting, hissing, bubbling like a pot seconds away from overflowing. You didn't even bother looking at him. Just flipped him off with all the grace and fury of a woman at the end of her tether.

Fuck this guy. Fuck this situation. Fuck all of it.

Without another word, you yanked the blanket up and over yourself like it was Kevlar. Not much of a defense, but it was all you had.

"Your face is botched," you muttered into the fabric. Muffled. But vicious.

The blanket was warm, almost too warm, like someone had actually thought about comfort when they made it. Which pissed you off even more. Because it was nice. Nice enough to make you feel things, like a little too safe, like you might actually fall asleep in this dumb alternate reality.

As your body sank deeper into the plush bed, your mind wandered to ridiculous thoughts, like whether you should pull one of your mom's hotel stunts. She'd swipe the soaps, the mattress covers, or some random vase off a dresser, always declaring it wasn't stealing because she paid for it. The memory almost made you smile. Almost.

Your body gave out first. Sleep crept in, slow and inevitable. Not that you resisted. You never did. Sleep was sacred. If this was hell, at least it had decent bedding.

Ugh, this little bastard.

By morning, he'd better be gone, wiped clean from existence like a bad dream. And maybe, just maybe, when you opened your eyes, the universe would give you a break. You'd wake up in your own bed, in your own time - back in 2024, where things made sense. Well, relatively speaking.

It didn't hit all at once. There was no dramatic "aha, eureka" moment. It crept in slow - like a headache starting behind your eyes and refusing to go away. Each day just piled more confusion on top of the last, until eventually the weight of it cracked something open. And even then, it wasn't some grand revelation. It was clumsy. The kind of truth that doesn't fit neatly into your life but wedges itself somewhere raw, throwing everything off-balance and leaving you with this sick, sinking feeling you couldn't quite name.

The first few days after you woke up in that weirdly pristine and straight out of Pinterest hospital room, your brain just... glitched. Like it was actively rejecting reality. Refusing to make sense of what it was seeing. There was a wall - thick, heavy, unmoving - and you hid behind it, clutching at the scratchy blankets like they could anchor you to something real. You kept your eyes shut more than you opened them. Because deep down, you knew: the moment you really looked, you'd see it. The cracks. The way everything was off. And you weren't ready for that. Not yet.

If you pretended hard enough, maybe, just maybe, you'd wake up in your own bed. In your own time. With that faint smell of stale coffee still hanging in the air from the mug you kept forgetting to rinse out. Your mom calling from downstairs, pretending not to remember what time school started even though she asked every damn morning. Your dad asking where his toothbrush is. The comfort of your room: clothes draped over every chair, half your closet living on the floor, that one leaning tower of books you kept promising yourself you'd read. It was cluttered and a little gross, but it was yours.

And now it was gone.

Instead, you got this. This room. This place. The walls were too white (okay, technically beige, but your mental state wasn't really in the mood for nuance), the air was cold in that sterile, hospital way that felt like it could freeze emotion out of a person, and the nurses smiled too much. The kind of smiling that felt rehearsed - like their job was to be gentle with crazy people. (And you are NOT crazy!)

Their voices were all sing-song and sugar, fluttering around you with offers of water, blankets, more sleep. But their eyes? Their eyes were glassy and distant - watching you like you were a cracked dish someone had superglued back together and was now pretending wasn't still broken.

And then there was him. Naoya. Permanent scowl. Arms always crossed like a sitcom dad or something. Voice coated in smug entitlement. He didn't hover so much as linger - like a bad mood with legs. Every time he opened his mouth, it felt like a personal attack, and somehow worse, every time he didn't speak, it felt like he was judging you silently. Like you'd ruined his day by existing.

And when he called you his fiancée? He said it like it was a foregone conclusion. Like this wasn't horrifying or absurd or mind-meltingly surreal. Just a matter of fact.

Like you were supposed to blink at him, nod, and say, "Okay. Sure. Guess this is my weird little life now."

But you couldn't. Wouldn't. The idea of it - of him - was so absurd it should've been hilarious. Except it wasn't. You weren't laughing. You were swallowing it whole, gagging on how impossible it all was.

The thing was, it wasn't just him. It wasn't just the pastel hospital, or the nurses with their weirdly Stepford smiles, or the sunlight that seemed just a little too yellow to be real. It was the world. The entire world was off. Not broken in a flashy, apocalyptic way... just wrong. Slightly. Subtly. Like a reflection that was almost right but warped just enough to keep setting off some primal alarm in your gut.

It was the kanji on every sign, crisp and modern but... off somehow. The way the nurses' uniforms looked like something from an old photograph. The language, the tech, the pacing of it all. Stuff that shouldn't have mattered. But it did. Because it was everywhere. All of it whispering the same quiet horror: you weren't home.

You tried to logic your way out. Called it a dream. A post-trauma hallucination. Your brain throwing static after a crash. That made sense, right? Brains did weird shit under pressure. You'd heard the stories - people falling asleep and living full lives in their heads, only to wake up a few minutes later. Maybe you were one of those. Maybe this was just that.

But the dream didn't break. The days dragged forward, hazy and long, and reality didn't snap back into place. You started pacing your room like a caged animal, staring out the window at a city that didn't belong to you. You searched for anything - anything - that would anchor you back to something familiar. A brand, a skyline, a logo. But everything was a little too analog, a little too outdated, like someone had built this place out of secondhand memories from twenty years ago.

You pulled at every thread, desperate for something real. Something that would lead you home. But all you got was more loose ends, unraveling faster than you could catch them. And at some point, you had to wonder: if the thread never leads anywhere... was there even a way back?

And then there was your reflection. You'd catch it in flashes - dark windows, polished tile, the occasional mirror when the nurses thought you were stable enough to have one - and every time, it knocked the wind out of you. The face looking back was yours, technically. But the eyes? They weren't. They were heavier. Duller. Like someone had dimmed the lights behind them. Like they belonged to a person who'd sprinted through grief, confusion, and existential dread all in a single week.

By day six, your denial wasn't just cracked - it was crumbling. And not in some dramatic, cinematic breakdown. It was slower than that. Quieter. Naoya, because of course it was Naoya, kept saying things like "cursed objects," "sorcerers," "Tokyo Jujutsu Tech" like they were just facts of life. No pause. No explanation. Just vibes. And that was the part that really broke you: the way he said it all like you were the strange one. Like this world made sense, and you were the glitch in the system.

The final blow didn't come with a scream or some life-or-death disaster. It came in the stillness. Alone in the room. No nurses, no smug fiancés, no buzzing fluorescent lights. Just silence - and the weight of one tiny, really hideous detail.

The ring.

Thick gold band. Gaudy red stone. It looked like something that came from a clearance bin at a haunted pawn shop. It had been on your finger since you woke up, but you'd refused to acknowledge it, brushing it off as some cultural thing or a bad dream leftover.

But now, there it was. Heavy on your hand, catching the afternoon sun in the ugliest way possible. And this time, you couldn't look away. Couldn't pretend it didn't mean anything. Because it did.

You stared at it until your vision blurred, and somewhere deep in your chest, something gave. Quietly, finally. Like the snap of a branch you didn't realize you'd been balancing on.

You blinked - once, twice, again - but the ring didn't vanish. It stayed, gleaming under the dull hospital light like it knew what it was doing. Like it was mocking you.

This wasn't a dream.

This wasn't a glitch, or a coma, or some half-baked hallucination your brain cooked up to protect you from something worse.

This was real.

You weren't in your world anymore.

You were here.

Japan. 2006. Jujutsu Kaisen.

Pre-canon.

And somehow, you were the one who got isekaied into the franchise known for killing half the cast!

The Universe really had jokes.

You knew exactly where the timeline was - Hidden Inventory. Ground zero. The point where it all began to rot from the inside out. The Star Plasma Vessel mission: doomed. Haibara: dead man walking. Geto: one bad day away from becoming a cult leader. Gojo: teetering on the brink of godhood and loneliness. And you?

You were Naoya Zen'in's fiancée.

The thought alone made your skin crawl. Your stomach turned like you'd swallowed battery acid. That ring - gaudy, gold, too bright - winked at you from your finger like it was in on the joke. Like it knew.

Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.

Before you could even think it through, you were already moving. Hand clenched tight, breath caught somewhere in your chest. You yanked the ring off so fast it scraped your skin raw on the way out.

The window was already cracked open - stupidly symbolic, like the universe had gift-wrapped you a metaphor. You didn't hesitate.

You threw the ring as hard as you could.

No second thoughts. No melodrama. Just that sharp, satisfying moment of release as it flew from your hand - a little flash of gold and red tumbling through the air, catching the light as it dropped out of sight.

Good riddance.

Sure, selling it would've been the real girlboss move, but you were way past rational. You were desperate.

So out the window it went.

It didn't change anything. You were still here. Still stuck. But for the first time since waking up in this cracked-mirror version of the world, something shifted. A sliver of control. Small, but real.

"Ow - What the hell?!"

You blinked. Looked down.

Oh. Right. There were people down there.

...Let Naoya explain that.

Anyway.

Your encyclopedic Jujutsu Kaisen knowledge - from obsessively devouring the manga, bingeing the anime, and tumbling deep into fandom rabbit holes - was your only lifeline now. But living the story firsthand? Completely different beast.

The stakes weren't just high. They were suffocating. This wasn't some history rerun; this was a warzone. And you were stuck in the middle, desperately clinging to the fragile hope that your meta knowledge might keep you from getting wiped off the map.

But here's the real kicker - the part that made your skin crawl every time it slithered through your brain (which was basically nonstop): You were engaged to Naoya Zen'in.

Eww.

That alone made you want to scrub your entire existence raw with a Brillo pad. And it wasn't like you were some prized Zen'in princess, carefully groomed for this since birth. Please. Naoya barely even regarded you as human.

Not that it would've mattered if you were full-blooded Zen'in. He still wouldn't see you as human, obviously.

"Non-sorcerers aren't even human," he'd once said, like he was commenting on the weather. Just a casual little morning take, as if he hadn't just gone full-blown eugenics over breakfast. What a freak. "And the Zen'in bloodline has the only real sorcerers."

Yeah. Okay. Whatever the hell that meant.

So no, you weren't Zen'in by blood. You weren't here because of some great, undying love story. Not that it mattered - because a love story with Naoya as the romantic lead? That'd be less of a romance and more of a psychological horror. And you sure as hell weren't some swooning idiota who actually liked this walking pile of misogyny wrapped in a kimono.

Which meant there had to be another reason. A big one.

You must have some kind of overpowered cursed technique. That was the only thing that made sense. Why else would you be here? Why else would you be important enough to be dragged into this mess, locked into some arranged marriage with the worst possible person?

If you were valuable enough to marry into the Zen'in clan, then something about you had to be worth it.

You just had to figure out what... eventually. If there was one thing you excelled at, it was procrastination. Diamonds formed under pressure, after all. Shine bright like a diamond or whatever Rihanna said.

But then came the next disturbing revelation: Naoya was only a year younger than Gojo in 2006. He was 15. Fifteen. While Gojo, smug and insufferable as ever (you haven't met him yet, but you're assuming and are most likely right), was 16. And somehow, Naoya still looked exactly like his 27-year-old manga self, down to the features and perpetually annoying expression. It was uncanny, unsettling, and outright creepy.

And you? You'd been 18 in your world. Which meant, technically, you weren't that much older here, but dealing with a 15-year-old? Gross. Even though there wasn't a shred of attraction on your part, the sheer fact that you were now engaged to this kid was enough to make you gag.

You were utterly repulsed. You did NOT sign up for this shit.

On another note, it was honestly a little sad when men turned out to be straight. You couldn't help but mourn the loss of what could've been. If Naoya were part of the community, you could've had him as your sassy, hilarious platonic husband. Picture him dishing out one-liners with the same flair he had in the manga, sounding like a satire of the bourgeoisie every time he opened his mouth. It was a fun thought, but alas, reality had other plans.

He really would have been a MESS (affectionate), and you could imagine how fun it would've been to join him in whatever shenanigans his unemployed ass got up to. Instead of a witty, comic relief husband, you were stuck with the worst version of him: the straight one. The disgusting, misogynistic, self-absorbed piece of shit who probably thought "banter" was another word for casual emotional abuse. It was like the universe had taken all the fun out of him and left you with the human equivalent of a roach infestation.

The worst part? Knowing that he wouldn't change a bit in the next 11 years just made the situation even more frustrating. It was like being tied to a ticking time bomb of annoying attitudes and toxic behavior, with no hope for redemption.

Back in the manga, Naoya's character was somewhat entertaining because he repeatedly got his ass beat. It was almost like a running joke, a caricature of a misogynistic jerk getting his comeuppance. But now that you were living in this messed-up timeline, it wasn't just a story anymore - it was real life. You had to bear witness to the full spectrum of his vile behavior, not just the punchlines that came with his beatdowns by Choso and Maki.

Even though you'd only had a few interactions with him, you were already fed up. It was just the two of you, so he didn't even need to put on a show of fragile masculinity for an audience. Instead, he was just incessantly whining about Toji, lamenting how he was the only one who truly understood him. And about how his older brothers were losers who needed to... as he eloquently said, hang themselves. Like, yeah, siblings are annoying as hell, but that's way too graphic for siblings - save that for strangers online you disagree with.

Then there was the whole "I'm the heir, obviously" routine. Like, Megumi exists, right? Or maybe he just hadn't caught on to that detail, just like in canon. But he carried on like it was a done deal. And the best part was when he started on this weird tangent about how some female glanced his way when he came in. Apparently, that meant he was some kind of polygynous king with a whole harem. Seriously. And to top it all off, he was on par with Toji and Gojo. On par with Toji and Gojo. Yeah, right.

It was exhausting, and you hadn't even been dealing with him for long.

"I hate my fiancé," you groaned, throwing yourself back against the bed, your frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. The auntie who had wandered in by accident froze, her eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by the venom in your tone. You couldn't stop, though. The anger had nowhere to go except out of you, and the more you let it flow, the more it felt like you could breathe. You stood up.

"Like, I cannot fucking stand him," you spat, pacing the room like a caged animal. "If he were an MP3 file, he couldn't be more audacious. If he were a font, he couldn't be more bold. If he were a punching bag, he couldn't be more punchable." You threw your hands up, the frustration bubbling over, words tumbling out faster than you could think. "Whenever he's near me, my cortisol levels skyrocket like I'm on the edge of a panic attack. It's crazy."

You stopped pacing for a moment, sucking in a breath to calm yourself, but it didn't work. The auntie, standing there awkwardly, was probably wondering how she got stuck in this mess. But you kept going, because it wasn't like you could stop now, not when your whole body was screaming about it.

"And his voice! Oh my God, his voice - every time he opens his mouth, I feel like I'm going to throw up. It makes me want to claw his face off. It's the worst sound in the world. I cannot stand it. I just want him gone."

You hadn't even realized you were breathing heavily, your hands trembling with the sheer anger rolling through your body. The aunt was standing there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She clearly had no idea how to respond to this... eruption. Yeah, you were going through a crisis and she most definitely didn't ask for this.

"That's nice and all, but can you please just point me to a nurse? I can't find the -"

The poor lady was getting interrupted left and right today. She was trying so hard to be polite, but the universe had other plans. Before she could finish, in walked Naoya himself. Of course, he looked like he had better things to do - clearly uninterested in whatever mess you were making - but he was too intrigued by your impromptu performance to ignore it completely.

"I see ya feelin' better," Naoya said, his voice grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Gosh, even the sound of his voice made you want to rip off your ears and chuck them at him.

By the time Naoya strolled in, the poor aunt had already vacated the premises, probably driven away by the combination of your screeching and Naoya's insufferable presence. You turned to face him, mustering up the most unimpressed expression you could manage, as if you were evaluating the quality of a particularly bad piece of art. 

He gave you his shit-eating grin and greeted you by adding the honorific "-chan" at the end, which easily made you lose 5 years of your lifespan.

"I doubt you'll ever be able to lay even a finger on me. Ya should be worshipin' the ground I walk on, ya know. If something were to happen to me, no other man would stand your bitchy attitude. Ya don't even have the body or the face to make up for it," he taunted.

Yes, you'd had four conversations with that boy, and they were all like this. He hadn't spoken about Toji yet, so that was new.

You clenched your jaw. If only you had gotten transmigrated at 25 or something. Maybe your fully developed frontal lobe would've helped you deal with him and give you the patience you didn't have.

"Ya frownin' after I said ya have the face only a mother could love? Ya'll have wrinkles by the time we actually get married. Why addin' fuel to the fire like this?"

"At least my mommy loves my face. Can't say the same about everybody," you shot back. Yes, you were beefing with a 15-year-old. No, you didn't care. You were only 3 years older than him... you were practically still a baby. Goo goo ga ga.

"Does she really?" he mocked, raising an eyebrow. Is he -

He's literally the one who told you your mom loves your face -

"Dude, I have no idea. I have fucking amnesia," you replied, exasperated. Knowing your luck, she probably sold you to the Zen'in clan for drugs... Hold on, isn't this Megumi's whole backstory? "I'm born with an OP technique. My mom died, and my dad sold me for drugs to the Zen'in clan. I got adopted by the strongest sorcerer and fell in love with the main character of a shounen. It's me, Megumi Fushiguro."

"Hm, I'll tell ya a little something about your past if you beg for it!"

You shot him a look of pure exasperation. "At least wait until your twenties to start acting like this. Now that you're 15, you're more of a Walmart Draco Malfoy instead of the image you think you're giving. Anyway, why have you come here?"

Naoya sighed dramatically as if burdened by the weight of having to explain such a trivial matter. "Ya already didn't know much about your own clan's cursed technique, and now with that amnesia... Daddy wants to send you to that stupid school because one of the teachers there was taught by a clan member of yours." He plopped down in a chair, propping his head on his hand with a look of exaggerated boredom, his smirk never wavering.

"'Cause, ya know, you're the last one of your clan. If my children inherit your technique, someone will have to teach them."

You blinked, trying to process the flood of information. The whole situation felt like it was spiraling further out of control, and Naoya's casual, dismissive attitude only made it harder to take any of it seriously.

Also, weren't you supposed to beg for that piece of information? He really sucked at this.

"Is it possible for a child to inherit both of its parents' inherited techniques?" you asked, genuinely curious, though you weren't exactly ready to deal with the idea of being the Sasuke of your clan just yet. It wasn't the right time or place for that kind of existential crisis.

Naoya shrugged. "It's rare, but surely there can be one if you get pregnant like ten times," he said, completely casual.

?????

What the absolute fuck.

A chill ran down your spine. The bad kind.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Trying to process the words that had just left his mouth. Had he really just said that?

Nope. You decided, right then and there, to pretend you hadn't heard whatever the fuck that was.

Naoya threw the bag right at your face, like he expected you to miss on purpose just to annoy him.

"Tch. We're meeting my daddy, so don't embarrass me," he said, tone clipped, bored. "Put that on."

He tilted his head toward the woman who'd just walked in and bowed. "She'll fix your face or whatever. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

You rummaged through the bag and pulled out... a kimono. Not just any kimono - this thing was elaborate. Layers. Embroidery. The kind of outfit that probably cost more than your rent back home. It was stunning.

And you had no idea how to put it on.

"Oh hell no. I'm not putting this on," you said, holding it like it might bite you.

Then you rushed to clarify, "I mean - it's gorgeous. I totally respect the culture, I just -"

Naoya stared at you, unimpressed. "The hell are you even talking about?"

You squinted at him like he was the weird one. "It's cultural appropriation, Naoya."

He blinked. Slowly. Like your words physically pained him.

"It's what now?"

"It's problematic, Naoya. I'm not doing this shit."

A beat. Then he clicked his tongue, hard.

"Tch. You seriously this stupid?"

He turned toward the hallway and called out loud, voice full of fake panic: "Oi, she's talkin' crazy! Nurse, she's awake! Put her in the padded room or somethin'!"

You crossed your arms. "I'm not awake. I'm woke."

He turned back, eyes half-lidded with pure judgment. "Yeah? Then shut up and put the kimono on."

You stiffened. "I will never - ever - let go of my morals, Naoya."

His brow twitched. Just slightly.

"I'm not putting on a kimono just to please your dad. I am an ally. Not a culture vulture."

His lip curled. "Ally of what? Being fuckin' annoying?"

"I said what I said."

He clicked his tongue hard. "Whatever. Keep yappin'. That servant's dressing you whether you like it or not, so quit actin' like you've got a choice."

He jerked his chin at the attendant.

"Do somethin' about her. She's useless like this."

After five straight minutes of arguing with Naoya - if you could even call it "arguing," since he mostly rolled his eyes, insulted your IQ, and muttered stuff like "dumb bitch" under his breath - you finally looked over at the woman waiting patiently in the corner.

She hadn't said a word. Not one. Just stood there with her hands folded neatly, eyes downcast, like she'd tuned the whole thing out.

And that's when it hit you: she was the one who'd have to deal with this. Not Naoya. Not his smug attitude or his inbred (okay, probably not) stuck-up family. Her.

You let out a breath through your nose. "Fine," you muttered, dragging the word out like it physically hurt.

Naoya smirked like he'd just won a bet he didn't even have to try for. "'Bout time."

You didn't look at him. "I'm not doing this for your ugly -"

He scoffed, cutting you off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turned to the employed lady, your tone softening. "Um... I'm still recovering from the accident, so moving's kinda tricky. Would you mind helping me put this on?"

She bowed deeply, hands folded neatly in front of her. "Of course, ojou-sama. Please allow me the honor of assisting you."

Oh hell nah, your sister is brainwashed!

Off to the side, Naoya let out a short, annoyed breath and sneered. "Tch. Ya stupid or what? That's literally her purpose."

You glared at him, fists tightening around the kimono. It hadn't even been a full week, and somehow every single interaction with Naoya grated harder than the last. How could one person be this consistently, insufferably awful?

"The meeting's about Jujutsu High and our... ew, matrimony, right?" you asked, trying to mentally brace yourself.

Honestly, the only reason you were looking forward to it was because it meant escaping the Zen'in Compound's daily hell loop. Two years at Jujutsu High? That'd give you enough time to fake your death or start a new life - anything to get away. Even if it meant dealing with Gojo and Geto's weird homoerotic codependency that they made everyone's, and you truly mean everyone's, business.

Naoya gave a lazy nod, slouched in his seat like he had all the time in the world and none of the intention to move. He didn't even glance your way. Just sat there, waiting, like you were the one wasting his time.

You squinted at him. "Uh, excuse me? How am I supposed to get dressed with you still in the room?"

He didn't blink. "Same way ya would without me in the room," he said flatly, like it was the dumbest question he'd heard all day. Yeah, even dumber than you politely asking the lady to assist you.

Your eye twitched.

The next five minutes were a full-on spectacle of you throwing a tantrum. You were determined to keep your dignity intact, even if it meant making a scene. There was no way in hell this little freak was going to see you naked - no matter how casual he acted about it.

Eventually, Naoya let out a sharp huff and stood, muttering something about "drama queens" and "spoiled brats" before slamming the door behind him with a final, irritated shove. Well, if the call isn't coming from inside the house.

Finally. Blessed, beautiful silence.

You exhaled, shoulders sagging. You'd won this round. Barely.

As the lady carefully helped you into the kimono, the whole process went surprisingly smooth. You felt incredibly exposed - half-naked in front of a stranger wasn't exactly your idea of comfort - but she didn't give a single damn. No awkward glances, no flinches. Just steady, practiced hands adjusting the fabric with ease, securing the layers and tying the sash perfectly.

When she finished, you took a deep breath and faced the full-length mirror.

The kimono's rich colors and delicate embroidery were beautiful, no doubt about it. Your makeup was traditional and elaborate, layers of foundation, rouge, and lipstick applied just so. Your eyes were sharp, lined with bold eyeliner and shimmering eyeshadow.

She did a little something with your hair, too. Honestly? It looked pretty good.

Still, you had no clue why you had to dress up like this just to meet his dad.

Not that it mattered. You weren't sure how you were supposed to look his papa in the eye without bursting out laughing. The only thing you could think about was how your friend used to call the guy "hot" whenever he popped up on screen - which, for the record, was twice. If you had a nickel for every time she called him hot, you'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

Then again, they'd probably think making direct eye contact with a man was unfeminine or some shit.

You were messing with your reflection in that tiny hospital mirror when Naoya stormed in without so much as a knock - because yeah, why waste time on politeness? His eyes scanned you like you were some kinda joke.

"Eh, not bad. Let's move," he said like you were an inconvenience, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the door.

You planted your heels and stopped dead. Your arm started going numb from his grip, and you shot him a glare.

Naoya just rolled his eyes and sighed like you were the biggest pain in the universe. Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he switched to grabbing your wrist and yanked harder.

You fought back, tugging the other way, limping, doing whatever you could to stall, but he wasn't having any of it.

No surprise you were in some fancy private hospital. The room was dripping with money. Still, you thought - wouldn't the Zen'in clan be all about having you stuck at their mansion if you were really "special"? Judging by Naoya's attitude, you were just a nuisance.

He practically threw you into a waiting limousine - yeah, a fucking limo. The whole thing felt like a bad joke, shiny seats and all.

If it weren't for those sandals that made every step torture, you'd have put up a bigger fight.

Sliding into the car, you wondered how much worse this could get.

"Hey, you better shut your trap and play the part, got it? I ain't losing my spot as heir 'cause my wife can't keep her damn mouth shut," Naoya snapped, voice sharp as ever.

Okaaay...?

You could almost see the smirk behind that asshole tone, like he knew exactly how much the word wife bugged you. You are only 18! What are you, a child bride?!

You tuned him out, staring out the window, clutching your bag like it was a damn lifeline. Inside: wallet, credit card, ID.

Your eyes skimmed the card. First name was right. Last name? Majiwara. Birthdate? January 1, 1989.

Very Taylor Swift of you.

Chapter Text

The car ride stretched on like some kind of cruel endurance test. N*oya's voice drilled into your skull, a never-ending lecture about how you "shouldn't be such a cunt" and needed to "know your place." The usual script - don't talk back to his dad, don't look anyone in the eye, basically become a breathing mannequin.

You'd sucked at the mannequin challenge back in 2016 anyway. And you weren't about to start perfecting it now - you weren't a woman in a Christopher Nolan movie. You had things to say, goddammit.

"I got it, I got it! Oh my fucking god," you snapped, cutting through his rant like scissors through paper. "I won't speak, or look, or breathe, or whatever the hell else you want. Happy?"

You lied, obviously.

But seriously - what did he expect? For you to actually listen to a teenage boy with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks? The sheer audacity of it all would've been funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

The question bubbled up before you could stop it. "But for real though, why would the clan head want his wife to have zero mind of her own?" Your fingers tapped against your thigh, restless. "Like, what's the logic here? Letting the guys in the clan disrespect your own wife? Wouldn't you at least want the... uh, mother of your future kids to have some respect? Isn't it kind of embarrassing for you? I seriously don't get it."

Naoya's annoyance simmered in the air between you, thick enough to choke on. You couldn't bring yourself to care. Also, referring to yourself as the mother of his children made you want to fling yourself out of the moving vehicle, but you'd been pretty suicidal these days - didn't take much to push you into that mood.

Naoya was nothing but a nepotism baby. The kind who'd never formed a single original thought in his life, just regurgitated whatever bullshit had been fed to him since birth. You didn't expect a genuine argument from him - though, to be fair, there wasn't one to make.

Experiencing Naoya's exaggerated, caricatured misogyny felt surreal. Like watching a movie directed by some guy who clearly didn't grasp nuance - the type where the misogynist character just screams "YO, I HATE WOMEN!" instead of showing it in those subtle, insidious ways real misogyny usually worked. Naoya was that guy. No nuance, all volume.

He didn't even try to dress it up with the usual "modern women are miserable because of college and hookup culture" garbage you'd heard back home. No, this boy was out here being openly, proudly misogynistic, without a single attempt at justification or self-awareness.

Your mind checked out somewhere between the car and the estate gates. A midnight getaway without ever physically leaving - your trademark move at this point. Your feet carried you a few paces behind Naoya as he paraded you through the Zen'in estate like some Gucci handbag.

His voice blended into background static, a smug buzz your brain refused to process. Whatever he was saying to his clansmen fell on deaf ears. Your ego was already scraped raw from letting him drag you around like this, but honestly, you were one breath away from losing it. From saying something you'd regret, or maybe something you wouldn't regret at all - which was worse.

You really wished you'd had this ability to shut the fuck up back in the library. Maybe you'd be at home with your parents right now instead of here, stranded in some clan's rich-boy nightmare. Then again, your parents had already been soft-launching hints about you "branching out" - code for "find a job and move the hell out now that you're 18."

Shit. Maybe this isekai gig wasn't all bad. At least you hadn't gotten a soul-crushing 9-to-5 yet - just a soul-crushing view of Zen'in wallpaper. Small wins.

You did the only thing you could to stay sane - dissociated hard. The Zen'in clan couldn't be torched to the ground, not yet anyway. Not with Maki and Mai still trapped here. So you kept the flames lodged in your throat and recited your silent mantra: self-control, self-control, self-control.

For once, you played your role. Eyes down. Mouth shut. A perfect little shadow trailing behind him like you didn't have a single thought rattling around in your head.

At least it gave you time to appreciate the architecture. And appreciating architecture made you feel rich, because only rich people cared about that shit.

The place looked like it'd been ripped straight out of a Heian period drama - sliding doors lined with delicate rice paper, dark wooden beams carved with centuries-old patterns, tatami mats laid out with surgical precision. Everything was so quiet, so restrained, so disgustingly beautiful. At least there weren't any oil portraits of wrinkled old men scowling down at you, those judgmental ancestors with bigotry pressed into their very brushstrokes.

Your mind wandered off on its own. You were halfway through mentally planning a movie night with that cute gyaru girl from the hospital - you'd already decided to bring all the snacks - even though you were 99% sure she was straight. Whatever.

Then Naoya's voice sliced through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. He was saying your name. Loudly. So much for peace.

It made you want to legally change it to something else. Something unpronounceable, just to spite him. Anything that'd make him choke on the syllables, stumble just once when trying to drag you back into whatever little performance he'd scripted. At this point, you'd answer to "XJ-42" or "Prince Bubblegum" if it meant not hearing him drag out your actual name with that sickening entitlement. Hell, maybe you'd just rip a page from El*n Musk's playbook and pick something that sounded like a WiFi password.

He grabbed your arm. You flinched - expecting that same bruising grip he always used.

But it was gentle. Almost weirdly so.

You blinked. What the hell was that about?

This was the same guy who preached about women "knowing their place" like it was gospel. Now suddenly he was playing gentle in front of the clan?

It didn't make sense. Then again, nothing about the Zen'in family ever did.

The guy standing across from you had to be Naoya's brother.

You didn't recognize him on sight, but the resemblance was there. That trademark Zen'in smugness in the jawline, the same eyes that looked like they'd sneer even in their sleep. Only... this one was like diet Naoya. No bleached hair, no piercings, no eyeliner. Just plain, raw-boned tradition. You hated to admit it, but the little freak you were unfortunately tethered to pulled off the gaudy look better. Not that you'd ever speak that cursed thought into existence. That was between you and the void.

Brother or not, the vibes were rancid.

Naoya had apparently done the introductions already, and for some reason, he was still gripping your arm. Not painfully - more like a warning. You had no idea what he wanted. To speak? Not speak? Smile? Grovel? Spontaneously combust? The etiquette rules here were about as consistent as Naoya's mood swings, and that boy was moody for no damn reason.

Still, you played along. Bowed low - your spine protesting every degree - and plastered on a smile just polite enough to pass for normal, even though your eyes screamed dead inside. "It's a pleasure to meet you," you said, lying through your teeth.

You couldn't wait to get back to that mental movie night with the gyaru from the hospital. Maybe Paprika? Something trippy you could pretend to understand, though YouTube hadn't evolved enough yet to have those "Paprika Ending Explained" videos you could binge before showing up at the cinema, acting like you totally got it on your own. Nope, you'd have to actually think for yourself - and that was way scarier. The early 2000s really weren't made for you. They should've sent someone obsessed with Y2K instead!

As for how Naoya took your little act of manners? No clue. You figured he was the type to think bowing to another guy was the ultimate betrayal - fragile masculinity so thin it'd snap if you breathed wrong. "Emasculating behavior," he'd probably call it.

Despite the effort you'd put into that bow - seriously, your back nearly gave out - Naoya's brother barely glanced at you. His eyes stayed locked on Naoya, sharp and full of contempt. Cold. Judgmental. Like Naoya was some shameful secret he'd rather forget.

Okay, that part was kind of relatable.

"So that's the plan, huh?" His voice dripped with bitterness, every word coated in sour lemon juice. "Once she bears your children, you'll step up as clan head?"

You had to physically bite back a cringe just thinking about getting pregnant - especially with someone from this clan!

Your skin crawled. Naoya would be exactly the kind of guy who'd make his wife haul ass around the house nine months pregnant, expect her to cook dinner five minutes after the baby popped out, and start nagging about losing the baby weight before she'd even left the hospital. Just picturing that nightmare was enough to make you want to disappear. You should just pull a Gone Girl at this point.

"Yeah, whatever." Naoya shrugged, looping his arm through yours in a way that felt more like a leash than anything affectionate. "Move it. Don't have all day. Got shit to deal with, old man's waiting."

And off you skedaddled.

The thing that surprised you most was how gentle Naoya was being - well, as gentle as he could manage - while he dragged you off to meet his less-than-stellar father. He probably got off on the fact that he had you as some kind of prize, that you were behaving exactly how he wanted. It spoke volumes that the only time he wasn't actively mistreating you was when you were being overly passive, standing silently by his side like some decorative plant.

Naoya marched you into the room where his dad held court. Naobito sat on his throne - a threadbare cushion - beer in hand.

Your left eye twitched in response, a full-on muscle spasm. Pure muscle memory from watching Maki and Nobara back in Shibuya.

The man was a walking portrait of excess. Medium-length grey hair slicked back like a yakuza boss from a 1970s B-movie, eyes nearly black and almost eclipsed by those two furry caterpillars masquerading as eyebrows. And then there was the mustache - a ridiculous, needle-thin affair that seemed to defy gravity just for the shock value of existing on someone's face. He really thought he was doing something with that look.

Naturally, he was draped in a casual brown yukata with a black sash, the whole ensemble radiating pure, effortless laziness like it was a lifestyle choice.

At least Naoya hadn't gotten all his genes from this side of the pool. Small victories.

You were supposed to nod - do a proper, respectful bow - and kneel gracefully on the tatami like some period drama extra. In some universe where you'd gotten a lobotomy first, maybe.

Instead, you shoulder-checked Naoya just enough to make him stagger, marched forward, and dropped into a nearby chair with all the grace of a sandbag falling from a rooftop.

The cushion gave beneath you. Perfect.

Whatever conversation the men were spinning became nothing more than white noise, the kind that filled elevators and dentist offices. You'd clocked out mentally about ten minutes ago - now you were just physically present, a piece of furniture with a pulse.

Except for the fact that your back was absolutely killing you.

You glared up at Naoya, your attitude making its dramatic comeback tour. "Why the hell did you push me into the limousine so damn hard?" The words ground through your teeth like gravel. "You must've pinched a nerve or something. My back feels like I fell off a balcony."

You pressed a knuckle into your lower back, adding a dramatic wince for maximum guilt-tripping effect - not that this clown was physically capable of feeling guilt. He was probably enjoying your pain, matter of fact.

Heavy silence dropped over the room like a stage curtain.

Naobito remained slumped against his cushion, eyebrows drooped under their own weight like they'd given up on life years ago. His knuckles tightened infinitesimally around his beer bottle. Then, with a gravelly exhale that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest, he clicked his tongue. "Tch."

The sound seemed to say more than a whole monologue could.

Without even lifting his gaze from his drink, he drawled, "Dramatics. Already." Each word fell like stones into still water. "Raise your voice in this household again, and you'll learn what back pain really feels like."

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Across from you, Naoya straightened just enough to look personally offended by your continued existence. His upper lip trembled briefly before he turned his head away with a dramatic scoff that would've made a theatre kid proud. "Pathetic." The word dripped from his mouth like poison. "All it took was a little push and you're already crying about backache? Women are always weak. Always making a scene over nothing."

You blinked once. Twice.

Back to dissociation, it was.

Your ears perked up the moment someone mentioned Jujutsu High.

The words cut through the fog in your brain like a foghorn, suddenly making everything sharp and clear again.

"Does she really have to go?" Naoya asked, lounging in the chair he'd kicked you out of earlier like some kind of discount emperor.

His chin rested on his hand, looking at you like you were some annoying fly buzzing around his head that he couldn't quite swat.

The memory of him literally booting you out of that chair was still fresh - you'd stumbled, caught yourself on the edge of the table, and he'd just settled into the warm spot you'd left behind with that shit-eating grin. You'd tried to shove back, get your seat, but he'd planted himself there like a particularly stubborn tumor.

And now? Now you were stuck standing like a damn servant while he sprawled out in your chair.

"How the hell did the principal even agree to that?" he continued, like you weren't even in the room.

You fought the urge to drag him down by that smug-ass collar and reclaim what was rightfully yours. Your legs were already getting tired, and the petty anger simmering in your chest wasn't helping the whole "stay calm and don't make things worse" strategy you definitely weren't following.

Naobito looked like he'd aged another decade in the past five minutes, his expression screaming "done with life" in that specific way only deeply exhausted parents - or in this case, clan heads - could manage. He took another swig from his bottle, the movement automatic, practiced, before answering.

"She'll be there for a couple years, right?" His eyes flicked briefly in your direction, dark and unreadable. "Seventeen, if I remember."

You bit back a response, jaw clenching hard enough to hurt. No talking. Probably wise - though "wise" wasn't exactly your default setting, never had been. You weren't a monk achieving enlightenment through silence. You were just a 17-year-old girl who happened to have opinions, and bottling them up felt like trying to shove a cat into a carrier.

Actually, screw it. You would speak your mind.

"Well, yes, I'm-"

"Yes, she is." Naoya interrupted smoothly, the words sliding out with all the bitterness of week-old coffee. Each syllable dripped with something caustic, like he was personally offended by your age. "This year, next year, then she's stuck."

He'd mentioned earlier how annoying it was to get married, stating he wouldn't want some "useless bitch being attached to him." So why the sudden temper tantrum? And who was this clingy bitch? Was she in the room right now? Hiding between the couch cushions? You'd really like to know.

You stomped your foot hard against the tatami, sandals clacking. Taking them off was a sign of respect, sure, but you were feeling way too bratty after Naoya's earlier ego-stinging. You were feeling extra disrespectful.

"Uh, yeah!" Your voice came out loud and sharp. "It's the 21st century, I'm getting that education. Malala would be so disappointed if I didn't!"

Neither of them even blinked. Didn't give a single fuck. You could practically hear the collective "meh" hanging heavy in the stale air.

Anyway.

"Her clan used to be closely affiliated with them or something," the old man replied with a weary sigh, like this whole conversation was beneath him. "If she manages to throw the Gojo brat into some curse's mouth and have it not traced back to her, that'd be great." He spoke as if you weren't even in the same room.

You nodded along, though you knew the absurdity of it all. Not only would you never get a chance to lay a finger on Gojo, but why would you? Why would you do anything to make the Zen'ins happy?

"Uh, yeah, I'm still not very clear on where and when I'm supposed to start." You tried to keep your voice level. "I'm presuming Tokyo, since you mentioned Gojo Satoru."

The old man didn't seem thrilled that you were still speaking, but he chose to ignore it. "Where else? I just mentioned the Gojo brat." His tone was dismissive, like you were stupid for even asking. Your eye twitched again. He knew damn well you were asking if there was a campus in Kyoto too. "The servant will fill you in on all the details," he added before taking another swig of beer and burping loudly.

The sound echoed in the quiet room, gross and final.

It seemed you'd have to channel your inner Maki, embrace full feminist-Itachi mode, and deal with this mess on your own.

Sorry for stealing your character arc, Maki.

But you'd have to get rid of this clan yourself!

Chapter Text

"So yeah, that's pretty much the story of my life and how I ended up here tonight."

The words tumbled out like you were a Disney Channel main character starting off a show, all "Curious how I got in this situation? Let's take it back to..." as you rested your cheek against your palm, stirring the melting ice cubes in your cocktail with absolutely zero purpose. They clinked against the glass - soft, rhythmic, somehow cutting through the bass thumping through the speakers like they were the only sound in the room.

The host sitting across from you tilted his head like a confused puppy, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch despite the movement. It was impressively stiff, honestly - probably shellacked with enough product to survive a hurricane. You could practically see the thought bubble forming above his head: I am NOT getting paid enough for this shit.

Fair. You wouldn't want to deal with you either right now.

Silence stretched for a beat too long before he recovered, letting out one of those practiced laughs that probably took weeks to perfect in whatever host training boot camp these guys attended. "Ehh... that's quite a story." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand with rehearsed sympathy. "Must be tough, dealing with a guy like that. You're really patient, huh?"

Your lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile as you leaned back. The plush velvet chair had definitely seen better days - worn smooth in places from countless other girls spilling their problems along with their drinks. "Patient? Nah." You took a slow sip, letting the alcohol burn just enough to remind you where you were. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

That's when Aika burst out laughing. Sweet, loud, completely hammered Aika. Her voice sliced through the smoky air like a fire alarm, turning heads three tables over. You were pretty sure her cackle could wake the dead across at least four different time zones. You liked having her around because she'd laugh at just about anything. Did wonders for your ego.

"Right moment?! Girl, pleaaase!" She hiccupped, then snapped her fingers. "Just ditch that loser already! Why don't cha just, like, go for the white-haired guy instead? What's his name again... Go... Gojou?" She tested the syllables, giggling. "He sounds way hotter already!"

Another host - younger, with gentle eyes and a questionable wig - leaned forward with a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. "Aika-chan, you really shouldn't encourage her like that." His voice was soft, almost teasing. "These things aren't so simple, you know? Marriage is serious business."

Aika waved him off with the dramatic flair of someone who'd definitely had too much to drink. Her hand cut through the air like she was swatting away his common sense. "Ehhh? But seriously, think about it!" Her words slurred together at the edges, but her logic was crystal clear in that special way drunk logic always was. "If you're gonna be stuck with some useless guy anyway, might as well pick the hot one, right? That's just common sense!"

The host chuckled - that knowing laugh that only came from months of dealing with tipsy customers and their questionable life choices. He leaned in just enough to seem interested without crossing any lines. These guys knew their game. You had to give credit where it was due. But not tips, since you were kind of broke. "Maybe so, but you shouldn't say things like that so carelessly. What if your luck in romance turns bad?"

"Luck in romance?" Aika propped her chin on her palm, grinning like she'd just heard the world's best joke. "I don't believe in that stuff. That's for girls who wait around, you know?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she gestured wildly. "Me? I just have fun. No regrets!"

The first host turned back toward you. His charming mask faltered just a bit - eyebrows creeping up, lips twitching into something unsure - like someone had handed him a live grenade and said "here, juggle this gracefully."

"You know..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Even though you don't seem to like him much, you talk about your fiancé a lot. Is he really that bad?"

You drained the last of your cocktail. The ice cubes clinked one final time as you set the glass down with a satisfying thunk. The answer came out with a shrug that felt heavier than it should have. "Oh, trust me, he is worse."

For just ¥6,323.80, you were getting unlimited drinks for an hour, plush seating, and some semi-attractive guys pretending to care about your messy life story. Not a bad deal. The dim, flickering neon lights cast everything in shades of pink and blue. The faint scent of stale smoke clung to the air, mixing with too-sweet perfume and spilled alcohol. The music was too loud, the kind that made your bones vibrate. The place felt cheap but alive, pulsing with the kind of energy that only existed in the space between midnight and dawn.

You weren't asked for ID at the door, even though you were 17. No one seemed to care as long as you kept the drinks flowing.

You weren't here for morals or an age-appropriate experience. You were here for a good time, not a long time!

The angels were clearly conspiring in your favor today. Despite meeting Aika at that sterile Kyoto hospital, she'd somehow materialized in Tokyo at the exact moment you needed her most. You'd called her during the drive - courtesy of Naoya's personal chauffeur, because apparently you were too fancy to take the train now - and discovered she'd only been in Kyoto for work, visiting some old coworker who'd just squeezed out a baby.

Pure dumb luck had her back in Tokyo just as you were rolling into the city.

Fucking perfect.

You'd clutched a pathetically small bag in your lap during the ride. The driver had casually mentioned that you lived in Tokyo with some roommate and that all your stuff was already there. Thanks for the memo, Naoya. Really would've been nice to know you had a whole ass life here. The fact that everyone seemed to know more about your existence than you did left this crawling sensation under your skin, like ants marching along your spine.

During the drive, you'd stared out the window while 2000s music played softly on the radio. The driver - another Zen'in by the looks of it - seemed unremarkable compared to the rest of the clan. Green hair, no special air about him. 

You'd settled into the passenger seat and started this mindless rhythm - click, click, click - with your fingernail against the window frame. The repetitive sound kept you sane as you invented elaborate backstories for every poor soul stuck in traffic beside you. That woman white-knuckling her steering wheel in the sedan? Definitely a corporate drone secretly writing bodice-rippers during her lunch break. The delivery guy scratching his nose in the van? Obviously running a side hustle as Tokyo's underground matchmaker, dropping off love letters with Amazon packages. Probably cheating on his girlfriend too, but that was neither here nor there.

Whenever some asshole cut you off or gave you the stink eye, you'd flipped them off with the regal confidence of a queen dismissing peasants. Your middle finger got a serious workout.

Your private entertainment system crashed and burned when the driver sighed and delivered the most soul-crushing news possible: "They can't see you. The windows are tinted from the outside."

Your hand froze mid-flip, then dropped to your lap like a dead fish. "...fantastic."

Instinctively, you'd reached for your phone, ready to throw on a podcast, text someone, or even zone out with Subway Surfers - only to be greeted by the sad reality of an early 2000s flip phone. No smartphone, not even an iPod in sight!

You'd scrolled through your contacts, which was about as depressing as expected. "Naoya :(" sat there like a monument to your past self's good judgment - at least that version of you had the sense to hate this psychopath. There was "roomie :3" and a handful of other names, but the list was shorter than your patience. Your social life had apparently been as dead as your current situation.

The one bright spot was the contact you'd added yourself: "Aika <3." At least you had that going for you.

Taking a deep breath that earned you a sideways glance from the driver, you'd pressed the green button and listened to the dial tone ring like something out of a cheesy rom-com from 2003.

Aika picked up in, like, half a ring.
"Hiiiii! Babe, I was literally staring at my phone waiting for you to call, but I didn’t wanna look all clingy, y’know?"

Her voice came through all sugary and high, the kind that hit your ear like glitter and somehow made you sit up straighter even though you were exhausted.

"Are you still at the hospital? How you feelin’? Did anything come back or is it still, like, totally blank?"

"Don't worry about it! I'm actually on my way to Tokyo right now. Apparently I live there? I literally just found out like an hour ago-"

Aika gasped like she was about to faint. "No way! Tokyo?! Wait, you've been a Tokyo girl this whole time?! We could've been hanging out forever! Oh my god, I'm so mad!"

"Yeah, I didn't know either until literally today, but - wait, hold up. You live in Tokyo too? Then why were you all the way in Kyoto?"

"I told you, hellooo? I had that work thing. And my friend just had her baby at that hospital, so I was already there. Like, total coincidence we ran into each other. Crazy, right?"

Your eyebrows shot up. "Damn, that's crazy. So we're both Tokyo girls then!" You glanced at your watch, doing the mental math. You were so getting your date. "Hey, are you free around like... 6 PM?"

Aika's voice dropped a little, but there was still that playful undertone. "Hmm… I could do like, 10 PM? Is that okay? My manager’s been kinda chill lately ‘cause of this dohan thing, so she’ll probably let me bounce early."

"Wait, what? Don’t cancel stuff just for me."

"No, no, it’s fine! I’ve been feeling all weird anyway," she said, her voice softening but still cute. "I need a break, seriously. Don’t worry about me!"

"Okay but… what’s a dohan? Is that like… a job thing?" You had beef with employment on principle, so the word meant nothing to you.

"Oh my god, you don’t know?" Aika burst out laughing, this almost-snort that she tried to cover with a little cough. "I’m a hostess, duh. A dohan’s when you meet a customer outside the club, like a way to get them to come back to the club 'nd become, like, a loyal customer. This guy had some charity thing in Kyoto, so he dragged me along. That’s why I was there."

You blinked.

"Oh. Ohhh. Well damn, good for you, but seriously, don’t ditch that for me. Go get your money, sis."

"Ugh, thankies, but honestlyyy? I’m so over work right now," she sighed, sounding half dramatic, half exhausted. "I need to go out and actually have fun. Like, I need something to get my mind off everything."

You hammered out the details - where to meet, what time, the usual logistics of two people trying to coordinate their lives through a phone that belonged in a museum. For the rest of the ride, your mind drifted to whatever this new existence had in store for you, mostly focusing on your upcoming night out with Aika.

Finding Aika after that clusterfuck of confusing phone calls felt like solving a puzzle while drunk, but when you finally spotted her, your brain just... stopped.

Aika's outfit was a stunning display of Agejo fashion - usually for slightly older gyarus, not 19-year-olds like herself. She wore a short, form-fitting black dress with intricate gold embroidery along the hemline and neckline. Her nails were adorned with glossy pink polish that caught the light every time she moved. Her elaborate mori updo was anchored by delicate gold hairpins that glimmered under the city lamps. Oversized rose-tinted sunglasses perched effortlessly on her head, adding that cinematic finishing touch. A cascade of gold bracelets and dramatic earrings swung with her every movement. She finished it all off with thigh-skimming garter stockings and black platform heels.

Aika looked... honestly, fucking iconic.

Somehow - and you still weren't entirely sure how this happened - you'd ended up in the red light district, drawn in by those too-good-to-be-true signs advertising unlimited drinks for first-timers. As you bar-hopped through club after club, Aika started peeling back layers of her life like an onion. She shared how cathartic it felt to let the male hosts cater to her whims. For once, she got to be the queen instead of the service worker. There was a strange peace in it - a temporary reversal of roles - and you were more than happy to be her sidekick for the ride.

Her laughter wrapped around you both like a protective bubble, creating this little pocket of the universe where judgment couldn't touch you. Just two girls losing themselves under purple and gold lighting that made everything look like a music video.

________________________________________

And that's how you found yourself at your fourth host club.

Aika had a legendary alcohol tolerance, but you? Not so much. Your past self might have snuck wine from your parents, but this new body seemed to struggle with even the lightest drinks. You'd sipped strawberry daiquiris, mango mojitos - fruity flavors dancing on your tongue - but with how much you'd consumed, it was a losing battle against the buzz creeping in. The warmth spreading through your body was unmistakable, making everything feel soft around the edges.

Despite your drunken rants, the hosts looked almost grateful that you were doing all the talking. They didn't have to go out of their way to entertain you. The most they did was "accidentally" brush their knees against yours, and you didn't mind a little 19th-century literature level of spice. Oh, good sir, how dare you! Your inadvertent touch upon my bare knee has compromised my virtuosity!

Aika tossed back a huge sip of her cocktail - all sickeningly sweet, just the way she liked it - and sighed in pure, dramatic satisfaction. "Okay but seriously, babes? Just manipulate him already!" She twisted a blonde, perfectly-coiled lock around her finger, mischievous glimmer in her heavy-lashed eyes. "Just be like, 'Hey, you know me looking this good makes YOU look rich, right? So give me money for nails and lashes and stuff!' See? Easy!"

Aika paused, tilting her head. Her huge hoops jangled against her shoulder. "But wait - didn't you say he's like... super stiff?" She drew the word out, dripping pure disgust. "Ugh, total old man vibes! Does he want you walking around looking all boring and natural? Like some... I don't know, like you just rolled out of the mountains or something?"

"Ugh, I don't knooooow. My life sucks!"

Your drink hit the table with enough force to make everyone jump. The anger felt good, righteous even, fueled by rum and frustration. The injustice of it all!

"And get this - I have amnesia, and apparently my whole family died or something? I'm confused as hell, and the only people I can ask are him and his psycho family..." You paused, staring at your reflection in the amber liquid. "Oh, and I have a roommate? I think? She's called me like fifty times this week, but I'm too scared to tell her about the amnesia thing, so I've just been... ignoring her."

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. When you looked up from your drink, you were met with four pairs of eyes staring at you like you'd just announced you were an alien.

Thanks, guys.

The guy in glasses adjusted his frames, straightening his posture before dramatically delivering his line like he was on stage. "You should really call your roommate and tell her everything. You know what Epictetus said? 'There is only one way to happiness, and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will.'" His voice was way too self-assured, like he'd been waiting his whole life to drop this exact quote. It was painfully obvious he'd spent the better part of twenty minutes memorizing it just for this moment. Worst thing? It didn't even fit in this situation!

You wondered what archetype he was supposed to represent. Definitely not the nerd. Definitely not.

"Wowww, that's so deep!" Aika clapped her hands lightly with exaggerated enthusiasm. "You sound like one of those people who actually reads for fun! That's so cool!"

"You really think so?" He looked pleased with himself, shifting his glasses again, clearly basking in the attention. An attention heaux, if you wanted to get French with it.

You sighed.

________________________________________

The night spiraled into a beautiful disaster of laughter and stumbling as you and Aika bounced from one host club to another like pinballs, milking every newcomer's first-hour drink special for all it was worth.

By 4 AM, you were both absolutely fucking wasted.

"Ugh, I gotta call someone... but literally the only people in my phone are my disaster of a fiancé and my roommate who I haven't talked to at all..." The words tumbled out in a slurred mess as you fumbled around for your ancient flip phone. The room had turned into a carnival ride that wouldn't stop spinning. You gripped the sticky table for dear life. The club's neon lights pulsed and twisted into kaleidoscope patterns, painting everything in electric blues and hot pinks that made your eyes water. The noise - laughter, shouting, terrible pop music - blended into this overwhelming wall of sound that felt like it was pressing against your skull.

Aika was practically melting into your shoulder, equally destroyed, giggling at absolutely nothing. Her tooth gap flashed every time she opened her mouth.

"It's pretty late, isn't it?" The host leaned in closer. You could smell his cologne mixed with cigarettes and desperation. "Maybe you two should get a hotel nearby? It's not really safe at this hour, you know. You'd probably want someone reliable to walk you there..."

His voice had that practiced smoothness, but you could hear the hunger underneath. Not the sexy kind - the kind that came from needing to boost his client numbers and climb the host hierarchy. Guy was probably dead last in monthly rankings. Aika had told you all about these rankings, and you couldn't help but feel bad for him.

But not too bad.

You and Aika caught eyes and just lost it, dissolving into the kind of laughter that made your stomach hurt.

With shaky fingers, you found the contact labeled "roomie :3" and hit call before you could chicken out. This was gonna be a disaster. But what choice did you have? Crashing at Aika's place would just make you feel even more guilty about dragging her into your mess.

A woman's voice picked up, tired and irritated. "...Hello?"

You hesitated, thrown off by how annoyed she sounded. Well, might as well. "Um... so like, I was in the hospital for a week, and I have amnesia? I saw all your missed calls but I was kind of scared to explain, so-"

"What?" Her voice went completely flat. "I'm going to kill you. Where are you right now? You sound wasted."

"Look, it's not exactly easy getting engaged to the most backwards, sexist family ever AND losing your memory, okay? Sometimes you just need to drink a little," you slurred, words all running together.

Your phone pressed against your ear felt heavy all of a sudden - a literal brick tying you back to reality. There was a pause on the other end, like she was counting backwards from ten just to keep herself from exploding.

"...This is so troublesome." Another pause. "Whatever. It can't be helped now. Just tell me where you are. I'll come get you." Her voice was gravel-dry, sandpaper against your soul. "Making a pregnant woman drive around at 4 AM to pick up her drunk ward... what kind of person does that?"

You blinked at "ward" - you didn't have a clue what it meant, honestly. Probably something mildly insulting. Whatever.

The word "pregnant" cut through your drunken stupor faster than a shot of espresso. Your throat tightened and your eyes started to prickle. "I'm sorry..." The two tiny words fell from your lips much quieter than you intended.

Suddenly everything felt heavy - oppressive - like someone tossed a lead blanket over you and pressed it down. Aika started sniffling next to you and then you were both crying. Messy, ridiculous, hiccupping into your phone. Whatever the fuck an "empath" was, Aika was apparently a 24-karat example of it.

Your roommate sighed. Annoyed, sure, but not unwilling to help. It struck something deep in you, something you hadn't felt in a while. Something that reminded you a little bit of...

Your mom.

Your mom, who answered all your stupid questions without making you feel tiny for asking... okay, that was a lie - she definitely made you feel tiny. Who spoke up in your place at doctor's appointments because, sure, you were a legal adult now, but you turned into a deer in headlights the moment someone asked you something simple, like "your name?" or "are you allergic to this?" without her there to back you up. She'd been there through it all - first day of school, first messy friendship break-up, that awful food poisoning from the sketchy and oddly cheap grocery store sushi - without a complaint... okay, that was another lie. There were complaints. There were definitely complaints. But hey, nobody's perfect.

You'd been with her from literal moment zero. Since you were a collection of cells growing under her skin - your literal start - and now... now you were stranded in this weird, borrowed life without her. Without her to say "stop crying or I'll give you a real reason to cry." Without her to navigate whatever mess you'd gotten yourself into this time!

Aika was using the host's expensive shirt as a tissue, leaving black mascara streaks all over the silk. "This is sooo sad," she mumbled.

You grabbed her hand - warm and slightly sticky from spilled drinks - and hauled her toward the exit. Your legs felt like jelly, but you managed to point dramatically at the host, who was probably calculating how much that shirt cost.

"Just so you know!" you announced, words echoing in the club's entrance. "We're not easy! We don't put out on the first date!" You paused for dramatic effect, swaying slightly. "We wait till the second date!"

Ha, that'd show him. Feminism, baby.

Before the poor guy could respond to your brilliant declaration, you yanked Aika through the door and out into the night. Cool air smacked your face, making you realize just how hot and stuffy the club had been. You both burst into laughter again, the kind that made your cheeks hurt and your sides ache.

The street was alive with neon signs reflecting in puddles, the distant sound of traffic, and the electric buzz of a city that never really slept. For a moment, stumbling down the sidewalk with your new friend, you felt like maybe - just maybe - life was worth living.

You sent your roommate the address and slumped against the grimy wall outside the host bar. The brick was cold against your back, covered in layers of stickers and scribbled phone numbers. Cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of yakitori from a nearby stand. Neon signs buzzed and flickered above your head like dying insects. The whole street pulsed with this weird energy - people stumbling between bars, touts trying to drag customers into clubs, the distant thump of bass bleeding through walls.

Aika melted against your side, her head heavy on your shoulder. "You think she'll give me a ride too?" she mumbled, words all soft and blurry.

"Probably," you muttered, watching a bunch of salarymen wobble past. Ties loosened, faces flushed like they'd been drowning in cheap booze all night. They were probably out cheating on their wives. Seriously, what was wrong with those guys?

And why were you getting pissed off over stories you'd just cooked up in your head? But hey, it was way more believable than some satanic cult running the world and eating kids, so at least you weren't completely off the deep end yet.

"If she doesn't, you can just crash at my place. No idea what it looks like yet, but worst case I'll sleep on the floor or something."

The street felt alive but dangerous, that kind of electric buzz that made your skin prickle. A couple guys hanging around the convenience store kept looking over, eyes lingering on Aika in a way that made your stomach turn. You shifted, pulling her closer.

"Just ignore them," you muttered when she giggled at something one of them said.

Twenty minutes dragged by. Your legs were getting wobbly from standing, and the alcohol was making everything feel dreamlike and unsteady. Then you heard someone clear their throat - not some creep trying to chat Aika up, but sharp and authoritative.

You looked up to find a woman standing there.

Damn, she looked pissed.

She was tall - taller than you'd expected - with dark bluish hair shoved into a messy bun that probably looked halfway decent a few hours ago. Now, a few stubborn strands had escaped and stuck to her forehead. She kept flicking them back like they were the biggest annoyance in the world. Her face was all sharp angles and high cheekbones catching the streetlight, but those dark circles under her eyes told a different story - like she'd been running on empty for weeks. Her lips were pressed tight, dry and cracked, like she'd been chewing on them nonstop.

Pregnancy had rounded her out, but she still moved like someone who wasn't about to take shit from anybody. Her simple black dress was wrinkled around her belly, and there was this tiny stain near the hem. Coffee? Food? Whatever it was, she'd clearly stopped caring hours ago.

"Explain yourself," she said, voice sharp enough to slice through all the street noise.

Just like that, the whole "whatever" vibe of the night got sucked right out. Aika went stiff against your shoulder.

Well, shit.

Chapter Text

Your roommate - Fumiko, apparently - guided you and Aika into the apartment, her arm steady and solid around your shoulders as you stumbled inside like a newborn deer learning to walk. The room swayed in your vision, tilting left then right like you were on a boat in choppy water. You blinked hard, once, twice, three times, trying to force your eyes to cooperate and actually focus on something, anything.

The place was bigger than you expected - way bigger than what you'd imagined Tokyo apartments to be like. Then again, you were probably just assuming this city worked like NYC when it came to cramped living spaces. Fumiko's apartment had that modern, no-nonsense vibe - practical, lived-in, the kind of space that didn't try too hard but still worked. The main area sprawled open, connecting the living room, dining space, and kitchen all in one breath.

The floors were smooth laminate wood, scratched in places from furniture dragged across them or years of boots and bare feet. You stumbled slightly as you took a few steps inside, the ceiling light casting this warm, hazy glow that somehow felt too bright against your dizzy state.

A large, low coffee table sat dead center in the living area. Fashion magazines were scattered across it, a couple of ramen cups tipped on their sides, and a half-drunk bottle of beer that looked like it'd been sitting there since last week. You squinted at it, trying to piece together how long that thing had been abandoned. The couch beside it was massive - big enough to fit five to seven people easy - but it looked worn down, fabric faded and a few pillows haphazardly tossed on one side like someone had given up halfway through arranging them. A TV sat in front of the couch, perched on a wooden stand, with a mess of wires trailing down to a gaming console and a stack of DVDs that looked ready to topple over.

Your gaze drifted toward the kitchen. Compact, but not claustrophobic. Silver appliances lined one side - fridge, microwave, a tiny stove with a couple of burners. A rice cooker sat plugged in by the counter, next to a knife block that looked way too sharp for your current state of coordination. The blades gleamed under the kitchen light, all perfectly arranged by size.
It gave American Psycho vibes, but you'd digressed.

Fumiko's fridge had a few colorful magnets holding up pictures and a calendar covered in scribbled notes. You couldn't make out the details - everything was just blobs of color right now - but you caught a few highlighted dates. Probably important. Probably none of your business.

To your right was a small dining area with a wooden table and two chairs, one of which had clothes draped over it like a forgotten laundry pile. The cluttered vibe continued here, but it felt cozy somehow - like the apartment had been well-lived in, despite the mess. A glass sliding door led out to a tiny balcony, and through the sheer curtains, you could just make out laundry hanging on a drying rack outside. The distant noise of cars and the occasional honk filtered through the thin windows, grounding you in the fact that you were smack in the heart of Tokyo.

The hallway stretched toward the bathroom and bedrooms, though you weren't sure if you could trust yourself to walk straight down it without veering into a wall. The alcohol was really hitting now, and you had to grab onto Aika for support as the room swayed around you.

The air smelled like a mix of lingering soy sauce, cleaning products, and incense - oddly comforting, like someone's home and not just a place. Your head spun, and you nearly tripped over yourself as you made your way to the couch. Fumiko didn't look amused but pointed to it anyway.

"Sit. We'll deal with this tomorrow. You're both too wasted to even talk sense," she muttered.

You collapsed onto the couch face-first, the cushions swallowing you like quicksand. Everything was soft - too soft, like it couldn't be trusted. The room tilted sideways as Aika flopped down next to you, giggling like none of this was a big deal. 

The ceiling spun. Fast. Then faster.

You squeezed your eyes shut like that'd stop it, but it only made things worse. It was like falling without ever hitting the ground - your stomach flipping, your brain buzzing, your whole body pulling in opposite directions. You couldn't tell where your arms were, couldn't feel your legs. Just heat. And that awful, slow-motion lurch in your gut that told you the alcohol had hit full force. Thick and smothering. Like drowning in something invisible.

Your breath caught.

Your chest tightened like someone had wrapped a belt around it and kept pulling. Was this normal? Was this what dying felt like? You'd technically already died once, and yeah - it kind of felt like that. Your heart punched against your ribs, too fast, too loud. You tried to breathe in slow, count it out in your head - one, two, three - but the numbers got tangled in the static buzzing behind your eyes. Nothing helped.

You pried one eye open, just a crack. The apartment lights smeared into warm, blurry streaks. Everything looked unreal. Fumiko's voice was just a muffled echo now, like it was coming from underwater. Aika was still giggling, but even that sounded far away, like she was in another room. Or on another planet.

Your arms were dead weight. Your fingers, useless. You couldn't lift your head. Couldn't sit up. The couch had you, and your body wasn't arguing anymore. You were stuck somewhere between being awake and already gone - like hovering in the doorway of your own body, just watching everything slip out of focus.

You weren't even sure when you stopped trying to fight it.

It felt just like the library - that terrible, crystalline moment when you'd been bleeding out on the floor, panic rising in your throat like bile. Your body shutting down piece by piece while your brain screamed at it to move, do something, anything.

But you couldn't panic for long.
The panic itself was already fading, dissolving into something softer and scarier - acceptance, maybe, or just exhaustion. Your thoughts were slowing down, getting quieter, like someone was turning down the volume on your own mind.

And when sleep finally dragged you under, it didn't ask for permission. One second, your eyes were open and the room was buzzing and Aika was laughing. The next - nothing.

Just black.

You woke up to something jack-hammering your skull from the inside out. Not metaphorically. Like, actually pounding. Like a construction crew had set up shop behind your eyeballs sometime around dawn and decided to renovate your entire nervous system.

Thanks, guys.

The light was already too much. And your eyes weren't even open yet.

Your stomach twisted before you moved a muscle. Each breath stirred the nausea like a spoon in something spoiled. Your mouth tasted like a landfill - dry, bitter, thick with cheap vodka and regret. Your tongue was mummified to the roof of your mouth. You swallowed, gagged, instantly regretted it.

When you cracked your eyes open, the room slapped you in the face. That dim lighting might as well have been a spotlight. You groaned, buried your face in the couch cushion, but the pounding didn't let up.

Your whole body throbbed like it hated you personally!

Every sound stabbed. The fridge humming? Agony. The wall clock ticking? A nail hammered into your skull. Even the traffic outside echoed in your bones.

You peeled yourself off the couch like a reanimating corpse. The moment you sat up, the floor tilted and your stomach lurched toward your throat.
You dropped your head into your hands, breathing slow, coaching yourself through it.

Why the hell did you do this to yourself?

Flashes came back in pieces. Aika's laugh. Loud music. Something about tequila. Your roommate's voice. And - shit. Fumiko. You called her. You definitely drunk-called her. Somewhere around 4AM if the clock wasn't lying...

You winced, physically winced, like the memory itself punched you in the gut. You didn't even want to check your phone. You just sat there, eyes shut, hands clamped over your face like you could squeeze the shame out if you tried hard enough.

You needed water. You needed food. You needed to stop existing for like twenty minutes and then maybe restart. But the idea of standing up felt laughable.

So you groaned again, flopped back down, and stared at the ceiling like it held the answers. Spoiler: it didn't. Just another bad decision in a long list that started the moment the host handed you that first drink.

The smell hit you before the sound did - rich and savory, like miso and scallions, maybe a bit of ginger. It sliced clean through the haze in your skull and lit your stomach on fire in the worst possible way. You were starving. And nauseous. And vaguely dying. Fun.

You squinted toward the kitchen. Fumiko stood at the stove, slowly stirring a pot like she was channeling all her judgment through that wooden spoon. The soft bubble of the soup filled the otherwise dead-quiet apartment.

She didn't even look at you when she spoke.

"Oh. Look who's awake." Her voice was dry, sarcastic, laced with that kind of older-sister disappointment that didn't need to be loud to sting. "Ready to face the consequences of your very, very stupid choices?"

You groaned and flopped back onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and smashing it over half your face. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Yes." You could hear the eyebrow raise in her tone even before she turned around. "Yes, we absolutely fucking do." She ladled the soup into a bowl with the precision of someone suppressing the urge to throw it at you. "But first, you're eating this before you pass out again."

She set it down on the coffee table in front of you, and the steam rose straight into your face, making your stomach grumble so loud it was honestly embarrassing.

You stayed slumped for a second, staring at the bowl like it personally offended you. The broth was pale gold, flecked with green onions, tofu cubes bobbing at the top. Comfort food - except nothing about you felt even remotely comfortable right now.

You pushed yourself upright slowly, moving like someone unwrapping themselves from a body bag. And that's when you felt it - the extra weight pressed up against your side. You looked down.

Aika.

How did you not notice her?! She was still attached to you like a clingy, drunk space heater. Her arm was thrown over your stomach, her cheek mashed against your ribs, mouth slightly open. She'd probably been snoring in your ear for hours and you were too blackout to notice.

"Too hot," you muttered, trying to peel her off without waking her up. You nudged her once. No response. A little harder this time, and she let out some unintelligible mumble before rolling away with all the grace of a dead cat.

Fumiko was watching all of this from the kitchen, her expression unreadable except for the twitch of her lip like she was holding back a laugh.

"I made one for your... friend too," she said finally, setting down another bowl beside yours. Her voice was flat, but there was a flicker of something behind it - maybe pity, maybe concern, maybe just caffeine wearing off. "She's gonna need it when she wakes up."

You glanced down at Aika, now splayed out on the couch like she'd been dropped there from a height. She let out a soft snore, kicked slightly, then went still again.

"She's not waking up anytime soon," you said.

Your own bowl was still sitting there, steam rising in curls, the smell almost enough to make your head stop pounding. Almost. You picked up the spoon with shaky hands and took a sip. 

Fumiko didn't say anything. But you could feel her staring. Could practically feel the judgment radiating off her like a second layer of heat. You didn't look up. There was no point.

You just kept eating, each spoonful a reminder that you were here, you were alive, and you were about to get your ass handed to you the second the bowl was empty!

Beside you, Aika stirred with a soft groan, lifting one arm to rub her eyes. But the second her fingers grazed her cheek - disaster.

One of her fake lashes peeled off like a leaf in autumn and dropped onto her lap.

"Shit, shit!" she gasped, sitting bolt upright like someone had dumped ice water down her back. She scrambled for a compact mirror - no idea where she pulled it from; it just manifested in her hand like some... cursed relic. Her fingers flew to her face in full panic mode. "Ughhh I have, like, four new pimples?! Whaaaa? I totally slept in my makeup?? Ugh it's over, I'm actually dead."

You paused mid-sip, watching her stare into her compact like she was surveying a battlefield. Her voice was shrill, nasal, dragging out her vowels. She wasn't playing. Those pimples were personal.

Honestly, it should've been funny. The fake lash in her lap. The desperation. But it wasn't exaggerated. Not really. Because falling asleep with your makeup on? Yeah, no, that was war. That was self-inflicted pain. That was a betrayal of everything sacred (your expensive Korean skincare routine).

You glanced over at her, soup spoon hovering, steam warming your face. "Yikes. High-coverage foundation won't do the job?"

She let out a tragic sigh and poked at her cheek like it was evidence in a murder case. "Ughhh as if! Like, even Majolica Majorca ain't gonna save me now, babe," she muttered. "I'm sooo screwed. I'm gonna have to wear, like, a face mask and bangs to my chin, I swear! Ew, ew, why did no one wake me up?"

"You snored in my ribs the whole night!"

"Whateverrrr," she sniffed, shutting her compact with a snap. "Still rude you didn't wake me up. My pores are, like, cryiiiin'."

Fumiko sat down at the dining table with her soup, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. "You're not hungover?"

Aika looked up, flipping her hair with one hand, the other still cradling her compact. "Ehh? Nahhh. I'm, like, immune or somethin', babe. I could down a whole bottle of tequila and still strut like I'm on a Popteen runway, no cap."

Fumiko let out a quiet scoff, blowing on her soup without looking at her. "Lucky you."

You didn't say anything - just went back to your soup, letting the warmth settle in your stomach like a blanket over broken glass. Aika went back to mumbling about acne patches and how this never would've happened if she'd used her toner. The lash was still sitting in her lap, and you were pretty sure she'd forgotten it was even there.

She glanced down, finally noticing the second bowl of soup sitting on the coffee table.

"But heyyy - if you made soup for me too, how could I not eat it?!" Aika suddenly lit up like someone had flipped a switch behind her eyes. She beamed, all teeth and lash(es), then sat straight up and started eating the soup with enthusiasm that shouldn't have been legal this early in the morning.

Fumiko rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. Just barely. A ghost of a smile.

You finished your bowl first and stood up too fast, instantly regretting it. The room wobbled - just a bit - and you had to blink hard to keep it from turning into a merry-go-round. Gravity was suddenly less of a concept and more of a threat. You clutched the edge of the table like it owed you money and shuffled toward the sink with the elegance of a baby deer learning to walk on a moving train.

The pile of dishes hit you like a personal attack.

They were stacked high in the sink, crusted over with dried food and broken dreams.  You leaned heavily on the counter and stared them down like you were squaring up for a back alley brawl you knew you'd lose.

Behind you, Aika let out a small cough and swirled her spoon lazily through her bowl. "You know I can tots wash the dishes, right, babe?" Her voice was still scratchy from sleep, but her tone stayed light and airy. "Jus' lemme take off my makeup first or I'm gonna break out everywhere, y'know?"

You were gripping the edge of the sink now, trying to remember how soap worked and why you'd ever thought you could handle this. "Yeah," you said quickly, nodding like a bobblehead on a dashboard. "That'd be amazing. Thanks."

Fumiko didn't say anything, but you didn't need her to. You could feel her stare slicing through the back of your neck like a laser. You turned your head slightly and caught it - her standing there with her miso bowl halfway to her mouth, frozen mid-sip. She looked at you like you were both pathetic and deeply concerning, like you were about to pass out face-first into the dish rack and she'd have to deal with the aftermath.

You gave her a tight, shaky smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

She just sipped her soup.

You flopped back onto the couch with the kind of theatrical flair that would've made any Disney princess proud - except your mascara was smudged down your cheeks, your mouth tasted like something had died in it, and instead of birds chirping sweetly outside your window, there was just traffic noise and your own self-loathing keeping you company.

Aika stood up and blinked against the light like a confused animal emerging from hibernation, then turned to Fumiko with big, hopeful eyes that could've sold a thousand products. "Bathroom?" she croaked, pointing vaguely toward the hallway like she was asking for directions to sanctuary.

Fumiko just sighed and nodded, flicking her fingers in the right direction. "Second door."

And suddenly Aika was reborn. "Yipee! Bless you, babe!" she chirped, practically bouncing on her heels as she scampered off. The hallway swallowed her up.

Then Fumiko sat down next to you with a sigh, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

"So," she started, voice calm but carrying that quiet kind of judgment that made your stomach twist even harder. "Care to explain how you ended up in the red light district at four in the fucking morning?"

Her tone wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.

The words jammed in your throat. You sat up a little, blinking at her like maybe you could stall long enough for a good excuse to materialize. "I... um... okay, so, like... you know how I have amnesia, right?" You immediately regretted leading with that.

Fumiko raised one eyebrow. Just one. It was somehow worse than two.

A long pause. "Right."

"Well - I mean, I thought it'd be good to explore a bit?" you continued, voice wobbling. "Just, like, shake off the cobwebs? Go on a lil' adventure? I didn't know I'd end up there...like that is so not my style..."

Your voice trailed off into a mumble, and your fingers wouldn't stop fidgeting with the fabric in your lap. You could practically feel her judging you in 4K.

Fumiko sighed. "If the hag hadn't called me himself, I wouldn't have believed a damn word about your memory loss." Her nails clicked against the table - sharp, steady, threatening. "Does amnesia also wipe out your common sense?"

You flinched, then crossed your arms, pouting like a kicked dog. "Okay, first of all - I do have amnesia. I told you that already! You don't even know if this reaction is appropriate. What if I'm traumatized or something? Did you think about that?"

She shot you a look that could've frozen lava. "You didn't forget how to talk, that's for damn sure."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Listen," she said, her voice finally going flat in that way that meant you'd really done it this time. "You're a minor. Under my care. So let's get one thing straight - this little disappearing act? Not happening again. Ever."

You stared at the floor.

"If you're upset, you go for a walk. Buy candy. Lock yourself in the bathroom and cry if you have to. Read a damn book. But sneaking out, wandering around the sketchiest part of Tokyo like you've got a fucking death wish?" She shook her head. "Not under my roof. Understood?"

Your shoulders sank a little lower into the couch.

You didn't answer. Just sat there, the weight of her words pressing into your skull harder than the hangover.

"Good." She stood up, soup bowl in hand, already done with the conversation.

You pouted harder, feeling like a kid on the edge of breaking. "Sorry. I just-" And then your body betrayed you. Your chin trembled, that familiar lump shoved itself down your throat, and before you knew it, the tears came. Great. Fucking great. Just what you needed. Aika was definitely going to get the ick!

"I just... I don't wanna be married to Naoya! I don't want to be a sorcerer! I don't want any of this!" The words came out jagged, raw and heavier than anything you'd ever said before. Your body shook as the sobs broke loose - no control, no shame in your game! "I miss my family so, so, so much. I don't belong here."

Tears streamed down your face like they had a job to do - washing away everything you tried to keep inside, dragging the past and the present into one messy flood.

Fumiko sighed - audible, sharp, the kind that said she was this close to rolling her eyes but was holding back through sheer willpower. Then, without a word, she shifted closer. Not the kind of move you expected. Definitely not some gentle "aww, sweetie" type of thing either.

She wrapped her arms around you, but careful - like she was balancing a fragile vase or, well, her baby bump. The hug was firm, not soft. Practical. Like she was saying I'm here, deal with it without actually saying it.

You leaned in, let the tears fall. She held you steady, no fuss. No coddling. Just enough to remind you you weren't completely alone.

After a while, you sat up, still sniffling but a little less wrecked. Ten minutes of ugly crying had drained something out of you, leaving you quieter and more composed. You carefully slipped out of Fumiko's grip, wiping your face on the sleeve of your long-sleeve Henley like it was the only clean thing left.

Just then, Aika burst into the living room, her voice exploding with that trademark energy that seemed to have no off switch. "Oh my gosh, you didn't tell me you had such cute cosmetics!! And Miss Dior Cherie?? Okay, girl!" Her eyes sparkled, practically lighting up the whole damn room with pure enthusiasm. If she was the type to "light up the room when she walked in," then you were definitely the type to "darken the room" or whatever the opposite was. Suck the life out of it, maybe.

"I, like, used some of your skincare and pimple patches if that's cool, babe?" She tilted her head, already knowing the answer but asking anyway because that's what polite people did, apparently.

"Even I didn't know I had these," you said.

Meanwhile, Fumiko had left your side and was already tackling the mountain of dishes in the sink. The clink and clatter filled the quiet apartment, making you feel a knot of guilt twist in your stomach. Here you were - half broken and wallowing - while a heavily pregnant woman was doing all the grown-up stuff! 

But honestly? Right now, trying to help would probably just make everything worse.

You barely registered that Aika had removed her wig and makeup. Her long, deep chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, framing those big chocolate brown eyes that looked softer now, less flashy. But wait - she had no eyebrows. Yesterday, she'd expertly painted on thin arches, but now her natural look revealed a broader nose and lips that seemed fuller without the concealer she'd put on her lips. Yeah, 2000s beauty standards, what can you say?

You blinked, stunned by the shift, trying to line up this fresh, natural Aika with the glam gyaru you'd partied with all night.

Meanwhile, Fumiko had left your side and was already tackling the mountain of dishes in the sink. The clink and clatter filled the quiet apartment, each sound making the knot of guilt in your stomach twist tighter. Here you were - half broken and wallowing on the couch like some tragic protagonist - while a heavily pregnant woman did all the grown-up stuff you should've been handling.
But honestly? Right now, trying to help would probably just make everything worse. You'd drop something, or pass out, or both.

You barely registered that Aika had removed her wig and makeup. Her long, deep chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, framing those big chocolate brown eyes that looked softer now, less flashy. But wait - she had no eyebrows. Yesterday, she'd expertly painted on thin arches, but now her natural look revealed a broader nose and lips that seemed fuller without the concealer she'd put on her lips. Yeah, 2000s beauty standards, what can you say?

You blinked, stunned by the shift, trying to line up this fresh, natural Aika with the glam gyaru you'd partied with all night.

Whatever. You were still kind of in love with her.

Aika's eyes snapped wide as she spotted Fumiko scrubbing away at the sink. "Oh my gosh, ma'am! What chu doin'?" she gasped, hands flying to her cheeks like it was, like, a total scandal.

Fumiko shot a look over her shoulder. "Washing the dishes. What does it look like?"

Aika didn't miss a beat. "Ah, I can totally do that, y'know? You're preggers and shit, you shouldn't be doin' all that!"

Fumiko looked mildly surprised but shrugged, stepping back with a tired sigh. "Fine. Just be careful - I don't need you breaking anything."

Aika beamed like she'd won gold, grabbing the sponge like it was a trophy. "Don't worry, I got this! You jus' relax an' chill, kay?"

After mustering the will to stand, you wobbled a bit, your legs still shaking like they hadn't quite gotten the memo. Aika's chatter faded behind you as you pushed open the door, curiosity pulling you toward the cosmetics she'd been raving about. You stepped into your 2006 self's room - well, her room, technically.

The walls were painted a faded pink that was probably brighter when it first went up - patchy in places, covered in thumbtack holes and curling corners of taped-up posters. KAT-TUN, NEWS, early Arashi - every boy band was accounted for, even one lone Avril Lavigne poster that had definitely been ripped out of Seventeen Japan and smoothed flat with a ruler. Clearly, your 2006 self hadn't had her gay awakening yet. That was obvious. Where are the ladies at?!

Over by the window was a plastic three-drawer organizer stacked with half-used notebooks, gel pens, sticker sheets, purikura photo strips, and tiny trinkets from gachapon machines. A half-burnt vanilla-scented candle sat next to it.

The bed was twin-sized, pushed up against the wall, with a frilly peach comforter printed with little hearts and stars. You could tell it was made in a rush: the sheets were bunched at one corner and a plush frog was half-hanging off the edge. The pillowcase had faded Care Bears on it - unironically used, not retro-cute.

Near the headboard, a flip phone charger dangled from an outlet, and a pink Hello Kitty alarm clock blinked 11:00 like it had given up on trying to keep time.

A low shelf next to the bed was cluttered with a mix of worn manga volumes, non-no and Popteen magazines, a few burned CDs with Sharpie-labeled names like "MIX <3 4 SKOOL" and "SAD JAMS," plus a box of hair dye you guessed she'd never actually gotten around to using.

The closet was cracked open, and from what you could see, it was chaos: frilled skirts, denim skirts with frayed hems, tank tops layered over each other on hangers, and a basket overflowing with mismatched socks. One pair of chunky platform sneakers peeked out from beneath it all, next to a broken umbrella.

At the vanity, things were even more unhinged. Lip gloss tubes with missing caps, glittery nail polish bottles, eyelash curlers, a Doraemon mirror with a crack in the corner. Eyeshadow palettes in shimmery blues and frosty pinks were stacked like Pokémon cards. There were Q-tips everywhere. A roll of blotting paper sheets with the logo worn off sat next to a compact with a shattered mirror taped back together with San-X character deco tape.

There were sticky notes in half-English, half-Japanese, to-do lists with doodles, and at least two opened packs of Pocky next to an old PET bottle of tea. A box of tissues sat half-pulled out beside a magazine folded open to a "Top 10 Ways to Text Your Crush Without Sounding Desperate" article.

Damn, who was her crush?! Naoya?? In that case, texting him, "women do not deserve rights. men>>" would do the job.

You just stood there for a second, blinking through the soft morning light bleeding through the sheer curtains, trying to reconcile all of this with the person you thought you were. This girl - your past self - hadn't even lived through Instagram yet. She didn't know contour existed. She thought eyeliner on the lower waterline was the look. Or pale pink lipstick. And somehow, you were her now.

You muttered under your breath, "Jesus."

And then you went to find the makeup drawer.

You trailed your fingers over the vanity, lightly brushing against sticky lip gloss tubes, powdery fallout from broken blush compacts, the fine grit of glitter that never really leaves.

It felt lived-in, yeah, but not by you. Not really.

Your eyes flicked to the desk. The frames caught the light first - glassy, clean, too perfect. You stepped closer.

There they were.

Your... parents.

You stopped breathing.

Your dad was frozen mid-laugh, mouth open like he was about to say something stupid. Because that was his thing - saying dumb shit with way too much confidence, and falling for every Facebook conspiracy that crossed his feed. Your mom leaned against his shoulder, doing that effortless soft smile she pulled out for photos.

The background was golden, maybe that summer trip you went on in 2017. Somewhere hot, somewhere from Before.

You didn't smile. Couldn't. Something twisted in your chest, slow and tight.

They looked the same. Exactly the same. But the longer you stared, the more it started to unravel. Your dad's eyes were a little too glassy, too bright. Your mom's smile stretched too wide, like someone pulled it on with fishing wire. The shadows didn't fall right - flat, too clean, like they'd been ironed on. Like the photo wasn't real.

Your throat went dry.

It was them. But it wasn't. Like a deepfake version of your memories - close enough to recognize, not close enough to trust. A replica, built from scraps of nostalgia and guesswork. Your skin started to buzz, a low static hum crawling up the back of your neck.

You backed away before your brain could decide whether to panic or not.

The air in the room changed.

The silence had weight now, like someone was holding their breath behind you. You blinked and stepped back. One step. Then another.

You turned and walked out fast, your feet slapping against the floor louder than they should've. The hallway felt too dark, too long. You didn't stop until you saw the kitchen light spilling out onto the floor.

You didn't look back.

The living room greeted you like a warm bath - soft lighting, the smell of popcorn, and the dramatic swell of the Boys Over Flowers opening theme spilling out from the TV. Fumiko and Aika were curled up on the couch like they'd lived there as roommates forever. Fumiko, now with her feet propped up, had a big mixing bowl of popcorn resting on her bump, casually picking through it like she hadn't just given you a lecture and hugged you through a breakdown. Aika sat at the edge of the couch, cross-legged, totally absorbed in the screen like it was her first time watching (it definitely wasn't).

"Heyyy, come sit!" Aika waved you over without taking her eyes off the drama.

You hesitated for half a second - but the tension, the weight in your chest, the weirdness from the photos - all of it kind of melted the second you sat down. The couch was warm from where they'd been sitting. You pulled a throw blanket over your lap, let yourself sink into it, and didn't say much.

Time slipped by like that - half-lost in the over-the-top plot twists, the guy with weird eyebrows who's constantly mewing, the cliche lines. Fumiko would make the occasional dry comment without looking up from her popcorn, and Aika kept reacting like she was live-streaming to an audience, gasping and shouting, clapping at her favorite scenes. You even laughed, real laughter, the kind that surprised you as it came out.

And then Aika's flip phone started vibrating aggressively against the table, the screen lighting up with a charm dangling from the antenna.

"Ugh, my mom," she groaned, flipping it open with one hand and slumping back into the couch.

The call was short - some quick words, a little sigh, and a muted "yes" that already told you she wasn't winning the argument. When she hung up, her pout was already forming.

"I gotta go," she huffed, dragging herself off the couch like it physically hurt. "She's making me pick up her antibiotics again. Kill me."

Fumiko rolled her eyes and pushed herself up with a small grunt, already heading to the kitchen. "Hold on," she said, opening the fridge and grabbing the miso pot. She poured the leftovers into a Tupperware with a practiced flick of the wrist. "This is for your 'vacuum-ass brother,'" she added, deadpan, snapping the lid shut.

Aika burst out laughing. "You remembered that?! God, he is a vacuum. Thankies, Fumiko!" She stuffed the container into her oversized purse, gave you both a quick hug - squeezing you like she was wringing the last bit of energy out of you - and then bounded toward the door, already mid-sentence about how unfair everything was.

The door shut behind Aika with a final little clack.

Fumiko barely gave it two seconds before glancing at the wall clock, already shifting gears. Her expression snapped from chill to all business like someone had hit a switch. "Great. It's one," she said, clapping her hands once, loud enough to make you flinch. "If we start getting ready now, we'll be out of here by three. Just like Masamichi told me."

You blinked at her, still kind of hungover, still kind of emotionally raw from earlier. "Wait. Hold on. What? Where are we going? And who the hell is... Madimadjhi?"

She gave you such a flat stare you could've laid tiles on it.

"Masamichi," she corrected, slowly and without patience. "We're going to Jujutsu High."

Your stomach dropped.

Oh. Oh. Right. That Jujutsu High.

You forced a nod, the weight of it settling in your chest like a rock. "Yeah. Cool. Awesome. My dream," you mumbled, staring into the middle distance like you were trying to teleport out of the situation with pure willpower. The comfort of Boys Over Flowers and miso soup and Aika's tragic pimple drama was slipping through your fingers fast, and all that was left was reality - and the part of it where you got dragged into sorcerer bullshit against your will.

"Get ready. We're leaving in forty-five, and if you make me late..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

You nodded like your life depended on it and made a beeline for the bathroom, your brain instantly shifting into crisis mode. You yanked open the door, spotted the pink toothbrush, and decided it was probably yours. Didn't matter. You brushed your teeth like someone trying to erase all evidence of last night's sins. Minty foam dripped down your chin while your hand shook trying to wash your face at the same time. Multi-tasking, baby.

Your face in the mirror looked like hell - puffy, uneven, haunted even. You slapped on enough makeup to pass: foundation, concealer, highlighter to fake being alive, a little mascara, and eyeliner so thin it was basically a rumor. You didn't trust yourself to do wings today. Not with the way your hands were trembling. Lip liner and gloss followed - quick, neat, just enough to say "I care" without pushing it.

The clothes situation wasn't pretty either. You ended up throwing on a black pullover and matching jeans - easy, comfy and definitely reflective of your current dark soul. Yeah, you were going through it. You get to be corny as a treat.

You rummaged through the drawers, trying to pack with something that vaguely resembled a plan - but it mostly turned into panic-hoarding. Visual Kei band tees got shoved in first, followed by socks, deodorant, and an old-school iPod that made your soul sigh in relief. Thank God your past self had taste. The underwear situation made you hesitate, though - technically it was yours, but also... not? The idea of wearing it felt like putting on someone else's skin. You threw in a few pairs with a grimace anyway. A charger for the ancient flip phone got tangled around your hair brush, and half the stuff you grabbed was wrinkled to hell. Whatever. Future-you could deal with ironing. Current-you had bigger problems.

And then your hand paused over one of the framed photos.

Your - her - family.

You stared at it for a second, heart tight, and quietly slipped it between two folded shirts like you were smuggling something sacred. It wasn't really yours, not fully. But it meant something. That was enough. You wanted to remember their faces even though it didn't feel like them.

You zipped up the bag, took one last look in the mirror, and whispered under your breath like a Disney movie main character, "Okay. Let's get this over with."

You stepped out, praying Fumiko wouldn't comment on how long it took to pack for a literal school. No such luck.

She was already waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, foot tapping against the tatami with silent judgment. Her eyes locked onto you like she'd been standing there exactly five minutes just to make a point. Knowing her, she probably did.

"You're late," she said flatly, her tone razor-thin with irritation.

You opened your mouth, some half-baked excuse already forming - time is fake, the drawer attacked you, you had a minor existential crisis - but she cut you off with a sharp look.

"Don't bother. Just get your shoes on. We're leaving."

You nodded like a scolded kid and scrambled to jam your feet into your sneakers, muttering a soft "okay" under your breath. Fumiko didn't even glance at your bags as you stumbled behind her, loaded up like you were prepping for a month-long evacuation. She carried two light tote bags with absolute grace. You, on the other hand, were doing a full-body workout trying not to drop anything.

No one said anything about the five bags you were dragging, but the silence was loud. So loud. You could feel the judgment seeping out of her aura like a passive-aggressive fog. But you powered through, jaw clenched, because if she said anything you might actually cry again.

The trunk of her little car was laughably small, so what followed was a full five-minute Tetris boss level moment - one bag wedged sideways, another stacked vertically, your backpack half-crushed under a tote. You slammed the trunk shut with a triumphant grunt. "Hell yeah! They're all in, baby," you exhaled, wiping sweat off your forehead like you'd just won a war. Some of your foundation ended up smeared on the back of your hand, but hey...

Fumiko gave you a long look. Her mouth twitched like she was trying very hard not to smile. "Get in," was all she said.

She slid into the driver's seat and started the engine without another word. Her expression was focused, mouth set in a firm line. "We're taking the expressway. Less traffic."

You climbed into the back, seatbelt clicking into place as Tokyo stretched out around you. Neon signs, overhead wires, blinking walk lights - everything moving, alive and fast.

And then Fumiko hit the gas like she was entering the Initial D championship.

The car surged forward. You slammed back into the seat. "Oh my god!" you yelped, gripping the handle above the window as she cut through lanes like a pro.

"Hold on," she said, calm as ever, hands steady at ten and two, eyes locked on the road like it was personal.

Your stomach flipped with every sharp turn, the city flashing past in a blur of color and speed. Skyscraper, truck, vending machine, a grandma - nope, gone.

"Are we seriously doing this?" you half-yelled, unsure if you were terrified or kind of having fun.

Fumiko didn't look back. She just smirked and kept driving. "We'll make it."

The wind rushed through the open windows, and for a second - just a second - you weren't thinking about Jujutsu High or cursed energy or amnesia or Naoya bitchass Zen'in. You were just in it. Barreling through Tokyo in a compact car with a pregnant woman driving like she had something to prove.

And maybe she did.

(Okay, it was kinda fun. The baby in there was probably doing acrobatics.)

"I'm gonna fucking kill Masamichi for making me do this," Fumiko muttered, white-knuckling the steering wheel as she swerved around a sharp bend. The car rattled down a narrow street that looked more like a footpath than an actual road.

You clung to the door handle, watching the trees blur past. "Right? I'm not even ready for this. Like, at all." You tried to sound casual, but your voice cracked halfway through, nerves tightening around your stomach like a vice. First day at Jujutsu High. Fuck.

As the road came to an abrupt end, Fumiko jerked the car into park, half on the curb, half on a patch of grass that may or may not have been sacred ground. She flung the door open with a grunt and hauled herself out like she did this every day.

You followed, shouldering your bag and staring up at the looming structure ahead. The school looked just like it did in the anime - except now it was real, and you were in it, and it was way more ominous when it wasn't in 2D. It rose above the trees like it had always been there. Ancient, weirdly out of place, and somehow already judging you.

"Well, we can't drive up there," Fumiko muttered, eyeing the staircase that stretched up like a cursed version of a gym membership ad. "Let's move."

You stared at the stairs. "Oh cool. Yeah. Love stairs." You adjusted your backpack.

Fumiko led the way, her pace surprisingly fast for someone with a literal baby in their body. You struggled to keep up, partly because of the bags, but mostly because your legs weren't emotionally prepared.

"So," you asked between breaths, "you were a student here too?"

She nodded without looking back. "Yep. Sorceress, student back in the late 80s. Jujutsu High was... the worst. And the best. Mostly the worst."

That tracked.

"Made good money, though," she added, brushing hair out of her face. "Spent most of it on antidepressants and whatever dopamine I could get my hands on. Designer clothes, alcohol, Daifuku - whatever shut my brain up after a mission."

You blinked. "Wow. Sounds like a dream."

Fumiko let out a short, dry laugh. "Being a sorcerer? It's basically trauma bonding with a bunch of people you can't stand, crying together in the back of some busted ambulance. Stockholm syndrome with extra blood and curses." She shook her head.

"Well, that sounds real promising for my future."

She gave you a sideways grin like she'd already seen your past-2006-self survive worse. "Don't sweat it. You'll fit in just fine."

"But don't go getting all fired up trying to climb the ranks too fast. With your amnesia, you might even get dropped a grade or two. Honestly? That's probably for the best." Her voice softened a little, but the warning was clear. "Those semi-special-grade kids? Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru? They're ticking time bombs - always pushed onto missions way above their paygrade. It's a miracle they're still walking around."

You swallowed hard, whispering, "Oh... you mean those two?" Your eyes darted around like saying their names out loud might actually summon them. Speak of the devil, and all that.

She caught the flicker of panic in your eyes and gave a quiet smile, shaking her head like she was humoring a kid. "So, Gojo Satoru's gonna be your classmate, huh? Yeah, and that other boy - the one who messes with cursed spirits - he's pretty famous too. You know, if Gojo actually showed interest in you, the clan might just call off that whole marriage with Naoya. The Zen'in family? Totally terrified of the Gojo clan. And that guy? Refuses all matchmaking offers. But if he ever settled on someone, they'd pull out all the stops to make her marry him. Seriously."

You stared at her, completely taken aback. She was fucking insane. You preferred her when she was mad at you!

"I don't want to get married and be forced to have, like, eight kids by the higher-ups. No ma'am, no ma'am," you shook your head. Fumiko burst out laughing at your wide-eyed expression, but before she could throw out another quip, you spotted Yaga just standing there, arms crossed like he was judging the universe. But then you saw it - Baby Panda! He was hanging out next to Yaga, completely engrossed in a Lightning McQueen car, rolling it around...

Panda. A literal panda.

"Fumiko," Yaga said, low and teasing.

"Masamichi," she shot back, challenge in her eyes like she was daring him to say more.

You barely caught their boomer sexual tension because your eyes locked on Baby Panda, zooming around on the floor in a tiny Lightning McQueen car. You pointed, mouth hanging open. "Wait - Is that a fucking panda?"

They both turned, the tension breaking like a snapped thread.

"Yeah, that's Baby Panda," Yaga said, laughing. "Don't be fooled by the size. He's way more than just a stuffed animal."

The panda looked up at you and waved like it was the most normal thing ever. "Panda is panda," he said, like it was the obvious truth of the universe. Indeed.

You blinked, half convinced this was some kind of hangover fever dream. Because seriously, what else could explain this?

"Why... a panda? Like an actual panda? Like, why?" you blurted out, your mind racing. You had watched the anime more times than you could count, and devoured the manga, but this? Seeing Panda was just insane. Maybe it was just because pandas were your favorite animals, and because he was fucking adorable as a baby! Though, you weren't looking forward to him becoming a teenage boy and going around asking Yuta "ass or tits"? That was Yuki's job! 

"Can... can I hold it?" you stammered, excitement bubbling up despite yourself. Fumiko snorted, amused by your sudden switch to pronouns, while Baby Panda eyed you with a tiny, serious squint.

"Yes, you may," he said, his voice ridiculously high-pitched but dead serious - like some tiny, wise old man trapped in a panda's body.

You blinked. "Wait - did a panda just talk to me?"

Yaga chuckled, clearly entertained. "Welcome to the Jujutsu world."

Heart pounding, you knelt down, arms outstretched. Baby Panda waddled over without hesitation and climbed into your lap, his fur impossibly soft against your skin.

This was the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Fumiko and Yaga drifted into some low-toned, serious conversation, but honestly? You barely caught a word. Your full attention was glued to this fluffy little legend in your arms.

His tiny paws scrabbled at your pullover, and before you knew it, you were tickling his belly. A soft, playful noise bubbled out of him, and damn, your heart just melted.

Awwww, he was so cute! Too bad he's destined to be a useless nepo baby who randomly busts out Spanish like it's some special power move (he only did it once, but your point still stands.) Like, dude, nobody gives a shit if you can say "hola" - get your ass to Shinjuku and beat up Sukuna already!

As Yaga led the way through campus, you took in your surroundings quietly. Jujutsu High wasn't what you expected - a weird mix of ancient temple vibes and modern training grounds, all wrapped in thick greenery. 

Fumiko trailed behind, eyes scanning the buildings with that mix of nostalgia and irritation only someone who's been there can have.

"This place hasn't changed much since we were students, huh?" Yaga said, his voice deep and easy, carrying across the courtyard.

Fumiko snorted dryly. "Same old crumbling walls, same cursed energy stink in the air. Remember that idiot who got stuck inside a cursed painting for two days because he thought it was 'art'?"

Yaga laughed. "Yeah, had to drag him out myself. He wouldn't stop yammering about how he'd 'connected with the curse.'"

They kept reminiscing as you walked through the school grounds. Rows of straw dummies stood stiff on the training field, each one sliced clean in half - a brutal scoreboard of past students' battles. Hell no. You couldn't help but wish they were all as hopeless and untalented as you felt right now.

Fumiko nodded toward the corner. "That's where I broke my leg during sparring."

Yaga grinned. "And you still won. Couldn't walk for weeks, but still won."

As you walked through the hallways, Yaga explained the practical side of things. "This is the main building - classrooms, faculty offices. You'll be spending most of your time here. The dorms are up ahead, but we'll get to those later. This place runs on more than just education. It's a safe haven for sorcerers, a place to train, to hone skills, and sometimes..." he trailed off, his voice a little more serious, "...to recover."

Fumiko's gaze softened as she glanced at Yaga, her hand resting on her belly. "Some of us came here to escape. It wasn't all bad. Though, if I had to spar with that Inumaki idiot again, I'd quit on the spot."

Yaga chuckled. "He's still around. More annoying than ever."

You couldn't help but pipe up, "So... was this place a nightmare, or something you actually miss?"

Ha, look at you being all philosophical and shit!

Fumiko smiled, her eyes drifting up to the weathered buildings like she was reading something written in the cracks and faded paint. "Great question."

You caught yourself silently patting your own back for that one, too busy being proud of yourself to really focus on whatever else she said after that.

"It's both," she added, voice low but steady. "This place made us who we are - for better or worse. Just don't let it swallow you whole."

Yaga turned toward you, his face tightening just a little. "Jujutsu High's gonna push you hard - but it won't break you. Not unless you let it. You've gotta want it. Make this place yours. Otherwise, you're just another story lost in these halls."

You didn't feel like getting ominous pieces of advice from these boomers so you changed the topic. "Can I go see the dorm?" you asked, still holding baby Panda, who had relaxed in your arms like a sleepy toddler.

Yaga glanced at you and then at the panda cub in your arms, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to suppress a grin. "Sure, let's get that out of the way. It's just up this path," he motioned, starting to lead the way again.

Fumiko furrowed her brows at you. "You planning to carry that thing the whole way?"

You looked down at Panda, who yawned and nestled deeper into your arms. "Um... yeah, I guess."

Yaga chuckled softly. "He seems to like you. Just don't drop him."

You followed Yaga through the dorm hallways, passing door after door. "This one's Ieri's room - second-year," he said, tapping a door.

A few steps later, he stopped again. "Geto Suguru's. He's your year. Smart kid."

Finally, at the end of the hall, he pointed to a plain door. "Gojo Satoru's. Also in your class. You'll meet them all soon enough. Gojo... well, you'll see."

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

Yaga opened another door to a sparse, undecorated room - just a bed, a desk, a closet, and a window. 

You glanced back at Yaga and handed Baby Panda over like you were returning borrowed property.

Fumiko's eyes went wide, her whole face lighting up with this subtle excitement that cracked through her usual tired exterior. "That was my room," she said softly, her voice carrying something almost wistful. She stepped inside without hesitation, eyes already scanning the space like she was hunting for buried treasure. "I used to scribble stuff on the walls. Wonder if any of it's still there."

Without waiting for permission or acknowledgment, she moved further in, glancing back at Yaga. He followed silently, Panda still cradled in his arms like the world's chunkiest baby. The air between them felt thick - weighted down with old memories and all the things people never quite say out loud.

Listening to them bounce memories back and forth felt like you'd accidentally wandered into someone else's conversation - the kind where you're very much not invited but also can't exactly leave without making it weird. A third wheel in the most literal sense.

So you slipped out, practically tiptoeing through the door like some cartoon character, craving that slap of fresh air against your face. Their laughter faded behind you as you found a nearby bench and collapsed onto it, letting the cool breeze work its magic on the jumble in your head.

New school. New people. New life.

You felt like some random extra who got thrown into season five of a show you'd never even watched. And honestly? You had the sinking feeling that the fans of said show would fucking hate you on top of everything else.

Pulling out your phone, you stared at the screen. Aika's message blinked back at you: im h0m3.

Your thumb hovered over the call button, caught between the urge to reach out and that sinking little voice in your gut whispering maybe she was already tired of you. Normally, you'd just brush it off with a "fuck it," but right now, you didn't want to risk messing things up. Coming across as too clingy.

It made sense - Aika was your lifeline here, the closest thing to a friend in this weird new world. Losing her would mean losing everything. So before your brain could spiral further, you hit the call.

One ring. Then her voice filled your ears.

"Oh hiiii!"

"Hi, sorry if-"

"Nah, girl, I'm just doin' my makeup for work, but like, I don't mind chattin' if you worried 'bout that!"

"Oh, so I'm not interrupting?"

"Ugh, don't sweat it, babe! I start work at 4, so we got plenty of time to yak. You good?"

"Well, I'm checking out my new school, but my dorm room's empty as fuck. You free these days or...?" You trailed off, not trying to sound too needy.

"Oh, work's from 4 to 2, but like, tomorrow morning? Totally free! I usually take a lil' nap before though."

You furrowed your brow. "Wait, so when exactly are you free?"

"From like 10 to 1, all yours, girl!" Aika laughed. "Sooo, how's school? Met those two guys yet?"

"Not yet," you said, eyes darting around. "They're on some mission or something. All three classmates."

Before you could say more, a voice yelled from somewhere nearby, "Hiiii!"

Aika gasped, giggling on the other end. "Ooooh, am I interruptin' something? I'll bounce, k?" Then - click - she hung up.

Girl, what the hell?!

She wanted to get rid of you!

You looked up just as two teenage boys strolled toward you. One had a bowl cut, dark hair, thin eyebrows, and wide chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to be buzzing with energy. His Jujutsu High uniform was standard, but his jacket was cropped and flapping open. Next to him was a blonde guy sporting a haircut so specific it screamed "emo early 2000s".

The blonde was clearly trying to hold the dark-haired one back, but the other just bounced forward like a puppy off its leash, practically skipping your way. You blinked, caught off guard. Then it clicked.

Haibara and Nanami.

You almost couldn't believe you were seeing them live and in person - two names that, until now, had just existed in manga panels and anime scenes.

"Hi, are you the last Majiwara?" the dark-haired one chirped, way too casual for a question that should've been way more intense.

Nanami hissed sharply from behind, clearly mortified. You got it. If you were really the person they thought you were, you'd probably be offended too.

But lucky for them, you felt absolutely no connection to your now-dead clan.

You fought down a laugh at Nanami's haircut and locked eyes with Haibara. "The one and only," you said, voice smooth like you'd been waiting for this moment all day.

Haibara's grin vanished instantly, and behind him, Nanami started muttering quick apologies for his friend's outburst. Well, so your clan was kind of a big deal. Cool, news to you.

"I don't mind, really," you shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Makes me feel like some shounen protagonist with a tragic backstory and all that jazz. So, who are you two?"

"I'm Yu Haibara," he said, bright as ever, giving a polite bow. Then, like second-guessing himself, he added, "Nice to meet you, Majiwara-san...?"

He looked at you with such sincerity that it was almost painful like he was expecting you to confirm some grand heroic lineage or something. You could practically feel Nanami silently pleading for this interaction to end already.

You snorted, half-amused. "Just first name is fine with me. I kind of lied when I said I didn't mind it at all. Getting reminded of what happened every single time someone calls me that kinda sucks, you know?" You paused, watching Haibara's face drop slightly, and Nanami glance away like he wanted to vanish. "Nice to meet you two, by the way," you added casually, before deciding to really lean into it. If they were gonna bring up your mysterious dead clan, might as well make it awkward for them! 

You threw in a bit of a dramatic sigh, just to mess with them. Trauma dumping for something that didn't even happen to you was probably a new low, but hey, when in Rome. Still, you weren't lying about preferring to be called by your first name. The last name? That just wasn't you. It wasn't your last name.

Haibara's eyes lit up like he just got the right answer on a test. "Got it!" he yelled enthusiastically, flashing you a thumbs-up that was almost too much energy for you to handle. Meanwhile, Nanami, who looked like he wanted to sink into the ground at his friend's over-the-top antics, blushed deeply and cleared his throat.

"Nanami Kento. Also a first year," he murmured, giving a small, polite bow. You couldn't help but grin - what a cutie patootie. Honestly, you had no clue how these two ended up friends, but it was kind of adorable.

"I'm a second year, though I have no idea how I'll manage with my amnesia and... well, with classmates like you guys. Everyone here is sooo cool," you sighed dramatically.

Haibara gasped, eyes wide. Nanami just stared, brows raised.

"No way! The rumors were true?! You have amnesia and don't remember anything about your dead clan? Damn, you're like a real-life Sasuke - except worse!"

You snorted. "Yeah, maybe. But I wouldn't call myself Sasuke-level. His clan was wiped out by his brother. I'm not sure mine got the 'family drama' memo... unless-" You paused, eyes widening in mock horror. "Please don't tell me my sibling killed everyone and now I have to go on some epic vengeance quest!"

Haibara practically flailed, waving his hands. "No, no, no! That's not it! No vengeance quests here! You're safe!" He scratched the back of his head, a bit awkward. "And don't sweat it too much - Geto's super duper talented and really chill. He'll definitely have your back."

"I've heard some interesting things about Gojo," you said, noticing Nanami visibly shudder at the name. "But on the bright side, I've only heard good things about Geto. Honestly, I'm looking forward to meeting him."

"He's the coolest, you'll see! And he's got this awesome dragon too!" Haibara practically bounced with excitement, hyping up Geto like he was talking about a superhero. Meanwhile, Nanami, clearly checked out of the convo, pulled out his iPod and slipped on his earphones, mentally clocking out.

"With how much you're hyping him up, I might have to join the Geto fan club. Who else is in it?"

Haibara grinned like you just asked the best question ever. "Oh, so far I'm president, Gojo-san's vice president, Kento's a member," he elbowed Nanami, who now stared dramatically at the sky with his earphones in, pretending not to care. "And Ieri-san! You're welcome to join anytime!"

You chuckled, wondering if this fan club was a joke or real. Either way, Geto sounded like he had a cult following. Considering how hot he is as an adult, you'd join too. No shame!

"You better let me be vice president," you teased, shooting Haibara a mock glare. He laughed, clearly digging the banter.

"Anyway," you shifted gears, "would you two mind helping me with a package? Well, half of it at least. I'll bring the other half tomorrow."

You mostly looked at Haibara - Nanami was still off in his own world. Haibara immediately brightened, eager to help.

"Of course! Anything you need!" he said, grinning, ready to follow you.

You rummaged through your jeans pockets, finally fishing out the car key with a satisfied grunt. Nanami, still looking a little lost, trailed after you in silence, though he didn't seem too opposed to tagging along.

When you popped the trunk, Haibara's once-bright smile dimmed considerably. His eyes widened as he took in the sheer amount of baggage piled up.

"Oh, uh... I thought you said it was just half," he said, his voice betraying a nervous smile as he scratched the back of his head.

Nanami, on the other hand, frowned, already counting the number of bags like he was calculating whether or not this was physically possible. His disapproving silence spoke volumes.

You whined dramatically, "Yeah, I knooow, but it's not that much. I only had, like, 30 minutes to pack all of this. I still have most of my makeup, shoes, and books left." You waved your hand dismissively like the trunk wasn't overflowing with stuff.

Haibara blinked at you, then the luggage, looking slightly overwhelmed. Nanami just pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to mentally prepare himself for what was ahead.

"When I came here, I had one bag with me and a dream!" Haibara replied with a wide grin, trying to lighten the mood as he picked up one of your bags.

Nanami raised an eyebrow at him. "That's... inspiring," he deadpanned, grabbing a bag himself, though you could tell he was silently questioning how he got roped into this.

You blinked at Haibara, then sized him up, squinting a bit. "You use 3-in-1 shampoo, don't you?"

Haibara's face lit up in surprise, "4-in-1 actually! But how'd you know?"

You closed your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. Before you could respond, Nanami slapped the back of his head with a sigh, clearly embarrassed for his friend.

You grabbed the lightest bag and set off, making multiple trips that felt endless. It was ridiculous how many times you had to go back and forth, especially since your tiny dorm barely had room for all your stuff - and that wasn't even all of it! Each trip felt like a workout, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd manage once everything was finally settled in.

With that, you waved goodbye to the boys, who were both dripping with sweat from hauling your stuff. "See you tomorrow!" you called out, grinning at their exhausted faces.

Chapter Text

Satoru Gojo lounged on the train seat, his long-ass legs spread wide in blatant disregard for the limited space and every unspoken rule of Japanese public transport etiquette. The train rumbled along its tracks, and he couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips as disapproving glances landed on him from all sides. In front of him, Suguru Geto gripped the train handle with one hand, his other tucked casually in his pocket. He shot Satoru a reproachful look, shaking his head in that silent, disappointed way that said everything without a single word.

"You're such trash," Shoko said flatly, lighting up a cigarette like the no-smoking sign on the wall was a suggestion and not a rule. She took a drag, exhaling slowly. "Terrorizing innocent, law-abiding Japanese citizens like this." Her tone was dry, but there was amusement underneath it. "Thank god there'll finally be another girl."

Satoru grinned, completely unbothered. "Aw, c'mon, Shoko. You know you looooove us."

Shoko didn't dignify that with a response, just took another drag and looked out the window like she was questioning every life choice that led her here.

Suguru's gaze drifted down to the floor, his expression thoughtful. He had that look - the one where he tilted his head slightly, eyes distant, like he was working through something in his mind. "The new girl, huh?" he said quietly, almost to himself.

Satoru's face lit up instantly. He whipped out his flip phone with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for lottery winners and shoved the screen in Suguru's face. "She better look like Ayaka Komatsu!" he exclaimed, grinning like an idiot. "Isn't she hot?"

Suguru's eyes flicked over the image - some model posing on a magazine cover. He paused, considering. "Not your usual type," he said slowly, like he was trying to be diplomatic. "But yeah. I guess."

Shoko sighed, the kind of sigh that came from deep within her soul. "Seriously, what's with you and making random women your phone wallpaper?"

Satoru gasped, slapping a hand to his chest like she'd just stabbed him. "Ehhh?! You're making me sound like some total creep here! She's not just any random woman - she's a model! There's a difference, Shoko!" He flashed that stupidly confident grin of his. "I've got standards, y'know."

Shoko opened her mouth, then closed it. She stared at him for a long moment, visibly weighing whether it was worth the energy to explain why that absolutely did not help his case. The answer was no. Maybe the new girl would back her up on this. She could only hope. Then again, she'd tried that once already and the girl in question had taken an immediate liking to Satoru's bullshit, so obviously that hadn't worked out.

Suguru cleared his throat, clearly trying to redirect before this spiraled into another one of their arguments. "So... I heard she's got amnesia," he said, keeping his tone casual even though something heavier sat beneath it. "Apparently it happened while she was with the Zen'ins."

He cringed the second the words left his mouth, suddenly aware of how gossip-y that sounded. Not his finest moment.

Shoko muttered under her breath, barely audible over the rumble of the train. "Gee. Wonder how that could've happened." The sarcasm dripped off every word, and she didn't bother hiding the accusation in her voice.

"Amnesia? Man, that's rough," Satoru said, whistling low.

Suguru nodded. "Yeah. You can say that again."

Satoru leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. "Wait, but if she's got amnesia, how's she supposed to remember her clan's cursed technique? Don't people with amnesia, like, have to relearn everything?"

Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the window. "It's selective amnesia," she explained, her tone clinical but lazy. "Or dissociative amnesia, if we're being specific. You forget stuff - usually the nasty bits - after trauma or whatever."

Both boys gave her a look.

Suguru sighed. "Eloquent as always, Shoko."

She shrugged. "I try."

Satoru's grin faded just a bit, his tone shifting to something lighter. "Ehh, trauma or not, she better not slow us down, y'know? Can't be dragging dead weight around." He tilted his head. "Jujutsu world's not exactly gonna go easy on her just 'cause she's got some tragic backstory with her clan."

And that was the exact moment it happened.

Satoru, having deactivated his Infinity after the exhaustion of a long mission, didn't expect that a regular civilian would manage to inflict physical violence on him. Not here. Not on a public train.

He was lounging comfortably, taking up way too much space and breaking every rule of basic train etiquette, when a voice cut through the crowd like a blade.

"Aika, hold my body pillows."

The words were sharp, irritated, and way too close.

Before Satoru could even process what was happening, a sharp elbow jabbed straight into his face - aimed right at his sunglasses and driving them down into the bridge of his nose. The so-called "strongest sorcerer" (which, honestly, was a stretch - Yuki Tsukumo held that title, but who was counting?) staggered back, blinking furiously as the sudden impact sent stars exploding across his vision. His hand flew to his face instinctively, fingers fumbling to readjust the sunglasses that had been shoved halfway down his face.

No way...

"Talk shit, get hit," the voice declared.

Satoru blinked through the sting, utterly dumbfounded. How the hell did this happen?! He didn't sense them coming. Not even Suguru had noticed! And yet here he was, nursing the aftermath of a civilian sucker... elbow to the face.

As his vision cleared, he finally laid eyes on the culprit - or at least, one of them. A hot girl in a tight dress stood nearby, her arms loaded with Hello Kitty plushies and two body pillows featuring anime men with, well... questionable proportions. But she couldn't be the one who hit him - her hands were literally full!

Then you spoke up. "See, Aika? I told you. I've got, like, this sixth sense when someone talks shit about me." You paused, clearly pleased with yourself. "Not even someone with six eyes could beat it."

Ha!

Damn, maybe if this whole investing thing flops, stand-up comedy's got your name on it.

Satoru blinked. This was not how he expected his day to go.

"Six eyes?" Shoko squinted at you, her gaze shifting between you and Satoru like she was trying to piece together the absurdity of what just happened. She looked you over, clearly unsure whether to laugh or be concerned.

"Yeah, six eyes," you said, grinning like you'd just won something. "What? It's a thing, right? His technique, non?" You tossed in a playful French accent on that last word - like that Bella Hadid video - just to mess with them. Might as well gaslight everyone into thinking you're French. Sky's the limit, after all.

Shoko sighed, rubbing her temple like she could feel a headache forming. "I mean... yes, but... who even are you?"

"The very same person you were talking about," you said smoothly. "You know. Speak of the devil, and she shall appear."

Satoru, still nursing his bruised ego more than his actual face, stared at you in disbelief. "You elbowed me."

"And so I did."

You stood there, arms crossed, looking mildly annoyed, your gaze fixed on Satoru in a silent challenge. Suguru's eyes darted between the two of you like he was watching the most intense ping-pong match of his life.

Aika bumped your shoulder playfully, the body pillow - featuring none other than Junjou Romantica's inbred-looking Akihiko Usami, complete with his oversized hands and tiny, disproportionate head - wobbling comically in her arms.

"Oooh, a clan? Like, some fancy aristocratic family?" Aika chirped, her voice all mock-innocent and way too cute for how pointed she was being. "Can you be my sugar mommy, pwety pwease?"

Her sudden burst of energy cracked the tension like a light bulb flickering on, throwing you off for just a second.

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, no. Sorry, girl," you said dryly. "I'm planning on investing whatever cash I've got left and never working a day in my life. Seriously, I'd rather die than do a 9-to-5, especially in customer service. You know, dealing with 'gentle parenting' people my parents' age, explaining why 'REMOVE YOUR CARD' literally means you can remove your card - that's just not the life for me, I fear."

Aika pouted.

You turned your attention back to the three staring at you like you'd just walked out of a fever dream. "Anyway, as I was saying, I'm fully aware that being in the Jujutsu World won't be a walk in the park, and yeees, I am very traumatized."

Your tone was sharp, laced with just enough venom to sting. Inwardly, you found the whole situation hilarious. Shit-talking people with your friends was a normal pastime, so doing this was a tad bit hypocritical on your part, but watching them squirm? That was too good.

Suguru bowed slightly, his expression carefully neutral. "I apologize if you've taken it that way," he said, his voice measured and smooth. "We didn't mean any offense." He straightened, meeting your eyes. "It seems you still have some understanding of how your cursed technique works. I'm Suguru Geto, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

You frowned, narrowing your eyes at him. Not him giving you the classic gaslighter apology! Oh hell nah!

Suguru shot Satoru a sharp look, the kind that said apologize right now or I'm throwing you under the bus, even if deep down he kinda agreed with what Satoru had said earlier.

Satoru groaned, tossing his head back dramatically against the seat. "Ugh, fine. You managed to sneak up on me after a mission with my Infinity deactivated. Who caaaaares?" He smirked, that cocky edge creeping back into his voice. "That still doesn't say much about your talent."

Aika tilted her head, staring at Satoru with a finger on her chin, her arm awkwardly extended around the Usami body pillow. "Oh, is that the white-haired classmate you were talking about?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, him. He's like my albino child I randomly gave birth to in a prehistoric African village during Pangea. I wrapped him in a malanga leaf and left him in a cave miles away from the village." You paused, letting that sink in. "My abandoned albino child from lifetimes before this one has been reincarnated as Satoru Gojo to make me pay for my past life attempts at infanticide."

Shoko let out a shocked laugh, loud enough to draw even more dirty looks your way. As if the glares from earlier weren't enough - now even more eyes were glued to the shirtless body pillow with its disproportionately large hands. You hated it just as much as they did, but what choice did you have? You had to take the train!

Suguru laughed but quickly covered it up with a cough when Satoru shot him a death glare.

"What the hell is this even supposed to mean?!" Satoru snapped, sounding genuinely offended.

"Nothing." You waved him off dismissively, already moving on. "Are you guys heading to the school? I'll forgive you for inflicting this trauma on me if you take these things to my dorm." Without waiting for an answer, you shoved the Hello Kitty plushies into Shoko's arms, the Akihiko Usami body pillow to Gojo, and the Yoh Miyagi one to Geto. "They better be there and in perfect condition when I come tomorrow. Otherwise, I'm telling Yaga I'm getting bullied."

With that, you grabbed Aika's wrist and dragged her off the train the second it reached your stop, leaving the three of them frozen in stunned silence.

They exchanged glances, eyes wide, mouths slightly open, until a stern-looking mother covering her child's eyes stepped forward.

"Excuse me," she said sharply, her voice dripping with judgment. "Could you at least attempt to hide this obscenity in public? There are children here!"

Satoru and Suguru exchanged another look - this time, a silent agreement passed between them.

They had just met their arch-nemesis.

Meanwhile, Shoko was absolutely thriving, cuddling the Hello Kitty plushies like they were the best thing that had happened to her all week.

Chapter Text

You were in the middle of adding the 1st and 2nd years' contact names (courtesy of Haibara) when Fumiko walked toward the car, carrying a puppet with boxing gloves and a stack of photos. She called out your name, snapping your attention from your phone. Your eyes landed on the puppet - shit, it looked way too similar to the one from season 1 of Jujutsu Kaisen, the one that punched Yuji whenever he failed to channel cursed energy into it.

Fumiko immediately handed the puppet to Yaga, who stood behind her, holding baby Panda's hand. Cute. She almost skipped over to you - she wasn't very expressive about much besides judgment, but you could tell she was happy.

"Look, these are pictures of me when I was a student here. What do you think of my summer and winter uniforms?" You squinted at the photos, seeing a young Fumiko posing with what seemed to be a slightly younger Yaga - who honestly looked the same, just minus the mustache and beard - and some white-haired guy with purple eyes.

They stood out on the training field. The uniform in the picture had a sleek, formal design in dark navy blue. The top part resembled a traditional Japanese school uniform with long sleeves and a high collar (aka the usual Jujutsu Tech uniform), with two buttons near the neckline in a gakuran style. The bottom transitioned into a long, flared skirt that flowed below the knees, almost giving off a formal, old-fashioned vibe - something you'd expect to see Gertrude wear at church.

You pursed your lips, mulling it over and realizing just how different your body type was from Fumiko's, so would it fit you the way it fit her? You couldn't picture fighting in a skirt being comfy at all, but then again, you weren't the type to throw hands anyway, so it didn't really matter. Fumiko's skirt was a bit longer than Nobara's, definitely not one of those miniskirts where your George Bush would be hanging out. Paris Hilton might've been onto something with her "skirt should be the size of a belt" mantra, but you were more about comfort.

Your discomfort tolerance was practically non-existent, and even the smallest inconvenience had you complaining to anyone within a five-meter radius.

The other uniform was clearly the winter one. This time Fumiko was posing in a classroom. It featured a fitted, buttoned-up top with a high collar and long, wide sleeves that extended just past her wrists. She wore dark gloves underneath, seamlessly blending with the outfit. The top had that sleek, dark navy-blue color with a minimal design. The pants were high-waisted, woven, and had a wide-leg cut that flowed comfortably from the waist.

But the zipper closure brought back some painful memories - like the time you forgot to zip up your pants and ended up on some middle school boys' Snapchat story. You had a presentation right after that disaster, but thank your lucky stars for that random college student who swooped in and told you your zipper was down. You hoped life was treating her well and that she knew she was an absolute angel sent from the heavens.

God, you actually were grateful that you were given a second chance at life where you wouldn't be so embarrassing. Or at least one where you'd care less about it. Embarrassment was only embarrassing if you were embarrassed about it.

Fumiko cleared her throat, snapping you back to reality while you were lost in thought.

"I really like the winter one. The summer one... I mean, I guess?" You could tell Fumiko was hyped about you staying in the same room she did and wearing the same uniform. And honestly, as long as you were comfortable, you didn't really give a fuck. Your crushes were all the Jujutsu adults, who currently weren't adults but were actually people your age, which is just... no. Were you willing to pull up in that church-fit in front of 16-year-old Gojo and Geto? Yes the fuck you were. You just hoped you wouldn't accidentally run into Yuki.

Fumiko gave you a tight-lipped, contemptuous smile at your lack of enthusiasm for her church fit, but she nodded anyway.

Yaga approached you, holding the doll that was somehow sleeping soundly - almost too creepily so - in his hands.

"To make sure you remember how to channel cursed energy, take this," he offered the doll, but you didn't move. There was no way you were getting punched. Not happening. "You need to channel cursed energy into it," Yaga explained, tone serious. "As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you should be able to control cursed energy no matter what you're feeling. This doll will... let's just say, you'll know when it's not getting enough energy. Try to experience a range of emotions during training, especially positive ones, so you can learn to channel your energy more effectively in different states."

You were already feeling anxious as hell, so projecting cursed energy shouldn't be that hard. You were definitely leaning into the negative emotions right now. You reached out to grab the pink, bear-looking doll but froze.

"Yeah, but what if it punches Fumiko? Not safe at all." You shook your head disapprovingly, like this whole thing was a bad idea from the start.

Fumiko sighed, clearly exasperated. "Kid, I can channel cursed energy into it at the last moment. I've dealt with worse opponents than..." She glanced at the doll. "Him... or her?"

You took a deep breath and grabbed the sleeping doll. "They. They're my they/them baby now."

Fumiko blinked at your comment but let it slide. You focused intently on the doll for a few seconds, and - surprisingly - it worked. They were still sleeping soundly. Thrilled, you held the sleeping doll up to show Fumiko and Yaga.

But just as you were about to celebrate, the doll jolted awake and - without warning - punched you square in the nose. The impact was sharp and sudden, sending a jolt of pain radiating through your face. It felt like a hammer hit you right between the eyes, the sting pooling at the bridge of your nose. You stumbled back, a wave of dizziness washing over you as tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. The taste of iron lingered in your mouth, and you could only blink in disbelief at the tiny assailant.

"AAAAH -"

Yaga was right when he said Jujutsu sorcerers should all be a little crazy. They were fucking insane for making you do this.

After getting demolished by that demon spawn of a doll, you still had to channel cursed energy into it while crammed in the back of Fumiko's car. She was driving slower than earlier, even playing some catchy tunes. You tried singing along to the 90s and 2000s hits, but you quickly stopped after a few lines when you remembered the insane creature on your lap. Your nose was still bleeding, a reminder of that punch, and you definitely didn't want to risk provoking it again.

"Soo you and Aika, huh?" Fumiko said, glancing over at you from the driver's seat as the light turned red.

You blinked and looked up at her, confused. "Why are you making it sound like we're dating?" Shit. She had your tea clocked. You didn't expect Fumiko of all people to have a top-tier gaydar!

"How did you two meet?" she asked, glancing at the traffic light to confirm it was still red.

"Um," you said, glancing down at the doll in your lap. "At the hospital. The second day after Naoya's visit, she came up to me and asked if I wanted her to close the door he so kindly left open. I said yes and then complimented her outfit."

The light turned orange, and Fumiko shifted, ready to drive off. "She's the only friend of yours that you remember now, huh? Not that you had many to begin with," she laughed.

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah... she's also pretty cool. Like, she's the type of friend you can tell everything to and not expect any judgment."

You caught her faux flinching in the rearview mirror. "I can't help but feel targeted," she said, a teasing grin on her face.

You snorted. "If the shoe fits, Cinderella."

"Anyway," she said pointedly, "I can tell you appreciate your... recent friendship?" Her tone was hesitant, as if unsure whether someone you'd known for just a few days could truly be called a friend. The word probably held more weight in Japanese, while you'd casually referred to people you'd talked to three times as friends without anyone batting an eye.

"And so does she. But don't feel like you have to force yourself into a lifestyle just to impress her. You may have lost your memories, but your personality hasn't changed much. I don't think you're the type to enjoy that party scene." She looked at you seriously through the rearview mirror.

You laughed nervously. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience...?" you said, subtly shifting the topic.

She sighed. "Yeah, well, back when I was your age, I actually did meth -"

That made for quite the long car ride. The doll punched you six more times while you were too busy listening to Fumiko's wild escapades, which sounded way too fun to serve as the moral lesson she had planned.

On your way home, Fumiko picked up takeout from an Italian restaurant. You panicked as you were overwhelmed by the variety of food, finally settling on good old basic Fettuccine Alfredo. You liked the story behind it - how his wife had lost her appetite after giving birth, so he created this simple yet delicious pasta recipe just for her. You had to admit, sometimes heterosexuality could be beautiful. Only sometimes. 

Fumiko picked up a ton of takeout for herself, and by the end, you found yourself sharing her bounty - while still channeling cursed energy into the doll, of course. After the meal, she retreated to her room, feeling ready for a nap.

Meanwhile, your head was swirling with thoughts, and you felt the urge to contribute to the household. So you took it upon yourself to clean up the apartment, treating your musings like a podcast in your mind. All the while, you kept the cursed energy flowing smoothly. Fumiko had disinfected the wound on your nose earlier, assuring you it wasn't deep enough to be broken, which was a small relief amidst everything else. You focused on the tasks at hand, trying to keep your mind off the lingering pain.

You were done by 9 PM, and honestly? You were damn proud of yourself. Fumiko had a ton of Scrub Daddies that you had no idea where she got from. Whatever, it was incredibly satisfying to clean with them. You may have gone a little overboard with the cleaning products, just to create as much foam and bubbles as possible because you loved that stuff.

Sure, the doll punched you a few times, but even you could tell those punches were getting less frequent as the hours passed. Your instincts finally kicked in, and you managed to dodge any more hits to the face.

Everything was going great until - bam - the doll punched you right in the boob. The shriek you let out was loud enough to wake up Fumiko.

Fumiko was groggy at first, but her eyes widened in surprise when she took in the pristine state of the apartment. You, on the other hand, were sprawled on the squeaky clean floor, rolling around in pain while your they/them baby continued to harass you with relentless punches.

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE! STOP IT!" you yelled, desperately trying to shield yourself from the onslaught.

Fumiko approached, snatching the doll that was still punching the air. With a flick of her hand, the doll went limp, falling into a peaceful sleep even when she dropped it on the floor. You didn't move for a solid two minutes, making sure it wouldn't wake up and start harassing you again, while she looked around the living room and kitchen.

"The apartment hasn't been this clean in quite a while," she said, looking around with an impressed expression. She even whistled when she spotted the laundry you'd neatly folded on the table. "Thank you, hun." She reached her hand out to help you up.

You took her hand and then instinctively crossed your arms over your chest and whispered to her, pure terror in your voice, "They punched my boob."

"It won't be active now, as long as I don't wake... them up," she said, giving you a reassuring nod. But then, as the information registered, she gave you a look of empathetic cringe.

"Your chest? Right in the nipple?"

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from letting out any sounds of pain.

She grimaced, her expression filled with sympathy. "Fuck. No way am I breastfeeding. Just imagining what you're feeling right now..." She shook her head, clearly horrified.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, you're an empath."

"You could say that." She patted her belly. "For instance, my girl is hungry, so I shall feed her. Are you hungry? There are still some leftovers... well, half of the food we bought, actually."

"...Can I have the rest of the Mediterranean salad, please?"

With that, you pulled out all the remaining leftovers while she tapped away on her flip phone. When you joined her, she gestured to the table, adorned with a runner featuring images of roses and a matching vase filled with fake roses.

"I didn't even know I had these," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. You shrugged.

While you were eating, she suddenly widened her eyes mid-bite.

"Ah, I forgot to tell you..."

You frowned. "Tell me what?"

She looked at you like you were dumb. "To inform you about yourself. What else?"

You clasped your mouth shut and looked at her. "I... no details about my dead clan, please? From what I've learned so far, they're all gone, and I..." You swallowed hard. "I'm already struggling with my situation. Getting some form of PTSD and survivor guilt would just be the cherry on top of my shit sundae." You knew it wasn't exactly classy to say at the dining table.

Fumiko gave you a sympathetic look. "I'd rather not be the one to spill that either... You're right, it's better to take it slow. I was thinking more about the basics you'll need to know for Jujutsu Tech..."

Fumiko opened and closed her mouth at least ten times during the conversation, ultimately sidestepping your past.

What you gathered was that you'd been engaged to Naoya for a few months now, though you hadn't spent much time at the Zen'in compound. Before your engagement, you weren't even considered a sorcerer, but afterward, you'd been graded as a 2 while Naoya was a 1, on his way to becoming Special Grade 1. Whenever she mentioned the Zen'in clan, her expression turned tense, her eyes slightly downcast.

"As for your cursed technique..." she began, "there are good and bad aspects. Which would you like me to start with?"

You poked at your Mediterranean salad. "Let's start with the good," you said, looking up at her expectantly.

Fumiko took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "It's powerful. Like, really powerful. But that's where the problems come in; it requires an insane amount of cursed energy, and it has a lot of drawbacks. Before your amnesia, you could change someone's perception of time for about fifteen seconds. Honestly, there's so much to unpack, but I trust Yaga to explain it better than I can. He was much closer to our teacher than I ever was." A hint of frustration colored her tone as she spoke. You took a sip of water, processing what she said.

"So it's time manipulation?"

"Exactly, yes," she replied, her eyes brightening a bit as she confirmed it.

"It sounds scarily similar to Naoya and Naobito's techniques," you remarked somberly.

"Yeah, yes..." she said, biting her lips as if weighing her words carefully. "You weren't the first Majiwara woman to be forced into marriage with a member of one of the Big Three clans, but you might be the last."

"Please, no clan lore," you shook your head, feeling overwhelmed. The implications swirled in your mind, and even the thought of them almost brought you to tears. You had envisioned this as a silly billy isekai adventure, not whatever the hell that was!

"Right," Fumiko coughed into her hand, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. "Just remember, this is a mess that's been brewing for hundreds of years. I really hate to see you caught in the middle of it all." She squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Your amnesia hasn't changed you all that much. Even your past self didn't have a full grasp of it. You've technically only been in the Jujutsu world for two years, so don't beat yourself up over it, okay? You're navigating a lot, and it's okay to take your time."

Damn.

You brushed your teeth, took a long, hot shower, and made yourself a cup of tea, hoping it would soothe the restless thoughts swirling in your mind. Sitting down at your desk, you pulled out an untouched Zelda notebook. You almost laughed to yourself, realizing you'd nearly forgotten the classic isekai move - writing down everything you know about the universe you've landed in. It's the kind of thing that'll either be forgotten in a drawer somewhere or be found later by someone, leading to awkward questions and a slew of misinterpretations.

Just as you were organizing your thoughts, your flip phone's shrill ring broke the silence. It startled you - odd, considering how glued to your phone you usually were. You flinched, glancing back at your bed where it vibrated against the blankets. Walking over, you flipped it open, and there on the screen was "Aika <3" calling.

You hesitated for a split second before hitting the answer button.

"H -"

"Oh my goooosh, I'm sooo sorry! For tomorrow! I won't be free! But Wednesday, I'll be 100% free, kay?! Is it kay if we reschedule?" Aika's voice flooded through the line before you even had a chance to finish your greeting.

You blinked and then smiled, a wave of relief washing over you. You'd totally forgotten about this hangout. Yes, you were the one who made the plans, but right now, the last thing you felt like doing was going out. All you really wanted was to stay home, cry a little, and devour that muffin Fumiko had left in the fridge. One thing about you, you LOVED canceled plans.

"It's not a problem at all, seriously," you said, grinning ear to ear, trying not to sound too thrilled.

"Ah, what a relief! Once again, sowy! It's because this friend I never see came to Tokyo -" Aika's words blurred out as your grin started to fade. Another friend? You frowned, feeling a pang of jealousy shoot through you. Who's more important than you, the goddamn isekai protagonist?!?

You rationalized that whoever this friend was, they couldn't possibly be as funny as you. Aika will probably be forcing her laughs, right? The thought offered some comfort until you realized how much you sounded like a possessive, toxic boyfriend. That was all the proof you needed - you should've been isekai'd at 25 instead of 18. Maybe if you were a little more mature, you'd actually be happy for her, knowing she was catching up with an old friend. Instead, you were sulking over canceled plans and feeling petty about it!

"Oh, yes! Don't even worry about it! I'm still hungover; I'll probably need two whole days to recover, haha!" you replied, forcing a laugh to match her energy.

"Okie dokie, then! My break is over, and I have to head back," she sighed, irritation lacing her tone. "Wish me luck! This old hag keeps putting his hand a little too much on my shoulder, and I'm about ready to throw him across the room!" The annoyance was clear, and you could practically feel her eye roll through the phone.

"Bye. Have fun tomorrow," you said, trying not to let the passive aggression seep into your voice.

"Bye, bye!" she chirped, and before she could tack on anything else, you hung up.

Yeah, you were being petty. You knew it. But honestly? Who cared? Sometimes a little pettiness was the only thing keeping you sane.

You found yourself sulking after that, pacing back and forth in the limited space of your room like a caged animal. Three steps forward, turn, three steps back. Your mind kept circling around your friendship with Aika, picking it apart piece by piece.

After what felt like an hour of amateur self-psychoanalysis, you reached a conclusion: what you really needed was a friend who had no other friends. Someone who would match your inevitable dependency on them. Ideally, this would evolve into a perfectly codependent relationship where your mutual toxicity could just... cancel each other out. Like negative numbers.

If a psychology student overheard your thoughts right now, they'd probably gasp in horror and start scribbling notes for their thesis on maladaptive coping mechanisms.

Once you reached that rather depressing conclusion, you shuffled back to your desk - only to be greeted by a notification on your flip phone. The one you'd completely forgotten to close. The little red dot blinked up at you, demanding attention.

You were secretly hoping for a message from Aika. An apology, maybe. Or just... something.

But when you flipped it open, it was from Haibara.

You blinked. Squinted at the screen, trying to decode the teen text speak: "hi :D tmrw mission :( so i wont b able to help u w ur bags! srry! mayb thday?"

Great. Great. Now you'd have to figure out the logistics of hauling those bags by yourself.

Your thumbs flew over the keys: "no prob! good luck on ur mission! well figure it out!"

He responded immediately with a simple ":D" that somehow felt both uplifting and annoying at the same time.

Meanwhile, Radiohead's "Creep" had started playing on loop in your head. You're a creep. You're a weirdo. What the hell are you doing here? You don't belong here.

Why was everyone canceling on you? Weren't you supposed to be the main character in this whole scenario?

The thought of grabbing the doll to project all your pent-up frustration crossed your mind, but you quickly dismissed it; your boob was still throbbing from the earlier encounter, and you didn't want to push your luck with any more punches. Instead, you flopped back onto your bed, letting out an exaggerated sigh, feeling like the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. Some Mitski would've slapped right now, but she must be...15 years old now. Great, no Mitski for 4 more years.

This whole situation led you to think about - well, yourself. Your past life, your new life, the complex web that was you. And you came to another conclusion: getting isekai'd was not fun.

At least, not the existential crisis part of it.

You didn't just wake up in this world; you may have died and got - no, not reincarnated. Transmigrated. If you hadn't met your tragic end and there was even a slim possibility of returning to 2024, thanks to cursed energy, you would've been ecstatic. But you highly doubted that part.

What gnawed at you - really dug its teeth in and refused to let go - was the fact that both you and the version of you in this reality had been seriously injured before you woke up here.

It opened up this whole tangled mess of possibilities that made your head hurt if you thought about it too long. What if you hadn't actually died? What if the other you had just... woken up in your body instead? Swapped places? And how the hell could you get isekai'd into a manga you literally read? What were the odds of that?

It felt like some absurd twist of fate. Almost like a hyper-realistic psychosis episode. Had Jujutsu Kaisen somehow been woven into your past life just to facilitate this whole situation?

The thought sent your brain into a tailspin.
It was weird to think the entire JJK manga might exist solely to accommodate your arrival here. But also kind of fun? Now that was real main character energy.

You highly doubted there was a manga about your life in this reality. If there was, it'd probably flop harder than a fish on dry land. Some uninspired slice-of-life comedy with zero love interests, no character development, not even a beach episode. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Though you could picture people shipping you with your friend and turning your coffee addiction into a "quirky personality trait." The antagonist would probably be your science teacher. The most thrilling arc would be those late-night walks where you prayed to every god in existence not to get kidnapped while speed-walking home in the dark.
But seriously, who the hell would read that?

It felt unlikely - no, impossible - that out of 8 billion people, you were the one chosen to be transmigrated. Your familiarity with Jujutsu Kaisen couldn't just be a coincidence. It was all too convenient, too perfectly aligned. There had to be a purpose behind your arrival here.
But what that purpose was...

The answer seemed pretty obvious, right? Save everyone. Stop the bad guys. Prevent all the tragic deaths. Classic isekai protagonist stuff.

But prioritizing it?

Nah.

Time traveling to save the world was overrated. Overdone. Cliché at this point. Sure, fantasizing about saving your favorite characters was fun - you'd definitely considered it in those first few days - but actually doing it? That was a whole different story.

You'd much rather spend your time spoiling every ongoing show and manga on online forums. Maybe dabble in stocks. Just mess around and enjoy the weird privilege of knowing the future.

Though seriously, what even were stocks? Were they like Bitcoin? You figured you'd just invest in whatever company had a name that rang a bell and hope for the best.

Moving overseas sounded like a solid escape plan too. Get away from all this jujutsu nonsense entirely. You could still speak English fluently - well, sort of. Your fluency had taken a hit since arriving here, and hearing yourself speak English with a Japanese accent was jarring as hell. But it was nothing you couldn't work on with enough practice.

Relearning how to pronounce the letters L and R seemed way easier than trying to stop a thousand-year-old mad scientist sorcerer from executing his plans.

But damn. Would you even have the guts to follow through with that plan?

Most isekai protagonists who swore they wouldn't get involved always ended up doing something. It was fiction, sure - plot convenience and all that - but who's to say your own consciousness wouldn't get the best of you? You had all this knowledge about Jujutsu Kaisen. Everything that was coming next. Every death, every disaster, every horrible thing waiting around the corner.

In order to do anything about it, you'd need an insane amount of motivation.

And there was the problem: you never had motivation for anything. Not even your hobbies.

You'd think the fate of Japan as a nation would light a fire under your ass. The Culling Games, the Shibuya incident, all those innocent lives at stake. But honestly? It was complicated.

You liked to think of yourself as a moral person. I don't want to see people dying. Death is bad. And all that. But the thought of trying to save them and failing felt so much worse than not trying at all.

You were the type of student who never went all in on anything because you were terrified that if you did - if you actually tried your hardest and still didn't succeed - everyone would see you as average. Mediocre. Just another person.

You wanted to hold onto the idea of having untapped potential that you simply chose not to unlock. It gave you power. A safety net. A way to convince yourself you were more capable than you probably were.

So that was it, huh?

The plot of Jujutsu Kaisen would proceed exactly as written. All those people would die because Kenjaku was bored and horny for the Heian era. And you'd be living your best life overseas with your dead clan's savings, pretending none of it was your problem because you're too scared of finding out that you're, in fact, an average Jane.

You wondered if the theory of "I exchanged souls with my JJKVERSE self, and I'm living her life while she's living mine" held any truth. What was the other you up to in her normal life, surrounded by your family? Was she as good at pretending to be you as you were her? Would your parents or family notice anything amiss? Would your teachers suspect cheating if you suddenly aced exams, answering more than half the questions without cheating? The thought made you uneasy. Part of you liked the idea of a doppelgänger making a better life for herself/yourself, but another part dreaded the implications. Would you prefer to be dead rather than know that no one was stepping in to fill your shoes, even if that meant someone could make things easier? The thought of your mom suffering without you gnawed at your conscience, her depression likely worsening without your presence. And your friends - sure, they'd be sad (you hoped), but not devastated like she would be.

But, hey, it wasn't like the world was missing out on much. You weren't trying to be self-deprecating, but the reality was that people died every day, every hour, every minute. You weren't about to make a name for yourself or contribute anything meaningful to society. Your biggest contributions were giving tourists wrong directions because you sucked ass at directions, discreetly informing girls when they were leaking during their period, or pretending you hadn't heard your seatmate's stomach growl during class. You weren't exactly a burden, but you definitely weren't significant in the grand scheme of things. Just another face in the crowd, floating along without leaving much of an impact.

All these questions led to the core of your dilemma: did you want to make something of yourself in this world, or did you just want to live? Yes, you were terrified of actual failure, and your chances of avoiding it felt pretty low - borderline impossible. It was easier to keep the distance, to avoid trying altogether.

You'd often complained about how you were meant to be a nepo baby, how success would've been yours if you'd just had the right parents or connections. In a way, that was exactly what had happened to you. Your entire existence now screamed potential; you finally had the chance to become someone. Potential woman, if you will.

Yes, at first glance, your life sucked.

Your entire clan was dead, you had amnesia, you had to pretend to be someone you technically weren't, you were engaged to the absolute worst man imaginable, and you were expected to bear his demon spawns. You'd have to learn so much about Gege's confusing power system and, more specifically, about your cursed technique at the big age of 17, while your classmates included two special grades and a once-in-a-lifetime healer.

You were practically dead, and you'd most likely never see your friends and family ever again. Your whole identity was practically gone, and you were stuck in the most confusing situation ever. If you were to tell someone about it, they would probably have you put in a psych ward.

But at least... you had some of your past self's reflexes, right? Your body held more muscles, and you could climb the stairs without having an asthma attack by the end of it. You had a cool roommate and a friend (who seemed to have attachment issues because she had a job dealing with annoying weirdos, and her standards were so low that talking to one normal girl probably made her think that was her platonic soulmate, despite having only known each other for a few days).

...

Alright, your life did suck.

The next day was a lazy one, just you and Fumiko lounging around. Yaga had postponed your official first day, and you believed Fumiko had something to do with it. She took the opportunity to show you some basic Jujutsu things, and thankfully, your reflexes kicked in just like before. So far, jujutsu was kinda fun, but that's because you haven't done anything challenging so far.

You grabbed a notebook and started jotting down everything you could remember about Jujutsu Kaisen, along with potential plans for the future, even though your memory was notoriously terrible. Despite having reread the manga three times, so much of it slipped through your fingers. To jog your memory, you found yourself recalling and replaying edits you'd seen on Instagram, trying to guess the scenes they were from. It was surprisingly effective; you even managed to recall the useless arc with the robot guy and Miwa!

You were actually relieved that your plans with Aika had been canceled; it gave you the space to brainstorm and focus. Fumiko had gone out for a bit with one of her friends, so you didn't have to worry about her being around while you tried to untangle the mess in your head. However, that didn't mean you weren't worried about anything in her absence - quite the opposite, in fact.

The silence made your thoughts louder, and the more you wrote, the more hopeless you felt. Kenjaku's schemes had been set in motion since what? The Jurassic era? How could you possibly counter a plan that had been thousands of years in the making? This wasn't Fairy Tail or Naruto; you couldn't just throw a punch with the power of love and friendship and hope for the best against a genius villain like him.

Everything seemed to fall perfectly into place for Kenjaku. He had manipulated events and people with terrifying precision. The lengths he'd gone to - snatching the body of a dead woman just to conceive Yuji as the perfect vessel for Sukuna - were chilling. You were quite certain he didn't just go around getting pregnant for the hell of it... okay, nevermind, you weren't so certain.

You felt like a pawn in a game where the opponent had already planned the moves long before you even stepped onto the board. Hell, you don't even know how to play the damn game.

You clutched your pen tightly, feeling the weight of despair settle in your chest. The odds were overwhelmingly against you. This discouraged you from trying to help even more.

They all seemed doomed from the beginning. You glanced over your notes, which outlined how Gojo Satoru's birth had altered the balance of the world, leading to an increase in both the number and strength of curses. One of the factors contributing to Geto's descent into madness -slash-depression was the need to consume so many curses in the summer of 2007 - curses that existed because of Gojo. Yet, these stronger curses also made Geto more powerful, thanks to Gojo's unintended influence.

Not only that, but then there were Toji and Riko. You realized you could easily intervene. You could suggest Toji invest in Twitter or something and become Elon Musk before Elon Musk… okay, no, that sounds like a terrible idea.

But did he really want to terrorize a bunch of teenagers for money and nothing else? Partly, yes. However, you sensed he must have also wanted to prove to himself that he could defeat even the strongest of sorcerers, especially after the Zen'ins traumatized him. You could relate - me too, gorg. Me too. I've also been a victim of those terrorists.

Haibara's death was something that perhaps could be avoided, but you weren't naive enough to think it would stop Geto from spiraling. Neither would telling Yuki, "Hi, girlie. I LOOOVE your revolutionary ideals and all, but my classmate right here is going through it, so can you please not tell him about getting rid of all non-sorcerers?" She may have been a catalyst for it, but you were pretty sure he would have come to that conclusion himself eventually.

The real question you should be asking yourself was how to prevent the inevitable. You already had somewhat of an answer, but you tried to avoid thinking about it since it was what you dreaded the most - getting strong. Aka training and all that physical activity. Eew! The idea of sweating it out, pushing your limits, and enduring the pain felt far worse than facing a thousand curses.

Gojo seemed to see everyone but himself and Geto as an inferior species of sort. Even if you tried to be nice to him, he would still view you as beneath him. It wasn't just him being an asshole (though that played a part); the guy was the strongest sorcerer in the world, and his existence had altered the balance of it. In a way, it was somewhat understandable.

At first, you were too dense to grasp Geto's "you must solve my riddles three, if the other side you wish to see" breakup riddle, but it finally clicked during your brainstorming. Saying that Gojo was lonely because he's the strongest would be an oversimplification. He distanced himself from others because he defined himself solely by his strength, viewing everyone else as inferiors with whom he couldn't empathize because they just wouldn't be able to understand him on any capacity. 

How could you save him when he obviously didn't want to be saved? Even with your clan technique, strong enough to be considered a special grade according to Fumiko, he still wouldn't be able to understand you, nor you would be able to understand him. Most likely, he wouldn't listen when you tried to intervene and save him from being ninja-sliced by Sukuna. He wasn't a bad person per se, but he was still flawed. You couldn't look at him through fandom lenses anymore; the reality of his complexities and struggles made it clear that even someone as powerful as Gojo had his own battles to fight, and you weren't sure if he'd ever let anyone in to help him....

Fuck this!

You were actually getting a headache from all this. Well, time for your fifth sweet treat of the day.

Chapter Text

You woke up that morning with one singular prayer echoing in your skull: please, God, Buddha, whoever's listening - let Aika cancel once again. 

It wasn't that you didn't like her. You did. She was fun, spontaneous, the kind of person who made boring shit feel like an adventure. But today? Today, your body was staging a full-on protest. Every cell in your being was begging to stay horizontal, to rot in bed like the depressed little gremlin you were. Bedrotting. That's what the kids were calling it now, right?

Naturally, the universe said fuck your plans.

First thing you did after your little prayer - still half-asleep, eyes crusted over - was grab your phone off the nightstand. One missed call from Aika stared back at you like a death sentence.

You took a breath, fingers drumming against the wood as you dialed her back. Please cancel. Please, please, please -

"Hiii, sleepyhead! You up yet? I found this suuuper cute shop yesterday - like, it's legit SO cute - and we gotta go there today!"

Her voice came through so bright and chipper it physically hurt. You could practically see her bouncing on her heels.

Great. So that wasn't happening.

"Oh, I literally just woke up," you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes until you saw spots. "Lemme do my makeup real quick. Where are we meeting?"

"Uhh, lemme think... Oh, you're closer to central Tokyo, right? Just hop on the metro heading that way, go three stops, and I'll be waiting there!"

Your brain, still operating at like 40% capacity, tried to process that. "Hold on... what direction? What metro? And where exactly?"

"Ohhh, my bad, lemme think for a sec! Sooo you take the Yamanote Line, 'kay? Go towards Shibuya and get off after three stops! I'll be waitin' there at... umm, Nakameguro, I think? You can't miss it, babe!"

She was greatly overestimating your ability to follow directions. Like, catastrophically overestimating.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom, brushed your teeth with your eyes half-closed, then cranked up Britney Spears on Fumiko's iPod. The tinny sound of "Toxic" blasted through the earbuds as you stumbled through your makeup routine, hoping the beat would shock your nervous system awake.

Your eyelids felt like they had weights attached. The eyeliner went on crooked - one wing sharp enough to kill, the other looking like you'd sneezed mid-application. You tried to fix it. Somehow made it worse. The black smudged across your lid in a way that screamed "hangover" rather than "intentional grunge."

A Q-tip was supposed to save you. Instead, it turned a small mistake into a full-blown disaster, the smudge spreading like an oil spill across your eyelid.

"Fuck," you hissed, grabbing a makeup wipe. Now you had to redo the whole damn eye.

By the time you got to mascara, your hands were already tired. The wand dragged through your lashes, leaving them clumpy and weird, too thin in some spots and spider-leg thick in others.

"Fuck!" you said again, louder this time.

Yeah. Today definitely wasn't your day.

You grabbed your handbag, tossed in your credit card with the PIN scribbled on a sticky note stuck right to it. Probably a terrible idea if someone swiped it, but whatever. You always forgot the damn number anyway. Did contactless payment even exist yet? You couldn't remember.

Shoes on. Jacket on. You tiptoed past Fumiko's room - she was still knocked out, mouth open, drooling on her pillow - and scribbled a note on the kitchen counter even though she already knew you were going out. Just in case.

The morning air hit you the second you stepped outside, crisp and cold enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. Tokyo's streets were already alive, the distant hum of trains and early commuters filling the silence.

You really hoped this day would get better.

The metro station was only five minutes from Fumiko's apartment, but the whole ticket-buying process felt like a personal attack. You stood in front of the machine, staring at the buttons like they were written in ancient Greek. Passengers brushed past you, moving with the kind of efficiency that made you feel like a tourist. Which, technically, you were. Kind of. 

After way too long, you finally managed to buy a ticket. Small victories.

The train rattled through the tunnels, the rhythmic clack of metal on metal almost hypnotic. You zoned out, letting your mind drift as the overhead display cycled through station names in kanji and romaji. It all blurred together after a while.

Which is exactly how you missed your stop.

Panic hit you like a bucket of ice water. You jolted upright, eyes darting to the display. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You pulled out your phone, dialing Aika with shaky fingers. "Hey, I think I messed up. I'm lost."

"Huh? You're already lost?!" Her voice went up an octave. "Where are you?"

You squinted at the station sign as the train slowed. "I'm at... um... Harajuku?"

"Oh no! That's, like, two stops away! You need to get to Shibuya!"

"Shibuya, right, got it. How do I -"

The call cut out.

You stared at your phone. Of course.

The second the train stopped, you bolted off, weaving through the crowd like your life depended on it. But the platform was chaos. People everywhere, moving in every direction, and the signs might as well have been mocking you. Your local metro back home was nothing like this.

In your frantic, sleep-deprived state, you hopped onto another train.

The wrong train.

Going the opposite direction.

"No, no, no!" you muttered as the doors slid shut, sealing your fate. "Fuck!"

You called Aika again, heart pounding in your chest. "I'm still lost! I got on the wrong train!"

"What?!" She was trying not to laugh. You could hear it. "Okay, jus' get off at the next stop!"

"Got it!"

You hung up, and the second the train screeched to a halt, you shoved your way through the crowd, stumbling onto the platform. It was just as chaotic as before. Maybe worse.

You called her again. "I'm at... uh, Shinjuku? I think?"

"Shinjuku?! Girl, you are all over the place! Just get to the nearest exit!"

"I can't see the exits!" Your voice cracked as you spun in a circle, the crowd swallowing you whole. 

Finally - finally - you spotted a sign. You darted toward it, dodging people, muttering apologies you didn't mean.

"Where are you now?" Aika's voice crackled through the phone.

"Just a sec!" you yelled, squeezing past a group of tourists taking selfies. "I'm almost there!"

You weren't almost there.

You lost every shred of dignity the moment you had to stop and ask for directions. The guy you asked looked at you like you were a lost puppy, then pointed you toward the right platform. You mumbled a thank you.

By some miracle, you finally got on the right train. You snagged a seat, collapsing into it like you'd just run a marathon. A girl sat down next to you, flipping through a magazine, looking just as dead inside as you felt.

The train rumbled forward. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes for just a second.

Then you heard it.

A low, guttural noise. Wet and animalistic.

Your eyes snapped open.

There was a man on the floor. Crawling. His movements were jerky, unnatural, like a puppet with tangled strings. He made sounds that barely qualified as human - groaning, gurgling, something between a growl and a whimper.

What the fuck.

You thought Tokyo was supposed to be safe. This was some NYC subway, Paris metro type shit.

You forced yourself to look away, jaw clenched. It's fine. You'd seen crazies on public transport before. This was nothing new.

Except the other passengers looked just as uncomfortable. A couple of tourists were full-on gaping, eyes wide, hands clutched to their chests like they were watching a horror movie in real time.

The girl next to you caught your eye. Her expression mirrored yours perfectly: Girl, what the hell is this?

You nodded. She nodded back.

When the train pulled into the next station, the tourists couldn't take it anymore. They shrieked, scrambling off the train in a stampede of panic.

You and the girl exchanged a glance. Both of you were trying so hard not to laugh.

When the doors finally opened at your stop, you practically fell out of the train. The platform was a sea of people, all moving with purpose, and you were just... there. Lost. Again.

Then you spotted her.

Aika stood near a vending machine, her bright blonde wig catching the fluorescent lights like a beacon.

"Aika!" you called, relief flooding through you.

She whipped around so fast her curls practically slapped the air, her whole face lighting up like a Shibuya billboard. “There you aaare!” she squealed. “Waaw, I thought I was gonna hafta send out a freakin’ search party for you or somethin’, seriously!”

Before you could even react, she grabbed your arm with both hands, looping hers through like she owned the whole sidewalk. Her nails tapped against your sleeve, glitter catching the late-afternoon light.

“C’mon, c’mon!” she chirped, already dragging you through the crowd like you weighed nothing. “The shop’s just a few blocks away, ya know? Let’s go hurry hurry!”

You stumbled, trying to keep up. "You won't believe what I saw on the train. There was this guy crawling around -"

"Ah, so a normal day in Tokyo," she said, completely unbothered.

Well. Okay then.

The streets were alive with color and noise, every shop practically begging you to come inside. You passed a boutique filled with pastel dresses, the fabric swaying gently on the racks like something out of a daydream. Aika squealed over a sundress covered in tiny daisies, dragging you inside even though it definitely wasn't her usual style.

The store was small but packed with personality. Handmade accessories lined the walls, vintage finds scattered across tables, and the air smelled like fresh fabric and possibility. You rifled through a rack of earrings, pausing at a pair shaped like little cats. Cute. Aika was already elbow-deep in a bin of hair clips, pulling out anything shiny.

Next stop: a stationery shop that smelled like paper and ink, the kind of smell that sent you straight back to elementary school. The walls were covered in colorful notebooks, rows of pens that made your heart do a little flip. Aika grabbed a holographic sticker sheet, declaring it essential. You picked up cloud-shaped post-its because, honestly, how could you not?

"Okay, we have to go to that decor shop next!" Aika announced, dragging you back outside.

The sun was bright, warm on your skin despite it being late January. It felt almost surreal, like the weather didn't know what month it was.

Aika's eyes lit up as she pointed to a café across the street. "Oh em gee, they sell the best strawberry mojito there!"

"But it's only 12 PM. I don't know if I can get drunk this early."

Aika snorted, the kind of loud, unapologetic laugh that made two girls nearby turn their heads. She nudged your shoulder with hers. “Get drunk? What, off one drink? A mojito, of all things?” She tilted her head, lips curling into a grin. “C’mon, babe, be serious. That’s, like… juice with attitude.”

You sighed. God, you sounded like such a loser!

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Do they have ice cream?"

Her face brightened. "Yes!!! It's sooo good! Let's go!"

The café was cozy, the kind of place that made you want to stay for hours. You both ordered strawberry mojitos and decided to split a scoop of strawberry ice cream. Sitting outside, the sun warming your skin, the sound of laughter floating past - it felt good. 

"See? Isn't it awesome?" Aika grinned, taking a big gulp.

You nodded. "Okay, okay, you were right."

One drink turned into two. The world felt lighter, softer around the edges. You weren't drunk - not like last time - just pleasantly buzzed. Everything was a little funnier, a little easier.

You finally got why everyone in your family was an alcoholic. This shit slapped. And it had to be healthier than drugs, right?

Right?

Aika leaned back, satisfied. "I told you! We need to make this our spot!"

You laughed. "Okay, but we might need to pace ourselves. I don't want a repeat of last time."

She waved you off like you were being dramatic. “Oh my god, relax. We’ll have juuust one more and then we’ll go, promise promise.” She held up her pinky with a grin way too adorable for someone enabling your 'moral' decline.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. "Fine. One more."

After leaving the café, bags swinging from your arms, Aika suddenly stopped. She pointed to an apartment complex. "My friend lives there! We still have things to buy, right? What if we leave these bags there? She's working from home, so she's probably there."

You glanced at your arms, weighed down with shopping bags. "That could work. I mean, it'll save us from lugging these around."

Aika led the way, breezing through the lobby like she owned the place. She called out to some guy lounging in the common area, waving as you both headed for the stairs.

The elevator was out of order. Of course it was.

By the time you reached the top floor, you were gasping for air, trying not to sound like you were dying. Meanwhile, Aika's breathing was barely noticeable. Ugh, this is sooo humiliating! 

Inside, the apartment was cozy. Soft lighting cast warm shadows across the walls, plants clustered on every available surface like a small indoor jungle. You dropped your bags on the couch with a heavy thud, shoulders screaming in relief.

Aika and her friend fell into conversation immediately, voices overlapping with that easy familiarity of people who actually hung out regularly. Like, regularly regularly. Multiple times a week probably.

You just stood there. Smiling.
That fake smile you'd perfected during every customer service job you'd ever had. The one that said I'm so happy to be here while your brain was actively plotting murder.

This bitch! You were definitely funnier than her. And that joke she just made? It wasn't even that funny! It was barely a joke! More like an observation with a question mark at the end!

And Aika - Aika - just fake laughed. FAKE laughed! You knew Aika's real laugh. The ugly snort-laugh she did when something was actually funny, the one that made her sound like a dying goose.

That wasn't it. That was her polite "I want you to like me" laugh.

They kept talking. Talking and talking. Inside jokes flying back and forth like you weren't even there. You might as well have been a lamp. A decorative coat rack. Furniture.

Your smile felt like it was going to crack your face in half.

Back outside, Aika pointed to a nail salon squeezed between a karaoke bar and a convenience store. The neon sign blinked unevenly. "Oh, that's my friend's place!"

You stopped. "Damn, how many people do you know?"

She shrugged, grinning. "Enough."

You glanced at your bare nails. "Actually, I could use a manicure."

Aika perked up. "Ooh, what are you thinkin'?"

"Long," you said. Then you started rambling about random designs you'd saved on Pinterest back home. Glitter, maybe some pink, a black accent -

Aika grabbed your arm. “You’re gettin’ the works, babe. My friend is theeee very best. Like, seriously, she’s magic. And she always hooks me up.”

The salon smelled like acetone and citrus, a pop song playing softly from a small radio. Aika leaned in, grinning. "You're about to get an offer you can't refuse."

You actually liked how your nails turned out. The design caught the light just right - flashy but not obnoxious. And the price? Not terrible. You still couldn't do the yen-to-dollar conversion in your head, but your gut said it was fine.

Aika had been your saving grace. Every time the nail artist asked if she should add more - more glitter, more charms - Aika read the hesitation on your face and shut it down.

"Nah, she's good," Aika would say, smooth and natural like it cost her nothing.

You could've hugged her right there.
Being a people-pleaser around service workers was exhausting. Sure, you liked to think your retail jobs had beaten it out of you - that you'd developed a spine somewhere between folding shirts and dealing with Karens. But the second you were on the other side of the counter? The second you were the customer?

Doormat. Complete and total doormat.

"Oh, no rush," you'd say, even when your stomach was eating itself. "Seriously, take your time," even when you'd been waiting thirty minutes for a single latte. "Whenever you have a second, no pressure," even when it absolutely was urgent and you were approximately two seconds from a complete meltdown.

If Aika hadn't stepped in, you probably would've walked out with rhinestones spelling "Happy New Year" in kanji on every nail. Your brain had already spiraled into some dystopian future where you accidentally agreed to a dick tattoo because you didn't want to hurt the artist's feelings.

When you looked at your nails in the light, you glanced at Aika. She caught it, grinning, nudging your arm like it was nothing.

Maybe it was nothing to her. But to you? She'd just saved you from a catastrophe of your own making.

"Okay, next stop: the anime shop!" she declared, eyes sparkling like she'd just announced a trip to Disneyland.

You bit your cheek as a few people turned to look. Stares sliding over, then away.

You definitely weren't used to hanging out with someone so unapologetically... weeb. And she wasn't even being ironic about it. No self-deprecating jokes, no "haha I know this is cringe but-"

Just pure, unfiltered enthusiasm.

It was strange. Like stepping into a world you secretly knew way too much about but had spent years pretending to be above. The kind of thing you'd scroll through online at 2 AM but would rather die than admit to in public.

The anime shop was... an experience.

The walls were covered in vibrant posters, shelves packed with everything from action figures to - yeah. Adult items. Very adult items. Involving characters who were definitely not adults.

You remembered exactly where your 'internalized weeb-ophobia' came from.

But with the mojitos still buzzing in your system and Aika being Aika, you both couldn't stop laughing as you wandered through the aisles.

"Can you believe this stuff?" you giggled, holding up something questionable. "This is insane. Like, crazy work."

Aika was already deep in a display, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh my gosh, look at this!" She grabbed an oppai mousepad - Chrollo, his ass on full display. "Financial freedom is truly a blessing, huh?"

You tossed it in your basket. "Absolutely."

"Girl, I live for this!" Aika pointed to a rack of body pillows. "Look!!!!"

You squinted. Two anime characters, exaggerated 90s yaoi proportions, stared back at you.

"Uh... wow."

"Don't tell me you don't know Junjou Romantica!" Aika gasped, hands on her cheeks.

Recognition hit. "Wait, it's them! Akihiko Usami and Yoh Miyagi!" You laughed. "I need these! But how are we going to get them back to my dorm?"

Aika shot you a look. "What do you mean how? Our hands are empty - just carry them!"

You hesitated. You almost said something about what people might think. But then you stopped yourself. Aika didn't care about judgment. That was one of the things you liked about her. She'd probably get the ick if you voiced your worries.

So you swallowed it. "Right, right... I forgot we didn't have our bags."

Aika grinned. "Exactly! Now let's grab these bad boys!"

You both scooped up the body pillows, laughing, striking poses, drawing stares from other shoppers. Who, let's be honest, needed to be judged too for the underaged anime girl figures they were buying.

-

The guy at the register glanced up from his flip phone. His eyes lit up when he saw Aika, gaze roaming... appreciatively, ew.

Then he saw the body pillows.

His expression shifted. Flirtatious to confused in record time.

"Ah, not the most popular options," he said, trying to recover.

You and Aika exchanged amused glances, stifling giggles.

Aika leaned on the counter. "What's wrong? You don't think they're cute?"

His cheeks flushed. "No, no. They're, uh, of great quality."

He fumbled with the register, hands shaking slightly. You could practically see the gears turning.

-

Outside, you both juggled body pillows and bags. Aika somehow still managed to hold two Hello Kitty plushies.

"Girl, my ancestors are probably looking down - or up - at me, shaking their heads," you said. "Their hard-earned money is being spent on... this."

Aika giggled. "My clients are using their own hard-earned money to buy ¥220,000 champagne they don't even drink just to show off. You're doing great, trust me."

Right. Clients.

You hesitated. “Anyway… sorry if this is kinda random, but… what’s it actually like? Working as a hostess.”

Aika’s playful expression flickered. Just a split-second - enough for you to catch the change. She hugged her Hello Kitty plushies closer, the way some people hugged stress balls.

Shit, did you just make her uncomfortable?!

“Ha. It’s not something I wanna do forever, that’s for damn sure,” she said, voice quieter. “Right now I’m, like, second in the ranks. You know how that works, right? The girls get ranked by how much their clients spend. Money equals popularity.” She scoffed. “Before, I used to be first. Then these two who-” She cut herself off, glancing at you. “Two of my co-workers started playin’ dirty. Might as well go full-on ‘ladies of the night’ at that point, instead of pretendin’ this is just a cute lil’ hostess club job.”

The bitterness slid straight through her voice, sharp enough that you felt it in your chest. Her nails dug into the plush fabric until the bow on Hello Kitty’s head crumpled.

“My manager keeps pushing me to do more dohans,” she said. “You know, when you go out with clients outside work. Dates. Dinner. Sometimes a motel if they’re nasty enough.” She rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “I had this one client who kept me at top rank, but that shit turned into a sugar baby situation.” She shook her head, disgust curling her lip. “Like, I’m sorry, but no amount of money is worth ugly old men breathing on you. That was NOT in the damn brochure.”

You blinked, taken aback. You weren’t used to this version of her - unfiltered in a different way. Not funny-chaotic. Just… honest.

“That’s only temporary, though,” she said, waving a hand before you could respond. “I’m not, like, a school girl genius or whatever. I sucked in class. But hostessin’? You can’t do it for long. Two, three years and you’re ‘too old.’” She snorted.

It seemed like she wanted to stop talking, but the words kept spilling out, like someone had opened a valve in her chest.

“I just wanna save up some money, ya know? Maybe invest. Maybe college. I dunno.” She stared at the table. “This job’s too unstable. Too competitive. And some guys - especially the gaijin types - they get all entitled. Like, scary entitled. Violent, sometimes.” Her expression darkened. “You end up bein’ your worst self. Sabotaging other girls. Drinkin’ every night. Gettin’ addicted without even noticing.” She sighed. “At first it feels fun, like partyin’ as a job. But now? I’d rather work some boring-ass office job, liiikeee for real.”

Your mouth went dry. “I didn’t know… this was part of it.”

“The motel part? It’s not legal, but it kinda is,” Aika said, shrugging with one shoulder. “Managers encourage it. I used to do it when I was tryna climb the ranks. Now? I can’t. I really can’t.” She looked at you, and for once her eyes weren’t glittery or mischievous. “I just wanna have fun and make decent money. That’s it.”

You frowned. “That sounds really frustrating. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ’kay,” she said, waving you off. “I won’t even be able to do it once I hit the wall… at, like, twenty-two.” She glanced down at her arm. “Maybe twenty-three if my sunscreen actually works.” She rolled her eyes.

You laughed despite yourself. “Men are so ew. It’s like they expect you to be fourteen forever.”

“Exactly!” Aika said, throwing her hands up. Her Hello Kitty plushies flopped against her chest. “Like, I didn’t sign up to compete with girls who still buy their makeup at Donki with their moms’ money. I just wanna make some cash and live my damn life.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice even though there was no one else around. “You remember that girl who used to be second rank back when I was first?” she whispered. “My friend? The one who gave birth in Kyoto?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Her? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Aika sighed. “She got pregnant by one of her clients. She’s super religious so, like, termination wasn’t an option. Ironic, huh? Hostess by night, praying for forgiveness in the morning.”

You blinked. “Damn…”

“That’s why I was in Kyoto,” she said, shrugging. “My client made me travel for some charity event thing. Turns out he used to be her regular. He gave her his old apartment and pays child support now. Shocking, right?”

You shook your head. “So she just… left the hostess life behind?”

“Pretty much,” Aika said. “She’s a single mom now. That’s her whole world.” She winced, hugging her plushies close again. “She thought he’d change after the baby. But you know how that goes.”

"That's harsh," you said. "I hope she's okay."

Then you saw it.

From the floor of the alley, something emerged. The air around it distorted, bending and warping like heat rising off summer asphalt. Your breath caught, lodged somewhere between your lungs and throat.

No. Not now. Please not now.

At first, your brain just refused to process what you were seeing. The thing moved wrong - jerky, unnatural, like a marionette with half its strings cut. Its body twisted and contorted in ways that made your stomach lurch.

Its stomach was grotesquely swollen, stretched so tight the skin looked ready to split. Something writhed beneath the surface, pressing against the membrane from the inside.

Then it made a sound.

A baby's cry.

But wrong. So wrong. Distorted, guttural, echoing off the alley walls in a way that made every hair on your body stand straight up.

Pregnancy scare: curse edition. Straight out of a fucking horror movie.

Aika gasped beside you. Her eyes went wide, whites showing all around.

Wait. Was she seeing this too?

She forced her expression into something normal, but it cracked at the edges. "I... I suddenly felt all weird. It got chilly..."

The curse lurched forward. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you thought they might crack. Cold sweat broke out across your forehead, down your spine. That swollen stomach pulsated with each movement, and those cries-

Fear clawed its way up your throat with actual physical weight. Your body screamed at you to run, to move, to do anything, but you were frozen. Rooted to the cracked pavement like someone had nailed your shoes down.

"Why isn't anyone else around?" Aika's voice came out barely above a whisper, panic threading through every syllable.

You scanned the alley with jerky movements. Empty. Completely, eerily silent. Even the usual city noise had vanished. The shadows felt deeper here, pressing in from all sides like they had weight.

The curse inched closer. Its cries warped into something almost mocking, like it could taste your terror in the air.

You finally found your voice. It came out hoarse, cracked. "We have to get out of here!"

"Right! Let's-"

The curse let out a blood-curdling screech that made your teeth ache.

Then it lunged.

Your arm shot out. Not because you decided to. It just... moved. Like your body had a mind of its own and that mind had terrible survival instincts.

You were being fucking anime right now.

Power stirred inside you - instinctive, raw, completely unfamiliar. Accelerate. Rewind. You'd only ever practiced this in theory, locked in your room, barely moving objects an inch. But survival instinct was one hell of a teacher.

This was a grade 4 curse. Grade 3, maybe. Objectively weak. The bottom of the barrel. But in that moment, staring at its distended stomach and hearing those twisted cries, it felt like a special grade.

You focused on Accelerate. Tried to, anyway. Your muscles tensed, cursed energy surging through your body like electricity through water - sporadic, uncontrolled, wrong. 

The world lurched into motion.

Too fast. Way too fast. You stumbled forward, legs moving at speeds your brain couldn't process, and immediately ate shit on the pavement. Your knee cracked against concrete hard enough to make you see stars.

"Fuck!" The word ripped out of you as you scrambled back up, hands scraped raw.

The curse didn't wait. It was already on you.

You threw yourself sideways, pure panic driving the movement. Its claws whistled past your face, close enough that you felt the displacement of air.

Beneath the adrenaline was a sinking realization: this was draining you fast. You didn't have Gojo or Sukuna's reserves. You had Mai's. Meaning you were operating on fumes before you even started.

The curse lunged again. You tried to activate Accelerate, put some real speed behind your dodge, but the energy sputtered like a dying engine. Your body jerked forward at an awkward half-speed, completely uneven. You swung wildly, fist cutting through empty air a full foot away from the curse.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

Its claws arced toward your side. You saw it coming - everything slowing down in that horrible way things do when you know you're fucked - but your body wouldn't respond fast enough. 

The talons caught your forearm. Pain exploded white-hot across your skin, sharp and immediate. Blood welled up, dark against your skin.

You stumbled back, cradling your arm, heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Okay. Okay, you could fix this. Rewind. You knew Rewind in theory. You'd thought about it, definitely didn't practice it enough-

You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the wound. Rewind. Go back. Be fixed.

The cursed energy felt slippery, like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Pressure built in your skull, squeezing like someone was tightening a vice around your temples. 

Come on. Come ON.

Finally - finally - something clicked. The wound began to close, skin knitting back together. But it was messy, painful, wrong. The flesh reformed at odd angles before correcting itself, nerves firing in confused patterns that made you want to throw up.

"Ugh! This is so much harder than I thought!"

The curse didn't care about your learning curve. It kept coming, those baby cries echoing off the walls.

You tried Accelerate again, pushing cursed energy into your legs. Your body protested, fatigue already seeping into your bones like poison. Each use felt like draining a tank that was already running on empty.

You forced yourself to run - faster, faster, move - dodging its claws by centimeters. You managed to land a punch this time. It connected with the curse's shoulder with a wet thud, but there was no technique behind it. Just desperate, flailing panic.

The curse swiped at you. Its talons grazed your side, cutting through fabric and skin. You stumbled, barely keeping your footing, the world tilting sideways.

Pain lanced through your ribs. You pressed your hand against the wound, blood seeping between your fingers.

Rewind. Do it again.

You reached for that slippery energy, trying to force it into shape. It felt heavy this time, like lifting weights while drowning. You managed a weak recovery - the bleeding slowed, the wound closed halfway - but it was like filling a cup that had a gaping hole in the bottom.

"Come on! You have to work!" You were shouting at yourself now, voice cracking.

The curse edged closer. That stomach pulsed, something moving underneath.

You tapped into Accelerate again, forcing your protesting body to move. Your vision narrowed, the edges going dark. Tunnel vision. Every step was a fight against your own exhausted muscles.

Then it hit you, cutting through the panic: you could use Rewind to retrace your steps. Move backwards through space like rewinding a video.

You concentrated hard, so hard your head throbbed. The curse lunged, claws extended. You activated Rewind, felt your body start to slip backwards through space-

And immediately fucked it up.

Your body jerked back too far, too fast, completely uncontrolled. Your feet went out from under you.

"Wait - no! No!"

You hit the ground hard. The curse was already there, claws slashing down.

They caught your side. Deep this time. Pain exploded across your ribs, so intense it punched the air from your lungs.

"You can't give up, girl!" Aika's voice cut through the haze, desperate and terrified.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. There was just pain and fear and the horrible certainty that you were about to die in a dirty alley in 2006 because you couldn't figure out your own cursed technique.

No.

You inhaled sharply, tasted blood in your mouth. Pulled from the deepest reserves of your will - reserves you didn't even know you had. 

Accelerate. One last time. You were draining every shred of cursed energy left in your body, scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel, but fuck it. Better to burn out than bleed out.

Your vision blurred at the edges, going spotty. You rocketed forward - uncontrolled, uncoordinated, just pure desperate speed. Your fists flew wildly, no technique, no form. Just survival.

You weren't aiming anymore. Couldn't aim. Just hitting whatever you could reach.

A few frantic strikes connected. The curse staggered back, its cries becoming more desperate, more shrill.

In a last-ditch effort born purely from panic, you tried to merge Rewind with your movement. Reset your position. Your brain couldn't fully process what you were doing, operating on pure instinct.

Then you thrust forward with Accelerate, putting everything - everything - behind it. Your fist slammed into the curse's swollen center.

The impact reverberated through your bones like thunder, up your arm, into your shoulder. You felt something in your hand crack.

The curse howled. Its form shuddered, distorted. Then it began to disintegrate, dissolving into the air with a final, chilling scream that made your ears ring.

You staggered back, gasping. Your body felt like lead. Like someone had replaced your bones with concrete and your muscles with wet paper.

Everything hurt. Everything.

"Are... are you okay?" Aika's voice sounded far away, muffled.

You blinked, still trying to process. "I... think so."

That was a lie. You were very much not okay. But you were alive, which was more than you'd expected thirty seconds ago.

The weight of what just happened pressed down on you. You'd faced a grade 3 curse - a grade 3, literally the second weakest kind - with barely enough cursed energy to function and even less control over your technique.

You had no idea it'd be this hard. Mastery felt like a joke. A distant, impossible dream.

But you survived.

And your makeup miraculously didn't get ruined. Small victories.

Then you looked down.

The half-naked body pillow stared up at you from where it had fallen, its cartoonish anime eyes mocking your entire existence.

Something in your brain broke. You doubled over, laughter erupting from you - hysterical, uncontrolled, tears streaming down your face.

"Ha - what! The body pillow somehow survived this!"

Aika caught on, her laughter ringing out, high and slightly manic. "What the hell is that?"

"I—" you wheezed, clutching your injured ribs. "This is insane. This is fucking insane."

You didn't question how she knew there was a curse. Didn't question why she wasn't running away screaming. You just offered her your shaking hand.

She took it without hesitation.

Together, you ran out of the alley and into the crowded streets, back into the noise and light and normalcy.

As you made your way to the train station, weaving through oblivious pedestrians, you noticed your vision felt sharper. Clearer. Almost inhuman, like someone had adjusted the resolution on your eyeballs.

You really speed-ran your anime power awakening moment, didn't you?

Next thing you know, you'll be meeting your future teammates, and together you'll end the Third Jujutsu Sorcerer War or something.

Assuming you survived that long.

Chapter Text

That was a joke.

"Thank fuck there'll finally be another girl."

The voice cut through the noise of the bustling train like a knife. Normally, you wouldn't have caught it - not over the chatter of passengers and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks. But your senses were still dialed up to eleven after the curse encounter, every sound sharper, every detail more vivid.

The voice sounded eerily familiar.

Aika opened her mouth, about to ask you something, but you held up a hand. The universal gesture for shut the hell up, I'm trying to eavesdrop. She caught on immediately, curiosity sparking in her eyes as she leaned in closer.

Together, you edged forward, weaving through the crowded train car, trying to look casual while being anything but. The girl was talking to two guys, and when you finally got a clear view, your brain short-circuited.

No fucking way.

The white-haired guy sat sprawled across the seat like he owned the entire train, legs stretched out in the most obnoxious manspread you'd ever seen. His hair was tousled in that effortlessly perfect way that probably took zero effort, which was infuriating. Sunglasses perched on his nose, but they didn't hide the sharp blue of his eyes - eyes that flickered with the kind of amusement that said he found everything in life hilarious. His features were soft, almost delicate. High cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, the kind of face that could only be described as boyish. You never understood what that word actually meant until now, but yeah. He looked it.

From your angle, you could only see the other guy from behind. Long dark hair tied back neatly, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. The glimpse you caught of his profile showed high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His uniform pants hung loose and oversized, giving him this relaxed, effortless vibe. Where the white-haired guy's confidence was loud and in-your-face, this one's was quiet, controlled. Two sides of the same insufferable coin.

Then there was the girl. Bob cut, brown hair. And right there, underneath her right eye - a distinctive mole. Thick brown eyebrows that gave her face character.

Your stomach dropped.

These were the main fucking characters. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Shoko Ieiri.

And from what you were catching of their conversation, they were shit-talking you.

You gasped, the sound barely audible over the train noise. "En garde, bitches," you muttered under your breath, the words dripping with pure offense.

Look, you knew this was stupid. Irrational. That your first impression with your future classmates should probably be better than whatever you were about to do. That you'd probably humiliate yourself. But you know what? Your people-pleasing days were over. Dead. Buried. You refused - absolutely refused - to set the tone for some dynamic where a bunch of teenagers could laugh at you behind your back.

You had too much self-respect for that. Or maybe just enough spite.

Thank God you got isekai'd with the basic protagonist package - screw hard work, training arcs, and all that shit. If this were an actual anime, you'd probably be getting roasted in the comments. Some YouTuber with a scratchy voice and a superiority complex would be making a video essay titled "The Worst Mary Sue Character in Anime," opening with "Don't cancel me on Twitter, snowflakes," before spending forty minutes explaining why you're everything wrong with modern storytelling.

But guess what? Those hustle-culture finance bros preaching that hard work equals success? They all conveniently forget to mention their rich parents bankrolling their "self-made" businesses. So yeah, you'd take your isekai powers and run with them, thank you very much.

Also, you kind of low-key sucked. You almost died to a grade 3 curse like an hour ago. But that was beside the point.

You took a deep breath. Cursed energy pulsed through your veins, familiar now but still strange, like electricity running under your skin. You focused on Accelerate, and the world lurched.

Everything blurred. The train car stretched and warped around you as you shot forward, faster than your brain could fully process. Passengers became streaks of color. The noise faded into a distant hum. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you could feel your cursed energy draining, the rush already giving way to that heavy, dragging exhaustion.

You had to slow down. Had to focus.

With every scrap of willpower you had left, you forced yourself to stop. Your body obeyed, but the momentum didn't care. You skidded to a halt right in front of them, and the sudden stop sent a jolt through your entire body. The world spun. Your vision swam.

Then, in one fluid motion - fueled by spite, adrenaline, and the lingering buzz of two strawberry mojitos - you elbowed Gojo Satoru right in the face.

He staggered back, hand flying to his eye. "What the-"

The shock on Geto's face was almost worth it. Shoko's mouth fell open.

This was your first time inflicting violence on someone since middle school. Back then, it had been some girl whose name you couldn't even remember anymore. The whole school had gathered to watch you two scratch and pull at each other's hair like feral cats, even though it was definitely against the rules.

Oh, and you'd lost that fight. Badly.

But this? This felt like a win.

________________________________________

The conversation that followed was... something. You couldn't even remember half of what you said, the adrenaline and alcohol mixing into a cocktail of confidence you definitely didn't actually have. But by the time you walked off that train, your hands were empty - the body pillows confiscated - and a satisfied smile was plastered on your face.

Aika walked beside you, and there was this tension hanging between you. Thick and unspoken. The elephant in the room had its own zip code at this point.

You glanced at each other. A silent understanding passed between you, the kind that didn't need words.

Today had been eventful, to say the least.

Maybe you'd talk about it another day.

________________________________________

Satoru stood at the edge of the riverbank, the breeze tugging at his white hair and making it dance around his face. His trademark grin stretched wide, gleaming with pure mischief as he held the Usami body pillow high above his head like some kind of trophy.

The fabric rippled in the wind. The pastel colors of the character's design clashed hilariously with the natural greens and browns of the river behind him. Satoru tilted his head, as if contemplating the philosophical weight of what he was about to do. But the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

With a dramatic flourish that would've made a theater kid proud, he heaved the pillow into the air.

It sailed in an arc, spinning slightly, before hitting the water with a muted splash.

Satoru's laughter erupted, loud and unrestrained, echoing off the surrounding trees like the world's most obnoxious victory cry. He watched the pillow drift downstream, bobbing along the surface like the saddest little boat.

"Satoru, it's understandable why she would be upset with us and make us do this," Suguru said, stepping forward. His voice had that reasonable tone he always used when trying to be the voice of logic. "Maybe we should-"

An elderly woman walking past clutched her pearls - literally clutched them - as she caught sight of the pillow floating away. "What are the young ones up to these days? What's this grotesque thing? Why's he tied up and half naked-"

Suguru sighed, his patience snapping like a dry twig. "Fuck it."

And with a resigned look that said he was done being the responsible one, he threw his own Miyagi body pillow into the river.

Satoru stared at him, genuine disbelief crossing his face.

Suguru just shrugged. "We might as well make it a set."

They both watched as the body pillows floated away together, drifting downstream side by side. Their laughter mixed with the sound of rushing water, creating the weirdest soundtrack to the weirdest moment.

"You guys are terrible," Shoko said, her tone dripping with faux sympathy that didn't quite hide her amusement. She watched the pillows drift farther away, bobbing along like tragic relics of someone's abandoned devotion. "Poor girl didn't even get a chance to..." She trailed off, lips curling into a smirk as she clutched the Hello Kitty plushies she'd confiscated earlier.

"...do whatever she was planning to do with them," she finished, her words loaded with enough innuendo to make the implications crystal clear.

Her fingers tightened around the plushies. She wasn't about to admit it out loud, but she knew exactly what those body pillows represented.

The three of them fell into silence, the awkwardness settling over them like a blanket.

Then Satoru broke it with a laugh, his usual carefree energy snapping back into place. "Ah, who cares? It's just a couple of pillows." He waved his hand dismissively, like he'd just tossed trash into the river instead of someone's prized possessions.

Shoko and Suguru exchanged glances, both rolling their eyes in perfect synchronization.

"Seriously, you don't get it, do you?" Suguru asked, smirking.

Shoko chuckled. "Yeah, 'just a couple of pillows.' You really think she was just gonna cuddle with those?"

Gojo blinked, clearly still in the dark. They couldn't help but laugh at his obliviousness.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned, sensing he was missing something crucial, but neither of them offered an explanation.

Instead, they just shared a secretive smile.

It took a full minute, but then realization dawned on Satoru's face like the world's slowest sunrise. "Don't tell me- ha! No wonder!" His eyes lit up. "No guy is gonna like her with that attitude and face! She looks crazy! No wonder she has to resort to pillows."

Shoko and Suguru both rolled their eyes again. This boy was truly something else.

Just then, Satoru's phone rang. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "It's hard being so attractive sometimes," he complained, rolling his eyes with the kind of dramatics reserved for soap operas. "The chicks are constantly all over me. It gets overwhelming."

He sighed, as if his own charm was some kind of cross to bear. "Unfortunately, our new classmate couldn't relate at all. Poor girl."

"Just open your mouth and talk to them for five minutes," Shoko shot back, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Trust me, they'll all leave you alone."

Satoru pouted, pretending to be wounded. "That's cold, Shoko."

His expression shifted when he glanced at the screen. Unknown number. "Meh," he muttered. "I must not have saved her number. There are so many of them. How can I keep up?"

With another dramatic sigh, he answered, putting the phone to his ear. "H-"

"You'll start coughing in seven days."

The voice on the other end was ominous, dripping with the kind of creepy energy you'd find in a horror movie trailer.

Satoru froze. "What-"

"You, Gojo Satoru, will never experience whimsy, love, or friendship." The voice continued, unbothered by his confusion. "May the leaves never crunch beneath your feet when you walk. May your phone charger only work at one specific angle, and may it never be when you need it most."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning back casually. "Seriously? That's your big threat? No love, no friends, and a broken charger?" He stifled a laugh. "You must be one of those weaklings whose ass I beat, huh? No need to threaten me on the phone. If you'd like a rematch, just say so. Maybe you'll even get to land a finger on my hair if you try hard enough."

The voice pushed on, undeterred. "May you die at 28. May you never find solace in silence, and may the simplest joys always elude you. Every meal will be too bland, every song slightly off-key. Your life will be filled with the mundane, while others bask in delight."

Satoru smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh no, not slightly off-key music! How will I survive?" He glanced at Shoko and Suguru, his grin widening. "Guess I'll have to console myself with, you know, being the strongest. Seriously, what kind of weird-ass threat is that? Do people even try anymore?"

Though the specific mention of 28 did send a small chill down his spine. Weird.

Then the voice shifted, slipping into something that sounded like Latin. A rhythmic chant that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The cadence reminded him of horror movies - dark incantations, sinister spells, all that creepy shit.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your mom."

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair in pure frustration. "Okay, seriously though, who is this?"

A beat of silence. Then realization hit him like a truck.

"Wait a second... is that you?" His trademark smirk spread across his face, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"You better get your ass there and save my body pillows, you twat," you hissed, frustration bleeding through the phone.

Gojo laughed, the sound carefree and infuriating. "Oh, come on! It's just some pillows. What's the worst that could happen? Maybe they'll float away into a new adventure. You should be thanking me for giving them a taste of freedom!"

He leaned back, clearly enjoying how pissed off you were. "Seriously, though. You're upset over pillows? You must really love those things. What's next, a memorial service? If you want, I can help you find an actual, real-life, living boyfriend - maybe one that isn't so clingy. I know some guys who would be desperate enough."

"That's it. I'm telling Yaga you're bullying me. That's harassment."

"Harassment? Really? Sounds like someone's too attached to their body pillows. You should just jump in the river and go look for them!"

Shoko and Suguru gasped in unison, eyes going wide as they completely misinterpreted his words.

"Satoru, you can't just say that!" Shoko exclaimed.

Your blood ran cold. "Did you just tell me to kill myself?!"

"Whoa, hold on! Where'd you get that from?" Gojo looked genuinely confused. "I said jump in the river because your pillows are in the river!"

"No, you literally just told me to kill myself!"

He laughed again, enjoying the chaos. "Okay, okay, maybe I could have phrased it better. But seriously, you've got to retrieve those pillows! They're counting on you!"

"You told me to kill myself!"

Gojo raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I did not! I said jump in the river! What's so hard to understand about that?"

"Jumping in the river for my body pillows sounds like a suicide mission! It's practically the same thing!"

He crossed his arms, phone balanced on his shoulder. "Come on, it's not like I'm telling you to dive into the deep end! Just go in and look for them."

"The fuck you mean they aren't deep? You threw it like a frisbee! Stop lying!"

"Ah really? If I'm 'lying,' then why aren't my pants on fire?" Gojo's grin widened as he leaned back, clearly having the time of his life.

"Because you're just a cocky ass!" You threw your hands up in exasperation, making Aika hold the phone for you.

He shrugged, completely unbothered. "Maybe. But you have to admit, the image of you diving into the river is pretty funny."

"Not as funny as you're gonna be when I tell Yaga you're bullying me."

Gojo chuckled, leaning back like he didn't have a care in the world. "Good luck with that. I'll just tell him you're being overly dramatic and lonely because men avoid you like the plague, so you have to resort to body pillows."

You gasped, cutting him off. "Did you know about the orgasm gap? And how most men don't know where the clitoris is located - if they even know it exists, that is? My resorting to pillows has absolutely nothing to do with my pulling game!"

His eyes went wide, face flushing bright red. "What's a clitoris?" Satoru whispered to Shoko and Suguru, who were listening with rapt attention.

Suguru shrugged, looking just as lost. Shoko buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in pure exasperation. "Seriously, Satoru?" she muttered, voice muffled.

"Well, shit, my bad then," Gojo muttered, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face.

He turned his attention back to the call. "Are ya stalkin' me or something?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but curiosity leaked into his tone.

"My cursed technique is named 'shit-talking detector,'" you declared dramatically. "Think twice before talking... not nice?"

There was a brief pause.

"My throat hurts after all that whispering, and I'm running out of references," you added, sounding suddenly sheepish. "Bye seriously. Have nightmares or whatever."

The call ended.

"She's insane," all three of them said simultaneously, their voices mixing together in perfect harmony.

Shoko said it with a huge grin on her face, clearly enjoying every second of the chaos.

"Yeah, no kidding," Satoru shook his head. "I think I need a drink after that."

"No. You and alcohol? No," Suguru said, giving him a pointed look that left no room for argument.

________________________________________

Meanwhile, you and Aika stood waist-deep in the river, water soaking through your clothes as you frantically searched for your body pillows.

"MY JUNJOU ROMANTICA BODY PILLOWS ARE GONE!!" you cried out, voice filled with genuine distress and panic.

Aika just shook her head, looking at you with pure exasperation written across her face.

"Girl, there's people that are dying."

Chapter Text

Suguru Geto hated the quiet.

Not the peaceful kind - he might've liked that. This was the other type. The kind that crawled under your skin and made a home there, settling into your bones when the world slowed down just enough for you to notice all the shit you'd been ignoring.

The silence always dragged the memories up with it. And the memories? They brought the curses. Except the curses didn't just exist outside him anymore. They lived in him now. Every twisted, ugly thing they'd been - the fear, the hatred, the bone-deep misery that spawned them in the first place - it all stayed. It stained something in him that he couldn't wash out.

He never told anyone about that part. What was the point? Satoru wouldn't get it. Satoru didn't have to feel things like this - for him, curses were just targets to obliterate with a grin and some smartass comment. For Suguru, though? They were stories. Pain with a shape. And every time he swallowed one down, it wasn't just the form that disappeared. The anger, the grief, the helplessness - all of it burrowed into him like a splinter working its way deeper.

He used to think feeling all of it made him special. Like maybe being this close to suffering meant he could understand it better, fix it somehow. But lately it felt like the opposite. Like his kindness wasn't strength at all, just some fatal flaw dragging him under inch by inch.

Satoru used to joke about it. "You're too nice, Suguru. Too soft. I don't get it." And Geto would laugh, roll his eyes, tell him to shut the hell up - because what did Gojo know about empathy? About actually wanting to save people instead of just showing off?

But sometimes, late at night when it was just him and the quiet, he wondered if maybe Satoru was right. Maybe caring this much was a weakness. Maybe he really was just soft, soft enough for all the pain he carried to seep through the cracks and start eating him from the inside out.

The fucked up part was that he couldn't stop. He'd see a curse and think about where it came from - what had gone so catastrophically wrong in someone's life that they birthed this thing into existence, and why nobody had been there to stop it. Then he'd swallow it down anyway, because if not him, then who?

It wasn't noble. It sure as hell wasn't brave. It was just what had to be done. And maybe that scared him most of all - the idea that it would always have to be done, that no matter how strong he got, he'd never be enough to actually fix anything.

So when he collapsed into bed that night, staring at the spiderweb cracks in his dorm room ceiling, he didn't expect sleep. Sleep didn't come easy with all these ghosts taking up residence in his head. But he closed his eyes anyway, bracing himself for whatever fresh hell his subconscious would throw at him this time.

What he got was... floating heads.

Just heads. Dozens of them, suspended in some weird void, and every single one wore the face of the new girl. Her expression was pure, unfiltered rage - eyes practically shooting flames as she bellowed, "WHERE ARE MY BODY PILLOWS?!"

Suguru blinked hard, trying to process what the actual hell was happening. This wasn't his usual spiral into existential dread. This was something way stupider.

"Body pillows?" he muttered, barely able to wrap his head around it.

The heads circled him like deranged vultures, their demands getting louder and more frantic with each rotation.

"Where are they?! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Even in the dream, Suguru felt a headache coming on. This wasn't the kind of nightmare he'd signed up for.

His brain tried to make sense of it - was there something off about her that let her create curses despite being a sorcerer? How the hell did she end up haunting his nightmares, and more importantly, demanding her body pillows back? And the most ridiculous part: how would he even fight a curse born from someone being pissed about stolen body pillows?

When his eyes finally snapped open, the confusion only got worse. Lying right next to him in bed was one of the body pillows itself - some anime character with parted lips frozen mid-bite, like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

"You too???" 

The voice came from across the room.

Suguru's head whipped around to find Satoru sitting up in his own bed, eyes glowing eerily in the dark, staring directly at him. His tone was casual, but there was genuine disbelief underneath. And those eyes - god, did this guy ever blink?

When Suguru first met Satoru at Jujutsu High, the eye contact thing had immediately thrown him off. It wasn't just a glance or normal eye contact - it was a full-on, unblinking stare that seemed to bore straight through your skull. Suguru had actually pulled him aside to explain that staring at people like that wasn't how eye contact worked. "You're supposed to look away sometimes, y'know. It's normal human behavior."

Satoru had just shrugged and said, "Then why the hell is it called 'eye' contact?"

A year later, and apparently the message still hadn't sunk in. Old habits died hard.

Suguru blinked at him, then sighed. "Of course." This night just kept getting weirder.

He flinched under Satoru's intense stare, exhaustion making everything feel surreal and vaguely wrong. Standing up slowly, he rubbed his temples. "Just... how did she-"

A loud crash echoed from the hallway, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"YOU FIND YAGA HOT??? Girl, what?" Your voice pierced through the quiet like a knife.

Suguru froze.

"C'mon, don't act like you don't see it too," Shoko's voice drifted in response, teasing and unbothered.

Suguru made eye contact with Satoru again - those wide, unblinking eyes still locked on him like spotlights. He glanced at his clock. 3 in the fucking morning.

Why the hell would anyone discuss their teacher's smashability at 3 a.m.?

"My craziest fictional crush is definitely Scar from The Lion King," Shoko continued, voice carrying easily through the walls. "He's a little deranged, but..."

Suguru sighed so deeply it hurt his chest. How was this his life? The body pillow, the nightmare heads, Satoru refusing to blink, and now this conversation about Yaga. He needed a cosmic reset button.

The headache pounded harder behind his eyes. Meanwhile, Satoru let out this loud, cackling laugh that bounced off the walls. 

"If I suffer enough in this mortal realm, maybe I'll make it to heaven," Suguru muttered under his breath.

"Here you go again with this self-righteous bullshit," Satoru said, shaking his head.

Shoko appeared in the doorway right then, lazy grin plastered across her face. "Oops! Did we wake you two up?" Her gaze slid over to the body pillow next to Suguru, and something mischievous sparked in her eyes. "Did you enjoy your little morning surprise?"

"No," they both said at the exact same time, voices flat with annoyance.

Shoko shook her head, pretending to be disappointed. "What a shame. We put so much effort into finding them and getting them to you."

Satoru, being the dramatic bastard he was, pressed his hand over his heart like he'd been shot. "We?" he said, eyes going comically wide. "So you've betrayed us!"

"Yeah, we as in Majiwara and I. Do I look like I speak French?"

Suguru glanced from the body pillow to Shoko, exhaustion making his words flat. "Is there any actual reason for this?"

Shoko just shrugged, like this was all perfectly reasonable. "Consider it a lesson in self-awareness."

"So that's where you went after we left?" Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow.

Shoko leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "I mean, she and her friend were literally drowning with their ankles trapped by river-weed, all while searching for these stupid pillows." She snorted. "Also, I'd be damned if I didn't get along with the other female student in this school. Sorry, not sorry."

Satoru burst out laughing at the mental image, shoulders shaking with it.

Suguru, clearly done with everything, grabbed the body pillow and swatted him with it. The impact did absolutely nothing except make Satoru laugh harder.

Before anyone could say anything else, your voice echoed from the other room: "Ieri, don't you think this poster is too big for the-"

The sound of it made Satoru visibly shudder.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "You good?"

"Do I look good?" Satoru muttered, trying to shake off whatever sense of doom had just washed over him.

"I'm comiiiiiiiing!" Shoko yelled back, voice carrying down the hall as she started toward your room. But she paused at the door, casting this stern "behave" look over her shoulder that was so uncharacteristic it screamed Utahime.

Satoru blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Almost. "That's what she said!" he blurted out, that mischievous grin spreading across his face again.

---

Your fingers skimmed through the murky river water, desperately grabbing at anything that felt like fabric. The cold bit into your hands, sharp and unforgiving, but you kept going, muttering curses under your breath. Then something slimy coiled around your ankle. For a split second, you hoped it was the pillow.

It wasn't.

Panic crashed over you in waves as you realized - seaweed. Thick, slimy seaweed wrapping tighter the more you struggled. It snaked up your leg like some kind of aquatic predator, grip unforgiving and relentless.

"USAMI! MIYAGI! WHERE ARE YOU?!" you shouted, desperation creeping into your voice as you fought to free yourself. Every movement just made it worse, the seaweed tightening, pulling you down.

Next to you, Aika thrashed in the water, fighting against the seaweed wrapped around her own legs. Her wig was barely clinging on, looking like it was seconds away from abandoning ship. When the river's current picked up, icy water sloshing around your waists, full-blown panic set in. Aika let out a terrified scream, and right on cue, the current ripped her wig clean off her head - not even in the ballroom-culture way, just straight-up snatched by the river.

"I thought seaweed was only in the... sea? What the fuck is it doing here?" Aika's voice wobbled, panic rising.

"If it isn't seaweed, then it's river weed. I think."

"That's a thing?!"

"I mean if it's in the river, then it must be river weed and not seaweed."

"...That's the most pointless conversation I've ever had in my entire life."

"You literally started this convo-"

"Hold still, girls." 

The voice was soft, almost monotone. You both looked up to find the same girl from the train standing at the river's edge, already preparing to wade in. Her eyes flickered to Aika's now-exposed head, and she blinked, expression completely unreadable.

You almost let out a gleeful "Shoko!" in your best Utahime impression but stopped yourself just in time. What if she thought you were some kind of weirdo freak stalker for knowing her name? She hadn't introduced herself, had she? Then again, considering everything that had happened - the time travel, the manga isekai - stalking probably seemed normal in comparison.

Aika groaned, rolling her eyes. "Yeah yeah, my expensive wig got snatched, no, I'm not bald," she muttered defensively, splashing as she tried to untangle herself.

Shoko sighed deeply before wading into the water with way less grace than you'd expected. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm doing this," she grumbled, steps slow and uncertain as the cold water soaked through her clothes. She nearly slipped on the slimy rocks beneath her feet but caught herself, muttering curses under her breath.

"Hold on," she said, reaching for Aika first. The seaweed clung stubbornly to Aika's legs, and Shoko tugged at it with a frustrated grunt. "This stuff is stickier than Satoru's ego," she muttered, yanking hard until the weed finally gave way.

Aika stumbled free, coughing and shivering. "You alright?" Shoko asked, slightly out of breath as she turned to you, her usual unbothered expression replaced with mild annoyance.

You pouted internally. Shoko disliking you was about to be your villain origin story. Forget Lady Gaga - you'd be the female Joker now.

"Now you," she said, reaching for you with way less precision, awkwardly pulling at the seaweed wrapped around your legs. After a few frustrating attempts, she finally freed you, nearly face-planting into the water in the process. "Never doing this again," she huffed, breathless and completely soaked, as the three of you made your way back to shore.

Well, Shoko already hated you, so you might as well go drown yourself in the river. Your last words would be, "This is all Gojo's fault," just to make sure he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life and spiral into an existential crisis. Maybe it'd even change his entire trajectory.

"Hold on - my body pillows!" you yelled, ready to dive back in.

Aika, still shivering, shot you a look of pure disbelief. "Girl, are you serious? We barely made it out! And I lost my expensive-ass wig!" You highly doubted the "expensive-ass" part. It looked cheap as hell, but you figured that was just part of the aesthetic.

Before you could respond, Aika started scanning the water herself, muttering about how much that wig cost. She was about to join you when Shoko raised her hand, stopping both of you.

"Wait - are you two insane?" Shoko snapped, stepping in front of you. "You almost drowned! You're seriously gonna go back in for a couple of pillows and a wig?"

Aww, so she did care!

"Look, not going back is basically giving those idiots the satisfaction of winning," you replied.

"And I'm not letting my wig float off to the great beyond. Do you know how much this shit cost?" Aika added, hands on her hips.

Shoko let out this deep, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. I'll go. Just... stay here and try not to die for five minutes. Ugh."

With that, she trudged back into the water, wading deeper as the current pulled at her legs. You and Aika stood at the shore, watching anxiously. You felt like war wives sending their husbands off to battle. The pillows were in sight - their fabric lips barely visible, bobbing ominously deeper in the water.

Shoko paused, water now up to her hips. "You owe me dinner," she called over her shoulder before taking a deep breath and pushing forward.

She reached the pillows, hand grazing the soggy fabric. But the moment she grabbed them, her leg twisted. She stopped moving, face falling.

"Uh, guys," Shoko's voice wavered. "I think I'm stuck."

Aika's face went pale. "You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

"I'm not. I'm actually stuck," Shoko groaned, tugging at her leg. The more she pulled, the deeper the seaweed seemed to wrap around her ankle.

"I'm stuck again," she repeated, sounding more annoyed than panicked.

Aika kicked off her shoes, sloshing toward Shoko. "Of course you are! Why is this our life?" she yelled, arms flailing as she tried to balance in the water, but the current had other ideas.

Meanwhile, you were already lunging for the body pillows and Aika's wig floating farther downstream. "I see the pillows!" you shouted, trudging through the icy water, but it felt like the river was actively fighting back. Every step was a battle, the current shoving at your legs while the pillows bobbed just out of reach.

Aika reached Shoko and started her own war with the seaweed. "Girl, why the hell did you go this deep?" she snapped, grabbing at the slimy strands wrapping around Shoko's legs. "Oh my gosh, it's like... alive! Ew, ew, ew!"

"I didn't ask to be the seaweed queen," Shoko deadpanned, tugging at the weed herself, barely making any progress.

You managed to grab Aika's wig, holding it up victoriously like some kind of drowned trophy. But the body pillows? They were stubbornly tangled in more river-weed. You pulled harder, muttering, "I'm not losing to these idiots," yanking with everything you had, but the pillows refused to budge.

Aika, still struggling with Shoko, looked over her shoulder. "Bitch, hurry! We're not dying over some damn pillows!"

"I'm trying!" you yelled back, frustration mounting as you practically wrestled the water itself. The pillows finally gave a little, and you put all your strength into one more desperate tug. Just as you managed to yank them free, you stumbled, the force of the river almost pulling you under.

At the same time, Aika lost her footing. "Oh my Gawd!" she screeched, face-planting into the water, hands still tangled in Shoko's seaweed. Shoko, now completely off balance, fell backward, splashing down right next to her.

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

"Get up! Get up!" you screamed, scrambling toward them, the body pillows trailing behind you like some ridiculous, soaked cape.

Aika surfaced first, sputtering. "This is the worst day of my fuckin' life!"

Shoko spat out water, groaning. "This is why I don't help people."

You finally reached the shore, dripping wet but clutching the pillows and wig in triumph. "Got 'em!" you yelled, though you could barely feel the victory through the exhaustion.

Aika glared at you from the river, drenched, with Shoko barely standing next to her. "I hate you and your gay pillows," Aika declared, but there was a tired laugh behind her words.

Gasp! She was in her homophobic era! Worst thing was you couldn't even cancel her, 'cause everyone and their mama was homophobic - it was the early 2000s.

Shoko, too exhausted to even roll her eyes, sighed. "You owe me dinner. A really expensive one."

So, like, a date?

Then Shoko coughed violently, sending water spraying everywhere. Her face turned pale, and before you could react, she swayed on her feet and fainted, splashing back into the water like a fallen marionette.

"Shoko!" you yelled, panic replacing your earlier triumph. You rushed over, but Aika was already there, shaking her.

"What the hell? Is she okay?!" Aika cried, eyes wide.

"She just fainted! We need to get her to Jujutsu High!" you exclaimed, glancing around like the school was going to magically appear and save you.

"Shit, but how?" Aika looked around, clearly hoping for a solution that didn't involve physical effort.

"Uh... uh..." you stammered, rapidly running out of ideas. You both stood there, staring at Shoko passed out on the ground like she was some inconvenient luggage, despite the fact she'd just saved your asses.

You exchanged a look, silently daring the other to make the first move. Neither of you budged.

Shoko let out a groan, half-conscious, staring up at you both with the world's most exasperated expression.

"You're kidding, right? Someone has to carry me back," she mumbled, barely moving.

You and Aika immediately stepped back like you were dodging the plague.

"Not it," Aika snapped, crossing her arms.

You scoffed. "Not it? You're way stronger! You managed to drag her out of the river."

"Stronger? Babe, I can barely carry my trauma, let alone Shoko's dead weight," Aika shot back, motioning to her soaked dress. "Also, I'm so skinny the wind blows me, where the hell do you see muscles on this?"

"Stop talking like a Regina George wannabe!" you snapped, crossing your arms with a deadpan look.

Aika raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "What are you-"

Shoko, still sprawled on the ground, muttered, "I can hear you two."

You glared at Aika, trying to hold onto any shred of patience. "Look, I literally saved us from that damned curse and got into a physical altercation with the strongest sorcerer. I've lived four lifetimes in this day alone, you do it!"

The adrenaline made you forget - Aika wasn't supposed to know about any of this.

Aika raised an eyebrow, not even flinching. "Oh me? Who dragged us into this whole mess because they couldn't let their anime body pillows go?"

"Oh, like you were about to let that wig float off into the afterlife. Also, you can't bully me for this when you're the bigger weeb out of the two of us!"

"How the hell can I be a 'weeb' when I'm Japanese? And also," Aika clutched her wig protectively. "This wig cost more than your life."

"We aren't in the Roman Empire. My life wouldn't cost 700 yen!"

Shoko, barely lifting her head, grumbled, "You two are the worst people I know."

You threw your hands up. "Fine, rock-paper-scissors?"

Aika's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm trusting my fate to rock-paper-scissors? Please. You think I'm carrying this chick all the way back like I'm some kind of personal taxi?"

Shoko cracked an eye open, voice deadpan. "Both of you should drown next time."

Her commentary was very appreciated.

You sighed dramatically. "Whatever. We're both carrying her. You're not about to leave me hanging with this, Aika."

Aika huffed. "Carrying her together? Like some sad three-legged race? We'll look like idiots."

"And we don't already?"

Aika paused, then sighed. "Fine. But next time, I'm just letting you die."

"Deal."

With a synchronized sigh of defeat, you both awkwardly bent down to grab Shoko, who was absolutely not helping in any way.

"One, two-"

"Oh, so now you're counting me down?" Aika groaned, reluctantly lifting her half.

"Three!"

You struggled, practically dragging Shoko, her feet scraping against the ground as she barely clung to consciousness. You could feel her judgment like a physical weight, heavier than her actual body. Every few steps, Aika let out another exaggerated sigh, clearly making the situation worse. Like your annoying dog back home that would sigh as if he worked a 9-to-5.

"If there's a next time, I'm drowning you first."

You and Aika had reached the verbal abuse part of friendship way too quickly! It was beautiful to witness, really. Just an hour ago, you'd been buying matching girlfriend Hello Kitty items, and now you were hurling insults at each other like seasoned pros. How did things escalate so fast? It was like you'd skipped all the pleasantries and went straight to the good stuff.

"You're really gonna act like I'm the problem here? You're the one who bought the Chrollo ass mousepad," Aika muttered, struggling to keep Shoko upright as she slumped against her.

"Excuse me, but that's a work of art!" you shot back, nearly tripping over your own feet as the Miyagi body pillow under your arm began slipping. "Also, these Usami and Miyagi body pillows are limited edition, okay? I'd die before admitting defeat to Gojo and Geto."

"Right, right, whatever you gotta tell yourself," Aika groaned, breath coming out in gasps as she tried to hold up Shoko, whose head kept bobbing like she was about to become a ragdoll.

"And what the fuck was I supposed to do when I saw a Chrollo mousepad? Let it sit there? It's functional and... ergonomic!"

"Ergonomic my ass," Aika wheezed. "Your ass is about to give out if we don't make it back soon. This chick is heavy...really pretty, though." She added hastily.

Shoko slurred something that vaguely sounded like "Useless... both of you..." before slipping back into semi-consciousness.

"You carry her then!" you argued, shifting the weight of your bags and body pillow.

Aika gave you the most deadpan look possible. "Nah, she's your classmate. She even helped with your weird pillows."

"My Junjou Romantica body pillows are iconic, thank you very much! And you owe me for letting your expensive ass wig float away while I was practically drowning!"

Aika shot you a withering glare but still shuffled Shoko's weight slightly. "Yeah? Well, you should've let the Gojo guy drown your pillows, then maybe we wouldn't be stuck dragging all this shit back."

You both groaned in unison, half-dragging, half-stumbling through the streets, getting side-eyes from every single person you passed.

"Shoko!" you hissed, trying to jostle her awake without dropping anything. Her head lolled to the side, completely unbothered by the chaos.

Aika huffed beside you, her grip on Shoko slipping slightly as you both staggered. "She's out, girl. Like a damn light. We better pray we don't get stopped by someone who thinks we're in some horror flick."

You shot her an incredulous look while clutching your Usami body pillow. "Well, if someone does stop us, I'm throwing this pillow at them and running."

"Seriously? You're gonna sacrifice your precious pillow?" Aika snorted, struggling to keep Shoko steady while holding her own Miyagi body pillow. "At least one of us has some survival instincts."

"No, idiota, I'm throwing it at you as a distraction."

Aika let out a loud, exasperated groan. "Gosh, you suck."

Shoko gave a little snore in response, completely unaware of the ridiculous mess you'd all become as you half-dragged her toward Jujutsu High, each of you holding a body pillow, a bag, and a dream.

---

You both stood there, staring at the approaching train like it was a portal to hell.

"No way we're getting on like this," Aika muttered, adjusting her grip on Shoko, who was still dead weight in your arms.

"Got a better idea?" you shot back, shifting the weight of your ridiculous body pillows and trying not to trip over the Chrollo mousepad poking out of the shopping bag.

Aika sighed. "Fine, but if anyone asks, she's your problem."

The train doors slid open, and you both awkwardly shuffled in, trying to look like you weren't dragging around a passed-out girl, two body pillows, and way too much anime merch for it to be considered normal. The passengers' side-eyes were relentless.

As the train lurched forward, Shoko's head lolled back, snoring louder than ever, completely oblivious to the stares and whispers. You rolled your eyes, clutching your Usami and Miyagi pillows tighter, while Aika muttered curses under her breath, trying to stop Shoko from slipping off the seat.

This was, without a doubt, the worst train ride of your life.

The other passengers clearly weren't prepared for this level of chaos. A guy across from you couldn't stop staring at the Chrollo mousepad poking out of your bag, expression hovering between judgment and fascination.

A group of teenagers a few rows down snickered, elbowing each other. "Yo, is she... dead?" one whispered, way too loudly.

You groaned, leaning against the pole.

Aika, still wrestling with Shoko's limp body, sighed. "I can't believe we're doing this for some damn body pillows and a Chrollo mousepad. This is rock bottom."

"You knew what you were signing up for when we went to that store," you muttered, trying to balance your merch, Shoko's unconscious weight, and your sanity, all while ignoring the sea of curious stares.

An old man shook his head in pity. "Kids these days..." he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. Aika glared at him.

"I swear, we're gonna look back on this and laugh."

"Yeah, when? In prison?" Aika shot back, glancing down at Shoko. "She looks dead, girl. They're gonna think we killed her."

---

Once you finally made it (somehow) to Jujutsu High, Aika dropped Shoko on you like she was delivering a bag of potatoes.

"Well, this was fun, but I gotta bounce. I've got work in a few hours." Aika wiped her hands on her dress, giving Shoko one last glance before shaking her head. "I don't get paid enough for this."

You stared at her, mouth hanging open. "You're leaving me just like that? After all we went through?????"

Aika laughed and shrugged, already halfway to the door. "Yup. I've clocked out of this disaster. Good luck explaining this shit to Yaga."

She waved without looking back and hurried off.

If you'd told yourself you'd want to fight Aika in a few hours, you'd be shocked, but it was true. You really wanted to fight her. At least you now knew you wouldn't be able to pull at her hair without her wig falling off. But this also meant you'd need a new straight or emotionally constipated girl to fall in love with to keep life interesting!

Also, how did she know who Yaga was...? Hmm, you'd probably told her.

You glanced down at Shoko, still out cold, and sighed. Time to deal with this mess.

You pulled out your phone (that you were smart enough to leave at the shore during the whole ordeal) and dialed Haibara, silently praying he wasn't busy.

"Hiii, dude! Um, can you... help me carry Ieri? Your mission should be over by now, right? Sorry for inconveniencing you!" you said, trying to sound casual.

"Oh! I'm so, so, so sorryy!" Haibara's voice came through, chipper as always. "I'm out with Geto-san and Gojo-san right now! But Nanami stayed behind, so I'll call him for you! You must be down by the stairs, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, down the stairs. Seriously, Haibara, you're a lifesaver! Thank you so much. I'll totally join your Geto fan club after this."

"Let's gooo!!" Haibara cheered. "I'll give you the specifics tomorrow, I've got all the deets."

"Seriously, thank you."

You hung up, shaking your head. Only Haibara could be so hyped about something like that in a situation like this. Shoko was still out cold, sprawled on the ground like a rag doll, and you were standing there with two soggy body pillows.

Now all you had to do was wait for Nanami... and hope he wouldn't judge too harshly when he saw the scene in front of him.

Of course, that's not what happened.

Soon enough, Nanami appeared at the top of the stairs, looking every bit like someone who did not sign up for whatever mess was unfolding here. His face was the picture of calm disdain, eyebrows slightly raised as if trying to process how this became his afternoon.

"Really?" he asked, eyes briefly flicking over the body pillows sprawled on the ground. "This is what you called me for?"

You grinned sheepishly, feeling equal parts embarrassed and amused. "Well, yeah. I wasn't about to carry her by myself. Plus, I was kind of... preoccupied with the essentials," you said, gesturing dramatically to the pillows like they were trophies from a hard-fought battle.

Nanami sighed, exasperation practically radiating off him as he walked down the stairs with that same deadpan expression. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

He effortlessly hoisted Shoko up, her limp body almost comically draped over his shoulder. You grabbed the bags and body pillows, doing your best not to trip and face-plant on the stairs. The whole scene felt like a bizarre circus act, and with each step, you could practically hear the universe cackling at your expense.

"Thanks again," you mumbled, half expecting him to roll his eyes. "I really owe you one. Maybe I'll bake you some bread or something."

You both got to the dorm, and you quickly laid down a blanket on the bed before gently placing Shoko on top of it. With a mix of urgency and sheer stubbornness, you started shaking her. Aggressively.

"Ieri? Ieri! You've got to wake up!" The words tumbled out of you in this desperate rush. "No way am I undressing you while you're unconscious; I'm not some weirdo pervert!"

Nanami stood nearby, arms crossed, and straight-up facepalmed. "What are you doing?" he muttered, shaking his head. "This is not how you handle someone who fainted."

After what felt like an eternity of shaking - and honestly, you were probably giving her brain damage at this point - Shoko began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she let out this low groan, looking completely disoriented as she blinked up at you.

"Ugh... what happened?" The words came out thick and sluggish, her brain clearly still rebooting as she tried to process where the hell she was.

"You fainted! You scared the hell out of us!" Relief crashed through you as you finally stopped shaking her, your hands dropping to your sides. Maybe you had gone a bit overboard with the whole aggressive wake-up method.

Shoko squinted at you, then at Nanami, her expression slowly shifting from confusion to pure annoyance. "You didn't have to shake me like a maraca," she grumbled, pushing herself up to sitting position. The taco blanket slipped off her shoulders. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"I just wanted you to wake up, okay?!" you shot back, feeling defensive now. "And can you please just be conscious for five seconds? It's kind of a big deal."

Nanami sighed, stepping back to let you two bicker it out. "As entertaining as this is, maybe we should focus on what to do next instead of arguing about shaking techniques?"

"Uh, I've got some comfy pajamas in the bathroom, and I'll make you tea," you said, trying to sound nonchalant while avoiding the awkwardness of the moment. You gestured to the heater humming in the corner. "The heater's on, too."

Shoko raised an eyebrow, this smirk creeping onto her face. "Wow, look at you, all set up for a sleepover. Trying to impress someone?"

"Shut up," you shot back, half-laughing despite yourself. "I just thought you'd want to be comfortable after almost drowning... and saving me and my babygirl pillows."

Nanami leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, his usual calm demeanor showing the tiniest crack. "I'll leave you two to it. Good luck with the tea." He glanced at you both, clearly not wanting to get dragged into whatever ridiculous situation was brewing here.

"Thanks for the help, Nanami," you said, your tone going slightly more serious.

He nodded, then turned to leave, this look of pure relief washing over his face. "Just... don't make a habit of it."

You would definitely make a habit out of it.

As soon as he was out the door, you turned back to Shoko, who was now propped up on her elbows, watching you with this grin. "So, what's the tea plan? You gonna brew some fancy blend for your unconscious friend?"

God, why was she making you sound like some creep?

She went to the bathroom to take a hot shower while you headed out to make tea.

---

When you came back with the tea - two steaming mugs that warmed your hands - Shoko shuffled out from the bathroom. She was wrapped in your comfy pajamas and that ridiculous taco blanket, her hair a complete mess of damp strands sticking up in weird directions. She sniffed the air, eyeing the tea you'd made. "What's this, a spa day? You trying to pamper me or something?"

You rolled your eyes, setting the mugs down on the nightstand. "Well, you kind of saved my life and I kind of feel guilty as hell."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," she grumbled, plopping down onto the bed hard enough to make the springs squeak.

You handed her a mug, the steam curling up between you. "At least you have decent pajamas now."

"True," she said, taking a sip and letting out this satisfied sigh. "These are cozy as hell."

Shoko squinted at you over the rim of her mug, eyebrows raised. "Hold on, where are the body pillows?"

"Oh, I made Nanami put them out to dry in the... sun, not that there is much sun, but..." you replied casually, like this was a totally normal request to make of someone.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "That's... not surprising at all coming from you."

"You've only known me for three hours, and we've already reached the 'ha, that's so you' part of the relationship?"

"Yeah, well, this only happened because you have a very... distinctive... personality," she replied, rolling her eyes but there was no real bite to it.

"Please, I'm actually boring. It's just that I'm tipsy and have survived almost dying, so I'm kind of high off that. Don't put too much expectation on my personality."

Shoko laughed, this genuine sound that made her shoulders shake as she took another sip of her tea.

"Well, in that case, I'll need you tipsy and almost dying to convince Satoru that having an erotic model as a wallpaper is just plain weird."

You stared at her, processing that sentence. "Wait, what? I mean, you did save my life, so helping you out is the least I can do, but damn..."

"Honestly, he's kind of scared of you," she said, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. "According to him, not me, you give off those 'crazy person on the metro' vibes."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Guess that'll be my life once I run out of my dead clan's money, huh?"

Shoko chuckled, shaking her head. "What a way to envision your future. But just imagine Satoru's face when he realizes you're actually kind of normal."

She didn't sound too convinced about the last part of her statement.

You passed her the cookies you'd stashed in the wardrobe on your first day - some generic store-brand things that were probably stale by now - and gestured toward the door. "Well, I'm going to shower since I'm still in these wet clothes. If you start sneezing, there are tissues on the nightstand."

As if on cue, she let out a sneeze. "Great, just what I need," she said, sniffling and looking genuinely annoyed about it. "Thanks for the warning."

"No problem," you replied, smirking as you headed for the bathroom.

---

Thank God you didn't run into anyone on your trip to the showers. The hallways were empty, just the sound of your footsteps echoing off the walls. You'd grabbed your pajamas before heading in, so when you emerged - skin pink from the hot water and finally feeling clean - you were comfortably clad in them. 

On the way back, you swung by the coffee machine and poured yourself two cups of vanilla cappuccino, the machine making this loud grinding noise that seemed way too loud for the quiet hallway. Your wallet was still in your jeans somewhere, probably soaked through. You didn't know where the laundry room was, so you just took your wet clothes with you, planning to wash them later or at Fumiko's when you came back tomorrow.

When you returned to the dorm, you found Shoko sprawled on the bed, eyes half-lidded as she pretended to read your Harry Potter book. She wasn't even looking at the pages, just lost in her own thoughts while the book sat open in her lap.

"Are you even reading?" you asked, amusement creeping into your voice as you nudged the door closed with your hip.

She glanced up, this lazy smile spreading across her face. "Sure, I'm deep into the wizarding world," she replied, not even trying to hide her lack of enthusiasm. "But honestly, I'd rather be napping right now."

"Oh, but I got vanilla cappuccino," you said, holding up the cups with a grin.

Her eyes widened at that, suddenly way more alert. "Okay, the napping can wait." She sat up straight, instantly awake as she reached for one of the cups. "You know how to bribe a girl."

You chuckled, handing her a cup and feeling the warmth seep into your palm. "Just doing what I can to keep my savior awake."

Shoko took a sip and let out this long, satisfied sigh. "Okay, you've redeemed yourself for the body pillows. I might even consider not kicking you out after all." She smirked playfully, taking another sip. "Now, tell me more about how you almost drowned in search of those things."

And with that, you and Shoko settled under the thick winter blankets, each of you cradling a warm cup of vanilla cappuccino. The chaos of earlier faded into the background as you talked and talked and talked.

You shared stories, each anecdote punctuated by laughter, the kind that felt like a release after the day's absolute madness. Shoko recounted her own misadventures, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous things Gojo and Geto had done, and you both bonded over shared frustrations about being surrounded by idiots. You were NOT passing the Bechdel test, but you were happy.

It was like Naoya's misogyny radar went off the charts the moment he sensed two women being happy and enjoying each other's company. Sure enough, one minute later, your flip phone rang with this obnoxious ringtone.

"Oh, is it Aika?" Shoko asked as she took a sip, but you shook your head.

"No. It's Naoya... my, er... fiance."

She winced at this, her face doing this whole journey of emotions.

You took a deep breath before picking up the phone, already bracing yourself.

"Why didn't ya pick up my calls?!" Naoya whined in his nasally voice, annoyance dripping from every word like poison.

You spent the rest of the call exchanging insults, because you were very mature, indeed.

At the end of the call, Shoko blinked. Hard. "Ah, so that's what your interactions look like. Makes sense."

"I mean, his misogyny is too sad and pathetic for me to be actually, genuinely offended by it. But I do like to insult him... even though he's fucking 15."

"But how old are you? Did you know that Suguru is the baby of the group, at the ripe age of 15 himself?" Shoko asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gasped, the realization hitting you. "Oh my, I'm 17! Why the hell am I in the same class as a 15-year-old?!"

"Oh, 17? Okay, granny, when's your funeral?" Shoko gave you this exaggerated look, and you snorted, nearly spilling your cappuccino. "His birthday is in like a week actually."

You choked on your saliva.

"I'm the oldest here?! What the hell. Because of my amnesia I'll also be the weakest. That is soooo humiliating."

"Hey, I'm not exactly the most athletic person either, and with your cursed technique, you can use the reversed curse technique. So, it'll mostly be these two dumbasses risking their lives while we focus on healing," Shoko said, shrugging like this was the most reasonable thing in the world.

"That sounds kinda sexist," you shot back.

"Is it sexist for women to live?"

"No, not really," you admitted, unable to suppress the grin spreading across your face.

"Exactly! So, let's just sit back, let the boys handle the heavy lifting," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the headboard.

You liked the idea of that.

And with that, you and Shoko finally decided to get some sleep as the effects of the cappuccino wore off after hours of chatting. Your eyes were getting heavy, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up.

"You know, trauma bonding is some wild shit," you said, pulling the blankets up to your chin. "Like, I never thought I'd feel comfortable enough to sleep in the same bed as someone who is basically a stranger."

"What trauma exactly? The whole river thing or being in the vicinity of those two idiots?" she replied, her voice already getting drowsy.

"...Both?" you laughed, rolling your eyes even though she probably couldn't see it in the dark. "Speaking of them, do you wanna prank them?"

"Don't say less," Shoko replied, grinning widely, showing teeth for the first time since you'd met her.

---

When the boys came back, you both were in the middle of taking a nap. The sound of their footsteps in the hallway didn't even wake you - you were that knocked out. You woke up at 2 a.m., eyes snapping open in the darkness, and immediately went to look for the body pillows, which were dry by now. Of course, you put them in the boys' beds.

You were especially mad at Suguru, as you'd expected him to be more mature than this whole stupid prank war. So you and Shoko decided to astral project into his dream, except only you managed it.

Yes, you were actively bullying two 15-year-olds and one 16-year-old, but no, you didn't care. You had just turned 18 by the time you transmigrated - you were practically still 17!

Chapter Text

It was 4 AM, and you still couldn't sleep. You and Shoko had pulled off your silly little prank - body pillows in the boys' beds - and, much to your dismay, the reaction was... underwhelming.

According to Shoko, Satoru had simply shrugged, grabbed the body pillow, and gone back to his room. The man, or rather the boy, was now snuggling it like nothing had happened. Suguru, too, barely blinked at it.

"All that effort for this?" you muttered, staring at the ceiling in mild frustration.

Shoko, lying next to you, let out a tired sigh. "Told you. Those two are weird." She said it flatly, like she was commenting on the weather.

"Yeah, well, I thought at least Geto would get weirded out," you said, feeling vaguely defeated. "But Gojo? Not exactly shocked given his wallpaper choice..."

"That wallpaper," Shoko said, voice dry as bone. She pulled the covers over herself, taking a fair share of yours with it. "Help me tell him it's creepy tomorrow."

You sighed, tugging back at the covers, but not really fighting for them. "Right, because nothing says 'good morning' like telling a 16-year-old his softcore wallpaper is weird."

"If anyone can do it, it's you. He's scared of you." There was the barest hint of amusement in her voice.

You rolled your eyes and stood up to get your water bottle. "Yeah, because I'm the 'crazy metro person' type, apparently."

"Exactly."

"Ughhh, what's wrong with them? Where's the shame? Do you remember this thing we used to have called shame? Where is it! We need to bring it back," you ranted, pacing around the room like some exasperated professor.

Shoko, already halfway under the covers, raised an eyebrow. "You dragged two half-naked body pillows across Tokyo."

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Shit, she's got you. "I mean, yeah, but it's not the same because the patriarchy -"

Before you could finish your 20-minute long righteous tirade, you heard a soft snore. Shoko had fallen asleep in the middle of your impassioned explanation.

"...I was making a point," you muttered to yourself, plopping back onto the bed.

You sighed and tried to settle in, closing your eyes and willing sleep to come. Shoko's soft, rhythmic snoring filled the room, oddly comforting despite how loud it was. At least you didn't have to worry about waking her up if you accidentally snorted in your sleep. It was a nice change.

But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't fall asleep. You shifted under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling, mind running a million miles an hour. Maybe it was the adrenaline still in your system from the prank, or maybe it was just one of those nights.

Either way, sleep was the last thing happening right now.

You tiptoed around the room, careful not to disturb Shoko's peaceful slumber. Grabbing your phone, you glanced at the time: 4 AM. Great. Another sleepless night. You flipped through your music library, but nothing seemed appealing enough to drown out your restless thoughts.

If only you were a smoker. You could picture it: leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, looking effortlessly cool. Sure, it was a toxic addiction, but at least it came with an air of sophistication. Instead, here you were in your pajamas, pacing the floor like a caged animal, wondering if the urge to smoke at this hour would've made you feel sexy or just desperate.

You slipped on a thin jacket, the fabric light enough to not stifle you but thick enough to keep the chill at bay. Grabbing your phone, you quietly crept out of the dorm room, careful to avoid making any noise that might wake Shoko.

As you stepped into the cool night air, you inhaled deeply, letting the crispness fill your lungs. The campus was eerily quiet, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the empty pathways. You walked slowly, footsteps soft against the pavement, enjoying the solitude and the sense of freedom that came with it.

You wandered toward a nearby bench, scrolling aimlessly through your phone as you sat down. Without the distractions of social media - thankfully (or not) non-existent in 2006 - you were left with your thoughts.

For a moment, you considered the allure of a cigarette, picturing the wisps of smoke curling into the night sky. But instead, you simply rested your head against the bench, letting the silence wash over you. It was in these moments of solitude that you felt most yourself.

With the peaceful night wrapping around you, your phone suddenly buzzed in your hand. You glanced at the screen and saw Aika's name flashing.

You two talked about her job and why she was awake at this ungodly hour, and she had to hang up when her manager knocked on the door - presumably of the dressing room or something.

You shoved your phone back in your pocket and took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs.

Neither you nor Aika bothered to address the tension from earlier when both of you had been at each other's throats. It was a mutual understanding that today's events were better left unsaid. Communication? Nah, that wasn't the key; ignoring your problems seemed to work just fine.

You'd just survived two near-death experiences, so it was expected that you'd cuss each other out. There was a strange comfort in knowing you didn't have to dig into messy feelings.

You stood outside for what felt like an hour, just staring up at the sky, letting your thoughts drift and swirl. The stars were barely visible through the light pollution, but you didn't mind; you preferred the darkness to distract you from whatever the hell your life was as of now.

After all that thinking, falling asleep was way easier. But was it? It was your first fucking day at Jujutsu High, after all. When you woke up and trudged to the bathroom at 6:30 AM, the remnants of yesterday's sour mood came rushing back.

You went to the bathroom and woke up to a lovely surprise... the Japan flag on your panties. Yep, you got your goddamn period, and it wasn't fun at all. Great timing, right? Yeah, fuck stereotypes and all that, but having your period did mess with your mood. You couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated with yourself. You'd thought the tension with Shoko and Aika had been rooted in the complete and utter chaos of the day, but now you realized it was just hormones on top of everything else.

After handling that situation as best as you could, you grabbed your skincare bag and headed to the shared dorm bathroom - well, more like the communal washroom they had here.

It wasn't exactly glamorous, but it got the job done. You set your bag down on the sink, staring at your reflection in the slightly foggy mirror. As if your first day hadn't been messy enough, now you had to deal with cramps and mood swings on top of everything else. Lovely.

Your hand froze as you patted your cheek, the rough texture unmistakable under your fingers. Your heart dropped, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. "Shit," you whispered under your breath, leaning closer to the mirror.

This wasn't just a random breakout - this was a full-blown period pimple takeover. The angry red spots dotted your forehead, and a couple of deep, painful ones throbbed along your jawline. The kind that sat just under the skin, too stubborn to surface but making their presence known with that dull ache every time you so much as touched your face.

Those under-the-skin bumps were the worst, inflamed enough to make you wince, but there wasn't even a whitehead to squeeze out. Just... pain. Because of course, your body was going to hit you with the double whammy of cramps and cystic pimples.

Rubbing your face cleanser into your skin, you tried to be gentle, but it was hard not to wince at the sore spots.

After ten minutes, you stared at the acne patches dotting your face, feeling defeated. The idea of putting foundation over the angry bumps made you cringe, but you also couldn't stand the thought of walking around with every pimple on display. Still, the risk of infection was real, and you knew better than to mess with the battlefield that was your face right now.

You grumbled to yourself, "Why do I even bother with makeup anyway?" You'd read enough feminist manifestos to know the truth - nobody really puts on a full face of makeup just "for themselves." Sure, it helped with confidence, but it also meant buying into some societal nonsense about being "presentable."

Standing in front of the mirror, you ran through your options. Go bare-faced and brave the comments about looking tired, or cake on the foundation and risk making your pimples even angrier. It felt like a lose-lose situation. "Fuck it," you muttered, deciding to dab a little concealer on and hope for the best.

You jumped, startled by the soft cough behind you. Your eyes darted to the mirror, and there he was - Geto Suguru, looking surprisingly disheveled. His hair was down, loose and wavy, falling past his shoulders in a way that made him look softer somehow. Less put-together. He wore oversized gray sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt that made him look almost... relaxed. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, something you hadn't noticed before.

For a moment, you just stared at each other in the mirror. You were frozen, half-covered in acne patches and still clutching the concealer like it was a lifeline. Meanwhile, Geto stood there, blinking sleepily as though he were still processing the fact that he was awake.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly, his voice low and slightly rough from sleep. Polite, as always, even at this ungodly hour.

You let out a nervous laugh. "Well, congrats. You scared the shit out of me." You quickly turned back to the mirror, feeling self-conscious now.

Geto grabbed his toothbrush from the sink, movements slow and deliberate. "You're up early," he observed, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles. His tone was casual, conversational. "I thought... well, given yesterday's events, you might sleep in."

You frowned, glancing at him in the mirror. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He started brushing his teeth, pausing to speak around the toothbrush. "Just that you seemed exhausted. I figured you'd take the chance to rest." He leaned over to spit, then continued. "Not that I'm judging. It makes sense to be tired after everything."

You stared at his reflection for a moment, then let out a dry laugh. "Oh, trust me. It's not exhaustion keeping me up," you said. "It's just my period." Yeah, yeah, you said the p-word.

Geto's hand froze mid-brush. For a split second, his expression flickered - surprise, then discomfort, then carefully controlled neutrality. He resumed brushing, slower now, like he was buying time to figure out how to respond. Finally, he leaned over to spit again and rinsed his mouth.

"Ah... I see," he said carefully, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's... I apologize if I made any assumptions." He cleared his throat. "I hope you feel better soon."

It wasn't exactly an apology, but you could tell he felt uncomfortable now. Good. He deserved it for assuming.

But something in you wasn't satisfied with just making him uncomfortable. If he wanted to make small talk at 6:30 in the morning while you were dealing with this shit, then you were going to make him regret it.

"Oh, 'I hope you feel better'? Thanks," you said, turning around to face him fully. "I'll definitely need it. You wouldn't believe the cramps I've been having. It feels like someone's stabbing me in the lower abdomen repeatedly, and don't even get me started on the back pain - it's like someone's grinding their heel into my spine."

You watched as Geto's posture stiffened. His expression remained carefully neutral, but you could see the discomfort creeping in at the edges - the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his eyes darted toward the door like he was calculating an escape route.

"That sounds... quite painful," he said, voice still measured and polite, but there was a slight strain to it now. "I can't imagine -"

"And the blood?" you continued, not giving him a chance to finish. "It's insane. I woke up this morning, and it looked like a crime scene. I'm practically losing half my blood supply every few hours." You gestured dramatically, watching him take an almost imperceptible step back.

"I... see," Geto said, and you could hear how hard he was working to keep his voice level. "That does sound concerning. Perhaps you should speak with Shoko about -"

"Oh, and it's not just the cramps and the blood, you know?" You were on a roll now, enjoying the way his carefully composed mask was starting to crack. "There's bloating, headaches, mood swings. My entire body is staging a rebellion. It's a whole production."

Geto's hand tightened slightly around his toothbrush. He took a breath, clearly trying to recalibrate. "That's... I understand it must be difficult," he said, and there was something almost earnest in his tone now, like he'd decided genuine sympathy was his best bet for escape. "If there's anything I can do to help - painkillers, or tea, or -"

"Oh, I would LOVE that," you said, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "That's so thoughtful of you, Geto-kun."

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he'd finally caught on to the fact that you were absolutely fucking with him. But to his credit, he didn't call you out on it. Instead, he just nodded, running a hand through his loose hair in what seemed like a nervous gesture.

"Right. I'll... bring something by your room later," he said. Then, after a pause: "Is there a particular type of painkiller you prefer?"

You blinked. You hadn't actually expected him to follow through.

"Uh... whatever's fine," you said, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for torturing him.

"Understood." He set his toothbrush down, then hesitated. "And... I apologize if I came across as dismissive earlier. That wasn't my intention."

Before you could respond, he was already heading toward the door, movements just a touch too quick to be casual.

"I'll see you at breakfast," he said over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, alone in the bathroom, staring at the space where he'd been. Your reflection in the mirror looked vaguely stunned, acne patches and all.

"...Huh," you said to no one in particular.

Shaking your head, you turned back to your makeup routine. Grabbing your concealer, you went to work carefully applying it around the patches, trying to blend it as seamlessly as possible. You added some contour, a touch of highlighter, and finished with mascara, avoiding looking at yourself too critically.

When you were done, you gathered your things and headed back to your dorm. Geto was probably halfway across campus by now, traumatized and regretting every life choice that led him to that bathroom this morning.

Good.

Opening the door to your room, you found Shoko exactly where you'd left her - sprawled across your bed like she owned it. But now she was awake, phone in one hand and a package resting across her legs.

"There you are," she said without looking up. "Your uniform came."

"Finally," you said, tossing your skincare bag onto your desk. "I was starting to think they forgot about me."

"They probably wish they could," Shoko muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

You moved closer, eyeing the package with a mix of anticipation and dread. As you started peeling back the tape, your fingers caught on white fabric.

White.

Your stomach dropped.

"Why is it white?" you asked, voice climbing an octave. "I thought it was supposed to be blue."

Shoko sat up, frowning at the uniform. "Huh. That's weird."

You pulled it out fully, holding it up. Definitely white. Pristine, glaring white.

"Does anyone else have a white uniform?" you asked, already knowing you weren't going to like the answer.

"Not really," Shoko said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I've heard they use it sometimes for... what's the word. Problem students? Kids they're keeping an eye on." She shrugged. "Or maybe they just ran out of blue."

"Oh my god," you groaned, flopping backward onto the bed. "I'm the problem child now?"

"Looks like it."

"This is bullshit."

"Probably," Shoko agreed. "But hey, at least you'll stand out."

"I don't want to stand out!"

"Too late."

You grabbed the uniform and stalked off to the bathroom, muttering under your breath about unfair treatment and discriminatory dress codes. The bathroom was mercifully empty - Geto had apparently fled the premises entirely.

You hung the uniform on the back of the door and examined it properly. The design was actually nice - fitted top with a high collar, long sleeves, dark gloves that would tuck underneath. The pants were high-waisted with a wide-leg cut, comfortable-looking despite the impractical color.

With a sigh, you started getting dressed. The fabric felt good against your skin, well-made and soft. As you zipped up the pants and buttoned the top, you had to admit it fit well. The structured design was flattering without being restrictive.

But it was so fucking white.

You pulled on the gloves last, tucking them under the sleeves like they were meant to be worn. When you finally looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked... different. Official. Like you belonged here, even if the color screamed "watch this one."

And then it hit you.

The realization slammed into you like a curse spirit to the face.

"IERI!" you shrieked, loud enough that your voice probably carried across the entire dorm.

"What?" Shoko's muffled voice came from the other side of the door, sounding more curious than concerned.

"I'M ON MY PERIOD!"

A pause. Then: "...Okay?"

"AND MY UNIFORM IS WHITE!"

Another pause, longer this time. Then you heard Shoko's sharp intake of breath.

"Oh. Oh shit."

"YEAH!" You stared at your reflection in horror, your mind already conjuring up every possible nightmare scenario. "I'm a walking disaster! I'm going to bleed through these pants and everyone's going to see and I'm going to be known as the period girl for the rest of my miserable life at this school!"

The door opened and Shoko poked her head in, taking in your white-uniformed, panic-stricken form. Her expression was carefully neutral, but you could see the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Don't laugh," you warned.

"I'm not laughing."

"You're about to."

Chapter Text

You both lounged around for a while, passing time by gossiping about people from school and dissecting questionable celebrity fashion choices. You snickered over Lindsay Lohan's stylist's latest attempt to make dresses-over-jeans a trend again. "Seriously, who thought that was a good look? She is a GORGEOUS gorgeous girl, give her nice outfits!" you scoffed, popping another cracker in your mouth.

Shoko let out a long sigh, stretching her legs and rubbing her temples. "Honestly, I'm on the verge of just skipping today."

You looked over at her with wide eyes. "Don't even think about it, Ieri. Don't you dare leave me alone with those two terrorists," you said, referring to Gojo and Geto. "I'll go grab you some snacks from the vending machine, maybe a cup of coffee will bring you back to life."

You slipped on your shoes and headed out to the hallway. The chill in the air prickled against your skin, making you shiver slightly as you walked. When you reached the vending machine, you stared at the limited options for a moment, then picked out a couple of sugary snacks and coffee, hoping it'd be enough to coax Shoko into not ditching.

As you waited for the vending machine to dispense the coffee, you heard an enthusiastic voice calling your name down the hallway. Turning around, you saw Haibara jogging toward you, his usual bright smile plastered across his face. He waved eagerly, his cheerfulness far too energetic for this early hour.

"Hey! Didn't expect to see you up this early!" he greeted, barely out of breath despite practically sprinting over. "Getting breakfast too?"

You shrugged, glancing back at the machine as it finally dispensed the coffee with a hiss. "Not really, just grabbing some snacks and coffee for Ieri. She's barely alive this morning."

"Ah, the usual then?" Haibara chuckled. "I swear, Ieri-san's more exhausted than any of us, and that's saying something. Anyway, I was gonna ask if you're coming to the sparring session later. It's supposed to be a good one today - even Gojo-san said he's actually gonna try this time and not just activate his Infinity!"

You snorted. "Try, huh? That sounds like it'll end in collateral damage for the rest of us."

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching. Shoko appeared, rubbing her eyes with one hand while still trying to stifle a yawn. She looked half-asleep, but her gaze sharpened when she spotted Haibara.

"What's all the noise about?" she grumbled, then noticed the snacks and coffee in your hands. "Oh. Thank god."

You handed her the coffee, and she took a long sip, looking like she was drinking life itself. "There's no way I'm sparring today. I'm running on pure caffeine and spite right now."

Haibara grinned, completely unfazed. "No worries, Ieri-san! You can just cheer us on from the sidelines."

"Yeah, I'll be there - sleeping on the sidelines," Shoko retorted, before taking another sip. "Or, better yet, maybe I'll skip and leave you two to deal with Satoru's nonsense."

You chuckled, looking back at Haibara.

"Dude, with my period, I can barely function," you sighed, grabbing a pack of crackers from the machine. "Even my boobs are hurting, what the hell is this?"

Haibara's eyes widened, and you braced yourself, fully expecting him to act all awkward or grossed out. But then, instead of cringing, he clutched his chest dramatically, his face morphing into an expression of pure anguish.

"Dear period cramps," he shouted, pointing to the ceiling as if addressing some higher power. "LEAVE HER ALONE!"

What the fuck?

You and Shoko stared at him in stunned silence, your jaw practically hitting the floor.

"Sorry you had to see that, ladies," Haibara said, straightening up and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "I just get so passionate about this stuff!"

"Um... thank you," you finally managed, blinking at him in disbelief. "That was the best thing ever."

Shoko snorted, shaking her head. "You're seriously too much, Haibara."

He flashed a triumphant grin. "Just doing my duty as an ally!" He puffed his chest out in mock seriousness, then glanced at the snacks you were holding. "Now, since I've been so valiant in my support, I think I deserve a little reward..." He reached out toward one of the packs.

"Not a chance," you shot back, slapping his hand away.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his hand as Shoko rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, what's this I hear about that Geto fan club of yours?" You raised an eyebrow as you sipped your vanilla cappuccino, wanting to start shit up.

Haibara's face lit up instantly. "Oh! Yeah, I did tell you about this, didn't I?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "The Geto fan club's real. We just think he's cool, that's all. Nothing weird, I swear!"

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief. "Wait, you're telling me it's an actual thing? I thought you were just messing around the other day!"

"It's not that serious!" he protested, his cheeks flushing a little. "We just, you know, appreciate his... style. And how he's, like, super strong. That's it!"

You snorted. "Uh-huh. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the hair flip or the brooding look he always does."

Haibara held up his hands in defense. "I can't control what other people admire, okay?"

"Right," Shoko chimed in dryly. "Just admit it, Haibara. You've got a crush."

"N-No! It's not like that!" he stammered, his voice jumping an octave. "It's just admiration!" He said defensively, trying to swipe a snack from your stash. You smacked his hand away before he could snatch a pack of crackers.

"Ow! Rude," he pouted, rubbing his hand. "I'm just saying, he's strong, smart, and his hair always looks like he just stepped out of some shampoo commercial. You two are making this weird!"

You rolled your eyes, sipping your cappuccino. "Dude, you use 4-in-1. Your standards are in hell."

Haibara gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Excuse me, 4-in-1 is efficient! It's practical! It's -"

"Disgusting," Shoko interjected, deadpan. "That's not even real shampoo. It's soap with a fancy label."

You nodded in agreement, smirking as Haibara continued to pout. "Yeah, Haibara. Maybe start with a product that's not also body wash and car cleaner and pasta sauce and toothpaste."

"Fine, fine!" he huffed, crossing his arms. "Next time I'm at the store, I'll... consider it."

"Good," Shoko said, patting him on the shoulder. "Baby steps."

Nanami strolled up, his iPod practically blasting "MakeDamnSure" loud enough for you to hear it clearly. He had that bored expression on his face as usual, but there was something different - his nails. You couldn't help but notice the freshly painted black polish, some of it still clinging to the edges of his cuticles, as if he hadn't quite mastered the art of a clean manicure.

"Really embracing the emo phase, huh?" you teased, nodding toward his hands.

He looked down at his nails and then back at you, unfazed. "It was either this or get a tattoo. I figured this was the less permanent option."

You raised an eyebrow. "So, what's next? Eyeliner and poetry about how capitalism ruins everything?"

"Already working on the poetry," he deadpanned, adjusting the volume on his iPod like it was just another routine morning.

You blinked. Damn.

"I'd join the cause," you said, "but I can't promise I'll stay loyal once I get rich. I'm too weak for all that cute Hello Kitty crap."

Nanami's eyebrow twitched slightly. "You're a sellout waiting to happen. I can already see you ditching your ideals for some overpriced plush toy."

"Hey, if loving Hello Kitty is wrong, then put me in prison!" you shot back, a playful grin on your face.

He scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You sound like a middle schooler. They've got you right where they want you."

"Don't act like you're above it," you countered, gesturing at his nails. "You're totally embracing the emo aesthetic too."

"Yeah, but at least I'm not losing my principles over keychains," he replied, flipping his hair dramatically.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Nanami," you quipped, crossing your arms.

"Just remember," he said, giving you a sideways glance as he turned to walk away, "Hello Kitty's just a corporate tool."

What?

"Yeah, well, so am I!" you called after him, laughing as he shook his head in mock disbelief.

You slapped Haibara's hand away again, glaring at him. "Dude, stop stealing my snacks. Go get your own," you said, but there was no real heat behind it.

Haibara grinned, unbothered. "Come on, I just wanted a taste! Anyway, who's this Mark guy? I swear Nanami brings him up all the time like he's some kind of legend."

Nanami, who had been listening to the conversation with his usual stoic expression in the distance, rolled his eyes. "Karl Marx, Haibara. Not 'Mark.' He's not some guy, he's a philosopher and economist."

You snorted. "You think we're talking about some random dude named Mark that Nanami just met on the street?"

Haibara shrugged with a cheeky smile. "Hey, maybe he's Nanami's secret best friend! I don't know what you guys do in your free time."

"Yeah, well, I can guarantee you Nanami's 'friendship' with Marx is strictly academic," Shoko added, smirking at Nanami's slight grimace.

Nanami sighed. "I should've just kept quiet."

As you were in the middle of talking, a sharp, sudden cramp hit you like a punch to the gut, and you staggered a bit, instinctively reaching out to steady yourself against the wall.

Haibara's eyes went wide, and he rushed over. "Whoa, hey! What's going on? You okay?" He fidgeted awkwardly, like he wasn't sure if he should grab your arm or call for help.

"Just cramps," you gritted out, clutching your stomach. "And I'm really regretting this stupid white uniform right about now."

"Oh, hell. Yeah, that's not good," Haibara said, quickly shrugging off his jacket. "Here, tie this around your waist. My sister does it all the time when she's dealing with, y'know... that." He shoved the jacket toward you, glancing away slightly like he was trying not to make it more awkward than it already was.

You took the jacket and wrapped it around your waist, making sure it covered everything just in case. "Thanks," you said, letting out a relieved sigh. "That's actually pretty thoughtful of you."

"Hey, I've got a sister, remember?" he said, giving a lopsided grin. "I've seen her go through it enough times to know this stuff's no joke!"

You shot Haibara a look and couldn't help but push back, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, so you think women only deserve a break if they're doubled over in pain, huh? That's the bar we're setting? Because, I don't know, I think bleeding out is a pretty solid reason to get a day off without needing to suffer to the point of passing out."

Haibara blinked, looking like he was about to say something, but you didn't give him the chance. "And then, after all that suffering, we're supposed to get pregnant and give birth to - what? Another failed abortion like my fiancé?" You let the last words hang in the air with a dry, bitter tone.

He stood there, utterly flabbergasted, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to come up with a response. "Uh, I - I didn't mean -"

"Relax, Haibara. I'm just messing with you," you said, finally cracking a smirk. You low-key were dead serious, but he didn't have to know that.

Shoko snorted at your comment and checked her phone, eyes widening in disbelief. "Shit, we're late as hell!"

You glanced back at Haibara, who was still standing there, flabbergasted. You were half-expecting him to throw some kind of fit, but instead, he just blinked at you, still processing what you said.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," you replied, adjusting the jacket he'd given you. It hung loosely over your hips, giving you a bit of coverage. "Thanks for this, by the way. I owe you one."

"Just don't go losing it, alright?" Haibara said, trying to keep a serious face but failing miserably as his cheeks flushed slightly.

"Relax, I'll take good care of it," you assured him with a playful smirk. "Unless you want it back while I'm in the middle of bleeding out."

Haibara raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between concern and confusion. "That's... a bit graphic, don't you think?"

You just shrugged.

Just then, Shoko grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the door. "Let's go! We can't waste any more time chatting about your period woes."

"Right! We need to get to class before we end up in detention or something," you replied, glancing back at Haibara and Nanami. "See you later, alligator and feminist crusader!"

"Later!" Haibara called after you, shaking his head with a chuckle. Nanami let out an unenthusiastic, "See ya."

---

Shoko knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. She pushed it open with you trailing behind her. Yaga glanced up from the chalkboard, his brow furrowing when he saw the two of you standing at the entrance.

Fuck.

Gojo swiveled around in his seat, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he pushed his sunglasses down slightly. "Ohhh, new girl's already late, huh? Starting off with a bang!" His tone was sing-song, mocking, like he'd just won something.

You were about to cuss him out but Shoko elbowed you and started with her excuse.

"Sorry we're late, Sensei," Shoko said quickly, her voice steady and unbothered. "I had to show her where the faculty office was -"

Why did she throw you under the bus like that?

You elbowed Shoko back, sharply in the ribs, cutting her off. "Uh, yeah, sorry," you said, giving Yaga an awkward smile. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

"I thought I already showed you where that was the other day," he said, looking unimpressed.

You cleared your throat, pretending to cough into your hand. "Well, yeah, you did, but, uh... I kinda forgot. Didn't want to ask you again because, you know, I have -" You hesitated, the words almost catching in your throat before you let them out all at once. "Social anxiety and, like, I'm a people pleaser, so inconveniencing people makes me want to jump off the Sumida River."

The way you just made that up.

Gojo, seated all the way to the left, let out an exaggerated snicker, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. You shot him a glare, but the amusement on his face only deepened.

Yaga blinked slowly, looking more bewildered than anything. "I've heard 'kill myself,' but this... this is a little too specific, even for here..."

You shrugged, keeping your eyes trained on the teacher. "Well, Gojo told me to jump off the Sumida River yesterday," you replied, your tone as deadpan as you could manage.

Yaga's expression hardened. "Gojo, what the hell? You told someone to kill themselves?"

Gojo immediately waved his hands defensively, that cocky grin faltering. "No, no! It's not what it sounds like - I only said that because I threw her body pillows in -"

"Body pillows?" You interrupted aggressively, your tone dripping with indignation. "He means the pillows I use for my scoliosis." You shot Gojo a murderous look before turning back to Yaga. "That's right. He told a girl with scoliosis to jump into a river to retrieve the pillows that help with her medical condition. It's my first day, and I'm already getting bullied. Can you believe this?"

The room fell silent.

Geto's brows furrowed slightly, his voice calm but confused. "Wait, Sensei, I'm pretty sure those pillows had naked anime -"

"Dude, what?!" you interrupted, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "You just made that up! Those pillows were specifically designed for scoliosis patients, with anime characters to help spread awareness about the condition. It's called representation," you said with a perfectly straight face, leaning into the lie.

Geto blinked, clearly taken aback, his usual composed expression cracking just slightly. Meanwhile, Shoko bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

Gojo's face turned red, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Come on, I didn't know she had -" he began, but Yaga cut him off.

"Enough." Yaga snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a migraine. "Let's move on before you dig yourself an even deeper hole, Gojo." He glanced at you two. "Sit down."

Shoko whispered to you, her hand hiding her mouth, "Can't believe you just did all that to excuse us for being late."

You winked at her. She sat down next to Geto, who was next to Gojo, and you took the far-right seat next to Shoko and the door.

Yaga shook his head, muttering to himself, "There will be an anti-bullying conference soon enough anyway," as he reached for his notebook, clearly resigned to dealing with this nonsense.

You flashed a cheeky grin at Gojo and raised your middle finger at him, wiggling it slightly for good measure.

He glared back, jaw tightening, but behind those sunglasses you could swear he was fighting a smile. "Real mature," he muttered.

"Only on special occasions," you shot back sweetly.

Yaga fiddled with his laptop, clicking around to set up the projector while the room filled with a few whispers and chuckles. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and looking around like you were about to drop some serious knowledge on them.

"Hi, so um, like, why do I have a goddamn white uniform?" you asked, not bothering to raise your hand. It came out more blunt than you intended, but honestly, you were too curious to care.

Yaga glanced up, adjusting his glasses as he blinked at you. "Ah, yes, the white uniform. It's reserved for students who have a few... unique circumstances."

You raised your eyebrows, leaning forward. "Unique circumstances? Like, what? Am I a problem child or something?"

Gojo snickered under his breath, nudging Geto. "You definitely fit the part!"

Ignoring him, you pressed on, your tone half-joking. "Am I being punished for something I didn't even do?"

Yaga cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of authority. "Not exactly a punishment. It's more to differentiate certain students."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, and glared at the ceiling. "For me to be a problem child, shouldn't I at least be a grade 2? What grade even am I? Fumiko told me the hags are discriminating against my late clan or something, but would they go as far as to segregate me?!"

Yaga decided not to comment on your wording. "You're currently grade 4."

"Grade 4?" you whisper-shouted, incredulous. "How the fuck am I supposed to be a problem child at grade 4? What problems am I causing? Being a weak-ass bitch?!"

Gojo leaned forward, practically bursting with laughter. "Grade 4? You're barely a step above a houseplant! What kind of trouble are you causing? Losing your lunch money?"

Geto, ever the composed one, had a slight smirk playing at his lips. "I think the real question is what kind of problems you could even cause at that level."

You threw your hands up in frustration. "This is total bullshit! Why do the ancient creatures discriminate against me? Is it because my clan's got a bad rap? What kind of 'problem child' are they expecting me to be? I might as well actually start causing problems just to live up to it."

Shoko was practically dying of laughter, patting you on the back to console you. "Hey, at least you've got room to grow! Just think, you could work your way up to Grade 3! Big aspirations!"

You shot her a glare. "Great! So I'll be a Grade 3 problem child? Wow, what an upgrade!"

Gojo grinned wider, clearly enjoying this. "Nah, I'd say 'Grade 4: Dangerously Ineffective!'"

Geto shook his head slightly, that amused expression still lingering. "I'm just curious what kind of chaos someone at Grade 4 could even manage."

You crossed your arms tighter, fuming. "Sir, these two are bullying me! I'm really considering jumping off the Sumida River after this! Not only am I getting discriminated against by the system, but also by my classmates!"

Yaga blinked, clearly thrown off guard by your dramatic flair. "What? No! I mean -"

"Yeah, you heard me!" you interrupted, pointing at Gojo and Geto like they were the real villains in this scenario. "They're making fun of my grade and the systematic oppression I have to go through! Like, what the hell? I'm just trying to survive here!"

Yaga rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the two boys with a look of concern. "You two need to cut it out. This isn't appropriate."

MHM!!!!

Geto raised his hands slightly, his voice calm. "We were just teasing. I apologize if it came across as bullying."

"Yeah, who knew you could get bullied for being so weak?" Gojo added, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Enough!" Yaga snapped, his brows furrowing. "You don't bully your classmates, especially not over something like this. It's unacceptable!"

You smirked, leaning back in your chair and enjoying the scene. Yaga was clearly trying to keep the peace, and it was fun watching the boys squirm under his gaze. Geto shot you a look that was almost impressed, while Gojo just looked confused, his smirk fading slightly.

Yaga gave them a warning look, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern as he prepared to start the lesson. You could see the tension in Geto's shoulders, and Gojo was trying to hide a grin behind his hand.

Shoko was biting her lip, struggling to hold back her laughter as the projector flickered to life.

---

Yaga's cough brought your attention back to the lesson at hand, thankfully shifting the focus away from the uncomfortable (not for you and Shoko) exchange. As he began to delve into the topic of World War I, you felt a surge of relief wash over you. This was something you knew well, perhaps even had a hyperfixation on.

World History was probably a part of the Social Studies subject. It made sense that such lessons were part of the curriculum, especially considering Nanami's capacity to pursue a normal college education with his Jujutsu High school graduation. They would cover "normal" high school subjects on top of the jujutsu education.

You made a mental note to participate actively in the discussion, eager to avoid being cold-called when it came to topics related to Japanese history. While you weren't entirely sure if Yaga practiced cold-calling, you reasoned it was better to be safe than sorry. You might have asked Shoko before this, but what if he had some personal agenda against you or something? You never know.

"So what would you say started it?"

Yaga posed the question rhetorically, but you couldn't resist the urge to raise your hand eagerly, your inner history nerd itching to contribute. It was clear that Yaga wasn't accustomed to having his three students participate actively, judging by the way he blinked in surprise when he noticed your hand raised. You heard a jealous bitch mutter "nerd" under his breath while fiddling with his pen. Jealousy was a disease that not even the reverse cursed technique could heal, you little shit - alright, you were the one taking this too personally.

After a momentary pause, Yaga finally acknowledged you, calling your name to respond to his question.

"Well, you know, it wasn't just about the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand," you began, trying to sound more composed. "There were a bunch of factors at play here. Like, uh, the Balkan Wars, Serbian nationalism - which, by the way, was a big deal since it led to the assassination - and European expansionism. Basically, it was a whole mess of things happening at once. An accumulation, if you will. And well -"

As you wrapped up your enthusiastic explanation of pre-World War I conflicts, you couldn't help but notice the bewildered expression on Yaga's face. He seemed torn between pride at finally having a student engaging in the lesson and concern over how to rein you in.

You sensed his internal struggle as he grappled with the dilemma of how to politely signal for you to shut the hell up. But despite his evident discomfort, you didn't regret a single word. Your middle school hyperfixation finally paid off.

You couldn't help but side-eye Geto as he raised his hand with an air of nonchalance, contrasting sharply with your eager enthusiasm. He exuded an effortless coolness, lounging back in his seat as if participating in class was the most natural thing in the world. Ugh.

Yaga practically choked on his words as he addressed Geto, his surprise evident in his tone. It was clear that Yaga was taken aback by Geto's sudden participation, perhaps even more so than yours.

"What she failed to mention," Geto interjected smoothly, his voice calm and measured, "is the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905." He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on you before he continued. "That conflict was significant because it showcased Japan's emerging military power and helped set the stage for future tensions in the region. It's an important piece of the puzzle when discussing the lead-up to World War I."

You felt a flicker of annoyance at being overshadowed, but you couldn't deny that Geto had a way of making his points sound effortlessly sophisticated.

"Right," Yaga nodded, looking pleased to have both of you engaging. "And how do you think these events influenced modern international relations?"

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms, ready to let Geto do the talking while secretly plotting your comeback. You couldn't let him have all the glory, after all.

Gojo, still doodling stick figures in his notebook, chimed in with his signature nonchalance. "Isn't this where we talk about how everyone hated each other after that? Like, 'you bombed my country, so I'll bomb yours back'?"

"Close enough," Yaga replied, guiding the discussion forward. "Nationalism surged in response to these conflicts, leading to alliances that would eventually contribute to World War I. It's important to understand how those feelings can fuel aggression."

"The good old days when men like him died in war instead of beefing with women and telling them to jump in a river. Bring me back!" you added as you doodled anime eyes on your notebook.

Yaga let out the biggest sigh ever, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off an impending headache. "We are not going to romanticize war, especially not in this classroom," he stated firmly, though you could sense the hint of amusement beneath his frustration. You couldn't help but think about how hypocritical that statement was coming from a Jujutsu sorcerer.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, that cocky grin spreading across his face again. "See? I told you I didn't tell you to kill yourself! Also, I'd definitely go to war - I'd beat all their asses. When's the next one?"

Yaga shook his head, looking exasperated. "No -"

Shoko interrupted with a judgemental look on her face. "You can go get your ass beat then. I'm staying here."

"Exactly! You know, Gojo, you won't be able to kill off the soldiers by telling them to jump in a river, I fear," you shot back.

Geto's lips twitched slightly, clearly entertained. "I think that's your secret weapon, Satoru. Just send them to the river for a 'friendly swim,' and they'll be begging for mercy."

Gojo pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. "You guys are no fun."

Yaga cleared his throat to regain control of the class. "Alright, let's steer this back to the topic. I assure you, none of you will be getting sent to any rivers anytime soon."

And that's pretty much how your first lesson with the 2nd years went. By the end of it, Yaga looked like he was about to jump in the river himself, his last nerve fraying as Geto casually handed you an ibuprofen right in the middle of the lesson.

"Ah, my apologies, Majiwara," he said quietly, leaning slightly toward you. "Your painkillers."

"... Can ibuprofen even help with that?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"With what? You got a boo-boo?" Gojo mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"No, you dipshit," you shot back without missing a beat. "I'm on my period."

Yes, you were about to make it everyone's damn business. You LOVED complaining.

Gojo's eyes widened behind his sunglasses in exaggerated surprise. "Ha! So that's why you're so moody!"

"Really, Gojo? You'd be annoying even when I'm not on it, so what's good?" you snapped back, glaring at him. "Maybe try not being a jerk and we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Shoko, ever the nonchalant ally, chimed in dryly. "Right? It's not like you're some emotional genius, Gojo. You act like a toddler when you don't get your way."

Yaga gave you both a weary look that said, please, for the love of all things, just stop talking.

They better give this man a raise.

Chapter Text

Standing in the bathroom, you felt the familiar grip of cramps pulling at your abdomen. Each wave intensified like a tightening vice, squeezing harder and harder until you thought something inside you might actually snap. A dull ache radiated through your lower back, making it impossible to find a comfortable position. The bloating was relentless - you felt heavy, uncomfortable, like someone had inflated you three sizes too big. The tenderness in your breasts added to the general sense of wanting to crawl out of your own skin.

You leaned against the cool tile wall, trying to breathe through the discomfort. It felt like your body was at war with itself, each cramp worse than the last.

"GOD, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" Your voice bounced off the walls, echoing back at you mockingly.

Shoko's voice drifted through the door, cutting through your thoughts. "You sure you're okay? Want some ibuprofen?"

You took a moment, straightening up and attempting to muster something resembling a reassuring tone. "I'm fine," you replied, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. 

You had this weird obsession with never taking ibuprofen - wanted to see how much pain you could actually handle. Which, when you thought about it, was pretty masochistic of you.

And that's how you spent your first lunch at Jujutsu High. Fortunately, you managed to convince Shoko to leave and eat with her friends. Honestly, the thought of spending two hours with Gojo and Geto - without Yaga around to tell either of them to shut the hell up - was less than appealing. Not that you'd prefer to deal with period cramps, but hey, it was a trade-off you were willing to make.

You glanced at the mirror, hoping to resemble a human being. Instead, you were met with harsh reality - your makeup looked terrible, your primer had clearly betrayed you, leaving your pores on full display. The pimples scattered across your skin only added to the disaster. 

Fantastic. Just what you needed for your first day.

But considering there were only about five students in this school and two of them would judge you no matter what - whether you bothered with makeup or not - you really didn't give a singular fuck. You might not win the war against Sukuna, but you were definitely winning the IDGAF war, and that was more than enough.

Shoko called your name again, pulling you from your thoughts. In the dimly lit bathroom, your movements felt awkward as you reached out, hands searching blindly for the door handle. Frustration gnawed at you, the urgency amplifying your clumsiness.

Finally, in a rush of impatience, you lunged for the handle. But as you gripped it, you hit your acrylic nail against the edge far too harshly. Pain shot through your finger like a bolt of electricity, a sickening crack echoing in the stillness as the nail snapped.

The sensation was like ripping off a Band-Aid, but far more excruciating. A dull throbbing followed, pulsing with each beat of your heart.

"Ieri-san?"

"Did something happen?"

"I want to kill myself."

---

And that's how you ended up sprawled out under the sun, casually sipping your cappuccino while everyone else was out there sweating bullets for Yaga's ridiculous warm-up routine. 

Shoko was just meandering along, clearly uninterested in anything that resembled actual exercise. Meanwhile, Gojo and Geto were tearing it up with their sprinting. Seriously, who ran that hard just to impress a teacher? They were definitely the type to yell at you for not catching the ball in P.E.

You took a sip of your drink, rolling your eyes at their enthusiasm. "Fucking losers," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head at the sight of them racing like it was the Olympics. 

You were perfectly content soaking up the sun and enjoying your coffee. Who needed that kind of stress in their life? Not you, that was for sure. You settled deeper into your spot, letting the warmth wash over you, completely unbothered by their antics.

You watched as Geto threw his head back and laughed, probably at some stupid joke Gojo made. Seriously, did he just Zendaya laugh? You'd spoken to Gojo before, and the guy wasn't funny enough to warrant such an enthusiastic reaction. 

Damn, Geto was down bad. God bless.

"Oi, oi! My standards weren't exactly high to begin with, but come on!" Gojo's voice rang out as he sprinted past, that signature grin plastered across his face. "At least try to run or something! What, you think this is some kinda café?"

"Is that your way of saying you want to race me? Because I can assure you, I'm not the one who's gonna be sweating buckets over a stupid warm-up."

He glanced back, smirking. "Ehhh? You could at least jog a little! I thought this was Jujutsu High, not 'sit-around-and-drink-cappuccinos' High."

You paused mid-sip, taking your sweet time setting down your cappuccino. Pushing Shoko's sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you fixed Gojo with a look that could kill. Or show your lazy eye. Or both.

"Listen. I got two hours of sleep. And my period is acting up on top of it." You leaned forward slightly. "I'm not talking about a little bit of blood. My clots are so big I had to do a double-check to make sure it wasn't something else, and they're just dropping out like my uterus is trying to expel its own internal organs. It feels like someone's scraping the inside of my body with a rusty knife, and every time I stand up, it's like a whole new wave just gushes out. It's disgusting."

You glanced over at Shoko, who didn't even try to hide her amused smirk. When did she and Geto get here?

"And don't even get me started on the cramps," you continued, locking eyes with Gojo again. "It's like someone's twisting my insides into a knot and kicking me in the stomach repeatedly. So yeah, I'm not running around the track like you two idiots. I'm too busy trying not to bleed through my pants. Now go run."

You leaned back, grabbing your cappuccino again.

Gojo blinked, clearly taken aback. His expression wavered between amusement and discomfort, but then a half-smirk tugged at his lips. "Uwah... didn't need a whole biology lesson there," he shot back, scratching the back of his head. "But hey, I guess that's one way to get out of training."

He shook his head, jogging backward. "That mental image's gonna be stuck with me for a while though. Thanks for that." With that, he spun back around, picking up speed to catch up with Geto. "Guess I'll leave you to your... internal war or whatever."

Good.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed Shoko's sunglasses, slipped them on, and leaned back. Honestly, with the way Gojo kept running his mouth, you wouldn't be surprised if the next step was you pushing him against a locker just to shut him up.

Everyone suddenly bolted. You turned around, perplexed, only to find Yaga standing there with an awkward expression, concern evident in his eyes.

"I'm not a woman," Yaga began, voice a mix of professionalism and genuine worry, "but what you described... doesn't sound normal. You should probably see a doctor about it." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. "Uh... me being a theater kid?"

"No." Yaga's tone was patient but slightly bemused. "Your menstrual cramps."

"Ah, right, right..." You trailed off, gathering your thoughts. "But um, thank you for letting me skip today, sensei. Honestly, I'm still really nervous. Even if my period cramps miraculously vanished, I doubt I'd be able to keep up." You glanced over at your three classmates - Gojo and Geto beating each other up while Shoko filmed them. "Or... do whatever it is they're doing."

Yaga gave a small nod, expression softening as he followed your gaze. "Well, they're not exactly the best role models when it comes to focus," he conceded with a resigned sigh. "But you still need to find ways to keep up with your training, even if it's at your own pace. Skipping can't become a habit."

"Of course," you agreed quickly, flashing a nervous smile. "I'll definitely, uh, do some stretches or something... maybe meditate?"

"That's a start," Yaga replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't quite sold. "Just make sure you make progress." He glanced at the ongoing chaos. "You don't want to fall behind those idiots."

You fell silent, glancing over at the trio.

He continued, "Catching up to those three will be the least of your problems once you're out there for real." His voice was rough with the kind of experience you don't get from textbooks. His eyes moved from the human circus act that was your classmates to you, softening just enough to let you know he wasn't here to judge.

You let out a faint laugh, more of a scoff really. "Right, comforting."

"You know," you began, voice low and edged with uncertainty, "the idea of risking my life for people who don't even know I exist kinda feels like a raw deal." You shrugged, glancing over at the chaos happening about 30 meters away. "But then, I guess there's some comfort in knowing that just being a sorcerer means I'm helping - like, even if I'm not the strongest, I'm still out here keeping people alive. It's something, at least."

Yaga's voice mirrored yours, soft but laced with caution as he treaded carefully around the very system he was meant to support. "Most of us are in this for practical reasons. Financial incentives play a substantial role. As you pointed out, being a sorcerer has its perks, even for those who are just average. I think that's why so many stick around - if you've got even a decent technique, you're pretty much set."

You briefly toyed with the idea of responding with something snarky like "By 'set,' do you mean overworked for the rest of your life?" But you quickly shelved that thought. It seemed foolish to voice such cynicism, especially in front of Yaga, who had a responsibility to uphold the system he was part of. Sure, he was a cool teacher, but he was still a teacher.

"I don't remember much about myself," you confessed quietly, letting the words hang in the air. "But the thought of finally being able to help people is... appealing." You paused, a hint of wry humor creeping into your tone. "Just as long as I don't have to go on missions while I'm on my period..."

Yaga let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-snort. "You'll have to. You've already got a taste of what it means to be a sorceress just by being in the Zen'in clan, haven't you?"

Your eyes shot open in disbelief. "Wait, you're telling me it's not just the Zen'ins? I mean, I know the jujutsu world isn't exactly a matriarchy, but you're saying the rest of them are just as bad?!"

Yaga raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. "Don't expect the rest of the jujutsu world to be much different. The Zen'in clan might take it to an extreme, but the attitude isn't exactly isolated. You'll find plenty of outdated thinking, even outside the big families."

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. "Great, so it's not just a clan thing - it's a jujutsu society thing."

Yaga's sudden shift caught you off guard, his eyes widening in alarm as he abruptly turned his attention elsewhere. "Panda. I hear him crying." His voice was urgent as he sprang to his feet. "Go check on those three and make sure they aren't causing trouble while I take care of my baby."

Then he bolted off.

You blinked, completely thrown off. What the-?

---

You sighed in relief, zeroing in on the last stubborn pimple. Carefully, you pressed the q-tips against the inflamed bump until - pop! - it erupted, releasing a small, gross stream of pus and oil. Immediately, you reached for the disinfectant, scrubbing your hands even though you hadn't even touched the pimple directly. The whole thing was just too gross not to. After slathering on some anti-inflammatory cream for good measure, you finally felt like you could move on with your life.

The pimple had been bothering you all day - an angry, swollen bump lodged deep under your skin. It was one of those painful ones, the kind you could feel throbbing beneath the surface of your cheek, almost like a tiny knot of pressure that refused to go away.

You were slouched back in the stadium seats overlooking the training grounds, nursing the aftermath of your little DIY skincare routine when Nanami's voice cut through the quiet. "That looked painful."

His brows knitted together slightly as he eyed you with what might have been concern - though with Nanami, it was always hard to tell.

You glanced sideways at him, meeting his gaze with a glint of amusement. "Oh, did it? You wanna find out?" You tilted your head with a teasing grin. "I could pop your pimples too, if you'd like. I'm kind of an expert."

Nanami's frown deepened. He took a half-step away as if to physically distance himself from the idea. "No, thank you. I think I'll manage without your... expertise."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Suit yourself. You're missing out on some quality bonding time, you know."

"I'd rather keep my pimples to myself," he muttered, tone dry as ever. "And maybe you should let yours heal before you start volunteering as a dermatologist."

"But-"

"No." Nanami cut you off, tone firm and leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

You barely had time to process his decisive rejection before your attention was drawn to the middle of the training field, where Haibara had dropped to his knees like he was auditioning for a melodrama. He was sporting only his crop top, while you still had his jacket wrapped around your waist. You paused your diligent hand-sanitizing routine - because even post-COVID, some habits die hard - to watch the spectacle unfold.

"The fact that women have to go through this - no, seriously-" Haibara's voice trailed off, frustration written all over his face. Then suddenly, like he'd reached some dramatic breaking point, he blurted out, "I'm gonna go outside and set myself on fire! What are we doing to our beautiful queens?!"

The last words echoed across the training field as he sat there on his knees, hands clasped over his head like he'd just witnessed a tragedy.

Now that was a theater kid through and through.

"Relax, Romeo," you called out, finishing up with the hand sanitizer. "It's just a pimple, not the fall of civilization."

Nanami, still looking faintly concerned, muttered, "Haibara, no one's lighting themselves on fire today."

"If you wanna make us feel better, you better buy me cigarettes!" Shoko shouted, not even looking up from her flip phone as she lounged next to you. Her voice was casual, like she was asking for a favor instead of making a demand.

The second the words left her mouth, Haibara sprang to his feet and took off in a full sprint toward you, determination lighting up his face.

He raised a fist like a battle cry. "You're right! Which brand? Do they even sell to 15-year-olds?"

Shoko barely glanced up from her game, giving him a dismissive wave. "I've been smoking since I was 14, so yeah. The brand doesn't matter."

Meanwhile, you reached into your Sailor Moon tote bag - an eclectic choice courtesy of Aika - and pulled out your wallet. After extracting your credit card, complete with a tiny sticky note bearing the code, you handed it to him. The expression on his face shifted to one of disbelief as he stared at the card.

"Would you mind picking me up an iced latte along with Ieri-san's cigarettes? Feel free to grab something for yourself too." 

You leaned in closer to Haibara and whispered, "Oh, and can you grab Nanami some bread? He looks like he enjoys bread."

A wave of rich aunt energy surged through you at that moment. Maybe this was the glamorous existence you were destined for all along.

Haibara accepted your credit card with such reverence it felt like he was handling a rare gem. "I promise to protect it with my life!" He gave a mock salute, tone dripping with sincerity. "Thank you for entrusting me with this!"

With a newfound sense of responsibility, he set off on his mission, leaving you blinking in surprise at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Nanami's gaze locked onto you, the one eye not hidden by his hair widening in surprise. "How did you know I liked bread?"

You shrugged, maintaining a casual demeanor. "Everyone likes bread."

His response was a simple, yet thoughtful, "Oh."

A jolt of fear shot through you as Gojo's LOUD ASS voice echoed across the training field. "Ehhh? Nothing for me?" His tone dripped with mock disappointment. "I'd kill for some kikufuku right now! Why didn't ya think of me?" 

He added a playful suffix to your name, reminiscent of Naoya's teasing tone. You almost felt sick for a moment. Anything that reminded you of Naoya made you feel sick.

"Okay," you replied flatly, lacking the energy to engage with Gojo's antics, especially while your period cramps were still wreaking havoc.

Even from a distance, you could see Gojo's exaggerated pout. He was dressed more casually than usual - oversized white sweatshirt and black skinny jeans, effortlessly radiating that playful charm he was known for. Next to him, Geto stood with his usual polite smile, clad in a matching black sweatshirt and sweatpants. 

Those little fuckers were slaying, you had to give them that.

You decided to fake sleep, hoping to dodge the bullshittery of the "prepare for trouble, make it double" duo. As they got closer, you could hear Geto greeting the others with his usual calm composure - "Good afternoon, everyone" - while Gojo's voice cut through the air. 

"Oi, is she really pretending to be asleep?!" he exclaimed, loud enough to jolt you out of your faux slumber.

You opened your eyes and shot Gojo a glare, unamused. 

"Uwah, that's not a pretty look," he remarked teasingly. "Also, what's up with all those pimples?"

"You'll start coughing in seven days," you stated matter-of-factly, voice laced with a hint of cryptic warning - or witchcraft, depending on how you looked at it.

"Tsk, tsk, this is why you don't have a boyfriend. Hostility is such a turn-off, ya know?" Gojo remarked. 

Beside him, Geto interjected with a gentle "Satoru, stop," in the most pick-me way possible.

"Why the hell would I want a boyfriend when Yuki Tsukumo exists?" you retorted sharply. "The male species looks like a joke - an unfunny one, that is - compared to her."

Nanami inhaled sharply. Shoko let out a thoughtful hum. Gojo and Geto exchanged glances, expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Did you say something - oh. You hadn't realized just how homosexual you actually sounded saying that. Had you really just come out to them on your first day?

"No homo, though," you added unhelpfully, trying to backtrack, but the damage was already done. 

The awkward silence that followed hung in the air like thick fog, making everything feel ten times more uncomfortable.

Chapter Text

"...Yuki Tsukumo... as in the one who never takes on missions despite being a special grade?" Geto's voice cut through the silence, curiosity lacing his words as his brow furrowed slightly. He leaned forward just a bit, clearly intrigued by your admiration for someone so notoriously elusive in the jujutsu world.

Mama, I'm in love with a criminal-

"You're dating her?!" Shoko's voice burst out with energy you hadn't witnessed in your brief time knowing her - what, a day and a half? Where did that even come from? You could practically feel the weight of their assumptions settling in like thick fog. They must really think you were into girls now, which, to be fair, was fucking true, but-

Think, think! You were in a shounen, right?! Try to sound like a My Hero Academia character! 

"Uh, no! I just wanna be as strong as she is one day! She's like my role model, you know?" You forced a laugh, trying to sell the act, but it felt about as convincing as a cheap magic trick.

They all shot you unimpressed looks.

"'Sorceress'?" Geto's smile had that polite edge to it, the one he always wore when he was about to say something cutting. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"What does she even do anyway?" Gojo mused aloud, not really directing the question at anyone. There was subtle bitterness lacing his tone that didn't go unnoticed.

"She thinks the higher-ups are the problem and probably doesn't wanna deal with all the misogynistic bullshit that comes with this job, even though she's literally the strongest. She's actually trying to change the system instead of just complaining about it. She's cool." You stated it bluntly, your gaze drifting toward Geto. 

When your eyes met, there was a flicker of something unspoken. 

Shit, was he already having those thoughts? Oh hell nah, he'd kill you along with those villagers!

"Somehow I doubt she's thinking that deeply about it," Nanami sighed, adjusting his hair with one hand.

"Aha! That explains your Sailor Moon bag!" Gojo exclaimed, pointing at you like he'd just solved a murder mystery. You shot him a confused look, utterly lost.

"What does my bag have to do with anything?"

"Isn't it about magical lesbians fighting each other or something?" Gojo's grin was absolutely shit-eating. 

The group burst into laughter. You rolled your eyes. Damn it, he had clocked you! You were getting bullied for being gay in the 2000s? Fork spotted in the kitchen.

You quickly threw in a mental half-hearted apology to all the lesbians out there.

"First of all, how the hell could I be gay if I'm engaged to a man? Naoya Zen'in, a literal man?!" Just saying that made you want to gag, but your petty streak won out.

"Oh right, you're engaged to him." Gojo snorted. "Totally forgot."

"So did she," Shoko muttered.

You shot her a look. "Shush. Anyway, I'm literally engaged to a guy! I have a fiancé!" You were on a roll now, and you couldn't resist adding, "And isn't Digimon about computer viruses fighting? Does that make you a virus?"

"Excuse me?!" 

You and Gojo went back and forth for a solid twenty minutes, with the other three occasionally chiming in. As your argument with Gojo intensified, you could feel the urge to actually throw hands. Frustration mixed with adrenaline was a potent cocktail.

But before you could make any moves, Shoko and Nanami jumped in. Shoko swooped in to save you from any impending embarrassment, while Nanami - an honorary member of the "Gojo Hate Club" - was determined to keep you from getting too wrapped up in the madness.

Your sour mood shifted the moment Haibara's voice rang out. You turned around enthusiastically, eyes landing on the coffee carrier he was proudly holding.

"Got your coffees AND your credit card!" Haibara announced, beaming like he'd just won the lottery.

With a burst of determination, you practically teleported to Haibara using the same technique you'd used on the train with Gojo. In one swift motion, you snatched the coffees from his grasp and took the credit card as an afterthought. The seamless execution left everyone momentarily stunned.

"May the gods bless... Yu." You chuckled at your own joke. It was quite the knee-slapper, if you did say so yourself. "Haibara, you and Nanami are living through the feminist revolution. Nanami's my right-hand man, you're my trusty errand boy. Naoya's first to the guillotine. Congratulations!" You patted his shoulder, grinning at the mix of excitement and nervousness in his expression.

As you returned to your seat, you examined the three drinks. A caramel macchiato, a matcha latte, and a white chocolate mocha.

The matcha made you pause. Maybe he won't be your trusty errand boy after all.

Haibara, taking your earlier suggestion to "grab something for yourself" to heart, was now fully engaged in what could only be described as a mukbang session alongside Gojo. The guy seemed to be having the time of his life, happily munching away. Gojo's rich ass was stealing his food and not even paying you back for it!

Meanwhile, Shoko sat nearby, lazily puffing on her fresh cigarette. Smoke curled up into the cool night air as she chatted with Geto. The two of them looked perfectly content, like they were in on some joke the rest of you hadn't been clued in on. The SuguShoko shippers must be gagged.

You glanced over at Geto. A pang of guilt pricked you as you remembered he'd handed you that ibuprofen earlier - even if you hadn't actually taken it. It seemed only fair to offer him a coffee in return, right? 

"Uh, Geto, want a coffee?" You held out the matcha latte like some kind of peace offering. Please, please, please just take it.

Geto gave a polite shake of his head. "Oh, no, that's alright. Thank you though."

But you were determined. "Really, it's no problem."

Before Geto could muster another polite refusal, Shoko's voice cut through. "He drinks coffee," she said with a casual drag on her cigarette.

You raised an eyebrow at Geto, waiting. He let out a resigned sigh, his gaze meeting yours in an unspoken "fine, you win" before reaching for the matcha latte you'd been so desperate to pawn off.

"Would you like something other than the-" 

Geto cut you off with a gentle shake of his head, a small smile forming. "No, it's fine. Thank you, Majiwara."

Relief washed over you as Geto took the green matcha latte off your hands. That drink had been haunting you ever since your trip to Italy, when an Italian barista had practically declared war on you for daring to add sugar to it. The way he'd glared at you, muttering something under his breath about "ruining perfectly good matcha," had left you cringing with secondhand embarrassment. Now, every time you looked at a green latte, all you could think about was that awkward encounter.

Better Geto than you.

The calm didn't stand a chance. 

"Oi! I want one too!" Gojo's voice rang out, shattering the moment like a hammer on glass. He was practically vibrating with his usual over-the-top energy. "Also, what about me? Am I getting guillo- guillo-tined during this revolution of yours?"

"YES," you shot back without missing a beat. "In fact, you'll be first. You've got pictures of models as your phone background. That's objectifying women."

"And your body pillows aren't?!" Gojo shot back, his expression a mix of incredulity and triumph like he'd caught you in a trap.

Oop-

"Not really," you replied smoothly, crossing your arms. "But even if they were, I'd still do it because it's okay when I do it to men. Hope that helps!"

You flashed him a smile that said you had zero regrets about your double standards. Hey, context matters! We live in a political context, don't we?!

Gojo just blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Even Geto looked like he was trying not to laugh. 

Nanami whispered something about "That's not how it works..."

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette, expression flat. "You know, it's ten times worse considering she kinda looks like me."

Gojo scoffed, leaning back. "You? Looking like Waka Inoue? I don't see it."

You rolled your eyes, turning to Gojo. "Dude, just respect it. If she feels uncomfortable, change it."

Haibara jumped in with righteous indignation. "Gojo-san, you really have pictures like that as your background?! That's so disrespectful-"

"Isn't your background literally-" Gojo started.

"NONONO," Haibara interrupted hastily, face flushing as he waved his hands frantically. The panic in his voice did little to reassure anyone.

You fixed Gojo with a firm stare. "Just change it already."

He rolled his eyes but pulled out his phone, tapping away with exaggerated indifference while you watched like a hawk. After what felt like an unnecessarily long three minutes, he finally turned the screen toward you. His wallpaper now featured a still from some obscure '80s movie - thankfully, with no scantily clad women in sight.

"See? Easy," you said, flashing a triumphant grin at both Gojo and Shoko.

Shoko let out a sigh of relief, giving you a grateful nod before her gaze slid over to Haibara. "Say, what was he saying about your background?"

Haibara stiffened, eyes darting nervously. "Uh - nothing! It's nothing, really."

Gojo smirked. "Yeah, Haibara, why don't you show everyone what your 'nothing' looks like?"

You snickered as Haibara's face flushed. "It's just... a landscape photo! Very normal, very scenic," he blurted out defensively.

You rolled your eyes at the ongoing banter. Just as you were about to take a sip of your white chocolate mocha, the familiar chime of your phone ringing cut through the atmosphere. Glancing at the caller ID, you saw it was Aika. Setting down your coffee, you reached for your phone.

"Hey, Aika," you greeted warmly. You couldn't help but notice Haibara's reaction when you mentioned her name. His gaze flicked over to you, surprise flashing across his features.

"How was your first day~?" Aika's tone was light and playful.

YES! Time to complain! Finally! 

"LET ME TELL YOUUUU," you exclaimed, voice a mix of frustration and amusement. "First of all, I slept for TWO goddamn hours, and when I woke up, guess what? My uterus decided it was the perfect time to make its grand entrance. Every muscle in my abdomen clenched with an intensity that felt like a relentless vice grip, squeezing the life out of me. It was like a thousand tiny knives were stabbing me from the inside, each jab sending shockwaves of agony through my entire body." You paused, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, Shakespeare," Aika replied, voice laced with mock seriousness.

"Then, as if that wasn't enough, my acrylic nail broke," you continued, tone dripping with exasperation. "The same nails I got done like two fucking days ago."

"NO-"

"YES."

Haibara suddenly dropped to his knees. "GOD, WHY DO THEY HAVE TO SUFFER SO MUCH?" His voice was saturated with genuine anguish. "Please, give me all the pain women have to carry! I can bear it!"

You exchanged bewildered glances with the others.

"Just sit down and eat your damn food," you replied, a small smile creeping onto your face despite the situation. Shaking your head, you turned back to your phone, eager to dive into the rest of your day's saga with Aika.

However, Aika's sudden nervousness caught you off guard. "Um, are you outside? Who was that?" She asked in a rush, tone laced with urgency.

You furrowed your brow. "Yeah, I'm outside. Sure, I can go somewhere else. Just give me a second."

Once you found a secluded corner, you leaned against a cool wall, the noise of the training field fading into the background.

---

After bidding Aika farewell, you glanced at your phone, half-expecting to see missed calls from Fumiko. Despite having spoken to her multiple times already, familiar anticipation bubbled up as you scrolled through your call log. In your previous life, you'd often neglected to nourish your relationships - a mistake you were determined not to repeat. Better to be clingy than to let those connections wither away.

You called Fumiko. She was ecstatic to hear that Yaga had respected your wish to avoid physical exercise because of your period, going as far as to refer to him as a "real man." Naturally, you couldn't resist teasing her about it.

---

You returned to your classmates after your call with Fumiko. As you settled into your seat, you caught the tail end of Shoko's question. 

"Hold on, so your sister's name is also Aika and she's also 19?"

The words hit you like ice water down your spine. Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, the cardboard giving slightly under the pressure. 

No.

"So what you're saying is the hot chick on the train is your sister?" Gojo chimed in.

Oh.

Your throat felt tight. The conversation around you continued, but it sounded muffled, like you were underwater. Your heartbeat picked up speed, thudding against your ribs in a way that made it hard to breathe normally.

"'Hot'?? Gojo-san, don't call my sister hot!" Haibara protested, voice a mix of embarrassment and indignation. "But yeah, seems like it... your friend this whole time has been my sister! What a coincidence!" 

He turned to you with a huge grin.

You couldn't return it. Your face felt frozen, stuck somewhere between a smile and something else entirely. The coffee in your hand suddenly felt too heavy.

"Right." The word came out flat, lifeless. "What a damn coincidence."

Your nails dug into your palms. The slight sting helped ground you, kept you from spiraling right there in front of everyone. But your mind was already racing, connecting dots you wished would stay separate.

"Can she..." You paused, trying to keep your voice steady. "Can she see curses?"

Haibara's expression shifted. He leaned back, and something in his eyes looked older suddenly. Tired. "Yeah, she can. The rest of my family can't though. None of them really wanted me to become a sorcerer, especially Aika."

The weight in your chest grew heavier. Of course. Of fucking course.

"They're all just so pes- pessi- pessimistic!" Haibara's voice picked up with frustration. "But I guess it makes sense. I mean, if she wanted to become a sorcerer, I wouldn't have let her..." 

He trailed off, and the regret in his eyes was so genuine it almost made you feel worse.

Your mind was putting it together now, piece by piece, like a puzzle you didn't want to complete. The hospital. The door left open. Her perfect timing. Her excessive friendliness. The way she'd appeared in Tokyo right when you needed someone.

Ten days. You'd known her for ten fucking days.

"Damn, that's crazy." You forced the words out, trying to sound casual even as your stomach twisted. "Do you think she knew I have amnesia? Random question, but..."

Please say no. Please say no.

"Actually, yeah! At a family dinner, I mentioned it when Yaga-sensei said a new student would be joining us!"

Something sharp and cold lodged itself in your chest.

Of course she knew. Of course she fucking knew.

The others kept talking, their voices becoming background noise. You nodded at appropriate times, made sounds of acknowledgment, but inside you were somewhere else entirely. Replaying every interaction with Aika. Every laugh, every shared moment, every time she'd been so perfectly understanding.

Had any of it been real?

The thought made you feel stupid. So fucking stupid. You'd let your guard down. You'd gotten attached. You'd started to believe that maybe, just maybe, you'd found someone genuine in this fucked up world.

But she'd known. From the very beginning, she'd known everything.

Your technique was OP. Your clan had a reputation. And her little brother was about to walk into this world blind and naive, just like she probably thought you'd been at the hospital. What better way to keep him safe than to befriend the powerful amnesiac who'd end up in his class?

It made sense. Perfect, logical, awful sense.

"Are you alright, Majiwara?" Geto's voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.

You looked up. Fixed Haibara with a smile that felt too sharp on your face. "Haibara, I love your sister and all, but I swear I'll drag her by her cheap ass wig the next time I see her."

Haibara's eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa! Maybe hold off on the wig dragging? She's my sister, after all!"

You could see the confusion on their faces. They didn't get it. They couldn't understand why this bothered you so much. And honestly? You didn't feel like explaining. Didn't feel like unpacking all the layers of manipulation and hurt and betrayal that were currently shredding through your chest.

Sometimes it's easier to sit in your feelings without giving anyone a roadmap to them.

You stood abruptly, grabbing your coffee carrier. "I'm feeling a bit annoyed right now, so I'm gonna take my coffee and bask in the moonlight for a while. Thanks for getting me the coffee, Haibara. Goodnight, everyone."

Your cursed technique activated before anyone could respond, and you disappeared.

---

The edge of campus was quiet. Almost too quiet. 

Trees marked the boundary between school grounds and forest, their branches creating patterns against the night sky. Moonlight filtered through, casting everything in shades of silver and shadow.

You sank against a wall, the cool stone pressing against your back through your uniform. The white chocolate mocha was still warm in your hands. You took a sip, letting the sweetness sit on your tongue.

The moon stared down at you, indifferent and beautiful. Clouds drifted past it lazily. A breeze picked up, sending shivers down your spine and making the nearby fireflies dance. You took a deep breath - in through your nose, out through your mouth - trying to let the crisp air clear the mess inside your head.

It didn't work.

Your mind kept circling back. Aika. Haibara. The hospital. Every interaction now tainted with suspicion.

Why did it bother you so much?

Really, when you thought about it logically, wasn't this how most friendships started? You meet someone, you want something from them - entertainment, companionship, whatever - and eventually you end up actually liking them. That was normal. That was how it worked.

So why did this feel different?

You replayed that first meeting in your head. The door left open by Naoya, because of course he wouldn't bother closing it. The sound of high heels clicking on the hospital floor. Those bright blue contacts locking onto yours.

"Waaa, you look so prettyyyyy!"

At the time, with your disheveled appearance and emotional exhaustion, it had felt like bullying. But you'd been grateful. "Oh, thanks...?"

"Ugh, would you like me to, like, close the door or something? That weirdo who just left it open... Oh my God, sorry if that's your family or... boyfriend? But if it's the latter, you deserve better."

A guardian angel. That's what you'd thought. Someone swooping in at exactly the right moment with exactly the right words.

But now, looking back with clear eyes, you could see the strings. The careful choreography of it all.

"I can't fucking stand that guy- Hold on, are you visiting someone here? I shouldn't keep you then!"

"Oh, no, no worries! I mean, yeah, I was just visiting my friend who just had a baby, but they're sleeping now, so I'm, like, totally free to listen to your drama about that awful boyfriend of yours."

Too perfect. Too convenient. Too fucking available.

You'd grown close so fast. Abnormally fast. Usually it took months to build that kind of comfort with someone, but with Aika it had felt like you'd known each other forever. You'd chalked it up to being vulnerable after waking up in a different world, but...

Love bombing. That's what they called it, right? Showering someone with excessive affection to make them feel safe. To make them lower their defenses.

And it had worked.

You finished your mocha, setting the empty cup aside with more force than necessary.

Ten days. You'd known her for ten fucking days and you'd already started seeing her as something permanent in this new life.

But this wasn't just about Aika, was it?

The realization hit you like a physical blow.

You'd been here ten days total. Ten days since waking up in a world that wasn't yours, in a body that wasn't quite yours, surrounded by people who'd die young and bloody if you didn't do something about it.

Most isekai protagonists shed a few tears and moved on. Got excited about their new adventure. Embraced their second chance.

But you? You were barely holding it together.

The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders. Restarting your entire life. Never seeing your family again. Never seeing your friends again. Being trapped in a world where you were expected to risk your life for people who didn't even know you existed.

The responsibility of saving people when you felt so utterly incompetent. The knowledge that Haibara would die. That Geto would fall. That Gojo would lose everything.

And you were supposed to stop it. Grade 4 you, who couldn't even handle finding out your only friend in this world might have ulterior motives.

Your mom was probably crying over your dead body right now.

The thought made your throat tight. Your mom, who'd been there for everything. Every stupid question, every doctor's appointment where you'd freeze up, every time you'd cried over something small because you couldn't let yourself cry over the big things.

She'd been there from literal moment zero. From when you were just cells dividing under her skin. And now...

Now you were here. In 2006. In a world that wasn't yours. Alone.

You'd always had this habit - never crying over the real problems. Because acknowledging them meant facing them, and you'd never been good at that. So you'd lock them away, ignore them, hope they'd disappear.

They never did.

They'd build up like pressure in a sealed container. Building and building until the smallest thing would crack you open. You'd trip in front of class, stub your toe, get a bad grade - something tiny, something manageable - and suddenly you'd be sobbing. Not over the small thing, but over everything. The fear, the uncertainty, the weight of all those problems you'd been pretending didn't exist.

Fucking stupid.

The lump in your throat grew. You tried to swallow it down, but it just got bigger. Your vision blurred.

No. No, you weren't going to cry. Not here. Not now.

But your body had other plans.

The first sob caught you off guard. Then another. Then you couldn't stop.

You wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them to your chest. Rocking back and forth slightly, the way your mom used to when she'd comfort you as a kid. 

It felt like being transported back to your bedroom. Crying over a bad biology grade while your mom rubbed your back. The familiarity was almost comforting.

Except your mom wasn't here. Would never be here again.

The sobs came harder. You pressed your face against your knees, trying to muffle the sound. Your shoulders shook. Your chest ached.

Everything hurt.

The Aika thing, the responsibility, the loneliness, the fear - it all came pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs that you couldn't control.

You cried until your eyes burned and your throat was raw. Until the tears slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether, leaving you hollow and exhausted.

Slowly, you lifted your head. Your face felt swollen, your eyes crusty. You probably looked like shit.

You didn't care.

The moon was still there, hanging in the sky like nothing had happened. The fireflies still danced. The breeze still rustled through the trees.

The world kept turning, indifferent to your breakdown.

You took a shaky breath. Then another. Your hands were trembling as you wiped at your face.

Your eyes scanned the ground, looking for the caramel macchiato you'd left there earlier. It was gone.

"Gojo," you muttered, voice hoarse. Of course that bastard took it.

The anger that sparked in your chest was almost welcome. Better than the hollow feeling.

---

You made your way back to the training ground, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your eyes were definitely bloodshot - you could feel how swollen they were - but you were past caring.

The group was still there, chattering away. Gojo was lounging with what looked suspiciously like your caramel macchiato in his hand, grin plastered across his face like he hadn't just stolen your coffee.

You stopped in front of him. "My coffee."

Gojo turned to you slowly. His expression shifted when he saw your face, mischievous glint dimming slightly. "Aw, are ya cryin'?"

You didn't dignify that with a response. Just held out your hand, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes.

For once, Gojo didn't push it. He handed over the cup without his usual teasing. "Here."

You looked down at it. Empty. Completely fucking empty.

Of course.

"Seriously?" Your voice came out flat, too tired for real anger.

"I was thirsty," he said with a shrug, but his tone was missing its usual playful edge.

Shoko appeared at your elbow. "Come on," she said quietly, hand on your arm. "Let's go."

You let her guide you away before you could do something stupid. Like actually try to fight Gojo. Which would end exactly as well as you'd expect.

"You good?" Shoko asked once you were out of earshot.

"Peachy," you muttered.

She didn't push. Just pulled out a cigarette and lit it, walking beside you in comfortable silence.

After a moment, she spoke again. "So, you think Aika just befriended you to emotionally attach you to her and Haibara so you'd feel obligated to protect him?"

You shot her a glance. "You're making it sound like I'm being hysterical."

"I'm not," Shoko said simply. "I'm just trying to understand."

You sighed, some of the fight draining out of you. "Yeah. That's what I think. I get why she'd do it - he's her brother, she can see curses, she knows how dangerous this world is. It makes sense. But it still feels like..." You trailed off.

"Like being used?" Shoko finished.

"Yeah."

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette, exhaling slowly. "But how? She's clearly trying to hide it from you, right? Remember when you fought that curse? She pretended she couldn't see it, even when shit was going down."

"That's the point," you said, frustration creeping back into your voice. "It would've seemed way too suspicious if she'd revealed everything right away. Like, 'Oh wow, what a coincidence that I just happen to be at the same school as my brother!' This place has like five students total. She was probably planning to tell me once we got closer, so I'd just chalk it up to fate or whatever."

"So you think she's playing the long game?"

"Exactly. It feels like she's been setting this up from the start. Like I'm not actually her friend, I'm just..." You gestured vaguely. "Insurance. A safety net for Haibara."

Shoko was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, she came at you with ulterior motives. But are you really gonna stop being friends with her because of this? I saw how close you two were."

"Girl, what? You only saw us cussing each other out!"

"Yeah, and?" Shoko shrugged. "That's how I am with my friends."

Despite everything, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. "I'll just avoid her for a few days until I figure out how I feel about it. Running from my problems is basically my only sport."

"Wow, what a role model," Shoko said dryly, but she was smiling.

You were about to respond when your phone rang. You glanced at the screen, expecting Aika.

It was Naoya.

Fuck.

"Brace yourself," you warned Shoko. "Naoya's calling."

You answered. "What do you want?"

No preamble. No greeting. You didn't have the energy.

There was a pause on the other end, like he hadn't expected you to be so blunt. "We need to meet with the Kamo clan. We're leaving on February 3rd."

Your blood ran cold. "What?"

"You heard me. February 3rd. Kamo estate. Be ready."

Then he hung up.

You stared at your phone, mind racing.

"February 3rd," you said slowly, looking at Shoko. "Kamo clan."

Shoko's eyes widened. "Oh. That's Suguru's birthday."

A chill ran down your spine. You didn't know much about your clan or the politics involved, but even you knew that a meeting between the Zen'in and Kamo clans - with you as the apparent centerpiece - couldn't be anything good.

"Why?" you asked, more to yourself than Shoko. "Why would they-"

"Probably a power play," Shoko said, taking another drag. "Like, 'we got her and you didn't' type thing."

Your stomach dropped. "Wait. The Kamos were trying to get me too?"

Shoko looked at you like you were being slow. "Dude, what do you think happens when someone with a powerful technique is up for grabs? The big three families don't just let that slide."

You felt sick. You were a bargaining chip. A trophy. A fucking tool in some clan political game you didn't even understand.

"I need to learn about my clan," you said quietly. "I've been avoiding it, but I can't anymore. I need to know what I'm walking into."

Shoko nodded. "Probably a good idea. Want help?"

"Yeah," you said. Then, after a pause, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

You both stood there for a moment, looking up at the night sky. The moon was still there, indifferent as ever.

"This day fucking sucked," you said finally.

"Yeah," Shoko agreed. "It really did."

But somehow, standing there with her, you felt a little less alone.

Just a little.

It was enough for now.

the fuck??”

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sky wears the melancholy hues of winter as you walk the narrow, winding path toward the mountain temple. It is the twelfth month, Shiwasu, of the fourth year of Eikyū, in 1116. The air bites sharp with cold, your breath forming delicate clouds that fade into the dusky twilight. Your sandals, woven from rice straw, crunch over the thin crust of frost. Despite the layers of your simple nun's robes - the white kosode beneath a darker kinu and a worn, charcoal-grey hō over all - the cold seeps through to your skin. Your shaved head, unprotected, aches with the chill.

You have been gathering herbs in the forest that clings to the slopes of Mount Hiei, the mountain shrouded in pines and cedars that stretch endlessly upward into the mist. The herbs nestled in your basket are not many - just a few bitter stalks of yomogi and some dried persimmons gifted by a villager. The basket itself, made of bamboo, hangs lightly from your arm, swinging gently as you walk. There is a faint rustling, barely audible, like the whispering of kami in the ancient trees. 

The path leads you beside a narrow stream, its clear waters reflecting the pale disk of the moon, which has risen early against the deepening indigo sky. You pause at the edge of the stream, gazing at the rippling surface, where the moon's image wavers like a silver fan caught in a gust of wind.

Ah, how fleeting is this world - even the moon's reflection cannot hold still in the water!

The temple complex emerges at the end of the path, its low, unpainted wooden buildings crouched beneath thatched roofs that wear a fine dusting of frost. Smoke drifts from the kitchen hall, mingling with the crisp scent of winter pine, while the air feels thin and sharp, each breath stinging in the throat. As you near the torii gate - a simple, weathered wooden structure shaped by the touch of many, many seasons - a shift in the atmosphere makes itself felt. Stepping beneath the gate feels like crossing a boundary into a different realm, one where the noise of the bustling capital, the clamor of courtiers, and the intrigues of the world are all left far behind.

The pale moonlight spills into the courtyard, threading through the trees and casting shifting patterns across the temple's wooden walls. The landscape is familiar, yet holds a dreamlike quality, as though you walk through an ink painting, your steps merging with the quiet calligraphy of the land itself. Moss-covered stones line the pathways, lacquered bridges arch over still ponds, and the sound of a nearby waterwheel turning adds a rhythmic beat to the otherwise silent night. The wind stirs, carrying with it the faint scent of burning sandalwood, making the boundary between reality and memory feel porous, as though this path might be one you walked in another life.

It is the Majiwara clan's compound - a sanctuary that, while serving as your home, resembles a monastery more than an estate. The compound's main hall looms ahead, its roofline a dark silhouette against the sky. As you slide the wooden door open, you are met with the glow of a single oil lamp placed beside a bronze Amida Buddha statue. The flickering light catches the serene smile of the Buddha, and the shadows it casts stretch across the tatami mats like long, silent whispers. You pause, bringing your hands together in gasshō, offering a bow before stepping deeper into the hall.

Soft chanting drifts from a nearby room where your fellow nuns recite the Lotus Sutra. Their resonant voices vibrate through the wooden beams, infusing the space with a meditative hum. As you walk toward the living quarters, the true duality of the Majiwara clan becomes evident. Side by side with the altars and Buddhist scrolls stand racks of weapons - naginata, swords, and staves - tools of a different practice. The presence of these implements does not disrupt the serene spirituality of the space, but rather, seems to belong just as much as the chanting and the scent of incense. It is a reminder that even as a nun devoted to the Dharma, your family's duty as jujutsu practitioners remains interwoven with spiritual devotion, defending sacred relics and protecting shrines as both monastics and keepers of tradition.

Moving quietly through the shadows, you reach the main hall, pausing near a wooden pillar. You are close enough to hear the low voices of the elders who are gathered there, yet distant enough to remain unnoticed - a silent observer, just another phantom among the temple's ghosts.

Their conversation is hushed, flowing in and out of murmurs, like a stream trickling through the silence. 

"It seems the Zen'in have become restless," one elder says, her voice barely above a whisper but taut with unease. "There are reports of them pressing their influence deeper into the capital, and not just through the usual channels of the court."

A pause follows, the kind that seems to stretch with the weight of unspoken things. Another elder speaks up, her voice low and gravelly from years of chanting sutras. "There are signs of their hand even in the retired emperor's court. The recent petition for recognition... one cannot help but wonder if the timing is mere happenstance." There is a knowing tremor in her tone, the kind that hints at rumors not fully shared.

"The Kamo are not idle either," a third voice joins in, the eldest of them all, her voice tinged with the fatigue of too many winters. "There are whispers of alliances forming - clans positioning themselves for something. They speak of ancient claims and forgotten rights as if such things were not covered in dust and cobwebs. If the Zen'in and Kamo move in tandem, then there is more at stake than prestige alone."

Silence settles over the room, heavy as a mountain mist. You feel a shiver run down your spine as the import of their words sinks in. You know well enough the tension between the Zen'in and the Kamo, the constant struggle for power and influence that has marked both clans since long before your time. But to hear the elders speak of it with such guarded tones suggests something deeper, something unspoken beneath the surface - an undercurrent of unease that pulls at the edges of your mind.

"They seek the old ways," the first elder finally says, her voice quiet but firm, "and the power that those ways can still yield. If the Kamo seek to bolster their ranks with those who practice the ancient arts... then we may find ourselves facing more than just political maneuverings."

"And what of our position?" the gravelly-voiced elder responds, her tone carrying a note of hesitation. "Our order is bound by the teachings. The Dharma is our guide, not the squabbles of clans, nor the ambitions of bloodlines. But if the world insists on forcing itself upon our doorstep... if the Zen'in seek to draw us into their web-"

The eldest of the elders interjects softly, "We must remain vigilant. It is not our way to take sides or seek power, yet neither can we ignore the changes sweeping through the capital. To act rashly is to stray from the Way, but to remain still while the world shifts around us... that is a peril of another kind."

You press yourself closer to the pillar, your breath shallow, every word sharpening your awareness. The elders are not merely discussing the encroaching influence of the Zen'in and Kamo - there is something deeper, a threat that does not yet have a name. You can feel it hanging in the air, pressing against the temple walls like the weight of a storm, something old and heavy, tangled with history and tradition.

"We are caught between two forces," the first elder continues, her voice quieter now, tinged with resignation. "If we move, we risk being pulled into the current. If we stay, we may be swept away regardless. The Zen'in have already tested the waters - they sent their emissary last autumn, and his words were not idle."

The gravelly-voiced elder's tone darkens. "They speak of harmony, but they mean subservience. They would see our temple become a vessel for their ambitions, our teachings bent to their purposes. We must tread carefully. To engage them directly would be to invite ruin, but to ignore them would be... unwise."

You can feel your pulse quickening, each word drawing you deeper into a tangled web of implications. The elders' voices lower further still, the urgency in their tones a murmur against the rhythmic drumming of the mokugyo, echoing from deeper within the temple.

The conversation slips into silence, a silence that feels laden with choices not yet made, paths not yet taken. You stand there, hidden in the dim light, knowing that what you have overheard is not just the idle talk of elders but the trembling of the earth before a shift. You cannot be sure of what is to come, but as you step back from the pillar and retreat from the hall, you feel it - like a chill in the air, like the first breath of winter creeping through the temple gates.

How sorrowful, that even in these sacred halls, the world's dust cannot be kept at bay.

You pull your worn hō tighter around your shoulders and make your way through the corridor, the weight of their words settling in your chest like stones in a cold pond. The oil lamps flicker as you pass, casting your shadow long and wavering against the wooden walls.

Outside, the night has deepened. The moon hangs full and bright, indifferent to the machinations of men and clans below. You look up at it, that distant, serene face, and wonder - as your ancestors surely wondered before you - whether the struggles of this floating world mean anything at all beneath its eternal gaze.

The herbs in your basket rustle softly as you walk. Tomorrow, you will grind them into medicine. Tomorrow, you will chant the sutras. Tomorrow, the world will continue turning, whether the Zen'in and Kamo clash or not.

But tonight, you carry the elders' words with you like a secret burden, knowing that ignorance, once lost, can never be reclaimed.

Such is the sorrow of this fleeting world.

You woke up with a pounding migraine, the soft morning light filtering through your dormitory window doing absolutely nothing to ease the relentless throb behind your eyes. As you sat up, the worn sheets clung to your skin like they were trying to smother you, adding to the weight pressing down on your chest.

This was ridiculous. And fucking stupid.

You knew exactly why you'd woken up like this. Had to be some ancestor's doing - deciding you weren't putting enough effort into restoring the clan, so they sent you a vivid reminder through your dreams. You wouldn't be surprised if the next dream featured all your clan members lying dead, just to make sure you got the point.

It was infuriating, especially with tomorrow's visit to the Kamo clan hanging over your head like a bad omen. In the dream, the elders had made it clear - the Kamo and Zen'in clans had always been out to take something from yours. And from the look of things now, a thousand years later, the Zen'ins seemed to have finally succeeded.

So why were they, the Zen'ins, sending you to the Kamo clan of all places?

You glanced at your phone. 5 AM, and a missed call from Fumiko. With a tired groan, you grabbed a cardigan from the hook by the door and stepped outside. The chill of the early morning air hit you like a slap, jolting you awake and sending a shiver racing down your spine. As you walked away from the familiar warmth of your dormitory, the cold seeped through the fabric of your cardigan, making you pull it tighter around yourself.

You quickly dialed Fumiko's number, pulse quickening with each ring. At eight months pregnant, the baby was already measuring around 8.6 pounds, and the risk of an early birth loomed over every call.

"I'm sorry, I was sleeping-" you started, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"No, don't worry about it," Fumiko cut in, tone light. "It was just a false alarm."

"Oh... then why aren't you sleeping?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Fumiko shot back.

You sighed. "Well, you don't have to keep updating me about my clan. Apparently, one of my ancestors has taken it upon themselves to send me nightly history lessons through dreams. Guess they noticed me somewhat enjoying life and thought, 'No, this bitch needs to suffer.'"

Fumiko laughed softly, but there was a breathless quality to it. "What kind of dream was it? I hope it wasn't anything too gory..."

"Nah... it felt like it was set in the past," you replied, voice trailing off as you tried to piece it together. "I... it was like I was in her place, whoever she was. She looked different. Older, maybe. Anyway, I - she walked in on the elders discussing the..." You lowered your voice, glancing around as if someone from the Kamo or Zen'in clan could somehow be listening. "...the Kamo and Zen'in wanting to inflict violence on the clan. Apparently, they had their sights set on our inherited technique."

Fumiko was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her tone held a subtle weight. "...Considering you're married to a Zen'in now, you can probably guess what must've happened, huh?"

"Yeah," you whispered, staring at the ground. "I can connect the dots... But then why would the Zen'ins make me visit tomorrow? Why drag me to the Kamo clan now...?"

"It's all about appearances," Fumiko said, tone measured but edged with quiet disdain. "The Kamos will probably put on a show to win you over. Their current heir - the one with the blood manipulation technique - is, in their eyes, a bit of an embarrassment. His mother wasn't officially part of the family, just a concubine. The only thing keeping them in the 'Big Three' is how deeply conservative they are, and the elders eat that up. Typical old-fashioned nonsense."

You kicked a loose rock on the ground, frustration clear in your voice. "And the Zen'ins? I mean, they wouldn't just let me go if I even thought about it, would they?"

Fumiko's voice softened, but there was a bluntness to it. "No, they wouldn't. If the Zen'ins even caught a whiff of you considering jumping ship, they'd make sure you were locked down tight, one way or another. And not in some romanticized way, either. More like a gilded cage. If things got ugly, well... I'd personally march in there and drag that mustached old man around by his whiskers until he begged for mercy."

You almost laughed at the mental image, but it didn't dispel the knot in your chest. "That still doesn't tell me what to do tomorrow..."

"Honestly?" Fumiko's voice dropped to a more serious tone. "Play along, at least for now. You don't need to decide your allegiance immediately, but you do need to keep the peace long enough to figure out where you stand - and what kind of leverage you might have. Just don't let them charm you into anything before you're ready."

She paused, then added, "Also, keep an eye on the heir for me, will you? As a soon-to-be mom, I can't help but feel a bit maternal toward him, even though I've never met him. It's just sad to think about a little boy his age being constantly insulted and separated from his mother..."

"Oh, trust me, I will. He's six, isn't he?" you asked, picking at your nails as you heard footsteps approaching. You jumped slightly, the sudden sound catching you off guard.

"Worse. Five, I believe-" Another footstep echoed closer.

"Right... uh, I'll have to go! Call me if there's anything wrong or if you have any contractions, okay?" You rushed, heart racing as you glanced over your shoulder.

You nodded absentmindedly - even though she couldn't see - and hung up.

Spinning around frantically, you searched for the source of the footsteps, but you were too slow. A guttural sound, somewhere between a scream and a growl, echoed behind you. You jumped, letting out a high-pitched shriek as you whirled around to face whatever was coming.

You were met with piercing blue eyes staring right at you. 

Your heart raced as you clenched your fists, anger surging through you. "What's wrong with you?!"

Gojo erupted into laughter, clutching his sides as he doubled over.

Of course.

"You know I'm gonna tell Yaga that you're still bullying me!"

"And I'll let him know you stalked me and threatened me," he countered, a playful glint in his eye as he struggled to contain his laughter. The moonlight illuminated the dimples on his cheeks. You stared at them for a second. A second too long.

"That was self-defense... and how much of my conversation did you actually hear?"

"Just enough to know you're not exactly keen on family reunions," he replied, grin unwavering. "And that you're concerned about a kid you've never even met. Very noble of you, by the way."

"Oh."

"I know you're heading there tomorrow, so it's not exactly a shocker." Gojo shrugged casually.

"Who snitched?" You raised an eyebrow. You weren't genuinely upset - it wasn't exactly a secret - but you were surprised that Shoko or Nanami would bother to fill him in. They were both IDGAF war veterans, after all.

He settled onto the bench behind you, casually crossing his legs as he took a sip from his soda. With a smirk, he leaned back. "My clan - they want me to keep an eye on you."

"Great, just what I need. Why is everyone and their mama stalking me?" You rolled your eyes, inching closer to the bench with a hint of hesitation, weighing whether to sit down or keep your distance.

"Stalking? Wow, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" He chuckled, casually tossing his soda can into a nearby bin. "And as you might've figured out by now, I really couldn't care less about clan politics."

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say," you shot back, finally taking a seat but maintaining a comfortable distance between you. "Trust me, I couldn't care less either, but I have to deal with this mess because my clan was apparently oppressed. Now I'm the last one left to face the fallout."

You could feel his piercing blue eyes dissecting you. "So you know more about your clan than you let on? What about that amnesia of yours?"

You noticed he didn't refute your point or even acknowledge it, even though it wasn't entirely accurate. Sure, he was more privileged than you, but his entire existence was steeped in politics, shaped by the expectations and pressures placed on him from a young age...

Whatever. This wasn't the time for therapy no jutsu just yet. Naruto better get his ass over there and do it in your place.

"I... can't you all let me have my secrets?" You shot him a sidelong glance, only to find his unwavering gaze locked onto yours. Rolling your eyes, you pressed on. "If you insist. But I'm only sharing this because I want to complain, okay?!"

Gojo leaned back on the bench, a lazy grin stretching across his face. "Something I've noticed you enjoy doing a lot," he replied with a mock sigh, "but go on. I'm all ears."

What a nosy little shit.

"Okay, so, I had this prophetic dream of the past, right?"

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Prophetic dreams of the past? Aren't those two completely contradictory?"

You tried to nudge him with your foot, but his Infinity was on. "You know damn well what I meant-" you grumbled, and he erupted into laughter at your futile attempt to kick him.

"As I was saying," you continued, "I had a dream. A dream of me in the past, I think... like a past life? I was wandering around and overheard some old people talking. They sounded wise, so I figured they were the elders... But seriously, why are the elders always ancient? I thought the title was supposed to command respect, not describe their actual age." You glanced up at the sky, lost in thought.

Gojo seemed poised to say something, but he paused, biting his lip before finally asking, "What did you think they were, then?" He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Never mind. No wonder you and Shoko get along so well. Neither of you can explain shit."

Okay, now he was doing too much! You weren't nearly as bad as her!

You cleared your throat. "As I was saying, they were debating whether to take action against the Zen'in and Kamo clans. It was all, 'We're Buddhists, so we can't exactly inflict violence, but these bitches are getting too comfortable threatening us.' Their words, not mine."

Gojo clicked his tongue, letting the words hang in the air for a moment as he processed what you'd said. Then, with a casual shrug, he replied, "You know, I've had my share of those 'prophetic dreams of the past,' too - just not in the same way. Mine were more about my cursed techniques and how I should be using them as a kid."

You blinked. "You think your ancestors were helping you out or..."

He furrowed his brows, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Like oneiromancy? Nah, it's more like my brain just trying to give me a heads-up. You know how it is - dreams are just your mind's way of throwing you a bone about what you should be doing. It's all science and stuff, right?"

You sniffed, rolling your eyes. "So you're the more scientific type? Got it. But my dream felt way too real and coherent to be just some random brain fabrication."

"Yeah, so oneiromancy." You were going to pretend you definitely knew what the fuck that meant. You completely forgot the guy was smart! "If previous Six Eyes and Limitless owners had given me the playbook through dreams, life would be a lot easier," he continued dramatically, feigning exasperation.

You pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself, feeling the chill of the morning air seep in. "I can imagine. Trying to figure out how to master such a rare technique must be a nightmare."

Gojo glanced back at you, a knowing look in his eyes. "Same goes for you. I doubt there are any surviving Majiwara clan texts left."

You sighed, gaze falling to your lap. "Fantastic. Just what I needed to hear."

He didn't say anything for a minute.

"Ya know, your technique is pretty strong," he said, tone shifting to something more serious. "Depending on how you wield it, it could be quite similar to mine." He regarded you with a calculating look, as if weighing your potential.

You blinked. "Uhm... thanks, I guess...?"

"But you're pretty weak," he added, tone light but the implication heavy.

Right, his niceness was definitely starting to feel suspicious.

"That's perfectly fine with me. Becoming a sorcerer sounds miserable," you replied, offering him a passive-aggressive smile. "I have a few things I want to accomplish, but once I do, I'm heading to northern Italy. The life of a jujutsu sorcerer? No, thanks. I refuse to live that kind of life."

Gojo smirked, leaning back with a casual air. "Italy? Really? You think running away will solve your problems? Newsflash: the world doesn't stop spinning just because you want it to."

Dude, what?

You were about to snap at him when he rubbed his stomach like a kid throwing a tantrum. "Ugh, my stomach huuuurts," he whined dramatically. "I'm starving. I could really go for something sweet right now from my favorite bakery."

"At 5 AM? This is the kind of gluttony they warned about in the Bible," you tsked.

"Yeah, and? I've got a fast metabolism, so it doesn't show," he replied, standing up and kicking your crossed leg with his long, lanky one, as if to showcase just how long they were.

"You mean you look like you're about to keel over? I could easily snap you in half. You're literally a socially acceptable Slender Man-"

"Who the hell is that?" Gojo replied, genuine confusion on his face. You couldn't help but notice how his nose scrunched up.

"Too long of lore." You sighed as you stood up, brushing off your pants. "Also, where the hell is that bakery? We're literally in the middle of the woods!"

Gojo regarded you with that familiar calculating gaze. "It's... a few kilometers away once we're out of the forest." He paused for dramatic effect. "You know how you can reach a destination faster by taking a plane than driving a car, simply because you're up in the air?"

You blinked, bewildered. "Uh... are you seriously gonna catch a flight just for a pastry? I knew you were a nepo baby, but that's pushing it!"

Gojo snorted, clearly amused. "No, I can float. I've been experimenting with it lately. My Infinity can work over long distances, and I've been training for that."

You shrugged. "Cool. Get me macarons, and I won't tell Yaga you're still bullying me."

"But..." He placed a hand on your shoulder. "It'd be better to have someone with a time manipulation technique around."

??

"Uh... what the hell did you just say?"

He flashed you an unhinged grin. "If my Infinity goes haywire, you could just rewind time or slow it down! How cool would that be?"

No. Way.

You gaped at him, incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not doing that!"

He leaned in closer, completely disregarding personal space. "C'mon, don't you wanna get stronger? You've got a strong technique, and it'd be a total waste to just let it sit there."

Did he really think that'd work on you?

You pushed him back slightly, exasperated. "Dude, I'm not five! That shit doesn't work on me."

...Or did it?

But hey, peer pressure only worked if you wanted to do the thing in the first place! You couldn't help it - ever since you got here, you'd been stepping out of your comfort zone, and this actually sounded kind of fun-

As you opened your mouth to protest, Gojo leaned in even closer, invading your personal space entirely. The warmth radiating from him enveloped you, and you caught a whiff of his scent - subtly aromatic and refreshing, with a hint of mint that invigorated your senses. It was layered with something woody and rich, like the smell of fresh earth after rain, complemented by a hint of something floral that added an unexpected sweetness. 

"You know," he said, voice smooth and teasing, "this'd be great training for you."

You finally managed to push him away, heart racing from the sudden proximity. "Oh my fucking god. Okay, let's do this."

He looked a bit surprised by your sudden agreement but then grinned, clapping excitedly.

"Okay, but what about my crocs?" you said, raising an eyebrow. "I need to wear sneakers if we're going out."

"Are those Hello Kitty crocs?" Gojo asked, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"Yeah," you shrugged, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. 

You went back to your room, quickly slipped on your sneakers, pulled on a thicker jacket, and, for some reason, applied chapstick. 

Why the hell did you just put on chapstick?

You returned to find him leaning against a wall, engrossed in his phone. He glanced up, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Finally ready? You took ages."

"I took five minutes! Let's just go already!"

He pointed toward the stairs, tone shifting to a more serious note. "We'll have to start from there - no security camera can catch us. Yaga hates it whenever I sneak out."

"Oh, so what we're doing is forbidden?" you shot back, unimpressed by his nonchalance.

Gojo shrugged, a playful glint in his eye as he stuck his tongue out. "What's life without a little thrill?"

"Right," you scoffed, crossing your arms. "So how's this gonna work? I don't have Infinity, and I can't float because I don't know how to use my technique properly, so..."

Gojo grinned, leaning back slightly. "I can just reduce your weight with my Blue technique."

"Great, I have no fucking clue what that means, but whatever. Let's go."

With that, he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you to the top of the stairs. He paused and glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hm... I could grab you by the neck-"

"Fuck off."

"Okay, fine," he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you threw your arm over his shoulders, forcing yourself to stand uncomfortably close to him. "Just be normal and hold me in the simplest way possible," you muttered, voice slightly muffled against his shoulder.

Gojo blinked, his hand hovering over your waist for a moment. The awkwardness made you want to backtrack and say no to the whole thing, but there was no turning back now. "Ha! If you wanted me to hold you, you should've just said so! I don't need to do this for my technique to work, you know?"

"Do you think I'm stupid? You literally just said your Infinity can act up! If I go down, you go down with me!"

Gojo wrapped his arm around you, grip surprisingly firm yet gentle. The warmth radiating from him felt oddly comforting, but the closeness sent a rush of adrenaline through you. You could feel his breath against your ear as he adjusted his hold, positioning you in a way that felt both secure and unsettling.

With a grin, he focused, eyes narrowing slightly. The air around you began to shimmer, and before you could process what was happening, you felt your feet lift off the ground. Suddenly, you were floating, the ground dropping away beneath you.

You gasped, instinctively clinging to him tighter. "What the hell?!" you screamed, panic flooding your voice as the ground fell away. "PUT ME DOWN!"

Gojo just laughed as he effortlessly hovered in the air, holding you close against him. "Relax! You're perfectly safe!" he shouted over your panicked cries, clearly enjoying your reaction.

But all you could feel was the rush of air against your skin and the sudden height, your heart racing as you buried your face into his shoulder, both exhilarated and terrified.

You finally gathered the courage to look down and instantly regretted it. The forest below looked like a sprawling, dark green sea, the tops of the trees swaying gently in the breeze, far, far below. You let out a startled yelp, heart racing. You didn't realize you were this high up.

As you floated upward, the world shifted around you in a dizzying blur. The trees below transformed into a mass of tangled green, their individual shapes becoming less distinct as you rose. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting patches of light that flickered across the forest floor like scattered embers.

The air grew colder, the crispness biting at your cheeks and making you instinctively pull your jacket tighter. As you hung there, weightless and swaying slightly, it felt more disorienting than exciting. The world seemed too big from up here, the forest sprawling out beneath you, stretching endlessly in every direction. You could hear the distant rustle of the wind in the leaves, a faint but constant whisper that was both soothing and unnerving.

You glanced at Gojo, who was holding you by the waist with one arm, grip steady despite the awkwardness of the position. He was annoyingly calm, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. His other hand was held out, as if guiding you upward like some kind of magic trick.

"Relax," he said, barely looking at you, eyes fixed somewhere on the horizon as if this was all just a casual morning stroll. "You're not gonna fall."

...You literally didn't say anything. Why the sudden comforting out of nowhere-

Without warning, Gojo's arm loosened slightly, and you felt a terrifying jolt as your body dipped downward for a split second. Your breath caught in your throat, and you let out a sharp, panicked scream, clutching onto him with both hands as if your life depended on it.

"GOJO, WHAT THE HELL?!" you shrieked, nails digging into his shoulder. Your heart was in your mouth as you felt the world drop away for that brief, terrifying moment.

He burst out laughing, arm quickly tightening back around your waist to steady you. "Relax, relax! I wasn't actually gonna drop you," he said with a playful grin, clearly enjoying your reaction a little too much. "But you should've seen your face! Absolutely priceless."

You glared at him, still clutching his jacket. "You're a goddamn psychopath, you know that?"

Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt his arm release its hold completely. There was no warning, no playful quip - just the sudden, sickening lurch as you dropped through the air.

Shit!

You were falling fast - heart pounding, wind whipping your hair back, the treetops rushing up to meet you. Instinct and panic flared as you desperately reached out for your cursed energy. You didn't have time to think - you had to act.

"Come on... Accelerate!" you screamed, trying to activate your technique, but nothing happened. It wasn't like learning to walk or throw a punch - it was more like trying to convince your own blood to run in reverse.

For a split second, the world blurred around you as your cursed energy surged, and you felt a jolt in your chest. You moved your hand frantically, trying to guide the energy to your legs, hoping to somehow slow your fall. It felt like pushing through syrup, but there was a shift - a slight deceleration. The air pressure changed around you as if time itself were resisting the pull of gravity.

You weren't dropping as fast, but you were still falling. 

"Shit, shit, shit..." you muttered, trying to focus. The ground was getting closer, but you could sense your cursed energy now, flowing through you like a frantic heartbeat. You needed more than a simple slowdown - you needed control.

"Rewind, dammit!" You pictured yourself back at the top of the drop, willing time to reverse. For a moment, the forest below flickered in and out like a faulty screen, and you felt a lurch upward. But the energy faltered, sputtering like a dying engine. You were still falling - just slower now. It was barely enough to buy you time.

"Okay... accelerate... then rewind..." you breathed, alternating between the two commands in desperation. You focused on your limbs, pushing the energy out to your arms and legs, then rewinding just enough to catch the tension in your muscles again. You repeated the process, clashing acceleration and rewind together until it felt like you were paddling through thick air.

The ground was dangerously close, but you could feel your body slowing down bit by bit with each desperate flicker of cursed energy. It wasn't perfect - it wasn't elegant. Your whole body strained as if each second was dragged out of you against your will, but it was working. Just enough.

With one final burst of energy, you accelerated upwards and rewound your position, your feet hovering just inches above the forest floor before you collapsed onto the ground, panting and drenched in sweat.

Gojo floated down slowly beside you, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "See? Told you it'd be good training. You didn't even hit the ground. I'd call that progress."

You glared at him, still struggling to catch your breath. "I'm gonna kill you."

He crouched down beside you, eyes glinting with amusement. "But hey, you didn't even need me to save you. Looks like you're getting the hang of it already, huh?"

"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to Sukuna slicing you up one of these days," you muttered under your breath.

Chapter Text

For the rest of the trek through the forest, you demanded that Gojo carry you, crossing your arms in absolute defiance. And to your surprise, he did - though, naturally, with a smirk that never faded. With you cradled in his arms like some disgruntled princess, you couldn't resist the constant stream of threats.

And, no, that wasn't romantic at all. You've had more romantic chemistry with the guy at the rollercoaster who fixed your seat belt, or the girl at the glasses shop who adjusted your frames, or even that one guy who closed your backpack for you in 10th grade because you forgot to zip it up.

"If you so much as jostle me-"

"Or what?" he said, tossing you slightly mid-air just to test your patience.

Fucking-

"Try me and find out," you snapped back, digging your fingers into his shoulder.

Finally, as the trees gave way to open sky and the forest path spit you out near the highway, Gojo set you down on the pavement. You looked at him, still a bit dazed from the whole surreal journey, as he simply adjusted his sunglasses and shrugged, looking entirely unbothered.

Then, without warning, he hopped up onto the hood of a passing car like it was the most normal thing in the world, his hand casually reaching down to pull you up.

You gaped at him, absolutely baffled. "Are you out of your damn mind? What the hell are you doing?"

Gojo grinned, already balancing on the car's roof. "Getting us to the bakery. Way faster than walking, don't you think?"

You clutched the edge of the roof, glaring at him like he'd lost it. "Faster? We're gonna get arrested, or worse-"

He just laughed, wind whipping through his hair, clearly having the time of his life. "Then we better get going before they catch on, huh?" He gestured at the car ahead and, without another word, launched himself to the next roof, waving you over.

"What, you scared?" he called back, that annoying smirk plastered on his face.

You crossed your arms, planting your feet firmly. "I just happen to value my life, unlike someone here. But fine." Taking a deep breath - and absolutely ignoring the horrified looks from the driver below - you braced yourself. "Let's continue this completely reasonable plan."

His smirk widened. "That's the spirit," he said, landing gracefully on the next car.

"You're so lucky I want that pastry," you grumbled under your breath, begrudgingly making the jump and vowing to make him pay for every reckless step of the way.

As you landed with a bit too much force, a loud thud echoed down into the car below. 

The driver's eyes widened, his head snapping up. But before you could even react, the sunroof started to slide open.

Gojo's grin vanished the instant he felt himself slipping. "Wait-" he started, scrambling as the sunroof fully opened beneath him.

With zero warning, he dropped straight through, landing unceremoniously in the passenger seat below with a startled "Ow!"

Dumbass, why didn't he use his technique?!

The driver turned, his face a mix of shock and confusion, as Gojo blinked up at him. Gojo flashed his most charming grin. "Uh... carpool?"

You froze, balancing on the roof while the driver - a middle-aged guy with tired eyes - just stared at Gojo for a moment. And then, to your complete disbelief, the man's face crumpled, and he started sobbing. Full-on, ugly crying.

Gojo's eyes went wide, and he turned to look up at you through the sunroof, completely lost. "Uh... is he okay?"

"Pretty sure we broke him," you deadpanned.

The driver sniffled, wiping his eyes with one hand while still gripping the wheel. "It's just - I've been having the worst week," he choked out.

Dude, it's not that deep.

The guy sobbed even harder. "I just... I don't know where it all went wrong! One day we're fine, and then - bam - she just serves me divorce papers out of nowhere!"

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, looking hilariously out of his depth. "Uh... maybe she just needed some space?" He patted the guy's shoulder awkwardly. "Sometimes things just drift, y'know?"

You scoffed loudly from the roof, leaning down to look through the sunroof. "Oh, 'out of nowhere,' huh? No, you probably deserved it!"

The guy looked up at you, wide-eyed, as if he'd just been slapped. You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, bet you were a complete man-child who still can't do his own laundry. And I'll bet you spent your days eyeing twenty-somethings and couldn't even remember your own kids' birthdays!"

The man's face went pale, his lower lip trembling. "Well, I mean, sometimes work gets busy and-"

You threw up a hand. "Oh, and you probably don't even know where the clitoris is."

"I also don't know what it is-"

The guy blinked, completely lost. "The what-"

"Yeah, exactly! Let me tell you something: I am officially on your wife's side - no, actually, I'll be neutral 'til I hear both sides, but also, you're totally the bad guy here." You crossed your arms, glaring down at him.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that super contradictory?"

You waved him off. "I don't care, I have a vibe. And you-" you pointed at the driver, "probably nitpicked everything she did, you probably nagged her like a hobby, and don't even get me started on the birthday thing."

Somehow, by sheer persistence - or maybe your sheer annoyance - you managed to convince the guy to drive you both right to the bakery's doorstep. When the car finally stopped, you gave him a final look.

"So, what did we learn today?" you asked.

The driver, red-eyed and sniffly, nodded. "That women are always right... and she deserved better than me."

You gave a shrug. "You said it, not me." And with that, you hopped out.

Gojo smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Well, at least you've got some self-awareness. That's a start." He pointed at the driver with mock seriousness. "Life's too short to mope around. Just remember - plenty of fish in the sea. Try not to drown this time."

He hopped out, grinning.

"Don't call women fish," you hissed at Gojo as the two of you started walking.

Gojo shrugged. "It's a metaphor. Relax."

He followed you out, hands shoved in his pockets. "Besides, you practically therapized that guy back there."

You shot him an incredulous look. "Therapist? It's concerning that you see this as therapy..."

Gojo chuckled. "Right, right. Just don't forget to charge him for your services!"

"Ew, why'd you have to phrase it like that?" You shot him a disgusted look, scrunching your nose.

Gojo, genuinely baffled, tilted his head. "What?"

Is he acting dumb?

"Ugh, forget it. Just... let's get inside." You waved him off.

The quaint shop, "Sweet Delights," was nestled between two larger buildings, its rustic wooden sign cheerfully proclaiming its offerings. The enticing aroma of fresh bread and pastries wafted through the air.

As you approached the door, Gojo opened it, but you cleared your throat pointedly. He looked confused at first, then caught on and held it open with an exaggerated butler bow.

You didn't acknowledge it and stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming. The display case was a feast for the eyes - flaky croissants, rich chocolate éclairs, bright fruit tarts. The walls were lined with shelves of artisanal bread, and the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air.

Gojo followed you in, leaning against the counter as he scanned the offerings. "They've got some good stuff here."

You turned to him, channeling your annoyance into something productive. "Since you're so confident, I think I'll order a bunch of things."

The baker raised an eyebrow as you started listing. "I'll take one chocolate croissant, a fruit tart, a slice of carrot cake, and... one of those apple turnovers."

Gojo stood there, his expression shifting slightly. "Hold up. You buying out the bakery on my dime?"

"You tried to kill me earlier, so yeah - least you can do is cover a few pastries."

He scoffed. "I didn't try to kill you. You'd know if I was actually trying." He pulled out his card, hesitating. "Didn't realize I was signing up to be your ATM."

"Well, now you know." You smiled. "Think of it as reparations."

Gojo huffed, finally handing over his card. "Reparations, huh? You're really milking this."

"Who, me?" you said, feigning innocence. 

The baker shot him a sympathetic glance as you took the bags.

You both sat down at a small table by the window, sunlight streaming in. Gojo immediately tore into a chocolate croissant, somehow looking both effortless and infuriating as he brushed crumbs off his shirt.

You grabbed the fruit tart, taking a small bite as you stirred your coffee. Your mind kept circling back to February 3rd - the date hanging over you like a bad omen. Two days away now.

"You even gonna eat that?" he asked, eyeing the carrot cake.

"Maybe," you replied flatly, pushing it toward him. "You've been to the Kamo clan before, right? What's it like?"

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "So that's what's on your mind?"

"Yeah."

He leaned back, arms crossed. "Had to go there when I was a kid. I also remember meeting some Kamos at my ceremony..."

You blinked. He caught that.

"Just some ceremony thing my clan made me do before I could even go to Jujutsu High - like a coming of age thing, but way earlier. Boring as hell. Bunch of stuck-up people pretending they matter." He paused, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Your fiancé was there, actually."

You nearly choked on your coffee. "Naoya was there?"

"Yep. Followed me around calling me 'Gojo-kun'." He snickered. "Kid was, like, thirteen. Kept going on about the Sorcerer Killer like he was obsessed."

You groaned. "Of course he did."

"Yeah, it was weird. Kinda cute at first - then just annoying." He took another bite. "The Kamos weren't much better, though. Whole place felt stiff. Like everyone was scared to breathe wrong."

You clicked your nails on the tabletop. "What do you know about the heir? The one with the blood manipulation technique?"

Gojo glanced over, that knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "The one you've decided to save?"

"I mean, yeah. If I see a five-year-old separated from his mom and forced to do political shit, I'd want to help. Duh." You stared at him like he was missing the point.

His eyes widened slightly, something flickering across his face, but you couldn't quite read it.

After a pause, he shrugged. "His mom was a concubine. Clan leader had a kid with his wife first, but no technique. So baby Noritoshi gets the inheritance instead."

You winced. "Noritoshi, huh? Can you imagine naming your kid after... y'know, that guy? Crazyyyy."

Gojo snorted. "I heard his mom named him that as a 'screw you' to the clan. But they spun it like he's gonna be some powered-up version who'll bring them back to glory or whatever." He rolled his eyes. "Classic clan nonsense."

"God... that's a nightmare," you muttered. "What's next? Honestly, someone needs to stop these clan leaders. If someone had castrated Naobito, we wouldn't be stuck with Naoya."

Gojo's lips twitched. "You really hate that guy, huh?"

"Who wouldn't? You've met him."

"And I'll never recover," he replied, slumping dramatically.

You leaned forward. "What was he like? Spill."

Gojo leaned back, grin widening. "Oh, you really want the dirt?"

"Obvi."

"Like I said, he was at that ceremony when he was thirteen. I was fourteen. He kept calling me 'Gojo-kun' and following me around like a puppy. Talking about the Sorcerer Killer nonstop, saying he wanted to be just like him." Gojo shook his head. "It was kinda pathetic, honestly."

You snorted. 

"Yep." Gojo grabbed another pastry - yours. "Anyway, the Kamos are just as bad. Whole place reeks of tradition and misery."

You took another sip of coffee, letting his words sink in. February 3rd was creeping closer, and sitting here with Gojo - annoying as he was - almost made you forget about it.

Almost.

Just as you were settling into the conversation, your phone rang. You stepped outside, answering it.

"Fumiko?"

"11 a.m., I'll come pick you up," she said briskly before hanging up.

"Girl, what?!" You stared at your phone. Then it hit you - today was Saturday. You needed to gather the rest of your stuff to move to the dorms. Shoko had agreed to help.

You walked back inside. "Hey, we have to go."

Gojo looked up, eyes widening in mock horror. "What? Already? We were just getting to the good part!"

"Dude, it's my food!"

"Yeah, well, I was enjoying it. Can't we stay a few more minutes?"

"Fumiko's picking me up. I need to grab the rest of my stuff."

With a dramatic sigh, Gojo stood up. "Fine, fine! But you owe me for this."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't drop them," you shot back as he grabbed your bag.

---

With a shared glance, you and Gojo stepped into the parkinglot, scanning for your next victim - someone whose car roof you could hitch a ride on.

"Alright, time for round two," you said, scanning the parking lot.

Gojo pointed at a sleek black sedan. "That one looks good."

You shook your head. "Yeah, no. This car looks like it belongs to some psycho. Last thing I want is to end up as an episode in a true crime series."

"You're not that helpless, right?" Gojo shrugged.

"Shut up-"

"Maybe the kid with the flashy car." He pointed at a bright red sports car.

"Yeah, right," you scoffed. "He def has a sunroof."

You spotted a middle-aged woman sliding into her BMW. No sunroof in sight. You exchanged a knowing glance with Gojo and leapt onto the roof.

For five glorious minutes, you rode the wind, feeling the city rush past. Gojo stood beside you, making weird faces at kids in cars below, laughing like an idiot.

But then it happened.

The woman pressed the button for the sunroof.

You were catapulted into the backseat, landing in a heap. Gojo's loud-ass laughter erupted from the roof, so obnoxious it could probably be heard across all seven continents.

The woman turned to you, annoyed. "What on earth are you doing?!"

"Just... taking a shortcut!"

Gojo was practically wheezing outside.

The woman groaned. "Listen, kid, I'm currently stalking my ex-husband and not looking to pick up hitchhikers."

"Stalking... oh my god, what happened?" you asked, leaning in.

She shot you a look but there was intrigue beneath it. "I filed for divorce. He left me for a younger woman - a coworker. So obviously, I decided to fight back and took on our poolboy. Does that make me a bad person?!"

You barely held back a laugh. "Not at all! But oh my god, you're actually the second person we've done this to - the roof thing, I mean. The first guy was also a divorcee who said his wife left him for the 'poolboy.' What a coincidence!"

Her eyes lit up. "Hold on... what did he look like? What kind of car?!"

You hesitated. "Uh... he looks easy to draw? As for his car, I have no idea."

Gojo, still on the roof, piped up. "2003 Nissan Altima!"

Oh, so he was a car guy on top of everything?! Ew!

The woman gasped. "Oh my... that was my ex-husband! So my tracking device is working!" She shook her head, half in disbelief. "Good for me!"

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Girl, no way! You're so out of his league!"

"Right? It's like he thinks he can just swap me out. Please! I've still got it!" She tossed her hair back.

You and Gojo shared a quick glance. "Seriously, though," you continued, "you should be out there living your best life."

"Yeah, no, I'm only stalking him because I want to see who he's cheating on me with," she said matter-of-factly.

You leaned in. "Oh my gooood, can we help?"

Her eyes brightened. "You two want to join? Sure, why not? I could use extra eyes."

"Absolutely!" you replied. "We've made a career out of questionable decisions."

"Your boyfriend is still on my roof. You can get him down, ya know?"

You and Gojo, fully aware you weren't living in some cheesy romcom, didn't blush. Instead, you pspsps-ed. "Pspsps. Gojo. Here."

With a thud, he dropped right on top of you.

"Hey! Be careful with my seats!" the driver snapped.

You groaned, shoving Gojo off as he doubled over laughing.

She glanced at Gojo through the rearview, then turned to you with a knowing smile. "He's decent. You're definitely out of his league, though." She winked.

Did she just flirt with you?!?!

You couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully. "Yeah, tell me about it."

The woman chuckled. "Alright, now back to my ex husband. You two are in this with me now."

"Hold on, but do you wanna hear what he said about you?" you asked.

"Obviously."

You leaned in. "He said you constantly nag him and don't communicate. Like, you expect him to read your mind. He also mentioned you're always negative and don't make him feel loved anymore."

Her expression shifted to simmering rage, hands gripping the wheel tighter. "Oh, he did not just say that! That's rich coming from him! I've been holding things together while he was off with his 'office friends!'"

Gojo chuckled. "Sounds like he's trying to make you the villain."

"Exactly! Does he think I'm just going to sit back? Wait until he sees what 'negative' really looks like!" She shot you a wild glance. "You two are lucky I'm not the kind who burns bridges. I just blow them up instead!"

"Oh, and he also told us you tried to kill his mother-"

She cut you off with a laugh. "Oh, I did try that! But I wouldn't call it attempted murder. More like a gentle nudge down the stairs. You know how it is with in-laws, right?"

...Ah.

You blinked. "Um... wow. You were going crazy in that marriage! It's, uh, totally his fault!"

"Exactly! I mean, who wouldn't want to push her down? That woman was a nightmare. Sometimes I swear, he's married to his mother! Wouldn't even be shocked if it's some Oedipus complex!"

Gojo piped up. "So your plan was 'accidental shoving'? Bold strategy. I like it."

She glanced at him approvingly. "Oh, sweetie, you have no idea! It was practically a full-time job. I had to get creative!"

You leaned forward. "So I'm assuming the whole thing about you robbing his aunt was also true...?"

"Absolutely. After he burned through my savings to buy some business that flopped, I thought, 'Why not go for a little family treasure?'"

You shook your head. "HOW DARE HE?! You're not the bad guy here! We are def on your side!"

She threw her hands up. "Right? I'm just trying to survive! If they weren't so busy in my business, maybe I wouldn't resort to such measures!"

"Exactly! Some people don't know how to keep their noses out!"

"The minute I started taking control, it felt so liberating!" She glanced at you fiercely. "You've got to stand up for yourself!"

You nodded, feeling solidarity with this slightly unhinged but lovable (?) woman. "Preach! You deserve a medal."

"I mean, I did start hanging out with our pool boy before he cheated, though..." she admitted.

You struggled to defend her. "Hey, he probably made you feel unloved!"

"Exactly! It's not my fault he couldn't appreciate me!"

"Right? If that means attention from the pool boy, so be it!"

Yeah, defending her was getting harder when she said, "When I met him, he was actually married and-"

"Oh um... so it shouldn't surprise you he'd cheat if he's done it before?" You cut in.

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I thought he'd changed! People can grow!"

"Special? Girl, you picked up a guy with one foot in his marriage. That's not a strong foundation."

"Ugh, you're right, but you don't understand! He was charming, and I was so over my boring life!"

You glanced at Gojo, who looked like he was living for this. "Yeah, well, charm fades when the guy's a... whatever the hell he is."

"Exactly! He had me convinced we could start fresh. Turns out, that's just fancy for 'I'm going to screw you over.'" She leaned back, wild-eyed.

Then she leaned in conspiratorially. "Okay, here's the plan: we three jump him and that bimbo coworker. I'll bring snacks, you handle the heavy lifting. She's probably still in wet diapers! Easy work!"

You exchanged a glance with Gojo. "Uh, ma'am, our stop is here... uh, here - take my number," you fumbled with your phone. "We can help some other time! Hahaha!"

She looked disappointed but took your number with a grin. "Don't think I won't call! You two are the wild cards I need!"

"Right, but we'll need to schedule that - way later. After snacks and recovery," you replied, backing away. You shot Gojo a look as you both stepped out, waving goodbye.

As her car peeled off, she leaned out the window, shouting: "When I call, bring bleach, a shovel, and something for bloodstains! You kids look like you know what to do!"

You and Gojo stood there, dumbfounded.

Gojo broke the silence, glancing over with wild amusement. "So... we're on her murder speed dial?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "Seems like it."

Gojo grinned. "You know, we could start a side gig. 'Teens for Hire: Leave No Trace.' Add a motto like, 'We don't judge; we just dig.'"

You rolled your eyes. "Right, until she drags us to hide her pool boy in some backyard."

"Oh, you think I wouldn't?" he shot back. "Imagine the tips!"

"What - she pays in coupons?"

He cracked up. "There's passion, that's what matters. She's got old-school villain energy."

You sighed. "That energy's gonna end with us stuck in suburbia, digging at 2 a.m. while she monologues."

Gojo crossed his arms, grinning. "So you in, or too good for my 'Middle-Aged Crisis Cleaner' start-up?"

"Honestly... I'd do it," you said, "but she's way too comfy blaming other women. Like, the second I heard it's only the 'other women' she's after, I was out. If we were robbing her ex, fine, I'd be there with a ski mask. But this? Count me out."

Gojo tilted his head. "Wow, and here I thought it was your conscience."

"But hey, won't you feel like a gender traitor for helping her out?"

Gojo just shrugged, totally unbothered. "I don't give a damn about guys' hardships."

...??

Chapter Text

Fumiko pulled up fast, barely tapping the brakes as she honked twice - a clear sign she was on a tight schedule. You and Shoko exchanged a quick look, taking in the sight of Fumiko's very pregnant belly practically wedged against the steering wheel.

Shoko squinted, her gaze flicking from you to Fumiko. "...Excuse me, should you be driving?"

Fumiko's face flashed with irritation before smoothing back to neutral. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You slid into the backseat, unable to resist leaning forward. "Well, for starters, your belly's practically making out with the wheel. Give it another inch, and it'll be riding shotgun."

Fumiko shot you a look somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Cute. If you're that worried, you can walk." She shifted in her seat, yanking the seatbelt into place over her bump with a dramatic sigh. "Or better yet, how about you hop up here and drive?"

You held your hands up, already backing off, while Shoko slid in beside you with a grin that didn't bother hiding her amusement.

Fumiko turned in her seat, her gaze settling on Shoko with that firm, composed look she'd perfected - a look that said she was waiting but not exactly asking. "You're Ieiri, right? Introduce yourself properly."

Shoko blinked, briefly glancing your way, almost like she needed confirmation that Fumiko was serious. She straightened slightly, clearing her throat. "Shoko Ieiri," she said, bowing her head. "Thanks for having me."

Fumiko's lips turned up just a fraction. "Good to meet you. Glad she's got someone around. Keep each other out of trouble, alright?"

With that, she faced forward and turned the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine filling the air. "Alright then," she said, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "So, what's the plan?"

You shifted uncomfortably, already feeling the weight of her judgment. "Uh... we were thinking, like, pack my stuff and then - maybe - if you don't mind... swing by the mall?"

She turned her head, eyebrow raised, and fixed you with a look that could've shrunk you down to the size of an ant. "I do mind."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh-"

But then Fumiko's piercing glare broke into a sly smirk. "Just kidding. I actually need to pick up a few things for the baby, so, sure."

Shoko snorted beside you. "Your soul just left your body."

You shot her a look. "I wasn't about to test her patience today, okay?"

Fumiko's voice came smoothly from the front. "I can hear you two, you know."

"Sorry, ma'am," you and Shoko mumbled in unison, trying - and failing - to hold back your laughter.

Fumiko's gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, locking onto Shoko. "So, Ieiri, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?"

Shoko shrugged, not missing a beat. "Dunno. Science, mostly. Anatomy, pathology... dead things, I guess."

"Dead things?" Fumiko echoed, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah. Dead things are just... simpler." Shoko's tone was as flat as her expression, leaving no hint of irony.

You snickered from beside her. "Oh my god, she's like, full-on emo."

Shoko just rolled her eyes, and Fumiko's expression flickered between intrigue and concern. "I see... And what do you plan to do with that, exactly?"

Shoko leaned back, totally unbothered. "Med school."

Fumiko's gaze lingered on her in the mirror, measuring. "So... this interest in anatomy - does it tie into your technique?"

A faint smile pulled at the corner of Shoko's mouth. "Yeah. I've got Reverse Cursed Technique. Can use it on others, too. Easier to patch people up when you know what goes where."

Fumiko nodded slowly. "That's... surprisingly practical. But that sounds exhausting, no? Fixing people?"

Shoko shrugged, glancing out the window. "Only if they get hurt all the time. But I can handle it. Better than letting them bleed out."

Fumiko's gaze softened a little. "I see. It's good you're useful. Guess that's what we all hope for - kids who can take care of themselves."

Shoko gave a small nod.

Fumiko glanced between the two of you, a tired smile creeping onto her face. "Well, that's perfect. You two can definitely be a good influence on each other."

You raised an eyebrow. "Because she can heal me or...?"

Fumiko sighed, giving you a look that was a mix of amusement and frustration.

Shoko cleared her throat. "Your technique. Mine's Reverse Cursed Technique. So, what can you do?"

You shrugged. "Uh... time manipulation, I guess?"

Fumiko tilted her head, waiting. "And...?"

"And what?"

"And what exactly can you do with time?"

You blinked, feeling a little dense. "...Manipulate it?"

Shoko let out a long-suffering sigh. "You know you can use reverse cursed technique with that, right? Manipulate time backwards for healing."

"Oh... right." You laughed it off awkwardly. "Guess that makes sense."

She had literally told you this back in your dorm room after the body-pillow incident, and while you'd definitely thought about it before she mentioned it, you didn't want to dwell on it too much - because, shit, Shoko was still a teen girl! Teenagers were irrational most of the time, especially at 16! What if she got mad at you for having the same technique but with extras? You'd be furious if some dumb bitch who didn't even know what Domain Expansion was rocked the same powers as you! Especially since her technique was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

The implications were heavy. Could you actually use it on others? That would be a game changer. But it also felt like a lot of pressure. You weren't sure how Shoko would react to the thought of sharing such a unique technique, or if she'd think you were some sort of fraud.

Your mind raced, considering how it would feel to be in her shoes, feeling like your ability was being undermined. "Ugh," you groaned internally.

Emotional intelligence wasn't exactly your strong suit. Sure, you'd skimmed Daniel Goleman's book, maybe even underlined a few things to seem like you cared. But putting any of it into practice? That was another story. Recognizing emotional undercurrents in a room? Not happening. The closest you'd come to an epiphany about EQ was that chapter on "self-regulation" - a concept you'd mentally filed under try later.

Meanwhile, Shoko leaned forward, eyes sharp with focus. "This is good, actually. We could go to med school, find a way to get licensed faster-"

You gaped at her. "Excuse me, what?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you don't strike me as the fighting type, so you'd probably want to be a healer, right?"

"Uh, I don't even know what Reverse Cursed Technique means. And science? I'm, like, strictly a literary girlie. Cellular level might as well be an alien language."

Fumiko shifted gears, and as the car lurched forward, Shoko glanced out the window before turning to you. "Okay, so, Reverse Cursed Technique. When you have cursed energy-" she paused, tapping her chin. "You can reverse that energy. Usually used to heal injuries. Gets complicated when you think about manipulating energy at a cellular level."

You blinked, trying to keep up. "Uh... sure?"

"Right," she continued, unfazed. "Cursed energy affects your cells' regenerative properties. That's why I can heal injuries. But it's not just about mending wounds - it's about understanding molecular interactions. You have to analyze the flow of cursed energy in the body. Optimize the energy pathways for efficient healing."

"Wait, what?" Your mind was swimming. "Are you telling me I need to become a scientist to understand this?"

"Basically." She shrugged. "But don't worry. You can get into medical school and take exams earlier if you play your cards right. It'll be easy."

"Easy?" You chuckled nervously. "You make it sound like I can just waltz into a lab and start healing people. I suck at science, remember?"

"Yeah, but it's not just about being smart. You'll get the hang of it." Shoko waved a hand dismissively. "I mean, think about it - if you can manipulate time, you can figure this out. It's just energy and cells."

You glanced at Fumiko, who was trying to keep a straight face. "I mean, no pressure or anything, right?" you muttered.

Shoko just smirked. "Nah, you'll be fine. I can help you study."

"You... you aren't, like, mad...?" You asked, cringing at your own hesitation.

"Why would I be?" Shoko shot back, her tone cool and dismissive.

Fumiko snorted, and you shot her a glare, silently begging for backup.

"Shit, I don't know... if some rando could use my rare-ass technique, I'd be mad. I feel like a fraud right now," you admitted.

Shoko let out an exaggerated sigh. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Hey!!!"

"Listen," she continued, steady and no-nonsense, "you realize how draining it is being a jujutsu healer, right? I can't be the only one dealing with everyone's injuries. Having you around would help. It's not like I'm gonna lose my identity just because there's another person with the same technique. That's stupid."

You felt a rush of warmth at Shoko's words, and before you knew it, you lunged forward, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Ieriiiii, that's so cute! We'll be healers together while the other dumbasses risk their lives! I can be your nurse!"

Shoko tensed for a moment, then hugged you back awkwardly. "Yeah, sure. Just don't faint at the sight of blood or something."

You chuckled. "I'll just use my time manipulation to slow everything down! No more falling flat on my face!"

"Right, because that's how it works," she said dryly, but there was amusement behind it. "Just remember, being a healer means dealing with all the shit everyone else doesn't want to handle."

For the rest of the ride, Shoko dove into explanations that left your head spinning. "So, basically, Reverse Cursed Technique is manipulating cursed energy, right? You need to understand how it interacts with the human body," she said, casual but enthusiastic. "Think of it like a biological feedback loop. You're reversing damage by converting negative energy back to neutral. You'll need to read up on physiological effects of cursed energy on cellular structures - there's a book I can lend you."

You nodded along, but honestly, the more she talked, the more you felt like a deer in headlights. "Uh-huh, totally get that... so, um, what about the part where you actually have to do this in real life? Does the book come with a practical guide?"

Shoko shot you a look. "No. But you'll learn how to apply the theory. You just have to get used to keeping your cool while everyone else is freaking out."

"Right, because panic is definitely my strong suit," you muttered. "And these books you're gonna make me read... do they come with summaries? Or are we talking War and Peace level?"

"More like a few hundred pages of dense scientific jargon," she replied nonchalantly. "You'll be fine. I'll even quiz you. Gotta make sure you don't turn into a total idiot in the field."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," you said. "Just what I needed to hear before becoming a jujutsu healer."

"Just keeping it real," she shot back, leaning back with a satisfied look.

Fumiko glanced at you through the rearview mirror, tone serious. "Healing can be great and all, but your technique can also be support on the battlefield. You'll need to learn how to fight, too. You won't always be in a support or healer role. Your technique won't fight for you, so you'll need to train."

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. "Wait, what? So, I'm not just some side character in this jujutsu world?" The weight of her words sank in. "You mean I actually have to defend myself?"

Fumiko shook her head, amusement in her eyes. "Being a healer doesn't mean you sit back and watch. You'll be right in the thick of it, supporting your teammates while keeping yourself alive. It's not just about bandaging wounds - it's about knowing how to handle yourself when the shit hits the fan."

"Great, just what I wanted to hear," you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, do I need to pick up some self-defense moves or what?"

Fumiko nodded. "Absolutely."

Shoko glanced at you with a knowing look. "You know Geto-"

"Absolutely not," you interrupted, shaking your head vehemently.

"I have no idea what's between you two," Shoko replied, rolling her eyes. "Well, there's always Haibara-"

"Wait, hold up. He's capable of punching a woman?" you shot back, half-joking.

Shoko snorted. "Nah, he's more of a people pleaser. But considering your personality, he'd be better as your trainee, actually. He's really good at martial arts."

"Great, so I'll be the one training him instead of the other way around?" you mused. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster. What's he going to do? Hold my hand while I practice? 'Oops, sorry, I accidentally knocked you out!'"

Shoko laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Hey, you might surprise yourself."

You flopped back against the seat, throwing your hands up. "Fuck this shit. I always imagined I'd marry some old billionaire, snag his inheritance, and live in a castle in France or Italy. Just me and my best friend, living the dream, writing bestsellers. I didn't sign up for any of this jujutsu BS."

Shoko shot you a deadpan look. "Some old billionaire? Just wait until he gives you an STD so ancient they have to send an expedition to Siberia to find the antidote."

You recoiled. "Who said anything about letting his prehistoric phallus anywhere near me? This is strictly a bank account situation."

Shoko smirked. "How exactly do you plan on getting the inheritance without... 'participating'? Pretty sure there's a clause for that."

You groaned, slumping into your seat. "So my choices are either catching ancient, extinct diseases or fighting actual curses? Some life I'm living."

"Welcome to adulthood," Fumiko chimed in, deadpan. "It's all about compromises. Pick your poison."

"Unlike you, I don't wanna pick the 'fighting curses for the rest of my life' poison, though."

Fumiko sighed, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. "Actually, I tried that whole 'marry rich' plan myself. Met this guy in my early twenties, loaded - like, trust fund and family estate kind of rich. Everything seemed fine at first, but the longer I stuck around, the more... let's just say, his relationship with his sister started raising red flags."

Shoko leaned in, looking amused. "Define 'raising red flags.'"

Fumiko laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, get this - I was, what, twenty-two? He was older, well-off, just my type back then, and ridiculously generous. His family had money going back generations, with some massive estate upstate that he loved to brag about." She glanced at the road. "At first, it was like something out of a romance novel. Nice dinners, surprise gifts, that whole 'sweep-you-off-your-feet' routine."

"Sounds promising," you said, skeptical.

"Yeah, until I met his sister." She raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Now, I'm not normally one to get suspicious over someone's family, but they were... close. Like, very close. And at first, I told myself maybe they're just one of those families, y'know? Huggy, over-affectionate, whatever." She rolled her eyes. "But then he'd start bringing her to our dates, which I thought was a little weird. Like, if we were going out for dinner, she'd tag along. Movie nights, she was right there. And she'd act like she was doing me a favor, like I should be so honored she was willing to spend time with me."

Shoko snorted. "That's... awkward."

"Oh, it gets worse." Fumiko nodded, grimacing. "One night, he brings her along to this rooftop dinner he planned as a 'surprise' - just the three of us, apparently. And he spends the whole night doting on her. He's cutting her steak, pouring her wine, telling these embarrassing childhood stories that she absolutely loves, and meanwhile, I'm just sitting there feeling like the third wheel in my own relationship."

"So, what, you just sat through that?" you asked, half in disbelief.

"I figured maybe it was a one-off, right?" Fumiko shrugged. "But then it became a pattern. Every time we had plans, he'd either invite her or talk about her like she was some angelic figure sent down to make his life complete. And when I finally worked up the courage to say something - very gently, along the lines of 'hey, maybe we could have some time alone' - he just looks at me like I've insulted him. Says I'm 'judgmental' and that 'family loyalty' must be a foreign concept to me."

The car was quiet for a second before Shoko broke the silence, snickering. "Yeah, loyalty to... family."

"Exactly!" Fumiko exclaimed. "After that, I knew it was over. I ghosted him so hard I think he actually went looking for me. Left behind my favorite sweater, but it wasn't worth it. That whole 'marry rich' dream was dead on arrival after that mess."

"Honestly, a small price to pay to get out of there," you replied, equally horrified and fascinated. "So, moral of the story is...?"

"Wealth? They like to keep it in the family."

You were on the verge of tears, frustration bubbling up. "What the fuck! My only remaining plan now is to sell feet pics, but knowing how unlucky I am, the foot fetishists probably won't even like the way they look!"

Shoko glanced at you like you'd lost your mind. "Wait, you're telling me they're picky about it? They don't just like any feet?"

You leaned in, a mix of shock and intrigue. "Didn't you know? They're actually super picky. Like, they want these perfect little toes - not too long, an arch that's just right, and don't even think about a stray toe hair."

Shoko's eyes went wide. "Oh my god. Imagine putting yourself out there, only to have some foot snob tell you they aren't... up to par. That would honestly haunt me."

You both turned when you noticed Fumiko's unsettling silence. She looked off into the distance, like she was somewhere else entirely, before finally saying, "You know... after calling it quits with Mr. Incestuous Trust Fund, I actually tried that whole foot pic thing. This was back in the late '90s, mind you, and it was not the wild ride I'd hoped for."

You and Shoko exchanged a look.

She shrugged, leaning into it like she was proud of her strange little legacy. "Yep. I tried. It was the wild west back then - no 'premium membership' nonsense. Just a barely functioning website where people would say whatever they wanted right to your face." She rolled her eyes, clearly still scarred. "I send in one pic, and this guy writes back saying, 'These are... masculine. Do you have a brother?'"

Shoko practically choked. "Not the 'do you have a brother'-"

"Oh, yeah," Fumiko said, nodding, eyes narrowing at some distant, bitter memory. "Had the audacity to say they looked like they belonged to a linebacker. My feet, as a linebacker's. Needless to say, I deleted my account immediately. You think you've hit rock bottom, and then you get rejected by some anonymous foot fiend because your toes look 'a bit too... determined.'"

"Wait, determined?"

"Yes," she said, dead serious. "Apparently, in his professional foot connoisseur opinion, they looked like they'd 'been through things.' Which, rude - so have I!"

You covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. "Honestly, this explains so much about why you're so... you know, done with everyone all the time."

Fumiko smirked, a rare glint of amusement in her eyes. "Exactly. This is why I have no patience. Once you've been told by a stranger on the internet that your feet look like they could tackle someone, life hits different."

---

After about an hour flipping through magazines and gasping, "Oh my god, that's adorable!" for every other outfit without pulling your wallet out once, you and Shoko were starving. The two of you had burned through all the energy you'd saved by packing the rest of your stuff into Fumiko's car earlier. And now, as you strolled past racks of overpriced sweaters and the occasional weird perfume display, you kept scanning for anywhere you could sit down and eat.

On the way to the mall, Fumiko had picked up her friend - a shockingly shy, gentle woman who was so different from Fumiko you almost did a double-take. Watching the two of them together was a whole other story. This woman was like an actual human marshmallow, and it was kinda hard to picture Fumiko keeping up with someone so... polite. But hey, you weren't complaining; it made leaving her to her baby shopping way easier.

"Are we, like, actually finding somewhere to eat, or is this gonna be another 'look but don't buy' kind of situation?" you joked, raising an eyebrow at Shoko.

She shrugged, her face lighting up as she spotted a food court in the distance. "If it's anything like our shopping technique today, we'll be looking at food photos until we pass out."

Shoko pointed to a KFC up ahead, and, of course, it had to be KFC. Your brain immediately lit up with every unhinged Gojo-getting-dumped-in-front-of-a-KFC flashback. It was almost tradition at this point. In some darkly comedic corner of your mind, you kinda hoped this would happen in this universe. Imagining Gojo left in front of the KFC with nothing but a family bucket and heartbreak - that would be a scene worth paying to watch. It would also be the perfect time to rob him, but you digress.

"C'mon," Shoko nudged you, clearly not reading the tragic comedy unfolding in your head. "Let's sit. I'm starving."

You both found a table that was cleaner than the others but still had remnants of someone else's meal - some crumbs and a suspicious chunk of iceberg lettuce lurking near the edge. Classic mall dining experience.

"I'll go order," Shoko said, getting up and stretching, already eyeing the menu.

"Okay, hold on." You passed her your credit card, a gesture that had become second nature. At this point, you'd fully accepted your role as the sugar mama of the group. It was almost comical - when your funds ran low, you'd just have to start robbing Gojo, Meimei, and Naoya.

Shoko took your card without ceremony. "What do you want?"

You shrugged, leaning back. "I trust you to choose. Surprise me." It felt good to let go of the decision-making for once, especially when it meant indulging in whatever greasy goodness KFC had to offer.

With that, Shoko disappeared into the line, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. Aika's voice echoed in your mind.

"Sugar mama," that's what she had joked about when you first met the trio. You tapped on your flip phone with a frown, still simmering over the whole Aika situation. Despite everyone - okay, it was literally just Fumiko, Shoko, and Nanami - telling you it was silly and that you should just make out and make up, you couldn't shake off the frustration.

Now that your initial anger had faded, leaving behind only a trace of annoyance, you found yourself begrudgingly agreeing with them a bit more. But the thought of actually opening up and discussing your feelings with Aika still terrified you. Just thinking about it sent actual shivers down your spine. Plus, it wasn't like you were completely in the wrong. You had your reasons!

Shoko returned with your order, having chosen the same thing for both of you. It was a relief that she didn't order ten burgers like Gojo probably would have if he'd been with you instead. When he heard that you and Shoko would have girlie time at the mall, he annoyingly invited himself but he didn't make it. Thank God. This morning was more than enough of him for you.

As she handed back your credit card, you both dug into your meal, the greasy smell of fried chicken mixing with the faint whiff of cleaning products from the nearby tables. You started chatting as you ate, the food warm and comforting. Being slow eaters at heart, you figured it would probably take at least an hour to finish this meal - if not more. But honestly, that was fine. It felt good just to unwind and be in Shoko's company, letting the world outside the food court fade into the background for a while.

Buying someone a gift was already hard enough. Now imagine buying a gift for a guy, and then picture this guy being your new classmate who happens to have a talent for passive-aggressiveness that could rival a seasoned expert. Yeah, the pressure was real.

Dior's Sauvage was set to launch in 2015, a whole nine years away from now, and even if it were available, there was no way you would consider it for any man, especially not for him - Geto Suguru. Too expensive, way out of your league. So what else could you possibly get him? A PlayStation game, maybe? A new pair of socks? It felt like a minefield trying to figure out what men actually wanted. Why were they so damn hard to shop for?

"He's really into martial arts, so I picked up a pair of gloves for him. I doubt he's expecting anything from you, so even a pack of cigarettes would probably surprise him," Shoko chimed in, her casual tone making the whole ordeal feel a little less daunting.

Thank goodness for small mercies. It was already the first of February, and with your trip with Naoya set for the 3rd, that left today as your only chance to tackle an equally pressing mission: figuring out a birthday present for Geto. Sure, he annoyed you plenty, but skipping out on someone's birthday gift? That was just crossing the line into psychotic behavior, and you refused to indulge in that kind of madness.

Plus, if he ever decided to enter his villain era despite your best efforts to prevent it, he might think twice about killing you. "Awww, I remember her getting me a gift that one time! She's staying alive," he'd say. Of course, considering he canonically killed his parents, you doubted he'd be swayed by such sentimental nonsense. But hey, you would definitely spare someone who had shown you kindness with a gift before!

"You know what? Maybe a hair claw. I've noticed his buns look tight as hell with those hair ties, but switching to a hair claw for the bun would surely be more comfortable."

"I've never noticed Suguru's bun being tight before," Shoko said, pausing mid-bite to look at you with genuine curiosity.

"Literally, how? The guy looks like he's about to get the worst migraine at any given moment," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"He does rub his temples a lot, but I thought that was because of Satoru more than anything," Shoko remarked with a shrug, chewing thoughtfully.

"That's possible as well... I know I'll be getting a migraine tomorrow because of a certain someone," you sighed, your appetite waning at the mere thought of Naoya.

"You'll be in the same car as him, right? The ride from Tokyo to Kyoto is..." She paused, mentally calculating, then gave you a horrified look. "Seven hours."

"Thanks, Ieri. Now I just want to die," you muttered, staring blankly at your half-eaten meal.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning came with the grim realization that maybe you'd been a bit too optimistic - or reckless - when you agreed to training plans. You know that feeling when you're in a rare extroverted mood, making plans like you're the life of the party, only for the actual day to roll around and you'd rather do anything else? Yeah. That was you, fully regretting every second of it.

When you'd run into Yaga yesterday, you'd casually mentioned the training plans you'd maybe-sort-of committed to. He'd grunted in that Yaga way, not asking too many questions but throwing in a gruff reminder not to neglect your combat skills. "It's fine to focus on techniques, but be useful in a fight too," he'd said. He even suggested training with Geto, and you'd practically recoiled on instinct. Geto? Yeah, no. You'd waved him off with, "I'll be fine with Haibara, thanks!" Only... you hadn't exactly checked with Haibara yet.

So here you were, nervously asking Haibara if he'd be up for training. He hesitated for a beat, and your brain filled the pause with doom. He's going to say no. He'll be too busy or, worse, I'll have to train with Geto- But to your surprise, he lit up like a kid offered free ice cream. "Hell yeah! Let's go!"

And now you were paying the price. Standing in the middle of the training field, Haibara was in full pep-talk mode, shouting motivational quotes that sounded like he'd copied them straight from a Pinterest board plastered across a suburban mom's kitchen.

You groaned internally. This is hell.

Haibara's excitement radiated off him as he led you to the training area, practically skipping to his favorite spot on the field. The guy was clearly thrilled - too thrilled for someone about to put you through combat drills for the first time. You took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare yourself as he gave you a thumbs-up.

"Alright, let's start with the basics," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I wanna see your stance. Just plant your feet like you're ready to hold your ground."

You adjusted your feet, widening your stance a little, but he frowned and stepped closer, nudging your knees slightly apart with his foot. "Nope, not like that. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, and don't lock your knees. You want to be stable but ready to move, like you're on springs."

"Springs?" You frowned, trying to feel what he meant, shifting your weight to find a balance between grounded and mobile. He nodded approvingly.

"Exactly! Now, hands up," he instructed, adjusting your arms into a loose guard position. "One near your face, the other in front of you. Think of it like a shield and a sword."

You blinked, wondering how long he'd been waiting to use that metaphor. But the look on his face was so focused that you stifled a laugh. He circled around you, nodding as he observed your form, then crouched down beside you to demonstrate.

"Alright, watch my footwork." He moved in short, controlled steps, feet gliding across the ground as he shifted from side to side. "Don't hop around too much, and keep your weight on the balls of your feet. Light but strong." He gestured for you to follow along, which you did - albeit clumsily at first.

As you stumbled, he laughed, clearly not put off by your lack of rhythm. "Hey, hey, don't worry! This is just the first day, you're not gonna be Bruce Lee right off the bat," he teased, his grin wide.

You rolled your eyes, mimicking his footwork, and as you settled into the movement, he nodded, clearly pleased. "Alright, now let's add some punches. Start simple. Straight jab. Throw from the shoulder, not just the arm."

He demonstrated, his fist shooting out in a clean, controlled motion. You mimicked it, punching the air in front of you with a bit too much enthusiasm, causing you to wobble. Haibara chuckled and stepped up behind you, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder to steady you.

"Easy there. Don't use your whole body yet. Just keep it tight - controlled." He took a step back, nodding for you to try again.

Why'd he word it like that?

You squared your shoulders, exhaling as you punched forward, feeling a bit more steady this time. He grinned. "Nice! That's it. Now put it all together - stance, footwork, and punches."

As you worked through the basics, Haibara offered a steady stream of feedback and encouragement. "Good! Keep it tight. Chin down. Nice, that's more like it!"

He was patient, watching you fumble and stumble without a hint of judgment. By the time you'd worked through a few drills, he was practically beaming. "See? Not bad at all!"

You managed a small smile, even as your arms started to ache. Haibara smacked his hands together, clearly pleased. "This is gonna be great! Just wait - soon enough, you're gonna be throwing punches without even thinking about it."

The session hadn't been that bad, surprisingly. Haibara was actually... really patient, which felt weirdly refreshing. Every time you messed up, he'd just laugh it off and show you again, never a hint of frustration. You almost found yourself enjoying it - almost. 

But then he casually mentioned his other brilliant idea for training.

"So," he said, wiping sweat off his brow and grinning like he'd just handed you the best news of your life, "we're meeting at five tomorrow for a morning run."

HUH?!

You blinked, not sure you'd heard him right. "Five. In the morning?"

He nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Yup! Best time of the day! Fresh air, no distractions, it'll be great!"

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign that this was a joke. But Haibara just looked back at you, all earnest and chipper.

"Hold on. Five in the morning?" You repeated, just to be clear. "Like... you mean the hour people usually aren't conscious for?"

He laughed, probably taking your horrified expression as a joke. "Yeah, it's perfect! Gets the blood pumping, clears the mind. Trust me, you're gonna loooove it!"

"Love it," you echoed, feeling like the words tasted wrong even saying them. You could barely picture yourself awake at five, let alone running. And he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic about it, too.

But Haibara's grin just widened, and he clapped you on the back like it was all settled. "Meet me at the field! You'll thank me later!"

You groaned internally, wondering how this went from "not that bad" to "actually, I'd rather be anywhere else."

After the training, you dragged yourself to the showers, the hot water working out the soreness Haibara's "not that bad" training session had left behind. As you stood there, letting the steam and water do their thing, you couldn't help but feel a slight lift in your mood. Not seeing the "Shining Twins" was already a blessing on this bizarre Saturday, like the universe was finally throwing you a bone.

Once you were out, dried off, and feeling slightly more human, you headed straight for Shoko's dormroom, hoping she'd be in. You could use a few quiet hours with her - no cryptic lectures from Yaga, no overly cheerful Haibara planning to torture you at dawn, and, best of all, no Geto or Gojo lurking around to disrupt the peace.

You found Shoko sprawled across her bed, one hand lazily holding a thick book while the other absentmindedly reached up to jot down formulas on the small whiteboard by her headboard. She looked absurdly comfortable with all these numbers and scientific symbols just floating around like it was nothing.

Of course. You'd somehow forgotten that she was, in fact, a genius. Figures that she'd be using her downtime to breeze through whatever the hell kind of advanced math she had going on over there. It hit you again just how wildly talented everyone here seemed to be. Haibara could break a sweat with a smile, Geto and Gojo had enough power to level buildings, and Shoko - she didn't even need flashy moves. She was brilliant in her own right, dissecting complicated concepts as easily as you'd skim through a magazine.

"Hey," you muttered, flopping into the chair next to her desk. "Do you ever take a break from, like... being a genius?"

She looked up, brow slightly raised. "This?" She gestured at the whiteboard like she'd just been scribbling down grocery lists. "This is nothing."

You slumped back with a sigh. "I swear, you people are built different."

Her eyes returned to her book. "You'll get used to it. Or you won't. Either way, you're stuck with us now."

"So," you started, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. "About that whole... Reverse Cursed Technique thing you mentioned before. How does that actually work?"

Shoko barely looked up from her book, but you caught the faint twitch of her lips - like she'd been waiting for you to ask. "Which part? The basics, or the part where I explain why you'll probably fail at it?"

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

She set her book down, stretching her arms above her head before sitting up properly. "Alright, listen. Cursed energy - you know what that is, right? Negative energy. Comes from negative emotions, fear, anger, all that. It's destructive by nature. That's why curses are born from it, and that's why sorcerers use it to exorcise them."

"Okay, I am not THAT clueless. Of course I know this!"

"Reverse Cursed Technique," she continued, her tone shifting into that clinical explanation mode, "is when you take that negative cursed energy and multiply it by itself. Negative times negative equals positive. That's the basic principle. You're generating positive energy from negative energy, and that positive energy? That's what heals."

She leaned back against her headboard, arms crossed. "But here's the thing - it's not something you can just do. Most sorcerers never figure it out. Ever. It requires a level of control and understanding of cursed energy that most people just don't have. You need to be able to manipulate cursed energy at its core, down to its most fundamental state, and then reverse its nature entirely."

"Okay, so... how do you even start?"

"You don't," she said flatly. "Not unless you're desperate or a genius. Most people who learn it do so in a life-or-death situation - when their body's on the verge of shutting down and their brain goes into overdrive trying to survive. That's when the technique clicks. But even then, most people die before they figure it out."

You stared at her. "That's... encouraging."

Shoko shrugged. "I'm not here to sugarcoat it. Reverse Cursed Technique is hard. The cursed energy has to flow through your brain, not your gut like normal cursed energy. Your brain has to process the reversal, understand it, and execute it - all while you're probably bleeding out or in extreme pain. It's a mental technique more than a physical one."

She tapped the side of her head. "That's why healing yourself is easier than healing others. Your body already knows itself. It knows what's damaged, what needs fixing. Your cursed energy is already attuned to your own cells. But healing someone else? Their body's completely different. Different cursed energy signature, different cellular structure, different everything. If you try to force your positive energy into someone else's body and it's not compatible, their body will reject it. Or worse, you'll make things worse."

You frowned, trying to wrap your head around it. "So... it's like trying to use the wrong blood type for a transfusion?"

"Exactly," she said, nodding. "Except with cursed energy, the stakes are even higher. You're not just replacing blood - you're trying to manipulate someone else's cells to regenerate. If your energy doesn't match their frequency, if you don't understand their body's structure, if you push too hard or not hard enough, you can cause more damage than the original injury."

She leaned forward, grabbing her whiteboard and scribbling a quick diagram. "Look. When you're healing, you're not just slapping energy onto a wound and hoping it closes. You're targeting specific cells - skin cells, muscle cells, bone cells, blood cells. Each one has a different structure, different regeneration rate, different energy requirement. You need to know anatomy, biology, how the body works on a cellular level. Otherwise, you're just guessing."

You stared at the diagram, feeling your brain start to overload. "So... to use Reverse Cursed Technique properly, I'd need to basically go to med school?"

"Pretty much," Shoko said, not even trying to soften the blow. "That's why I'm studying. I can use the technique, sure, but if I don't understand what I'm healing, I'm useless. Knowing where the bones are, how muscles connect, where the major arteries run - that's what makes the difference between saving someone and killing them."

She paused, eyeing you carefully. "And that's just healing. You want to use Reverse Cursed Technique for anything else - like using positive energy to counter cursed techniques or reinforce your body - that's a whole other level of complexity."

You slumped in the chair, feeling the weight of it all. "Great. So I'm supposed to learn advanced biology, master cursed energy manipulation, and somehow not die in the process. Cool. Cool cool cool."

"Welcome to being a sorcerer."

"But," she added, her tone shifting slightly, "your technique is different. You're not just working with standard cursed energy manipulation. You've got time manipulation as your base technique, right?"

You nodded. You think.

"So here's where it gets interesting," she said, leaning forward. "Your technique already messes with the natural flow of things. Time manipulation means you're affecting the progression of events - speeding things up, slowing them down, potentially even reversing them. That's not normal cursed energy manipulation. That's reality manipulation on a fundamental level."

She tapped her pen against the whiteboard. "If you can figure out how to apply Reverse Cursed Technique to your time manipulation, you wouldn't just be healing by generating positive energy. You'd be using the reversal aspect of your own technique - rewinding the body's state to before it was injured. That's... different. That's not the same as what I do."

You blinked. "Wait, so... instead of healing the wound, I'd be making it so the wound never happened?"

"In theory," Shoko said, but her tone carried a warning. "But that's insanely difficult. You'd need to understand not just how the body works now, but how it worked before the injury. You'd need to map out the exact state it was in, down to the cellular level, and then rewind it back to that state. One mistake, and you could rewind too far, or not far enough, or rewind the wrong parts. You could age someone backwards, or forward, or just... break their body entirely."

"Yikes."

"Yeah." She leaned back. "That's why I said you'd probably fail at it. It's one thing to learn standard Reverse Cursed Technique - that's generating positive cursed energy to heal. It's another thing entirely to master the reversal function of your own time manipulation technique. You'd be doing something that no one else does. There's no instruction manual for that."

She grabbed the marker again, drawing two separate diagrams. "Look. Reverse Cursed Technique - that's this." She tapped the first diagram. "Negative cursed energy times negative cursed energy equals positive cursed energy. That positive energy heals by stimulating cellular regeneration. Standard healing."

Then she tapped the second diagram. "But your technique's reversal function? That's literally reversing time on a target. You're not generating positive energy to heal - you're manipulating the temporal state of matter itself. Completely different mechanism. Completely different application."

You sat there, trying to process the distinction. "So... I'd need to learn both? Regular RCT and my technique's reversal function?"

"If you want to be versatile, yeah," Shoko said. "RCT would let you heal normally, like I do. But your reversal function? That's your unique advantage. That's what makes your healing potentially stronger than mine - if you can pull it off."

"But it's hardeeeer! Ugh, Ieri, I so cannot do this."

"Way harder," she confirmed. "Because you're not just healing. You're reversing causality on a localized scale. You're undoing what already happened. That requires perfect understanding of what you're reversing, perfect control of your cursed energy output, and perfect timing. One mistake, and you could make things catastrophically worse."

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "Why is everything so complicated?"

"Stop whining and pay attention. We're just getting started."

Hours later, you were still sitting there as Shoko rattled on, seemingly tireless. Her whiteboard was now a chaotic mess of notes, equations, and diagrams, each one more detailed than the last.

"So let's talk about your technique specifically," Shoko said, capping her marker and turning to face you fully. "Time manipulation. Break it down for me. What can you actually do?"

You shifted in your seat, trying to organize your thoughts. "Uh... I can speed things up? Like, make my movements faster. Acceleration, I guess."

"Right. And that works how?"

"I... focus cursed energy on whatever I want to speed up? My body, my perception, whatever."

Shoko nodded slowly. "Okay. So you're accelerating the flow of time around a specific target. That means you're not actually getting faster - time around you is moving slower relative to you. Or you're moving faster relative to time. Either way, same result."

You blinked. "I... guess?"

"Don't guess. Know." She tapped the whiteboard with the marker. She's so intense! "If you're gonna use your technique properly, you need to understand what you're actually doing. You're not just making things fast. You're manipulating the rate at which time passes for a specific object or area. That's huge. That's reality-warping-level stuff."

She started pacing, marker still in hand. "Okay, so. Acceleration - that's your bread and butter, right? What else can you do?"

"Can I slow things down?"

"Can you?"

"I... think so? I haven't really tried."

Shoko stopped pacing and gave you a look. "Then try. If you can accelerate, you should theoretically be able to decelerate. Same principle, just reversed direction of temporal flow."

"And then there's... stopping things entirely?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Stopping time? You can do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe. In theory."

"In theory," she repeated, her tone flat. "Great. So you've got a technique that could potentially stop time, and you're just... not sure if it works."

You groaned. "Look, I'm still figuring this out, okay? I've got amnesia, remember?"

"Right, right." She waved a hand dismissively, but there was no real bite to it. "Okay, so. Acceleration, potential deceleration, potential temporal stasis. What about the reversal aspect we talked about earlier?"

"Rewinding?"

"Yeah. If you can manipulate time forward, it stands to reason you could manipulate it backwards. But have you actually tried?"

You hesitated, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I... don't know. I haven't consciously tried. But it makes sense, doesn't it? If I can speed time up, I should be able to reverse it."

"Should," Shoko said, and the word hung in the air like a warning. "But 'should' and 'can' are two very different things. Reversing time is exponentially harder than accelerating it. You're not just changing the rate - you're changing the direction entirely. That requires a completely different application of cursed energy."

She started drawing on the whiteboard again, her movements quick and precise. "Think of it like this. Acceleration is pushing time forward at an increased rate. That's relatively simple - you're working with time's natural flow, just amplifying it. But reversal? That's stopping that natural flow, forcibly redirecting it backwards, and maintaining that reversal without everything snapping back like a rubber band. That requires way more control, way more cursed energy output, and way more conceptual understanding of what you're doing."

You watched her sketch out what looked like arrows pointing in opposite directions, with various annotations you couldn't quite decipher. "So... it's significantly harder."

"Way harder," she confirmed without looking back. "And that's before you factor in the complexity of applying it to living organisms. Because objects? Sure, you might be able to rewind an object's state. But a human body? That's millions of cells, all with their own individual states, all interconnected, all dependent on each other. You'd need to rewind all of them simultaneously, in perfect synchronization, to the exact same temporal point. Miss even one system, and you could kill someone."

She finally turned back to face you, marker pointing at your chest like an accusation. "That's why I said you need to learn anatomy. You can't rewind what you don't understand. If you don't know how a heart works, how are you going to rewind it to a healthy state? If you don't know how blood flows, how cells divide, how organs function together - you're going to fuck it up. Guaranteed."

You slumped deeper into your chair, feeling the weight of impossibility settling over you like a wet blanket. "This is insane."

"It's not insane," Shoko said, her voice firm but not unkind. "It's just difficult. There's a difference. Insane would be impossible. This?" She gestured at the whiteboard. "This is just going to take time, effort, and a shit-ton of studying."

She grabbed one of the thick textbooks from her shelf - the same one she'd threatened you with earlier - and held it up. "This is where you start. Basic human anatomy. Skeletal system, muscular system, cardiovascular system, nervous system. You need to know all of it. Memorize it. Understand it. Because if you're going to rewind a body, you need to know every single thing you're rewinding."

"And while you're learning that," she continued, grabbing another book and stacking it on top of the first, "you need to be practicing your technique. Start small. Really small. Try accelerating a pencil's fall. Then try slowing it down. Then try stopping it mid-air. Master the basics before you even think about attempting reversal."

She paused, and her expression softened just slightly. "Look. Your technique has insane potential. Way more than most sorcerers will ever have. But potential means nothing if you don't put in the work to develop it. You're starting from scratch with amnesia, which means you've got a lot of catching up to do. But if you're serious about this? If you actually want to master your technique and use it to help people?" She held out the stack of books. "Then you need to start here."

You stared at the books like they were a death sentence. Which, in a way, they kind of were - a death sentence for your free time, your social life, and your sanity.

But Shoko was right. You knew she was right.

You reached out and took the books, feeling their weight in your hands. Probably close to a thousand pages between the two of them. "Okay," you said quietly. "Where do I actually start?"

Shoko's expression shifted into something that might have been approval. Or maybe just satisfaction at successfully bullying you into academic hell. "First three chapters of the anatomy textbook by tomorrow. Focus on the skeletal system. And tonight, I want you to practice acceleration on small objects. A coin, a pen, whatever. Get comfortable feeling your cursed energy interact with time."

"That's it?"

"That's it for now," she said. "Baby steps. You try to do too much too fast, you'll just overwhelm yourself and learn nothing. Trust me - I've seen it happen."

She stretched, yawning. "Now get out. I need a nap, and you need to start reading."

You stood up, clutching the textbooks like they might try to escape. "You know, for someone who's helping me, you're really mean about it."

"Yeah, well, someone has to keep you humble," she shot back, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Besides, you'll thank me later when you're not accidentally aging people to death."

"That's a horrifying thought."

"Then don't fuck it up." She was already settling back into her bed, pulling a blanket over herself. "Now seriously, get out. And actually do the reading - I will quiz you."

So yeah, that's how you spent your goddamn Saturday afternoon - getting your ass academically kicked by Shoko and realizing just how far you had to go.

But eventually, she kicked you out for real, and you found yourself with some actual free time. And what did you do with that precious freedom?

You got your paws on a school computer and decided to wreak absolute havoc in online forums.

The computer room was tucked away in one of the basement levels of Jujutsu High - a cramped space with flickering fluorescent lights and the perpetual hum of old desktop towers. The chair you sat in had a wobbly leg, and the keyboard was slightly sticky (you really, really didn't want to know why), but none of that mattered. You were on a mission.

You cracked your knuckles and pulled up the first forum that caught your eye.

"In 2019, a virus that'll cause a pandemic will hit the streets-" you typed, smiling at the screen as you hit 'post.' 

The chatroom exploded almost immediately.

"LOL, what are you on about?" one user typed.

"You're just trying to start a conspiracy theory, aren't you?" another chimed in.

"Reported for spreading misinformation."

You leaned back in the rickety chair, chuckling to yourself. You were feeling messy, a little unhinged, and it was honestly liberating. The responses kept rolling in - confusion, disbelief, a few people taking the bait and actually engaging with your "prophecy." The government will probably come for you, but fuck it!

After getting thoroughly chewed out in that forum (and possibly reported to moderators), you decided to switch targets.

You ventured into the Twilight forums.

Oh, this was going to be good.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard. "New Moon's plot = it's Bella's 18th birthday and she feels old because #Patriarchy. She gets more desperate to become a vampire to Edward's dismay. However, at her BDAY party hosted by Alice, she gets a paper cut opening her gift, and Jasper tries to attack her. Edward throws her into a table, and it gets messy."

You paused, letting the anticipation build, then continued: "Then he leaves her in the forest and she gets close to Jacob. And then - wait for it - Victoria comes back, and Edward thinks Bella has killed herself! So he tries to kill himself! And then Aro is sexy as fuckkkk and yeah."

You hit 'post' and waited.

The notifications started rolling in within seconds.

xX_VampQueen_92_Xx: "OMG WHO DO U EVEN THINK U R?!?!? u think ur soooo COOL ruining it for all of us?? get a life LOOOOSER 🙄🙄GET FRENDS"

EdwardLuvr666: "why do u feminazis ALWAYS talk abt patriarchy this patriarchy that!! just let us ENJOY things 😤😤"

Twilight_Gurl4Ever: "wow… can't believe ppl like u exist 😒"

You cracked your knuckles again and started typing responses, fully committing to the bit.

"whomp whomp, u mad?? 😂"

"Awww, I can't have any friends czuz they're all in love with me <//3 Like can I get a friend who doesn't want me smh"

"YESSS, keep degrading me y'all I'm into that 😏"

The responses got more and more frantic, and you were absolutely living for it. This was peak entertainment. Who needed productive hobbies when you could just terrorize Twilight fans in 2006?

You were about to drop even more spoilers when a notification popped up: You have been banned from this forum.

You blinked at the screen, then burst out laughing. "Banned?! Wow, they really couldn't handle the truth."

With one victory secured (if you could call getting banned a victory), you moved on to other forums.

You were mid-typo on some anime forum, about to spoil the entirety of Code Geass, when the door creaked open.

You froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Nanami stood in the doorway, his expression cycling through several emotions in rapid succession - confusion, concern, and finally settling on something that looked like he was regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

He stared at the screen. Then at you. Then back at the screen, where your latest inflammatory comment sat in all its glory: "Y'all keep crying, I'm thriving :**"

"What..." he started, his voice carefully controlled, "are you doing?"

You blinked at him, frozen like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "...Terrorizing strangers online?" you offered.

Nanami sighed, long and deep, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You realize watching something... inappropriate... would've been less embarrassing to explain?"

You shrugged, completely unbothered. "Okay, but it's not THAT bad."

He shook his head slowly, glancing back at your latest comment thread. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Pretty great, actually," you said, leaning back in the wobbly chair. "I'm traumatizing people. Obviously. It's a public service."

"Traumatizing people," he repeated, his tone flat. "Right. Sounds like a worthy cause."

"What can I say? I'm a miserable little thing with a mission. If I suffer, I'm going to make them suffer with me. It's almost like exposure therapy... okay, I am pretty sure that's not what exposure therapy is."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" He stepped fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting weird shadows across his already unimpressed face.

"Yep. Just here, single-handedly bringing down the Twihards one spoiler at a time." You turned back to the screen, about to continue your rampage, then paused. "So what are YOU doing here, anyway?"

Nanami leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "...To use the computer."

"Why though?" you shot back, genuinely curious now.

"Mind your own business," he replied, but there wasn't much bite to it.

"Seriously, why though?" You swiveled the chair to face him fully, ignoring the concerning squeak it made. 

He let out another long sigh, like you were physically draining his life force just by existing. "MySpace," he finally admitted, the word sounding almost painful coming out of his mouth.

You raised an eyebrow. "MySpace? Dude, really? That's still a thing in 2006?"

He gave you a look that suggested you might be the dumbest person he'd ever met. "It's literally the biggest social media platform right now."

"Oh." You paused. "OH. Wait, hold on - I also want a MySpace account! I'll add you to my top... was it top 10?"

"Top 8," he corrected.

"Okay, then top 8! Perfect! Make me an account!" You were practically bouncing in the squeaky chair now, all thoughts of forum terrorism momentarily forgotten.

"That's not how it works," Nanami said, but you could see his resolve already starting to crack.

"Come on! You're supposed to be my MySpace guru! Just set it up for me!" You gave him your best pleading look, which was probably more pathetic than persuasive, but whatever.

He stared at you for a long moment, clearly having an internal debate about whether helping you was worth the inevitable headache. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. But you're doing most of it yourself. I'm not your personal tech support."

"YES!" You immediately vacated the chair, gesturing dramatically for him to take over. "Okay, okay, what do we do first?"

Nanami reluctantly sat down, his posture rigid like he was preparing for battle. "First, you need to create an account. Name, email, password - basic information."

You dug through your bag and pulled out a notebook - your past self had helpfully written down all her passwords and login information. "Okay, I've got the email and stuff. What's next?"

He pulled up the MySpace homepage, the iconic blue and white interface loading on the old monitor. "Username. Pick something."

You grinned. "GirlUncleWineAuntGayEmoCousin."

Nanami's fingers froze above the keyboard. He turned to look at you slowly, like he was giving you one last chance to take it back. "Your username is what?"

"GirlUncleWineAuntGayEmoCousin," you repeated, completely serious. "It's perfect."

"That's way too long," he said, but he was already typing it in. "You know you'll have to type this out every single time you log in, right?"

"Yup!" you said cheerfully. "It's worth it."

"Don't blame me when you can't remember it," he muttered, finishing up the username field.

After a few more clicks and some exaggerated sighs from Nanami, he finally hit the 'create account' button. The page loaded, bringing up your brand new, completely blank MySpace profile.

"There," he said, his tone suggesting he'd just completed a great personal sacrifice. "You're officially a MySpace user."

You leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the empty profile template. "Okay, now what?"

"Now you fill it out," he said, already starting to stand up.

"Wait, wait, wait!" You pushed him back down into the chair. "Help me with it! I don't know what I'm doing!" Seriously, this thing was soo... ancient.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead just slumped back down with the energy of someone who'd accepted their fate. "Fine. What's your location?"

You thought for a moment, then grinned. "Püsy, Romania."

Nanami stopped typing. "What?"

"It's a real place! I saw it on a map once!" 

He stared at the screen, then at you, then back at the screen. "You're putting... Püsy, Romania as your location."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

He didn't have an answer for that, so he just typed it in, his jaw tight with what you assumed was profound regret. "Mood status?"

"Uhhhh... I don't know. Hold on is that 'predatory'??? What the-"

He selected it without comment and moved on. You didn't even want this! "About Me section. What do you want it to say?"

You thought for a moment, then started typing it yourself. "Damn boy, were you just frying chicken in there? Haha fr tho u piss loud as fuck I think that's pretty cool."

Nanami blinked.

"What?" you asked innocently.

"You want that," he said slowly, "to be the first thing people see when they visit your profile."

"Yeah."

"That."

"Yes."

He closed his eyes briefly, like he was praying for patience. "You're going to regret this."

"Probably," you agreed cheerfully.

"Profile picture," he said, clicking to the upload section. "Do you have one?"

You dug through your phone, found a blurry selfie you'd taken earlier where you were flipping off the camera, and handed the phone to him. "This one."

He looked at it. Looked at you. Looked back at it. "This is what you're going with."

"Yep."

He transferred the photo with the kind of mechanical efficiency that suggested he'd stopped questioning your life choices entirely. The image uploaded, pixelated and slightly off-center, and honestly? Perfect.

"Okay," he said, his voice flat. "Your profile is... done. Congratulations."

You leaned in to admire your handiwork. The profile was a beautiful disaster - location in rural Romania, mood set to 'predatory,' (you're so changing this!) an About Me section that would probably get you banned from most social gatherings, and a... profile picture?

"This is art," you declared.

"This is something," Nanami muttered.

He navigated to his own profile, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. "I'm commenting on your page so you have at least one friend."

"Oh my, thank youuuu!"

You watched as he typed: "idk who this is"

"Rude!" you exclaimed, but you were laughing.

"Accurate," he shot back.

"Wait, wait - let me see YOUR profile now!" You reached for the mouse, but he blocked you with his arm.

"No."

"Come on! You saw mine!"

"That was a mistake I'm already regretting."

"NANAMI." You lunged for the mouse again, and this time he wasn't fast enough. You managed to click on his profile name before he could stop you.

The page loaded, and you had to physically hold back your laughter.

Username: Shad0wedS0ul

The profile picture was peak mid-2000s emo - Nanami looking down at the camera, hair strategically falling over one eye, the lighting all dramatic and moody. His profile quote, displayed in edgy script font at the top: "DONT SHOW SO MUCH LOVE ON ANYONE BECAUSE IT CREATES A NON CURABLE PAIN WHEN THEY AVOID U"

You lost it. "OH MY GOD."

"Get off my profile," Nanami said, trying to reach around you for the mouse, but you were already scrolling.

Mood: contemplative

About Me: "i dont talk 2 many ppl. if u dont like it then leave. lifes 2 short 4 fake ppl."

His playlist included "Welcome to the Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance, "The Diary of Jane" by Breaking Benjamin, and "Numb" by Linkin Park.

"This is INCREDIBLE," you wheezed, tears actually forming in your eyes from how hard you were trying not to laugh. "ShadowedSoul? REALLY?"

"I was thirteen when I made this," he said defensively, finally managing to grab the mouse away from you.

"That was like one year ago!"

"Exactly. A lifetime ago."

You wiped your eyes, still grinning. "Okay, okay - who's in your top 8?"

He hesitated, then reluctantly scrolled down.

Number 1: BANANAHAIBARARA

He's doing that thing that girls named Hannah do! 

You immediately clicked on Haibara's profile, and if you thought Nanami's was good, this was a goldmine.

Display name: ★☆BANANAMAN☆★ with about seventeen different banana emojis scattered throughout.

???

Profile picture: Haibara mid-laugh, clearly photographed by someone else, captioned underneath in bright yellow text: "ShadowedSoul ownz this profile!! XD"

You burst out laughing again. "He WHAT?"

"It's an inside joke," Nanami muttered, his ears slightly pink.

About Me: "hey every1!! im yu & i like 2 train & eat lol!!! rice, burgrs. i luv my friends & making new friends!!! add me!! :-D"

Mood: ecstatic (of course)

Interests: naruto, martial arts, eating, making friends, FOOD!!!, training, helping ppl!!

His top 8 had Nanami at #1, then a bunch of other people you didn't recognize, and one spot that just said "YOU COULD BE HERE!!" in rainbow text.

The comments section was pure gold. Nanami had commented: "stop putting that caption on ur profile"

Haibara had replied: "neverrrr XD XD ur just embarrassed bc u love me!!"

Nanami had responded: "im going to delete my account"

Haibara: "NO DONT!!! :-( :-( who will be my #1 then???"

You were actually wheezing now, clutching your stomach. "This is the best thing I've ever seen in my entire life."

"Are you done?" Nanami asked, his voice strained.

"Not even close," you managed between gasps. "I need to memorize all of this."

He forcibly closed the browser tab and pulled up your profile again. "You wanted to make a first post. So make one. Then I'm leaving."

You wiped your eyes, trying to compose yourself. "Okay, okay. I've got it."

You took over the keyboard, navigating to the photo upload section. You found a low-res GIF of Kakashi from Naruto spinning kunai that you'd saved on the computer while you were on the Naruto forum and uploaded it.

For the caption, you typed: "moaned so loud that the extraterrestrial radio channels picked it up and think we're declaring intergalactic war #NeedThat"

Nanami watched you type this. Shit! He is still here! He said nothing. He just stood up, pushed the chair back, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" you called after him.

"Away from this," he said without turning around. "Don't... involve me in whatever this is."

"But you're already in my top 8!"

"I'm removing myself."

"You can't! I only have you and Haibara!"

The door closed behind him with a definitive click.

You turned back to the computer, grinning, and hit 'post.'

The comments started rolling in almost immediately. Apparently, Haibara was online.

BANANAHAIBARA: "LOLOLOL!!!! wait what does this even mean???? XD XD r u ok???"

You replied: "never been better bestie"

BANANAHAIBARA: "OMG BESTIE?? did u just call me bestie??? :D :D were besties now!! im adding u to my top 8!!"

Shad0wedS0ul: "i seriously regret helping u with this"

You replied to Nanami: "no takebacks ur stuck with me now"

A few more comments trickled in from people you didn't know - probably friends of Haibara who'd seen your profile through his page.

xXDarkAngelXx87: "omfg this is hilarious!! XD XD"

~*~emogirl4eva~*~: "lmaooo ur crazy but i love it"

sk8erboi_2006: "wtffff hahaha this is so random"

You sat back in the squeaky chair, admiring your work. Your MySpace profile was live.

You were about to log off and call it a victory when you heard footsteps coming back down the hallway. For a moment, you thought Nanami had returned to yell at you some more, but the footsteps were different - lighter, more casual.

The door opened, and Shoko poked her head in.

"You in here?"

You minimized the browser window on instinct, even though you had nothing to hide. Well, nothing illegal, anyway. "Yeah, what's up?"

She stepped inside, glancing around the dimly lit computer room with mild distaste. "Figured you'd be down here. What are you even doing?"

"Revolutionizing social media," you said, trying to sound casual.

She raised an eyebrow and walked over, leaning against the desk to look at the screen. You'd minimized it, but your MySpace page was still visible in the corner. "You made a MySpace?"

"Maybe."

"Let me see."

"Absolutely not."

"Let me see," she repeated, but this time she just reached over and maximized the window herself.

Your profile loaded in all its glory. Shoko stared at it for a long moment, her expression completely unreadable.

Then she scrolled down to your first post - the Kakashi GIF with its accompanying caption about extraterrestrial warfare.

Her face remained neutral, but you saw her jaw twitch slightly, like she was trying very hard not to react.

"This is..." she started, then stopped. "What?"

"Art," you supplied helpfully.

"This is something," she said, which was pretty much verbatim what Nanami had said earlier. Maybe you had a talent for leaving people speechless.

She scrolled through the comments, snorting quietly at Haibara's enthusiastic responses and Nanami's barely concealed regret. "BANANAHAIBARA. Of course that's Haibara."

"And ShadowedSoul is Nanami," you added, grinning. "You should see his profile. It's incredible."

"I don't doubt it." She kept scrolling, then paused. "Wait, you only have ten friends?"

"I just made this account like twenty minutes ago!"

"Sad," she said, but there was amusement in her voice. She glanced around the computer room, then gestured for you to move. "Scoot over."

"What are you doing?"

"Making an account so you have more than ten friends," she said, already pulling up a second chair. "Otherwise it's just embarrassing."

You shifted to the side as Shoko sat down and pulled the keyboard toward her. She navigated to the MySpace sign-up page with the kind of efficient, no-nonsense energy that suggested she'd done this before - or at least knew exactly what she was doing.

Within a few minutes, she had a bare-bones profile set up.

Username: ieiri

No numbers, no decorations, no cutesy symbols. Just her name in lowercase.

Profile picture: A photo of a tree.

About Me: "no"

That was it. One word. The entire section.

Mood: apathetic

Interests: (blank)

You watched the whole thing come together, and honestly? It was the most

Shoko thing you'd ever seen.

She navigated to your profile and clicked 'Add as Friend.' A notification popped up immediately on your screen: "ieiri wants to be your friend!"

You leaned over and accepted. Just like that, you had eleven whole friends on MySpace.

"There," she said, standing up and brushing off her hands like she'd just completed a chore. "Now you're slightly less pathetic."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

She smirked, then something on your screen caught her attention. "Hold on, what's this?"

She was pointing at your bulletin section, where you'd apparently posted something while messing around earlier. You must have clicked the wrong button at some point.

The post read: "She signed the declaSLAYtion of MOTHERpendence in the second CUNTinental congress in pennSERVEvania" with a heavily filtered photo of Gillian Anderson at some red carpet event.

Shoko stared at it for a long moment. "What even is this supposed to mean?"

You shrugged. "Being ahead of my time. Teaching the kids herstory."

"That's not-" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "You know what, never mind."

She was already scrolling through the comments that had started appearing.

SoUlJaBoYtElLeM: "???? LOL this is so random"

xXeMoPrInCeSsXx: "i dont get it but ok"

pUnKrOcKeR_666: "did u have a stroke writing this lmao"

sk8_or_die_92: "LMAOOO pennservevania im dead its PENNSYLVANIA!!!!"

TwIlIgHt_LuVeR_4Life: "um... what? is this some kind of inside joke??"

anime_fanatic_2006: "this is so random haha i love it tho"

ShadowedSoul: "..."

You'd replied to the confused crowd: "omg not the hets coming 4 me WHERE R THE GAYS??"

And then, because apparently you felt the need to clarify: "Gays is slang for fun people, by the way. Just saying."

Shoko let out a quiet laugh - an actual laugh, which was rare. "You're a trainwreck."

"Hey, it's called entertaining the masses," you said defensively. "I'm basically doing community service here."

"Sure," she said, her tone dry. "If community service means terrorizing random people online."

"Public menace, entertainer... it's a fine line."

She pushed off the desk, shaking her head but still looking vaguely amused. "Come on. Let's get out of this basement."

"But I was just getting started!"

"That's exactly why we're leaving." She grabbed your arm and physically pulled you out of the chair. "You've done enough damage for one day."

You cast one last longing look at the computer screen, where notifications were still popping up on your MySpace page, then let Shoko drag you toward the door.

"Fine, fine. But I'm coming back tomorrow."

"Of course you are," she muttered. "At least tag me in the good stuff so I can watch the carnage."

You grinned. "Deal."

The two of you headed up the stairs, leaving the computer room and its flickering fluorescent lights behind. Your footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell, and you could hear the distant sounds of the school above - people moving around, training, living their normal sorcerer lives while you'd been down in the basement committing digital terrorism.

"So," Shoko said as you reached the top of the stairs, "you actually going to read those textbooks I gave you?"

Your stomach dropped. You'd completely forgotten about the massive anatomy book currently sitting on your desk. "...Yes?"

"That didn't sound convincing."

"I'll read them!" you insisted. "Tonight! I promise!"

She gave you a look that said she didn't believe you for a second, but she didn't push it. "Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when you fail the quiz."

"There's a QUIZ?!"

"Obviously," she said, like this should have been clear from the start. "How else am I supposed to know if you're actually learning anything?"

You groaned. "You're the worst."

"Yeah, but I'm also the only one willing to teach you," she shot back, echoing what she'd said earlier. "So you're stuck with me."

You couldn't argue with that logic.

"Anyway, we are going out-"

Chapter Text

As you trailed behind Shoko, heading toward the Foothills of Mount Mushiro, you spotted them up ahead - Haibara, Nanami, and, ugh, Gojo and Geto. It was like stumbling upon a group project where you were the only one who didn't get the memo.

Haibara and Nanami looked pretty relaxed in casual clothes, while Gojo and Geto were still in their school uniforms, probably dragged right back here from whatever mission they'd been on. Everyone was chatting, except for Nanami, who was a few steps back with his earphones on, doing his best to pretend the rest of the group didn't exist.

In classic Gojo fashion, he was busy messing with Geto, poking him in the back just enough to be annoying. Every time Geto turned around, Gojo would throw an innocent look Nanami's way, leaving Geto to glare at poor, oblivious Nanami, who clearly had no clue he was getting blamed for Gojo's antics.

Shoko sighed, arms crossed, giving everyone a look that managed to be both annoyed and amused. "Can we not drag this out?" she asked, tone dry. "Some of us actually want to make it to the arcade before we're, like, retired."

She shot a glance at Gojo, eyes narrowed. "And, no, Satoru, that doesn't mean you need to mess with Nanami even more. He's barely tolerating you as it is."

Gojo just smirked, totally unfazed. Geto chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck where Gojo had been poking him, clearly used to this bullshit by now. Nanami, earphones still on, looked like he was only partially aware of what was going on, probably hoping this whole stairwell gathering would end soon.

"Anyway, can we get moving?" Shoko waved toward the stairs. "I didn't drag her out of the basement just so we could stand around like idiots. Let's go play some games already."

Geto blinked, clearly not putting it together at first. "Wait, who was in the-" Then it hit him, and his eyes shifted over to you.

Nanami glanced at you, unimpressed as usual. "So, are you finally done being a MySpace terrorist?"

You crossed your arms, looking smug. "Oh, hell nah. I've practically built a little commune in there. There's no way I'm letting it go that easy."

Haibara looked way too thrilled for some reason. "I'm so happy you finally found someone who can match your odd sense of humor!"

Odd?!

You raised a brow at him. "Dude, literally no one gets it. I'm like their weird grandma with dementia, saying unhinged shit, and they're just so weirded out by it they find it funny."

Geto laughed, the sound more surprised than anything. "So... you're telling me you're terrorizing MySpace like it's a social experiment?"

"Exactly." You nodded, feeling strangely proud. "I'm doing a public service, really."

Nanami just sighed and rubbed his temples, like he couldn't believe he'd let himself get dragged into this mess.

"Let's discuss her questionable internet habits later," Shoko cut in. She glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. "We've got an arcade to go to, right?"

Haibara perked up, grinning like this was some school field trip. "Dibs on the racing games!"

Gojo finally stopped tormenting Geto for five seconds, only to nudge him with a smug grin. "Bet I can still beat you with one eye closed."

Geto gave him a dry look, like he'd heard this challenge a hundred times already. "You'd need both eyes to even stand a chance."

Shoko just rolled her eyes as you all started heading out. "This is gonna be a long night," she muttered, already regretting her life choices as Gojo started hyping himself up like he was about to win the Olympics.

---

As you eyed the steep, narrow steps winding down into the forest, lined with torii gates disappearing into the mist, you frowned. "Dude, how am I supposed to descend these tiny-ass stairs with my platforms?" You pointed at the chunky, towering shoes, which honestly made every step feel like a dare.

You tugged at your oversized hoodie and adjusted your band tee underneath, the black of your outfit blending almost too well with the shadows around you. Your jeans were baggy enough to probably trip you up on the descent if you weren't careful, but, hey, they looked good.

And you'd been ready - almost hoping - for some old guy to come up and start grilling you about your shirt. You'd studied up on this band just for that. Every fact, every interview. Maybe Shoko was onto something when she said you really didn't have a life.

Ahead, Gojo was already halfway down, somehow making his way without even looking where he was going. Shoko smirked from the top, arms crossed. "What's the hold-up? Platform issues?"

You just rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath before starting down the stairs, every click of your shoes echoing off the ancient stone steps.

Geto was halfway down the stairs, carefully holding up his baggy pants like some kind of makeshift ballgown. It was ridiculous - and kind of hilarious - to see him descend like a princess. You couldn't help yourself.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, you yelled, "WHOEVER GETS DOWN LAST IS AN... uh, what was the saying? An egg?! Hold on, what does that even mean-"

"A rotten egg."

Oh.

Shoko whipped around with a raised brow, smirking, while Haibara immediately perked up at the challenge, practically ready to launch himself down the steps.

The second you yelled that, Gojo's grin widened, and without a moment's hesitation, he started floating faster, practically taunting everyone by speeding ahead. Geto wasn't about to be shown up, though - his rainbow dragon appeared beneath him in an instant, shimmering with cursed energy, and before you knew it, Haibara had already scrambled onto it, laughing as Geto tried (and failed) to shove him off.

"Catch me if you can!" Gojo called back, laughter trailing behind him like a faint echo.

Oh hell nah! Ignoring the very real threat to your fake lashes that were barely holding on, you concentrated, calling up your cursed technique. It felt like trying to drive a car with the gas pedal jammed down - a constant fight to rein in the speed, to stay in control without careening into the trees lining the stairway.

The moment Accelerate kicked in, your surroundings blurred. You had to steady your breathing, feeling the strain as your body and brain sped up, processing every detail in hyperspeed. Every crack and dip in the ancient stone stairs leaped out at you, demanding you dodge each one or risk face-planting down the mountain.

Halfway down, you felt your eyelashes wobble. "Oh, no. Not now," you muttered through gritted teeth, but there was no stopping them - they came unglued, fluttering off like sad little flags. You powered on, clutching the handrail in desperation as you felt your platform shoes slip on the last few steps.

With one last surge of cursed energy, you made it to the bottom, barely able to catch your breath. Somehow, you'd beaten them all, the first to set foot on the ground.

Fucking losers!!

As the dizzy spell finally cleared, Gojo was already floating beside you, arms crossed, looking downright indignant. "Are you kidding me? Using your cursed technique to win? That's low!"

"Dude, fuck off! You and Geto are also using your techniques!" you shot back.

"Yeah, but with your technique, it's a given you'd win," Gojo replied, leaning back with that infuriatingly confident grin, arms casually crossed behind his head.

"Don't be such a sore loser, Gojo-san!" Haibara laughed, hopping off Geto's dragon as it faded away, a trail of glittering energy dissolving in the air.

Geto landed smoothly, dusting off his baggy pants with this unbothered expression that somehow made him look way too cool for someone who'd just been flying on a rainbow dragon. "Satoru's just mad he didn't think of going full speed from the start."

"Shut up, I was pacing myself," Gojo shot back.

"Sure you were," Geto said, smirking.

Ignoring their bickering, you turned to Geto with your best pleading look. "Hey, I didn't get my turn with the dragon. Can you bring it back? Just to pet it? Pleaseee?"

Geto paused, giving you this amused look, eyebrows slightly raised like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. "You want to pet it?" he repeated. He glanced at Gojo, who was already snickering.

"Why not?" he finally said, shrugging with that mix of laid-back confidence he always seemed to have. The dragon appeared again, shimmering into existence at his side, calm and still.

"You can try, but it's... temperamental," he added, crossing his arms as he watched you inch closer. There was this subtle, knowing look on his face, like he was waiting to see what would happen.

The dragon reappeared in a shimmer of colors, coiling with fluid, almost hypnotic movements, each scale catching the light as if it held a rainbow beneath its surface. Its large, pale white body twisted beside Geto, the dragon's massive yellow eyes bulging out and staring down at you with an intensity that was somewhere between majestic and vaguely unsettling.

"I mean, that's so fucking cool, you're like a Pokemon trainer or something," you couldn't help but say, eyes wide as you practically bounced with excitement. Its sheer size made you feel tiny, but you inched closer, gaze fixed on it like a kid in front of their first roller coaster. "Does it bite?"

Geto's eye twitched, just a hint of exasperation crossing his face. "...Can I?" you persisted, undeterred.

"Just don't blame me if it decides you're annoying," Geto said, but he was clearly holding back a laugh.

You managed to pet the dragon, which, honestly, was kind of a win. It was like a rainbow-scaled, cursed-energy-powered victory lap that no one had seen coming. The scales felt weird under your palm - smooth but also kind of buzzing with energy.

Shoko? She didn't make it. Not even close. You didn't even need to glance over to know that she was far behind, still trudging along at her own pace while everyone else had basically flown past. Naturally, you couldn't let that slide.

"Nanami is SO clearly the last one to come. Nanami, you're a rotten egg. How does that feel, huh?"

"But Ieri-san hasn't even-"

"Rotten egg! Rotten egg! Rotten egg!"

And that's on feminism, baby.

---

The arcade was a riot of flashing lights and electronic beeps, the air thick with the smell of buttery popcorn and the faint buzz of excitement. Rows of game machines stretched out before you, each one more obnoxiously bright than the last. Groups of people clustered around the most popular games, shouting and laughing.

"Yo, who's down for some games?" Gojo said, eyes lighting up as he pointed toward a fighting game where a crowd had gathered.

"I'm in," Haibara said, already striding toward the racing games with confident energy. "Prepare to get wrecked."

Geto followed behind, shaking his head. "You'll just end up losing, like always."

"That's mean, Geto-san!" Haibara shot back, but he was grinning.

"Guess we're doing this," you said, glancing over at Shoko and Nanami.

"I'm just here for the snacks," Shoko said with a half-grin, eyes scanning the food vendors nearby. "And maybe to watch you guys embarrass yourselves."

Nanami sighed but couldn't hide the tiniest smile. "Can't wait to see how this goes."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm the best player here," Gojo called out, feigning offense. "You'll all be begging for my gaming tips when I crush you."

"Yeah, sure. Keep dreaming," you muttered.

The arcade game you chose was massive, with flashing neon lights and a gigantic screen that pulsed with vivid colors. It was this wild mix of racing and chaos, the kind of game that demanded not just precision but also a flair for the ridiculous. The console had oversized buttons and foot pedals, and a massive, exaggerated steering wheel jutted out.

As you settled into the seat, the game's intro blared through the speakers, some catchy, upbeat tune. The graphics were insane - tracks that twisted through landscapes filled with giant donuts, flaming hoops, and impossibly steep hills. Characters zoomed around, each with their own wild abilities.

One of the characters, a girl racing in a hot pink car, had exaggeratedly large proportions and a waist so tiny it looked straight out of an anime. You couldn't help but giggle as you picked her.

"Oh my, she looks just like me! That's my twin!" you said sarcastically.

"Keep dreaming," Geto said, smirking as he selected his own character.

"Fuck off!"

You could feel the competitive tension in the air. Shoko was already deep in concentration, deciding between characters. Gojo was bouncing in his seat, unable to contain his excitement. "Dude, I'm totally going with the flamingo!" he declared, grinning widely.

"Can you be any more extra?" Geto said, rolling his eyes as he and Haibara settled on a sleek racing duo.

The game kicked off with a dramatic countdown, and suddenly the world erupted in chaotic color and sound. You were gripping the steering wheel, feeling the adrenaline surge as you tried to stay ahead, dodging obstacles like oversized slices of pizza and giant floating rubber ducks.

"Shift left! No, right! Watch out for that-" you shouted, half to yourself and half to Shoko, who was yelling back about how to use the nitro boost.

At one point, Gojo let out this laugh that echoed through the arcade. "This is just like our missions! All we need is some curses chasing us!" He then promptly crashed into a wall. "I didn't see that coming!" he exclaimed, grinning like nothing had happened.

The laughter felt infectious. You could hear Shoko cursing under her breath. "Why is this thing so fast?! I can't even see where I'm going!"

In the corner, Nanami and Haibara were strategizing. "If we hit the speed boost just right at the next turn, we can pull ahead," Nanami said, expression serious.

"Do it then! Show us how it's done!" you challenged.

The game reached a fever pitch as everyone leaned in closer to the screens, pounding buttons and stomping pedals. The bright graphics danced before you, swirling and flashing.

"Just hit the speed boost!" Shoko yelled.

"Don't tell me what to do!" you shot back, barely keeping your focus. "This is literally life or death!"

Gojo couldn't stop laughing as he fumbled his way through, crashing into everything. "Maybe you should have picked a character that can actually drive!"

Shoko rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smirk. "If you all actually stopped talking and focused, maybe you wouldn't crash into every damn obstacle."

You shot her a look. "I'm just getting into character! It's a metaphor for my life - always running into some dumb shit!"

As the final race unfolded, you poured every ounce of competitive energy into the game, determined to claw your way to the top. Your character zoomed through the course, dodging obstacles and trying to avoid crashing into inflatable dinosaurs - again.

"Come on, come on! We got this!" you yelled, tapping furiously at the buttons.

But just as you were about to pass a crucial checkpoint, Shoko's character sped past you, snatching the lead. "You guys need to step up your game!" she teased.

"Not if I can help it!" you exclaimed, giving one last burst of speed, but it was too late.

The chaos unfolded as the final results displayed on the screen:

kwksiebsi
xXK3nt0Xx
Haibara ;DDDD <33
Suguru
SATORU GOJOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IM WINNING THIS
lmaoo you losers are LOSING THIS SHIT! PERIOD

"No way! How did you manage that?" you exclaimed, half in disbelief.

"I don't know, just some luck and a lot of skill. You all were a little distracted," Shoko replied, smirking.

Nanami gave a satisfied nod. "Maybe next time, you should stop trying to be the loudest one here."

"I can't believe we came in last!" Gojo groaned, slumping in his seat. "This is a travesty."

As the victory celebrations began, the laughter from Shoko, Nanami, and Haibara filled the air.

"Man, I've seen a lot of bad performances, but you two really took it to another level," Haibara teased. "What was that? I thought you were trying to play a racing game, not a slow-motion disaster."

You shot him a glare. "Shut up! We were just... strategically conserving our energy for the next round."

"Strategically, huh?" Geto chimed in, leaning back with a grin. "More like you two were competing to see who could crash first."

"Yeah, you should really take some notes from Ieri," Nanami added.

"Fuck off!" you shot back, though a smile broke through. "Next time, I'm going to wipe the floor with all of you."

Gojo, still sulking, finally spoke up. "Seriously, I didn't think being this bad at gaming was possible."

"Okay, but let's be real," Shoko said, biting back laughter. "Watching you two play... It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion. I can't look away."

Haibara chuckled. "You guys should have just done a duet while you were playing."

"Thanks for the encouragement, guys," Gojo grumbled. "Next time, I'm bringing my A-game."

"Just don't crash into any inflatable dinosaurs next time, okay?" Geto said, shaking his head. "We need you both to make it past the first lap."

---

As the next round started, you couldn't resist picking the same character again. Her driving sucked because of sexism and you were willing to give her another chance!

Your username flashed across the screen: we are once again reunited, my alpha AWOOOOO.

Shoko, glancing at your username, quickly typed in her own: we are going to find your meds, just hang in there. She snorted.

"Wow, Shoko, that's a little harsh, don't you think?" Gojo chimed in, shaking his head. "Mine's IM WINNING THIS TIME, by the way."

"Good luck with that, Satoru. You'll need it," Geto said, his username simple: Suguru.

Nanami sighed. "What happened to having normal usernames?"

As the round kicked off, you felt a surge of competitive energy. "I'm not just here to play; I'm here to beat everyone!" you declared.

But somewhere along the way, your focus shifted entirely to just messing with everyone else's gameplay. "Oh, look at me! I'm IM WINNING THIS TIME," you mocked in an exaggerated voice as you dodged around, trying to block paths.

"Good luck with that! But you're still losing!" Gojo shot back, eyes gleaming.

You fired back with your character's silly dialogue, flailing around. "Oops! Did I accidentally block your path? My bad!"

Meanwhile, Shoko was doing her best to actually score points. "You all are ridiculous!" she shouted. "Can you save the rivalry for after the game?"

You waved her off. "Just a little friendly competition!"

Geto was trying to focus but kept getting caught up in the chaos. "Can you two stop for like five seconds?"

"No!" you and Gojo said in unison.

As the round ended, the leaderboard flashed:

we are going to find your meds, just hang in there
xXK3nt0Xx
Haibara ;DDD
Suguru
we are once again reunited, my alpha AWOOOOO
IM WINNING THIS TIME

"Fifth place?" you groaned. "I can't believe it!"

Gojo burst into laughter. "And here I thought you were trying to win!"

"Yeah, but I was aiming higher," you shot back. "You're supposed to be playing too!"

"Guess I'm a bad influence," he teased. "Maybe next round, you should actually focus."

By the end of the night, your cheeks and stomach ached from laughter.

---

You slipped out the back door and into a pretty empty street, the kind of place where stores had that unsettling vibe - grimy windows, flickering neon lights, and the faint smell of something that definitely shouldn't be lingering in the air. The night felt off, unease creeping in.

"Damn, I'm starving," Gojo said, stretching. "I'm gonna need fuel after all that losing."

As you all were joking around, the laughter was cut short by something that made your skin crawl. A teenage girl walked by, clearly too young to be out here alone, just trying to get home. She seemed uncomfortable, eyes darting around as she hurried along. Leaning against a lamppost was a guy in his thirties, the kind of man who had bad news written all over him. He had greasy hair slicked back, clothes wrinkled and stained - a dark hoodie hanging loosely and faded jeans that looked a size too small.

"Hey, stand still so I can take a picture of you! Stop moving!" he shouted, voice grating, cutting through the night air with a predatory edge. His grin was all teeth, twisted and vile. The girl instinctively pulled her dress down, cheeks flushing as she picked up her pace.

You felt heat rise in your chest, anger surging through you. Seriously? This was happening right in front of you?

Chapter Text

The second you caught sight of that creep angling his camera toward her, something inside you just snapped. Not like a dramatic movie moment - more like when you've been holding your breath underwater too long and your body just forces you up for air. Shoko's hand slipped off your arm, her fingers trailing away as you moved forward, her voice barely registering through the static building in your ears.

"Woah, wait-"

"Nah, I got this." The words came out flat, automatic. Your hands brushed her aside, every nerve ending in your body firing at once.

He didn't even see you coming. Up close, he was exactly what you expected - greasy hair clumped together like he'd forgotten what shampoo was, teeth the color of old piano keys, and that smile. That fucking smile that hadn't quite formed before you slammed into him.

Your shoulder connected with his chest. The impact juddered through your bones, rattling your teeth, but you didn't stop. His feet tangled beneath him, that satisfying stumble as his balance gave out completely. You felt the moment his body registered the threat - too late, asshole.

Everything your middle school PE teacher taught you about "appropriate conflict resolution" went straight out the window. Your elbows found soft spots between ribs. Nails raked across whatever skin you could reach. Your platform sneakers - thank god for chunky 2000s fashion - connected with his shins with solid thunks. His hands grabbed at your arms but you twisted away, muscle memory from too many shitty encounters taking over, and drove your knee straight into his gut.

The air rushed out of him in a wet wheeze. He folded like a bad poker hand. You snatched the camera dangling from his neck, holding it just out of reach as he tried to grab for it.

"What the hell's on here, huh?" Your voice came out steady, almost polite. Weird how calm you sounded when your heart was trying to punch through your ribcage. The smell of cheap beer and worse things hit your nose. "Eew!"

The creep sprawled half on the pavement, half propped against the wall, blood and spit mixing at the corner of his mouth. His sneer stayed plastered on his face even as he wheezed. "Gonna tell the cops?" The words came out wet, mocking. "They're not gonna do shit. You know they don't care-"

That tone. That fucking certainty in his voice, like he'd done this before and gotten away with it. Like he'd do it again.

Your foot came down on his side before you even registered the decision. Hard enough that the impact shocked through your ankle, hard enough that he yelped and curled up like you'd hit him with a baseball bat.

"The fuck did you jus' tell me?!"

"Hey, hey - easy there." Geto's voice cut through the red haze, his hand landing on your shoulder with practiced ease. His face stayed blank, that careful neutral expression he wore when he was trying to keep situations from exploding. "You've made your point. No need to give him an excuse to flip this on you."

You shoved his hand off, breath coming in sharp bursts. "Why are you stopping me, Geto?" The words came out jagged, half-formed. Your brain couldn't quite catch up to your mouth. "You think I'm just gonna stand here and let him-"

"Look, I get it. Trust me, he deserves it." His voice stayed level, maddeningly calm. "But the second you go too far, he's the one who gets to play victim. And I don't think you want to give him that."

Something in the way he said it - not condescending, just matter-of-fact - cut through enough that you stopped moving forward. Your chest still heaved, fists still clenched, but you stayed put.

"Uh... so... that was, what? A whole self-defense thing?" Gojo's voice drifted over, casual and confused, like he'd just walked in on the middle of a conversation he wasn't quite following. He tilted his head, those stupid sunglasses catching the streetlight. "I mean, yeah, I get it was kinda gross, but isn't this maybe a bit... intense?"

Your head whipped around so fast your neck cracked. "Of course you don't get it, Gojo. This creep isn't aiming that camera at you."

He blinked behind those glasses. The easy smile faltered just slightly. "...Right. Yeah, fair point." His hand came up to scratch the back of his head, that universal gesture of 'I fucked up but don't know how to fix it.' "Guess that makes sense."

Shoko leaned against the wall like she'd been there the whole time, cigarette smoke curling lazy patterns in the air around her head. She took a long drag, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "Better pull it back before they decide you're the one who needs reporting." Each word came out with a puff of smoke, unhurried, almost bored.

But something flickered in her expression - not quite approval, not quite amusement. Like she was watching a movie she'd already seen and knew how it ended. 

Your eyes dropped to your shirt. Red streaked across the white fabric, already setting into the fibers. His blood. Your jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached.

"You dipshit! That was my shirt for starting fights with middle-aged mansplainers who think the Beatles are an indie group!" Your foot connected with his side one more time - not as hard, just frustration needing an exit. His eyes rolled back, a groan bubbling out of his throat before his head lolled to the side.

Finally. Fucking. Quiet.

Silence dropped over the street like a blanket. Just the distant hum of traffic, someone's TV playing through an open window somewhere, the buzz of the broken streetlight overhead.

Gojo let out a low whistle. "Well, that... escalated." That annoying smirk crept back onto his face. "Impressive though. Didn't know you had it in ya."

"Dude, shut the fuck up!"

You spun toward Geto, finger jabbing the air between you. "And you! Quit treating me like some dog, and stop gaslighting me!"

You had no idea what gaslighting could even signify in this context, but fuck it. Might as well speak your truth. 

Geto's eyebrows went up, hands rising in surrender. That almost-smile tugged at his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. "Uh, I'm pretty sure gaslighting doesn't cover this scenario, but... got it."

Wait. "Hold on - where the hell are Haibara and Nanami?" Your eyes scanned the empty street, searching for Haibara's perpetually cheerful face or Nanami's signature expression of someone contemplating the futility of existence.

"They went to grab snacks for Satoru before this whole thing," Geto explained, barely containing a chuckle.

"Ugh, where are they? I'm starving!" Gojo's voice took on that whiny edge he got when things weren't going his way.

You didn't even look at him. Your eyes stayed locked on the unconscious creep, breath still coming hard. Something about seeing him sprawled there, finally quiet, felt right in a way you couldn't quite explain.

Geto watched you stare, his expression shifting to something more serious. He sighed like he was already tired of whatever conversation was coming. "Alright, you made your point. Let me handle the rest. The message is pretty clear."

You rolled your eyes but didn't argue. Instead, you crouched down, grabbed a fistful of greasy hair, and gave his head a shake to make sure he was really out. Your eyes tracked to the CCTV camera mounted on the building across the street - or what used to be a CCTV camera. Now it just hung by a wire, lens cracked, completely useless.

You looked back at Geto, eyebrows raised.

He cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in the pavement. "I got a curse to break it the second I saw you heading toward him."

"Oh. Thanks."

You straightened up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Your classmates stood there looking at you like you'd just spoken in a language they didn't understand. "Alright, it's clear none of you are seeing this the way I do. Let me guess - you're all thinking I should've just called the cops and left it there, huh?"

Geto crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between concerned and exasperated. "You know, it's kind of the cops' job to handle this stuff."

"Yeah, and if you call the police, they'll at least have it on record." Gojo actually sounded like he thought this was reasonable. "Even if they don't do anything right now, it's better than nothing, right?"

You shook your head, bitter laugh catching in your throat. "You're all idiotas if you think the cops would do anything other than laugh this off. They'll probably slap him on the wrist, tell him not to do it again, and call it a day. Meanwhile, he'll be back out here tomorrow, preying on another kid."

"But - there's still a chance, right?" Gojo's hand went to the back of his head again. "I mean, they're cops. You're supposed to report this kind of thing."

"That's some pretty wishful thinking, Gojo."

Shoko took another slow drag, smoke streaming from her nose. "She's not wrong, you know. Cops don't give a shit about this. They'll brush it under the rug and move on to the next 'real' case."

"I still think it would've been smarter to call. Just for documentation, if nothing else." Geto's voice held that edge of practicality, like he was trying to find the logical path through the mess.

"Okay, listen." You forced your voice steady, hands shaking slightly as you gestured between yourself and the girl still crying against the wall. "It's probably better if you guys head out. I'm sorry for dragging you into this, but right now, it's best if me and..." You pointed at her. "...get our stories straight. Hold on, shit!" 

Your eyes snapped back to Geto, new panic flooding through you. "Did the camera catch you and the others?"

He shrugged, expression unbothered. "Shouldn't be a problem. We kept our distance, right?"

Gojo drifted toward the broken camera, that lazy confidence radiating off him as he examined it. "Nah, it's impossible for this model to capture that. I remember us being a solid twenty meters away from the lens. It's practically blind over here." He turned back, that infuriating sparkle in his eyes that meant he was absolutely certain he was right.

Thank god. At least if the cops showed up, you could claim you'd been alone.

"Yeah, but when they see him like this, they're not exactly going to buy it as self-defense. The guy's looking a lot worse off than you are." Shoko's voice cut through your relief, sharp and practical.

"That's why I'll rewind his wounds." You said it like it was obvious. "And I'll give him a quick headbutt afterward. Make it look like that's all I did to fend him off."

"I'm not sure that's how this works." Concern crept into Geto's usually calm voice. "You're really going to risk it all on some half-baked plan?"

You barely heard him, mind already working through the logistics. Your eyes caught on the beer bottle lying in the gutter, liquid still pooled around it, that cheap alcohol smell thick in the air. "And he's drunk... Well, that's either going to help me or defend him. If he's blackout enough, maybe his memory'll be too hazy to cause trouble. Or it could just let him play the victim, like he was too wasted to think straight."

Half of that you realized you'd been muttering to yourself. When you looked up, Geto and Gojo were staring at you like you'd grown a second head.

You straightened, exhaustion pulling at your shoulders. "None of you think the way I do. I see a guy in his thirties harassing an obviously underage girl, and it's serious to me - life-ruining serious. But you all seem like you'd rather hand this over to the police and cross your fingers." You met each of their eyes. "So let me deal with it alone."

Geto sighed, hand running through his hair in that way he did when he was trying to find the right words. "Look, I get it. The guy's a creep, no doubt. But... this?" He gestured vaguely at the unconscious man. "Not exactly making it easier on yourself."

"But, like, wouldn't they take your side if you just explained it?" Gojo's head tilted, genuine confusion written across his face. "Isn't that what they're supposed to do? We could just give a statement or whatever. Isn't that... enough?"

 Gojo might understand quantum physics and ancient Greek stuff, but people? People might as well be the aliens from JJK Modulo to him.

Shoko's eye roll was audible. "That's cute, Satoru, but this isn't a cartoon. Cops aren't exactly lining up to help girls in a bad situation." She glanced at you, something almost sympathetic in her expression. "Doesn't mean they won't show up and treat you like the aggressor though. Not saying it's fair, but that's how it goes."

"Exactly." Your voice came out tired, heavy. "They don't care. They'll see me and him both in the wrong, call it a 'dispute' - if they even bother to file a report. They'll chalk it up to a misunderstanding, brush it off as 'teen drama.'" You huffed, everything catching up to you at once. "So thanks, but no thanks. I'll do it my way."

Something in your expression must have convinced them. Geto looked like he wanted to argue one more time but stopped himself, giving you a small nod instead. "Alright. Just... be careful, alright?"

Gojo shrugged, hands shoved deep in his pockets, that trademark smirk back in place. "I mean, if you're dead-set on doing the whole 'lone vigilante' thing, who am I to stop you?" His fingers came up in a lazy salute. "Catch you around, hero."

Shoko took one last drag before flicking the cigarette into the gutter. "Fine. But don't blame me if this ends up on the news." Her eyes held yours for a moment longer. "Try not to get arrested."

They turned to leave, each casting one last glance back. You barely registered it, already focused on the girl sitting against the wall, face blotchy and red, eyes swollen from crying. She clutched her phone like it was the only solid thing in the world.

You took a breath, forcing your voice softer. "Hey... Are you doing okay? Look, I need you to call your parents soon, but first..." You jerked your head toward the unconscious creep. "I just need to handle something with him real quick, alright? If you want, you can tell me what happened while I... deal with it."

She nodded shakily, and you could see in her eyes that she just wanted this to be over.

You glanced back at your classmates, still lingering. "And just so we're clear - no snitching about the Jujutsu, got it? I'd rather not explain that part to the higher-ups."

Various versions of "Yeah, okay" and "Sure" floated back before they finally disappeared around the corner. The silence they left behind felt like pressure releasing from your skull.

You crouched beside the creep, hands shaking - not from fear but from the sheer intensity of what you were about to do. This wasn't some schoolyard fight. This was real, and you had to use everything you had.

You needed to rewind his wounds, undo the damage you'd inflicted. Your stomach twisted at the thought. "You can fix this, you have to," you muttered, voice trembling despite your best efforts.

Adrenaline still buzzed through your veins, but the ache was setting in now - bruises forming where you'd collided with him, muscles burning from the kicks and scratches. You could still taste him on your teeth, rough skin against your mouth, and nausea rolled through you in a wave.

"Okay, focus." You shook your head, trying to clear the fog. Should've just asked Shoko to do this, but no - you were too damn petty for that.

Your hands hovered over his wounds, the air around you feeling thick, charged with something you couldn't quite name. You tried to pull on your cursed energy, reaching for that feeling deep in your chest, but it slipped away like smoke through your fingers.

You envisioned the Rewind aspect, picturing it as a glowing thread ready to be harnessed. But the moment you tried to grab it, it dissolved. "Damn it!" Your eyes squeezed shut, forcing yourself to breathe.

This wasn't just about willpower. You had to push through the reality of what you'd done. Your hands pressed against his wounds, warmth of blood sticky against your palms. You imagined the energy wrapping around them, coaxing them to heal, pulling back into his skin. But hitting the Rewind aspect felt like slamming into a concrete wall. Like running through molasses - the harder you pushed, the more resistance you met.

The creep groaned, stirring. Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Stay down!"

"Think, dammit!" You weren't guilty - not really. It was just... emotions, human consciousness, all that complicated shit.

You pressed harder, picturing the energy flowing into him, forcing yourself to ignore the tension screaming through your muscles, the exhaustion creeping into your bones. You felt the energy shifting, building, but it was like trying to light a fire with wet matches.

"Come on, come on!" Every ounce of your being poured into the technique. Warmth bloomed in your palms as you envisioned his wounds closing, blood retreating, bruises fading. But it was a battle - one that left you panting, sweat beading on your forehead.

He stirred again, pained groan escaping, and the flicker of energy threatened to die out. "You bastard." Frustration boiled over as you forced your will upon him.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you released everything in one surge. The air crackled. Time seemed to freeze as you unleashed the Rewind aspect. Power rushed into his wounds like a tidal wave. It was electric, your energy forcing the injuries to reverse - blood retracting, bruises fading into nothing.

You held on, refusing to let go. The wounds shimmered, started to mend under your will. Exhausting, like trying to lift a mountain, but you were almost there. Tension in his body eased as your energy wrapped around him like a cocoon, healing the damage.

His body slumped, unconscious again. You gasped, collapsing back on your heels, hands trembling as adrenaline drained away, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion.

Then you headbutted him. For good measure. Twice.

Yipee!

You stumbled back, heart still racing, wiping sweat from your forehead. The girl's horrified expression caught your attention.

"Do you have a mirror?" Your voice came out irritated, sharp. She fumbled before handing over a compact mirror, eyes wide like she expected a demon to crawl out of it.

You flipped it open. Your stomach dropped.

Your face was a mess - bruises and scratches marring your skin, remnants of violence written across your features. The blood you'd wiped away was mingled with your own injuries.

Did you get his injuries inflicted by you? What the hell!

"This is so stupid." You groaned, dropping the mirror. It clattered against concrete, the sound sharp in the quiet street.

"I... I don't know what just happened... but it's good for our case, I guess." Her voice shook, tears still glistening. The guilt radiating off her was thick enough to choke on.

"Listen." You forced your voice steady, met her eyes. "Something similar happened to me once. Some guy thought it was okay to get too close, and I lost it. I fought back, but all I could think about afterward was how messed up everything felt. I wished someone had stepped in, someone who understood. It felt like I was screaming into a void, and nobody gave a damn. So... if I can be that person for you, I will. Don't feel guilty. It's fine."

"You didn't have to do all this, you know? It was just a picture..." She laughed through her tears, the sound strange and broken.

You shrugged. "You can say that about everything in life though. I wouldn't want such a meaningless and, like, pointless existence, you know?"

While she dialed her mom, your eyes landed on the creep's wallet. A smirk crept onto your face. You were a material girl in a material world, after all. You needed money for a new shirt, and what better way than a little... opportunistic retrieval?

You crouched beside him, rifling through the wallet. Credit card, some cash, crumpled receipts - what a joke. You grabbed a couple bills, slipping them into your pocket. Felt a little wrong, sure. But also a bit righteous! You were still a minor, after all, it was the perfect time to commit some crimes. 

The fifteen minutes dragged like hours, thick with unspoken thoughts and adrenaline comedown. You and the girl - Tomoko, you learned - tried to get your stories straight.

"You know," you started, trying to channel frustration into something productive, "they just fucking pissed me off. Sorry - I know every fourteen-year-old hates being told this - but like... you look your age. This fucker knew about it. He's a whole pedophile. I don't get why they acted like my reaction wasn't warranted. Gosh, I really miss my old friends. You know if they were here, we would've gone Powerpuff Girls and jumped him and then posted it on social media." You snorted despite everything.

"Yeah, but they're not wrong either, right? Do you really think the police will do anything?" Tomoko's voice shook but held defiance.

"Nah. That's why our story is a little exaggerated, remember?" You leaned back against the wall. "He was stalking you, yelling threats that would make even a seasoned criminal cringe. There weren't any cameras where you were, so we're in the clear. The moment he shows up in that footage, he's all 'Stop moving so I can get a better picture' and being creepy. Make him say something that shows he knew you were a minor, just in case. Anyway, that's when I swoop in."

You threw your hands up dramatically. "I told him to back off, all polite and stuff, but then he gets in my face." You pointed to the bruises. "So I, in a moment of self-defense, headbutt him twice - then we both panic. By the way, where were you coming from?"

She gulped. "My... frie-...boyfriend..."

"Shit. You might want to spin that a little. Do you have a girlie friend who can back you up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Look, it's not about lying - it's about self-preservation. The police are gonna twist it into something ugly if you say that. Call a friend who can say you were somewhere else before your parents get here!"

"Okay..."

When her parents finally burst through, the mom rushed straight to Tomoko, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Oh, thank God you're okay!"

The dad hung back, eyes darting around like he expected threats to materialize.

"Mom, I'm fine." But Tomoko's voice trembled.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Her mom's eyes flicked over Tomoko's outfit, pausing just long enough to be noticeable. "This is what you were wearing?" The worry underneath tried to sound neutral but didn't quite make it. "Sweetie, I just... want to make sure you're careful out there, you know? People can... get the wrong idea."

You barely suppressed an eye roll. Here we go.

Then her mom turned to you, expression shifting. "And you. Thank you for stepping in and defending my daughter. But I need to know what exactly happened."

You straightened, suddenly feeling like you were on trial. "Well, he was being a creep. Like, full-on 'stop moving so I can take a better picture' type of creep."

"And you felt the need to intervene how?" Her eyebrow arched.

"I told him to back off, and when he didn't, I had to defend myself. It got a little messy." You gestured to your bruises. "But it was all self-defense."

Her gaze softened fractionally. "I appreciate that, really. But what I want to know is... did you escalate things? Did you provoke him?"

Oh god.

"Look, I don't think you understand how this works. He was being aggressive, and when someone's in your face like that, you have to react. I didn't go looking for trouble, trust me."

The conversation simmered with underlying tension until her mom pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the police. This needs to be reported. We can't just let him walk away."

"Wait, what?" Tomoko gasped. "Mom, do we have to? I just want to go home!"

"Do you think he's going to stop after this? We have to make sure he's held accountable!"

The dad turned to you. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Where's your legal guardian?"

"Well, she's eight months pregnant, so... yeah."

His expression shifted. "Eight months? And you're out here?"

The fuck is that supposed to mean?!

"Yeah, it's a long story. But I'm fine. Trust me."

Sirens grew louder, flashing lights casting strange shadows as police cars pulled up. Officers stepped out, and one approached with a notepad.

"What's going on here?"

The whole thing became a blur - questions, statements, more questions. One officer scrutinized your injuries with skepticism. "So you're saying you just happened to walk in and intervene? How do we know you didn't escalate this?"

"Look, I'm not here to make up some novel. I saw him take a picture of her and heard him yelling threats. I stepped in to protect her, and when he got aggressive, I defended myself."

"Defended yourself? By headbutting him?"

"Yeah, that's right. He threw the first punch. I didn't just attack him out of nowhere. Can't you see my fucking face?"

Eventually, you all ended up at the station - fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, air thick with stale coffee and paperwork. An officer adjusted his glasses, leaning over the desk. "I must bring to your attention that our investigation has revealed some discrepancies regarding the CCTV footage. It appears that the camera at the scene was malfunctioning and went offline just as you approached the suspect. Can you provide an explanation for this timing?"

This was going to be a long night.

Your mind whirled with frustration. You caught a glimpse of the reception area - drab, flickering lights, sterile smell of old coffee and stale paperwork.

"Seriously? This is how you handle real shit?" You muttered, glaring at the officer barely acknowledging you. "You guys must be real proud of yourselves, huh? Playing pretend with your badges while real problems are out there! Go choke!"

Tomoko flinched beside you, but you were too far gone. "And don't even get me started on how this guy has the audacity to stalk minors while you sit here acting like glorified babysitters."

Then Fumiko burst through the doors like a force of nature, expression mixing confusion and fury.

"What the hell is going on here? You dragged a pregnant woman for this? Are you serious?"

She is such a queenie!

You jumped in before anyone could respond. "They don't even get it! I headbutted a pedophile - you heard me, a pedophile who thought he could take pictures of that girl! And now they're treating us like we're the ones in the wrong!"

Fumiko's eyes flared. "Yeah, because obviously you're the criminals here for standing up for someone! How about you start doing your job instead of wasting our time?" She stepped closer to the nearest officer, stance fierce. "You don't get to treat her like this. You don't even know what she went through!"

"Ma'am, please, calm down-"

"Right? What the fuck is wrong with you guys? You should be out there preventing this shit instead of wasting my time with paperwork!"

Fumiko crossed her arms. "You think this is how you handle things? With the minimum amount of effort? You should be ashamed of yourselves."

You started shit up, and Fumiko lawyered up. You didn't even know that was possible!

Later, sitting in the car, the engine's soft hum grounded you. Fumiko glanced over. "What you did back there took guts. Standing up for that girl? That shows you care. And that matters."

"Thanks, but it still feels like it got out of hand. I didn't mean for it to blow up like that."

"Sometimes a situation calls for a stronger response. You saw someone in trouble and stepped in. That's commendable. Just remember, next time, try to keep a level head. There's a fine line between defending someone and making things worse."

"Yeah, I get that. It's just... hard to think when everything's going down."

"Exactly. But you did well, and I'm proud of you for that. Just don't let the adrenaline cloud your judgment next time."

After a moment, she shifted topics. "So, what's the plan? You'll grab your stuff and stay over with me?"

"Yeah, if that's cool." You pulled out your phone. "I'll let Naoya know to send the driver."

She smirked. "You're really going to do this, huh? Go to the Kamos'?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm kind of looking forward to it."

"You don't want to see your classmates that badly?"

"Listen, it's just... my old friends would've handled this differently. It's like they didn't get why I was so angry, and that just pissed me off. Even Geto was just trying to play peacemaker. I need some space to sort through all this. I won't hold a grudge, but I can't just brush it off either."

Fumiko parked in front of the dense forest leading to Tokyo Jujutsu High, towering trees casting shadows in the fading light. The air smelled like pine and lingering tension.

"Wow, that looks scary. Good luck with that - I'm not accompanying you."

"Wow, thank you," you replied sarcastically before stepping out.

The traditional Japanese architecture gradually came into view as you walked, nestled deep in the foothills of Mount Mushiro. Buildings blended seamlessly with surroundings, trees and occasional deity statues peeking through foliage.

You pushed through the entrance, torii gates lining the path. Each step echoed softly as you moved toward your dormitory, passing the training grounds.

Reaching your dorm, you paused, heart racing with the night's memories. The door creaked as you stepped inside. Still messy, but homey enough. You started gathering things - clothes, books, laptop - trying to focus on anything but chaos.

The door swung open suddenly. Shoko leaned against the frame, arms crossed, expression mixing concern and amusement.

"Hey. What the hell happened? You look like you've been through the wringer."

"Oh, hey... did I wake you up?"

"Nope. Didn't sleep." She stepped closer, eyes narrowing at your wounds. "How... how'd you get those? They look exactly like the ones you gave him."

"Used rewind on him without incorporating reverse cursed technique... whatever that means. Ended up with his wounds. Good for the case, so I don't mind it."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet. Let me heal you."

"No need-"

"Sit down." Her tone left no room for argument.

You sighed, knowing resistance was pointless. You plopped onto the bed, watching her work. Heavy silence settled between you.

"Listen... I'm sorry for earlier." She avoided your gaze.

You blinked. "What are you apologizing for?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Are you really playing dumb right now?"

"Look, I shouldn't have assumed you'd get what I meant. You're still kids yourselves-"

"What the hell are you talking about? You're only a year older than me."

Well, I just turned 18 in my past life, lol, you thought but kept quiet. "That doesn't change the fact that I've seen more shit."

"Yeah, sure. So... did the police believe you?"

You recounted the chaos at the station, satisfaction creeping in.

"...They were baffled, honestly. I mean, I kind of took it up a notch."

"...So, did they find the broken CCTV camera suspicious?"

"What do you think? Thank god Fumiko yelled at them and they dropped it."

 "I've never met anyone as passionate about this stuff as you. You really got under their skin, huh?"

"Really? Back home, most girls my age would've done the same... at least, I hope so. My friends definitely would have."

"Yeah, except I've seen how most people fold under pressure. They'd rather ignore it and let it blow over."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Anyway, please explain to Gojo why I'd get mad about this. He may understand physics, but he really, really sucks at reading people."

"Wish me good luck with that. You know he's not exactly the brightest when it comes to social cues."

"Right?" You grabbed your bags. "Anyway, thank you for healing me. See you on Wednesday."

"See you on Wednesday." Amusement danced in her eyes as she watched you leave.

Literally one week in, and you'd already had an awkward dispute with your classmates. Now that's crazy.

Chapter Text

The quiet of Tokyo night seeped through the window, broken only by distant traffic hum and occasional sirens echoing from streets below. Early February air carried a chill that the heater couldn't quite chase away, settling into the room like an unwelcome guest. You lay next to Fumiko, sheets crumpled and pulled between you both, watching her hand grip the bed edge as another contraction rolled through her body. Her whole frame tensed, and you caught that brief flicker in her eyes - not quite panic, but something close - before she closed them, jaw tight as she tried to breathe through it.

Well, shit!

Your heart hammered against your ribs, restless and heavy with everything that had happened and everything still coming. Fumiko's due date loomed closer every day, and you were on edge, unable to sleep, bracing yourself for her water to break at any moment.

You moved closer, fingers curling around hers. Her grip was tight, skin cool, and though you couldn't take away the pain or tension, you hoped your presence - your silent promise to be there - offered some comfort.

"Shit, I have no idea how women do it in their twenties." Fumiko's voice broke the silence, frustration and exhaustion mixing in equal measure.

"Hmm?" You turned to her, curious.

"Being a mother!" She huffed, tossing her head back against the pillow. "My mother had me at 21. What the hell was she thinking?"

You couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "Oh gosh... I don't think I'll ever be capable of caring for anything human like that. I can barely take care of myself!" The words spilled out, half-joking but entirely true.

Yes, you were panicking more than she was!

"Fuck, I really hope I don't have to have a C-section." Fumiko's gaze fixed on the ceiling like answers were written there.

"Does it hurt more?" The question tumbled out before you could stop it.

"Quite the opposite." She rolled her eyes. "I just don't want any scars on my belly, you know? I'm still young, and low-rise jeans are cho-kakkoii right now."

You forced a laugh, the kind that felt more like defense mechanism than genuine amusement. Inside though, you cringed. Is this how people feel when I start dropping my own slang? The realization landed heavy in your chest.

The night unraveled from there - both of you on edge, over-analyzing every little kick or shift, like the baby was already planning its dramatic entrance.

At some point, Fumiko made you fetch her laptop, fingers tapping rapid-fire rhythm on the keys. "Alright, February. Sun in Aquarius, obviously," she muttered, scrolling through an astrology site with the focus of someone reading their investment portfolio.

"Let's see, rising sign, moon sign..." You both leaned closer, squinting at the screen.

"Virgo moon if she's born in a few days? That's the kind of emotional stability she'll need when she hits her teen years. Gotta learn to bottle it up," you joked, tapping the screen.

Fumiko snorted. "Venus in Taurus if she gets born on the due day? That's good. My Venus is in Scorpio, conjunct Pluto... That explains my disaster of a love life." She chuckled, the sound dry and self-aware. "Let's hope she gets Taurus. That's where the money is."

You nodded, humming as you scanned the chart. "Sun in Aquarius, Leo rising, Virgo moon - sounds solid. Though Gemini or Cancer risings usually have the most lethal face cards..."

Fumiko leaned forward, eyebrow raised. "Hey, what about career-wise? Is she gonna be rich, or what? I need to know if she'll be buying me a Birkin one day." 

This whole thing gave you a weird, sudden flashback - Geto was an Aquarius. You awkwardly found yourself searching for his birth chart... for scientific reasons, of course. While you were at it, you pulled up Gojo's too.

You couldn't remember the rest of your classmates' birthdays, but hey, thanks to the shippers back in your world who didn't let anyone forget - and how it supposedly symbolized yin-and-yang - you were at least able to pull up their charts. Nice.

"Is this Aika's birth chart?" Fumiko broke the silence, glancing at the screen.

You shot her a look, eyebrows raised. "Literally what gave you that idea?"

She shrugged, lips quirking. "Women only ever look up birth charts for three reasons - someone they're interested in, their kids, or someone they want to curse."

You groaned, flopping back against the bed. "I told you Aika and I aren't - it!" But your words trailed off as your eyes flicked back to Geto's chart, unable to look away.

Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Virgo rising.

Oh hell nah!

Meanwhile, Gojo's chart - Sagittarius sun, Gemini moon, Aquarius rising - was the exact chaotic cocktail you'd expect. Not as intimidating as Geto's, though... the Gemini moon gave you pause, but hey, you could work with it.

Between scrolling for answers to every random question that popped into your heads - "Can a baby come out without the water breaking?" and "Sushi nearby?" - you both let yourselves get sucked into the absurdity of it all. For a minute, you almost forgot about everything else.

At some point, Fumiko turned to you, expression casual but eyes sharp. "Hey, if you happen to run into Tsukumo, tell her hi for me, yeah?"

Tsukumo? Tsukumo... Tsukumo!

Yuki, she's talking about Yuki!

You looked at her, caught off guard. "Wait... what? Why would I see her?"

"Oh, right - your amnesia." She waved it off. "She's-"

"No, I remember who she is," you interrupted, still processing. "But... how do you know where she is?"

Fumiko shrugged like it was nothing. "Friend of a friend mentioned it. She's sharp - real independent type. Actually, I think you two would get along."

"You've met her?" Intrigue sparked through you.

"Something to do with the Star Plasma Vessel." She waved dismissively. "It was a mess; don't worry about it. Anyway, last I heard, she's got herself an apprentice now. At Kyoto, I think. Kind of surprising, considering..."

"Oh." You leaned in, maybe too eagerly. "And... where does she usually meet this apprentice? What time?"

Fumiko raised an eyebrow, something knowing flickering in her expression. "You're not even trying to be subtle."

"Hey, I'm just... curious."

"Uh-huh." She gave you a long look. "Well, rumor has it they meet by the Kamo-gawa esplanade. The kid's in kindergarten, so maybe somewhere around Nakagyō. Just a guess, though." She paused, then added almost casually, "You know, Tsukumo's always been... particular about who she keeps close. Never seen her with a boyfriend, but there was this woman she used to spend a lot of time with. They seemed... close."

The words hung in the air, deliberately vague but clear enough that your brain short-circuited.

Oh. My. God.

You blinked, trying to process what you'd just heard. Once it settled in, it hit you like a wave crashing against a cliff. The implication echoed in your head, twisting and turning, sinking in slowly, methodically. It was like a door you didn't even know existed had swung open, and the world behind it was suddenly clearer, more... real.

It was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through a long, stormy night. Warmth bloomed inside you, soft yet relentless, unfurling like flower petals awakening to dawn. 

This was the happiness of a homosexual girl learning her crush might like women. No other happiness could quite match this.

You pretended you didn't just hear the best thing you'd ever heard in the history of ever and shot her a look. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

Fumiko's expression stayed perfectly neutral, but there was something in her eyes - amusement, maybe, or understanding. "Well, you and Aika broke up, didn't you? Figured you might be open to... new connections."

"Wait - no, no, no." You protested, shaking your head. "That's... no."

---

You dragged your luggage outside and stood on the curb, waiting for the driver. You swayed the suitcase slightly, the weight dragging you down just enough that you could hear the faint clink of the vodka bottle Fumiko had "given" you (that you'd stolen, but hey, details).

You grimaced, hoping to the gods it wouldn't break. Now, listen - in your defense - dealing with the Kamos and Naoya? Yeah, a drink was absolutely necessary. You weren't about to admit it out loud, but your nerves were shot, and your patience was already teetering on a cliff's edge.

Right on cue, your flip phone buzzed, Naoya's name flashing across the tiny screen. You rolled your eyes - of course he'd call now, like he had some kind of radar for ruining your day before it even started.

You answered, barely giving him a chance to speak before launching into a string of complaints, venting your mood with no real target in mind.

He, predictably, fired back, not missing a beat.

Ah, the joys of an emotionally healthy relationship.

The driver pulled up, clearly regretting every career choice that led him here as he tossed your small suitcase in the back. You immediately called shotgun and plopped yourself in the front seat, ignoring the fact that, with just the two of you, every seat was technically open.

"Can I play the music, can I play the music, can I play the music?" you asked in rapid succession.

The driver shot you a look that said he was definitely underpaid for this. "Sure," he replied with the kind of patience people reserve for strangers' kids.

You scrolled through stations at lightning speed, vetoing each song before it even got to the chorus - until, finally, you landed on something perfect. Right on cue, the chorus dropped just as you rolled up to the hotel, where Naoya stood by the gate with two servants, tapping his foot like a teacher waiting for their class to shut up.

(Also, why the fuck was he staying at a hotel in Tokyo anyway? Does he want to terrorize Tokyo women on top of Kyoto ones? Dude, fuck off!)

And just as he noticed the limousine, the speakers blasted, "Don't don't don't don't / Don't want don't want don't want don't want / Itty bitty teeny weeny / Shriveled little short di-"

You didn't even get to finish. Naoya stormed up to the window, his face a shade of fury, servants scrambling to keep up. He pounded on the glass with force that probably rattled the car frame, but you ignored him, eyes shut, doing the ultimate carefree white girl dance, smile plastered on like you were starring in a rom-com montage. Full Scarlett Johansson energy. To be cringe is to be free, after all.

Off to a fantastic start, you immediately fell into a full-blown argument over who got to sit in the passenger seat. For Naoya, being behind a woman in any context was a fate worse than death. You decided to get tactical, tossing out some gender roles disguised as deep spiritual insights.

"Sitting in the passenger seat? It's like... unlocking your feminine energy. It means you're a passenger princess, you know? Not in the driver's seat, not leading, not the alpha. Totally not masculine energy." You pointed at the driver, who was staring resolutely out the window, clearly contemplating his life choices. "He's the alpha here."

Naoya's face twisted with pure disgust. "You're jokin', right? Ain't no way I'm lettin' some driver act like he's above me just 'cause you're spoutin' nonsense."

But you could tell he was cornered. After a long moment of scowling, he begrudgingly climbed into the back seat. You watched as he slid in next to the two servants, his face still visibly sour, muttering insults under his breath in that soft accent of his. Immediately, he turned to one of them. "Oi, you - move over. I want the window seat, yeah?"

The poor servant wordlessly shifted to the middle seat, doing her best to avoid Naoya's darkening glare. You stifled a laugh, shaking your head at the sheer absurdity.

"'S funny to you, huh?" he sneered, catching your smile in the rearview mirror.

You hated being an insufferable bitch to those poor souls stuck working for the Zenin clan, but if it meant getting under Naoya's skin, then so be it. You pointed at a McDonald's sign, mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Oh, a McDonald's! Can we stop, please? I'm starving," you whined, stretching out the words just to irk him further.

You could practically feel Naoya's teeth grinding from the backseat, irritation radiating like heat from a furnace. The driver glanced back, cautious. "If Zen'in-sama permits-"

Naoya shot him a glare that could've melted steel. "Yeah, whatever, just make it quick!" he snapped. The servants in the back gasped theatrically, as if he'd just announced women deserved rights.

"You're already undesirable enough. Why not add fuel to the fire, yeah?" Naoya added, almost as if to show he still had the upper hand.

You couldn't help but laugh as the drive-thru employee greeted you. "What's your order?"

Before you could open your mouth, the driver jumped in. "I'll have a black coffee, please." Then he leaned in, giving you a pointed look. "Actually, make that two."

You arched an eyebrow, wondering if he thought coffee would be his coping mechanism. "Aaaand I will have... let's see," you said, tapping your chin theatrically. "A tiramisu and a chocolate milkshake, please."

"God, you're disgustin'." Naoya scoffed, his accent softening the edges of his irritation. "Eatin' that sugary crap like you've never seen food before, I swear."

You shrugged, unfazed. "Shut up, omega male. The alpha female is speaking."

After demolishing your McDonald's haul in record time, Naoya launched into his usual rant. "It's unladylike to shovel that junk into your mouth like that, y'know? You know that, right?" 

"Call me celibate and constipated the way I don't give a FUCK or SHIT," you shot back, tossing the last fry into your mouth like it was a mic drop.

The best part? You could never get away with this with Shoko, Nanami, or even Gojo and Geto. You'd give them the ick, and you did somehow care about their opinion. But Naoya? You didn’t care. You wanted him to get grossed out. Every twitch of his lip, every little sniff of disgust - it was satisfying in a way that made you grin like a lunatic.

Naoya's lip curled. "You're lucky you've got somewhat decent technique, 'cause no guy is ever gonna look at you the same way with that mouth of yours and the way you act, yeah? Keep talkin' like that, and you're gonna die alone."

You leaned back, unbothered, smirk tugging at your mouth corner. "And you? You're gonna die in 2018, getting stabbed by some servant lady who just so happens to be the mom of a girl you've been harassing in the clan. Bet you won't even see it coming."

Naoya's face went pale for a moment, his smirk faltering. "What the hell are you on about? You think you can scare me with some bullshit prophecy? Keep dreamin', yeah? I'll outlast everyone, especially someone as messed up as you."

"Sure, Jan."

"You know what, Naoya? I've been thinking about our future child," you said, casually leaning back.

"Wow, you're finally thinkin' about something a woman should be thinkin' about," he shot back, voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe I should take notes."

"Yeah, and I've decided we'll kick them out if they don't end up non-binary or gay," you continued. "Raising a straight kid sounds like a nightmare. You can't even use gay slang! It'll be unfunny, like no fucking way am I force-laughing in my own house, you get me?"

Let's just say Naoya didn't like this.

After that little exchange, you could see Naoya bristle, defensiveness flaring like a match struck against sandpaper. "Oh my gosh, look, it's a cow!" you exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a pasture where a lone cow grazed lazily.

Naoya's expression soured instantly. "Go choke, you-" he muttered angrily, voice rising as he sat up straighter. "You really jus' gonna call me a cow?"

You barely suppressed a laugh. "I wasn't calling you a cow, idiot. I saw an actual cow! But now that you mention it..." You grimaced, turning to look at him. "I can see the resemblance."

"Shut the hell up," he snapped, cheeks flushing with annoyance. "You think you're funny, huh?"

After demolishing your milkshake, familiar pressure built in your bladder, and you announced, "I need to pee!"

Naoya groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. The driver barely acknowledged you, chugging his second black coffee.

"Seriously? You gotta say that in front of me?" Naoya snapped, tone dripping with disdain. "Some of us have standards, y'know."

"You were supposed to say 'go piss, girl.'"

Ignoring his grumbles, you made a beeline for the restroom once the driver stopped at the nearest gas station. Once you were done and headed back outside, the first thing you spotted was Naoya engaged in a heated argument with a random... woman. She looked just as frustrated as he did, flailing her arms while Naoya stood there, arms crossed, expression mixing annoyance and superiority.

This was your chance. Slipping inside the car, you turned to the driver with faux-serious expression. "Hey, so, Naoya told me to say we should start driving without him. He'll catch up," you said, trying to sound convincing.

The driver shot you a look that screamed Do you think I'm dumb? but you pressed on, not backing down. The servant lady chimed in, "Zen'in-sama said no such thing-"

Girl, not the time!

But you were already in too deep. "Nah, trust me," you insisted, leaning into your lie. "He was all like, 'You can go ahead, I'll be right there.'" You could practically see the gears turning in their heads.

After a moment of hesitation, the driver sighed and nodded, shifting the car into gear. "Fine. But don't blame me if he flips out."

As the car pulled away, you couldn't help but chuckle. You felt victorious until you saw Naoya sprinting toward the car. He activated his technique, a blur of movement as he caught up with the vehicle, eyes locked on you, furious and incredulous.

"Oi! Seriously? You think you can just leave me behind like that?" he shouted, voice rising with that accent making it sound almost childlike despite the rage. "What the hell, y'know?"

"Oops! My bad!" you called out, feigning innocence, but inside, you were grinning from ear to ear.

By the end of the trip, the driver and servants looked like they were about to burst into tears. You couldn't blame them; between Naoya's constant grumbling and your antics, it had been a long ride. You stood there, incredulous, wondering how on earth Naoya even had fans. You mean, this was the same manga with adult Nanami, Geto, and Higuruma - seriously, they had options! So why him?

You opened the car door, ready to escape this madness, when suddenly, Naoya appeared in front of you, grabbing your wrist with vice-like grip.

This motherfucker really thinks this is a K-drama.

"Ya'd better behave properly in front of the Kamos, got it?" Naoya demanded, tone dripping with that same condescending energy. His grip tightened, irritation radiating off him. "Just keep your mouth shut, stand there, and look pretty, yeah?"

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a terrified scream. "SOMEONE HELP ME, I AM GETTING HARASSED!"

Naoya's eyes widened, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The driver nearly slammed on the brakes, and the servants froze, glancing back at the scene unfolding.

"What the hell are you doin'?!" Naoya hissed, clearly flustered as people around you shifted awkwardly. "You're makin' it worse!"

"Me? I'm just making sure I have witnesses when I file my complaint!"

"Witnesses for what?!" He rolled his eyes, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed his irritation. "This is so dumb! Just-"

"Just what? Take my silence as consent to your harassment?" You tugged your wrist free from his grip, crossing your arms defiantly.

At this point, the servant ladies and the driver were lowkey invested in the drama.

After your nth argument of the day, you finally looked ahead, gaze landing on the Kamo clan compound.

The Kamo compound stretched before you, nestled within high wooden gates that looked like they hadn't budged in decades. The walls, thick and weathered, were draped with creeping ivy, stone smooth from centuries of rain and wind. The air inside felt dense, almost sacred, heavy with history's weight. A low, muffled creak echoed as the gate slowly opened, as though it hadn't been disturbed in years.

The courtyard lay still, ground covered in tightly arranged stones that crunched underfoot with each step. Faint smell of earth and cedar hung in the air, mixing with subtle incense fragrance seeping from the nearest building. The paths were perfectly straight, bordered by tall, slender trees that seemed to lean in, branches swaying gently in the breeze.

The buildings themselves were traditional - low, dark wooden structures tucked neatly between trees, thatched roofs sloping down, edges curling slightly from age. Sliding doors, intricately painted with muted designs, were left ajar, offering only brief glimpses of dim, tatami-floored rooms within. The walls were made of light-colored wood, but faint outlines of old calligraphy marked the corners, faded over time but still holding the weight of old words.

You could hear soft rustle of footsteps on tatami, quiet swish of robes brushing against floor as servants moved through the house, faces hidden in shadows of paper walls. The place felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something - or someone - to disturb its stillness.

Which would be you if the vodka Fumiko "gave" you hits hard enough.

As you approached the grand entrance, a stern-looking butler awaited, flanked by two attendants. He gave a slight bow and ushered you both inside with practiced politeness.

"Welcome to the Kamo residence," he said formally, tone suggesting he'd welcomed countless guests before. "Please follow me; we will show you to your rooms."

You followed the butler through elegantly decorated hallways, each step echoing softly against polished wooden floors. Naoya walked beside you, grip on your wrist firm but not overly tight, constant reminder of his presence - and his irritation.

The walls, lined with delicate paper panels, cast a soft glow from lanterns hanging at even intervals, their flickering light painting warm, golden streaks across dark wood beams above. The air smelled faintly of incense, calming mix of sandalwood and jasmine, which seemed to hang in the quiet like a memory.

Every detail here spoke of disciplined order, from perfectly aligned tatami mats underfoot to subtle sheen of lacquered wood adorning the furniture. The sliding doors, left slightly ajar, revealed glimpses of rooms meticulously arranged with minimalist elegance. Low, simple tables held small vases with single flowers, placed just so, their petals delicate against dark, polished surfaces. The walls were adorned with understated artwork - brushstrokes of calm nature scenes, each one a quiet meditation in its own right.

The butler's soft footsteps were the only sound breaking the silence as he moved with practiced ease through narrow halls. His presence was barely noticed, a shadow gliding smoothly across the room's stillness. The further you walked, the more you felt like an intruder, the perfect, disciplined atmosphere wrapping around you, leaving no room for anything out of place. Every corner was sharp, every object in its place, and in that quiet, controlled environment, even your breath seemed too loud.

The butler led you to a beautifully arranged guest wing. You couldn't help but let out a low whistle, taking in the aesthetic splendor around you. "Damn, that house is NIIIIICE. So robbing material. Hehe. Just kidding... or not."

Naoya rolled his eyes, exasperation written all over his face. "You're seriously jokin' about breakin' and enterin' right now? Could you at least pretend to have some class, yeah?"

"Class?" You shot back, smirking. "This is a palace! I'm just appreciating the fine art of theft - sorry, I mean, interior design." You turned to the butler, who appeared completely unfazed. "No offense, but if I were a criminal mastermind, I'd have a field day in here. You guys have no security, do you?"

The butler kept a stoic expression. "Our security is impeccable, miss. I assure you, the Kamo clan takes great pride in ensuring the safety of our guests."

Naoya snorted, trying to mask his amusement. "Yeah, but if they knew you, they'd probably quit out of sheer embarrassment, y'know?"

"Zen'in Naoya-sama, this is your room," the butler announced, opening the door to reveal spacious, tastefully decorated space featuring tatami mats, sliding shoji screens, and minimalist furnishings that screamed traditional elegance. You couldn't help but think, Please, don't tell me I'll have to share a room with him...

He then turned to you, gesturing to the room next door. "And this will be your room, miss," he said with a slight bow, voice smooth and composed. "Should you require anything, please do not hesitate to ask. Our service is at your disposal."

Thank God. You felt relief wash over you as you stepped into your own space.

However, just as you thought you were in the clear, Naoya gave the butler a calculating look, expression shifting to one of feigned charm. "Actually," he began, tone smooth yet condescending, "would it be possible for us to share a room? We are engaged, after all."

You sharply inhaled, barely stifling your incredulous laughter. This bitch-

The butler's eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his otherwise composed demeanor. "Zen'in-sama, it is highly unusual for an engaged couple to share a room before marriage, especially within the walls of our residence," he replied, voice respectful yet firm.

You nodded a little too enthusiastically. That's what you're talking about!

Naoya's smirk faded into tight-lipped frown, clearly displeased. "Are you implyin' that our engagement isn't legitimate enough for such considerations?" he asked, voice cold and cutting, edge of indignation slipping through.

The butler maintained his composure, unfazed. "Not at all, Zen'in-sama. It is simply our custom to uphold traditional values. Your cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated."

You had to give it to him; this guy was doing God's work.

Naoya's jaw clenched, annoyance etched on his face. He finally nodded curtly, albeit reluctantly. "Very well, then."

The butler gave a slight bow. "Your luggage will be brought to your respective rooms shortly. Dinner with the head of the household is scheduled for 5 PM. In the meantime, you may rest or prepare as you see fit." With that, he departed, leaving you feeling a mix of triumph and amusement.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Naoya turned to you, expression a volatile mix of annoyance and calculation. "Don't get too comfortable," he muttered, that soft accent coming through, making his irritation sound almost childish. "We'll be expected to make appearances together, so don't go thinkin' you can just lounge around, yeah?"

"Kay," you replied, feigning indifference, though the smug smile on your face betrayed your amusement.

Naoya's eyes narrowed. "I'm not draggin' you along just so you can embarrass me, y'know? Just act like a normal person for once."

You shot back, "Your idea of 'normal' for a woman is a slave! Fuck off!"

Naoya blinked, expression mixing disbelief and anger. "Why is it so hard for you to learn your place, huh?!" His voice was sharp.

Your eyes narrowed at this.

You could almost feel the surge of Naoya's energy as he tried to use his technique to stop you, but yours was already in motion. The door clicked into place just before his power could make an impact, and you relished the moment.

With a soft sigh, you pulled out your flip phone, fidgeting with it as thoughts swirled in your head. You longed to call Fumiko, her voice always a source of comfort, but you hesitated. Who knew what surveillance the Kamos had installed in this household? It felt safer to keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

Just as you were lost in contemplation, a knock at the door jolted you back to reality. The butler stood there, poised and composed, flanked by a couple of attendants who bore your luggage. They moved with practiced efficiency, placing your suitcase inside without a hitch, expressions stoic as they bowed and retreated.

"Should you require anything further, do not hesitate to summon me," the butler said, voice smooth and measured.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to sound casual as you closed the door behind them. You had a feeling you'd be needing a lot more than just room service during your stay here, especially with Naoya lurking about.

As you began unpacking, the servant ladies who'd trailed you from the car glided into your room, presence both efficient and slightly unnerving. They bowed slightly, as if you were royalty or something, and set to work, fussing over your attire like you were some sort of living doll. Their hands moved with practiced grace, adjusting your clothing and hair with intensity that made you feel like you were prepping for the Met Gala rather than just dinner.

While they worked, you let your gaze drift around the room, absorbing details in an almost instinctual way. The shoji screens cast soft shadows across tatami mats, and delicate scent of polished wood hung in the air. But then something caught your eye - something tucked away behind one of those decorative screens. At first, you almost overlooked it, but the way it sat there, partially hidden, piqued your curiosity.

You stepped closer, drawn to the anomaly. A book. It seemed almost intentionally placed, as if someone wanted you to stumble upon it, but still, it was cleverly concealed. The cover was worn, and you could see edges of pages just begging to be flipped open. Your heart raced a little; it felt like discovering a secret in a spy movie, just waiting for someone to uncover its mystery.

Once the servant ladies wrapped up their meticulous grooming session and slipped out of the room, you felt relief wash over you. Finally, you could have a moment to yourself - sort of. You turned your attention back to the hidden book, heart pounding with anticipation as you carefully picked it up. The cover was worn, title barely legible: "Majiwara Clan."

Of fucking course.

You opened it, and pages unfolded like a treasure map, revealing meticulous notes, diagrams, and illustrations that seemed to pulse with history. Your fingers traced over the ink, scribbles looking almost desperate, like someone was trying to piece together a narrative that had long been buried.

You glanced around the room, sudden paranoia creeping in. Were they watching you? You scanned the walls for any hidden cameras - because honestly, they could definitely afford some high-tech surveillance. But after a thorough check, you didn't spot anything glaringly obvious. So, you took a chance. You shoved the book into your suitcase, hiding it behind your clothes and vodka bottle like a secret stash of contraband.

Maybe this was some rewritten history of your clan, designed to make you look more favorable to the Kamo clan, but you didn't care. Ignorance was no longer an option. Your days of being blissfully unaware - few as they were - were clearly numbered. First the weird dream, now this book? Someone was clearly intent on dragging you deeper into whatever twisted family drama was unfolding here, and you were damn well going to be ready for it.

After contemplating (which, let's be honest, was barely any time at all), you pulled out the bottle. There was no dramatic pause, no second-guessing - just the sharp, familiar twist of the cap, sound of it breaking the silence in a way that felt almost intentional. 

Chapter Text

Clap your hands if you've ever wanted to kill somebody.

He stood in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame like he owned the place - which, let's be real, he probably thought he did. That smug smirk was plastered across his face like it had been surgically attached there, permanent and irritating.

"Remember," he said, dragging out the words with the kind of condescension that made your fingers twitch toward the nearest throwable object, "keep your mouth shut unless spoken to, and don't embarrass the clan." 

Honestly, he was starting to sound like a broken record. An NPC stuck on loop, spitting out the same line every time you interacted with him. Basically every conversation you'd ever had on a dating app with a guy who thought "hey" was peak flirtation.

The rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and familiar, like an old friend who never knew when to leave. You rolled your eyes so hard you could've seen your own brain. "Trust me, y'all're already embarrassing 'nough on your own. Won't be needin' my assistance for this."

Naoya chuckled, and the sound grated against your eardrums like nails on a chalkboard dipped in lemon juice. "Oh, but ya got a knack for makin' it worse."

"Jus' shut up already," you muttered, the vodka making your tongue feel thick. You tried to kick him for good measure, aiming straight for his shin, but Naoya dodged with an ease that made you want to scream. His cursed technique made him practically untouchable, like he was playing some twisted game of tag where only he knew the rules.

The similarity to your own ability gnawed at you, turning your stomach into knots. It was undeniable - Naoya's technique had Majiwara roots, and that thought twisted like a knife lodged between your ribs.

"Why're you even still here?" The words came out slurred at the edges. "Don't you have, like, anything better to do?"

Naoya's expression darkened just a touch. "Because whether ya like it or not, you're part of this clan now, and your actions reflect on all of us."

You scoffed. "I'd rather be dead than be part of your... your woman-hating little cult."

The vodka was hitting different now. The edges of everything had gone soft and blurry, like someone had smeared Vaseline on a camera lens. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, words getting tangled on the way out.

"Careful what you wish for," he warned, but you were already turning away.

"Dude, m'way too drunk for this," you muttered, stumbling slightly as you moved toward the door. "Jus' go away. Need to get ready."

And by "get ready," you really meant checking if Aika had texted you. Despite blocking her, there was always a chance she'd find a way - if she was a real one, she'd make it happen.

The vodka had you feeling all sentimental and shit.

"Gettin' all worked up, huh?" Naoya's taunting voice grated on your last nerve. "Ain't gonna do you any good."

That was it. You were done. Ten minutes of this bullshit was already nine minutes too long. You turned back toward him, determination cutting through the alcohol haze, and started physically pushing him toward the door. Your hands pressed against his shoulders, and for once, you didn't care about looking dignified or composed.

"Out. Get out. M'serious, get the hell out-"

Naoya's eyes flashed with something dangerous. You could see it - the way his cursed energy started to flicker, the telltale signs of him about to activate Projection Sorcery. He was actually about to use his technique on you.

But you'd seen this before. You knew the timing, knew the setup. Your brain kicked into overdrive, thoughts processing faster than they should've been able to, cutting through the vodka fog like a hot knife through butter. Time seemed to slow down, not because it actually did, but because your perception had accelerated, your mind running through calculations and predictions in milliseconds.

Before he could trace his path, before he could lock in his 24 frames per second, you activated your own technique.

Acceleration hit your body like a shot of pure adrenaline. Your movements became a blur, faster than Naoya could track, faster than he could react. You grabbed him by the collar and shoved him out of your room with a force that sent him stumbling backward into the hallway.

The door slammed shut.

Click.

You locked it, your hand moving so fast it was almost invisible. By the time Naoya recovered and processed what had just happened, you were already on the other side, leaning against the door with your chest heaving.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, from the other side: "Oi-"

"Goodnight!" you called out, your voice sing-song and obnoxiously cheerful despite the slur.

You could practically feel his rage radiating through the door, but you didn't care. You'd won. You exhaled like you'd just won a war, your accelerated state fading as your body returned to normal speed. The exhaustion hit you all at once, mixing with the alcohol in your system to create a special kind of vertigo.

Now it was just you and your vodka. The kind of company that never judged, never asked questions. Perfect. You sank back, the weight of it all finally hitting you - alone, with only the burn of alcohol to keep the thoughts at bay.

You glanced at the bottle still sitting there, mostly empty now. The room spun just a little as you made your way over to it. Not nearly drunk enough for what was coming. Not enough to tune out everything gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Why was everyone acting so casual about your clan being wiped out? A whole clan had been massacred, and here they were, treating it like some minor inconvenience. Sure, you knew that jujutsu sorcerers were all messed up in their own ways, lacking in basic human empathy, but shit, this was ridiculous.

Why was the vodka making you emotional? This wasn't the plan - you didn't drink it for this.

With a resigned sigh, you took another drink. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

As you scanned the room, searching for something, anything to disrupt the impending formal dinner, you found yourself at a loss. Nothing came to mind.

Whatever. Chaos was more chaotic when unplanned.

By the time you'd gotten through almost the entire bottle, the room was spinning more than just a little, and the sharp burn in your throat had dulled into a hazy warmth. The perfect cocktail of tipsy and bitter enough to care about nothing but the food that was about to arrive.

A soft knock on the door broke your focus. You blinked, realizing you had no idea how long you'd been staring at the wall.

You blinked again, trying to make sense of the knock. Dinner. Right. You needed to pull it together, at least enough to pretend you were functional. You smoothed out the creases in your kimono like it'd somehow fix the fact that you were more than a little tipsy.

With a shaky breath, you called out, "Come in." The words left your mouth just a bit slower than you wanted them to.

The door creaked open, and your gaze flickered over to the servant lady standing there. Your mind took just a second too long to register her. You could feel the weight of your body tipping slightly to the side as you caught yourself.

The moment she slid the door open wider, you were hit with the smell of something too rich. It was almost suffocating, like someone's version of "fancy dinner," and your head was spinning too much to give it a fair shot.

The servant lady bowed way too much, like she was trying to break her back in front of you. "The dinner is ready, and the head of the Kamo clan requests your presence," she announced.

You shot a glare in Naoya's general direction - he'd appeared behind her like a bad smell - but kept your mouth shut. "Lead the way," you said, your voice steady even though your mind was in a haze.

She bowed again, way too deep, and turned to guide you through the winding hallways of the Kamo estate.

You were doing your absolute best not to burst out laughing. The whole situation was just so ridiculous. The buzz of the vodka in your system made everything seem so much funnier. You felt like you were operating on autopilot, just waiting for the right moment to screw with everyone in the room.

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, the rustle of your kimono mixed with the faint murmurs of conversation ahead. The walls seemed to tilt slightly with each step, or maybe that was just you. You couldn't tell anymore. Naoya strolled somewhere near you with his usual air of superiority, but you pushed the thought of him aside.

You almost stumbled in your too-high sandals, catching yourself on the edge of the doorframe, but no one seemed to notice. Right?

As you stepped into the grand dining hall, the sheer richness of the place hit you like a wave. The Kamo clan members rose to greet you - YOU, not Naoya's bitch ass. Their smiles were polite, too polite, their eyes guarded like you were some kind of rare, dangerous animal they were trying to keep calm.

Then there was the head of the clan, this old guy with a face set in a scowl so deep, you'd think he'd been mad for decades straight. Honestly? Big mood. You, too, were perpetually annoyed at something, so you could almost respect it. He stepped forward, giving you a bow that felt more like he was checking off a box on some family honor list.

"Welcome," he said, his voice deep and measured. "We are honored by your presence."

Period.

Naoya, in his usual politician mode, slid in with all smiles and charm. "Thank you for having us. We look forward to a pleasant evening."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. "Thank you? Thass the firs' time m'hearing you say that! Who the hell're you?"

Naoya's smile tightened, but he kept his voice annoyingly light. "I save my manners for special occasions." His eyes flashed with irritation.

And seriously, could he stop with the fake charm already? You were about to throw up all over the fancy tablecloth.

"Eew!" You couldn't help it. You slouched slightly, the alcohol making your balance questionable.

You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him - Naoya was pissed. "Shall we?" he asked, extending his arm to you.

You shot him a look but ignored his arm entirely. Instead, you took a leisurely glance around the room, letting your gaze drift over everything with the precision of a very tipsy person.

The space was big but still felt cozy. The tatami mats covered the floor like an expensive carpet. The low, lacquered table in the middle was surrounded by zabuton cushions, all arranged in some kind of order that screamed respect. The sliding shoji doors let in soft, ambient light, casting a calming glow over the whole room.

You wandered toward the low table, totally ignoring the way Naoya's eyes were boring into your back. As you moved, you noticed a little empty cushion by a boy who looked like he had just walked out of some ancient scroll. This kid was so still, you thought he might've been carved out of wood - impeccably straight posture and everything. His dark hair was tied back all neat.

You squinted, your vision swimming slightly. That kid. Noritoshi Kamo. The heir to the Kamo clan.

You completely ignored Naoya's arm and "gracefully" dropped down onto the cushion beside Noritoshi. The kid glanced up at you, his dark eyes sharp, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind them.

You gave him the softest smile you could muster, which was honestly hard considering you were at least halfway through your vodka buzz. "Hello there," you said, your voice just a little too sweet. "You mus' be Noritoshi."

He nodded stiffly, his posture perfect. "Yes. I am Noritoshi Kamo. It is... proper to meet you."

His voice was so formal, so carefully constructed, like he'd been practicing how to talk to adults since he could walk. He spoke slowly, precisely, the way a kid raised in a strict traditional household would - measuring each word like it might get him in trouble if he said it wrong.

You nodded back, not sure if that was the start of a real conversation or if you were just wasting your breath. Your gaze drifted over the table, where delicate porcelain dishes were arranged like they were straight out of a museum.

The food looked so good. For a second, you thought maybe this entire dinner wouldn't be such a waste of time.

Oh yeah, you thought with a grin, it'll be awkward for them, not me. I'm low-key living for this.

Naoya, sitting across from you, was glaring like he'd swallowed a lemon whole. His irritation was practically buzzing in the air.

The elders, all decked out in their fancy robes, started whispering to each other. Their voices were low and serious, carrying the kind of weight that made you feel like you should be paying attention - except you were too busy trying not to giggle.

Finally, the clan head turned his gaze toward you. "It is not often we receive guests of such standing. Tell us, how are you finding your time with the Zen'in clan?"

You blinked for a second, the words floating around your head before they made any sense. "Uhm... they're a clan. Thass for sure."

The words slipped out dripping with sarcasm as you scanned the room, catching Naoya's eye and stifling a grin at the way his jaw tightened.

The elders exchanged looks, their faces completely unreadable, but the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. The clan head raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more.

"Indeed. And how do you find their methods and traditions?"

A smirk slipped out before you could stop it. "Person'lly, it'd be better if this was a... matri... matriar... if the ladies were in charge, y'know? An' the leader was someone you could grab a margar... margari... a drink with when shit gets tough." You paused, the room tilting slightly. "But, I mean, whatever they're doing works. I guess." You glanced at Naoya. "'Cept the beer that Nobito's always drinking. Fuck beer. S'gross. Vodka's better."

You glanced quickly at the small boy beside you, and his wide eyes were staring back at you like you'd just told him the secrets of the universe.

You bit your lip, realizing whoops, you just swore like a sailor in front of a kid. "Uh, I meant... freak? Freak beer?"

The silence hit like a ton of bricks. The elders were stiff, looking like they'd never heard a woman speak like that before.

Noritoshi's brows furrowed slightly, his small voice careful and confused. "Mother says... vodka is not proper for ladies. Father says... discipline is important." He paused, looking at you with those serious dark eyes. "Are you... feeling unwell?"

Oh god, the kid was worried about you. The way he spoke was so painfully formal, so carefully constructed, like he was reading from a script someone had drilled into him since birth.

This isekai shit wasn't for the weak!

Chapter Text

The conversation had somehow steered itself straight to you and your clan. Fantastic. You were nodding along, half-listening, trying to look like you weren't about to pass out right there on the tatami mat. Each sip of water felt like some kind of magic potion you desperately needed, and you didn't dare look at the food. One wrong glance and you might lose it right here in front of everyone.

But here's the thing - not eating? That was the real disrespect. You were doing everything else under the sun to be a menace, but somehow avoiding the food felt like crossing a line. This whole dinner was a spectacle anyway, but not touching a single dish? That was like a slap in the face to tradition, and even in your current state, it felt wrong.

If your mom caught you acting like this, she'd be dragging you by the ear out the front door, no questions asked. You'd get an earful the entire way home, and once you got there? The lecture wouldn't stop for hours.

As the elder kept droning on about clan duties or something equally riveting, you nudged the small figure beside you, desperate to keep yourself awake. You leaned in and whispered, "Hey, you like fish?" It was the first thing that popped into your head, and yes, you were immediately embarrassed, but here we were.

Noritoshi blinked, looking up with an expression that could only be described as mild surprise. "Yes," he replied softly, polite, as if he didn't quite know what to make of you.

"Period!" You grinned, nodding like you'd just cracked the code of life. "Fish has got... proteins and stuff. It's, uh, good for you." You gave a little thumbs-up, thinking maybe that would sell it. But he just blinked at you again, and you had to admit - your attempt at sounding wise? Absolutely tragic.

The elders observed your exchange with thinly veiled curiosity, their expressions difficult to read. After a beat, one of them leaned forward, her voice gentle but deliberate. "Noritoshi," she said, nodding at him, "why don't you share the significance of this dish with our guest?"

Noritoshi straightened, his small frame attempting the composure of someone much older. "This fish... it's called tai," he began, glancing between the elder and you. "It's prepared the way it always has been in our family, passed down through generations."

He hesitated, searching for the words, but eventually pushed through. "It's important because it's supposed to bring good luck. The salt makes it pure, and it... reminds us to stay together. Moth-" He stumbled, cheeks coloring slightly as he quickly corrected himself, "I've been told that even in hard times, this dish reminds us to be strong as a family."

His gaze flicked up at you, carrying a mixture of pride and uncertainty, almost like he wanted approval. "It's not just food. It's about staying connected... remembering where we come from."

Hearing him almost say "Mother" made something tighten in your chest. A faint crack in his composure that spoke volumes. It was... painful, honestly.

One of the elders - a woman with a carefully measured expression and the tone of someone used to delivering hard truths with a soft touch - broke the silence. "Noritoshi's mother," she explained with restrained delicacy, "once held a place within our family. But she chose a different path, pursuing wealth and status, which led her to leave him behind. This dish, then, is a reminder of continuity, a symbol of unity that we hope can... fortify Noritoshi against such disappointments."

So, like... a gold digger? That's what they were implying?

Her gaze shifted toward you, sharp yet veiled in politeness. "I suspect," she continued smoothly, "that you might find some resonance in Noritoshi's story. After all, you, too, are experiencing a... transition into the Zenin clan. It cannot be easy, this separation from your own family and the embrace of unfamiliar customs."

You blinked, barely hiding the mix of shock and amusement at her not-so-subtle dig. It was impressive, really, the way she spun it. She had definitely done this before.

"Damn," you muttered, completely floored. "You're, like, really good at this. Has anyone ever told you that?"

The elder's serene expression didn't falter. She tilted her head ever so slightly, acknowledging your comment as if it were a compliment. "Thank you," she replied with a calm smile, clearly unfazed. "It's simply the duty of those in my position to... connect with our guests."

You leaned back, eyes wide, letting out a small laugh as you tried to process this. Was this lady for real?

The other elders shifted in their seats, their disapproval simmering beneath narrowed eyes and darting glances. The silent rebuke hung in the air, thickening the tension to a near breaking point.

You felt a laugh bubbling up - you weren't sure if it was the lingering effects of the alcohol or just the absurdity of this whole setup. They actually expected Noritoshi to recite some loyalty speech after everything they'd put him through? And as if his mother willingly chose to leave him here with them. It didn't take a genius to figure out she'd had no real say, and the clan had probably written her off as an afterthought, a disposable concubine at best. You glanced at the clan head, the one who'd taken on a "concubine" under the guise of tradition. Traditional, huh? Since when was having a concubine some sacred value? What was he following - 'The Art of Being a Shitty Person'?

"Isn't that right, Noritoshi?" the elder prompted, undeterred by the tension swirling around her.

Noritoshi nodded, his young face holding steady, hiding whatever he might be feeling. "Yes. I must honor the clan and its traditions."

The elder's mouth curled, pleased with his response, but you weren't letting her have the last word. They weren't going to box him in that easily - not while you were here. You wanted to snap back, but knew they'd only twist your words. Better to flip the script. Maybe even get him to talk about something that actually meant something to him.

"You've got the blood manipulation technique, right? That's a rare gift." You steadied yourself, pushing the fogginess away, your tone light but your stare keen.

Noritoshi's eyes lit up with genuine pride at the shift in topic. "Yes," he said, a small glimmer of excitement creeping into his voice. "It's really rare. Only a few members of the Kamo clan have had it. It's a powerful technique - I can use it to create weapons or even heal myself."

"Impressive," you replied, leaning in a little as if you were having a private conversation. "Sounds like you're really talented."

He sat up straighter, a subtle smile breaking his composure. "Thank you."

One of the elders, a steely glint in his eyes now, leaned forward, attempting to reframe Noritoshi's achievement as the clan's own. "It is indeed a prestigious ability, one that carries immense responsibility. We are, of course, proud of Noritoshi's dedication to our traditions."

You ignored him, smiling warmly at Noritoshi. "Well, with a talent like that, you're bound to do amazing things."

From across the table, Naoya finally broke his silence, his voice dripping with thinly veiled condescension. "Yes, Noritoshi. Tremendous potential. Just don't forget the importance of honoring the clan." His stare lingered on you, a smug twist to his mouth that only made you glare right back.

Noritoshi nodded obediently, his young face set with determination. "I understand."

The elders eased, the room relaxing as the conversation drifted back to clan history and rituals. But you couldn't shake the uncomfortable churn in your stomach. Every word, every lingering stare - they were all shaping Noritoshi, bending him toward a life he didn't choose. And his mom - where was she in all of this? How had they convinced her to let her son be here without her?

You glanced at him again, a small flicker of resolve rising in you. You'd be here, as much as you could, to remind him there was more to life than ancient rules and inherited obligations. He needed someone to see him beyond the clan's expectations, and if you could be that person - even in small ways - you would.

Just then, the clan head's voice sliced through the noise, smooth and commanding. "We've heard of your recent memory troubles," he said, his gaze sharp with the weight of scrutiny. "Quite a shame, really. I imagine it must complicate your training. Perhaps you've even forgotten aspects of your cursed technique?"

You were mid-sip, the warm tea barely touching your throat when his words hit you, causing you to cough and sputter. Noritoshi, ever dutiful, quickly reached over and patted your back with all the force of a breeze.

"Uh, yeah," you wheezed, still trying to catch your breath, offering him a shaky but appreciative smile. "Training hard. That's definitely me."

The clan head's gaze never wavered, his eyes sharp and calculating as he observed you, taking in every slight reaction. "I see," he said slowly, his tone neutral. "It's important to maintain focus, especially when dealing with something as volatile as your cursed technique. The memory loss must be... troubling." He reclined in his seat, studying you like you were some puzzle he was trying to solve. "I trust you've been receiving the proper guidance?"

You met his gaze, your mind racing, but your expression stayed cool. "From the Zen'in, you mean?" you replied, voice casual. "Not really. Actually, not at all. But I wouldn't want to train there anyway, so it's not a problem. I can figure things out on my own - it's my technique, after all."

The conversation was starting to drag, so you decided to spice things up. Like a modern philosopher once said, "I was bored, so I ruined lunch on purpose, and I had fun doing it."

With a casual shrug, you leaned back in your seat, a playful glint in your eye. "But yeah, other than training hard, I've also been thinking of starting a feminist Jujutsu organization. What do you think, huh? Do you think women deserve equal rights? Huh? What's your opinion on this? Be honest with yourself, I won't get mad, I promise."

You watched the group closely, a small smirk tugging at your lips as the tension in the room shifted. The silence was almost more fun than the conversation itself.

The clan head, who still looked like he wanted to disappear, straightened his posture and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot.

"In an ideal world, yes, women would have equal opportunities. However," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "I believe that women find their greatest fulfillment at home, supporting the men they love and raising their children. This is a noble and important role that should not be underestimated."

You stared at him, incredulous. "So you think women have no choice but to be housewives and mothers because of gender essentialism?" you asked, your tone sharp.

The clan head maintained his calm demeanor. "I believe that each gender has its strengths and roles. Women excel in creating and maintaining a nurturing home environment, which is just as crucial as any other contribution."

Naoya, sensing the tension creeping in, slid in smoothly. "It's important to appreciate all perspectives, right, darling?" His tone was too sweet, and the warning in his eyes was unmistakable as he tried to play peacemaker.

Ew!

You shot him a look that could melt steel. "Go kill yours-" The words slipped out with venom, but a voice cut you off from the far end of the table. It was soft at first, almost a whisper, but it had an edge to it - defiance simmering beneath the surface.

"What if... what if the woman has the Blood Manipulation technique?" a young woman asked, her eyes darting between you and the clan head. Her fingers twisted her napkin nervously, but there was a glint of something in her gaze - daring, maybe? "And what if she contributes significantly to the clan?"

The room fell silent for a moment, the clan head's gaze flickering to her with the kind of cold scrutiny you'd come to expect from someone with his sense of superiority. But he didn't answer immediately. Instead, his jaw tightened, a subtle signal of his growing discomfort.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your seat as you gave a tiny, too-innocent smile. "Oh, I wasn't trying to stir things up. Just curious about how the clan sees these things. Ha ha ha..." You took a long sip of your tea, the grin spreading wider as if you were savoring the moment.

The tension in the air thickened, but you didn't care. You were having fun.

The young woman's question seemed to have unsettled the clan head even further. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some of the authority he'd started to lose. "Skills and contributions are certainly valued," he said with calculated care, "but traditions and roles are deeply ingrained. Balancing these aspects is essential for maintaining harmony within the clan."

You sensed the weight of the moment, the tension in the room thickening as curiosity and frustration bubbled just below the surface. You looked around nosily to see everyone's reaction, feeling the growing realization: Maybe I am the drama.

The young woman, her voice now more measured and sharp, spoke up again. "So, are you suggesting that a woman's place is only at home? That she is inherently incapable of contributing on the battlefield or in any capacity outside of those traditional roles?"

The clan head's gaze darkened, but he didn't respond immediately.

You jumped in, cutting through the heavy silence with a nervous smile. "Okayyy, hold on. Who said anything about war?" You raised an eyebrow, making a sweeping gesture with your hand. "Personally, I'm not about to march off to some battlefield. But if you're down to go die in the name of feminism, I fully support you, girlboss. But me? I'm staying right here." You gave a mock salute to the young woman, all sass and no hesitation.

Naoya, now looking like he couldn't resist poking the bear any longer, shot you a smug look. "So, you do think women should stay at home, then?"

You turned your gaze to him, exasperated. "No, you dipshit, I think war is fucking stupid." You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "What's so hard to understand about that?"

The clan leader's face tightened, clearly frustrated with the direction this conversation was taking. He cleared his throat, his voice low but firm. "I think being a mother is very important, and you are undermining their importance by suggesting otherwise."

Naoya, sensing an opening, chimed in with his smug grin, clearly hoping to reinforce the point. "Well said, clan head. Women have their roles, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Cringe.

You stared at both of them, an eyebrow arching as you let the words sink in. Then, you couldn't help it - you had to poke the bear.

"Okay, then," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "If being a mother is so important, then why don't you go ahead and get pregnant yourself and stay at home as a husband? Let's see how well you handle it. Go ahead, I'll wait."

The room went dead silent. Naoya's face instantly morphed from smug confidence to sheer irritation, while the clan leader's gaze faltered, not quite sure how to respond to that. You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, fully aware that you'd just thrown the metaphorical grenade into the center of the room.

The girl, now fully emboldened by the chaos, straightened in her seat with the grace and poise that only someone from a prestigious lineage could manage. Her tone shifted - smoother, more measured, yet still full of razor-sharp defiance as she spoke, her words calculated but deadly.

"Perhaps," she began, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "the issue isn't the role itself, but rather the antiquated notion that only one gender is capable of fulfilling it. If women are so suited for the domestic sphere, then might I suggest that the men of this clan take it upon themselves to experience this 'noble' endeavor firsthand? After all, if nurturing and maintaining a home are such vital contributions, should they not understand it as deeply as the women they expect to fill that role?"

The clan leader's jaw clenched, but she wasn't done. Her gaze flicked to you for just a moment before continuing, as if drawing strength from the chaos you'd stirred. "It's rather telling, isn't it? That men can proclaim how vital the domestic sphere is, yet not once have they been expected to partake in it fully. It's almost as if their contribution stops at the point where their own comfort is threatened."

Damn, okay, Shakespeare!

"And might I add," she continued, her voice smooth and cold, "that it's incredibly convenient that the very same people who are quick to defend tradition are also those whose authority is derived from the continued subjugation of those they deem less capable. It's not about the role, it's about who gets to decide who plays it. If the clan believes these roles are sacred, then perhaps it's time to question who benefits most from keeping things exactly as they are."

Her eyes now locked onto the clan leader, cool as ice. She tilted her head just slightly. "So yes, clan leader, I must ask: if this noble role is so vital, then why not let the men prove their commitment to it? Show us, if they will, that they can truly carry the weight of what they so eagerly defend."

You were about to nod along and cheer her on when you caught a glimpse of the clock out of the corner of your eye - 7 PM was approaching fast. Shit! Your stomach dropped, realizing you were running out of time.

You found yourself sneaking a glance at Noritoshi. His narrow, dark eyes darted between you and his plate, lingering just a little too long, as if trying to read something in your expression. There was a certain hesitance in his gaze - a curiosity softened by a touch of shyness. A small, warm flicker sparked in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't think you were all that terrible.

The elders, of course, caught onto the exchange immediately, their eyes narrowing in that calculating way, each of them scanning the room with the precision of hawks. The clan leader exchanged loaded looks with them, a silent assessment passing between them as they evaluated just how they might use this budding interaction to their advantage. The air grew taut, charged with the silent manipulations only the elders could master.

The clan leader, though visibly flustered, had barely started to regain his composure when you, with all the casualness of someone flipping a switch, dropped a bombshell that threw everything off-balance.

You leaned back in your chair, grinning like the absolute shit-starter you were, and turned to the clan leader. "You know, Kamo-sama, I've been thinking... you're absolutely right. Women should definitely take care of the kids. I mean, I've had this totally wrong up until now."

The room went dead silent. The girl blinked, her jaw momentarily hanging open in disbelief. Naoya, sensing a shift but unsure what the hell was happening, looked at you with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"

You waved him off with a dismissive flick of your wrist. "Oh, I'm absolutely serious, Naoya. Kamo-sama's wisdom really got me thinking. Nurturing and all that - like, it's actually such an important role in this world."

You leaned forward, dropping the casual demeanor and shifting to something far more... absurd. "So, um, if you don't mind, I'd like to go out with young Noritoshi here. You know, just the two of us - he can show me his Blood Manipulation technique. I really want to feel closer to my maternal instincts... you know, tap into that feminine energy and all that. Totally makes sense, right?"

You didn't even wait for a response, just giving Noritoshi an exaggerated look of sweet interest, as though you were considering the proposition with all the seriousness in the world. "Maybe I'll even learn how to nurture people with my own cursed technique. We could make it a bonding experience. Just... so motherly, you know?"

The clan leader, his face going from pale to bright red in a flash, struggled for words. "Excuse me? You can't be serious-"

But before he could finish, you shot him a grin, so wide it was practically mocking. "No, Kamo-sama, I'm absolutely serious. I've had this revelation about my purpose in life. I'm just trying to... y'know... be a better woman. Now, can I go with young Noritoshi or not? I'm just trying to get in touch with my true feminine essence."

The silence in the room was deafening as the elders exchanged panicked glances, trying to figure out whether you were genuinely changing sides or just digging deeper into the chaos.

You sighed, the mix of sleep deprivation and lingering buzz of alcohol edging at your patience. "Is it 'cause I'm drunk? You know what - fine. I'll just rewind the alcohol out of my system." You shot the clan leader an annoyed look, then closed your eyes, hoping to figure out how to rewind alcohol, of all things. Taking a deep breath, you tried to remember the half-baked biology lesson on alcohol metabolism from back in 11th grade. You'd barely passed, thanks to a failed attempt at cheating your way through, but there were fragments that came to mind.

Something about alcohol getting absorbed into the bloodstream through the stomach and small intestine... right? It spread everywhere, filling your system until your liver kicked in to try and filter it out, but even that took a while. You remembered vaguely - though you hadn't been paying close attention back then - how the enzymes in your liver broke down ethanol into less toxic chemicals, or at least that's what the teacher had said. If you could rewind that process, you figured, maybe you'd return your blood to its pre-alcohol state. Or something like that.

You weren't exactly sure how to reverse enzyme activity, but it was worth a shot.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the alcohol-induced haze still clouding your thoughts. This wasn't exactly a skill you had refined, but now was the time. You were going to rewind the alcohol out of your system. How hard could it be?

"Alright, just rewind," you muttered under your breath. You didn't have much time to think about the logistics - this had to work.

You focused, drawing on your cursed energy, and immediately the sense of tension flooded your senses. It wasn't like anything you'd ever felt before. You had to rewind the alcohol out, reverse the process of it being absorbed into your bloodstream. You pictured it in your mind: the alcohol molecules, rewinding back to the glass they came from, like you were erasing their effect on your body.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you pushed the cursed energy forward. The shift was barely noticeable at first, a small prickling sensation running along your skin as if your body itself was trying to push back. The alcohol had spread quickly, and you had no idea how much of it was still in your system.

Your breathing started to quicken as the technique resisted. This was harder than it looked. You could feel the burn in your chest, the fuzziness in your head refusing to fade as your cursed energy fought to unravel the alcohol's grip. The room spun for a moment, but you kept your focus, forcing yourself to think logically. Alcohol is processed through the liver... you thought, trying to use your knowledge of biology to guide your technique.

You concentrated harder. The idea was simple: reverse the process, force the alcohol to leave your bloodstream in a matter of seconds. But it wasn't that easy. You felt the resistance, like your body didn't want to go backward. Focus. Focus! you screamed silently to yourself.

You could feel your heart racing now, the strain of the effort growing as you struggled to push the alcohol away. Your hands trembled, but you refused to show weakness. You can do this.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you felt it - like a thread pulling free. The fog in your mind began to clear, and your stomach settled. The dizziness from the alcohol slowly started to lift. You had done it.

You blinked, standing a little straighter now, but keeping your face neutral, like it had been a simple task. You let out a quiet breath, making sure to keep the sweat from showing on your brow.

You straightened your posture, locking eyes with the clan leader, who seemed more intrigued than anything else at this point.

"Now," you said, voice dripping with calm confidence, "I believe I've mastered my technique, yes. And should something unfortunate happen to young Noritoshi here - during his usage of his technique, of course - I can simply heal him or rewind his injuries, whichever I prefer."

You paused, giving the room a moment to digest your words, making sure your tone was just the right amount of detached arrogance. "But don't worry, it won't come to that. I'm far too skilled for anything to go wrong."

You lied. You felt like you were on the verge of fainting.

The room went silent for a heartbeat, but you didn't flinch. The clink of the glass on the table seemed louder than ever.

You didn't know it, but as you spoke, the redness in your eyes vanished, leaving only the sharp, clear whites, and any trace of vodka on your breath had mysteriously faded away. It was like Bella Swan waking up in Breaking Dawn, part 2.

With a polite smile, you raised your eyebrows and threw in a sheepish nod for extra charm, doing your best to play the courteous, well-mannered guest.

The elders exchanged quick, urgent glances, a silent flurry of communication as they waited for the clan head's response. Noritoshi looked at you with eyes wide, clearly as stunned as everyone else by your sudden transformation. He then turned anxiously toward the clan head, as if wondering whether you might actually pull this off.

The clan head's gaze lingered on you, his face unmoved except for a slight narrowing of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he spoke, "It is... highly unconventional to permit such requests, especially under the present circumstances. However..." He paused, every word weighted, as if measuring the decision against some unseen scale.

Finally, he nodded slowly, voice controlled and stern. "Noritoshi may accompany you, but on strict conditions. He must return promptly by nightfall. Any deviation will be unacceptable. Don't disappoint us."

The room seemed to inhale as one, the elders visibly taken aback by his decision. Even you couldn't mask your shock as you glanced around at the stunned faces surrounding you.

"Damn, are y'all shocked?" you asked, grinning slyly. "'Cause so am I."

You barely managed to keep your excitement in check - your plan to "accidentally" run into Yuki was practically within reach. Noritoshi tagging along was just a bonus; you didn't really need him to pull this off. The real prize was getting Yuki to see you as a fellow "boymom" - a chance to bond, and maybe, just maybe, gain a little leverage. The prospect was too tempting, and you practically cackled inwardly.

"Thank you!" You clasped your hands together with exaggerated politeness. "Since it's already getting late, we'll head out right away. May we be excused?"

Noritoshi looked up at the clan head with hesitation, but a subtle nod gave him the permission he needed. He stood up and, to your surprise, extended his tiny hand to help you rise. The gesture hit you with a wave of cuteness aggression so strong, it took all your self-control not to squeeze his hand and coo over how small he was. There was something indescribably adorable about holding a child's hand and realizing just how tiny they really are - literal, pint-sized humans. If it weren't for, well... everything, you'd have pinched his little cheeks on the spot.

You chuckled as you took Noritoshi's hand, catching the whole room off guard. The elders exchanged bewildered glances, Naoya's face twisted between shock and annoyance, and the young woman from earlier looked entirely flustered. The clan head's unexpected approval had thrown everyone off balance.

Ironically, this was the first moment since dinner started that you weren't trying to make things awkward - and somehow, it still worked.

A servant appeared as if out of nowhere, ushering you and Noritoshi from the room. You caught murmurs of a heated argument as you walked away, but you brushed it off. Right now, your focus was on making sure Noritoshi wouldn't face any more unnecessary mistreatment. The elders had been so eager to stay on your good side, practically biting their tongues at every turn, so maybe this rare validation would rub off on them - or at the very least, they'd ease up on him for a while.

As you stepped out of the clan's residence, the servant leading you seemed visibly uncomfortable, glancing between you and Noritoshi as if rethinking the wisdom of letting you both leave. Meanwhile, Noritoshi's left leg was subtly bouncing with nervous energy.

You took his tiny hand in yours, squeezing it lightly to grab his attention. "Noritoshi," you said, leaning down a little, "ever tried a White Kinder Bueno? Because let me tell you... once you start, it's over."

Chapter Text

Noritoshi tilted his head, his small eyebrows pulling together. "An... addiction to... white, um, Kinda Bueno?" He sounded out each syllable carefully, like he was trying to crack some ancient code. His voice had that overly formal edge kids get when they're trying really hard to sound grown-up. "No, I haven't... experienced that. Why would you ask?"

You clicked your tongue, fighting back a laugh. "You haven't lived yet, then. Trust me."

He blinked up at you, caught somewhere between wanting to understand and sticking to the script of proper responses they'd drilled into him. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, processing your words like they held some profound wisdom. He gave a small nod, so serious it was almost painful.

Only now did it hit you - you needed a car to get out of wherever the hell the clan's estate was. And since you hadn't exactly planned for a dramatic escape, calling the driver who'd brought you here seemed like the best option. The only option, really.

Thankfully, your sleep-deprived brain had thought ahead. While the driver had been focused on the road earlier, you'd discreetly swiped his phone and jotted down his number. Was that illegal? Probably. Did you care at this point? Not even a little.

You and Noritoshi climbed into the backseat, him all calm and composed, while you... were the complete opposite. The second you buckled up and the car pulled away from the compound, you threw open the window, leaning halfway out into the evening traffic.

"HELP ME! I'M BEING KIDNAPPED! SOMEONE, HELP!" You slapped your hands dramatically against the glass like you were auditioning for a bad horror movie, milking every second of it.

The driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes glassy with what could only be described as pure despair. "Can you... please... stop doing this?" His voice cracked slightly, almost breaking.

Noritoshi's face twisted with visible distress, his brow furrowing as he watched your antics. But you caught it - the subtle twitch at the corner of his lips. Barely contained laughter threatening to break through his serious expression.

Then the pain hit.

You barely had a second to process it before your body reacted. One moment you were halfway out the window, ready to yell some more, and the next your stomach twisted into a violent knot. Heat crawled up your throat, sharp and unbearable.

This wasn't the familiar burn of alcohol. This was worse. So much worse.

Your body moved before your brain caught up. You gagged, hard, a dry heave that felt like it was trying to rip you inside out. Then came that taste - metal, sharp, overwhelming. A sickening rush of blood flooded your mouth, spilling from your lips before you could stop it. It splattered violently against the window, painting the glass and door with an unsettling streak of red.

Your vision wavered, edges blurring as you stared at the blood. But then, through the haze, you caught sight of the kid in the car beside you. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto yours, and in that instant you could see the panic spreading across his face. His mouth moved, but all you could hear was the rush of blood pounding in your ears, thick and suffocating.

"Ugh," you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, still not fully processing what just happened. "Maybe that last vodka shot was a bit much..." You leaned back in the seat, still tasting iron, feeling light-headed, but shaking it off. Just some unfortunate reaction - probably needed more food in your stomach. A problem to fix at the next convenience store. Or maybe some fresh air if this driver could take a hint.

You glanced over at Noritoshi. He was staring at you, eyes wide, his small mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words.

"Hey," you said, more casual than the situation called for, "could you... I don't know, use your blood tricks to maybe... send it back in or something? Don't want to be light-headed before I'm even halfway through the night."

Noritoshi's face went pale. "I... I can't control someone else's blood like that... That's not how it works..."

"Hmm," you said with a shrug, settling back and swallowing hard against another wave of nausea. You took a deep breath and hoped that was the last of it.

You fought the urge to pass out right then and there, vision still swirling, the taste of iron clinging to your mouth. But you'd been through worse. Whatever this was - this sudden, violent rush - would pass. Right?

You reached out with shaky hands, wiping the blood from the window as best you could. A quick swipe of your sleeve, a half-hearted attempt at decency, before you slumped back against the seat, forcing yourself to breathe. The kid in the other car was still watching, but now his eyes held something else. Fear? Pity? Whatever it was didn't matter.

The driver didn't say a word, and you were thankful for that. You weren't exactly in the mood for awkward small talk, especially with Noritoshi in the back seat looking ready to shit himself.

After a long pause, the car slowed to a stop in front of a small convenience store.

---

The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead, casting everything in this slightly off-putting glow as you steered Noritoshi inside. He walked a step behind you, arms wrapped around himself like he was bracing for another curveball. Not that you could blame him. After all, he'd just watched you hack up blood and lead him on a spontaneous "kidnapping." The kid had earned the right to look freaked.

You grabbed a basket and nudged it toward him. "Alright, cheer up, mini-Kamo," you said, steering him down the snack aisle. "You're on an adventure now. Pick anything. Chips? Pocky? Maybe soda?"

He glanced at you, still clutching that basket like it might double as a shield, scanning the shelves like he wasn't quite sure he was even allowed to take anything. Then, cautiously, he reached out and plucked a pack of matcha-flavored Kit Kats off the shelf, glancing up at you like he needed confirmation.

"Solid pick." You grinned and grabbed a bag of rice crackers labeled extra spicy, probably enough heat to knock you out for the night. "We'll hit up Kamo Gawa after this, so you can snack in peace. Just kick back and unwind, alright? I mean, it's not every day you get 'kidnapped' by a classy adult with an elite snack lineup."

He looked away, trying to hide the tiniest, almost reluctant smile creeping onto his face. There it was - a glimmer of excitement breaking through the wall of caution. He dropped another candy into the basket, starting to look more comfortable, and you gave him a thumbs-up.

To back it up, you grabbed a couple boxes of Pocky - strawberry and chocolate, no debate. Then you snagged a pack of Hi-Chew and tossed it in. "These? Pure gold. Chewy, fruity, probably life-changing," you said, shooting him a grin. "And these," you added, dropping in a bag of Senbei rice crackers, "are healthier, I guess. Crispy and salty - a total must."

For yourself, you went for the essentials. White chocolate Kinder Bueno and cherry blossom Kit-Kat went in first (obviously your favorites). You capped it off with some Jagariko, those cheesy, crispy potato sticks no sane person could turn down.

Noritoshi's eyes were practically bulging as he took in the pile of snacks accumulating in your basket. He glanced from the boxes of Pocky to the bags of Jagariko with a kind of tentative awe, like he'd stumbled into some forbidden world of edible rebellion. You could practically hear his thoughts: Is this even allowed?

He hesitated, gripping his basket like a lifeline. "I... I've only eaten food approved by the elders," he mumbled. "They call this stuff 'junk food trash.'"

You rolled your eyes, resting a hand on his shoulder like you were showing him the ropes. "Oh, come on. A little junk food never killed anyone. You're allowed to enjoy yourself once in a while."

Your mind drifted to the chaos that was your daily routine. Headphones permanently wedged in your ears, enough coffee to keep an army awake, zero water intake, and a weirdly intimate relationship with instant noodles and whatever cheap snacks were lying around. Hell, it wasn't even the "weirdly unhealthy" kind of routine anymore - it was just life. The kind of life that probably didn't come with a retirement plan.

"You know," you muttered to yourself as you threw more random stuff into the basket, "I'm probably not gonna make it to 60. Like, there's just no way. The universe has probably already got me on a countdown, and I'm just... waiting for the clock to run out."

A few years ago, you might've had that optimistic view of "I'll change eventually" or "I'll get my life together tomorrow." But that tomorrow never came, and today you were still stumbling through a mess of bad habits and half-hearted attempts at pretending everything was fine.

Whatevs!

Noritoshi studied the snacks with the seriousness of someone analyzing a battle strategy. His eyes flicked back up to you, still uncertain. "Are... are you sure this is okay?"

"Absolutely," you replied, smirking as you balanced your haul. "Look, we're on a mission, right? And missions need fuel. Call it... essential gear."

---

The driver looked at you, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "A... kindergarten?" he asked, like he was hoping you'd correct yourself.

You nodded confidently. "Yes, nearest one alongside the Kamo Gawa. And don't worry, we'll be back in two hours tops."

The driver mentioned he'd spotted a gambling establishment nearby, his tone laced with curiosity. You smirked - maybe he'd end up crossing paths with Toji in there or something. Now that would be hilarious. You waved him off, assuring him you'd be back in a couple of hours - more or less - before turning to Noritoshi, who was already zeroed in on the snacks you'd picked up for him.

As the car's taillights vanished around the corner, you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You were free - at least for now. A few hours of breathing room away from the suffocating politics and rigid formality of the clan. Not that you gave a damn about any of that. You bet Noritoshi had never been this far off the radar before.

"Alright," you said, watching him carefully inspect each snack like they were treasures from another world. He barely even noticed you standing there. "We've got a couple hours, maybe more. Let's take it easy, yeah? Who knows, we might even run into Yuki or some other character."

Speaking of which...

You turned to Noritoshi with a mischievous grin. "Okay, listen up. When we find Yuki, I need you to be on your A-game, alright?"

He blinked up at you, clearly confused. "Find... Yuki? Who is she?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. The point is, when she shows up, you're gonna be my wingman. You got it?"

He tilted his head, still trying to process. "Wingman? What does that mean?"

"Doesn't matter," you said, smile widening. "What matters is that you're gonna make shit up about me. Like, make stuff up, okay?"

His brow furrowed. "Make things up?"

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice like you were sharing some big secret. "Yeah. When Yuki shows up, you tell her - tell her - that I'm a total badass. Like, yeah, I save orphans in my spare time. I have a Lamborghini. And a yacht. I'm very hardworking... and humble? I'm working on ending cursed energy. Oh, and I'm really funny and super charismatic. You know, all the best qualities."

His eyes went wide as he processed the list of outlandish claims. "You... you want me to say that about you?"

"Exactly," you said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You're my wingman, so you're gonna make me sound amazing, okay? No hesitation."

He opened his mouth, struggling to form a response, then slowly closed it. "I... think I understand," he said carefully, though he still seemed uncertain. "So... I should lie?"

You shot him a pointed look. "It's not a lie if it's true in spirit. Just trust me on this one, alright?"

He took a deep breath, then nodded with a look of resolve. "Alright. I'll do my best."

"Good," you said with a satisfied grin, ruffling his hair. "Just stick to the script. I'll take care of the rest."

---

It was just past six, and the early February twilight was closing in. The Kamo River had turned into this vast mirror, reflecting deep purples and burnt oranges as the last light of day dipped behind Kyoto's skyline. The sky shifted into indigo, dusted with faint stars that felt fragile and hesitant, like they weren't quite sure if they belonged yet.

Early hints of nightfall crept in, casting long shadows over the riverbank. The world was wrapping itself in a soft, inky blue blanket.

The air was cool and sharp, winter still clinging stubbornly even as a few brave plum blossoms dared to unfurl along the path. You took in the scents - the river, damp earth, crisp and grounding. A faint trace of wood smoke lingered, mixed with something floral that you couldn't quite place, sweet but subdued.

The path along the Kamo River was eerily quiet. With the city's usual chaos hushed by the hour, only the occasional jogger or dog walker drifted by, barely making a sound. Even their footsteps felt softened, like they too were caught in the strange calm that had settled over the riverside. Across the water, Kyoto's distant city lights began to flicker on, hazy and golden, casting blurred reflections that shimmered across the ripples like liquid gold.

You walked with Noritoshi beside you, his tiny feet trying to match your steps. But his gaze was locked on the half-empty Senbei bag in his hands. He nibbled one after another, his face lit up by each new flavor, eyes wide with something close to wonder. The sound of the crinkling wrapper broke the silence, and you couldn't help but grin at how intently he was savoring each bite.

Up ahead, the leafless branches of cherry trees twisted like dark veins against the deepening sky, stark and raw, yet somehow beautiful in their emptiness. The bare branches traced patterns overhead, casting faint shadows on the stone path, creating little pockets of stillness. Everything felt slower here, softer - like the river and sky and fading light had conspired to give you this peaceful slice of time.

You, however, were losing your goddamn mind looking for the spot. You were on edge, practically tearing through the river promenade like a dog chasing its tail, thoughts a chaotic blur. Fumiko told you it had to be somewhere around here, so you kept running it through your mind, pacing back and forth, trying to pin down the exact location.

You couldn't remember that flashback of baby Todo's face as clearly as you wished you could. It was like trying to grab onto smoke - fuzzy, elusive, frustrating. Your steps faltered for a moment, mind spinning. But then you remembered Noritoshi.

You slowed your pace, taking a deep breath and trying to center yourself.

"How's the Senbei?" you asked casually, trying to keep the mood light.

He looked up, mouth full, and gave you a small nod. "Good. Very crunchy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Very detailed response."

His serious little face only seemed to stiffen further as he chewed, too polite to even add a single comment about the "life-changing" snack you'd introduced him to. You could already tell - the Kamo clan had shaped him into the perfect little heir. Fuck them.

His small hands gripped the snack with way too much focus, like he was trying to control every little piece of it. You watched him for a second, amused by how seriously he took it. He was quiet, but not uncomfortable anymore. Not stiff like he'd been earlier. There was a softening to him, the way his gaze lingered over the water, following the movement of the river. Like he was thinking, or maybe remembering something.

He broke the silence first. "M-mother told me the Kamo River is the most beautiful when it's spring." His voice was soft, almost like he was afraid to break the peace around you.

You turned to look at him, letting your eyes linger on his face for a second. "I can see that. But it's nice now too, in its own way," you said, words just light enough to not ruin the moment. You gestured vaguely at the river. "I bet it's even better with all the blossoms filling everything up. Must be magical."

His eyes lit up slightly, just a flicker of something, before he nodded. "Yes," he said, a rare hint of warmth in his voice making the moment feel more real. "She always said the cherry blossoms make everything look like a dream."

You could tell he wasn't just repeating something his mother had said, not this time. There was a kind of reverence in his tone, like he really believed it. It made you feel... something. Maybe it was just the quiet of the evening or the fact that he seemed less like the stiff little soldier he usually tried to be. You found yourself smiling just a little.

"Yeah, I bet. Maybe one day we'll come back when it's in full bloom, see it together," you said, keeping it casual, but the words felt more significant than they had any right to.

For a second, Noritoshi didn't respond. He just stared out at the river, and you thought maybe he hadn't heard you. But then, a smile - small, rare, almost hidden - broke through his usual composure. It was subtle, the kind of smile that wasn't meant for anyone else to notice, but you did. And it made you feel a little lighter, like you'd just unlocked something in him.

"Yeah," he said quietly, like the idea of it was something new, something he hadn't allowed himself to think about before. "Maybe."

And for a minute, it was just the two of you, standing there in that soft glow of twilight, the city humming in the distance, the river carrying its secrets along with the flow. You didn't need to say anything else.

You glanced over at him again, noticing how his gaze had turned to the water, focused, almost lost in thought. He wasn't just a child in that moment, but something more - someone beginning to experience the world outside the rigid structure he'd been raised in. Maybe it wasn't some deep realization you'd get from a full conversation, but it felt like progress, even if just a little bit.

"You miss her, don't you?" You didn't mean to ask it, but the question slipped out before you could stop it. You immediately felt the weight of it - the way it might hang between you, make things uncomfortable.

His head snapped toward you, like you'd pulled him out of his thoughts. For a second, you thought you'd crossed some line, but he didn't seem offended. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

His voice cracked as he spoke, the words slipping out like a confession. He wasn't looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at the wrapper of his Hi-Chew like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "What they said about Mother... it wasn't true. She didn't want that. She just... she just wanted to be with me." His small fingers twisted the candy wrapper nervously, the tremble in his hand betraying the confusion bubbling inside him.

You watched him quietly, the weight of his words hanging in the air like something fragile. You reached out and lightly patted his back, unsure of how much comfort you could really offer. "I know," you said softly. "What they said doesn't make much sense anyway. People say things that aren't true sometimes." You hesitated, unsure if this was too much, but continued, "If you ever need help talking to her, I'll be here. You can use me as a prop if you need to. I'm leaving tomorrow, but this won't be our last time meeting."

He glanced up at you then, his eyes wide and hopeful for a second, as if your words had given him something to hold onto. "When will you be coming back then?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and innocent, though there was a seriousness to it that kids his age didn't usually have. He began counting on his fingers, squinting as he did so. "In... one week?"

You smiled, feeling your heart tug a little at the earnestness in his expression. "I'm not sure exactly when, but I'll do my best to come back soon. Maybe we can meet up again in a few weeks. I'd like that."

His face fell, and he scrunched his nose, clearly disappointed. "That's too long," he pouted, sticking his lip out in that typical way kids do when they don't get what they want. "Why not after... one week and a half?" he added with a determined look, like he was negotiating an important contract.

You couldn't help but chuckle under your breath as you glanced at him. So serious, so damn composed, and yet there was this little spark of something childlike that kept breaking through - the way his brow furrowed, like he was wrestling with big ideas he shouldn't have to worry about. It made you smile in a way that was almost bittersweet.

"One week and a half sounds like a good plan," you lied, grinning as you nudged him playfully. "I'll try my best to come back then... although, you know, your family is definitely not fond of me."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion, like he wasn't sure whether to take you seriously or not. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he could.

"Why did I act the way I did?" you asked, letting the words tumble out. "Because I'm not about to play this whole 'diplomatic, long-term plan' game. Hell no. I'm not pretending to be something I'm not just to slide into their good graces, make nice, and then... what? Betray them? Nah. That's not me. I'm a straight-shooter, whether that gets me in trouble or not."

The wind had picked up slightly, rustling the leaves and carrying the crisp evening air, but your mind was on a different track altogether.

"Look, I know it's gonna cause problems. Hell, I'm already looking at a pile of future regrets that I know are coming. But you know what? I don't really care that much. It's who I am. And if the jujutsu world wants to change that, well, I'm not gonna let it. I like who I am. I'm not perfect, far from it. I screw up all the time, but at least I can live with myself. The only person who'll stay with you from birth to death is yourself, so you might as well love yourself, y'know?"

You threw him a quick half-smile before turning your gaze ahead, the Kamo River shimmering in the distance. The tension you'd been feeling seemed to ease just a little, as though your words had let some of that pressure slip away.

Noritoshi's expression was pure "I didn't ask for this," the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to figure out if he was supposed to say something or just let you finish your whole monologue. It wasn't that he was annoyed, more like he had no idea why you were going off on a self-love tangent when you were supposed to be helping him with... whatever emotional meltdown he was having. And also because he was a whole toddler. Especially that.

Maybe you were having your main character moment, but damn, was that the vibe you were going for?

...Yes, actually.

He nodded, and it almost got quiet until you heard two people talking behind you. You ignored them - the sunset over the Kamo River was far more captivating than whoever was speaking behind you on the street.

But it was hard to ignore them, especially when a young boy's voice whined, "That's our spot to train! Why can't we just kick those guys out?" The frustration in his tone was unmistakable. And your dumbass didn't connect the dots...

Yeah, you were technically a legal adult in your world. Did that stop you from starting shit with a kid? Hell no. "YOU WANNA FIGHT?! CAUSE IF YOU WANNA FIGHT, LET'S GO, LET'S FUCKING FIGHT," you snapped, spinning around and pointing directly at the buff kid with the buzz cut. His sharp eyes were almost as piercing as the glare he shot back at you. Big ears, slightly tanned skin, white crop top hanging a little loose, Adidas sweatpants, and sneakers - he looked like he had a whole lot of attitude wrapped in that oversized backpack.

But the second you tried to turn to face the other party in the argument, the air in your lungs just stopped.

Mamma mia!

Chapter Text

You furrowed your brows, took a breath, and turned around, ready to jump back into the argument - only to feel that breath hitch when you saw her.

She was tall. Athletic. The kind of effortlessly confident that practically slapped you in the face. Her skin caught the last bit of sunlight, giving her this warm, sun-kissed glow, and her hair - long, blonde, just a little messy - fell down her back with two pieces framing her face. Like she'd spent zero time on it and still looked ridiculously good.

Then there were her eyes. Rich brown that almost sparkled with these tiny gold flecks, giving her this warm, deep look that made you feel like she could see way too much. She wore a worn black leather jacket over a dark turtleneck, and light jeans that fit just right, tucked into heeled boots. Her helmet and goggles were perched on her head, like she'd just stepped off her bike. Which she probably had. Made sense.

You blinked, realizing you were probably staring, but there was just something about her that made it impossible to look away. Wow, you really wondered what that something was.

"Ha, you've got some fire in you! I like that!" she said, grinning as her eyes lit up with this mischievous spark, like she'd already decided you were worth her time.

You barely had a second to process the compliment before Todo's face turned bright red, his fist clenching as he looked ready to throw himself at you. But Yuki, completely unfazed, just wrapped one arm around his neck, keeping him locked down like it was the easiest thing in the world. She leaned against her bike with her free hand, flexing her biceps a little, and you watched as Todo's squirming got nowhere against her grip. He choked out a muffled protest, but she didn't even blink.

You definitely were not staring at her muscles. Or the way her leather jacket hugged her shoulders. Or the fact that she looked like she could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat. Nope, not at all. And you absolutely weren't thinking how lucky Todo was at the moment - who said that?

Yeah, no, that thought definitely came out of nowhere. Damn. Why were you hearing voices? It's not like you'd taken Benadryl lately or anything.

Noritoshi, oblivious to your very obvious early pride month celebration, stood in front of you with his chin lifted, glaring straight at Todo with a fire you had to respect. He was small, sure, and probably didn't come across as much of a threat, but he held his ground like he was daring Todo to just try something.

Meanwhile, you tried to ignore the fact that your mouth felt like it'd dried up worse than Noritoshi's dad's concubines in bed. But you managed to get something out. "Uh... sorry for taking your... training spot?"

Girl, stand up!

Before you could process what was happening, Yuki let out a short laugh, flashing a grin that felt almost conspiratorial. "C'mon, kid," she said, grabbing Todo by the back of his collar like he weighed nothing. Todo sputtered, half-annoyed, but Yuki didn't give him a chance to protest. She slung him over her shoulder, pivoted on her heel, and - with a wink in your direction - took a running leap off the street, right down toward the riverbank below.

You and Noritoshi watched in stunned silence as she made the jump look almost graceful, her laughter echoing as they descended in a flash of blonde hair and leather. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at the spot she'd just leaped from.

Yuki's gaze flicked to Noritoshi, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. She leaned in just a little, the playful edge to her voice practically oozing as she asked, "Hey, boy, what kind of woman is your type?"

Ooh, this was gonna be good. You half-opened your mouth, ready to jump in and tease the hell out of him, but something about Yuki's tone made you hesitate. Curiosity gnawed at you. You stayed quiet, wanting to see how he'd answer. Honestly, you were kind of enjoying watching him squirm... but also nervous.

Noritoshi glanced at you like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. His face scrunched up like he was trying to remember a script he'd forgotten halfway through. He had that look - the one where he wanted to answer like the mature, put-together kid he was supposed to be but didn't really know what the hell to say.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out all stiff, like he was reciting something from a textbook. "Um... someone with a nice personality-"

You could feel the cringe from here. Noritoshi wasn't exactly throwing out groundbreaking revelations, and you didn't think Yuki was too impressed either, judging by the half-sarcastic raise of her eyebrow-

Hold on!

Oh, hell no. It was like déjà vu. Noritoshi was this close to getting the Megumi treatment and catching a well-deserved ass-whooping for being boring. Yuki and Todo were practically salivating at the thought of knocking him around! The poor little guy had no idea what he was getting himself into - until, of course, you stepped in.

Before he could continue his train wreck of an answer, you cut him off, not wasting a second. You threw up your hand, feeling a mix of adrenaline and absolute panic building in your chest. "You!" You pointed straight at Yuki, a grin plastered on your face, though your heart was pounding like a bass drum. "Who cares about his type? You're my ideal type."

There it was. You'd said it. And you couldn't take it back now. That little voice (the hatman) inside your head screamed in horror, but you ignored it. Instead, you added a wink, hoping it would look like you knew exactly what you were doing, even though the sweat trickling down your palms told a different story.

Your 15-year-old self, whose grand idea of flirting was pretty much limited to breathlessly saying things like, "Oh my god, you're sooo prettyyy," or "Love your eyeliner!" in a voice two octaves too high, would've been losing it right now. Because here she was, looking up at you with real admiration, the kind you used to daydream about seeing. Yes, girl, we've made it. We've officially made it out of the trenches.

But flirting with a baddie like Yuki was terrifying. Your brain was working overtime trying to keep it cool, but your nerves were making it feel like your entire body had turned into a furnace. Still, you had to admit - it was worth it. Anything to keep Megumi Junior (well, Senior, technically) from getting a smackdown courtesy of Yuki and Todo.

Todo froze, like a statue suddenly brought to life, his fist still hanging in the air. For a moment, the only thing moving was the slight twitch of his eyebrow as he processed what you'd just said. His intense glare softened, his expression shifting from full-on rage to something that bordered on disbelief. His eyes widened as if the very concept of your words had short-circuited his brain.

Noritoshi's eyes went wide, his face turning bright red as he stared at you, then Yuki, and back to you like he was trying to make sense of what was happening. The gears in his brain were clearly grinding, but it was taking a lot longer than it should.

He blinked, mouth hanging open for a second, before he squeaked out, "Wait - what?" His voice cracked just a bit, all high-pitched and unsure. He looked like he was about to cry from sheer confusion. Poor kid was so lost, you almost felt bad for him.

Yuki's face practically lit up, her grin growing even wider as she tilted her head.

"Well, aren't you gutsy?" she said, letting out a low chuckle. "Gotta say, it's refreshing. Most people just beat around the bush, but you go straight for it, huh?"

You could practically feel yourself about to drop to your knees in gratitude - had she actually taken that as a compliment? This was a win. A miracle. Just as you were about to revel in it, Yuki's expression shifted to something more sly, her grin edging into a mischievous smirk.

"Gotta appreciate it. Especially since it's not just anybody, but the last remaining Majiwara."

The words hit you like a splash of ice water. Any victorious high you'd been riding vanished on the spot. You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it, but the more you thought about it, the more absurd it felt.

Honestly? Fuck your clan. They were apparently your entire identity according to jujutsu society, yet the reality was you didn't know a single person from the damn thing! Nothing except the occasional mention as if it should define you. And was there at the very least any special treatment for being the last one standing or whatever ominous label they tacked on? Absolutely fucking not. Just constant assumptions, baggage, and expectations. And odd dreams. If anything, it was just getting annoying at this point.

"Okaaay, and?" you said, frowning a little. It wasn't your best response, but it was all you could manage with the mix of confusion, irritation, and slight unease creeping in.

Yuki's eyes sparkled with mischief as she tilted her head, giving you that grin of hers - the kind that meant she was about to mess with you just a little. "You know, when I heard you were at Jujutsu High, I thought, 'Well, might as well see what all the fuss is about,'" she said, her tone half-teasing but not without a hint of genuine curiosity. "And hey, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little interested in meeting the infamous Gojo kid too. Seems like you're both worth checking out."

Oh.

"Guess I got pretty lucky, huh? Stumbling upon you like this."

Oh.

You blinked, suddenly second-guessing yourself. "Hold on. Are you... are you trying to say I'm stalking you? Because, uh... you'd be kinda, low-key right."

Yuki raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but leaning into it with mock surprise. "Stalking? That's pretty bold to admit to my face," she replied with a laugh. "But no, that's not what I was implying at all. I just figured I'd make a pit stop in Tokyo - maybe size you both up in one go." She leaned back a bit, sighing like this was just another casual day for her. "But, hey, I'm flexible. Meeting you here alone works too!"

"Oh." You blinked, a bit flustered. "I was just joking about the stalking thing." 

Across from you, Todo and Noritoshi were locked in what was shaping up to be a full-blown argument. "Don't act like you didn't just say you wanted someone with a... nice personality," Todo spat like the words tasted bitter. He looked at Noritoshi with such disdain, it was like the kid had insulted his entire family. "What type of woman a guy likes says everything about him. And you? You're boring as shit."

You raised your eyebrows, glancing over at Yuki, who had her head tilted back, rubbing her neck with an expression that was somewhere between amused and baffled. She looked up at the sky, as if seeking divine explanation. "Damn," she muttered, whistling low, "where'd he pick that word up?"

Meanwhile, Noritoshi's face scrunched up, and he looked thoughtful - like he was really trying to process why Todo seemed so offended. "I just think it's important to find someone kind. Just because you're strong doesn't mean you should be mean."

You shot Yuki a smug look, feeling more than a little proud. It practically screamed, See? Good influence right here.

Yuki rolled her eyes with a smirk, clearly entertained by the whole scene. As Todo and Noritoshi continued their back-and-forth, she leaned back, crossing her arms thoughtfully before side-eyeing you. "I won't snitch on you for kidnapping the Kamo heir... but I gotta ask - why?"

You shrugged, feigning innocence. "Hey, I haven't kidnapped him... yet. Believe it or not, the hag actually gave me permission."

Yuki raised an eyebrow, her expression practically screaming I need more context. You let out a long sigh, realizing there was no way around it. So, you broke down the whole story for her - every twist, every ridiculous detail... well, except for the embarrassing parts. You'd imagine there were a lot of plot holes, but hey, you weren't going to go there.

The further you went, the more her face twisted, like she was trying to process some kind of bizarre fever dream. By the end, she was staring at you as if you'd just sprouted an extra limb or two. You couldn't help but squirm under her gaze, but you did your best to keep it together. What? You skipped the embarrassing bits, okay? You did, however, keep in the funny ones.

"Wait... and he actually approved this?" she asked, somewhere between incredulous and impressed.

"Yeah," you said, shrugging. "Crazy, right?"

Yuki just shook her head, that sly grin spreading wider. "Ha, you've got guts, I'll give you that... but hold up - what's this about 'rewinding the alcohol out of your system'?"

You scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound casual. "Uh... considering I threw up blood, I guess I didn't exactly nail it. But, yeah, I tried to rewind it out of my system..."

Yuki's eyebrows shot up. "Wait - you're telling me you're messing around with rewinding already?"

"Uh... mastered it? Not even close," you admitted with a shrug. "But messing around? Yeah, I guess. I kinda get the basics."

She gave a low whistle, folding her arms. "Didn't expect you to be playing with that kind of fire this early," she teased. "I mean, it's no small feat for someone who's... y'know... missing a few recent memories." She tilted her head up, feigning a sudden fascination with the sky, all innocent-like.

You blinked. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, the smirk turning a little sharper. "Just something a little birdie might've mentioned to me. Said someone's been wandering around all confused lately, like they just woke up from a coma or something."

You wouldn't even have the excuse of being drunk for whatever the hell you were about to do - because you weren't. Sober, clear-headed, and, annoyingly, still here. With a sigh, you pouted, not even feeling the slightest bit ashamed as a babyish tone slipped out.

"I'm feeling bullied," you muttered, crossing your arms in a half-hearted display of defiance.

"Oh, bullied, huh?" she echoed, her tone as patronizing as it was teasing. She shrugged. "Hey, I just wanted to see if the rumors were true. And, you know, see how close you'd get to doing something reckless. Gotta say, though, you're giving me way more than I bargained for."

You stared at Yuki, the idea of being the subject of rumors making your stomach turn. "Rumors?" You repeated, feeling a bit off-kilter. "The fact that I'm being perceived by people I don't even know? Fucking terrifies me. Like, that should be illegal."

Yuki raised an eyebrow, her grin not fading. "Heh, to make you feel better, being an independent researcher means always being up-to-date with the news," she shrugged casually, clearly not as rattled by the thought as you were. "It's part of the job, I guess."

You blinked, still processing what she was saying. "Oh, right... wait. How old are you? For you to be an independent researcher, I mean." Real subtle you were being.

She gave a lazy, almost bored smile as she flicked her hair back, clearly unbothered by the question. "Ah, I'm 19. Graduated two years ago, at 17," she added, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

You blinked again, trying to catch up. "Oh. I'm 17 now, and still in fucking second year," you grumbled, feeling a little small in comparison. She didn't even flinch, just laughed - because of course she did. But hey, at least now she knows you're 17! Small victories, right?

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly does it entail? Being an independent researcher, I mean."

Yuki crossed her arms, looking almost too comfortable, like this was the kind of conversation she had every day. "Well, it means doing what I want, whenever I want," she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "But it's also about digging into things other people don't care enough to touch - like cursed techniques." Her eyes gleamed with that predatory curiosity. Not that cursed techniques were exactly ignored in jujutsu academia, but you digressed. "And it also means looking for people who've got a technique that could contribute to my research," she added with a wide grin. "Guess who I'm talking about?"

You blinked slowly, already suspecting where this was going. "I'm presuming I have the interesting cursed technique in question?" You said, deadpan.

"Yep! How'd you guess?" Yuki leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a familiar, almost predatory excitement. "C'mon, last of your clan and all... if you get a handle on your cursed technique, it'd be like handing me a goldmine of data for my research. Could be pretty handy for both of us. Win-win, right?"

Fuck this.

You let out an exaggerated groan, throwing your head back like you were making a huge sacrifice. "Ughhh... alright, fine, you win. What the hell, sure, let's do it." You tried to sound reluctant, but honestly? The thrill was already creeping in. Playing hard to get is hard when the person is hot.

Yuki's grin widened, the look in her eyes downright smug, like she'd known you'd cave the whole time. "That's the spirit! Knew you couldn't resist," she chuckled, giving you a pat on the back that was probably harder than necessary.

Why were you like this?

this????? 

Chapter Text

The conversation with Yuki spiraled into hours without you even noticing. Foreign countries became the anchor - yours especially, after she'd dropped the casual bombshell that she'd visited for research once. From there, it all snowballed. Food that burned your tongue in the best way, traditions that made zero sense to outsiders, slang that probably shouldn't have been repeated in polite company.

Between Fumiko's presence and your janky Myspace account, these moments had become your only real threads back home. You'd been gripping them like lifelines, desperate and maybe a little pathetic about it. But damn if it didn't feel good. That fuzzy warmth spread through your chest as Yuki's stories unfolded, pulling a genuine smile across your face before you could stop it.

It didn't even falter when she started recounting her cultural mishaps. You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding along like you weren't two seconds from losing it, because objectively? Hilarious.

"So I'm at this little shop, right?" Yuki's hands flew through the air, animated and completely shameless as she relived her embarrassment. "And I accidentally order - I don't even know what it was. Looked like a dessert but definitely wasn't dessert." She paused for dramatic effect. "The guy at the counter gives me this look like I've just committed a crime against his ancestors. All I could say was 'Uh, sumimasen?' and then I awkwardly shuffled out."

You snorted before you could help yourself. "You didn't even try it?"

"Hell no!" Yuki's laugh rang out, unfiltered and loud. "I was too busy trying to salvage my dignity. Or what was left of it."

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. "Yeah, you're lucky they didn't chase you down with a broom or something. I've seen it happen."

Yuki smirked, leaning back. "Noted. Next time, I'll just own it. Cultural exchange and all that, right?"

The warmth in your chest was starting to feel uncomfortable now. Vulnerable, even. And oh, hell nah - you hated feeling vulnerable. Emotions were strictly reserved for you, your room, your Spotify playlist with ads (because you'd never pay for Premium), and those random 2 a.m. scenarios where you imagined your loved ones dying even though they were probably just in the other room watching TV. Drama was fun when it stayed hypothetical.

You grimaced. Vulnerability? Not it. Besides, you had an ugly crying face - the kind that made you eternally grateful for locked doors and dim lighting. No way were you letting that happen here, in front of Yuki, who was still rattling off embarrassing stories with the kind of confidence only possessed by someone who'd never ugly-cried to Mitski at 3 a.m.

"But what's the plan here?" You shifted, trying to redirect before the feelings got too comfortable. "How are you supposed to help when you're hardly ever in Japan, let alone Tokyo? You know, just something a little birdie happened to mention."

Yuki let out a low chuckle, tilting her head with that knowing look. "Oh, I can make arrangements for something this juicy."

Juicy? Yeah, right. It was 2006 Japan - there wasn't even a shred of hope she was talking about you. Shucks.

"Okay, but..." You hesitated, then pushed forward. "What exactly is this research of yours?" Just to be safe, you had to make sure she wasn't, you know, the second coming of Geto - the anti-Christ of sorcerers or something. What if she'd had a phase where she wanted to wipe out all non-sorcerers too?

Yuki slapped a hand to her forehead like she'd just remembered she'd left the stove on. "Ack! I forgot to give you the big reveal!" She leaned in, eyes bright with that conspiratorial gleam. "Basically, I'm working toward a world where curses don't even exist. And your cursed technique - especially the rewind part - is just about the closest thing to making that happen."

You squinted, brain buffering as you processed that. "Wait, so... like Eri from My Hero Academia and the whole Overhaul thing?"

She stared at you. Blank. Completely blank. "My Hero what? What academia? Who's that?"

Right. 2006. Shit.

"...Forget I said anything." You waved it off quickly, probably looking insane. "So you're saying you think my technique could somehow 'rewind' curses? Like, roll them back into oblivion or something?"

Yuki's eyes sparkled with that same intensity, the kind that made you believe she'd already mapped out the next decade in her head. "Mmm, sort of, but think bigger. Imagine rewinding things all the way back - to when curses weren't even a thing."

You blinked, suddenly caught off guard. "Wait, are you saying... you'd use my technique to try and erase all curses? Like, get rid of jujutsu itself?"

"Exactly." Her tone was cool but resolute, like she'd already imagined the outcome a thousand times and knew exactly how it'd play out. "A world without curses... pretty nice idea, right?"

It took you a second to respond. "...A world without curses," you repeated, letting the words sit in the air between you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before pulling out your phone and handing it over. You tried hard not to meet her eyes - your confidence had packed its bags and left the building. Better to let the phone do the talking, you figured.

Yuki's eyes flickered with interest, her expression shifting from curiosity to dawning realization as her lips curved into a mischievous grin.

"Ohhh, so you're actually in on this," she teased, taking the phone. "What's this, my new research assistant handing over their number? You move fast."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes hard enough to see your own brain. "The hell I am. I've had exactly one run-in with a curse, and let's just say... I got my ass beat. I need those fuckers gone - like, yesterday."

Yuki raised an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. "A little impatience, huh? I like it. That just means you'll work twice as hard."

...Sure.

You couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride in yourself for this "discreet, subtle" way of getting her number. Smooth operator, that was you.

Yuki furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at your phone, and then - she laughed. Not a polite chuckle, but a full, surprised bark of laughter. Her eyes went wide for a second before she shook her head, looking genuinely entertained.

"What the absolute fuck," she muttered, still grinning as she handed your phone back.

You didn't bother checking it. Instead, your attention got yanked over to the two boys, who had somehow escalated their little scuffle into a full-blown water war. Todo was attempting to dunk Noritoshi into the river, while Noritoshi, in his panicked flailing, accidentally sent a splash of water directly your way.

The cold hit your face.

Shit.

"GUYS, guys, guys-" you called out, trying to pull off your best "pick me girl" routine to calm things down. Given that your audience was a bunch of five-year-olds, you looked about as ridiculous as you sounded. You put on your best pleading face, hands clasped together. "This isn't you, Kamo! Look at me-"

Yuki snorted behind you, clearly amused by the absolute circus you'd become.

Todo splashed you with more water from the river. The cold shock ruined your carefully applied makeup, and you felt your eye twitch.

Oh, hell nah! You were not letting that one slide.

As dusk settled in and the lights along the riverwalk flickered on one by one, casting long shadows that stretched across the pavement like reaching fingers, you found yourself chasing after Todo. He was shrieking with laughter, his little legs pumping as fast as they could go.

"Come here, you little-"

Meanwhile, Noritoshi kept sneaking glances at Yuki. Every time she glanced back, though, his courage crumbled like wet paper. Finally, after what looked like an internal pep talk, he took a deep breath and made his way over. His expression was determined, almost comically serious for a five-year-old.

He opened his mouth, hesitating like he was wrestling with invisible cue cards. Then he glanced at you for support, and you caught sight of the mud streaked across his cheeks, somehow making the pink flush creeping up his face even more obvious.

"She is... um..." He fidgeted with his hands, the way he'd been taught not to. "She's really muddy." He paused, his little face scrunching up as he tried to remember. "And she... works hard?"

His voice lilted up at the end, uncertain. His brow furrowed deeper as he wracked his brain. There was definitely something else - something you'd specifically coached him on - but the memory refused to cooperate. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

Yuki blinked, her expression animated with theatrical disbelief. "She just told me she'd rather die than ever work again," she said, the disbelief in her tone as dramatic as the smirk tugging at her lips.

Noritoshi's blush deepened to tomato-red, and he looked down at his feet. "I... I'm sorry, I thought..." His voice got quieter, more unsure.

Yuki laughed, loud and unfiltered, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough that he almost stumbled. "It's fine. You get an A for effort. Execution, though?" She winked. "F-minus."

You handed Todo the Takoyaki-flavored chips - a peace offering of sorts. He stared at them for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before letting out a half-smirk. Without a word, he took the bag, the crinkling sound somehow loaded with meaning. The earlier madness had left everyone riding that weird high of excitement mixed with exhaustion, the kind that made your limbs feel heavy but your brain buzzy.

Yuki threw a lazy wave over her shoulder as she revved up her motorbike, the engine purring to life. Todo gripped onto her jacket, and they took off, her laughter fading into the quiet night air until it was just another sound swallowed by the city.

And then you realized.

SHE IS GONE!

You turned, already about to bolt after her when tiny hands suddenly gripped your sleeve like a vice.

"Wait!" Noritoshi's voice came out firmer than you'd expected from someone who barely reached your waist. He physically restrained you, his small frame blocking your path with all the determination of a bouncer at an exclusive club. "You can't... you can't just go!"

You scowled down at him, but he held his ground. Those serious, dark eyes stared up at you, unwavering.

"Damn it," you muttered, feeling a weird mix of frustration and begrudging respect settling in your chest.

Noritoshi was clearly not having any of your bullshit, his tiny fists clenched like he could actually stop you from making a run for it. You sighed, crossing your arms in defeat. "Fine. Fine. But I'll get her next time."

Noritoshi just nodded, looking a little too smug for his own good. You might've been a bit proud of him, but you weren't about to admit that out loud.

The street had emptied out now, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. Shadows stretched across the pavement like dark water, and you and Noritoshi waited in silence. Both of you were lost in your own thoughts as the night deepened around you, the air growing colder.

When your car finally pulled up, unease crept over you before you even saw the driver's face. Something in the way the car moved, maybe, or just that sixth sense that told you things were about to get weird.

As he rolled down the window, you caught sight of his red, unfocused eyes - like he hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. His grin was unnatural, pulled too wide, exposing too many teeth as he looked at you with a disturbingly intense stare.

He looks like he's on crack!

Noritoshi's small hand tugged at your sleeve, his voice barely above a whisper. "Um... is this okay? He looks..."

The driver's voice droned on about gamblers and the "real deal," his words starting to slur together. It sounded more like a late-night infomercial on fast-forward than anything resembling actual wisdom. "90% of gamblers give up before they hit the jackpot," he mumbled, his tone so monotonous it was almost hypnotic, like he'd said the same thing a thousand times before and would say it a thousand more.

His eyes, unfocused and far-off, were still stuck somewhere between his last hand and his next big "break."

You and Noritoshi exchanged a quick look. His expression was pure unease mixed with resignation, yours a tired shrug that said everything about your life choices.

With a sigh, you both climbed into the car. At this point, what was one more questionable decision?

Settling into the seat, you pulled out your phone. Curiosity was eating at you - you had to know what had rattled Yuki earlier.

Unlocking the screen, you were greeted by a message notification. And there it was:

"if u keep ignoring me ill kill someone n itll be ur fault :*"

You blinked. Stared at it for a second longer.

Wow. That was... creepy. But also kind of sweet? In a deeply concerning way? Good to see someone giving enough of a fuck about you to try to manipulate you, you guessed. That was something. The bar was in hell, but at least someone cared enough to threaten violence on your behalf.

You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. Yeah, you were definitely calling her back tomorrow.

You leaned your head against the cool window, the faint hum of the car mingling with the soft rustle of the night breeze slipping through a crack somewhere. The air outside was sharp and clean, biting at your skin in that way that made you feel alive. The Kamo River stretched out beside you, its surface catching the streetlights like fractured pieces of gold floating on ink. A thin mist hung low over the water, soft and quiet, the kind that made everything feel a little unreal, like you'd stepped sideways into a dream.

You glanced over at Noritoshi. He was wrapped in your jacket, the sleeves hanging way too long for his little arms. His head was tilted back against the seat, eyes half-lidded but not quite closed. He didn't seem to mind the oversized fit. You'd given it to him on impulse when you'd noticed him shivering. Responsible adult moment, check.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh. The vibration felt stark against the quiet of the river passing by. You didn't look at it right away, letting your gaze stay on the city's soft glow instead. Something about Kyoto at night - calm, still, weightless - made you want to hang onto the moment, stretch it out as long as you could before reality crashed back in.

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe Yuki had texted you back.

But no.

You opened the message, only to see:

"Thank you for the gift. And for making an appearance in my nightmare as a floating head according to Shoko...?"

You let out a low groan that came from somewhere deep in your soul.

It was Geto. Of course it was. You could almost hear him in your head - like he was tolerating you just enough to get a laugh, but something in his tone made you feel like you were one stupid comment away from being on the receiving end of one of his long, moral lectures... and mind you, this was all via text. Seriously, though, what was his deal with you? He was way nicer in the manga. Did you somehow make him mad without even trying?

You stared at the screen, a small grin creeping up as you typed. February 3rd. Shoko had finally handed over your gift to Geto, and it seemed she'd also shared the story about your astral projection for some reason - because of course she had. Boo, gender traitor!

You couldn't resist being a little extra annoying, so you typed out your reply:

"You can also thank me for the body pillow, BTW. It's still yours! Happy BDAY!"

You hit send with a small, satisfied smirk, imagining the look on Geto's face when he read it. Something told you he'd probably regret ever mentioning the floating head thing.

Even though your 2006 flip phone didn't have a read receipt feature, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that you'd just been left on read. There was no logical reason to think that - just an inkling, a faint suspicion lingering at the back of your mind.

Noritoshi and the driver exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsettled by your sudden outburst. The driver's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, wide with curiosity, while Noritoshi just shook his head, a blend of confusion and concern on his face.

When you finally returned to the estate, there was a mild scolding for bringing Noritoshi back a bit late, though it was obvious they still wanted to impress you. As they should, obviously.

Naoya's glare, however, was another story - icy, practically vibrating with frustration. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, like he was just waiting for a reason to snap.

You waved at him, pulling off the classic "white lady tongue-on-teeth, scrunched-nose" smile - basically the Stephanie McMahon special but extra spicy.

After a quick goodbye hug to Noritoshi, you made a beeline for your room, sliding the door shut with a swift motion and stacking random furniture in front of it for good measure. With the barricade in place, you carefully removed your makeup and changed out of your kimono, finally starting to shed the day's tension.

Did you pull an all-nighter reading that ominous book? ...Well, that was the plan. But no. You passed out.

You ended up having one of those sleeps.

You woke up with crease marks stamped across your arms, a thin layer of sweat on your face, and a bit of drool sliding down your cheek. For a solid five seconds, you had no clue where you even were, staring blearily at the ceiling like it was some kind of oracle that would reveal the secrets of the universe. Your phone - overheating, dead, or possibly teetering on the edge of both - was buried somewhere under the pile of blankets, and you had sleep crust that would take a whole damn day to get rid of.

Perfect.

The mattress was too good. So, naturally, you ended up taking it with you.

Chapter Text

Just as you stumbled out of the room, awkwardly hauling the enormous mattress behind you like it was some prize from a game show, Naoya stormed out of his room. He was already mid-rant, his face red with fury, ready to unleash hell on you.

But you? You were too tired for his theatrics. You thrust a hand in front of his face, effectively shushing him before he could even get started.

Very stupid of you.

And then it happened.

"Did you just fucking lick my hand?!" you screeched, yanking it back like he'd just bitten you.

"What the hell do ya think you're doin'?!" he barked back, completely ignoring your outrage, his expression twisted between disgust and indignation.

You gawked at him, wiping your hand on your clothes. "No, seriously - why did you lick my hand? What's wrong with you?!"

Naoya gestured at the monstrosity of a mattress you were dragging like that explained everything. "The fuck is that supposed to be?"

"A mattress. I'm taking it," you snapped. "Pretty self-explanatory."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there - him fuming, you glaring - before you added, deadpan, "You still haven't answered my question. Why the licking?"

Naoya pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at you like you were some kind of feral animal that had wandered in from the street. "Were you raised in a barn?! You can't just steal their mattress!"

You rolled your eyes, heaving the mattress a little higher for emphasis. "It's comfy as hell, unlike the shit they're making us sleep on back at school. My back's already fucked."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off with a sneer. "If you don't want me robbing people, maybe give me some money yourself."

Naoya's eye twitched. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Exactly my point," you snapped, dragging the mattress past him. "So shut up about the mattress."

---

The two of you stood by the car, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The mattress sat awkwardly against the side of the vehicle, caught in the middle of this war of egos. Naoya looked at it like it had personally offended him and his entire bloodline.

"Oi." His voice was sharp, dangerous. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Putting it in the backseat," you said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Like hell you are."

"Watch me."

He scoffed, stepping forward. "You think I'm gonna let you sit up front while I'm stuck in back with this filthy piece of shit?"

"First of all, it's not filthy. Second, yeah - that's exactly what's happening." You gripped the mattress tighter. "I called dibs on the front seat."

"You didn't call shit."

"Just did. Dibs. Front seat. Mine."

Naoya's jaw clenched, a vein visibly throbbing in his temple. "Do you have any idea how fuckin' stupid you look right now? You stole someone's mattress like some homeless-"

"Say it," you interrupted, eyes narrowing. "Finish that sentence. I dare you."

He glared at you, clearly weighing his options.

"That's what I thought." You turned back to the mattress. "Now either help me or get out of my way."

"You don't give me orders."

"Then stop standing there looking constipated and do something about it."

His face went red. "You belong in the back with your stupid mattress!"

"And you belong in therapy, but here we are."

The driver sighed loudly, leaning out the window. "So are we going anywhere today, or...?"

"Shut up!" you and Naoya snapped in unison, not even sparing him a glance.

Naoya's glare darkened, his voice dropping to something venomous. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're putting that thing in the trunk, sitting in the back where you belong, and shutting the fuck up for the entire ride."

You smiled sweetly. "Counter offer - the mattress goes in the backseat, I sit in the front, and you can spend the entire ride thinking about all your life choices that led to this moment."

His jaw tightened so hard you heard his teeth grind. "You are so fucking lucky-"

"That you can't do shit about it? Yeah, I know." You leaned in slightly. "It's not about chivalry, Naoya. You just know you'd lose."

The corner of his mouth twitched violently.

Before he could respond, you threw up a hand. "Wait - fuck! I need to grab my bags!"

The driver turned slightly, eyebrow raised. "You haven't done that yet?"

You paused mid-step. "...In my defense, I got distracted by the mattress."

"That's not a defense."

"It is to me." You pivoted and stalked off toward your belongings, ignoring Naoya's frustrated groan and the driver's quiet chuckle.

---

Just as you thought you'd finally located your guest room, a voice cut through the quiet hallway, calling your name. It was unmistakable - gruff, a little slurred, and carrying that distinct air of authority you'd learned to resent. The clan head's voice.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. How, at his age, did this peepaw still have a five-year-old son? It made no sense - unless his "legacy" was fueled by the sheer force of his own ego. You were reminded of that time you and Gojo debated (mostly you...) whether men in power should be legally neutered after a certain age. Naobito absolutely should be.

Honestly, you'd lost count of Naoya's siblings at this point. Half-siblings? Quarter-siblings? Some weird fraction nobody wanted to think too hard about? Whatever. It wouldn't even surprise you if Naobito was the father of Fumiko's baby. The thought sent a shudder down your spine. Was he pushing his breeding kink onto everyone around him, or had he somehow foreseen Japan's declining birth rate and decided to do something about it himself? Either way, he was an unstoppable menace.

The women around here needed to unionize. Like, yesterday. And if necessary? Sew that man's tip shut. You didn't care how barbaric it sounded; the last thing the world needed was a Naoya Junior running around. Maybe Gojo would back you up on this plan. He'd seemed like he agreed back in the bakery when you first floated the idea.

...Wait. Were you missing Gojo? That couldn't be right. Gross. You shook the thought off and turned toward the voice that interrupted your escape.

"How did young Noritoshi behave yesterday?"

You stiffened at the familiar rasp, turning slowly with a polite (fake) smile plastered on your face.

"He was great," you said, keeping your tone measured. "Showed me his technique by the river, explained some clan traditions. Even demonstrated some combat moves." You paused. "Pretty impressive for a five-year-old."

The old man studied you with a raised eyebrow, his skepticism practically radiating off him.

"Silence is a great source of strength," he said, like it was some ancient wisdom that was supposed to move you.

You shrugged. "If you say so."

What the hell did he expect you to say to that? You weren't about to start quoting philosophy back at him.

His eyes narrowed further, sharp enough to make you feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. After a pause that lasted a beat too long, he spoke again.

"I can see you've grown quite attached to him." His tone suggested it wasn't entirely a compliment. "You appear to have a natural affinity for children."

You blinked, caught completely off guard. Affinity for children? You nearly choked.

"Oh, absolutely," you deadpanned. "I'm basically Mary Poppins. Just with more cursing and less singing."

You weren't fond of where this conversation was heading, but a promise was a promise. You kept your expression neutral. "He's a good one. Smart. I'm interested to see how he turns out."

Your inner monologue screamed: FBI, OPEN UP-

It hit you a second later how that sounded. Your smile turned sheepish. "I mean - as a sorcerer. His development as a sorcerer."

The clan head's face didn't give much away, but he let out a low chuckle. "In that case, you should return for another visit. Though given how... occupied the Zenin heir appears to be, you may find yourself visiting alone."

Your jaw tightened as you forced yourself to keep smiling. Real subtle, old man.

"Sounds perfect, actually," you said, voice bright and fake. "Less Naoya is always a win."

"Anyone who fosters a good relationship with my son is considered a valued ally of the Kamo clan." His hand reached out, resting on yours, and it took every ounce of restraint not to recoil. "You are welcome here at any time. No formal invitation necessary."

You nodded, pulling your hand back as naturally as you could manage. "I appreciate that, Kamo-sama."

You weren't about to become a deadbeat like Toji. No way were you pulling the "leaving for milk" stunt. You hated milk anyway.

"Thank you," you repeated, already turning on your heel. 

With that, you were finally free. You practically speed-walked toward the guestroom before anyone else could corner you. Bags first. Dignity second. Survival always.

---

You stepped into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face even though you'd already brushed your teeth. The shock of it hit your skin, sharp and startling, sliding into your eyes and making you groan as you blinked furiously.

When you stepped back out, face damp and vision still blurry, the hallway greeted you with dim lighting. Your stumbling steps echoed softly against the polished wood floor.

Then a figure materialized in front of you, and your body jerked to a halt, heartbeat spiking.

"O-oh! Hi," came a soft voice. "Sorry for startling you... do you have a minute?"

You blinked rapidly, squinting.

Slowly, the figure came into focus, and your pulse steadied when you realized who it was.

The girl from yesterday - the one who'd spoken up.

As your vision sharpened, the details emerged. Her skin was pale, almost luminous in the dim hallway light, with that delicate porcelain quality that made her seem untouchable. Jet-black hair was swept into a precise bun at the nape of her neck, so immaculate it had to be deliberate. A few strands escaped to frame her face, softening her otherwise sharp features.

She wore a traditional kimono, the burgundy fabric so rich it seemed to absorb the light around it. Gold and silver cranes arched elegantly across the material, interspersed with cherry blossoms that appeared to bloom with every slight movement. The obi was tied flawlessly around her waist, its layered patterns adding depth to the refined simplicity of her look.

Her eyes - deep, warm brown flecked with amber - locked onto yours. There was something vulnerable in her gaze, a hesitation that betrayed the meticulous control in her posture.

"My name is Kimiko," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Please... call me that." She finished with a graceful bow, the movement fluid and practiced.

You blinked, caught off guard by the formality. Up until now, the only person who'd insisted on first names was Aika, and that was more about convenience - avoiding attention to her connection with Haibara. But this girl had just met you. No cryptic motives, no evasions. Just a straightforward request that somehow felt weighted with meaning you couldn't quite grasp.

"Then call me by my first name too," you replied, returning her bow. The gesture wasn't exactly smooth - more a haphazard blend of politeness and your usual hesitation. Despite your attempts at Japanese etiquette, bowing still felt like a minefield. Were you supposed to go deeper? Hold it longer? You winged it, hoping it looked intentional.

Kimiko coughed lightly into her hand, her gaze dropping to the floor as her foot traced aimless patterns against the tatami mat. "About yesterday..." Her voice dipped, taking on an edge. "It was really brave of you to speak up against... him." The way she said it - sharp, almost venomous - made it clear who she meant. Like even saying his name aloud carried too much weight. "Being in this clan feels like living in the damn Edo period."

Her words hung in the air, raw and biting. When she glanced back up, her eyes held a fire that felt both familiar and foreign - resentment mixed with reluctant gratitude.

"Oh." You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. You'd expected silence, maybe awkward indifference from anyone who'd overheard yesterday. The last thing you'd anticipated was someone finding actual meaning in your words. Truth was, you'd spoken up mostly to piss off the elders, not as some grand act of rebellion.

But looking at Kimiko now, seeing the effect it had on her...

It felt nice. Unexpected, but nice.

"Thanks, but that wasn't even my best work," you said, waving it off. "You should see me trying to lecture the Zen'ins on feminism. Now that's a real show."

Her eyes went wide, like you'd just told her the world was ending. Her skin turned ghostly pale, and she froze, mouth hanging open.

"My aunt told me Zen'in women are kept in some secret underground dungeon and tortured by curses just for being female!" The panic in her voice was real, genuine. "Have you been sent there?!"

You blinked, jaw dropping slightly. You were about to explain that it was typical rival clan propaganda, meant to exaggerate the enemy's evils. But then you hesitated, because... well. Her aunt wasn't exactly wrong. They'd literally done that shit to Mai and Maki in the manga.

"Girl, I'm scared they'll send me there next," you said, eyes widening with mock horror. "They're the worst. I'll probably have to talk to their clan head after this, and Naoya's definitely gonna snitch. Not that I'm scared - just annoyed I'll have to breathe the same air as that bastard."

She bit her lip, concern tightening her features. "But how will you survive? You're strong, but he's supposed to be the fastest sorcerer alive!" Her hands pressed together like she was physically trying to will some protection onto you.

"Don't worry about me too much. I go to Jujutsu High, I've got my own place... well, not really my own. I share it, but still." You paused, something darker crossing your expression. "I'm more worried about the Zen'in women and girls stuck there. They've been brainwashed since birth."

Kimiko's smile faltered, her eyes sharpening. "Sounds like you have someone specific in mind."

You couldn't help the tightness in your chest. You poked your cheek with your tongue, weighing your words. "Two girls, actually. Twins. I made a promise to myself that I'd help them somehow."

"Honestly? I have no idea how I'm gonna do it." You leaned back slightly, frustration bleeding into your voice. "I'm not exactly the most generous person, so I'm still kinda shocked at myself for even deciding this."

Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing closer. Kimiko's eyes widened in panic, and before you could react, she darted toward a nearby door.

She leaned out for a brief moment, whispering urgently, "Take care. Let's meet again soon."

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in the corridor with the lingering weight of your conversation.

---

The sun streamed through the windshield, warming your face as you leaned back in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on your nose. The world outside sped by in a blur of green and grey, but you couldn't care less. You were in your element, bopping your head to Hollaback Girl blasting from the car's mediocre speakers.

Life was good.

You tilted your head just slightly, catching the reflection of the backseat in the rearview mirror. Naoya sat squashed in the middle, arms awkwardly pinned by the giant mattress taking up most of the space. His face was a perfect mix of indignation and barely contained rage, while the two servant ladies on either side were doing their best not to make it worse - though one's elbow was definitely digging into his ribs.

"Move that thing!" Naoya snapped, trying to shift the mattress for what had to be the millionth time.

"I told you it would fit better in the trunk," you chirped, not bothering to hide your grin. "But someone had to throw a tantrum."

"This is your fault!"

"Aw, Naoya." You turned up the volume, tapping your hand along to the beat. "Don't blame me for your poor life choices."

His glare could've melted steel. "When we get back, I'm burning that fucking mattress."

You turned just enough to flash him your most obnoxious smile. "You wouldn't dare."

The servant ladies exchanged uneasy glances, clearly caught in the crossfire. One finally muttered, "At least it's nice weather..." before Naoya's warning look silenced her instantly.

You basked in your victory, the sunlight warm on your skin and Gwen Stefani declaring she wasn't no hollaback girl. Life? Amazing. Naoya's discomfort? Priceless.

You could feel the tension building behind you as Naoya shifted again, clearly losing some internal battle. You caught another glimpse of him through the mirror - jaw tight, hands folded awkwardly over his lap.

"Hey, Naoya," you said, all innocent sweetness, letting the music volume drop slightly. "Gay son or thot daughter?"

Silence.

The question hung in the air. You were genuinely curious, but he didn't react. The driver didn't either, his eyes locked on the road in that glazed, almost robotic state. Zero blinking. Was this man okay?

The servant ladies looked up at you, clearly unsure how to respond. The older one hesitated, brow furrowing. "Uh... thoughtful, you say? Well, it'd be nice to have someone thoughtful..."

You leaned forward slightly, squinting. "Oh, so you hate the gays? That's what we're doing? You don't fuck with the LGBTQ?"

Her eyes went wide, hands flying up defensively. "LG- what?! No, no! That's not-" She stammered, face turning red. "I just meant it's nice to have someone who cares!" She was scrambling now, realizing she'd dug herself deep. "I don't have any problem with anyone!"

The silence after that was thick, and you watched her squirm with mild satisfaction.

But Naoya still hadn't said a word.

Why was he so quiet all of a sudden? It wasn't like him. Maybe it was the mattress. Maybe it was you. Or maybe it was something deeper he wasn't letting show.

---

The car was suffocatingly quiet. Twenty minutes into an hour-long drive to the Zen'in compound, and you were already losing your mind. Naoya sat with his arms crossed, glare screaming don't talk to me. The driver was laser-focused on the road. The two servants looked like they regretted every decision that led them here.

You, however, were bored out of your skull.

With a grin that screamed mischief, you turned to face your captive audience. "So who wants to hear about the time I almost got admitted to a psych ward because my gay situationship at fifteen hit way too hard and I couldn't leave my bed for days?"

You didn't wait for a response. You launched into the story immediately, savoring the way the tension cranked up several notches.

By the end of the drive, your throat felt like it had been sandpapered raw. Each swallow sent scratchy pain down your esophagus, and your voice had turned hoarse. Your vocal cords were protesting, begging for mercy. Even breathing was a chore.

Was it worth it?

Absolutely.

Just as your hand reached for the door handle, Naoya beat you to it, using his cursed technique. The door swung open with force that rattled the hinges. His face was a storm of barely-contained rage - jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out like cords, eyes blazing with cold fury. His lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and a slight tremor ran through his clenched fists.

Ooh la la, someone's mad!

It was so fucking worth it.

You flashed him a smile sweeter than honey. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist in a grip that was firm, almost bruising. His fingers wrapped around like a vice, the pressure sending discomfort up your arm. You could feel the heat of his skin, but there was nothing warm about it - all controlled aggression.

This was straight out of a 2000s Thai drama, the kind where the toxicity was dialed to eleven. You half-expected dramatic music and a slow-motion montage of him grabbing your wrist from five different angles.

"Father won't be happy to hear about this," Naoya spat, voice dripping venom.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. "Your dad could be serving face if it weren't for that stupid-ass mustache."

You twisted your wrist, trying to pull free, but he held tight. So you did what any reasonable person would do - you snapped your teeth in his direction, aiming to bite. Not hard enough to actually hurt, just enough to startle.

Naoya jerked back, grip loosening just enough for you to yank free.

He stared at you, momentarily stunned, as you broke into a full cackle. You were still reveling in your victory when something caught your attention - small voices, barely audible, but enough to trigger your instincts. You immediately turned your head.

Standing at the end of the hallway were two little girls in colorful yukata. The girl in red had a slayful Cleopatra-esque bob, her green hair perfectly framing her delicate face. Beside her, the girl in green had shorter hair - a slightly overgrown pixie cut that gave her a lively, playful look. Both shared the same striking forest green hair, their hazel eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You made eye contact with them, their childlike eyes wide.

Without missing a beat, you reached out and grabbed Naoya by the wrist, yanking him toward the hallway. "Let's go see your father."

Chapter Text

Naoya shot you a glance so sharp it could've cut glass. His eyes flicked briefly toward the twins - Mai and Maki - lingering at the far end of the corridor. His posture shifted, subtle but tense, like a predator sizing up prey. You didn't like it. A cold knot formed in your stomach as you tightened your grip on his wrist.

A part of you wanted to believe - needed to believe - that Naoya wouldn't stoop so low as to bully his four-year-old cousins. They were goddamn toddlers. But this was Naoya. Even at fifteen, that deep, pathological need to feel superior was already hardwired into him.

You'd seen how his mind worked in the manga. That snide, arrogant smirk. The smug way he always had to talk down to everyone, even when he was getting his ass handed to him. Fifteen or not, the guy was already broken in ways that couldn't be fixed. There was no version of Naoya Zenin, at any age, that didn't suck.

"Let's go," you muttered, yanking his wrist harder than necessary. Your feet moved faster, steps echoing in the hallway. It wasn't just urgency - it was panic. If you could drag him far enough, maybe you could spare the twins from whatever vile thoughts were circling in his head.

Yeah, never mind - fuck him. There's no salvaging someone like Naoya. He's like a stain that doesn't wash out no matter how hard you scrub. The world would be better off without him.

But you? You're just too much of a pacifist to actually get the job done.

Your grip on his wrist felt unbearable now, as if the knowledge of what he'd become had seeped into your skin. This is the same guy who calls his underage cousins "buxom" in his introduction. The memory made you want to scrub your hand raw, like adult Geto after shaking hands with anyone he deemed a "monkey."

You released him suddenly, almost flinging his arm away like it burned. "Just... walk faster, would you?"

The tension between you crackled like static as you reached the shoin. Naobito's quarters loomed ahead, the sliding doors cracked open just enough to reveal the dimly lit interior.

Naobito, the illustrious patriarch of the Zenin clan, was laid out on the tatami like a man who'd given up on dignity years ago. His disheveled robes clung loosely to his frame, and in his hand, the ever-present bottle of sake gleamed under flickering light. The faint scent of rice wine hung thick in the air, confirming your suspicions that he'd been here for hours, solving life's problems one sip at a time.

Relatable.

"Father!" Naoya's voice sliced through the stillness, his grip on your wrist tightening. "She acted like a complete bitch at the Kamo estate." 

You tried not to snort, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt.

Naobito didn't even flinch. He remained fixated on the wall, his glassy gaze trailing over the patterns on the shoji screen with the intensity of a man unearthing the secrets of the universe. The bottle tipped lazily toward his lips as he muttered something unintelligible.

"Ah, yes... fascinating..." he murmured, nodding like Naoya's whining was part of some profound internal monologue.

Every so often, he'd take a slow sip, savoring it like fine wine. He adjusted his robes with a deliberate, almost theatrical sigh, clearly doing everything in his power to avoid acknowledging Naoya's outburst.

"Oi, old man!" Naoya's voice rose, frustration boiling over as he stomped his foot. "Are you fuckin' deaf? I'm talkin' to you!"

Naobito let out a slow, rumbling burp that lingered in the air like a declaration of defiance before finally dragging his bleary eyes toward Naoya. "Oi, don't you dare call me old!" he barked, the faint slur in his voice doing nothing to diminish his indignation. "I was in my thirties back in the seventies! That's young, you hear? Young! Don't go making me out like some hag!"

You couldn't help yourself. The opportunity was too good. "The seventies?" you whistled, shaking your head with exaggerated disbelief. "Damn, you're ancient. What were the dinosaurs like?"

Naobito's bloodshot eyes narrowed, his expression teetering between offense and disbelief. "Stupid brat," he muttered, slamming his sake bottle down hard enough to make the cups rattle. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

And then, without warning, he pushed himself up to his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to straighten out like a newborn deer. For a moment, the room was suspended in eerie stillness, like everyone collectively forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes darted to Naoya, who was already looking at you. Both of you exchanged a confused, wide-eyed side-eye that silently screamed, What the hell is happening?

With a flourish only a drunk could muster, Naobito began to... move. It might've been dancing - at least, you assumed that's what he was going for - but the jerky arm waves and awkward hip thrusts looked more like someone trying to swat away invisible flies while balancing on a tightrope.

"Is he-" you started, but couldn't finish. Your hand shot up to your mouth, covering it in sheer horror.

Naoya groaned audibly, sinking into a nearby chair with his head in his hands. "For the love of- what the hell is he doin'?"

Meanwhile, Naobito was fully committed. His moves grew wilder - a dizzying blend of finger-pointing, body rolls, and what could only be described as an interpretive reenactation of a car crash.

NURSE, HE'S OUT!

"Oop, oop, don't hurt 'em now, peepaw!" you called out, clapping in time to his erratic rhythm.

Naobito paused mid-spin, breathing heavily as he shot you a crooked grin. "These moves were impressing all the ladies back then. Still got it, don't I?"

You tilted your head, eyebrows raised. "Suuuure," you dragged the word out like you were trying to spare his feelings.

Naoya peeked through his fingers, face twisted in horror and secondhand embarrassment. "You're a disgrace," he muttered under his breath.

Naobito flopped back onto the floor like he'd just fought off an army, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes. "Anyway," he groaned, voice thick with boredom, "how'd the meeting go? Did that old hag say some dumb shit about us?"

Naoya straightened up, eager to launch into a tirade, but you cut him off. "Oh, they were super polite. Respectful. And the heir? Pretty cute, honestly. They're chill. I like it."

Naobito's hand slid off his face, and he turned his head to study you, his bleary eyes sharpening just enough to catch something. He wasn't as far gone as he seemed. "Cute, huh?" he said slowly, voice tinged with an edge that made you sit up straighter. "So they pushed you to get close to the brat. Any idea why?"

You blinked, caught off guard. He stared at you like a man who already had all the answers and was just watching you fumble in the dark.

"I mean..." you began, glancing at Naoya who looked equally confused. "I guess they figured out cute ones are my weak spot? Like, he's not one of those annoying toddlers who call you ugly, so yeah."

Naobito let out a low chuckle, more bitter than amused, and took a long swig. "Sure," he muttered, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Let's pretend that's all it is."

You frowned. "Okay, cryptic much? What's that supposed to mean?"

Naoya snorted while Naobito shook his head with a mocking grin. "Think about it," he drawled. "If you were to marry into their clan, who do you reckon they'd push you toward?"

"...The clan head, obviously?" you replied, baffled. "But ew, he's way too old! No, no, no!"

He sighed dramatically, tone dripping with condescension. "Only that bastard has the blood manipulation technique. The hag and the so-called rightful heir - his actual son - have different techniques. Blood manipulation is the most prized one, and they're pushing you toward him. C'mon, connect the dots."

"But... if he doesn't have blood manipulation, why is he the head?" Your throat felt dry. "What other technique could he have? Also, why are you calling him that? He's about your age."

Naobito scoffed, the sound sharp enough to slice through the tension. "Just because someone doesn't have blood manipulation doesn't mean they can't be clan head. Not everyone's born with the clan's prized technique. I don't have the Ten Shadows, but that didn't stop me from leading, did it? Who do you think ran the Gojo clan before that Six-Eyed freak showed up? Someone without both techniques."

He didn't answer the second question.

You blinked at him, stunned. Your jaw felt like it might hit the tatami any second. The sheer audacity of what he was implying made your brain short-circuit.

Hold on-

Naoya burst into giggles, clearly enjoying your speechlessness. He leaned back, arms crossed, the smuggest smirk plastered on his face.

"No... no fucking way," you finally managed, voice rising. "Please tell me this is a joke. They aren't really trying to set me up with a goddamn child, are they? This isn't just propaganda you're pushing, right?"

Naobito didn't even blink, taking another slow swig. "You'll figure it out," he muttered, sounding bored.

Naoya didn't miss a beat. "Oh, you'll have to wait 'til he's clan heir, so that's at least twenty years," he drawled, chin propped on his hand like he was delivering sage wisdom. His grin turned razor-sharp. "By then, you'll be infertile and useless. No healthy offspring can come from a hag with dried-up eggs."

What eggs?!

You shot Naoya a sharp side-eye. "That means I'll be thirty-four to thirty-six, dumbass. That's not old. Your father had you in his fifties," you said, glancing pointedly at Naobito, "so by your logic, that should apply to him too. Considering how stupid his offspring turned out, it's definitely not healthy."

Naoya's face twisted with rage, fists clenching as he sprang to his feet. But before he could move, Naobito's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Stop."

Naoya froze, fists trembling with barely suppressed frustration. His glare didn't leave you.

Ignoring him, you turned back to Naobito, who had shifted from his usual lazy demeanor to something unnervingly sharp.

"Have they invited you again?" he asked, voice low but deliberate.

Your shoulders stiffened. For a moment, you considered lying, but the way Naobito studied you made the truth feel like your only option.

"I... yes," you admitted hesitantly. "To hang out with the heir."

Naobito's eyes narrowed, and he gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Go, then. Keep your eyes open and report anything suspicious." He paused, gaze locking onto yours. "Whether it's Naoya or a child, your fate is the same - but one is far worse than the other."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Dismissed."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Sooo," you drawled, drawing out the word, "that means my destiny is not the same, huh?"

Naobito groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't twist my words."

"No, no," you said, leaning forward slightly, smirk tugging at your mouth. "You definitely implied there's a loophole. I mean, if one's worse than the other, then clearly it's not the same. That's just basic logic. Common sense, even..." You let the words hang before adding with a shrug, "Although, that's not so common around here, I fear."

Naobito's sigh was long and drawn out, speaking of years of regret. "Why," he muttered under his breath, "did I ever think you'd be capable of subtlety?"

You grinned, enjoying his frustration. "I'm just saying. Sounds like there's room for negotiation."

Naoya rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. "You're so fuckin' annoying."

Naobito waved a dismissive hand. "Get out before I drink myself into an early grave."

Just as you turned to leave, Naobito's voice stopped you. "Hold up. One last thing." Bitch! "What's the deal with the Gojo brat?"

You let out a sharp breath. "He's annoying as hell."

Naobito gave a small chuckle, tinged with something darker. "True, but his cursed technique? Any idea what he can do right now?"

You blinked at him, lost. "His... what? I don't know, man. He can like... float and shit, I guess?"

Naobito gave you a long, unimpressed stare. "Never mind. And his domain expansion?"

You stared at him. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

Naobito hummed thoughtfully, then turned to focus on something else. "Whatever. Forget it."

Your attention was barely on him as Naoya let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. You snapped, furious, yelling back at him, and of course he yelled right back.

Naobito watched you go, expression unchanged, too disinterested to care. "You're all dismissed," he muttered, sinking back into his drunken stupor.

---

You felt the cold February air bite at your cheeks as soon as you stepped out, the escape so sweet it almost felt like rebellion. The sudden chill stung, but you welcomed it - anything to get away from that circus. Naobito had already slinked off for a nap, and Naoya was left whining about it. Too easy. You slipped out without looking back.

The garden in winter was a different beast. A gray, skeletal thing, stripped of all its usual vibrancy. The trees stood like old men with hunched backs, their branches crooked and bare, sharp against the dull sky. The ground had a crust of frost that crunched beneath your boots, every step leaving a print in the powdery snow that barely clung to the earth. It wasn't the wild bloom of spring, but there was a quiet sort of beauty in the barrenness, like the garden was holding its breath, waiting.

You took your time moving through it, letting the silence press in. The occasional patch of frozen grass beneath your feet felt like it was daring you to tread too carefully. Your breath made little clouds in the air, mingling with the cold, and you couldn't help but think about how different the world looked like this - bare, unprotected, like it was showing its teeth.

Then you saw them.

Two figures huddled together, their voices carried faintly by the cold air. They were sitting beneath the gnarled boughs of a cherry tree, its ancient trunk still holding its ground even though its limbs had been stripped bare. Maki and Mai. Their heads were bent close to each other.

It felt strange to approach them. The heavy weight of it gnawed at you. You knew what this moment was - what it could mean. This wasn't just a random run-in. You weren't here by accident. This could change everything. But even thinking it made your throat tighten, because you didn't know what they'd say, what they'd think. They didn't owe you anything. But maybe, just maybe, this wasn't about you.

You swallowed hard and walked toward them, trying to shake the pressure in your chest, focusing on what you needed to say. But then, as you stepped closer, something shifted. Maki's eyes locked onto you first, sharp and direct, like daggers. There was no welcoming warmth there, no spark of recognition. Just steel. She didn't trust you, and she sure as hell didn't like you invading her space.

Mai, on the other hand, looked up slowly, her expression a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn't place - maybe fear. Her tiny frame leaned just a little closer to Maki, a subtle plea for reassurance. They were two sides of the same coin - one brimming with defiance, the other with vulnerability.

You paused, just a second too long. This wasn't going to be easy. But it didn't matter. You were here now. You were going to say something that might actually mean something. And for that, you needed to be brave.

“Sup, kids?” you started, forcing the words out with a half-grin, trying to keep it light even though your heart was pounding. “Did y’all pay your fanum tax, or are you a SUS sigma ballerina cappucina? Sixty-seven, am I right?“

That’s how you talk to kids, right?!

Chapter Text

Maki's glare could've stripped paint off a wall. Her eyes went narrow and mean, sizing you up like she was deciding between shin-kicking and just walking away. She crossed her arms, this tiny little kid radiating the kind of authority that would make a bouncer nervous. "What are you even talking about, you freak?!" The words came out sharp, dripping with suspicion, like you'd personally wronged her in a past life.

Ouch.

Mai clung to Maki's sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality, her eyes doing that nervous dart thing between you and her sister. She looked like she was calculating escape routes in case you started acting even weirder.

Fair, honestly.

You blinked, genuinely stunned that a five-year-old just hit you with that much venom. "Well, shit," you muttered, scratching the back of your neck. "Guess I'll go die now."

Silence swallowed the space between you.

Okay, new approach. Your confidence was already circling the drain, but you tried anyway. "Look, do you actually want to know?" You took a breath like you were about to explain rocket science to toddlers. "Alright, so, 'tax fanum,' no clue what that means. Sigma's from the omegaverse, I think? And 'imposter,' that's from Among Us. There's an imposter among us and, yeah."

The silence that followed could've filled a black hole.

Maki's eyes narrowed further (which you didn't think was physically possible) and her lips curled into the beginning of a sneer. "You're so weird," she declared flatly, her tone dripping with disdain.

Mai just stared, her expression somewhere between confused and mildly horrified, like she couldn't decide if she should be scared of you or pity you.

You sighed and shoved your hands in your pockets, trying to salvage whatever shred of dignity you had left. But honestly? If you were five and some random adult came at you with this level of unhinged nonsense, you'd probably love it. The fact that they didn't? Yeah, maybe life really had been unfair to them.

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself, and tried again. You really weren't giving up. "Look, I just wanted to talk," you said, your voice softer, as if you could undo the chaos of your earlier explanation. "No weird stuff this time. I promise. I'm not here to make you uncomfortable or anything."

But it was clear from their expressions that the damage was done. Maki's glare stayed firmly in place, and Mai shrank a little behind her sister, clutching at Maki's sleeve like she was ready to bolt if you so much as blinked wrong.

Then Maki snorted, her lips curling into a smirk. "Too late for that, freak," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

The insult hit harder than it should have, dredging up the memory of Megumi's infamous first meeting with Gojo. The same word. The same attitude. You could almost hear Megumi's prepubescent voice, dripping with disgust, calling Gojo a freak like it was the ultimate insult. Yeah, that memory stung, and yet it was kind of funny now.

Still, the reality of your situation stung a little more. You'd gone into this encounter hoping for a Geto meets the village twins moment, a little spark of trust, maybe even a connection. But nope. Instead, you were being hissed at by Maki like a feral stray cat and stared at by Mai with the kind of wary confusion reserved for particularly unhinged strangers on public transport.

Not that you could blame them. Honestly, starting off with brain rot as your icebreaker was probably not the smartest choice. So really, this was on you.

Suddenly, Mai's eyes went so wide you thought they might pop out of her head, her tiny finger trembling as she pointed at you. "You bit Naoya!" she practically shrieked.

You blinked, caught off guard, before a small chuckle escaped you. Her dramatic reaction almost made you feel proud of the chaos you'd caused. If nothing else, you'd won over an audience. "That's what he deserves," you shrugged Kim Kardashian-ly with your tongue out playfully.

Mai's face lit up, her mouth forming a small "o" of wonder. Then she giggled, the sound high-pitched and slightly wicked, as if she were already imagining herself pulling off a similar stunt someday. "He is mean," she agreed, her tiny fists clenched at her sides. "You're so brave! I'd be too scared. But you... you're, like, so cool."

Maki, however, was unimpressed. She didn't loosen her stance or let up on her glare, her small brows furrowing deeper. "Cool? More like stupid," she shot back, her tone matter-of-fact. "Naoya's gonna make you pay for that. You think you're scary? He's scarier."

You couldn't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "Scarier than me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doubt it."

Maki groaned. "He's not scared of anyone! He's a Zenin. And you? You're just..." she paused, looking you up and down, "a weirdo with bad clothes."

Ouch!

Mai gasped again, this time scandalized. "Maki! Don't say that!" She turned to you, her expression apologetic. "You don't have bad clothes! They're just... um..." Her gaze lingered on your T-shirt, which wasn't doing you any favors in the freezing weather. "Not warm enough."

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, rubbing your arms for warmth. "But don't worry about Naoya. If he tries anything, I've got plenty more where that bite came from."

Mai giggled, clearly delighted at the thought, while Maki remained skeptical. "You're gonna regret it," she said with a shrug, already washing her hands of your inevitable downfall.

"Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, kicking a stone. "But I've got my own scary side. Trust me, Naoya won't know what hit him."

"Why would you scare him? You're his wife, aren't you?" Maki snapped, her tiny face twisted into a scowl that looked far too intense for a four-year-old.

Mai's eyes widened at the accusation, her little hands clinging to Maki's arm for support. "Wife? But she's not mean like him..." she whispered, her voice soft and uncertain as she glanced up at you.

You sighed, crouching down to their level. Dealing with Noritoshi had been a breeze compared to this. These kids? Relentless. "Listen," you said slowly, trying to keep your tone calm, "I'm not his... wife." The word tasted weird even coming out of your mouth. "I'm just here because I have to be. And trust me, I don't like him any more than you do."

Mai tilted her head, her brow furrowing as she processed your words. "But you're always with him," she pointed out, her voice small but firm. "If you're not his wife, why do you stay with him?"

Before you could answer, Maki crossed her arms, her scowl deepening into something that could only be described as 'pouty menace.' "If you don't like Naoya, why are you always around him? Just go away if you don't wanna be here. We don't need you!"

That one stung, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you took a deep breath and decided to level with them. "Well," you began, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm actually planning his demise."

Mai gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as if you'd just revealed the world's greatest secret. She really seemed to like doing this, huh? "You're gonna kill him?" she whispered, her tone a mix of awe and horror.

"Not literally," you clarified quickly, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

Maki's eyebrows shot up. "Planning his demise?" she repeated, her tone flat and skeptical. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're not even strong enough to beat him in a fight."

You literally just said...

"You're gonna fight him?" Mai whispered, her voice trembling. "But he's really mean! What if he hurts you?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Explaining hypothetical assassination plans to preschoolers wasn't exactly on your bingo card for the day. "I'm not literally fighting him," you clarified, keeping your tone as patient as possible. "It's more like... a really long prank. A prank that ends with him realizing he sucks."

Maki crossed her arms. "If it's a prank, it's a bad one. You're wasting your time." She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering in a conspiratorial whisper. "But if you were gonna fight him, I could help. I know how to kick really hard."

Mai's eyes widened further, and she grabbed her sister's arm. "Maki, no! Naoya's scary! He always yells when we make him mad!" She turned to you, pleading. "Don't let her fight him, okay? I don't want her to get in trouble!"

"Relax, nobody's fighting anyone. And trust me, I don't even want to be here in the first place. If I could, I'd leave right now and never look back."

Maki raised an eyebrow, her scowl softening into something more curious. "Then why don't you? If you hate him so much, just go."

At this point, you figured the kids were sharp enough to understand. After all, Megumi was around their age when Gojo casually dropped the bombshell about killing his dad. Okay, bad example. Gojo's track record with kids? Utter disaster. Honestly, someone should've called CPS on him ages ago.

You crouched down, trying to meet the Zenin twins at eye level. "Alright," you began carefully, "I'm kinda... forced to marry him. Like, I am being held hostage and shit. But I'm working on getting stronger, and when I do, let's just say I've got plans to politely fight him. Really politely."

The girls stared at you, their expressions shifting as they processed your words. Maki's sharp gaze softened, just a fraction, while Mai's earlier fear gave way to something closer to hesitant curiosity.

Maki clenched her fists, her jaw tight, like she was fighting to keep something buried. "He... Naoya's always making fun of us," she muttered, her voice low but laced with frustration. "He says we're failures because we're twins. And because we're girls."

Mai's face twisted, a blend of anger and sadness flickering across her small features. "He says we're disappointing Dad too," she added quietly. "It's always something with him." 

She's got that right.

Your stomach twisted at the pain in their voices. Kids weren't exactly subtle with their emotions, and theirs were written all over their faces, plain as day.

You leaned back slightly as you tried to keep your tone light. "So... you're not big fans of him either, huh?"

It was a dumb question, but it seemed to give them the smallest moment of relief. Maki snorted, the sound sharp and bitter, while Mai simply shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin, determined line.

Maki's small fists tightened even further, her knuckles white. "He's the worst," she hissed, her voice low and sharp. "It's not just him being mean. He goes out of his way to make us feel like we're not good enough, like we're worthless. And he never shuts up about it."

You forgot how much kids liked to repeat themselves.

Mai glanced up at you. "Yeah," she mumbled, her voice softer but no less determined. "If something happened to him, maybe we wouldn't have to hear all his stupid comments anymore."

Their frustration weighed heavy, thicker than the icy wind that nipped at your face. You knelt, balancing carefully between offering comfort and not intruding too much. Resting your hands lightly on their shoulders, you said, "Listen. Being a twin? That's one of the coolest things ever. You've got someone who gets you in a way no one else ever will. That's rare. It's like having a best friend built into your life from the start."

Maki's brows furrowed, her glare sharp as ever. Skepticism practically radiated from her. "Yeah, well, the clan doesn't think so," she snapped, bitterness dripping from every word. "They act like it's a bad thing, like being twins makes us weak or something. Like we're never gonna be good enough. And sometimes..." Her voice cracked, but she quickly steadied herself, her jaw tightening. "Sometimes it feels like they're right. I can't even see curses like Mai can. I'm just... stuck."

You sighed, steeling your voice. "Hey," you said, locking eyes with her. "Move. You're not a fucking tree."

Maki's glare turned into an incredulous stare, her lips twisting in disbelief. "Did you seriously just call me a tree?"

You smirked, shrugging as you leaned back. "Well, if the metaphor fits. My point is, don't let a bunch of crusty old fossils decide what you can and can't do. They're scared of change, clinging to their outdated traditions because it makes them feel important. But they're full of crap." You paused, letting that sink in. "Even Satoru Gojo, yeah, that Gojo, knows their way of thinking is a joke."

Mai's eyes widened, curiosity sparking like a match. "Gojo Satoru said that?" she asked, her voice laced with awe, like you'd just told her the Tooth Fairy was real.

You nodded, keeping your tone firm but warm. "Yeah. He doesn't hold back. He calls their ideas stupid every chance he gets. And he's not the only one. Plenty of sorcerers think the same thing. The clan's just too stuck in their ways to admit it."

Maki's glare softened by a fraction, her lips pressing together in what might have been thoughtfulness or just her stubborn refusal to admit you had a point. Mai's mouth curved into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to feel like progress.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease their doubts even more. "I know it's hard, but who gives a... f-FLIP about what they have to say?! HUH?! You have each other, and that's what MATTERS. Their opinions are just noise. What matters is what you believe about yourselves. And what they say you should believe isn't what you should actually believe because they're old and stupid and I hate them." 

Saying 'believe it' in Naruto's voice would've been the cherry on top of your shit sundae, but on the other hand, DAMN. Giving a motivational speech to a couple of toddlers surely got you feeling yourself.

Mai's gaze softened a little, but she still looked unsure. "It's hard to believe that, though. They've been telling us this our whole lives."

As you started to respond, a sharp chill crawled up your spine, coiling like icy fingers around your neck. The air thickened, oppressive and stifling, as if the world itself was holding its breath. A quiet, quivering sound broke the silence. You turned toward Mai, whose wide eyes were locked on something over your shoulder, her small hand trembling as she pointed.

"It's... it's right there..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, you turned.

And then you saw it.

The curse was a nightmare given form. Its body writhed and twisted, a shapeless mass of shadow so black it seemed to swallow the light around it. Pulsating veins of dim crimson glowed faintly beneath its surface, throbbing in time with some horrible rhythm, like a grotesque beating heart exposed to the air.

The thing was vaguely humanoid, but wrong in every conceivable way. Its limbs were too long, twitching and jerking like a marionette with tangled strings. Each one ended in claws so sharp they seemed to carve the very air as they moved, leaving faint distortions in their wake. Smoke-like tendrils snaked off its body, curling and dissipating into nothing like wisps of corrupted fog.

But its face. God, its face was the worst part.

The head was a horrific mosaic of distorted human features, dozens of faces merged and twisted together in eternal agony. Their mouths were frozen mid-scream, but no sound came from them. Only a guttural, low growl emanated from the curse's central maw, a jagged, cavernous hole that stretched far too wide, like it could swallow your soul whole.

Its hollow eye sockets burned with a dim, unnatural light. Though there was nothing there, you could feel its gaze piercing through you, scraping against your sanity like nails on a chalkboard. Every glance in its direction felt like staring into an abyss that was staring hungrily back.

The space around it warped and rippled, light bending unnaturally as if the creature were a living void pulling reality itself into its suffocating presence. Shadows stretched and twisted across the ground, jagged and malformed, as though fleeing its touch. The air smelled faintly of ash and rot, and with every pulse of its glowing veins, a wave of nausea clawed at your stomach.

It took a slow, deliberate step forward. The ground cracked beneath its weight despite its semi-translucent, spectral form. The growl deepened, reverberating through your chest like a death knell.

OH HELL NAH! MOMMY, I AM SCARED!

Mai's face went pale as she watched the entity, her eyes wide with fear. "It's... it's right behind you!"

Maki, still oblivious to the cursed spirit's presence, looked between Mai and you with a confused frown. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

You instinctively placed a hand in front of them, trying to shield the two little girls behind you, though your breath caught in your throat. You forced the words out, but they felt thin, weak, too hollow to be convincing. "I'll handle this," you said, your voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

But inside, you were already unraveling. 

The blood in your veins ran cold, replaced by a tide of panic that threatened to break free. Your heart pounded in your chest, heavy and erratic like a drum in a race to drown you out. You were so terrified you could taste it, bitter, metallic, sour. And if you were being honest, you could feel the warm, uncontrollable trickle of fear gathering at the edge of your thoughts, threatening to spill over. You really wanted to shout for your mom, for someone, anyone, to make it stop.

The curse loomed behind you, so close you could feel it, feel the weight of its presence pressing down on you like a mountain. It was an oppressive, suffocating pressure, as if the air itself had thickened and become unbreathable. Its eyes, those eyes, were black, glossy orbs, unsettling and alive with something ancient and hungry.

The curse shifted, its body writhing and stretching in ways that defied logic. Its limbs jerked unnaturally, like marionette strings pulled by unseen hands, each one terminating in jagged claws that scraped against the ground. The noise, God, the noise, was a bone-shaking screech, a terrible scraping that made your nerves burn with primal terror.

Then the air split with a low, guttural growl, so deep and primal it reverberated in the very marrow of your bones. 

The curse lunged.

Its claws swung forward with lightning speed, the movement too fast for your mind to process. A hiss followed, a whispered promise of death, like the words of something that knew exactly what you were. And it wasn't mercy.

You barely had time to move. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but your legs refused to obey, rooted to the spot like you'd grown into the earth itself. The claws swiped through the air with a terrifying whoosh, slicing through the silence like a blade through flesh. The air itself seemed to recoil, the very atmosphere tightening, pulling away from you as if it knew you were already doomed.

Move. MOVE!

Your body finally obeyed, lurching to the side at the last possible second. But you weren't fast enough.

The claws caught your arm, tearing through fabric and skin like it was nothing. White-hot pain exploded across your senses, so sudden and overwhelming it knocked the breath from your lungs. You stumbled backward, gasping, your free hand instinctively clutching at the wound. Blood welled up between your fingers, warm and slick, soaking into your clothes.

The world tilted. Your vision blurred at the edges, black spots dancing across your field of view.

No. No, no, no. Not now. You couldn't pass out. Not here. Not with the twins behind you.

You could barely process what happened next. Suddenly, all that registered was pain.

The pain hit like a wave crashing against a fragile shore, raw, blinding, instant. The curse's claws raked down your arm, shredding through skin and muscle with horrifying ease. You gasped, stumbling backward, the shock of the wound almost as overwhelming as the searing fire of agony spreading through your body. Blood spilled out, warm and thick, soaking into your clothes, staining the earth beneath you.

You couldn't think. The sting of the wound was so violent, so unrelenting, that your mind could hardly catch up. But then instinct, survival, kicked in.

The technique. Accelerate.

You gritted your teeth, forcing your brain to work faster, to race against the burning pulse of pain. Time. You needed to control time.

Focus. Focus!

With shaking hands, you reached out to your cursed energy, trying to channel it into your body. Your thoughts scrambled, disjointed as the curse moved in closer, its chilling growl vibrating the ground beneath your feet. Your energy swirled with increasing panic, an erratic mess of intent, but you couldn't get the motion right.

Focus. The process was simple. You'd done it a few times before. Accelerate your body. Accelerate your mind. Speed. Move.

You pushed cursed energy into your wound, directing it to the severed flesh. It was supposed to heal. The skin was supposed to close over itself, to stop the bleeding. The technique should have worked.

But instead, it was like trying to stop a flood with a cup.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the pain intensified. The healing wasn't smoothing over. It was distorting, pulling and twisting the wound in ways it shouldn't have. It wasn't closing. It was getting worse. The torn flesh fought against the rapid pace of your technique, and something inside you screamed to stop, but your hands didn't obey.

Rewind.

You could fix this. You could go back, reset it. You had to, right?

You pulled on your cursed energy again, the familiar tug of Rewind rushing through your veins. You focused on the past, before the wound, a few seconds earlier, when you were whole. But as you tried to force time backward, everything felt wrong, jagged. It wasn't clean. It wasn't smooth. You weren't just rewinding the injury. You were fighting with it.

The pain bloomed again, worse now, as though the cursed energy was ripping through your body, tearing the wound open wider instead of healing it.

Shit!

Your fingers trembled, every part of you fighting against the agony, every second dragging on like an eternity. But you couldn't let go. You had to fix this.

But it was too late.

Instead of healing, instead of returning to that fleeting moment before the pain, the curse's claws had left their mark, deep and raw. The wound deepened. The Rewind had twisted it, pulled it apart. Blood oozed out in an unforgiving rush, pooling at your feet, and the air around you seemed to close in. The curse's growl vibrated your bones, louder now, as if it were mocking your attempts.

A scream, your scream, finally ripped from your throat, the sharpest pain of your life crashing down as the curse's bloodied claws caught your side once more. You were collapsing, your body failing under the weight of your own desperation.

No, no, no...

You couldn't stop it. You couldn't fix it. The Rewind... it didn't work.

You fell to your knees, the world spinning, the sounds of your own panicked breaths drowned out by the horrifying growl of the curse.

The curse loomed over you, raising its claws for another strike. This was it. This was how you died. On your knees in the snow, having accomplished exactly nothing.

But then...

Flash.

Steel sliced through the air, clean and precise. The curse's roar was cut short, guttural and desperate, as the katana moved faster than your eyes could track. A clean arc, a line of light across the dark. The curse twisted and screamed as it fell apart, dissolving like it was never anything more than a bad dream made flesh.

The air cracked with the echo of that final scream. In the silence that followed, your body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Your back slammed against the cold, uneven ground, the pain in your side flaring in jagged bursts. Blood seeped from the wound, warm and sticky, but it barely registered.

You were alive.

Barely.

From above, the sound of steady footsteps broke through the ringing in your ears.

When you managed to look up, your breath hitched.

He stood there, looming over you like an immovable wall, his figure towering in the dim light. Tall, thin but somehow broad, his presence bled into the space around him like smoke from a dying fire. His long black hair was pulled back, tied tightly into a high ponytail, not a strand out of place. A Roman nose, proud and sharp, caught the weak light filtering through the trees.

But it wasn't his features that unsettled you. It was his eyes.

Black. Pitch black, like two pools of ink that swallowed up everything around them. A nothingness that felt endless, consuming. They stared down at you, sharp and unblinking, as though cataloguing the very essence of who you were. You felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.

He didn't speak at first, letting the silence stretch between you. He didn't need to say anything.

His katana gleamed in his hand, resting casually against his side, the blade still sharp with the curse's remnants.

After a good five minutes of awkward silence, he finally spoke up.

The elderly man's voice was deep and resonant, each word enunciated with deliberate clarity. "I see you have begun to recall the full extent of your cursed technique," he said. His gaze remained unwavering, scrutinizing you.

Dude, what?! Is he fucking with you? You just got your ass beat!

You managed to gasp out between breaths, "Honestly, I had no idea what I just did. It was more like muscle memory." Your voice wavered.

"You must remember me. Ogi Zenin," he said.

You blinked, your body throbding with exhaustion, your mind racing to piece together fragments of clarity in the haze. The name rattled around in your skull like a distant echo. Ogi, Ogi, Ogi... The pieces slowly came together.

Ogi Zenin. The father of Mai and Maki.

And another person you wanted dead now. Even though he just saved your ass.

You forced your eyes open wider, gritting your teeth against the wave of pain crashing through your skull. "Oh, yes I do," you said, your voice a strained mockery of recognition, a mask you slapped on just to get through this moment. Even as you spoke, you knew it wasn't convincing. The truth was you didn't give a damn about remembering him. But you didn't have the energy to fight that battle right now. The curse had taken most of it, leaving you hollow.

Ogi's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting in a sneer. "They didn't even attempt to fight against the curse, did they?"

The question rattled you, pulling your attention back to him. You were barely hanging on, your head foggy, and yet you could feel the anger rising like bile in your throat.

What the hell does this have to do with you?

"The two twin girls?" you said, trying to steady your breath, words coming out between shallow gasps. "I told them I had it figured out, that it'd be better for me to handle it alone." You paused, feeling the lie burn at your throat as you pushed it out into the air. "Which was a fucking lie," you added under your breath, but he didn't hear that last part.

Not that it mattered.

Ogi's lip curled as he clenched his fists. He looked at the place where the two girls had been, or where they'd been before they bolted. His gaze was cold, venomous, like he was staring at a rotting carcass. "It's only to be expected of them to be failures," he spat, his voice coated in disdain. "They've never amounted to anything of value."

You could almost feel the venom of his words as they cut through the already-thick air. Something about the way he spoke, like he was accustomed to dehumanizing people, made you grind your teeth in frustration.

But instead of responding with the fire that had started to simmer in your gut, you exhaled a long, exhausted breath. The kind of sigh that carried everything you wanted to scream but didn't have the strength to.

"I... what do you want me to do with this information?"

It was the only response you could muster. This guy needed to see a real therapist and leave you the hell alone. You were on the verge of dying, and being some random man's emotional punching bag sure as hell wasn't how you wanted to go.

Ogi didn't seem fazed. He didn't even care about the question.

"You're aware of how twins are a bad omen, correct?" He raised an eyebrow, and you rolled your eyes, too tired to deal with his BS.

You remembered him better now. Ogi repeatedly blamed his failure to become clan head on his children's weakness, but this never added up. The Zen'in clan didn't follow a strict heir-by-birth succession. Instead, they chose a leader based on strength and the previous head's recommendation. The quality of Ogi's children wouldn't have impacted his chances of becoming head since leadership wasn't inherited automatically. No one in the clan discussed potential successors based on the strength of their offspring.

Ogi's grudge against his children seemed like a way to shift blame for his own shortcomings and justify his abusive behavior.

AKA, he was a little bitch.

But wait... then why the hell does Naoya want you to... have his "brats"??

Ogi's expression darkened as he spoke, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Twins are a bad omen," he began. "In our clan, it's seen as a curse. And with one of them being Heavenly Restricted, it's an even worse sign. They are nothing but misfortune."

Ogi's expression soured further, and his eyes narrowed as he spoke, voice dripping with resentment. "It's not just the twins," he muttered. "Their mother is to blame too. She brought this misfortune upon me. If it were up to me, I'd have more children, stronger sons, but she's cursed, just like them. But even so, I can't just cast her aside. Divorce would bring shame to the family, create a scandal we can't afford. So I'm stuck with her, with them. Forced to endure this... disgrace."

You were in the middle of the best nap of your life when you suddenly jolted awake, startled by Ogi's whiny voice. Rubbing your eyes, you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

Okay, so maybe talking back to a guy who just saved your life wasn't the smartest move. But here's the thing: you were bleeding out, delirious from pain, and running on exactly zero fucks to give. Your brain-to-mouth filter had checked out the moment that curse's claws tore through your arm. And honestly? Watching this grown man blame literal children for his own failures while you were literally dying on the ground pissed you off more than the gaping wound in your side.

Besides, you'd already bitten Naoya. What was one more Zenin on your shit list?

"You know," you began with a sigh, "men are the ones who pass on the Y chromosome, so the fact that they're girls is on you, old man." You paused, studying his face. "Ever thought about putting them up for adoption?"

Ogi's expression darkened, and his fists clenched at your casual tone. "You speak too freely for someone who lost to a 2nd grade curse," he hissed, the insult barely concealed in his voice. "As if you understand the weight of such decisions. The Zen'in name isn't something you can just discard or hand off. Adoption? Ridiculous. It's not as simple as that. They carry my blood, my shame, and I'll deal with them in my own way."

You rolled your eyes, unfazed. "So you think keeping them as servants and letting them be trampled on is somehow less humiliating? Are you out of your goddamn mind? How is it not degrading to have your wife and daughters subjected to such treatment? That's precisely why Naobito is clan head and not you. You're so desperate for validation that you allow the women in your life to be mistreated."

Look, you knew you were pushing it. But the blood loss was making you bold, and the hypocrisy was too much. This man just saved you from a curse, sure, but he was also the reason those two little girls looked at the world like it was constantly trying to crush them. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was because you'd already resigned yourself to dying today anyway, but something in you snapped. If you were going out, you might as well go out telling the truth.

"How dare you--" Ogi's voice seethed with fury as he drew his katana, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light.

Well, shit! Peepaw was definitely stronger than you! He literally just saved you!

Before Ogi could make another move, a sharp voice from the driver cut through the tension, slicing the air like a knife. "Ma'am, the car is ready," the driver announced, stepping forward with an almost apologetic air, his hand lightly resting on Ogi's arm as he glanced at you.

Ogi's eyes snapped toward him, a flicker of frustration and disbelief crossing his face. The katana in his hand trembled, the slightest tremor betraying the simmering anger that boiled beneath his cool exterior. For a moment, it seemed like he might lunge. His muscles coiled, his posture rigid. But then he exhaled, a low growl of irritation rumbling deep in his chest.

With a sharp, metallic clink, Ogi slid the katana back into its sheath, the sound almost as cold and final as the tension in the air. He took a moment, his breath steadying, trying to force himself into calm. His gaze turned to you once more, but this time it was thick with venom, a look that seemed to burn with disdain. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, the echo of his footsteps growing louder as he stalked toward the sliding door.

...Did you just make a new enemy? 

Damn, your therapist would be so proud to see you finally kicking your people-pleasing habits to the curb. Of course, this was the same therapist you'd ended up having a borderline parasocial relationship with. You never really told her what was actually wrong with you because, you know, you didn't want to give her the ick. That's when you stopped seeing her. The moment you overheard her laughing a little too loudly at the jokes of the patient before you in the waiting room. Jealous? Yeah, just a little. You spent your whole session torn between wanting to make her laugh harder or being a little petty and emo. Somehow, you managed to do both. And that was the end of that.

The driver stood there, an unreadable expression on his face as Ogi stormed off, his retreat leaving a heavy silence in the air. You could almost taste the tension hanging in the cold breeze, thick enough to choke on. The whole damn thing felt surreal, like you were trapped in some twisted version of a reality show with no idea what the hell was going on. 

Then again, that's pretty much what your entire life felt like lately.

You stayed put, slumped against the grass beneath the stone overhang, half-covered by the weight of the fatigue that had settled in your bones like a second skin. Snow had been falling in the background, but the small patch of grass you had found, sheltered from the elements, was like a little slice of peace. Honestly, you didn't want to move. Not at all. The idea of standing felt like a monumental task, like your legs might just buckle beneath you if you tried.

But of course, you couldn't just sit there. UGH!

You shook your head, trying to shake off the exhaustion, forcing yourself up despite how heavy your body felt. The world was spinning a little too fast for comfort, but you made your way toward the driver anyway. One step, then another, slow and unsteady, like you might tip over at any moment.

You looked up at him when you finally made it, squinting through the harsh light filtering through the trees. "Literally, why'd you do this?" The words came out slow, tinged with confusion and a touch of that annoying, familiar frustration you felt whenever things didn't add up.

The driver didn't budge. He didn't flinch, didn't even seem to notice the discomfort in your voice. His expression stayed blank, like he was a piece of marble, just standing there without a care. But then his eyes flicked toward the direction Ogi had stormed off in, and for a split second, there was something in his gaze that might've been a flicker of recognition, of understanding.

But that didn't mean shit.

"Let's just say I had my reasons," he said.

Well, if that wasn't vague.

"Whatever." You were too damn tired to argue. "Thanks, seriously. You're my favorite person in this clan... though, to be fair, the bar's in hell, but you get it."

Silence.

"...You know the address of my apartment, right? Because even I don't know it." You continued awkwardly, feeling the discomfort rise.

The driver gave a small nod, his expression still calm and unreadable. "Yes, I know the way," he replied, his voice steady.

"Good," you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

You dragged your body toward the car, each step heavy but driven by sheer will. Adrenaline still coursed through your veins, pushing you forward despite the gaping wound on your arm and the deep soreness in your muscles. The cold air barely touched you, the ache of your injuries numbed by the rush of energy that had yet to fade. You barely felt the blood leaking from your arm, not yet. Everything was a blur of motion and fragmented thoughts.

When you reached the car, you didn't bother with any grace. You just yanked the back door open, wincing from the effort it took to move, and slid into the seat with a groan. Your body protested, but the numbness of exhaustion and adrenaline made it easier to ignore. You didn't even register how cramped it was, your baggage piled up on the other side, forcing you to settle awkwardly against the worn leather.

The engine came to life with a soft hum, the vibrations pulsing beneath you. You let your head fall back against the cool glass of the window, eyes fluttering shut, the snow outside blurring into a monotonous landscape.

You didn't hear much of what the driver was saying, his words distant, muffled like he was speaking underwater. A jumble of concern and confusion echoed around you, but you couldn't focus. The world outside, the sound of the car, everything felt miles away. It was almost peaceful, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional jolt of the car as it navigated the snow-covered roads.

The driver's voice came through again, this time a little clearer, though still distorted. "Ma'am, you're... bleeding... should we-"

His voice trailed off, but it barely registered.

You blinked, trying to clear the haze clouding your thoughts. You looked down, and only then did you realize the blood from your arm had soaked through your clothes, staining the fabric dark. It had been spreading for some time now, but the adrenaline kept you from feeling anything more than a dull, distant throb. Your vision blurred again, but you didn't care. Not yet. You could barely hear the driver's voice, the words slurring into the background noise of your scattered thoughts.

"Ma'am, you're hurt...!" he said again, but this time it was more desperate, though still distant. His voice felt like a faint echo against the pounding in your head.

You tried to respond, but your voice came out as a weak murmur.

Your attempt to use Rewind to heal the injury hadn't worked as intended. The cut on your arm was still bleeding, and the wound looked far worse than it should have. The chaotic nature of your "fight" (if you could call it that) had clearly disrupted your ability to properly execute your cursed technique.

What you had managed to do had come from instinct rather than precise control.

Not good.

"Hold on," you said, raising your uninjured hand and rummaging through your backpack. In your haste, you accidentally brushed against the book you'd been studying. You finally found your flip phone with a triumphant "ah ha!" and quickly navigated through the contacts to find Shoko's number.

Your fingers fumbled with the small keys as you dialed, and the phone rang impatiently. Each ring felt like an eternity as you waited for her to pick up.

Shoko's voice came through the phone with a hint of dry humor. "Ah, so the Kamos and Zen'in didn't kill you in your sleep?"

You let out a relieved breath, managing a weak smile. "No, not yet. I've got a bit of a situation here. I need help. It's... it's about a curse I ran into."

Shoko's voice took on a teasing edge. "You want Suguru to swallow it for you or what?"

"Don't say it like that," you snorted. "You were complaining about not being able to train because no one's getting hurt, right? Well, guess what? I'm injured as fuck. Where are you?"

"Wow, so commanding," she drawled, her tone teasing. "I'm in the training field with the birthday boy and the others. What do you want me to do, drop everything and come to your rescue, Princess Peach?"

"... I mean, yeah...? Unless Geto is the type to take everything extra personally on his birthday and cry himself to sleep because you decided to come help me instead of staying with him and celebrating his birthday..." You trailed off, then caught yourself. "Okay, never mind. That's the worst fucking thing to do to anyone ever. Oh hell nah!!!" You sighed. "Would he mind if I come over just for a quick fix? Hold on... but I am in Kyoto!"

"Actually, I can drive you there. No need to worry about this," your driver cut in, his voice carrying enough to reach Shoko through the phone.

"This sounds oddly specific. Are you sure you're not projecting?" Shoko chuckled, and you couldn't help but laugh along with her until your driver chimed in again.

"Uh, but I am bleeding, like, a lot... Can't we go to the hospital or something?" you asked, suddenly feeling the full weight of the blood loss.

The driver didn't miss a beat. "There are traces of the curse in your arm... better to have a jujutsu expert deal with it."

"What??" Shoko's voice spiked with concern through the line. You heard the sound of her setting her drink down or moving around.

You winced, feeling the blood continue to seep from your wound, and tried to steady your breath. "Yeah, but like, I am bleeding a little too much??"

The driver, as calm as ever, didn't seem fazed by your increasing panic. "I fear that a doctor might make it worse... I can bandage it and-"

"Wouldn't I be at risk of, like, I don't know, dying though?" you interrupted, your voice rising slightly.

"... Perhaps." The driver's voice was still detached, like he was calculating it all.

Shoko's confused voice cracked through the static. "What the hell is going on??"

You took a breath, trying to rein it all in, even though it wasn't working. "...Hey, will you be free at like... 6 p.m.?"

Shoko let out a sigh on the other end. "Well, we planned to go to karaoke, since Suguru and Satoru had to go on a mission yesterday—"

"WAIT NOOOO! I wouldn't wanna ruin his birthday!" you nearly screamed into the phone, the idea of doing that making your stomach drop.

From the background, you heard Geto's calm voice cut through the chaos. "It's okay, seriously—"

"Oh MYYYY—Hii!" You immediately started singing Happy Birthday.

Shoko snorted on the other end, probably covering her face with her hand. "You're insane."

You barely made it through the Happy Birthday song before the world went black, your vision narrowing like a tunnel as everything around you started to fade. The last thing you registered before slipping into unconsciousness was the driver swearing under his breath, his voice muffled, like you were underwater.

---

When you came to, you were already being carted off to Kyoto Jujutsu High (and not the Zen'in clan compound that was way, way closer and more convenient). The nurse there didn't even bat an eye at your condition. Probably used to the whole "bleeding, cursed wound" routine by now. She poked and prodded at you, throwing some bandages on your arm, just enough to keep you alive for the trip to Tokyo. The painkillers she shoved in your system were strong enough to knock out a herd of elephants, and for the first time in hours, you felt... almost human.

Almost.

She handed you a bill. An absurdly high one. And you didn't even hesitate to pay her. Your brain wasn't firing on all cylinders, and honestly, you were just relieved you weren't going to die from blood loss right there. It was stupid to hand over that much money, but you were so delirious you didn't care. You were easy to scam, and you knew it. You hated yourself for it, but the coldness in your limbs and the overwhelming exhaustion made you too weak to argue.

Once you were shoved back into the car, you didn't even have the energy to sit upright. Your body hit the backseat like a ragdoll, and you collapsed, closing your eyes with a sense of finality. You weren't even sure if you'd wake up. In that moment, it didn't matter. You were so out of it, drifting between reality and sleep, that the thought of never waking again was more like a passing dream than a fear.

It felt like slipping into a deep sleep that you might never emerge from.

But honestly, right now, the idea sounded pretty good.

Chapter Text

Geto woke to the low hum of the dorm's radiator and the faint, acrid smell of burnt coffee clinging to the air, stubborn and unpleasant, like a headache waiting to happen.

Sixteen. He was sixteen today.

The thought sat strangely in his head, heavy and uncomfortable. He wasn't the type to make a big deal out of birthdays, but still, shouldn't it feel like something? Instead, all he could think about was last night. The memory of you standing there, practically shaking with rage, flashed through his mind. That unfiltered, raw anger. You'd looked like you were ready to set the whole world on fire.

And of course, he'd stepped in. Because that's what he did. Always trying to fix things, keep everyone from going too far.

That had gone well.

You'd snapped at him, throwing his intentions back in his face like they meant nothing. It stung more than he wanted to admit, which was stupid because he'd barely known you for a week. So why the hell were you taking up more space in his mind than the fact that he was finally sixteen?

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair and rolling his shoulders. The stiffness there was a not-so-gentle reminder of just how tense things had gotten. He grabbed a hoodie off the back of his chair and pulled it on, the fabric soft and worn. Maybe cold water would help clear his head.

He shuffled into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and leaned over the sink, splashing his face. The icy shock was grounding, but it couldn't drown out the voice in his head.

"Why are you stopping me, Geto? Just get out of my way!"

He stared at his reflection, water dripping down his chin. His usual calm mask stared back, but beneath it, something flickered. He wasn't wrong to step in. He knew that. You'd been seconds away from doing something you couldn't take back, something that would've followed you forever.

But the way you'd looked at him. Like he was no different from whatever obstacle had set you off in the first place.

Grabbing a towel, he dried his face slowly, his movements deliberate. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something, that maybe he should've handled it differently. But no. That wasn't him. That guy had deserved it. Hell, Geto had been tempted to let you finish what you'd started. But he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't about to let you tank yourself over some asshole who wasn't worth the energy.

Not that you'd cared.

You never seemed to care, at least based on the very few interactions you two had shared. And that, more than anything, was what stuck with him. It wasn't even like a Satoru-type situation where you could afford not to care. You were stubborn and reckless as hell, and that's exactly why he couldn't sit back and let you handle it alone. Someone had to stop you before you went too far, and it had to be him.

Satoru sure as hell wasn't going to do it.

By the time he made his way to the kitchen, the tension in his chest had dulled into something quieter. The faint smell of cooking wafted through the air, warm and inviting, and he paused in the doorway, blinking at the sight in front of him.

Satoru stood at the stove, humming to himself, the sleeves of his oversized hoodie pushed up as he flipped a pancake with ridiculous precision. A plate stacked with perfectly golden ones sat nearby, next to scrambled eggs, bacon, and a bowl of cut fruit.

"You're actually cooking?" Geto asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped inside. "Since when?"

Satoru glanced over his shoulder, flashing that stupidly self-assured grin. "Since always. I'm good at everything, remember?"

"That's what scares me," Geto muttered, pulling out a chair at the table. "Keep waiting for the day you finally screw something up."

"Don't hold your breath," Satoru replied, sliding another pancake onto the stack. He turned, pointing the spatula at Geto like a weapon. "Happy birthday, by the way. Try not to cry. I know this is the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Right," Geto said dryly, though the smell of the food was enough to soften his irritation.

The door to the dorm creaked open, and Shoko shuffled in, looking half-asleep. She barely glanced at the spread on the table. "Morning," she mumbled, leaning against the counter.

A beat passed.

"Happy birthday, Suguru," she added, like it was an afterthought.

"Thanks," he said, pouring himself some coffee.

She glanced at the food, then at Satoru. "Let me guess. Showing off again?"

Satoru spun around with a dramatic flourish, holding up the plate of pancakes. "This isn't showing off. This is generosity. A gift. A masterpiece." He paused for effect. "I'll accept your thanks now."

"You're annoying," Shoko said, though there was no real bite to it as she grabbed a mug for herself.

Satoru set the plate on the table, ignoring her entirely. "Well? Don't just stare at it, Suguru. Eat! You're sixteen! You're ancient now. Enjoy life while you still can."

Geto grabbed a pancake and cut into it. It was fluffy, perfectly cooked, and annoyingly good. He hated that he couldn't even pretend it was bad. "Still shocked you know how to cook."

"Like I said," Satoru replied, plopping into the chair across from him, "I'm good at everything. Cooking. Fighting. Making you laugh." He leaned back, arms behind his head. "What can't I do?"

"Shut up," Geto muttered, though there was no heat behind it.

Shoko slid into a seat, ignoring the pancakes entirely in favor of her coffee. "Sixteen," she mused. "Feel any different?"

"Not really," Geto said, leaning back in his chair.

"That's 'cause you're boring," Satoru interjected, stuffing a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Keep talking and I'll pour this coffee on your head," Geto replied.

Satoru laughed, obnoxiously loud, and Geto couldn't help the small, tired smile that tugged at his lips. For all the chaos, for all the tension still lingering in the back of his mind, there was something comforting about moments like this.

Maybe sixteen wasn't so bad after all.

---

The training field buzzed with the usual morning chaos, curses sparking and dissipating like fleeting firecrackers. Gojo and Geto were sparring, or as Shoko thought of it, trying to prove who could be more dramatic. Shoko sat cross-legged on a low bench nearby, soda in one hand and her phone in the other, vaguely pretending to care about what was going on.

A sudden flick of cursed energy sent a tree branch crashing down, but she didn't flinch. "You're gonna get yelled at," she called out dryly.

Gojo grinned from across the field, adjusting his sunglasses. "Not if Suguru gets blamed first. He's the one who used an actual curse to block me."

"Yeah, because you were aiming at my face," Geto shot back, his tone as measured as ever, though his glare betrayed mild irritation. His hair, now pulled loose from its usual bun thanks to Gojo's antics, fell in a curtain around his shoulders. He absently brushed it aside.

"Details, details," Gojo said, shrugging. "You could've dodged."

He then turned to Shoko. "Come on, Shoko, you're supposed to encourage us. Don't you want to see something cool?"

"Not if it ends with paperwork," she muttered.

Geto smirked as he dodged another strike, his movements as fluid as ever. "You'd think he'd run out of energy at some point."

"Never," Gojo said cheerfully, spinning to launch another attack. "I'm a limitless resource, literally."

Shoko groaned, wondering if anyone would notice if she just left them to it. She was about to light a cigarette when her phone buzzed against her leg. She glanced at the screen, hesitating for half a second before answering.

"Ah," she said into the receiver, her voice as flat as the look on her face, "so the Kamos and Zen'ins didn't kill you in your sleep?"

The shift in energy was immediate. Geto faltered mid-step, turning sharply toward her. Gojo, who'd been gearing up to launch another attack, lowered his sunglasses, his attention snapping to Shoko like she'd just dropped a grenade.

"No, not yet," came the voice on the other end, faint but unmistakably familiar. "I've got a bit of a situation here. I need help. It's... it's about a curse I ran into."

Her lips curled into a dry smile. "You want Suguru to swallow it for you or what?"

Geto groaned audibly, his hands dragging down his face as he muttered something under his breath. Shoko didn't need to hear the words to know they were some variation of Why am I friends with these people?

Gojo grinned like a wolf scenting blood, leaning in toward Geto. "You know, for someone who's got the moral high ground thing going, you sure get roped into some weird requests."

"You're not helping," Geto muttered, but his tone had softened into something resigned, his brow furrowed as he listened in.

"Don't say it like that," the voice on the other end snapped, though the snort that followed betrayed you. "You were complaining about how no one gets hurt enough for you to train, right? Well, guess what? I'm injured as fuck. Where are you?"

"Wow, so commanding," Shoko said, her tone a little louder now, mostly for the benefit of her eavesdropping audience. She caught the way Gojo elbowed Geto, mouthing, It's her, with a smirk. Geto ignored him, his focus locked on Shoko's side of the conversation. "I'm in the training field with the birthday boy and the others. What, you want me to drop everything and come to your rescue?"

"... Yeah?" The voice wavered. "Unless Geto's the type to take birthdays really personally and cry himself to sleep because you bailed on his special day. Oh, wait, no! That's the worst fucking thing to do to anyone ever. Forget it!" A long sigh followed. "Would he mind if I come over just for a quick fix? Hold on... but I am in Kyoto!"

Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing at Geto, who was now standing directly behind her, arms crossed. He tilted his head, mouthing, Kyoto?

Before she could respond, another voice cut into the phone call, loud enough for the three of them to hear. "Actually, I can drive you there. No need to worry about this," the unfamiliar male voice offered.

"This sounds oddly specific," Shoko teased, her gaze darting to Gojo, who was now leaning against the bench, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose as he tried to stifle his laughter. "Are you sure you're not projecting?"

On the other end, you let out a short laugh, only to follow it with a panicked tone. "Uh, but I am bleeding, like, a lot... Can't we go to the hospital or something?"

"There are traces of the curse in your arm," the driver replied calmly. "Better to have a jujutsu expert deal with it."

"What??" Shoko sat up slightly, her cigarette dangling precariously from her fingers. Geto and Gojo exchanged a look, their teasing expressions dimming into something sharper.

"Yeah, but like, I am bleeding a little too much??" your voice wavered.

The driver, still maddeningly calm, replied, "I fear that a doctor might make it worse... I can bandage it and-"

"Wouldn't I be at risk of, like, I don't know, dying though?" you interrupted.

"... Perhaps," the driver admitted after a long pause.

Shoko pinched the bridge of her nose. "What the hell is going on??"

There was a brief silence before your voice broke through again, lighter, though still strained. "...Hey, will you be free at like... 6 p.m.?"

"Seriously?" Shoko deadpanned, though Geto and Gojo leaned in closer, barely disguising their interest. "Well, we planned to go to karaoke since Suguru and Satoru had to go on a mission yesterday-"

"WAIT NOOOO! I wouldn't wanna ruin his birthday!" The sudden change in your tone made all three of them wince at the volume.

From behind Shoko, Geto spoke up, his voice calm despite the chaos. "It's okay, seriously-"

"Oh MYYYY-Hii!" you yelled before breaking into a very theatre kid-ish rendition of Happy Birthday.

Shoko pulled the phone away from her ear, her expression somewhere between amused and pained.

As you started singing on the phone, Geto's stomach dropped. This wasn't the typical casual "Happy Birthday" everyone hums along to. It was an all-out, lung-busting performance. You weren't even trying to be bad, like most people did as a joke to speed it up. No, you were seriously putting effort into hitting all the high notes, dragging the song like you were starring in a Broadway show.

His mind was already far away, transported back to that middle school theatre kid who really went all out when it was someone's birthday. The kind of kid who hit absurd high notes in "Happy Birthday," like they were auditioning for Phantom of the Opera, dragging it on and on until the entire class was silently praying for the awkward torture to end. Geto swore he could still hear it in his head sometimes when the weather was particularly grim, and right now? It was like déjà vu but worse.

His eyes glazed over, the faintest hint of something close to resignation creeping in. He glanced at Gojo, who was doubled over laughing and clearly enjoying his suffering in a way only he could. Meanwhile, Shoko was already mentally checked out, probably trying to save her own dignity by pretending she couldn't hear you at all.

But Geto couldn't look away. This was happening. He squeezed his eyes shut, and for one miserable second, he thought about what it would take to make you stop.

And then, suddenly, silence.

Geto's eyes snapped open, the absence of your voice both a relief and a horrifying mystery. His first thought? Did she just die?

"Did she-?" he asked, trailing off, but the words didn't feel real in his mouth.

---

The rest of the day felt like it was dragging, the tension lingering after whatever the hell had just happened. Everyone was pretending like nothing had happened, except for Shoko, who couldn't stop staring at her phone, wondering what the hell was going on with you. She wasn't the type to spam call, but the thought of you, somewhere out there, in whatever mess you'd gotten yourself into, gnawed at her.

She called once. No answer. 

Twice. No answer. 

By the third call, she almost gave up, but something made her dial again. She didn't know what she expected, but she couldn't just let it go.

She glanced at the time, shook her head, and dialed your number again. The phone rang a few times before you picked up. You sounded out of breath, like you had been running or fighting.

"Yo," you answered, your voice casual, like the world hadn't just tried to kill you.

Shoko, who was halfway through a set of stretches, stopped and stared at her phone. "What the hell just happened?"

You didn't even sound that concerned, but Shoko was about to lose it. You, on the other hand, were acting like you'd just had a rough night out. "Ah, I passed out."

Shoko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, and?"

"Okay, so," you hesitated, almost as if you were working through your own words. "I may or may not have misused Rewind twice in a row..."

She immediately stopped what she was doing, a mix of disbelief and frustration boiling up. "What?!"

You continued, not even bothered by her reaction. "First time, I tried to rewind the alcohol out of my system."

Shoko's face twisted into a confused, disbelieving look. "You did what?"

"Yeah," you said, as if it wasn't the dumbest thing you could've done. "And then the second time, I tried to rewind during an attack. Now there's a fragment of the curse stuck in my arm or something..."

Shoko let out a heavy sigh, not even trying to hide her exhaustion. "Great. And where are you now?"

"Oh, we're, like, an hour and a half away from Tokyo," you said casually.

Shoko felt her eye twitch. "And I'm supposed to do what with that information?"

"Heal me, duh," you cut in. "At which karaoke are you guys going?"

Shoko paused, clearly taken aback. "Well, none of us are really in the karaoke mood now."

She was about to hang up when you interrupted, your voice rising with that kind of panic she knew all too well. "Wait, wait. Can you put me on speaker?"

Before she could ask what the hell "on speaker" meant, you continued. "Geto, dude, I am so sorry. Are you mad at me for ruining your birthday? Do you hate me? It's okay if you hate me, honestly."

Geto, deadpan as ever, cut through your spiraling. "Uh... my birthday was yesterday..."

There was a long, awkward silence. Shoko could almost hear you fumbling with your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out slightly strained. "...Ah, yeah right..."

And then you asked the question that had Shoko wondering if you were doing this on purpose. "So, I'm not ruining anyone's birthday right?!?!?"

Shoko didn't even know what to say. She rubbed her face in frustration before glancing at Geto, who, despite everything, looked strangely calm. Gojo, on the other hand, was snickering to himself. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"Man, she's really something," Gojo muttered under his breath, grinning.

Geto just sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, you're not ruining anything. Just... get here safe, alright?"

There was a pause on your end, like you were processing his words. "Okay! I'll buy you lunch or something when I get back, promise!"

"You don't even know what-" Shoko started, but you'd already hung up.

She stared at her phone for a moment, then looked at the other two. "She's insane."

"Yeah," Geto agreed quietly, but there was something softer in his expression now. Not quite worry, but close. "But she'll be fine."

"Probably," Gojo added, still grinning. "I mean, she survived this long, right?"

Shoko just shook her head, tucking her phone away. "You two are idiots."

"Takes one to know one," Gojo shot back cheerfully.

And despite everything, despite the worry and the chaos and the absolute mess that was your existence, Geto found himself smiling. Just a little.

Chapter Text

Now that the adrenaline and the painkillers were fading, the exhaustion hit you full force. It wasn't just physical. It was bone-deep, the kind that crept into your chest and stayed there like an unwelcome houseguest. It reminded you of 11th grade in high school, easily the darkest stretch of your life. Your villain origin story, if you will.

Back then, you'd barely been able to drag yourself out of bed most days. Your back ached constantly from lying in one spot for too long, and the oppressive weight in your chest felt as permanent as the clutter in your room. You hadn't had the energy to clean anything, let alone take care of yourself. It was all too much, and yet somehow, never enough to justify giving up completely. That was the feeling washing over you now, sharp and familiar, like an old bruise pressed too hard.

Burnout. That was the word for it. It fit, though it didn't make the ache any less suffocating.

After the call with Shoko, you let your body collapse onto the mattress, which was, unfortunately, no longer as clean as it had been an hour ago. Blood had seeped into the fabric, but you were too tired to care. The driver glanced back at you briefly, his gaze flickering to the crimson stain before quickly returning to the road.

He said nothing.

Smart of him. You didn't have the energy for explanations, much less small talk.

You knew things were bad because even trying to laugh it off, blaming it on you being emo and overly dramatic, wasn't working. Not even a half-hearted joke could dull the edge of it. That's how you knew it was BAD bad.

You had, well, you had a pretty good idea why you felt this way. Almost dying will do that to a person, you guessed. It wasn't like you'd ever tested the theory before, but now that you were here, sitting in the aftermath of it all, the weight of the experience was impossible to ignore.

The feeling came out of nowhere, like a sucker punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, your chest ached, and you suddenly wanted to cry. Again. It wasn't the kind of tears that came with screaming or breaking things. No, this felt quieter, heavier. Like it had been sitting there, just waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

The moment you felt that lump in your throat, you knew it was over. There was no holding it back, no swallowing it down.

So you let it happen.

You cried. Quietly at first, then in messy waves that you didn't bother to control. The tears spilled over, unrelenting, and you didn't care if the driver noticed or pretended not to. You cried for the rest of the ride, face pressed against the mattress, each sob muffled by the hum of the engine and the world speeding past.

It wasn't graceful or cathartic. It just was.

---

You got there soon enough. The driver, bless his patience, even helped you haul your stuff up the stairs. By the time you reached the top, your emotional ass couldn't help but awkwardly side-hug him, the kind of hug where you pat someone like you're trying to fix a pillow.

"Thank you. I love you. I appreciate you. You're loved, don't let anyone tell you otherwise," you blurted, the words tumbling out in a breathless, watery rush.

He froze, his expression somewhere between confused and mildly horrified, like he couldn't decide if you were unstable or just really, really weird. After a moment, he gave a stiff nod, clearly eager to leave, and mumbled something that sounded like, "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Honestly? Fair reaction.

The driver descended the long staircase, the path winding down through the foothills of Mount Mushiro. The entrance, framed by a series of torii gates, seemed almost serene in the fading light, the red arches casting long shadows over the stone steps. He paused at the bottom, glancing back once, maybe to check if you were still watching or just out of habit.

That's when you heard it. Someone shouting your name in the distance. It was loud, enthusiastic, and, mercifully, free of mockery. That ruled out almost everyone you knew, leaving only one possibility.

Haibara.

Of course.

Even though you felt like absolute shit, the smile on your face wasn't the kind that made your cheeks ache in a bad way. It was small, genuine, the kind of smile that didn't demand too much of you but still managed to exist, stubborn and persistent, like it knew you needed it.

He came running toward you, panting heavily, while you stood there caught in that awkward limbo of not knowing where to look. Should you meet his gaze and risk making it weirder, or focus on some random spot in the distance? If you'd had your phone on you, you'd absolutely be scrolling through the weather app right now, anything to avoid the painfully long seconds of eye contact while he closed the gap.

"Heyyyy-" He started, but his voice died when his gaze fell on your arm.

Understandable.

It was hard to look at, like something out of a nightmare. The jagged claw marks left by the curse had torn through the skin, some deep enough to show the raw, angry red beneath. You had tried to heal it, to rewind the damage like you'd done before (your first encounter with a curse), but that had only made things worse.

The skin was an uneven mess now. Part of it an unhealthy, yellowish hue that almost seemed to shimmer under the light, a stark contrast to the angry, inflamed patches around it. The bandage stuck to the wound like it was trying to cling to a festering infection. When you looked at it, the wound pulsed with every beat of your heart, and you could feel the faint ooze, thick and sluggish, seeping through the fabric.

A sickly, viscous liquid pooled beneath the bandage, seeping into the edges where the dressing had failed to cover properly, creating a stain that seemed to grow every time you moved. It looked wrong, unnatural, like it was alive in a way it shouldn't be.

He froze, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, and his voice faltered as he tried to process what he was seeing. "What... what happened?"

You fought the urge to throw up as your eyes lingered on the mess of your arm. The sight twisted something deep in your stomach, but you only managed a gag before swallowing it back down.

"I messed up the healing process," you muttered, trying to keep it casual, though the words came out tighter than you meant. "Like, big time."

Your gaze flicked away from your arm, suddenly too aware of how much it hurt to look at it. The smell was almost worse than the sight. The air around you seemed to thicken with the heaviness of it all.

Haibara blinked a few times, his gaze shifting between you and the mess of your arm, then let out a small, nervous laugh. "Well, that's one way to screw up healing. Are you-"

What the hell! Does no one here have an EQ above 50?

Honestly, if you weren't in such a mood, you probably would've hit him with some sarcastic comeback. But unfortunately for Haibara, and maybe for yourself, you genuinely felt like crap.

He stared at you for a beat, his words dying in his throat as you suddenly collapsed into yourself. Your face disappeared into your hands, the sobs shaking your shoulders. It was SERIOUS business.

For a moment, he just stood there, awkwardly frozen, like he didn't know whether to move or stay out of the way. His fingers fidgeted at his sides as he watched you tremble, unsure how to react to the way you were falling apart in front of him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay..." His voice softened even more. The awkward silence stretched between you two, thick enough to choke on.

You barely heard him through the rush of your own emotions, but the sound of his voice made it worse somehow, like his attempt to comfort you was just another reminder of how much of a mess you were. You couldn't even look at him.

"I know I messed up, okay? I fucking know!" you blurted out, muffled through your hands, but the words felt too big and clumsy coming out. You couldn't get a grip on it. Everything felt too much. Like Franz Kafka once (probably never) said, "Fuck this stupid baka life!"

There was a long pause, and Haibara shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, uh... I mean, yeah, you kind of did, but-" He cleared his throat, realizing he probably shouldn't have gone there. "But it's not the end of the world, right? You'll figure it out."

You burst into even harder sobs.

Haibara's hand landed on your back in the most awkward, uncertain way possible. He patted you lightly, then did this weird rocking motion, as if trying to comfort you, but also making it very clear he had no idea what he was doing.

"It's okay!" he stammered, his voice high-pitched. He kept rocking you like he was trying to soothe a crying baby, except you were definitely not a baby and this was definitely not helping.

You pulled your hands away from your face, glaring at Haibara like he was the cause of all your problems. "Where the fuck is Ieri?" The words came out sharper than you meant, frustration leaking through every syllable.

Haibara looked taken aback, like he wasn't prepared for your anger. Then again, when was he ever? He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out-

"Right here."

The voice came from behind him, smooth and way too calm, like the tension wasn't a thing. You turned your head, eyes narrowing as Shoko stepped into view.

For a moment, everything just sort of paused. Haibara blinked, clearly confused, glancing between you and Shoko like he'd just stumbled into some weird sitcom moment.

Just like that, you did a complete 180. One second, you were glaring at Haibara, and the next, bam, you were full-on sobbing again.

"Shokoooo, I'm going to diiiiiieeee!" You wailed, your voice cracking. The words felt dramatic, but honestly, you weren't sure if you were being dramatic or just genuinely falling apart.

It was like the floodgates had opened, and now all you could do was let the tears fall. Was this your life now? Crying over messed-up healing and whatever the hell else you couldn't get under control? Probably. Some Mitski would've hit so different right now. Her ass needs to get in the damn studio, like yesterday.

Shoko, who'd been leaning against the stone wall nearby, smoking like it was her personal pastime, glanced at you. Well, more like gave you the side-eye. She didn't move, didn't flinch, just watched you with that same unbothered stare she always had, the cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers.

"Seriously?" she muttered as she took another drag, eyes flicking over the mess that was your arm, the bandage, the skin showing through where the healing had gone wrong. Her gaze lingered a moment longer than she'd probably intended, then she sighed, pushing off from the stone wall and walking over to you slowly.

"You know, you could've just waited after getting clawed by the curse, right?" Shoko's voice was deadpan, like she was explaining something painfully obvious. "It's a pretty common wound in the jujutsu world. But no," she added, eyes flicking over to you with a hint of dry amusement, "you had to go and mess up the healing process. Real smart."

You stared at her blankly.

"Just-" Shoko hesitated, her gaze softening as she looked down at your tear-streaked face. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Use Rewind and RCT only after I've taught you the basics, alright? You can't keep messing with stuff like that on your own. It's only gonna make things worse."

You very obviously didn't like what she just said, even though it was clear she was trying to be more careful with her wording.

There was a beat of silence, just the sound of her flicking the ash from her cigarette as she waited for you to either stop sulking or start listening. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more to the point than before.

"Now, let's go."

She grabbed your healthy arm and started leading you, the gesture almost too gentle for her usual attitude. Meanwhile, Haibara, always eager to be helpful, took the rest of your stuff, including the massive mattress that had somehow made its way into this chaos.

Shoko flicked another ash off her cigarette, then shot you a sideways glance. "And just so you know, I've been trying to cut down to five cigarettes a day. But thanks to you? I've smoked eleven today. So, you're welcome for that."

Oh...

---

She sat you down on the bench with a sharp sigh, her fingers pressing lightly against your arm to steady you. The evening air was cool in the mountains, the sky a bruised grey. There was a soft rustling of leaves in the distance, but everything felt still, tense. Shoko didn't waste time looking at you directly. She was focused on the mess you'd made of your arm.

The wound was bad, sure, but it wasn't nearly as deep as she'd feared. Still, it was bad enough. Your skin was torn from the curse's claws, jagged lines of red and raw flesh that looked like they were still pulsing with the aftermath of the attack. But what really caught her attention were the patches of yellowish, irritated skin around the edges, where the cursed fragments had lodged themselves.

You could almost see the curse particles, the fragments of cursed energy, like tiny little shards stuck in the surface of your skin, swarming underneath in a way that wasn't quite natural. They were barely inside, just the surface, shallow enough that Shoko wasn't at risk of doing more damage just by touching it, but she didn't need to be a genius to understand this wasn't a simple fix.

Shoko let out a slow exhale, a sharp line forming between her brows as she leaned in, getting a closer look. She wasn't panicking, but her usual carefree vibe had slipped, just a little. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pulling into a slight frown.

"Did you really try healing it yourself?" she asked, voice low but edged with frustration. "What'd I tell you about doing that before you understand the full picture? Rewind and RCT together, it's not a joke. You can't just mess with things like this."

She bit down on the edge of her cigarette, her free hand tapping lightly against the bench beside you. The way she paused, glancing from your arm to your face, showed just how close she was to being a little more worried than she'd ever admit.

"Honestly, it's not that bad. Surface-level curse fragments," she muttered, barely looking at you now as she focused on the curse itself. "Suguru could get rid of this in his sleep. But for now..." Her voice trailed off as she let the words hang in the air. She didn't want to get too ahead of herself, there was no point in getting all worked up about it, but she couldn't help the slight tension in her shoulders.

Her fingers brushed against the wound, and she winced just slightly, not at the curse, but at how messy it looked, how much you'd done to make it worse. She really wasn't a fan of seeing this kind of thing up close, but she tried her best to keep the cool facade.

"Okay, it's fine. Not the worst thing I've seen." She glanced at your face now, her eyes flicking over you with a subtle kind of concern.

Shoko's tone softened a bit, her gaze lingering on the cursed fragments that were stuck so stubbornly in your skin. She shifted, taking a quick drag off her cigarette before flicking the ash absently, eyes still on your arm as she processed what to do next. It was clear she was trying to not overreact, but it was hard to miss the subtle way her voice had softened, how her movements were more deliberate, more careful. There was a shift in her posture, a slight tightness in her shoulders that said more than her words ever could.

"Stay still, alright? I'll fix this, but don't make me have to do it again."

You blinked up at her, suddenly feeling like the world was spinning a little too fast for comfort. "Are you maaad at me? Do you hate me now??" You asked, almost too quickly, because honestly, the combination of the physical pain and your emotions were just too much. You were still in the thick of it, the tears sort of stopped but everything felt heavy.

Shoko blinked at you, clearly not feeling the same weight of your drama as you were. "Since when are you this clingy?" she drawled.

You shot her a look. "I've always been like this. Like, girl, we've known each other for, what, a week? How the fuck can you assume things about my personality already?"

Shoko paused. She just looked at you, eyes squinting like she was weighing her options on how to respond to that. And then, after a long beat of silence, she let out a breath.

"...Good point," she finally admitted, her lips twitching as though she were trying not to laugh.

Shoko stood up, cigarette now abandoned on the ground, a serious look creeping onto her face as she shifted into work mode. You could tell the minute she got into her head about something. There was this sudden focus in her eyes that sharpened her usual laid-back demeanor. She stepped closer to you.

Her fingers twitched, and she muttered something under her breath, her hands moving like they were preparing to cast a spell. You knew she was about to use her Reverse Cursed Technique, something she'd been warning you about, but you still weren't sure how exactly it worked.

Her hands hovered over the mess of torn flesh, a faint, pale blue glow beginning to pulse from her fingertips. It was subtle, just a shimmer at first, but the more she focused, the stronger the glow became. You felt the temperature shift as the reverse cursed energy hummed to life, crackling in the air, the energy seeking out the damage in your arm.

Shoko narrowed her eyes as she started to manipulate the energy, her hands shaking slightly as she pulled the curse fragments out. You could see the blue energy thread through the air like an electric current, weaving into your skin, but it wasn't quite as clean as she probably hoped. The fragments inside your arm didn't respond well to her technique. Some of them flickered, almost as if resisting.

"Shit," she muttered, her brow furrowing. She clenched her jaw and tried again, more forcefully this time, a bit too much aggression in the way she was handling it. The glow flared for a moment, but the curse fragments didn't shift. Instead, there was a faint pop, and you felt a sharp sting through your arm, your whole body tensing as the energy flickered.

Her eyes widened. "Ugh, damn it," she cursed under her breath, biting her lip.

Shoko immediately pulled her hands away from you and rubbed her temples with her fingers, exhaling sharply. You could see the strain on her face. "Okay, okay. Just breathe," she muttered, trying to calm herself down. She wasn't the type to freak out easily, but this was different. Reverse Cursed Technique was no joke, and when it went wrong, it could really go wrong.

It wasn't like she didn't know what she was doing. She did. But the nature of the curse inside your arm was tricky, and she could feel it resisting her every move. The fragments were embedded in your skin, and every time she tried to reverse the damage, it felt like she was just stirring up more trouble.

Another attempt. This time, she focused more. Her hands were steady, but her expression wasn't as confident. The blue energy shimmered again, but this time, it wavered and flickered in a way that made her frown.

"No, no, no," she muttered to herself, and you saw her hand twitch as she tried to pull the curse out, her technique nearly falling apart in the process. There was a low, almost imperceptible crackle of energy that sent a weird, prickling sensation down your arm, and you couldn't help but wince at the sensation. Her face twisted for a second, visibly annoyed.

She stopped again, looking at your arm like it had betrayed her, and it hit you: she was trying not to panic. And failing.

She exhaled a sharp breath and looked at you like she was about to apologize, but instead, she went for the most Shoko thing possible.

"Alright, shit, this is harder than it looks." She sighed, rubbing her neck. "Looks like we need someone with more experience than me."

After a pause, she gave you a tired look. "Don't worry," she said, her tone somehow softening just a little. "Suguru would be able to get rid of this in a second." She didn't even try to mask the frustration in her voice now, but she quickly added, "I mean, I'm still trying, so..."

She didn't finish her sentence, just sat back on her heels and studied your arm like she could will the curse fragments out with sheer force of will.

There was a moment where she seemed like she wanted to apologize, but the words were stuck in her throat. Instead, she just took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You really should've waited. This would've been a lot easier."

And that was it. No more words, just her focusing again, her hands trembling slightly as she tried once more to pull the curse fragments from your arm.

You were on the edge of an anxiety attack, so you stayed silent, too afraid to say or do anything.

---

Gojo and Geto arrived like they'd been summoned by the universe to make your situation infinitely worse. You could hear them bickering before you even saw them, their voices carrying through the mountain air like a herald of impending nonsense.

"You're just mad I beat you up the stairs," Gojo was saying, his tone smug enough to fuel an entire city.

"I'm mad because you ran ahead like an idiot," Geto replied, his voice calm but with an edge. "It's not a competition, Satoru. We're supposed to be checking on-"

He cut off as they both came into view, Gojo's lanky frame leading the way, his sunglasses slightly askew, his white hair catching the last of the evening light. He had the audacity to flash you a grin like he hadn't just made this the most obnoxious entrance possible. Geto followed at a slightly slower pace, his hair tied back in a different way than usual, his dark eyes scanning the scene with that careful, calculating look he always had when something was wrong.

"Wow, that looks bad," Gojo said immediately, zeroing in on your arm without even a hello. He leaned in closer, peering at the wound with absolutely zero tact. "Is that a curse fragment? Eugh, gross."

"Shut up, Satoru," Shoko snapped, not even looking up from your arm. Her tone was sharper than usual, and you could tell she was still annoyed about how her Reverse Cursed Technique had been going.

Geto stepped closer, his gaze lingering on your arm with far more seriousness than Gojo's. He crouched slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he examined the wound. "How'd this happen?" he asked, his voice calm but firm, like he was trying to piece together the situation without jumping to conclusions.

"Long story," you muttered, feeling suddenly self-conscious under both their gazes. Gojo's in particular was borderline clinical, like you were some science experiment he was trying to puzzle out.

"Uh-huh," Gojo said, straightening up and shoving his hands into his pockets. "So basically, you messed up. Got it."

"Satoru," Geto muttered, giving him a look. "Not helpful."

"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking!" Gojo shot back, his tone infuriatingly cheerful. He leaned casually against the bench, towering over both you and Shoko like he was enjoying the show. "Anyway, shouldn't this be, like, a Shoko thing? Or are we calling in the backup squad now?"

Shoko sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. "The fragments aren't deep, but they're stubborn. I've been trying to pull them out, but yeah, it's not cooperating."

Geto's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze still fixed on your arm. "I can handle it," he said. "If it's just on the surface, my technique should work."

"Oh, please," Gojo said, straightening up and gesturing dramatically. "Like you'd-"

"Guys," Shoko interrupted, her voice sharp. "Could we maybe not argue while someone's arm is literally falling apart?"

"Fine, fine," Gojo said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You do your thing, Suguru. I'll just stand here and look pretty."

"Don't worry, you're great at that," Geto shot back dryly, moving into position to start working on your arm. 

You didn't even dare look at your arm as you were this close to throwing up. All you could think about was how happy your Satosugu friends from back home would've been to witness this interaction. Hell, you almost fangirled in their place.

You could feel the tension between them, the kind that wasn't really tension at all but more like the residue of knowing someone too well. The kind that felt like unfinished sentences and arguments that never actually needed finishing. Let's go, shippers! You could practically see the AO3 tag in your head. If you ever made it back home, you just knew you'd write a fire fic about this. Maybe even multi-chapter.

Ah, yes, home. Exactly what you needed to think about in your already very unstable state. Perfect timing, brain.

"Hey," Gojo said suddenly, pointing at you like he'd just had the most brilliant idea in the history of ever. "If this doesn't work, can we amputate? I've always wanted to see Shoko try to grow a new arm from scratch."

What-

You blinked at him, your mind tripping over itself trying to process his words. For a second, you thought maybe, just maybe, he wasn't being serious. But then you caught his smirk, the one that said yeah, I said it, and what? and something in you broke.

Your breath hitched, a quiet gasp that quickly turned into a sharp, hiccuping sob. You clutched at your arm instinctively. Without thinking, you buried your face in your hands, the words tumbling out between strangled cries. "Yes, I know I fucking messed up! Can you stop reminding me of it?!"

Gojo froze like someone had just yanked the plug on his brain. His grin faltered, his posture stiffening as if he'd just realized he'd stepped on a landmine. "Wait, wait, no, that's not-hey, I didn't mean it like that!" His words came out rushed, and his hands hovered awkwardly in front of him like he was debating whether or not to pat you on the shoulder. 

Spoiler alert: he didn't.

"Smooth," Shoko muttered under her breath, clearly unimpressed as she put your arm back in the right position and resumed tending to it. It felt lighter now, and you noticed Geto wiping his mouth with a tissue. You could only presume he had somehow eaten it?!

Geto sighed, shooting Gojo a pointed look before crouching down beside you. "You're not in trouble," he said calmly, his voice low and even, like he was trying to soothe a spooked animal. "It's fixable, okay? We've all been there."

"Not me," Gojo interjected, still visibly uncomfortable but unable to keep his mouth shut. "I've literally never-"

"Shut up, Satoru," Geto snapped, his tone unusually sharp.

"I was just saying-"

"Satoru." Shoko's voice cut through the chaos, her gaze finally lifting from your arm to pin him with a withering glare.

"Okay, okay!" Gojo threw up his hands, taking a half-step back. "I'm not helping, I get it." He glanced back at you, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but had absolutely no idea what. "Uh, don't cry?" he offered weakly, his voice more of a question than anything resembling comfort.

You glared at him through your tears, your face still streaked with misery. "Fuck off!"

Gojo groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Man, why do people cry around me? I didn't sign up for this."

"You're awful at this," Shoko muttered without looking up, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

"I'm trying!" Gojo protested, throwing an exaggerated look of exasperation at Geto. "Can't you handle this? You're the one with the whole calming presence thing."

"I am handling it," Geto said, his tone clipped but patient. "Unlike you."

Gojo huffed but didn't argue, shoving his hands in his pockets as he awkwardly lingered a few feet away, still clearly unsure of what to do.

You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, tears still clinging to your lashes, and turned your gaze to Geto. Through the haze of your messy sob session, something clicked. "Hey..." Your voice wavered, but the observation was too important to let go. "Is that the hair claw I got you?"

The hair claw you got for Geto was one of those fancy Parisian ones, some obscure brand no one had heard of, but it felt fancy because it was French. It cost you ¥3,390 (about 29 dollars), so he better wear it! Yes, you were being irresponsible with your money, but that wasn't exactly new behavior. Back home, you had the same reckless streak. You'd buy gifts for random friends you'd known for a few months at most, and your mom would always chime in with her favorite guilt-trip: "Well, what did they get you for Christmas or your birthday?"

The answer was almost always nothing. Thanks, Mom. Really knew how to make you feel better.

Geto blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. He raised a hand, touching the sleek, black clip holding his hair in place. "Uh, yeah. It's practical." His tone was casual, but the faintest blush crept onto his cheeks.

You sniffled, managing a weak smirk. "Good to know you see the vision. But, like, be honest, did you get migraines before this? It always looked like you were tying it way too tight."

Geto's mouth twitched in what might've been a smile. "Sometimes," he admitted, clearly trying not to laugh at how abruptly you'd pivoted from despair to hair critique. "It's better now, though."

"Ha! Knew it," you muttered, leaning back slightly against the bench. "I'm basically saving your life. You're welcome."

Gojo, who had been sulking a few feet away, perked up immediately. "Wait, you got that for him?" He pointed accusingly at the clip, like it had personally wronged him. "What the hell, Suguru? I offered you a way cooler one last month, and you said no!"

"It had rhinestones, Satoru," Geto replied flatly, clearly unimpressed.

"Yeah, and? I was trying to class you up!" Gojo shot back, arms flailing for emphasis.

Shoko, still focused on your arm, muttered, "You have the energy of someone who bedazzles their flip phone."

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally attacked. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I absolutely would if they sold the kits in my size."

Shoko let out another curse under her breath, sharp and barely audible, but enough to send your panic skyrocketing. You jolted upright, clutching your good arm like it might help you hold on to your fleeting life force. "Oh my God, am I actually gonna die??" Your voice cracked, and the words tumbled out, gaining speed as the spiraling began.

"You know what?" you started, waving your uninjured hand for emphasis. "If I do die, I need to make sure I leave a legacy. Like, okay, listen, I want to get skinned or whatever-"

"Please, don't," Shoko muttered, not looking up, her hands still hovering over your cursed-infested wound.

"But, like, I need to look good. Throw some makeup on me. Give me a BBL if needed. I don't know, get creative with it! Then I want to be put in a museum. Yeah, like, put me in a glass case so my friends from back home can pull up and visit me. They could take selfies and be like, 'Yeahhh, we're hanging out with the bestie!'"

Geto, who had been leaning against the bench, raised an eyebrow. "That's a choice."

"And," you continued, completely ignoring him, "I want my future lover to show up, crying, obviously, writing some dramatic poem about how much they miss me and how life's never been the same since I died."

Gojo, perched on the back of the bench with one leg swinging lazily, blinked at you. "Kinda toxic for a ghost, not gonna lie."

You ignored him.

"And as for my funeral, all of you better cry for at least thirty minutes. But if you cry for more than that? You're getting kicked out. Too attention-seeking. Like, I'm the one who died, the focus should be on me." You jabbed your finger in the air for emphasis, then sighed dramatically. "Oh, and if Naoya pulls up, he better get jumped. Actually, just don't let him in."

At this, even Shoko glanced up, one eyebrow twitching. "Obviously," she said flatly.

You leaned back against the bench, staring dramatically at the darkening sky like a tragic heroine. "Well, if the getting-skinned-museum thing doesn't work out, you could cremate me. But, plot twist, mix my ashes with glitter and then have someone throw it from the ceiling, like at a party. Guests can open their mouths and-"

"No," Shoko cut you off, not even looking up from your arm. "I'm not getting sued because someone inhaled glitter-ashes and got PTSD."

"Lame," you muttered, pouting.

Chapter Text

At some point, while Shoko was healing you, Nanami and Haibara showed up. Haibara almost sighed in relief when he saw you weren't crying anymore, but the moment he noticed your bloodshot eyes, his expression faltered. You didn't blame him. You weren't exactly radiating joy. It felt like whatever weird, adrenaline-fueled high had carried you through your first few weeks here had evaporated, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. The novelty of survival had worn off. Now everything just felt heavy.

The others were talking amongst themselves, voices blending into an indistinct hum. You tuned them out, staring at the ground as if it might hold some secret answer to all your problems. And then you heard it: Gojo calling out to you.

Not your first name, of course. Not your last name either. Just あんた, that casual, almost teasing "you" that toed the line between friendly and presumptuous. It was the kind of pronoun that said I know you well enough to skip the formalities, whether you liked it or not... which was kind of sweet, if he weren't doing it for the fact that he didn't like being respectful.

Gojo had always done that. Never "Majiwara-san," never your first name unless he was mocking you. Just that pronoun, like he'd decided from day one that the two of you were on some level playing field that you definitely hadn't agreed to. It was weirdly intimate in a way that made you uncomfortable, but also strangely fitting for someone like him, someone who bulldozed through social norms like they were made of tissue paper.

Shoko, on the other hand, had started using your first name more recently. At first, she'd slipped up and called you by your last name, but lately, she'd been correcting herself, switching to your first name without making a big deal about it. It was nice. She didn't overthink it, didn't ask permission. She just did it, and somehow, that mattered.

Haibara always used your first name, and you his. It felt natural with him, easy. Nanami seemed to respect that boundary as well, though there was a hesitance in the way he went about it, like he wasn't entirely sure if he was doing the right thing. Considering no one ever calls him "Kento" in the manga, you figured it must've been a big deal for him to call someone by their first name. Yet he still tried. Clumsily, sure, but he made the effort. You presumed it had something to do with your painfully awkward first interaction. Awkward for them, of course. Definitely not for you!

And then there was Geto. He'd always called you by your last name. Standard, polite, easy. "Majiwara-san" or sometimes just "Majiwara" when he was being more casual. But it was deliberate, you could tell. The kind of deliberate that came off as polite on the surface but carried something unsaid underneath. He wasn't like Gojo, who bulldozed through formalities. Geto kept his distance, maintained that invisible line between you with careful precision.

You shook your head, trying to shake off the fog. Damn, you really needed some sleep, huh?

Lost in thought, you almost missed it when Gojo called out to you again. This time, he actually used your first name.

That snapped you out of your spiral. Your head shot up, eyes narrowing in surprise. Gojo stood there, hands stuffed lazily in his pockets.

"The newspaper?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, that signature grin spreading across his face. "C'mon, this has gotta be good. Spill."

Shoko, who had been sitting on one end of the bench and poking your arm once in a while, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, completely forgot about this."

Your brow furrowed as you glanced between them. "What the fuck are you two talking about?"

Geto coughed into his hand, looking almost guilty, which immediately made you more suspicious.

"You really don't know?" he asked, his voice calm but tinged with amusement, like he wasn't quite sure if he should pity you or laugh at you.

"No?" you said, dragging the word out as you turned your glare to Gojo, who was practically vibrating with excitement now.

"Oh, man. Lemme show you!" Gojo said, grinning like he was about to unveil the secret to the universe. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his beige flip phone, flipping it open with a dramatic snap. Before you could protest, he dropped himself onto the bench next to you, sprawling out like he had every right to take up more space than anyone else. Knees wide, posture all lazy confidence. He looked like he owned the whole damn world.

And sure, he did alter the balance of the world or whatever, so you couldn't exactly argue. If you were him, you'd be acting the same way. Actually? No. You'd be worse. Way worse.

But still!

You shifted slightly, just enough to feel it. The brush of his knee against yours, light, but there. Not enough to call attention to it, but enough to notice. The warmth of it grounded you for half a second, like the universe itself paused to make you feel something you didn't want to admit. You swallowed, pretending you hadn't even clocked it, though your shoulders tensed just a little.

Meanwhile, Gojo stayed completely unfazed, leaning back on his hands, his phone clutched between two fingers. He didn't move an inch.

"Move," you muttered, trying to shove at his knee with yours. Predictably, he didn't budge an inch.

"Patience," Gojo drawled. He fiddled with his phone for a moment, and despite yourself, you leaned closer to get a look. Yes, you were that friend, the nosy one who couldn't help but peek. God forbid a woman be curious, right?

And then you saw it. His wallpaper.

"Wait, is Geto your wallpaper?" you asked, blinking like the words barely made it out of your mouth before your brain caught up.

Gojo's grin snapped into place like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. "What, jealous?"

From his seat, Geto groaned audibly, rubbing a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the secondhand embarrassment. "I told you to change that."

"Nah, it's perfect," Gojo shot back, breezy as ever. "Captured your best side."

"You took it while I wasn't looking, and I'm mid-yawn," Geto deadpanned.

You bit back a laugh, your eyes bouncing between the two of them. "Okay, but seriously, why?"

Gojo tilted his head, a mock-thoughtful look crossing his face as he dragged out the moment. "You know how it is. Gotta keep my partner-in-crime close. Moral support and all that."

Geto didn't even flinch, just fixed him with a steady, unimpressed look. "That's not moral support. That's just you being weird."

But you were already clasping your hands together dramatically, leaning into the moment. "Oh my god, you guys. That is so cute. Adorable as fuck. What the heck. Bestie goals."

Geto shot you a look, half annoyed and half pleading. "Please don't encourage him."

But Gojo? He leaned back like he'd already won. "You heard her, Suguru. Bestie goals."

"I am so fucking jealous, actually," you muttered, narrowing your eyes at Gojo like he'd just stolen the last piece of cake at a party. You were jealous. You'd always wanted someone who'd have you as their ride-or-die, someone who'd put you as their wallpaper without a second thought!

Gojo snorted, leaning back on the bench with one arm slung over the backrest. "Are you about to cry again? Should I grab a tissue, or...?"

"I wish someone had me as their wallpaper," you grumbled, throwing a pointed look at Shoko, who was still sitting on the other end of the bench, unbothered.

Without even glancing up from her phone, Shoko deadpanned, "Sure. I'll put your mugshot as my wallpaper."

The air went still for half a second before Geto stifled a laugh, covering his mouth like he was trying to be polite. Gojo, on the other hand, cackled outright.

You froze, mouth slightly open, a new horror dawning. "Wait, oh, shit! The newspaper, yes! Fumiko had this journalist friend she'd contacted, I didn't expect her to be so efficient, though. But, er, did they really put my mugshot?!"

Gojo, ever the opportunist, tilted the screen toward you. The newspaper article. About you! No photos, though, thank God.

Your jaw dropped, and you leaned closer to examine the photos. 

"Wait!" Haibara yelped, standing awkwardly and leaning over to peek at the screen. "What even is this?"

And then Gojo decided to show you a picture he has snapped of you earlier while you were getting healed by Shoko and crying! What the hell!

Hey, at least you didn't look that bad... or maybe, you did.

The more you looked at it, the worse it got. It was the Instagram story paradox. Where you think you look good as hell at first, but the longer you stare, the uglier it gets.

You were pretty sure that's not what a paradox actually is, but whatever.

"Hold on," you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you snatched the flip phone straight out of Gojo's hand. "The more I look at this, the worse I look. Seriously, what the hell? Fuck!"

Nanami, who had been standing a little to the side, folded his arms and let out a sigh, the kind that practically said, idiots surround me. "That should be the least of your concerns."

"Nanami," you shot back, waving him off as if the very idea of "concerns" was beneath you, "my life is way too much to get worked up over jail, of all things."

Before anyone could stop you, you hurled Gojo's phone across the campus like it had personally insulted your entire bloodline.

"HEY!" Gojo shouted, springing to his feet so fast he almost tripped over the bench. He bolted after it, his gangly limbs moving with surprising speed. The phone skidded across the grass, spinning dangerously close to the stone wall by the training field. But, because the universe clearly favored him, Gojo snatched it up at the last second, clutching it to his chest like it was his only child.

He dusted it off, clutching it to his chest like it was some sacred artifact. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he shouted, staring at you like you'd just committed a cardinal sin.

"Out of sight, out of mind," you said simply, dusting off your hands like you'd just solved world hunger.

Geto, who had been leaning against a nearby tree watching this circus unfold, finally broke his silence with a quiet, amused hum. "I don't think that phrase works with the police," he said, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow in your direction.

The police. Right.

Gojo turned to Geto, waving his phone in the air like it had been through an apocalypse. "Suguru! Back me up here! Didn't you see?! That was unprovoked! Assault on personal property! Treason, even!"

"Yeah, no, I saw," Geto replied, completely deadpan. "I just didn't care."

Gojo was still inspecting his phone, mumbling complaints under his breath as if he were performing surgery on the thing. "You're a menace. I hope the cops do get you next time."

You ignored him.

"Shit! I just realized I won't be able to get a job because of this!" you blurted out.

You paused for a second, processing the thought, and then shrugged.

"Fuck work," you said, arms crossed, leaning back. "Either all of you are gonna have to support me-"

"No," Nanami cut in, barely looking up from his phone. "Not happening."

"Or I'll deepfake myself into a picture with some old billionaire with Alzheimer's and gaslight him into thinking I'm his long-lost granddaughter-"

Geto, who had been trying to take a sip of his drink, nearly choked, coughing into his sleeve. "Excuse me?" he sputtered, looking at you like you'd just suggested a murder.

"Hold up," Shoko interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "You what? And what's a deepfake?"

You stared at her like she'd just asked what a flip phone was. "It's a solid plan. All I need is like, five good photos, some basic editing, and-"

Gojo burst out laughing. "Damn, you've really got this thought out, huh? I like it."

"Thank you!" you grinned, pleased. "At least someone gets it."

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was a bad joke. "This is ridiculous."

"Hey, you're good with tech, right? MySpace and all that? You could help me out with this-"

"No." Nanami was dead serious, cutting you off immediately.

"Come on! I'll owe you big time," you pleaded.

"No."

---

You had lived, loved, laughed, and now you were in bed, staring at the ceiling. Shoko, standing over you, looked about as comfortable as a cat being forced to wear a sweater. She awkwardly tugged the blanket over your shoulders, tucking you in with the finesse of someone who had never done this before but was giving it her best shot.

"Uh, goodnight," she mumbled, patting your head with an almost mechanical motion, like she wasn't entirely sure what humans were supposed to do in this situation.

You squinted up at her, half expecting her to start reciting a bedtime story or some shit. For a second, it really looked like she was considering it, too, before she gave up entirely.

With an audible sigh, Shoko shuffled toward the door, her hands stuffed in her jacket. She paused on her way out, glanced back at you like she was checking to make sure you weren't about to spring back to life, and then, without another word, disappeared into the hallway.

Yeah. That was definitely the closest you'd ever come to someone tucking you in and telling you Once upon a time.

You tried to sleep on the stolen Kamo mattress, but, unfortunately, it still had bloodstains on it, which kind of killed the vibe. Speaking of your wounds, they still throbbed, but at this point, fatigue was the real winner. You were too tired to care.

Maybe that was why movie characters always sighed after hanging out with their friends and said things like, "I really needed this." Turns out, they weren't lying. Spending time with people actually did help. Annoyingly, it was one of those clichés your therapist used to drill into you: "Drink water, eat healthy, exercise, and spend time with people. It'll help." At the time, it felt like the mental health equivalent of telling a homeless person to just buy a house.

But, uh, yeah. She wasn't wrong. Turns out, living a somewhat healthy lifestyle did contribute to better mental health. Who knew?

Of course, it wasn't the magic fix. You'd laughed with them, cried in front of them even, but none of them really knew you well enough to handle the heavier stuff. You couldn't imagine sitting down with them and actually unpacking your emotions. That was a whole different level of vulnerability, one you weren't ready for, and, honestly, you weren't sure they were either.

So, yeah, you'd laughed. You'd hung out. And it helped, but it wasn't everything. Some wounds, physical or otherwise, weren't going to be solved by a few jokes and a pat on the back. Still, it was something. And right now, "something" was enough. Or at least, it had to be.

But it did make you wonder. Did you have someone here you could actually share this with? Like, really share it? Your classmates were fun, sure. Overall, they seemed like decent kids, for now, at least. But you could already tell that connecting with them on a deeper, more emotional level was going to be difficult. And emotional connection? Yeah, that's something you desperately needed right now.

Still, it hadn't even been a month since you woke up here. How were you supposed to know who you could trust? Who could actually handle the mess you were carrying without either crumbling under the weight or throwing it back in your face?

The closest you'd felt to that kind of connection was with Fumiko, the pregnant lady who already had enough stress on her plate and really didn't need you adding to it. And...

And a name crept up in the back of your mind, one you didn't want to think about. One that hit too close to places you weren't ready to revisit.

Aika.

You swallowed hard, forcing the thought down. Nope. Not tonight.

You fell asleep thinking of her and woke up thinking of her. Fucking stupid.

---

The morning greeted you with a dull, constant throb in your arm. Better than yesterday, sure, but still a reminder of the mess you'd gotten yourself into. Shoko must've done her best patching you up, but even her skill couldn't erase the ache completely. It was tolerable, though. Kind of. A hospital visit was definitely in your near future, but for now? You just wanted to get to class! Academic weapon, baby.

You threw on an oversized sweater and a long, flowy skirt, an ensemble that screamed middle-aged lady who owns a crystal shop. Practicality wasn't the point here. Comfort was. With your arm still bandaged, you improvised by slipping a plastic bag over it before tackling the usual hygiene routine, which turned into an awkward one-handed struggle.

Makeup? Absolutely not. They'd already seen you ugly cry, and if they could survive that horror show, your bare face was a non-issue.

If Yaga tells you something about you not wearing the uniform, you'll just call Fumiko! The fuck did you look like?

You sat cross-legged on your mattress, sipping coffee from a chipped mug while Shoko leaned against the wall across from you, her own mug held loosely in one hand. She looked rough. Not her usual level of laid-back apathy, but genuinely drained, like she'd been up half the night.

"Uh, you look tired," you said cautiously, unsure if this was a safe observation to make.

She glanced at you, deadpan as always. "Didn't put on makeup today. Thanks."

You blinked, caught off guard. "I didn't mean it like that! And, neither have I, by the way!"

She gave a small shrug, taking a sip of her coffee. "Sure."

It was silent. The bad kind of silent.

The quiet stretched out, heavy and awkward, and you found yourself squirming under her gaze. She tilted her head slightly, watching you like she was peeling back layers you didn't even know you had. "You're feeling guilty about yesterday, aren't you?"

You exhaled sharply. "Absolutely fucking kinda."

Shoko raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. "That's what I thought."

You shifted uncomfortably, staring into your coffee like it might offer some divine escape route. "Uh, sorry for forcing you to heal me. It was a pretty bad wound."

Shoko glanced at you over the rim of her mug, her expression unreadable. "I'm a healer. It's kind of the job."

"Yeah, but still," you mumbled, feeling the guilt creep up your spine. "You're too young to have to deal with such big wounds."

She blinked slowly, clearly unimpressed. "Wow. If your outfit didn't already scream 'lady in her thirties,' you definitely sound like it."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way she said it, so flat, so Shoko, left you stumped. Instead, you sank deeper into your oversized sweater, muttering, "Rude."

"Accurate," she replied, not missing a beat, before downing the rest of her coffee like she needed it to survive the conversation.

---

As you made your way to class, that nagging sense of déjà vu crept in, like an itch at the back of your mind you couldn't quite scratch. It didn't hit you until Jujutsu History, though, when Yaga handed out some papers.

You reached for the same sheet at the exact same time as Geto. Your fingers brushed, just a fleeting touch, soft and unintentional, but it sent a jolt up your arm like you'd been caught off guard by static electricity.

Both of you froze.

"Ah, sorry," you muttered, pulling back a fraction too quickly.

"No, it's fine. You take it," Geto said immediately, his voice steady but strangely careful, like he was trying not to startle something fragile.

You hesitated, eyes flicking to him, searching for something in his expression. He wasn't quite looking at you, but his lips twitched in a small, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"No, seriously. You first," you said, your words coming out almost too fast as you shoved your hand back like it had a mind of its own.

He blinked at you, his brows slightly furrowed, before shaking his head with a low, almost breathy chuckle. "It's just a paper. Go on."

And just like that, the sheet of paper felt heavier than it should've as you finally slid it off the desk and into your hand. You swore you could still feel where his knuckles had grazed yours, and you caught him tucking his hands back into his sleeves as though to keep them out of the way.

And that's when it clicked. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar. It was exactly like what happened after you cried for the first time at your new job as the rookie employee. You'd messed something up, big time, and bawled in front of everyone. Afterward, they all acted weird. Not mean, just weird. Like they were walking on eggshells around you, unsure if a single wrong word might shatter you all over again.

It felt like that.

The thing is, it didn't make much sense. None of them had been like this yesterday, even after you'd cried. Shoko had still been her sarcastic self, and Gojo was as annoying as ever. But today? Something felt different. Like everyone was trying just a little too hard not to step on a metaphorical landmine.

Which led you to one, inescapable conclusion: you were never crying again. Ever. Emotional vulnerability? It sucked. No one ever talks about the post-cry awkwardness, and honestly, that was the worst part.

---

Yaga stood at the front of the room, gesturing to a chalkboard covered in precise kanji, a map of ancient Japan, and a timeline stretching from the Asuka to the Heian era. His voice carried the weight of a lecture that had been honed to near-perfection.

"Now, as I was saying, the Heian period saw a significant shift in the flow of cursed energy within Japan, coinciding with an influx of immigrants and cultural exchange from the Tang Dynasty in China. The arrival of scholars, artisans, and even monks brought not only new technologies and philosophies but also a deeper understanding of mysticism and spiritual practices."

He tapped the board with his pointer, underlining a cluster of kanji. "In particular, the introduction of esoteric Taoist rituals and Buddhist mantras had unintended consequences. While they were designed to ward off evil spirits or harness divine power, they also inadvertently destabilized the balance of cursed energy in the region. The population density of Kyoto, the capital at the time, amplified this effect, creating hotspots where curses thrived."

Your eyes wandered to the kanji 両面宿儺 scrawled near the timeline. Yaga didn't give anyone time to get distracted. Damn, you didn't even need a Subway Surfers video! The guy was good at his job, you had to admit.

"This period also coincided with the rise of one of the most infamous figures in jujutsu history: Ryomen Sukuna, the so-called King of Curses."

You gasped. Loudly, dramatically. A real, sharp inhale that made the class (literally three people) turn their heads.

Gojo snorted. "What's wrong? You just found out he's real?"

You shot him a look, deadpan. "I'm setting the mood, Gojo."

Yaga, without missing a beat, continued as if he didn't have a class full of actual children.

"Sukuna's legend is often overshadowed by his infamy as a cursed spirit," Yaga continued, his tone growing grim. "But in life, he was a human sorcerer. A prodigy, even. The consolidation of cursed energy in the Heian period allowed for the birth of many powerful sorcerers, but Sukuna stood above them all, well, most of them. His techniques were so overwhelming that, even before his death, he was feared and worshipped as something more than human. A god of calamity."

Shoko leaned over slightly and muttered under her breath, "God complex much?"

"I know right. Mind you, he probably spent the whole time beefing with farmers or some shit."

Yaga was still talking.

"Sukuna's insatiable hunger for power was a byproduct of the Heian era's excess cursed energy, a period we often refer to as the 'Golden Age of Jujutsu.' It wasn't just the abundance of curses. It was the sheer scale of destruction caused by those who sought to tame them. Many of the techniques we use today were perfected during this time, but so were the methods of turning curses against one another. Sorcerers began to experiment with binding cursed spirits into vessels, rudimentary precursors to today's cursed tools."

"Like Sukuna's fingers," Geto said, his voice soft but cutting through the room like a blade. You'd never seen anyone radiate this much main character energy in your life. It was unfair! You were supposed to be the protagonist here, right?!

Yaga paused, nodding. "Precisely. Sukuna's transformation into a cursed object was unprecedented in its completeness. Each of his fingers contained enough cursed energy to rival the most powerful curses we face today."

You felt the atmosphere in the room shift, the weight of Sukuna's legacy settling over everyone. Even Gojo stopped doodling, though he didn't look up.

"But let's not forget," Yaga concluded, "the influx of cursed energy wasn't entirely negative. Without it, jujutsu sorcery wouldn't have developed into the system we know now. And the Heian era's challenges laid the foundation for many of the barriers and seals we use to protect civilians today. It's a double-edged sword, one we're still learning to wield."

He looked smug as hell by the end of it. That was the face of someone who knows he ate up the metaphor, like he just dropped the hottest verse in a cypher no one else was invited to. This was the face of Oprah when she dropped her "were you silent or silencED" line.

He turned back to the board, erasing 両面宿儺 with a sharp swipe. "Now, let's discuss the role of the Fujiwara clan in regulating cursed techniques during this period."

You glanced at Geto, who was scribbling something furiously in his notebook. Shoko looked half-asleep, and Gojo was poking the back of her head with a pen. You shifted in your seat, a little unsettled. Sukuna's name had a way of sticking in your brain like an itch you couldn't scratch. Actually never mind, he is more of a yeast infection! Fuck him, for real.

Shoko wrinkled her nose, lazily prodding her temple with her pen. "Ugh, I've always been grossed out by the weird wood-thing over his eyes in the illustrations. And don't get me started on the mouth on his stomach. What's the point of that? Pure nightmare fuel."

Yaga, still scrawling diagrams on the board, glanced over his shoulder. "There are a few theories about Sukuna's appearance, though most are rooted in myth rather than fact. Some scholars suggest that the wooden binding over his eyes was symbolic, a representation of how the sorcerers of his time tried to suppress his overwhelming power. As for the mouth on his stomach, it's been speculated that-"

You interrupted, leaning back in your chair, deadpan as ever. "Yeah, no, the real reason? He ate his twin brother in the womb."

The room fell into stunned silence, every head snapping toward you in perfect synchronization. It was the kind of silence where even the air felt judgmental.

You paused, blinking innocently before raising your mug of suspiciously sweet coffee for a sip. "What? His mom was starving. Poor lady was just trying to make it out alive, and Sukuna's fatass was like, 'Nah, I'll handle it.' Dude's been greedy since conception."

The silence stretched on for an agonizing beat longer than you were comfortable with. Shoko had frozen mid-yawn, staring at you like you'd grown a second head. Geto's pen hovered over his notebook, his jaw slightly slack. Even Gojo, the reigning king of inappropriate humor, looked caught off guard for once, his sunglasses slipping down his nose as he gawked at you.

Yaga finally broke the silence, his tone a perfect blend of skepticism and annoyance. "Where exactly are you getting this information from?"

You hesitated, realizing too late that maybe, just maybe, you had overstepped. "Uh. A documentary? Or like, uh, the Internet? I'm a fangirl so, you know. Our fandom is called the..." what the fuck were the Sukuna stans called back in your world?! "The suckuners? Suckinators?"

"The Internet," Yaga repeated flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're telling me this supposed revelation about Sukuna's prenatal cannibalism came from the Internet?"

Shoko snorted, recovering first. "Honestly? That tracks."

"I mean, it makes sense," Gojo chimed in, clearly deciding to roll with it. "Eats his twin, grows an extra mouth for all the snacks he missed out on. Stomach-mouth explains itself. Kinda efficient, actually."

Geto sighed, shaking his head but smiling faintly. "This is why no one takes jujutsu history seriously."

You shrugged, trying not to let their reactions rattle you too much. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm just saying it explains a lot. Like why he's so big, you know?"

Yaga muttered something under his breath about "the death of academic rigor" as he turned back to the board, clearly done with this conversation.

You sank back into your seat, fighting the urge to grin. Yeah, maybe you'd derailed the entire lecture. But honestly? Worth it.

Chapter Text

For the first time since this whole isekai bullshit started - well, second time, technically - things actually slowed down. No dramatic life-or-death situations. No cursed spirits trying to murder you in your sleep. Just... quiet.

The days fell into a rhythm you didn't ask for but got anyway. Haibara dragging your ass on morning runs like some kind of fitness cult leader. Classes that blurred together into one long lecture about stuff you'd never remember. Shoko roping you into impromptu biology lessons that made you question if she was training you or prepping you for med school (she wasn't serious about the whole med school thing, was she?!) And you, spending every spare moment terrorizing MySpace like the digital menace you were.

Your arm was healing fine. Better than fine, actually. You'd caught Shoko buried in textbooks about advanced healing techniques more than once, her expression unreadable but focused in that way that meant she was onto something. She checked on your arm constantly, prodding at it with clinical precision that would've been annoying if it wasn't actually helpful. The hospital visits? Yeah, you skipped those. Everything seemed on track, and the ache had faded to barely noticeable.

The real issue was that it was your dominant arm. Meaning you couldn't write for shit.

Shoko stepped up to take notes for you. So did Geto, surprisingly - volunteered without you even asking. Meanwhile, Gojo spent every class doodling stick figures fighting each other and bragging about his "flawless photographic memory," so you didn't waste energy getting offended when he didn't offer to help.

Ugh, he's such a genetic nepo baby!

If you didn't know what was coming, you might've actually enjoyed those days. The biology sessions with Shoko were... something. Haibara's morning runs weren't exactly your idea of fun, but they were manageable. You could've settled into this weird little routine.

Except you did know what was coming.

February 2006. The Star Plasma Vessel mission was only a few months away - the catalyst for everything spiraling into absolute hell. And you? You still hadn't come up with a single plan. Not one fucking idea.

Yeah, no. That wasn't okay. At all.

Your mind was a complete mess, tangled up in a thousand threads of worry with no one to help you unravel them. Fumiko was eight months pregnant now, staying over at a friend's house. You weren't worried about her - she was in good hands - but that didn't mean you could dump all your problems on her. You trusted her, you really did, but piling this shit on top of everything she was already dealing with? You couldn't do that to her.

You glanced over at your classmates and underclassmen. Shoko, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, and Haibara were all clustered together on the benches outside. Unsurprisingly, Haibara and Gojo were the loudest, their voices dominating the entire group. Geto was doing his usual Zendaya laugh at Gojo's jokes because of course he was, while Nanami sat off to the side being his ever-lovable emo self. Shoko chimed in here and there, her tone as flat as always.

Meanwhile, you? You were going through it.

Every so often, one of them would glance your way, clearly trying to pull you into the conversation. You'd give them a dismissive "Haha, yeah," or "So true, bestie," without even registering what they were talking about. Honestly, you had no clue if your generic responses made any sense, but no one called you out on it, so you figured you were fine.

You were sipping on your iced tea, letting the cold sweetness distract you from your spiraling thoughts, when Haibara - ever the golden retriever of the group - tried once again to pull you in.

By that point, the others had already gotten the hint that you weren't in the mood to talk. They'd mostly left you alone, content to let you just exist in the moment. Gojo, on the other hand, had no such social boundaries and would occasionally toss a comment your way, clearly expecting you to engage.

You ignored him, staring at your tea like it held the answers to all your problems.

Newsflash: it didn't.

Your iced tea had no answers, no life-altering revelations. It was just cold, sweet, and utterly useless - kind of like Gojo, who was now leaning back on the bench and tossing a crumpled piece of paper at Geto's head for the third time in a row.

You sighed, rising to your feet with a vague wave of your hand. "I have something to do. See you later."

They all paused, glancing at you. Shoko raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her cigarette still lazily hanging from her fingers.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that," Gojo called after you, kicking his legs out in front of him as he leaned further back on the bench. "We were just getting to the good part!"

You didn't bother looking back. Whatever nonsense they were cooking up could wait. You had bigger problems to deal with - ones that couldn't be solved by iced tea or Gojo's loud commentary. Okay, maybe they could be solved by iced tea. But not peach iced tea - mango iced tea!

You gave him a sheepish smile, barely meeting his gaze. "Uh, yeah," you mumbled, before quickly turning on your heel and walking off.

Behind you, Gojo let out an exaggerated sigh. "Man, she is really bad at goodbyes."

"Or maybe you're bad at reading the room," Shoko retorted, taking a slow drag from her cigarette.

Geto chuckled under his breath. "Let her be. Everyone needs their space sometimes."

True, that.

You did need your space. Ever since that one lesson where Yaga talked about Sukuna, the King of Curses had been stuck in your head. No, not Yaga - Sukuna, obviously! Nobody seemed to take you seriously about it - everyone just assumed you were making shit up, which was cute, aww, they already knew you so well! But Yaga? He was acting weird. He wasn't buying your half-assed attempts at playing dumb (and a Suckinator), and that freaked you out. You couldn't trust him enough to actually ask him about it, but it was obvious he suspected something. You were panicking, like full-on meltdown level panicking.

Naturally, you came up with a brilliant plan: make up some completely ridiculous story about Sukuna - something so absurd it couldn't possibly be true. The idea was that Yaga would see it, shrug, and think, *Oh, she just likes to make stuff up,* instead of suspecting that you actually knew things you weren't supposed to and ratting you out to the higher-ups. Snitches get stitches, sure, but Yaga was the one who was actually good at stitching stuff.

So, the next time the subject came up, you threw something out there. Something ridiculous. "Oh my god, I've heard Sukuna adopted some monk guy who had ice powers he couldn't control. And Sukuna... because his refrigerator broke, he adopted him and made him cook humans for him. Sukuna is a papa."

You watched as everyone side-eyed you in perfect unison. And this time? You got it. You could practically hear the *What the fuck?* echoing in their heads.

That was a new low, even for you.

You didn't even know what the hell Uraume's backstory with Sukuna was - hell, you weren't even sure how refrigerators fit into the Heian era - but you had to admit it: you were just making shit up as you went along. And yeah, no way that nonsense was even remotely plausible. Right... right?!

But no, Yaga got even weirder! What the fuck was happening? He wasn't even pretending to be chill anymore. So, you had to keep quiet for once - which just made everyone more uncomfortable, because you always talked. You got shit to say. Every damn thought you had in your head was basically a public service announcement. Even the dumb stuff, like: "Ugh, so tired," "Ugh, so hungry," "Ugh, so cold," "Ugh, I wanna die."

Yeah, you'd love to be all mysterious and brooding, but realistically? You couldn't physically shut up. It wasn't in you. You were more like a walking commentary of your every irritation, every little thing that popped into your head, and everyone around you knew it. Silence? Not an option.

Well, except now. You actually didn't feel like talking.

Back in your room, you flopped onto the stolen Kamo mattress (that Haibara had cleaned for you, obviously) and pulled your flip phone from your pocket. The thought of calling Fumiko immediately popped into your head - she always knew what to say, even if she was half-asleep or busy. But as your thumb hovered over her name in your contacts, your eyes landed on someone else's:

Aika <3.

Your chest tightened. You stared at the name, almost as if it might disappear if you blinked too hard. The urge to call her was strong - almost overwhelming - but your thumb stayed frozen. What were you even going to say? What could you say?

Aika's name sat there in your contacts, perfectly still, perfectly unbothered. She wasn't calling - of course she wasn't - but that didn't stop you from staring at it, willing it to do something, anything. You waited for her name to blink or light up in some sign that she might make the first move. That little arrow next to her name almost felt like a dare - like it was taunting you to press it, to take that first step.

You'd blocked her, after all. She'd tried to reach out before that. So why the hell were you sitting here, hoping she'd call you a hundred times a day like some lovesick idiot? But at the same time, if she cared enough, she'd do it, right? Bare minimum effort. That's what you kept telling yourself. Still, the stupid part of your brain wouldn't stop. It kept whispering what-ifs and maybes, like it had nothing better to do.

With a deep breath, you pressed the button. The click of the keypad seemed way too loud in the quiet of the room. Your heart felt like it was trying to crawl out of your throat as the screen lit up, displaying Aika's name in bold, mocking letters. For a second, you almost hung up right then, pretending this moment of weakness had never even happened. But the phone started ringing, and before you could change your mind, it was too late.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to, like, call back," Aika's voice came through, all sing-songy. "Took you long enough, babe. I was, like, this close to filing a missing persons report or somethin'."

You could practically hear the exaggerated pout in her voice, followed by the faint click of gum snapping.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Gulped. Opened it again. Closed it. The third time, you finally forced out a sound.

"I'm... I'm... hi...??"

Smooth. Apologizing was way harder than it had any right to be. Why couldn't there just be a button for this? Something like *Insert Automatic Sorry Here.*

"You're what? Sorry, maybe? For like, ignoring me the whole damn week?!" Aika's voice pitched up, dripping with exaggerated disbelief. "Ugh, do you even know how much I wanted to block your ass back? Like, girl, be so for real right now."

You bit your lip, trying to find the words. "Can we talk...?"

Aika didn't miss a beat. "We are talkin' right now, duh."

"No, like... face to face, I guess."

"Eh? Where are ya?"

You exhaled sharply. "Um, at Jujutsu High. I'm presuming you know exactly where it is," you said, leaning into the passive-aggressive edge.

"Uh, obviouslyyyy," Aika said with a scoff. "Didn't I already pull up when ya needed me with that Shoko chick?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," you snapped, clenching your phone like it was her neck.

"Right," she sighed. "My shift starts in six hours, so I can swing by..." Her words were nonchalant, but there was something else in the way she said it - something like she was trying to make the whole situation sound more casual than it was.

You opened your mouth, the words stalling in your throat. "No... don't bother yourself," you said, but it came out all wrong, like you were trying to push her away when you really just... didn't want to deal with the mess. Shit, why did you even call her?!

"Well, whatever. You said we gotta say what we gotta say face to face, right?" she shot back, her voice light, but her words carrying an edge you couldn't ignore. "You said it yourself, babe."

Your chest tightened, and you shifted on your feet, trying to mask the discomfort - even though she wasn't even in the room with you. "I mean... like, when you're free?" you asked, the question hanging awkwardly in the air, thick with something you couldn't name.

Aika's response came a little too quickly, almost like she was trying to hide something. "Do you wanna see me or not? Yes or no?"

You sucked in a breath, the silence stretching between you two, and for the first time, you didn't know what to say.

You remembered back in your world when your friends - those Victoria's Secret model lookalikes who probably had no concept of rejection - would dish out dating advice. The kind of advice that made you want to dig a hole and disappear. They'd suggest saying things like, "I've been thinking about you" or "I want to spend time with you." Yeah, no. You never went there. The sheer vulnerability of it? Terrifying. How could anyone just say that out loud? Absolutely not.

You'd been working on being more open with people, sure, but there was a line, and you weren't about to cross it. The only time you ever let anything remotely close to affection slip out was when your friends would hand you a pen or a piece of chewing gum. And you'd take that as your one shot to say something that sounded halfway decent, like "I love you, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me." Of course, it was ironic, totally a joke - but you fucking meant it. Maybe not in the way they thought, but it was as close as you were willing to get.

But hey, ever since you'd gotten here, things had started shifting. You liked to tell yourself it was your JJK-self merging with your new personality or whatever - an excuse, really. The truth? You were changing. You were getting out of your comfort zone. You almost got arrested, for crying out loud. You got a girl's number. Yeah, be gay, do crimes, right?

Saying no now would mean everything you'd done in the last month didn't count. It'd feel like betraying yourself. All the progress? Gone. The effort? Wasted. So, you didn't back down. You couldn't.

"I... yeah. It'd be great to talk. Don't come though... let's meet up at the café we went to once? The one near your workplace in Roppongi?"

Aika's voice came through, teasing and confident, just like she always was. "Aww, look at you, all grown up! Yeah, that works for me. Don't keep me waitin', though, babe." You could hear the soft click of her tongue as she let out a short breath. "I'll be there. You better show up, or I'll make you regret it. You feel me?"

"Yeah. In an hour?"

"Sounds good."

Okay, maybe you should've said two hours instead...

You were practically having a meltdown, rifling through your makeup, clothes scattered everywhere, when you heard the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat.

You snapped your head toward the door. There stood Shoko, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "You're panicking. What's up?" Her voice was low, deadpan.

"I... I talked with Aika, and we'll meet up at a café in Roppongi," you said, frantically searching through your wardrobe. "I wanna look good since it's in Shinjuku, but I only have 20 minutes to pull it off."

"Aika?" Shoko snorted, clearly amused. "Haven't heard that name in a while... when's your little rendezvous?"

"In an hour," you muttered, still stressing over your options.

"You've got a time manipulation technique."

"Yeah, but..." You gestured helplessly to your arm, still in the process of healing. It didn't quite have the impact you wanted, especially since it was nearly healed.

"I warned you about Rewind and RCT. Not Accelerate. You've got that one pretty well under control. Worst case, you burn through too much cursed energy, but I highly doubt it'll be a problem. You'll only need it for the forest anyway."

Her tone was flat, like she was giving advice to someone who should know better by now, which, well... you kind of did.

She went up to you and started looking for an outfit while you worked on your makeup with your non-dominant hand. When Shoko noticed you were struggling, she quickly moved to help, though she didn't exactly understand your techniques. You were more of a 2024 makeup person, and she was all about that 2006 style. Very different approaches.

"Hold on, um, can you like... use a beauty blender to apply the foundation? It just looks better. Hahaha, I don't mind, though."

"Don't use your fingers, please... I don't want you to get messy. A brush would be better."

"That's too crazy for eyeshadow! I mean, I like it, it's just..."

"Why are you putting concealer on my lips?? Oh... for light pink lipstick? Um..."

"The mascara looks too clumpy..."

"Where's the blush?"

So yeah, let's just say Shoko was ready to fight you by the end of it.

You tried your best to stay out of Yaga's line of sight as you sneaked through the halls. Of course, Gojo and Haibara - loud as hell - spotted you. Before they could even open their mouths, you cut them off with a quick, sharp command.

"Shut the fuck up. If you tell Yaga, I'll..." You let the threat hang in the air, eyes narrowing as they both froze. Without waiting for their response, you dashed down the stairs, heart racing.

You couldn't use your technique here - not with the way things were. You'd recently learned that any unregistered cursed energy detected within Jujutsu High's barrier would trigger an alarm. You weren't about to be the reason the school went into lockdown for some stupid reason!

You learned this from Geto. His usual method was to inform the school beforehand whenever he needed to use his cursed technique, something you'd seen him do plenty of times. But you weren't about to follow his example... because you were sneaking out! Also, it was depressing that he had to do this at his own school, but you digressed. It wasn't time for no jujutsu therapy yet!

It wasn't until you hit the staircase that you allowed yourself to exhale a little. Once you were up, you'd have a bit more freedom to act without risking the alarm. For now, though, you had to keep moving.

Surprisingly, you made it out. Now, you had to use Accelerate - something you hadn't relied on in a while. The hesitation from your last failure still lingered, but you pushed it aside.

As soon as you tapped into the technique, you felt the strain. Your body moved too quickly, out of sync with your own coordination. The initial burst of speed wasn't clean, your legs feeling clumsy as they tried to match the pace. It wasn't smooth, not at all. You stumbled more than once, your limbs just a bit too heavy for the rapid movements.

The hardest part wasn't the physical speed - it was keeping your brain up to speed with everything happening around you. Your thoughts felt like they were lagging, a second too slow to process what was coming next. The trees blurred as you darted past them, the ground under your feet shifting too quickly for you to even adjust. It felt like you were constantly on the verge of losing control.

You pushed yourself harder, but the energy was draining faster than you'd thought. By the time you reached the clearing, you could barely keep your legs from buckling. The technique sputtered out, leaving you gasping for air, your body trembling from the effort. It wasn't pretty, but you'd made it through. Just barely.

Shoko had theorized, back in her lab, that you must've inherited the instincts of your "past self" - that's what you liked to call your JJK-self, and she didn't question the term. But as time passed, those instincts were fading, leaving you to struggle more with your technique. It made sense, sure, but you hated it.

The idea that you were losing that edge, that natural flow you once had, gnawed at you. You'd gotten used to the easy precision, the effortless power. Now? Every move, every decision, felt clunky, like you were piecing together something that didn't quite fit.

It also meant you'd have to work harder. Fuck.

You followed Gojo's "technique" of hopping on top of someone's car. It was reckless, but whatever, you had a destination, and you weren't about to get stuck waiting for a damn cab. You were halfway through when you spotted a metro stop in the distance.

Now came the real struggle: asking for directions. You approached a group of people, trying to act like you weren't about to lose your mind over how badly you needed this information. A couple people looked at you like you were a ghost, then straight-up ignored you.

You rolled your eyes, a little frustrated, but kept going. It wasn't about pride anymore, it was about getting there, damn it. Another person finally gave you a glance. You almost jumped on them out of desperation. "Hey, do you know how to get to Roppongi?" You asked, voice a little sharper than intended.

The guy blinked a couple of times, then pointed vaguely down the street. "Train, then change lines," he muttered, not looking at you anymore.

You suppressed the urge to make a snarky comment.

After a lot of asking around (and embarrassing yourself), you'd somehow managed to find yourself in Roppongi.

The streets stretched out before you, alive and breathing with the pulse of a city that never slept. Neon signs flickered overhead, their garish colors bleeding into the night - reds and blues and greens that cast everything below in an unnatural glow. They flashed advertisements in bold, brash strokes, some in English, some in Japanese, all screaming for attention in a language that felt both foreign and familiar. You were used to seeing them in your native language, after all.

A thin mist clung to the pavement, swirling beneath your feet as the evening air grew thick with the scent of grilled meat and hot oil. Food stalls lined the streets like little islands in a vast urban sea, their vendors calling out to passersby with practiced enthusiasm.

The noise was constant. People shouting over each other, their voices rising and falling in sharp, jagged bursts. Cars honked and swerved. The occasional motorcycle revved past, its engine roaring like a beast in a rush. The crowds moved in waves, their faces momentarily illuminated by the harsh light before dissolving back into shadow. A young woman brushed past you, her perfume mixing with the fumes of the street, her heels clicking sharply on the concrete. Somewhere nearby, a group of men in suits laughed too loudly, their voices lost in the hum of the night. The city never stopped, never hesitated.

It was the kind of place where you felt both anonymous and visible at the same time, where you could blend into the throngs of people or be swallowed by the noise. Streetlights cast long shadows across narrow alleyways - some lit, some dark - and the air buzzed with a restless energy, like the pulse of a heart that never slowed. You didn't quite know where to look, or if you even wanted to. There was too much. Too many people, too many lights, too many noises. Everything pulled at you, tugging at your attention, each fragment of the city screaming for your focus.

You found your way to the café. The door slid open with a soft whoosh, as though it too were breathing in the night. Inside, the warmth was a relief from the cool air outside. The faint smell of coffee and old wood filled your lungs. The walls were adorned with abstract art - geometric shapes and bold colors that probably meant something to someone. It was quiet here, but not the kind of silence you craved. It was heavy with expectation, like the air before a storm.

You slid into a chair by the window, leaning your elbows on the table, staring out at the city. It was almost like you were finally starting to breathe again after holding it in for so long. But the waiting... you hated the waiting. Aika still wasn't there. You checked your phone for the hundredth time. The message from her was the same: "metro prblms :("

Sigh.

As you set your bag down on the chair next to you, your fingers absently fiddled with the hem of your jacket. You weren't even sure why you were here in the first place. Honestly, you were starting to regret it.

Now all you could do was wait for Aika, who was clearly taking her sweet time. Typical. You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to act like you weren't completely freaking out.

You'd have to order at the counter anyway, so you decided to just sit tight and wait for Aika to show up. Even though, deep down, you were seriously craving a hot chocolate to calm your nerves.

And then...

The door slid open with a soft chime, and she stepped in.

Aika's presence filled the room immediately. Her blonde wig - a definite upgrade from her last one - caught the dim light, each strand falling perfectly over her shoulders like she'd spent hours getting it just right. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet café as she scanned the room. It wasn't so much that she commanded attention - it was more that the space bent toward her, suddenly aware of something different.

She wore a short, tight dress with a puffer jacket thrown over it. Her accessories - silver bangles that glinted with every move, a chunky ring on her finger - added to the air of someone who knew how to stand out without even trying.

Her makeup was sharp, each detail exaggerated to perfection. Thick black eyeliner shaped her eyes into something piercing, the wings extending like claws. Her lashes - unnaturally full - fluttered with every blink. Her lips were a glossy pink, not the tacky shade Shoko tried to put on you... okay, maybe it was, but she pulled it off.

Aika wasn't just walking to you. She was arriving. She didn't look around for long. Her gaze cut straight to you across the room, and in a single step, she was at your table, her lips pulling into a wide smile.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," she said, sliding into the seat opposite you like it was the most natural thing in the world, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the quiet hum of the café.

For a moment, the world around you felt like it had tilted sideways. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. It was like your tongue had tied itself into knots, and you couldn't figure out how to untangle them.

You blinked a few times, staring at her, then looked down at the table, focusing on the grain of the wood as if it could offer some kind of escape. God, why was this so hard? You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, and it felt like it might explode any second.

"So..." Your voice cracked when you finally spoke, and you immediately wished you could take it back. You cleared your throat, trying again. "How's... uh... how's work?" Yeah, that was a good one. Definitely the most interesting thing to talk about right now. You could practically hear your brain screaming at you to say something, anything, that wouldn't make you sound like a total idiot.

Aika raised an eyebrow, a little smirk curling at the corner of her mouth as she leaned back in her seat, clearly waiting for you to say something more than just that. You could feel the pressure building, the awkwardness thick in the air, like it was suffocating you.

"Work's fine," she said, stretching the word out as she looked at you with an almost teasing glint in her eyes. "But I don't think that's what you wanna talk about." She didn't say it, but you could feel her eyes running over you, like she was waiting for you to snap out of whatever haze you were in.

You felt like you might die right there. Your palms were suddenly clammy, and you hated how much your body was betraying you. What the hell was wrong with you? You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to find some way to ease the awkwardness, but all you could think about was how dumb you must have sounded. You could barely even look at her.

"So, uh..." you started again, your voice barely above a whisper, "How, uh, have you been?" You cringed even as the words left your mouth, but you couldn't stop. You had to say something.

Aika's gaze softened slightly, though it still carried that sharp edge. "Been fine," she said, her tone still light. "But I think you're the one who needs to talk, yeah?"

Ugh!

You had to force every fiber of your body to just spit it out. The words tumbled out in a single, awkward breath: "Uh, sorry for blocking you and ignoring you for a week?"

As soon as you said it, you wanted to melt into the floor. You weren't even sure if it came out as a question or an apology, the tone so shaky it barely resembled either.

She didn't say anything right away, which only made it worse. Her silence felt like it was stretching on forever, and you couldn't tell if she was amused, annoyed, or something in between. You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of everything - the way your fingers were gripping the edge of the table too tight, the awkward angle of your legs, the way you could feel sweat pooling under your collar.

"'Sorry for blocking me?'" she repeated, arching a brow. Her voice was light, teasing, but you swore it carried just enough of a sting to make your stomach twist. "That's all you've got?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The panic bubbling in your chest rose higher, and you could feel your thoughts scrambling to piece together some coherent response, something to make you sound less... pathetic. But it was like your brain had short-circuited, leaving you to sit there, blinking at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Aika sighed, flipping her hair over one shoulder, her acrylics catching the light as she waved a hand dismissively. "Ugh, fine, I'll go order for the both of us, yeah? While ya like... figure out whatever it is you're tryna say, okay?"

She slid out of her seat with a practiced elegance that only she could pull off, her blonde wig bouncing slightly as she walked off toward the counter, her heels clicking against the floor like a metronome counting down your impending doom.

While you were panicking, your eyes darted wildly, desperate for something - anything - to anchor you. That's when you made eye contact with a nearby table. A group of teenagers, clearly not even trying to hide that they'd been listening in, froze mid-whisper.

Your initial instinct? Unleash your stress in their general direction. Nosy-ass bitches (you were literally one yourself, but...). You inhaled sharply, gearing up to let them have it, but then you really looked at them.

Black eyeliner smudged just right, piercings that gleamed under the café's dim lighting, thrifted jackets covered in patches, and messy-yet-perfect hair. They looked... cool. Like, effortlessly cool. The kind of cool you'd never admit to envying but always did.

You hesitated, your anger dissolving into something closer to awkward admiration. "Uh..." You cleared your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I was about to cuss y'all out, but... you look pretty cool. I like your makeup and outfits."

They exchanged glances before one of them smirked. "Thanks," the one with the most eyeliner said, leaning back in their chair. "Your friend, uh... pretty loud, though."

"Yeah, well," you muttered, looking away quickly, "mind your own fucking business next time."

Another one snorted, leaning forward with a lazy grin. "Nah, see, even if you're dead wrong, you gotta act like you're the one who's right. Like, double down on it, y'know? Own that shit."

He flicked a strand of dyed purple hair out of his face, his chain bracelet clinking against the table as he gestured lazily. The others nodded like he'd just dropped the gospel truth, one of them tapping a cigarette box against their palm.

You leaned back in your chair, leveling him with a sharp look. "First of all, watch your tone - I'm literally older than you."

The kid smirked, unbothered, and you rolled your eyes before continuing, glancing briefly at Aika still at the counter, her blonde wig catching the café lights.

"Second of all, I only pull that move with people I don't care about," you added, voice softening just a little as your gaze lingered on her. "Unfortunately, I care about her. A lot."

The words felt heavy leaving your mouth, like

admitting it made the knot in your chest tighter. The teens exchanged glances, one raising an eyebrow, but they didn't say anything, letting the weight of your statement hang in the air.

Suddenly, one of them leaned forward, the flickering neon light catching his disheveled black hair. He had that scruffy, careless look - a faded band tee barely hanging onto his frame, ripped jeans with chains dangling off the sides, and scuffed boots. His piercing eyes glinted, and the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips felt like a challenge, like he knew something you didn't.

"Well, if you keep stuttering like that," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "I don't see this conversation going anywhere. Might as well hand her a note that says, 'Do you like me? Check yes or no.'"

The others snickered, one nudging him in the ribs, but his eyes stayed on you, challenging.

You blinked, still thrown off by the whole situation. "Don't y'all have anything better to talk about?" you asked, genuinely curious.

The guy with purple hair shrugged, a nonchalant grin spreading across his face. "Uh, not really. We already know everything about each other, and we're getting bored, so..."

You couldn't help but sigh, nodding in reluctant agreement. "Ugh, fair point. I do that shit too."

Your conversation came to a halt when Aika started walking toward you, and the teens were looking at her in anticipation. Nosy-ass bitches!

Aika set the hot chocolates down in front of you, the rich, creamy steam curling up into the air. You hadn't expected it - hot chocolates instead of something stronger - but you didn't mind. She slid into the seat across from you, still twirling her straw with that carefree smile. You could feel the eyes of the teens on you, but instead of making you freeze, something clicked.

They were right. It wasn't entirely your fault. Aika had been the one who lied to you, after all. You hadn't done anything wrong. You were allowed to be confused. You were allowed to fuck up. You took a deep breath and looked at Aika, locking eyes with her. For the first time tonight, you felt like you weren't alone in this.

"Thanks for the drinks," you said, your voice steadying as you shifted in your seat, glancing toward the teens with a little more confidence now. "Guess you were right... I'm not gonna apologize. But I do wanna talk. About everything."

Aika raised an eyebrow, glancing from you to the hot chocolates and then back again, her usual carefree attitude replaced with a hint of confusion.

"Eh? What's up with you all of a sudden?" She cocked her head, studying you for a second. "You were all flustered a second ago and now you're acting like... what? Some kinda boss? What's this mood swing, girl?"

She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip from her own drink, still eyeing you with that puzzled expression, clearly trying to figure out what had triggered the sudden shift in you.

You took a deep breath and you said it, your words finally coming out with clarity, the fog in your mind lifting. Damn, maybe you'd have to thank them for their help - who knew you'd get something out of this conversation?

"You had approached me in the Kyoto hospital, knowing who I am and knowing I'd go to Tokyo Jujutsu High, right?"

Aika paused mid-sip, her hand faltering before she set the cup down with a clink. She blinked, clearly caught off guard, her eyes narrowing as she processed what you just said.

"Wait, hold up," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and hesitation. "You think I knew who you were back then?" She tilted her head, flicking a strand of her blonde wig over her shoulder. "Girl, you seriously think I planned all this out?"

She chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to it now. "Nah, you're trippin'. I didn't know any of that. I just... I just thought you were cute and fun, and I wanted to get to know you, that's it. You're acting like I set some big trap or something." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening as she looked at you more seriously. "What, you're mad about that?"

You sighed. "Can we be honest? I said I wanted to talk, not lie." As you said that, one of the teens whistled. You wanted to glare at them, but you were too busy talking and not lying, of course. "You're Haibara's sister. Only you and him can see curses in your family, and according to him, no one in his family wanted him to go to Jujutsu High. That includes you."

Aika froze, her face losing its usual carefree energy. Her lips parted for a moment as if she was about to say something, but then she stopped herself. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a second, and took a deep breath before looking back at you, her eyes narrowed but somehow guarded.

"Well... damn, you really did your homework, huh?" she muttered, her voice softer now, almost a little hesitant. She straightened up, suddenly looking more serious than you'd ever seen her before.

"Yes or no? Did you know who I was?"

Aika's eyes flickered to the side for just a second before she forced herself to meet your gaze again, a subtle shift in her demeanor as if she was bracing herself for something. She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come out immediately.

You didn't say anything - just waited, knowing she'd crack.

Finally, Aika sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet space between you. "Alright, fine," she muttered, the usual cheer gone from her voice. She leaned back in her seat, staring at the table like she was trying to put the pieces together in her mind before she said anything else.

"Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I knew who you were. I knew you'd end up at Jujutsu High too. But I didn't - I wasn't trying to make you feel like... like you had to trust me or anything. I just thought..." She trailed off, her fingers tapping nervously against the rim of her cup. "I thought maybe if I could get close to you... you know, you'd understand me a little better. And understand why I'd feel anxious about my brother..."

She looked at you, her gaze a little softer now, but still filled with something unreadable. "So yeah, I approached you in Kyoto. But I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

Aika took a deep breath before continuing. "I did want to be your friend... and I didn't expect it to get this complicated."

You felt a lump form in your throat as she spoke, a mix of frustration and confusion flooding you once again. The pieces all fit, yet somehow the reality still felt strange. She had used you. But on the bright side, this was the first time you'd jumped to a conclusion and actually been right! A win for overthinkers everywhere!

"And how... how did you know I'd be there? At the hospital?"

"Well, let me start from the beginning..."

---------------------------------------

Aika was pissed the fuck off. No sugarcoating it - she was fuming. The new girl had climbed the rankings in just three damn months, a feat that should've been impossible, but there she was, practically oozing with success. It pissed Aika off more than she wanted to admit.

The girl was nothing special, right? Long, straight black hair that shimmered like ink when it caught the light. She had that delicate, porcelain skin, a little too perfect, a little too much like the damn beauty standards that this country loved so much. Aika's gaze narrowed as she watched the new girl work, her perfect little smile and the way she tilted her head just so when she laughed - it was all so rehearsed. Aika knew exactly what was going on. But what she didn't know was why the hell this girl was stealing her spotlight so damn fast.

Tonight had started off like any other - busy, loud, and filled with the promise of rich clients. But then, things took a turn. The manager, who usually sent Aika over to the high rollers - because, of course, she was the best at keeping them hooked - had sent the damn new girl instead.

She had seen the client the manager was talking about. A man in a crisp suit, a little too flashy but in that way that screamed money. He had the look of someone who was used to getting what he wanted, someone who paid for the best. Normally, Aika would've been the one to slip over to him, make sure he was comfortable, and keep him coming back for more. But no. This time? The new girl was the one who got the assignment.

Aika could feel the grip of frustration tighten around her chest. She still had the number one spot, sure. But it was slipping - slipping faster than she could control.

Every day, it felt like someone was stepping in line to take her place. Every time she saw that perfect smile of the new girl, it made her blood boil just a little more. The girl didn't even have to try hard. She was just there, in the right place, at the right time, doing everything right. Meanwhile, Aika had to fight for everything she had. She couldn't just stand by and watch it slip away. Not like this.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. She wouldn't let the new girl take everything. Not now, not ever. She had worked too damn hard for that. Aika grabbed a drink, wiped her hands on the cloth in front of her, and forced a smile to slide across her lips. Her spot at the top wasn't finished yet. It wasn't even close.

Lucky her, not only was her career on the line, but her family life was crumbling too, and it pissed her off even more.

Her family had come from the countryside, a quiet life far from the flashing neon lights of Tokyo, and her father had somehow managed to secure a job in the city. The problem? He'd decided he wanted to go full tanshinfunin, which meant moving to Tokyo alone, leaving his wife and children behind to fend for themselves. He probably thought it was for the best - work in the big city, send money home, and live the "big dream." But her mother, like any sane person would, was furious. She didn't give a damn about Tokyo's lights or its promises. Her mother had built a life in the countryside, and the thought of being abandoned for a job in a far-off city was something she couldn't stand.

Aika remembered the fights, the long nights of her mother crying, the heated words, the promises of "We'll be okay without him" that always felt like a lie. Her mother had stuck it out, doing everything on her own, but the tension had been there, thick in the air, like a storm that never fully broke.

Aika had to watch all of it, helpless in her own way, and as much as she hated to admit it, a part of her resented both of them. Her father for being too selfish, her mother for holding on to a man who was never really there. And now, here she was, standing on her own, trying to climb the ladder in a world that felt colder with every step she took.

Tokyo had promised her the future, the escape, and for a while, it felt like it was all she needed. But now, with her career teetering on the edge, it was clear that the stakes had gotten a whole lot higher. Not only did she have to fight to stay at the top, but she had to fight against everything else that threatened to pull her under.

And Aika? She wasn't the type to lose. Not to a new girl, not to a broken family, and certainly not to her own past.

But, hey, she's getting ahead of herself. So if her mother hated Tokyo so much, what is Aika doing here?

Well, her mother may have hated the idea of moving to Tokyo, leaving behind the life and the floral shop that had been her pride and joy - the only one in their village. But there was one thing she hated more: the idea of her husband having too much fun in Kabukicho's red-light district.

After they'd moved in, Aika's mother became obsessed. She couldn't stand the thought of her husband, with his sweet talk and his soft smile (it was her mother's delusion talking, literally no one else thought that), slipping into the sleazy bars and brothels of that area. The idea alone made her blood boil. So, in a twisted sort of way, she took matters into her own hands. She started going to Kabukicho herself, lurking in the shadows, searching for him. Watching, waiting, like some kind of obsessive detective who'd lost all sense of pride.

But one night, as she wandered the neon-lit streets, that's when it happened. She stumbled upon a host bar. The lights were dim, the music heavy, the air thick with the perfume of women on the prowl and male hosts who promised everything and nothing at the same time.

Aika's mother, ever the proud woman, had no intention of stepping foot inside something like that. But the curiosity was too much. She had to know - what was so appealing about places like these, anyway? How could you pay for intimacy? Isn't that an oxymoron in itself? So, she did what anyone in her position would do: she entered.

And that's when she met the host who would change everything.

The young man had silver hair, slicked back with too much gel. He wore an expensive suit, but his eyes - his eyes were the ones that caught her attention. Cold, calculating, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and that made her skin crawl. He was nothing like the men in her life - nothing like her husband. This one had the allure of someone who lived in a world Aika's mother didn't understand.

She'd gone back more times than she cared to admit, all while trying to keep it a secret from Aika. The obsession only grew. Watching the hosts, talking to them, trying to figure out who her husband was meeting, and what kind of life he was really living in the shadow of Tokyo's flickering lights.

And well... that's what led Aika to become a hostess.

After hearing all the constant arguments at home, she couldn't help but get curious. At sixteen, with the rebellious spark of youth and a desperate need to escape the stifling tension at home, she slipped into the world her mother tried so hard to shield her from. She got her friends to find a bar that wasn't particularly reputable - one that would accept "minor" clients. The idea of it, though wrong, seemed like an easy way to make sense of the confusion at home. The flashing neon lights, the whispers, the promises of easy money - it all lured her in like a moth to a flame.

Her brother, on the other hand, was the son everyone would be proud of - well, the kind of son who could make your chest swell with pride at how hard-working and good he was. But also the kind you'd worry about, especially when you thought about how he'd gotten involved with Jujutsu High at just fifteen.

The world of hosting, in theory, wasn't that deep. Everyone knew what it was: transactional. Fake smiles, fake laughter, empty glasses filled with meaningless conversation. Yet, reality didn't always play by the rules of theory. There were men - mostly foreigners, but not only them - who didn't get it. They didn't understand that this was all a performance, a facade. They saw her as something more than a hostess, more than an entertainer.

Some of them had started following her home. Some had even gotten creepy about it, sending unwanted gifts, lingering around her favorite spots. Others mistook her for something else entirely - a sex worker, maybe. Which, technically, wasn't completely wrong, but also, it wasn't the whole truth either. It was a gray area she had no intention of fully stepping into.

But as dangerous and suffocating as the world she'd walked into was, it was still nothing compared to the world her brother had chosen.

At fifteen, he'd entered Jujutsu High, stepping into a world that demanded everything from him. The risks were far greater. The stakes, higher. While she was stuck dealing with men who couldn't take a hint, her brother was out there, facing curses - fighting things that could kill him in an instant. His dream of becoming a Jujutsu sorcerer wasn't driven by fame or wealth; it was something deeper, something Aika wasn't sure she would ever fully understand.

And her stupid, idiotic brother had already been sent on missions - at fifteen.

It made Aika's blood boil every time she thought about it. He was barely old enough to understand how the world worked, and here he was, out there fighting curses, facing dangers that most adults couldn't even comprehend. It didn't help that their parents, who had no issue with frequenting the red-light district themselves, acted all high and mighty about her career choices. They were disappointed in her, sure. But when it came to Haibara - oh, they were glad she hadn't gone down the sorcerer path, as if that made her decisions any less of a mess.

Her parents, their fractured relationship, their inability to even attempt to fix things - Aika had been left to navigate it all. She and Haibara had learned to rely on each other when they were younger, not just because their parents couldn't even look at each other without arguing, but because they both shared something that set them apart from everyone else. They could see curses.

Aika and Haibara had always known there was something different about their world. It wasn't until they were small, too young to understand the full scope of it, that they first saw the dark, twisted shapes lurking in the corners of their lives.

It started subtly. A shadow that seemed to stretch longer than it should, or the way the air would feel heavier, suffocating, when they walked through certain streets. Haibara had been the first to point it out, his voice a whisper, barely above a breath, as he tugged on Aika's sleeve one rainy afternoon.

"Did you see that?" he'd asked, eyes wide, looking towards the empty alley that ran alongside their neighborhood. She had shaken her head, dismissing it at first, thinking it was just the trick of the light. But then she felt it too - a coldness, an unnatural stillness that gripped her chest, making it hard to breathe.

The thing wasn't visible at first. But when they looked harder, when their young minds focused, they saw it - a wisp of darkness, coiling and twisting in the air like a snake. It was small at first, a shadow that could be mistaken for a trick of the mind. But Aika knew it wasn't. Haibara had been right. There was something in that alley, something that shouldn't be.

"Is it... real?" she whispered, her heart racing as she stood frozen next to her brother.

Haibara's face was pale, his hand clutching hers tightly. "Yeah. I can see it too. It's... watching us."

The realization hit her like a punch in the gut. They weren't just imagining things. This was real. Something beyond their understanding, something that no one else seemed to notice, was there. Watching. Waiting.

From that moment on, it became impossible to ignore. The curses - they were always there. Small ones at first, like the shadow in the alley, or the flicker of movement in the corner of her vision. But as they grew older, the curses grew stronger, more aggressive. They learned to stay quiet, to not talk about it when they saw their parents arguing, or when their friends laughed at something they'd said. No one understood. No one else could see what they saw.

Sometimes, the curses would appear in the night, when everything was quiet, when the world felt as though it was holding its breath. Aika would lie awake in bed, staring into the darkness, knowing that if she closed her eyes for too long, they would be there. Watching. Waiting. Her body would tense, every muscle screaming for her to move, but she stayed still, too afraid to make a sound. Haibara, always the brave one, would shift next to her, his eyes scanning the room like he could see them too.

"I see them too, Aika," he'd whisper, and even though his voice trembled, there was a strange comfort in knowing she wasn't alone.

It wasn't long before their world became a place of constant vigilance. Curses lurked in the shadows of the playground, in the back alleys where the sunlight never quite touched. They learned to avoid certain places, to trust their instincts. It wasn't just the darkness they feared, but what hid within it - the shapes that twisted and morphed, the eyes that seemed to follow them, the cold whispers that never seemed to stop.

And yet, through it all, they held onto each other. They had to. Because no one else could see what they could see, and no one else would understand the weight of carrying that knowledge alone. The curses were everywhere. But Aika and Haibara, in their own way, were stronger because they saw them. They weren't like the other kids. And maybe, just maybe, that made them more dangerous.

But the curses her brother was fighting weren't like those "grade 4" ones they saw as kids. Oh, hell no. He'd recently gone up against a grade 2, with some other kid - Geto-san, he called him. "Don't worry, he's the strongest! He can help me! I don't need help, but..." Yeah, guess what? The fucking idiot got wrecked. Like, badly. Something with one of the curses, 'cause he told Geto that he could handle some mini curse on his own while Geto was busy dealing with a whole damn army of curses.

Sure, he got off lucky, considering he had Geto-san there, and the Shoko chick managed to patch him up. But girl, let's be real. He isn't gonna be this lucky forever. And that thought? Ugh, it just made Aika wanna scream. Like, how stupid can he be?!

While she was busy cursing her idiot brother - seriously, he needed to stop watching Naruto! Trying to fight with one arm gone isn't "the shinobi way," it's just fucking stupid - her manager finally called out to her.

Finally! A rich client! Because duh, Aika's the prettiest hostess here. She's got the looks, the style, the vibe - and she knows it. Time to make some money and get her mind off her dumbass brother for a minute.

Aika blinked for a moment, not quite sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. This guy didn't look like the usual kind of client. No suit-and-tie businessman with a creepy grin and a desperate need to feel important. No, this guy looked like he belonged in a completely different scene - early twenties, sharp features that could cut glass, and an energy that was just... off. There was a darkness to him, something that made the air around him feel heavier, almost like the kind of guy who'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Her manager was already pointing at him, clearly eager to get this guy settled. Aika couldn't help but roll her eyes internally - she knew what that meant. This client was going to drop some serious yen, so it was time to put on the act.

With a quick fix of her hair and a deep breath to steady herself, she slipped into her hostess persona. Big smile, sparkly eyes, everything designed to lure in the rich and lonely. She made her way to the table, heels clicking sharply against the floor with every step, her gaze carefully meeting his but not lingering too long.

"Good evening, sir," Aika purred, her voice warm and welcoming, though her mind was still trying to process how out of place he felt here. "What can I get you tonight?" She slid into the chair across from him, folding her legs elegantly, ready to give him the perfect dose of charm, like she always did with her clients. She wasn't here to match his energy, that's for sure. No, the new girl was better for that - quiet, demure, the type to cater to his brooding silence. But Aika? She was all smiles, all sparkle.

She kept her voice light, trying not to let her confusion slip through. "What's got you in here tonight, huh? You don't exactly look like the usual type." The words slipped out before she could stop them, but she didn't care. She was already scanning his face, looking for any cracks in the serious facade he was putting on. A smile would be a nice change... but she wasn't holding her breath.

His dark hair was slicked back with a precision that contrasted the slight dishevelment of his overall appearance, as if he had put just enough effort to seem effortless. A few rebellious strands fell loosely to frame his angular face, giving him an air of restrained chaos. His eyes, deep-set and shadowed by some unseen weight, met hers with an intensity that felt almost too direct - piercing, heavy, and distinctly unamused.

His expression remained as neutral as it was cold, lips downturned in a way that suggested a weariness far beyond what Aika was accustomed to seeing in these kinds of clients. His sharp jawline cut through the otherwise calm demeanor, amplifying the stoic tension that clung to him like a second skin.

When their eyes locked, Aika felt an unexpected chill ripple through her, the kind that wasn't exactly unwelcome but certainly unsettling. She wasn't used to this - most clients were either too eager or too timid to carry such a cold, impenetrable presence.

"Forgive me," he spoke, his voice low and smooth, almost like the rustle of a silk sleeve, "but I trust it's obvious that I am far from accustomed to this... arrangement." His words were measured, precise, with an almost old-fashioned eloquence. There was no nervousness, no fumbling over his words - only a quiet, deliberate disinterest in the entire setting.

Aika's lips curled into a practiced smile, the one she wore when she was being *that* hostess - the charming, attentive one.

"Of course, no need to apologize, darling," she replied smoothly, her tone soft and honeyed, but with that unmistakable confidence only a seasoned hostess could have. "It's all new for some people. But don't worry, I'm here to make sure you feel at ease, 'kay? Just relax, enjoy the night... and let me take care of everything, yeah? I'll make sure your time here is worth it. We can keep it low-key if you prefer, or make it as lively as you want. You're in good hands, babe."

Her words were easy, flowing like a well-rehearsed script, but there was an edge to them - a calculated warmth that made it clear she was in control of this situation, despite the coldness he projected.

...Or was she?

He picked the most expensive champagne on the menu, sipping it so slowly, like he was savoring something delicate. Aika watched, feeling an unsettling knot twist in her stomach. He barely touched his lips to the glass, the champagne hardly moving at all. What the hell was that about?

As a hostess, she knew the drill. She had to make sure her drinks were watered down. The bartender was good at it - ten percent alcohol, ninety percent water - just enough to keep up appearances without the risk of getting too drunk. Aika had to drink all night, but she couldn't afford to get wasted. The watered-down drinks kept her steady. So she took slow, careful sips. But him? Why the hell was he drinking like that?

Most clients who ordered expensive drinks were just flexing. It was all about status - showing off how much money they had, how much they could spend. They didn't actually care about the taste. But this guy? He wasn't fitting into any of the boxes she had in her head.

In the few years she'd been a hostess - first in Kabukicho, then here in Roppongi, a much more prestigious club - she'd seen every type of client. The businessmen who couldn't stop talking about their work, the rich guys who threw money around like it was nothing, the lonely ones looking for a distraction. They all had their patterns. She could read them with one glance. But him? She couldn't figure him out. It was like he didn't belong in this world at all.

Hell, she didn't even know how to keep the conversation flowing with him. Usually, it came naturally - banter, flirting, making her clients feel special. But with him? She was stumbling over her words, unsure of how to read him.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The client's phone rang, and he excused himself with a brief nod. As he stood up, Aika couldn't help but notice him scanning the room. Her stomach twisted. Shit, was he thinking about switching her out for another hostess?

She hated that. Hated it. Why did it always feel like men just couldn't pick a lane? She clenched her jaw, trying to push the bitter thought away.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and that's when her manager slinked over with a huge, toothy grin plastered on her face. "Yuu, the second hour's approaching. Make sure he stays," she hissed through her teeth, her voice sharp like a knife.

Aika's heart sank. She knew exactly what that meant. Hostess bars were a pay-by-time business. The first hour was set, but if a client went even a second over that, they were locked in for the second hour. And that second hour? It wasn't cheap.

Aika had learned quickly that the key to keeping clients paying for the second hour was making sure they were distracted enough for a few minutes. She could do that.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and started walking toward the bathroom. Time to make sure he didn't walk out before the clock hit that magic mark.

As Aika's heels clicked against the floor, she heard his deep, husky voice through the crack of the bathroom door, the words slightly muffled but still clear. "Mei Mei-san, are you quite certain the curse is in this hostess bar?"

Aika froze, her hand gripping the edge of the hallway's doorframe. A curse? Here? Her heart skipped a beat. She knew the game well enough to know when something wasn't right.

Then, from the flip phone in his hand, she heard a smooth, almost flirtatious voice crackle back through the static, "Ah, Usami, always so cynical. You know I always make sure my sources are right, yeah?"

So, that was Mei Mei. Her voice was light, teasing, like she was amused by his skepticism. The way she spoke sent a chill down Aika's spine. It was flirty, but there was something else beneath it - something cold, calculating.

Aika leaned in slightly, barely breathing, her pulse rising as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Was this some twisted set-up? Or was there more to this whole situation than she had bargained for?

AUTHOR: hi yall im currently editing this chapter and umm ill put the rest later so my bad if youre reading this chapter love u 

Chapter Text

Aika froze when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps coming her way. Shit, she'd been caught. She turned just in time to see Usami, still looking every bit the intimidating figure, step out from behind the bathroom door. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he'd already known she was eavesdropping, but he didn't say anything right away.

Aika, not one to back down, gave him a bold look. There was no point in pretending she hadn't overheard anything. Besides, she wasn't about to let a little thing like getting caught ruin her chances of keeping him around for the second hour. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and, with a nonchalant smile, said, "There's a curse here? Funny, I haven't seen it."

She could still hear Mei Mei's voice through the phone, soft but flirtatious. "Mm, just make sure you don't lose track of the curse, Usami. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Aika didn't miss the way Usami's gaze flickered back to his phone for a second, before returning to her, his expression unreadable.

Usami paused for a moment, his gaze sharp as he considered how much to explain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but controlled.

"There's a Grade 1 curse here," he said, his words deliberate, and the weight of his tone made Aika's stomach twist. "Grade 1s are strong, far stronger than the curses that typically roam the streets. They're just below Special Grade - don't let their appearance fool you. They can be deceptively powerful, and they possess a level of cursed energy that makes them difficult to deal with."

Aika blinked, her mind racing to process what he was saying. "But... if it's here, why haven't I sensed it? I should've noticed something." Her voice was tight with concern, her brows furrowing as she tried to piece it together. But not too much furrowing - she wasn't about to risk premature wrinkles. Botox was expensive! And she was an adult, she had to think of finances, ugh.

Usami's eyes narrowed, as if measuring her understanding. "It's not that you can't sense cursed energy - it's that this curse is incredibly elusive. It's manipulating the environment to mask its presence. A Grade 1 curse, especially one like this, has enough cursed energy to influence the emotions of those around it. It's been using the negative energy in this place - greed, lust, and excess - feeding off the vices of the customers here."

Ha! Aika's top 3 favorite sins.

Aika felt her throat tighten as she listened. "So it's, like, hiding itself?" she asked.

Usami nodded. "Exactly. This curse is much more subtle than most. It doesn't appear like the usual physical curses you'd expect. Instead, it masks itself in the emotional energy of this place, making it hard to pin down. You won't find it in the way you might track a curse by its aura or its presence. It's cloaking itself in the atmosphere, blending in with the natural energy that comes from people's desires and negative emotions."

Aika exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep up. This jujutsu shit was a headache, and she'd barely even scratched the surface. "So, like... it's feeding off the energy here or whatever? And that's why I can't sense it?" she asked, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger like she wasn't spiraling internally.

"Yes," Usami affirmed. "It's manipulating the cursed energy of the environment, making it harder to detect. Normally, when a curse has strong cursed energy, it leaves a clear trail. But a Grade 1 like this has learned to use its surroundings to its advantage. It's like a shadow in the corner of the room - there, but barely noticeable unless you're looking for it."

Aika glanced around the bar, seeing everything through a new lens. She'd always known the atmosphere in places like this was thick with negative emotions, but she hadn't realized how much it could affect the curses that lurked in the world. "So, this curse is just... waiting?"

"Waiting and feeding," Usami replied, his voice cold. "But it won't stay dormant forever. Eventually, it will grow stronger, especially if it's allowed to feed on the emotions here without interruption. It might stay hidden for now, but the longer it's allowed to exist like this, the more it will corrupt the space. That's when it becomes a real threat - when it starts to actively harm the people around it."

Aika's mind was racing. A Grade 1 curse, feeding off the excess energy of a place like this... That wasn't just dangerous - it was deadly. And it was hiding in plain sight, like some kind of supernatural freeloader. But also, what the hell was she supposed to do about it? She wasn't exactly out here handing out eviction notices to curses.

"So, how do you deal with it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though her heart was pounding like she'd just sprinted a mile in heels. She leaned into the emphasis on you, because she sure as hell wasn't signing up for this.

Usami's gaze sharpened, his expression shifting into something that said I know you're scared, but I'm going to pretend you're not. "That's the tricky part. We'll have to use a combination of cursed energy sensing and environmental analysis. You might be able to use your own cursed energy to feel subtle shifts in the atmosphere, or - better yet - track the source of the curse by pinpointing where the negative emotions are most concentrated. It's not going to be easy - this curse is smart. But it's not invincible."

We? Aika blinked at him, her mouth going dry. WE? Was this man out of his damn mind?

The rest of Aika's night was chaotic enough to serve as a glaring reminder: she needed to keep an eye on her brother because this whole jujutsu sorcerer thing? Yeah, it was not safe. It started with her evacuating the bar, practically herding drunk salarymen like they were stray cats, while Usami - the self-proclaimed grade 1 sorcerer - lectured her about the "traditions and meaning of jujutsu" or whatever that was supposed to mean. She didn't really care, but she was grateful he dealt with the curse. Once it was out of its creepy, shadowy hiding spot, it turned out to be weak as hell.

Usami, of course, handled it with the same stern efficiency as everything else, while Aika's manager stood nearby, pale and shaky, looking like she might keel over any second. After the whole mess, Usami gave her manager some convoluted explanation about curses and exorcisms that seemed way too detailed for someone on the verge of fainting. Then, like the dramatic asshole he apparently was, he went outside for a smoke.

Aika wasn't about to let him leave without getting tipped for the overtime, though. Seriously, who just handles a curse in a hostess bar and doesn't even think about slipping the staff a little something for the trouble? She followed him outside, stepping into the cool night air just as he lit his cigarette.

Usami was muttering something under his breath, the words sharp and controlled, as if even his cursing came with perfect enunciation. "...damn it, Mei Mei. Never answers unless it's about money," he grumbled, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Aika saw her chance. Leaning against the wall in her too-tight dress and heels that were definitely not made for curse evacuations, she cocked her head, her voice sweet and deliberately nosy. "This Mei Mei lady... is she, like, your boss or somethin'?"

Usami barely spared her a glance. "She is not my superior. However, as a grade 1 sorceress with vast influence, it is prudent to remain in her good favor." His tone was formal, like he was reciting a proverb or something.

Aika blinked at him, unimpressed. "Connections, huh?"

Usami inclined his head slightly, his gaze steady. "Yes. One must navigate this world carefully. Those with power often hold the keys to survival."

Aika nodded slowly, pretending to take that in, even though half of it went over her head. Then she played her real card. "So, like, speaking of connections," she began conspiratorially. "You remember my relative, right? The one who can see curses?"

"Yes," Usami said, his voice still calm and measured.

"Well," Aika continued, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and giving him her best innocent look, "he's, like, still in school and stuff? But he went on his first mission recently, and oh my god, it was so scary. I'm, like, super worried about him, y'know? He's just a kid!" She sighed dramatically, clutching her chest like the thought alone was giving her a heart attack. "Is there, like, any way this Mei Mei lady could help? Like, does she know someone who can, I dunno, pull some strings and get him on safer missions or whatever?"

Usami finally turned to look at her fully, his expression as unreadable as ever. He took another drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly, the smoke curling into the night air. "You believe she should intervene for your relative?" he asked, his voice careful, like he was trying to gauge how serious she was.

"Uh, yeah?" Aika said, crossing her arms. "You just said she's got all these, like, connections. What's the point of knowing powerful people if they don't, like, do stuff for you?"

Usami's lips twitched slightly, almost like he was amused, but he didn't smile. "Mei Mei's assistance comes at a price," he said evenly. "She does not involve herself in such matters unless there is something to be gained in return."

Aika groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "Ugh, of course she's, like, a total businesswoman about it. Can't anyone just do a good deed anymore?"

Usami smirked faintly, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Rarely," he said.

Aika huffed, but she wasn't about to give up. If Mei Mei could keep her little brother out of harm's way, she'd figure out a way to make it happen. For now, though, she'd have to deal with the realization that even the world of jujutsu sorcery was just as cutthroat and exhausting as everything else in her life.

Aika sat at a corner table in the dimly lit Italian restaurant, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her empty wine glass. It was a far cry from the flashing neon lights and chaotic energy of the hostess bars she was used to. The place was quiet, the air thick with the scent of garlic, basil, and rich tomato sauce - a sharp contrast to the cigarette smoke and the artificial perfume that lingered in her usual surroundings.

The restaurant, tucked away in one of Tokyo's quieter neighborhoods, was a hidden gem. Warm, amber light spilled from wrought-iron sconces on the walls, and the soft clink of silverware and quiet chatter provided a subtle hum in the background. The walls were lined with shelves of carefully curated bottles of wine, their labels in a language she could barely understand but was beginning to associate with something far more elegant than she was used to. Dark wood tables with crisp white tablecloths stood in neat rows, each set for two.

Aika had never really liked Italian food before, but tonight, it felt fitting - like a bridge between the life she knew and the one she was cautiously stepping into. The whole atmosphere screamed class - something she didn't fully buy into but had been trying to project for the evening. She had traded in her usual flashy, eye-catching style for a more subtle approach, blending into the quiet sophistication of the restaurant.

Aika had made the bold - and frankly unnerving - decision to leave her wig at home. Her natural hair, dark and unbleached, felt like a betrayal of her entire aesthetic. Gyaru culture practically demanded bleached hair. It was a defining feature, as essential as thick lashes or a perfectly sculpted nose contour. To show up with black hair was like being a goth in pastels - it just didn't work... right?

And yet, here she was, walking into an upscale restaurant with her unaltered, painfully natural hair framing her face. It felt wrong in ways she couldn't articulate, like walking around without a shield. The soft curls didn't scream "Aika," they barely whispered it. She might as well have been invisible.

Her makeup didn't help either. It was subdued, a look that "didn't exaggerate her features," as her gyaru friends would say with a wince. Normally, when she went on dohans or attended fancy dinners, her clients expected her to look like her hostess self - just polished and classy, not subdued. Tonight, though, she was far from her usual exaggerated, glamorous persona. She felt exposed, unarmored, and dangerously vulnerable.

It wasn't like anyone had told her to dress down. Mei Mei certainly hadn't sent a dress code, and knowing her, she probably wouldn't have cared. But something about this meeting had made Aika want to tone it down, as if she needed to look more serious. Less like a hostess and more like... well, she wasn't sure what she was aiming for.

The result was a compromise she wasn't happy with. Her reflection in the restaurant's glass doors almost made her turn back. She didn't look bad - she just didn't look like her.

As she sat there, waiting for Mei Mei, she couldn't help but feel like an imposter. She had never been one for subtlety. She was loud, brash, unapologetic. This calm, restrained atmosphere felt foreign, and yet, somehow, it felt right.

She glanced at the clock again, a sense of impatience creeping up her spine. Mei Mei was late. Not that she was surprised. The woman had a reputation, after all. She was known for being elusive, for keeping to the shadows. But tonight, Aika needed to know more. She needed answers.

It was then that the door to the restaurant creaked open, and Aika felt a shift in the air. Mei Mei had arrived.

Mei Mei didn't walk into a room - she owned it. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant cream-colored blouse and tailored black pants, her presence commanding without needing to make a sound. Her white hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but strands framed her face in a way that made her look effortlessly chic.

Mei Mei's eyes scanned the room before locking onto Aika, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her red lips. She didn't seem surprised or rushed - just calm and collected, as if she had all the time in the world. As she made her way toward the table, Aika couldn't help but feel a small jolt of awe. Mei Mei was exactly the kind of woman Aika had always tried to emulate but never quite had the patience to fully achieve.

"Sorry I'm late," Mei Mei said, her voice smooth and lilting. The clink of silverware rang out as Mei Mei slid into her seat, her posture relaxed as she surveyed the surroundings.

"Uh, it's 'kay."

"I just got a big fish," Mei Mei said, her voice laced with casual confidence as she took a moment to glance over the menu. She didn't need to make eye contact to get Aika's attention - her presence was enough.

Aika scrunched her nose, eyeing Mei Mei skeptically. "Ew, I don't like fish," she said with a pout, her voice carrying a touch of that bratty edge.

Mei Mei didn't respond immediately, instead raising her hand to signal for the waiter. "It's not a literal fish, sweetheart," she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Information," she added, her voice lowering, her gaze flicking to Aika.

Aika blinked, then leaned in, clearly trying to understand. "Ah, what exactly?" she asked, half-expecting a joke, but Mei Mei didn't even flinch.

"Information." Mei Mei repeated, her tone unbothered and casual, as though this were the most normal request in the world. "On the last member of a reputable clan."

Aika raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "I only know about the big three... Kamo, Zen'in, and Gojo, I think," she said, half thinking she had the basics covered.

Mei Mei let out a soft, disinterested laugh, leaning back in her chair, letting her fingers casually trace the rim of her glass. "Hah, big three? They used to be," she said, dismissively, as if she were explaining something as trivial as the weather. "But they've been dead and buried since the 1930s."

Aika paused for a moment, trying to process what Mei Mei was saying. "Ah... who are they, then?" she asked, the curiosity creeping in despite herself.

Mei Mei's lips curved into a knowing, almost predatory smile. "The Majiwara," she said, letting the name hang between them like a secret that was far too tempting to ignore. "Infamous Buddhist clan. Time manipulation." She glanced up at the waiter who was standing by, then waved him away with a flick of her wrist before continuing, her voice dropping to something a bit more dangerous. "A real pain in the ass for the Jujutsu world. So much so, they were considered curse users."

Aika furrowed her brow, her expression a mix of confusion and skepticism. "Curse users?" she echoed, dragging out the words like they left a bad taste in her mouth.

Mei Mei raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving her face. "You really think it's all about saving people, huh? How cute." She let out a low laugh before continuing, her voice smooth, like she was recounting a story she'd told a hundred times before. "Yeah, they were considered curse users. Funny thing, though - the Jujutsu sorcerer title was reinstated for them a few decades ago. Not that it matters now, almost all of 'em are dead anyway. But you know, it's all about power. Always has been."

Aika leaned forward, intrigued now but also a little unsettled by the information. "So, why bring them up now?"

Mei Mei lazily swirled the wine in her glass, looking at Aika with a small, almost bored smile. "The last member of the Majiwara clan," she began, her voice smooth and casual, "is engaged to the Zen'in heir - Naoya Zen'in, if you didn't know. She's in a coma right now at the Kyoto hospital."

Aika blinked, catching up. "Wait, so she's in a coma?" she asked, confused.

Mei Mei didn't even flinch, her tone as dry as ever. "Yeah. She's been living overseas her entire life, but she came to Japan about two years ago for... well, reasons you'll have to pay for." She flashed a sharp grin, leaning back in her chair. "Everything's always a transaction with me."

Aika leaned forward, eager for more details. "So, she can control time?" she asked, clearly trying to piece things together.

"Bingo. Time manipulation. Pretty rare, right?" She paused, letting that sink in. "But it's not all that simple."

Aika was trying to keep up, processing the information. "Right, Naoya Zen'in... So, she's staying at the Zen'in clan, then?"

Mei Mei let out a soft, amused laugh, almost like she was humoring Aika. "Ha, not even close." She leaned forward a little, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "I'm pretty sure she's going to end up at Jujutsu High if she wakes up from the coma. Her legal guardian's a grade 1 sorceress. Just like me, but not quite as good at it." Mei Mei gave a sly smirk. "That guardian's doing everything in her power to keep her away from the Zen'ins, and trust me, there's a reason for that."

Aika frowned, clearly intrigued but also trying to catch up. "So, this Majiwara girl's fiancé is Naoya Zen'in... and she's probably gonna end up at Jujutsu High?"

"Yep," Mei Mei said, her smile turning more playful. "But don't get any bright ideas. This is all information I'm giving you in exchange for your payment. I don't do charity, sweetheart."

She smirked, not bothering to hide her amusement, then took another sip of her wine, clearly enjoying Aika's confusion. "You asked for this. Now, pay up."

Aika's eyes glinted with interest, her fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of her glass. "She sounds powerful," she mused. "Can she heal?"

"My, my, you're quite persistent, aren't you?" She leaned back in her chair, studying Aika with amusement. "Yes, she can heal. In fact, there's some speculation among the more... traditional circles that certain members of the Majiwara clan could not only predict the future but also revive the dead." Mei Mei's voice dropped slightly, a hint of intrigue in her tone. "Of course, that's all just speculation."

"Wow... if, hypothetically speaking, a hypothetical brother of mine were to get hypothetically killed off in a hypothetical mission... would she, hypothetically, be able to revive him?"

Mei Mei's gaze sharpened, but her smile never faltered. She took another sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving Aika's. "This I can't tell," she replied, her voice smooth and nonchalant. "But I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that out on your own."

Aika gritted her teeth as she swiped her card for Mei Mei's expensive dinner. Ugh, she never thought she'd be the one footing the bill, especially after Mei Mei's smug attitude. But damn, the information she'd gotten? Worth it.

The next day, with irritation still simmering just beneath the surface, Aika pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She landed on the name of one of her better-paying clients - a regular who thrived on the parasocial dynamic. The kind of guy who shelled out for the illusion of closeness, and frankly, Aika had no problem milking that.

This was part of the hustle, even off the clock. Keeping the game alive, maintaining the image, responding to texts like she actually gave a damn. It was exhausting sometimes, but the money made it worth it.

She lounged back in her chair, her phone pressed to her ear, tapping her nails against the table as she waited for the familiar voice on the other end. It wasn't long before he picked up, his tone already laced with a tired but warm familiarity.

"Hey, Aika," he said, a slight chuckle in his voice. "How's everything?"

She grinned, leaning back further, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move. "You know, same old. Keeping busy. How about you? Everything alright in your world? I've been thinking about you."

He sighed, the sound of shifting papers in the background, a clear sign of the businessman's usual grind. "It's been a hell of a week. Got that charity dinner tomorrow, you know, the one in Kyoto."

Aika perked up, the mention of Kyoto catching her attention. "Oh? The one with all the big shots?" she asked, her tone laced with feigned curiosity, though her mind was already working overtime. Kyoto meant Majiwara. The universe has got her back.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice carrying that weary, self-important air. "Networking galore. Bunch of CEOs, investors... the usual. I'm just hoping it's not as insufferable as last year's."

Blah, blah, blah. He kept talking, but Aika's interest had already zeroed in on the location. Kyoto.

She let out a light laugh, her voice honeyed and smooth. "Well, sounds like you'll need someone to keep you company. Can't have you suffering alone, can we?"

There was a pause, and then his chuckle came through the line, warm and predictable. "You volunteering, Aika-chan?"

"Maybe," she teased, twirling a strand of her hair even though he couldn't see her. "If you're willing to make it worth my while."

---

**BACK TO YOUR POV**

"And that's how I met you," Aika finished, her voice quieter now, almost like she was trying to downplay the chaos she'd just described. She leaned back in her chair and toyed with her cold hot chocolate, her usual confidence faltering just enough to be noticeable. "After the dinner, he had some, like, businessman stuff to do - meetings, talking about stocks, mergers, whatever. Anyway, I, uh... picked a hotel near your hospital. Thought it'd be easier that way. You know, to check in on you."

Her tone was casual, but the way she glanced at her drink instead of meeting your eyes gave her away.

You blinked. Hard. Slowly. Trying to make sense of the wild, winding story she'd just laid out in front of you. You glanced at the teenagers sitting nearby, blatantly eavesdropping with no effort to hide it. They looked just as lost as you felt, their confused expressions a mirror of your own. The crowd was CONFUSED. Literally no one knew what the fuck was going on.

When you turned back to Aika, she was still fidgeting slightly, her usual bravado tempered with something that almost resembled self-awareness. Almost.

You... you didn't even know what to say.

It was like when a guy cheats on his girlfriend and then gives you a play-by-play of every minor inconvenience in his life that led to the "mistake." Only, somehow, Aika wasn't pulling that same move. The things she'd just told you - however ridiculous and all over the place - did actually explain why she did it. And unlike those self-pitying cheaters, she wasn't trying to paint herself as the victim.

It didn't come off as desperate justification, either. It was more like she was walking you through her train of thought, laying it out in her usual chaotic way, but without begging for forgiveness. She was just... explaining herself. And that, somehow, made it harder to stay mad.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes narrowing as you weighed your next words. Finally, you let out a breath, sharp and deliberate. "If I were to tell you anything right now, would you sell the information to Mei Mei?"

Aika blinked, caught off guard for maybe half a second before her face split into a grin. "Uh... what info? You buying yaoi body pillows or something?"

You didn't want to, but... you smiled back. It was faint, reluctant, but it was there. You missed her. And now, sitting here, you felt a flicker of relief. Not the cathartic kind you'd imagined, not the rush of weight lifting off your chest, but a subtle, quiet sort of ease that didn't quite fill the space it was meant to.

Normally, you'd brush moments like this off. You'd laugh and tell the person, "OMG, I was being so dramatic, haha," like the hurt didn't still sting, like it hadn't planted itself somewhere in the back of your mind. But now? Now you didn't feel like undermining your feelings. You didn't feel like cushioning the blow with a casual, "It's okay," either.

You really were stuck.

"Thank you for telling me," you said finally, the words awkward and stiff as they left your mouth. They didn't feel quite right, but they were all you had.

Aika sucked on her teeth, her gaze slipping to her cold drink.

And that's when your biggest flaw decided to make itself known: the unbearable urge to overshare when the conversation hit a lull. Silence? Never heard of her.

You quickly glanced at the teenagers, catching one of them on their phone. You heard an exasperated, "Moooom, I'm with my friends!" and couldn't help the snort that escaped you. The sound cut through the tension, though only a little.

Turning back to Aika, you offered a lopsided smile, "Well, would you like to know what I've been up to? Don't worry, you can sell the information. To Mei Mei, I don't mind."

Aika's head shot up, her eyes narrowing. "Hey, I already told you I'm not selling anything!" she shot back, indignant, but there was no real bite to it.

"Well, I almost died, met the, uh... platonic love of my life? I introduced white Kinder Bueno to the Kamo heir, and I'm currently beefing with, like, ten different people," you started, your voice carrying a dry humor that didn't quite mask how absurd your life had been lately.

Aika raised an eyebrow at you but didn't interrupt. She leaned back in her chair, letting you go on. At some point, though, she must've decided that tiramisu and another round of drinks were more important than keeping her seat. She got up without a word, leaving you mid-rant to fend for yourself.

You paused, watching her stroll off like this was the most casual conversation in the world. Typical. You sighed and shook your head before continuing, mostly to yourself, "And yet somehow, none of that is even the weirdest part of my week."

By the end of it, the tiramisu was scraped clean, and the drinks on your table were all half-finished, condensation pooling around the glasses. Aika let out a low whistle, flipping her hair as she leaned back. "Well, damn... guess I can't be complaining about my life anymore, huh?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "That's what friendship's about. Burdening someone with your problems so they can burden you with theirs. It's, like, the circle of life."

You watched her, searching her expression for any flicker of disagreement, any subtle indication she might push back against the word friendship. But she didn't flinch, didn't even blink. No grimace, no awkward shift. She just leaned back in her chair like the word didn't weigh on her the way it did on you.

So... she agreed? Were you two friends?

Aika snorted, smirking as she twirled her straw in her glass. "Yeah, but I got a feeling half of it's still unsaid."

Your heart plummeted straight to your stomach. Damn it. You really weren't good at hiding things, were you?

"Well..." you hesitated, trying to choose your words carefully. "I haven't told anyone, really. And it's not like I don't want to... I just need -"

"Someone in particular to spill to?" she cut in, her tone teasing but somehow still perceptive.

"Yeah, I guess..." you muttered, feeling cornered.

Aika hummed dramatically, tapping her chin with her perfectly manicured nails. "Hmmmm. Let me help then, babe. Why not, like, that Tsukumo girl you spent forever talkin' about?"

Shit. She had your tea clocked! How the hell does everyone and their mama know that you like women?

"Uh..." you stumbled, trying to sound heterosexual. "I'm just, like, jealous of her beauty or whatever."

Aika gave you a please, I'm not stupid look that almost physically hurt. "Right, sure. Anyway, didn't you get her number? Just text her, babe. Try to be friends or somethin'. Like, if she's a researcher, she's gotta know a lot, yeah?"

She said it so casually, like this wasn't threatening to send your entire nervous system into overdrive. But that's Aika for you - messy, pushy, and somehow always right.

You stared at her, your mind stalling like a bad engine. Hold on.

Ever since that Sukuna conversation in class, the stress had been gnawing at you, louder and louder. It wasn't just the regular oh-my-god-I'm-gonna-die sorcerer panic anymore; it was the crushing weight of knowing you can't pull this isekai protagonist saves the world shit alone. No cool training montage or special power-up is gonna fix this. You actually, desperately, need help. Real help. Someone to talk to, someone you can trust enough to share the truth. Or, well, most of it.

You can't tell them the whole truth, though. Letting someone know they're a goddamn anime character? That'd nuke any potential relationship. Like, how do you even look someone in the eye after saying, "Hey, I've seen your life play out on Crunchyroll!" Yeah, no. Not happening. But there's a workaround.

Your cursed technique is time manipulation, right? You could twist the truth just a little. Say you can see the future. Maybe it's a side effect of your technique, or some mysterious sixth sense - whatever sells the idea without dipping into isekai revelation territory. It's a half-truth, sure, but better that than dumping the existential weight of their animated lives onto them.

Yuki.

She was perfect, wasn't she? Practically tailor-made for this. About your age - well, technically a year older, but close enough to count. Not shackled to the Jujutsu society's exhausting hierarchies (cough and yes, she was serious eye candy cough). She seemed straightforward, at least compared to the gyaru currently standing in front of you.

Yuki had everything you'd need in a confidant: experience, knowledge about Jujutsu, and - more importantly - a kind of social awareness most sorcerers seemed to lack.

Oh, and yeah. She was hot. Like, stupidly hot. Muscles that could probably crush a curse and a smile that could distract you mid-battle -

Okay, yeah. You get it. Yuki was ideal. Perfect even.

"Aika, I fucking love you for this. You’re so right. You can even sell this info to Mei Mei—”

“Will you ever let this gooooo?” she whined, dragging out the last word like you’d just personally wronged her.

“No,” you replied flatly, crossing your arms. “Never.”

Aika groaned, flopping dramatically onto the back of her chair. “Ugh, you’re so annoying!”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back with a smirk.

Chapter Text

It was February 12th. Five-fucking-AM, because Haibara had insisted - no, demanded - you join him on his morning runs. When you pointed out that your arm was still not fully healed, he’d just shrugged, flashing you that annoyingly bright smile.

“You run with your legs, not your arms!” he’d said.

Fucking stupid.

While you were on your run - already huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf after barely five minutes of jogging - Haibara, of course, was annoyingly full of energy. He jogged backward in front of you, grinning like this was his morning cartoon montage, and yelled out a string of overly enthusiastic motivational quotes.

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the still-dark morning like a personal trainer on a sugar high.

“Think about how good breakfast will taste after this!”

“If you stop now, you’re only cheating yourself!”

You glared at him.

After barely ten minutes, you gave up and let yourself collapse dramatically onto the grass, arms sprawled out like you’d just been hit by an isekai truck.

“ARE YOU OKAY??” Haibara yelled, his voice high-pitched with panic as he sprinted back to where you lay, skidding to a halt beside you.

Without a word, you snatched Haibara’s water bottle from his hand and chugged it like you’d just finished a marathon - except you hadn’t. You’d jogged, and let’s be real, it was more of a slow shuffle than actual running, and now you were regretting every single life choice that led to this moment.

The worst part? Haibara was barely even breaking a sweat. He wasn’t even breathing hard! Meanwhile, you were panting like you’d just run a half marathon, sweat dripping down your face, trying to make your breathing sound as quiet as possible because the last thing you needed right now was to sound even more pathetic. In the eerie quiet of the early morning, all that could be heard was your labored breathing, and it was honestly kind of embarrassing.

You glared up at Haibara from where you were still sprawled on the grass. "Haibara, I fucking hate this. I hate sports. I hate hard work. I hate not enjoying myself. I don't want to be in a situation for even an hour where I'm not enjoying myself. There's no point to life if l'm not enjoying myself at any given moment. Hard work is a capitalistic scam. Fuck this."

Haibara crouched down next to you, looking genuinely baffled, his hands on his knees as he tried to reason with you. “But hard work is how you get anywhere! Like, you can’t really appreciate something if you haven’t worked hard for it, you know? That’s what my grandma used to tell me.”

He said it with such bright-eyed conviction that your glare somehow sharpened, slicing right through whatever sparkly optimism he was radiating. You wanted to say, “FUCK YOUR GRANDMA,” so badly it nearly burned a hole in your throat. But no - you held yourself back.

You were practicing positivity. For 2006!

This sudden life choice, of course, had nothing to do with you actually caring about positivity or personal growth. No, it was because you’d "stumbled" across Aika’s MySpace late last night, and she’d posted a mirror selfie with her chunky digital camera, captioned: “Negative people will drain you of your positivity 💖✨”

For some reason, that sentence had lodged itself in your brain like a popcorn kernel. And now, even though deep inside you’re a shambling zombie who complains and complains and isn’t having fun like ever, you’d decided that the best way to embrace positivity was to simply… shut up.

That’s right. Positivity isn’t about radiating sunshine or saying nice things. It’s about shutting up.

So here you were, staring at this walking serotonin dispenser, swallowing all the bile bubbling up inside, and biting your tongue so hard you were pretty sure you’d draw blood.

As you sat on the grass, gulping down water, and shutting the fuck up, you caught Haibara shifting awkwardly next to you. He kept fiddling with his jacket zipper, glancing at you like a kid about to confess he stole a cookie from the cookie jar. 

You hadn’t known him for long, but you could already recognize that look - he wanted to say something, but his brain was doing the clumsy dance of figuring out how. It was the same look he gave you the first time you met, blurting out, “Oh, hi! Aren’t you the last Majiwara?” Like tact was an afterthought he only considered after the damage was done.

The fact that he was thinking before speaking this time, though, sent a pang of worry down your spine. If even Haibara had to hesitate, whatever was coming next couldn’t be good… 

You raised an eyebrow, still catching your breath. “What is it? Spill.”

Haibara tilted his head. “Uh, spill what? The water?”

You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “Dude. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Ohhh, right!” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, uh… so…”

The hesitation only made you narrow your eyes further. This was definitely going to be something stupid.

Haibara shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you. “So, uh… how do Westerners celebrate February 14th?” he asked, his voice barely above a nervous chuckle.

You squinted at him. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Well…” He winced, scratching his head. “I was gonna wait until White Day, but, uh… she’s half American, so…”

“Hold on, hold on. Who? What? When?” You leaned forward, suddenly far too invested in this conversation.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to tell Aika,” he blurted, cheeks going pink as he giggled - a sound that filled you with a deep, existential dread. “There’s… uh… this girl.”

Oh no. Oh god.

“And I heard Westerners only have, like, one day to celebrate love - and that’s February 14th! It’s weird, right? Just one day. Normally the girl is supposed to give a gift to the guy - you know, for Valentine’s here in Japan - but, like… what if she doesn’t care about Japanese holidays? What if I’m supposed to give her something instead?!”

He stared at you with big, panicked eyes, like this was the most pressing issue of his entire life. To your utter horror, he was dead serious.

You blinked at him, trying to piece together what you’d just heard. “Uh… are you two dating or…?”

“No… not yet? I mean, I’ve been thinking of confessing my love to her, but, uh…”

Love!?

“Well, shit. This is new,” you said. “Alright, spill. Tell me more. How’d you two meet?”

His eyes lit up like you’d just unlocked some level of hidden treasure, and you could already tell he was about to overshare in the most dramatic way possible. “Okay, so! You know how I went on that mission and couldn’t help you with your bags? Well, I stopped by that bakery to grab snacks for everyone… uh, Gojo-san ate your stuff, sorry about that.”

You nodded cautiously, already mentally plotting how you were going to ruin Gojo’s life later. “Yeah, that figures.”

Haibara didn’t even seem to notice your sarcasm, continuing with all the enthusiasm of someone telling the story of their life’s greatest achievement. “So, anyway! She works there! She’s, like, the nicest person ever. Super sweet and polite, and when I said the muffins were amazing, she just smiled and was like, ‘I made them myself.’ And, I swear, my heart just - like - exploded. Boom! Gone. I was done.”

You stared at him, not sure if you were more horrified by his description or his full-on reenactment of his heart “exploding.”  

“And then,” he continued, completely oblivious to the incredulous look on your face, “when I went back the next day, she remembered my name! Like, ‘Oh, Yu-kun, back for more muffins?’ She’s so cute I almost died on the spot. Isn’t that destiny?”

You stared at him, rubbing your temples like you were trying to push the headache back into the abyss manually. “Dude, falling in love with a baker is like…” You paused, searching for the right level of ridiculousness. “It’s like men falling for strippers or women falling for their therapists. You’re just projecting feelings onto someone whose whole job is to make you feel special or whatever. That’s their thing - they’re supposed to make you feel good, like you’re the only person in the world.”

You blinked, realizing how unhinged that comparison sounded. Bakers definitely weren’t trained to emotionally manipulate people into thinking they were soulmates, right? You squinted. …Right?

“Okay, maybe that doesn’t entirely apply to bakers,” you added quickly, waving it off. “But still."

“Yeah, no! Dude, she asked me for my MySpace!” Haibara leaned in, his grin so wide it practically overtook his face. “That’s huge, right? I swear, that’s gotta mean something!” He laughed, clearly thinking he was in.

“Oh, well, excuse me. How was I supposed to know that? So she does like you, huh?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah! And she’s so different, man. Like, way cooler than anyone else I’ve talked to. She’s into Yu-Gi-Oh! cards, dude! How sick is that? And she eats everything - pizza, ramen, burgers - like, she doesn’t even care about calories or whatever! And makeup? She’s not into all that stuff, man. Just totally natural. It’s insane how chill she is.”

Positivity, you reminded yourself. Positivity.

You just stared at him for a beat before replying. “Oh my fucking god. Back home, you would’ve gotten bullied to hell and back for saying whatever you just said.”

Haibara’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me…?”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Nothing. Forget it."

You thought about it for a second and then clapped your hand on Haibara’s shoulder with enough force to make him flinch, flashing him a grin that could only be described as unhinged. “Haibara. Listen to me. You need to know how to be a good boyfriend. And lucky for you - I can help.”

He blinked, startled. “You can? Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, with a confidence that was only half-founded. “Surprisingly - despite what Gojo might think - I actually have had a love life. Dating stories. Drama. The whole package. I know a lot.”

Haibara tilted his head, still looking skeptical but intrigued. “Huh… like what kind of stuff?”

“Stuff like…” You gestured vaguely, as if conjuring wisdom from thin air. “What to say. What not to say. How not to come off as a desperate weirdo, which is a real danger for you, by the way. And how to actually get her to like you back without embarrassing yourself in the process.”

He brightened, looking a little too eager. “Okay, okay! That sounds great. Uh… where do we start?”

“Lesson one,” you said, leaning in like you were about to impart ancient knowledge. “Stop calling muffins fate. It’s like, I don’t know, Hallmark movie energy.”

“But it is fate!” he protested, his brows furrowing like you’d just insulted his entire worldview. He looked genuinely offended, and a little confused, too. Probably trying to figure out what the hell a “Hallmark movie” was. Must be nice, not knowing.

“And lesson two,” you continued, ignoring him, “don’t argue with the person trying to help you.”

He nodded, looking completely terrified.

“And lesson three?” you said, tightening your grip on his shoulder and leaning in even closer. “Do whatever the hell I tell you to.”

Haibara gulped, his bright enthusiasm dimming for just a second. “Uh… okay? Sure. But like  - what if it doesn’t work?”

“Oh, it’ll work,” you said, your unhinged grin widening. “Because I’m not giving you advice. I’m giving you commands.”

He nodded quickly, probably more out of fear than agreement. “Got it! Commands. Totally on board.”

“Good,” you said, finally letting go of his shoulder and straightening up like a general preparing for battle. 

And that’s exactly how Gojo, Geto, Shoko, and Nanami found you.

The rare February sun was out, and you were making the most of it, sprawled out like you were vacationing in Okinawa instead of loitering in the school's stadium. Your sunglasses perched low on your nose, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a bunch of grapes in the other, you looked like the embodiment of petty luxury.

Haibara stood next to you, looking every bit the unwilling accomplice. He held a book open in front of you like a human standee, flipping pages with the defeated air of someone who knew better than to argue. You didn’t even have to say a word - just a subtle nod and he’d obediently flick to the next page. Mhm.

You were loving every minute of it.

“Is… she really making you do that?” Gojo asked, tilting his head like he was genuinely trying to understand. His sunglasses slid down his nose, and he didn’t bother fixing them as he stared at Haibara, then at you, then back at Haibara.

Haibara looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. “Uh… yeah?” His voice cracked. “It’s… uh… not that bad?”

“Not that bad?” Nanami repeated, his tone clipped as he adjusted his scarf. He barely spared you a glance, his focus entirely on Haibara. 

You took a sip of your coffee, savoring the drama unfolding, and grinned. “He’s fine. He’s learning. Aren’t you, Haibara?”

Haibara just muttered something about “learning” before shifting his eyes nervously to the group.

Shoko, leaning against the nearest wall, snorted. "This is incredible. You’ve actually turned Haibara into your personal assistant. I should be taking notes, really." She grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. "What’s next? Making him feed you grapes?"

"Actually…" You dangled a grape between your fingers, popping it into your mouth with a smirk. "Already covered."

Geto crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly, but there was a faint twitch of a smile on his lips. "Haibara, you know you don’t have to do this, right?"

"I mean…" Haibara shifted awkwardly, glancing between you and the others. "She asked, and it didn’t seem like a big deal…"

“Well, someone’s gotta teach him how to approach a girl,” you said, flicking your sunglasses up with a sharp grin. “And it sure as hell can’t be Gojo. You’d probably tell her to KILL HERSELF, steal the snacks she brought, and - oh wait, you did do that once. Right before making her cry. Great track record, Gojo.”

Gojo froze mid-hair flip, his grin faltering for the tiniest second. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. That’s not entirely fair. Let’s not rewrite history here,” He leaned back, tilting his head like he was pondering something deeply philosophical. “I just suggested she, y’know… find her own body pillows. It’s called independence. Ever heard of it?”

You shot him a pointed look over your coffee. “Independence? You told me, and I quote, ‘Good luck finding them - maybe they’re waiting for you at the bottom of the river.’”

Okay, he definitely didn’t say that... you think. Maybe you are rewriting history. 

Gojo winced. “I didn’t tell you to jump in. I just... suggested it. There’s a big difference. And besides, you were fine after all that, right? You got your pillows back. I helped in my own way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And then, remember that last time we met up? I was already crying when you decided to go ahead and make it worse.”

"You said it yourself, you were already crying! How did I make it worse? And as for the sweets, I bought ‘em-”

You cut him off, your tone sharp. “When?”

“When? Seriously? Did you hit your head and get amnesia again? It was literally last-”

“No, when did I ask?” 

Shoko, who had been quietly observing the exchange, burst out laughing. "I can’t with you two," she muttered, shaking her head.

You shrugged, "Haibara here’s lucky I’m in charge and not you.”

Haibara, still trying to disappear into the floor, gave a small, nervous laugh. “Uh… yeah, I think I’m good with her.”

Shoko blinked. “That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Wow. Ganged up on by my own friends,” Gojo said, tossing his hands up dramatically. “This is what I get for trying to spice things up. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Gojo, the only thing you spiced up was my blood pressure,” you shot back. “Now, Haibara - what have we learned?”

Haibara blinked, scrambling for an answer. “Uh… not to take advice from Gojo?”

“Exactly,” you said with a grin. “See? Progress. Next thing you know, she will be in love with you, broski."

Gojo, still somehow oblivious to the situation, lazily glanced over at you. “Who?”

Haibara’s face turned red. “I met her at a bakery… and, um… she’s cool. She gave me her MySpace.” He seemed proud, but it was clear he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Nanami just looked at Haibara with a raised brow. “A bakery?”

Geto, leaning on the bench with a casual air, let out a sigh. “If she’s going out of her way to give you her MySpace, that’s... a good sign, I guess?”

You leaned forward, putting on a too-serious face. “Exactly. I’m basically training him to be a great boyfriend. I’m a damn relationship guru.”

Gojo snorted, sitting up slightly. “You? A relationship guru? Seriously?” He threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Yeah, sure. Because nothing says ‘perfect boyfriend’ like having him turn pages for you, right?”

Haibara surprisingly defended you quickly, his voice a little more defensive than usual. “Hey, she’s been trying her best to teach me! She’s made me open doors for her, take pictures, and even hold her mirror when she does her makeup.” He looked at you earnestly, as though asking for approval.

You immediately slapped a hand to your forehead, eyes wide. “Shhhhhh, you’re making me sound bad!” 

Chapter Text

You hesitated. Like, really hesitated before calling Yuki. The certainty that had felt so solid just minutes ago was now slipping through your fingers like water, leaving nothing but doubt in its wake. Was she really the right person to call? The thought had seemed brilliant at first - genius, even - but now, with your thumb hovering over the call button, that confidence crumbled into something that felt uncomfortably close to regret.

What if she brushed you off? What if she wasn't even in Japan right now, or worse - she was, but too busy to deal with your nonsense? You hated second-guessing yourself like this, the spiral of overthinking wrapping tighter around your chest, but it was hard to ignore the growing unease settling in your gut.

Still, the idea of not getting this off your chest felt worse. If anyone could handle whatever chaos was about to spill out of your mouth, it was probably Yuki. Probably.

Fuck it. You'd already gone through the whole agonizing decision-making process with Aika earlier. No point wasting time spiraling again. You sucked in a breath, steeling yourself against the anxiety clawing at your ribs, and hit the call button.

Easily the most excruciating ten seconds of your life. Each ring stretched longer than the last, taunting you with the possibility that she might not pick up. She didn't seem like the type to let calls go unanswered, though. At least last time, she'd had her phone right in her pocket - so maybe there was hope.

The line clicked.

The sound made you freeze for a split second. When Yuki's voice came through, it was as sharp and playful as ever, and something in your chest tightened even though you'd never admit it out loud. "Oi, look who finally grew a backbone!" The smugness practically dripped through the phone, entirely unapologetic. "Thought you'd forgotten how phones work there for a second."

"Excuse me, I was just busy, is all," you shot back, sarcasm thick in your tone as you rolled your eyes even though she couldn't see it.

"Busy dodging my calls, huh?" She sounded way too pleased with herself. "Don't worry, it's good to have my assistant finally check in."

What a liar! She hasn't called you once!

You leaned against the wall, trying to steady yourself, like the cold concrete could somehow anchor your thoughts before they scattered. "Well... you'd be happy to know I..." The words caught in your throat. Were you really going to do this?

"Oh?" Her interest sharpened immediately. "An assistant actually doing their homework for once? Go on, let's hear it."

A surge of confusion and frustration hit you. Wait, she's had other assistants? What the hell? You thought you were special! Turns out...

...you aren't her special. Wo oh oh wo oh oh.

You exhaled sharply, trying to push the irritation down where it belonged. "I have... information." You could practically feel her leaning in on the other end, eager to hear what you had to say.

"Information, huh?" There was a grin in her voice, you could hear it clear as day. "Gotta say, you're sounding a lot like that Mei Mei lady right now."

Oh hell nah!

"Please don't ever compare me to her again," you shot back, half-groaning at the thought alone. The comparison was insufferable. "But yeah, I do have information. Real stuff."

"Bold claim." The smirk was practically audible now. "Better be good then, or I'm docking your imaginary paycheck."

"Well, before I tell you anything, where are you right now?" You started pacing slightly as you spoke, unable to keep still.

There was a pause, then her voice came through with that easy confidence and teasing lilt you'd come to expect. "Wow, look at you. Getting bolder with your stalking, huh?"

"Thanks," you deadpanned. "So...?"

"You got me." You could practically hear her grin widening. "Spain. Barcelona, to be exact. And before you ask, it's 2 PM here. You know, in case you were worried about waking me up at some ungodly hour or something."

Relief washed over you. "Good to know. Because, yeah, I was actually worried about that."

"Oh, sure." The drawl in her voice was thick with amusement. "You're definitely just worried about my beauty sleep. Not, like, trying to avoid me chewing you out for disturbing it."

"Exactly," you replied flatly.

"So what's the deal?" Her tone shifted slightly, still playful but with an edge of genuine curiosity now. "This information you've got - sounds like it's juicy. The kind of thing that can't be said over the phone?"

"Oh, trust me, it is that good." You hesitated, letting the moment stretch, the weight of what you were about to say settling heavy on your shoulders. "But there's also... something else."

"Something else?" Her voice turned sharp with interest. "Wait, this isn't you trying to butter me up with some mentor-worship, is it? Like, 'Oh, Yuki-sama, how could I ever navigate life without your brilliant guidance?'" She said it in this exaggerated, breathy tone that made you want to crawl out of your skin.

"God, please never say that again. You're sounding like Gojo," you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead like it could physically stop the cringe. "But no, it's not that."

The "something else" in question was anyone else listening in. Shit - what if Kenjaku's crazy ass had started stalking you? You glanced around instinctively, the paranoid thought clawing its way through your brain like a horror movie jumpscare. The information you had wasn't just important - it was borderline apocalyptic if it got into the wrong hands. This was between you and Yuki alone, no exceptions.

Of course, there was also the deeply embarrassing reality that you were the one who got isekai'd into this mess, armed with future knowledge you had no business possessing. Not exactly a textbook protagonist, were you? The deities - if they were even real - needed to sit down and seriously reconsider their life choices. Isekai-ing a homo like yourself? Bold. Really bold.

Not that you weren't trying, mind you. (Okay, fine, you low-key weren't, but who was keeping track?) And now here you were, in possession of life-changing, world-altering information, and what did you do? Immediately latch onto the first fine woman you met and prepare to info-dump like it was your God-given mission.

Because really, what better way to validate your own spiraling existence than to keep the conversation going at all costs? Priorities.

"Hello?" Yuki's voice broke through your internal spiral, slightly sharper now. "You're not about to chicken out on me, are you?"

She did sound like Gojo at times. Honestly, imagining them meeting made your skin crawl - like, it'd be catastrophic. Yuki was nicer though, more socially aware, and, well, she's a woman, so you couldn't get as irritated with her.

"It's better if we talk face-to-face," you whispered, your voice dropping so low it barely registered, like the weight of the words alone would summon someone - or something. "I don't want them to hear..."

You glanced around, eyes darting to every shadow, every flickering light, your paranoia dialing up to an eleven. Shit. Where did this even come from? It was like one intrusive thought about Kenjaku lurking nearby had kicked open the floodgates, and now you were spiraling. Full-on, tinfoil-hat-wearing, batshit spiraling.

Yuki's voice crackled on the line, perfectly timed and dry as ever. "Uh-huh. That's nice, honey." A beat of silence. "Are... are they watching you right now? Also, just checking - did we forget to take our meds today? Be honest."

And now she's sounding like Shoko!

"Okay, then no info for-"

Yuki cut you off, voice quick but still carrying that playful edge. "Hey, hey, don't be like that! Come on, I'm just messing with you." There was a pause, then she continued, voice lightening. "Sure, sure, there's totally a 'them.' Shadowy government operatives, maybe even aliens. They're probably tuning in right now, so watch what you say."

"Don't make fun of me!" you snapped, the paranoia creeping back in with a vengeance. "I'm serious. It'd be better to talk face-to-face. You can sense if someone's around, and the conversation won't be recorded or whatever. Listen, I..." You hesitated, voice dipping even lower. "I've been having these dreams, okay? You know how my cursed technique is time manipulation...?"

On the other end of the line, Yuki went completely still for a second. Then her voice shifted - genuine curiosity cutting through the playful tone like a knife. "Wait, what? Hold up." There was rustling, like she was sitting up straighter. "You're telling me you're seeing things from the future? Because that..." She paused, and you could practically hear her mind working. "I didn't expect this. Dreams like that - it's not uncommon in your clan. They used to have this whole thing, right? With dreams, visions..." Her voice picked up with interest. "Are you seeing actual events?"

You were caught completely off guard by her reaction. And by the fact that this shit was actually real. You'd made it up on the spot - you didn't seriously expect your clan to have a history of clairvoyance. What the hell? Sure, Aika had mentioned something about Mei Mei talking about it during one of her storytimes, but you'd been too busy trying not to laugh at the nosy teenagers arguing with their moms over the phone.

"Yeah, exactly," you said, leaning into the lie because at this point, what else could you do? "It's like they're not just dreams, Tsukumo. It's like... I know they're real. Like I'm seeing things that are supposed to happen. And things that have already happened too."

Her voice softened but stayed vibrant with excitement. "Damn, that's..." She let out a low whistle. "I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like exactly what's supposed to happen. You've got the right blood for it, haven't you? The Majiwara clan was all about that. The visions, the time stuff... if it's happening to you now, it means something big." 

You could hear the thrill building in her voice as she continued. "Honestly, you're like a walking heirloom at this point. This could be huge." Her laugh was soft but genuine, warm in a way that made your chest feel weird. "I mean, I knew you were powerful, but clairvoyant? Damn. You might even be stronger than me now. Keep it up and I'm gonna need to start taking notes."

"Staaaaawp," you muttered, all pick-me, the heat creeping up your neck despite yourself.

Yuki exhaled, clearly way too pleased with herself. "Well, I was in Barcelona hunting down a cursed object, but... this?" She let the words hang for a beat, weighted with interest. "Way more interesting." A laugh followed, light but sharp. "So when are we meeting up? I doubt Jujutsu High's rolling out the welcome mat for me, so... how about we do it there? What do you think?"

It was obvious she didn't actually think it was a good spot to meet up, but the urge to stir things up was probably stronger than any scrap of common sense she had. You knew that feeling. Hell, it was your entire life at this point.

You frowned slightly. "Better a non-Jujutsu-related place. No one wants anyone eavesdropping."

You being rational? That was a first.

Yuki chuckled, the sound light and knowing. "True that." She paused for a second, then the mischief crept back into her voice. "Alright, so when do you think we can make this happen?" Another beat. "Hmmm, I'll be checking in with a few friends working at the airport. You know, see if I can pull some strings to get an earlier flight."

You gave a slight nod even though she couldn't see it. "Got it. Text me when you know more."

That night, you finally managed to get some rest, a sense of relief washing over you like cool water. The next day, with a newfound sense of ease, you decided to take full advantage of the peaceful February 12th - starting with some harmless exploitation of Haibara. And of course, there was the added bonus of bullying Gojo and Geto with Ieri. Ah, what a beautiful day it was.

The next day? Not so beautiful.

You were sitting on your bed, flipping through a magazine that had long since lost its appeal, waiting for Shoko to come back from the lab. The phone ringing cut through the quiet like a knife, and your heart skipped. You glanced at the number - Tokyo area code. Fuck. You hesitated, but curiosity - or maybe pure dumbassery - got the best of you. You clicked to answer, your stomach flipping.

"Hello?" you said, trying to keep it casual, but your voice betrayed you. Heart pounding like you'd just gotten caught with your hand in the cookie jar. If it turned out to be some scam number, you'd have a blast messing with them, but something told you this wasn't that.

"Is this..." The voice on the other end said your name. Your blood ran cold. Of course this was it. The consequences of your actions had finally come knocking on your door.

"Yeah, this is her," you muttered, throat already going dry.

"This is Officer Tanaka from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. I'm calling about the incident outside the arcade two weeks ago. We need you to come down to the station for some follow-up questions. It's important we speak to you in person."

You could barely breathe for a second. Of course you knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud was another thing entirely. You didn't even remember half of what went down that night, but now the shit was hitting the fan.

"I'm sorry, I don't really understand. I mean, what do you want to know?" It came out more defensive than you meant. The last thing you wanted was to seem like you were about to lose your shit.

"It's just standard procedure," Officer Tanaka's voice was steady, like this was all perfectly normal. "We need clarification on a few things. No need to worry, but you'll need to come down here to answer some questions."

You could feel the tension building in your chest, tightening like a fist. "Am I under arrest or something?" It was out before you could even stop it, the panic creeping into your voice.

"No, this isn't about an arrest." Tanaka said it so matter-of-factly it almost made it worse. "You're not in trouble at this point. Just come down when you can. It's important we speak to you. Can you come in today?"

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out how to get out of this without, you know, actually going. But you didn't have that luxury. The decision was already made for you.

"I'll be there," you replied, trying to make it sound like you had control of the situation, but it came out all tight and clipped.

"Good. We'll expect you," Tanaka said before hanging up, leaving you staring at the phone in your hand like it was some ticking time bomb. Fuck.

You let the phone drop onto the bed, rubbing your face as the rush of panic hit you like a punch to the gut. You saw this coming. Knew it was inevitable. But now that it was real? Yeah, you were spiraling.

You stared at your phone screen, your thumb hovering over the keys. Should you text Fumiko? You weren't sure what would be worse - her hearing it from the cops or from you. You sent her a quick message, telling her you'd been called in. No details. No need to pile on more stress than she'd already be dealing with.

You did your makeup fast, but not rushed - fuck that. They couldn't make you serve time; you were already serving. You even managed semi-symmetrical eyeliner. That's how not rushed you were. You threw your bag over your shoulder like you had it together, like you were actually prepared for whatever this mess had in store. But you knew you couldn't prepare for it. You had no choice now. You had to face it. No running. Fucking stupid.

Before you stepped out, you checked your phone again - no new messages. Didn't need any more info right now. Just had to face the music.

You took a deep breath and left your room, the weight of what was coming settling over you like a heavy blanket. The world felt heavier, even though everything around you looked exactly the same.

You passed by Shoko in the lab on your way out, still feeling that knot in your stomach. You stopped briefly, looking at her as she was buried in some paperwork, probably looking up something that would get you out of this mess. Yeah, wishful thinking. You decided to mention it before you left - didn't really know why you thought it would help, but hey, at least she'd know.

"Hey," you said, leaning against the doorframe. "I've got to head to the station. Police called about that arcade-pedo-photo-police BS two weeks ago."

She barely looked up, her eyes flicking over to you before drifting back to the papers. "Hmm, yeah? Well, good luck with that." She muttered it so casually you almost laughed. "You're on your own, girl. Upperclassmen are coming back from a mission, will probably have to heal them, and I've got things to finish up here."

You frowned, a little disappointed, but you weren't exactly expecting a ride-or-die moment. Shoko wasn't the type to go running into trouble with you. But hey, at least she'd started picking up your slang. Gojo had pointed out that she was saying 'girl' now and other stuff you say, which kind of warmed your heart. But then you found out something that made it a little less sweet - apparently, a lot of the ballroom glossary you'd picked up also doubled as gay slang in Japanese. And, well, you'd been unconsciously translating it like that. Which... yeah, in hindsight, kind of explained why everyone and their mom clocked you as gay before you'd even said anything remotely queer. Oopsie daisy.

Still, even with that warm, fuzzy feeling, the disappointment didn't fully go away. You totally understood Gojo now when he said, "I'm just pissed Shoko didn't give a rat's ass." You knew she wasn't the overly caring type, but damn. You and Gojo were probably going to have to start an emotional support group or something, chanting, "Can she PLEASE give a fuck about me?"

You couldn't exactly paint yourself as the victim though. You knew what you were getting into with Shoko from the start. You two just weren't the most compatible. You were the passionate friend, and Shoko... well, she didn't exactly match your freak. But it happens. Not every friendship has to be some perfect, emotionally charged bond. You could still love and respect each other, even if it kind of sucked.

"Come on, Ieri. You're just gonna leave me hanging?" you said with a half-hearted laugh. You knew she wouldn't be the one to sugarcoat anything.

She shrugged without even sparing you a glance. "Not my circus, not my monkeys. But hey, if you get arrested, I'll send you a postcard." 

Such a Geto thing to say.

You snorted despite yourself, but the anxiety still clung to you like a second skin. "Alright, guess I'll deal with it."

Shoko finally looked up at you with a small smile, her voice deadpan. "Try not to get arrested, alright? I don't want to have to bail your ass out."

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, turning away. "See you."

You left the lab with that same heavy feeling weighing you down. Shoko was still Shoko - never too concerned, but she knew how to get her digs in, even when she wasn't exactly offering much help.

Her IDGAF-ness was too much!

---

You were pissed. Like, absolutely livid. Mad as fuck. The kind of mad that made your fists ball up and your teeth grind without you even realizing it. You hated taking the metro. You hated being out here on your own, with no one to back you up, no one to use their brain while you just went full Bella Swan - no thoughts, just blindly following. No familiar face to hide behind. And most of all, you hated that you were stuck dealing with this whole damn mess.

Well, congratulations to you. Looks like you were finally reaping the consequences of your own damn actions.

You could feel your blood boiling as you paced, fuming with each step. Every movement felt heavier than the last, weighted with frustration. Where the hell was the damn police station? You couldn't even remember the last time you'd been this lost in the city.

This was not how you wanted your day to go.

On your way out of Shoko's lab, your jacket had gotten caught on the damn door handle. Because of course it did. You'd yanked it free a little too hard, slamming your hip into the doorframe for your trouble. Perfect. A bruised hip to match your already bruised ego. Just great.

As if that wasn't annoying enough, Yaga had to pop out from behind a corner like some cartoon character, hitting you with his overly chipper, "Good morning!" You didn't even hesitate, firing back with a deadpan (and very grumpy teenager-esque), "Bad morning." The way his face twitched told you everything you needed to know - he was already mentally drafting yet another lecture.

And, surprise surprise, it happened. A scolding. Because apparently being a walking attitude problem was your full-time job now. God forbid a woman be a grumpy teen!

Fast forward to now, and here you were - lost. Totally, completely lost.

While you were busy glaring at your phone, swearing under your breath at the useless map app, you heard footsteps approaching. Oh hell nah. Not now. You were this close to losing it completely, one minor inconvenience away from just stepping into traffic and traumatizing everyone in the vicinity. You'd change the entire course of their lives in a blink - make them question everything. Couldn't they just let you exist in peace for five seconds?!

You looked up, prepared to give whoever it was the worst side-eye of your life, ready to make them regret interrupting your miserable moment.

It was a teenage boy, barely keeping his shit together, trying hard not to snicker. That was it. You were done.

Before he could get a word out, you practically growled (grr!), "What do you want?"

His smile dropped real quick, like he'd just realized he'd walked into the wrong zone. "Uh... uh. My friend over there thinks you're cute-"

Ooooh. This was that thing - the kind of crap teenage boys pulled to mess with you. And god, the worst middle school flashbacks hit like a damn freight train.

You didn't even need to think about it. It was right there in your head, clear as day: the guy who'd walked up to you after class with that stupid grin, like he was about to drop some big compliment on you. "My friend thinks you're cute, he wants your Snapchat," he'd said, and you could already hear the way his friends were snickering in the background. It wasn't even a real compliment. It was just a punchline, a game.

In that moment, it wasn't just his words that stung. It was the weight of everyone else's attention on you - those prying eyes, those fake smiles, their whole performance - like you were some kind of joke that wasn't in on the punchline. You could feel your stomach drop, a rush of heat filling your face as the laughter behind you cracked through the air. They were laughing at you.

And it fucking sucked.

You didn't even have time to respond before you were already walking away, your heart hammering like it was trying to break out of your chest, the taste of embarrassment choking you the whole damn walk home.

Now, standing here, your jaw locked and your fists tight, it was like you could feel that kid's words all over again. That same shit, same type of kid, same stupid idea that you were just some easy target.

Not anymore.

You took a step forward, eyes narrowing into slits, ignoring how your face probably still looked a little like a trainwreck from the earlier meltdown. But who the hell cared? You weren't the one about to get played.

"Look," you said, voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I don't know what kind of little prank show you're running here, but I'm not interested in being the punchline. So unless you actually have something to say, back the fuck off before I make this everyone's problem."

The kid's eyes went wide, hands shooting up defensively. "Wait, wait, no! It's not- I'm serious! He actually-"

"Oh, you're serious?" You let out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter. "Right. Because that's exactly what someone says when they're being genuine. You know what? You're lucky I already have one assault charge and don't wanna make this shit worse with two more." Your voice dropped lower, just loud enough for his dumbass friends to hear. "But trust me, I'm more than willing to add you and your little mean girls' posse to the list if you don't back the fuck off."

Silence.

Then you heard a whistle from their group, and one of the guys yelled out, "Damn, Suguru, I didn't know you liked 'em this feisty-"

What?

You whipped your head around, locking eyes with Geto. He was standing there with a small group of teenage boys, and he looked... uncomfortable? Embarrassed? He goes out?! Without Gojo? The fanfics have lied to you!

He looked like he was trying to explain himself to the guys, one hand raised slightly in a placating gesture. The way they were all watching you though made you feel like you were being set up for some kind of joke.

You approached him, your annoyance now fully redirected.

"You know, I thought you hit your lowest with having Gojo as your companion," you said, voice casual but carrying the kind of sharpness that would have made anyone second-guess whether to keep messing with you. "But damn, turns out you managed to go even lower."

The group of teenage boys, probably around 15 or 16, were standing there blinking like you'd just hit them with a riddle they couldn't solve. One of them had that messy, sharp hair styled within an inch of its life, like he'd watched too many bad action movies. His face had that blank look - trying to seem tough but clearly lost. The rest were no better. One was a walking fridge, all muscle but no finesse, and another was quiet, standing at the back of the group with that look on his face that said he had opinions but didn't want to voice them unless absolutely necessary. The last guy? Classic loudmouth, cracking jokes just to fill the silence, probably a defense mechanism because deep down he was nervous as hell.

One of the quieter ones finally spoke up, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Hey, what are you saying? We saw him staring at you so we thought-"

You cut him off before he could finish, voice rising with frustration. "Do you think I'm dumb? Born yesterday?" You threw a disgusted look around at each of them, your anger making it hard to see straight. "I know exactly what it means when guys do this. You were trying to call me ugly, be fucking for real-"

"What?" Another one, the guy with the messy hair, scratched his head and looked genuinely baffled. "No, what...? What are you talking about?"

And there it was - the way they all looked at each other, completely lost. But you'd seen this act before. The fake confusion, the innocent eyes, the whole "we don't know what you mean" routine.

"Oh, so now we're playing dumb?" You felt the heat rising in your chest, that familiar cocktail of anger and humiliation. "Real original. What's next, you gonna tell me it was just a joke and I should lighten up?"

"No one's playing-" the loud one started, but you were already done listening.

You were done with this shit. You threw your fist up in the air, the sharp tips of your long acrylics digging into your palm like a half-baked threat. Your hand couldn't even close right, not with these nails getting in the way, but you didn't care. You'd probably look ridiculous if you really thought about it, but that was a problem for later.

"You know what? Fuck it, I already have one assault charge. Can't go wrong with five-"

You glanced down, and there was Geto's hand hovering over yours. His fingers, long and careful, made no move to grip or hold - just resting lightly, the kind of touch that felt like an invitation you weren't sure you should take.

For a second, the world felt quieter.

His voice cut through the silence, but it was almost a second too late, like he wasn't sure if he should've said anything at all.

"They're not lying." He stopped himself when his eyes caught yours, and whatever he was going to say got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

You felt your pulse quicken just a little.

His fingers gently squeezed your hand, a soft, involuntary gesture that didn't escape you, but neither of you moved away.

He sighed, the sound heavy with realization, and immediately backpedaled. "I mean... I did stare at you. Saw you from across the street and wasn't sure it was you at first." His voice was measured, careful - that typical Geto way of speaking where every word seemed considered. "They misunderstood the situation."

"Oh."

You dropped your fist with a sharp exhale, not even bothering to hide the frustration in your voice. The anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but now it felt directionless. "I... I'm not gonna apologize, 'cause I'm never wrong. So just remember this lesson: never pull that shit with a girl. It always comes off as bullying." You paused, then added, "Even if you think you're being nice or whatever, it doesn't land that way. Not when you send someone else to do it."

The guys exchanged looks - some guilty, some confused, all of them clearly not having expected this to blow up in their faces.

You gave them one last look, letting the words hang in the air, and then turned your attention back to Geto. He didn't say anything at first, but you could feel his eyes still on you.

"Bye." You spun on your heel, tossing the word over your shoulder without looking back. You didn't have time for this - there was a damn police station waiting for you, and you weren't about to waste another second on this circus.

One of the guys barely managed to keep his voice down, but you caught it anyway. "Yo, Suguru, go get your psych ward patient- I mean, your girl!"

It would've been funny. Hell, if you'd been in a different mood, it might've been hilarious. But not now. Not when you were already simmering with rage. You stopped for just a moment, letting the silence stretch, the kind of silence that feels like it has weight, before you kept walking. You gripped your bag a little tighter, the straps digging into your hand. Let them talk. You had shit to do.

Then you heard it. The soft but deliberate steps of Geto, quick but never rushed, closing the distance between you. You didn't need to look to know it was him.

"Sorry about that," his voice was low, genuinely apologetic. "They misunderstood the situation completely." There was a pause, then he added, "Though I didn't expect you'd react that way either."

You cut him off, your tone flat. "Really?"

For a moment there was nothing but the soft shuffle of your footsteps against the pavement. Then he cleared his throat, and you caught the faintest hint of an awkward chuckle. "...Alright, maybe I should have."

"Hm."

"I don't actually know them," he said after a beat, his tone even but carrying that quiet conviction he always had. "Not well, anyway. Satoru and I were at their school handling a curse. They recognized us afterward." He paused, glancing at you with that measured look of his. "I saw you from a distance and wasn't certain it was you. Should've just approached you directly instead of..." He gestured vaguely behind him, where his "friends" were probably still watching.

There was something sincere in the way he spoke, that careful consideration he put into his words. It was very Geto - thoughtful, precise, taking responsibility without making excuses.

You stopped walking, turning around slowly to face him. His words died in his throat when you met his gaze, and for a second you saw the faintest flicker of surprise. You didn't wait for him to say anything else, just raised an eyebrow and spoke, deadpan, "I'll forgive you if you show me where the damn police station is."

He blinked, momentarily thrown off, the calm facade cracking for just a second. It was almost funny how fast he recovered though, quickly finding his balance again. His lips pressed together briefly, and you caught the ghost of amusement before he schooled his expression back to neutral.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said, voice steady. "It's not far from here."

"Good."

Geto's expression shifted, like he'd just remembered something important. He looked at you, his calm demeanor faltering for just a second. "You're actually going to the police station?" His tone was softer now, but with an edge of concern threading through it.

You gave him the slightest shrug. "What, you think I'm gonna bail? You saw the way I handled those idiots. I've got shit to deal with."

You checked your phone, and to your disappointment, no messages. It was like walking out of a three-hour movie expecting some sort of big reveal, only to see zero notifications staring back at you. Just the quiet hum of nothingness, as if your phone was mocking you for even checking. You let out an exaggerated sigh, shoving it back into your pocket with a bit too much force.

You pouted slightly, glancing at Geto. "You know Shoko refused to accompany me."

Geto's eyes barely flicked toward you, his expression calm but vaguely amused in that way he got sometimes. "Yeah, that tracks."

"Whyyy?" You dragged out the word, throwing your arms up in exaggerated frustration like the drama queen you were.

"She's like this with everyone." He said it so casually it was almost dismissive, like this was just common knowledge everyone should have.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, skeptical but not exactly surprised.

He gave a slight shrug, the motion smooth and unbothered. "Yeah. Don't take it personally. She probably likes you more than most people, if anything."

...You were really, really hoping his wording was just awkward.

You snorted, shaking your head. "She doesn't care about me."

Instead of arguing, he gave you a small look - half questioning, half resigned, like he already knew you were about to do something ridiculous and had accepted his fate. Without a word, you pulled out your phone again and dialed Shoko's number.

The call barely had time to connect before you said, completely deadpan, "Breathe if you don't care about me."

There was a long pause on the other end, then Shoko's dry voice cut through. "What-"

"You breathed," you said, voice flat as a board. "That's all I needed to know."

"Wha-"
You hung up on her mid-confusion, slipping your phone back into your pocket with the kind of casualness that said you did this type of thing all the time. Which, to be fair, you kind of did.

"Communication," you explained, looking back at Geto like it was the most logical thing in the world.

Geto blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his face didn't give much away beyond that initial surprise. "Yeah, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, and you caught the faintest hint of exasperation in his voice. "I don't think that's how communication works. The other person has to actually know what's being communicated."

"Works for me," you shot back with a shrug.

He let out a soft exhale - not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, somewhere in between. It was such a Geto thing, that restrained amusement he did when he thought something was ridiculous but didn't want to be rude about it. "If you say so."

Chapter Text

Having Geto accompany you was... well, complicated. Confusing didn't quite cover it. You'd been doing a decent job of staying in tune with your emotions lately - or at least faking it well enough - but now here he was, calmly throwing everything out of whack. And it was irritating.

Not that you didn't want him there. You did. Kind of. He'd been helpful, pointing you toward the police station when your brain was too frazzled to remember basic geography, and his quiet presence was comforting in that weird, unspoken way. But the second you stepped through those station doors and got hit with the reality of what you'd walked into, the dynamic shifted. Suddenly you were hyperaware of him - the way he didn't say much but still somehow took up space - and it threw you completely off your game.

So now the question was: do you politely tell him to bail, let him off the hook so you could argue with the cops alone without feeling like you were wasting his time? Or do you let him stay, just in case? Because honestly, the idea of getting detained and having Fumiko called again made your skin crawl. The last time that happened, she'd gone on a tirade so explosive it felt like the cops were ready to cuff her instead. And the paperwork. God, the paperwork. You weren't sure which was worse - her yelling or the endless forms.

It'd be nice to have someone around. Someone who could keep you from completely losing it. Someone who could... hold you back, if it came to that. Not that you'd actually flip a table or scream obscenities at the detectives. Probably.

But then there was the guilt. If he stayed, you'd have to sit there feeling like you were dragging him into your mess. Worse, there'd be the look he'd give you afterward. That quiet, "you good?" kind of look that wasn't judgmental exactly, but still made you want to crawl under a rock. You hated that look.

Geto's gaze sharpened as he watched you think it through, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Are you getting nervous?" he asked, the teasing lilt in his voice making it sound almost like a challenge.

You shot him a look, puffing your cheeks as you tried to organize your thoughts. "Uh... listen, Geto, I am a very argumentative person, which means this could take a while." You paused, carefully choosing your words. "And if you're here to run an errand or something, I can assure you that by the time we're out, it'll be late. So..."

You let the words hang in the air, the obvious implication lingering between you. Run while you still can.

Geto only nodded once, his gaze unwavering. "I'll wait."

"Plus," he added, shifting the small bag in his hand like it was nothing, "I already bought my mother's perfume. That's why I came here in the first place."

You blinked, caught off guard. You hadn't even noticed the bag until now, and the casual way he said it made you feel like you'd missed something obvious.

You crossed your arms, giving him a once-over. "Damn, dude, you're productive as hell. Going on a mission and running errands for your mommy? Good for you." You shifted your weight, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "But also, where's Gojo? Did you leave him alone? To terrorize innocent civilians?"

Geto blinked at you, his expression carefully neutral. "Ah," he said after a pause, "I worded that badly, didn't I?" He sighed, glancing off to the side as if replaying his words. "What I meant was, I've already met those guys a year ago at their school - during a mission with Satoru. They recognized me, that's all."

Geto was usually good with his words - eloquent, measured - so the fact that he was shaken enough to fumble like this told you just how nervous he was about the whole thing. You knew damn well he wasn't sitting around talking to those acquaintances about how cute you were or any other nonsense. And he sure as hell wasn't caught up in some shy, embarrassed act either. No, there was only one explanation: he felt guilty. Especially after seeing how pissed off you got. Even he seemed to pick up on the fact that this wasn't the first time something like this had gone down with you - and that it was a touchy subject.

"It was actually our first mission together," Geto continued, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he'd just wandered into the middle of a shoujo manga scene. The faintest hint of nostalgia softened his tone.

Your eyes flicked down to the bag, then back up to him. For the first time that day, you actually looked at him. Oversized pants, a loose shirt layered beneath a black puffer jacket - everything in black. Very much him, but definitely not shoujo lead material.

You let out a short laugh. "Alright. Thank you, Romeo."

"It's nothing. It's how comrades should treat each other," Geto said, his gaze steady, as if he was stating something so simple it needed no further explanation.

"Have you been spending a lot of time with Nanami recently?"

Geto blinked, his expression shifting into mild confusion. "Nanami?" he repeated, clearly taken aback. He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing just enough to show genuine curiosity. "I wouldn't say a lot of time... why?"

You sighed. "Nevermind... okay, fine. Seriously, thanks, but don't say I didn't warn you. It's gonna get ugly."

He gave you a small, amused half-smile. "I've seen worse."

The station was busier than you expected. Phones rang constantly, officers shuffled papers or spoke in low voices, and the occasional raised voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the building. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting everything in that washed-out, clinical glow. The Primark glow. The "I want to leave this place ASAP cause it's feeling like the Backrooms" glow.

It wasn't the kind of environment that put you at ease. If anything, it made you feel like you were trapped in some sterile maze, and you hated the feeling of not knowing what the hell was going to happen next. Every minute spent in that place was a minute too long.

You and Geto stood at the reception desk, where a bored-looking officer barely glanced up, his gaze immediately zeroing in on Geto like he was the one to talk to. Classic.

You introduced yourself, but the officer ignored you entirely, focusing on Geto instead.

"You her guardian?" he asked flatly, already sounding bored out of his mind.

"No," Geto said smoothly, his tone calm and measured. "I'm here for emotional support."

The officer raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he gave Geto a slow once-over, clearly sizing him up. "This isn't a therapy session. Emotional support doesn't qualify you to be here."

Before Geto could say anything else, you leaned forward on the counter, your voice sharp and dripping with sarcasm. "Actually, he's my cousin, and I asked him to be here for emotional support. Is that a problem?"

"I am her boyfriend," Geto said at the exact same time.

What?!

The officer blinked, his confusion almost comical as his eyes darted between the two of you. "Wait. Cousin or boyfriend?"

"Yes," you both replied in perfect unison, deadpan.

You turned to Geto, your eyes wide with faux panic, leaning slightly toward him. He looked genuinely caught off guard - probably more surprised than when he fought (or rather, got his ass handed to him by) Toji in the manga.

"Suguruuu," you hissed through clenched teeth, your voice an aggressive whisper. "You know that cousin dating is taboo these days. We're supposed to be keeping it a secret!"

To really sell it, you darted a few pointed glances at the now visibly uncomfortable officer, who looked like he wanted to file this interaction away in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind.

Geto shot you a sharp look, his lips twitching as though trying not to laugh - or cry. "Could you not," he whispered back, his tone low but tinged with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

The officer froze, his pen hovering above his notepad as he slowly blinked at both of you, clearly contemplating if this was worth his paycheck. "...You know what," he muttered, shaking his head, "I don't even want to know."

Geto gave you a long, tired stare as you whispered to him, "See? Crisis averted."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "This wasn't a crisis until you made it one."

"Right," the officer finally said, recovering with visible effort. "Follow me."

He led you through a narrow hallway that smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning products, the kind of industrial cleaner that made your nose wrinkle. The walk felt longer than it probably was, each step echoing slightly against the linoleum floor. Finally, he stopped at a small, unremarkable room - dim, cluttered, and cold enough that your arms prickled beneath the sleeves of your hoodie.

The room was smaller than you'd expected, its walls a dull off-white that had probably been bright once upon a time but now just looked tired. File cabinets lined the walls, looking like they hadn't been touched since the '80s, their metal surfaces scratched and dented. The table in the middle wobbled slightly when you leaned your elbows on it, and the chairs were stiff, the kind that made your lower back ache within minutes. There was no two-way mirror - this wasn't a drama - but a CCTV camera in the corner blinked its red light at you like it was watching every move. 

You winked at it. And then regretted it. And then looked at it awkwardly.

Damn, this was like 1984! You couldn't even beat up a predator these days without Big Brother breathing down your neck. And then wink at the camera? Forget about it. Like the Joker once said, "We live in a ssssociety." He was onto something with that one. Credit where credit was due - he called it.

And oh boy, what a society it was. A place where you, bruised up from head to toe, were the one under scrutiny while some drunk bastard got to play victim because he slurred the right words to the right people. It was all so... poetic, really. Like some sick joke everyone was in on except you.

Well, yes, in reality he didn't even get to lay a finger on you. All those bruises on you? His bruises. But they didn't know that, now did they? You'd done everything to ensure that you and the girl would look like the perfect victims - the shaky voice, the tears in the right places, the careful arrangement of your shirt to reveal just enough of a welt but not too much, and the story told just so. You'd played the part to perfection. And still, it didn't work.

Because here's the thing about being the "perfect victim": it usually means shutting up and not doing anything about injustice. It means looking scared, not angry. Meek, not vengeful. And certainly not capable of fighting back.

Geto sat down beside you, effortlessly taking up space with his typical manspread, but not to the point where his knee even came close to yours. He made sure of that, keeping the boundary clear. It was almost like he knew exactly how much room to take up to avoid any accidental proximity, unlike someone else you knew. Damn, your nerves were really making you think about stupid stuff like that! You shook it off, trying to focus on something - anything - else.

"Wait here," the officer said before leaving you alone.

You groaned, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. "Ugh, this chair is so NOT butt-friendly. In fact, it's anti-social-"

Geto leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he eyed you. "Your cousin?"

"Well, shit. Not my fault you wanted to have some romcom moment with me," you shot back. "I didn't know this was going on."

Geto sighed softly, his expression almost too relaxed as he adjusted his position in the chair, but his voice was quiet and measured. "Or maybe... that's the only reasonable excuse for why I'm still here." He gave a small, almost imperceptible pause, his eyes slightly narrowing as if trying to make the point. "We don't look anything like each other, after all."

You crossed your arms, trying to mask the knot forming in your stomach. "That's just biblically accurate cousins," you said, trying to sound casual. "I'd pull up at family reunions back home and be like, 'Damn, who are YOU??' Like, I don't even know those people. The fuck you mean we are related?! Except for my favorite cousin, of course. I mean, we'd never talk outside the holidays, but when we did talk? It was a blast. And honestly, becoming actual regular friends would probably ruin it, you know? It's like those people who are only fun because the bar is in hell, like the rest of your family's off debating conspiracy theories or believing fake stuff on Facebook."

You paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, then shot a glance at Geto. "Is it obvious I'm low-key nervous as fuck?" you asked, your voice a little sharper than usual.

Geto didn't hesitate. "Yeah," he said flatly.

Not good.

Your flip phone vibrated, and you flipped it open with a quick snap. The monochrome screen lit up faintly, displaying the inbox in that blocky, pixelated font:

**Inbox:**

**Roomie <3**
hold on im cmng
10 sec ago

**Shoko**
what was that
36 min ago

Your thumb moved quickly over the keypad, the tiny buttons clicking under your fingers as you pressed send.

**To: Roomie <3**
wtf no. no need. u said u have cramps or sth?

Like, what the hell? You knew she was only 8 months pregnant, but still - shit, you never knew... what if the baby wanted to get out now?

You barely had time to flip the phone shut before it buzzed again, Fumiko's response popping up immediately:

**Roomie <3:**
and?

You sighed, opening the reply box again, the T9 text struggling to keep up with your fingers.

**To: Roomie <3**
i dont need a legal guardian dw. just 4 q's. go rest or smth.

The phone buzzed again instantly:

**Roomie <3:**
whn im bttr im cmng. mayb tmrw

You rolled your eyes. Typical Fumiko. No punctuation, random letters swapped out, and still stubborn as hell.

You flipped to the next thread, scrolling past Shoko's last message from earlier. Taking a deep breath, you typed out a reply with clumsy speed, the keypad clicking faintly under your fingers.

**To: Shoko**
i'm @ station w/ geto. the 1 near arcade. wtf so nervous. im gonna go 2 jail

You hesitated for a second before pressing send. A few moments passed as the cursor blinked on the screen, but no immediate reply came from her end. Typical Shoko.

The door creaked open a few minutes later, and two detectives stepped inside. The sound made you look up, your stomach dropping slightly at the sight of them.

The first was an older man, his face etched with deep-set wrinkles and exhaustion that seemed bone-deep. He looked perpetually tired, his stoic expression and gruff demeanor matching the dark circles under his eyes perfectly. A cigarette was tucked behind his ear, and his disheveled suit seemed like an afterthought, like he'd grabbed whatever was closest that morning. He glanced at you like you were just another case file to process, his notebook and pen clutched in his hands with a familiarity that made them seem like extensions of him.

The second detective, Ishida (you already knew this fucker - unfortunately), was younger, with slicked-back hair that looked like it had been styled with the utmost care to achieve that "effortlessly cool" vibe. His crisp uniform stood in sharp contrast to the older detective's rumpled appearance. Ugh, he looked so... greasy. More like oily, actually.

"Good afternoon," the older detective said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I'm Detective Nakamura. This is Detective Ishida. Let's get started."

"Good afternoon, good sirs!" you chirped, your voice dripping with fake sweetness. Oh, you were lying through your teeth. It was a bad fucking afternoon. And you wanted them dead. But you'd already exhausted your grumpy-teenager energy on Yaga earlier, so you figured, fine, you'd play nice for now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Geto's reaction - his eyebrows raised just the slightest bit. For someone as composed as him (at least, based on what you'd seen so far), that was practically a spit take. Guess he wasn't expecting that from you. Polite words, coming out of your mouth? A real shocker.

"Thank you for coming in again, miss," Nakamura started, his voice toneless, his eyes barely lifting from his notes. "Let's start with the basics for the record. Name, age."

You folded your hands neatly in your lap, nodding slightly. "Why, of course," you said, your tone syrupy sweet. You told them with a smile plastered on your face.

Ishida leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. "Not bad," he said with a smirk. "Maybe you've finally learned some manners."

You smiled politely, ignoring the jab. "I just want to cooperate and clear this up as quickly as possible."

Nakamura blinked, caught slightly off guard by your apparent compliance, and flipped to a fresh page.

"And your relationship to this... person?" Ishida asked, his tone skeptical as he gestured vaguely at Geto.

You didn't even pause. "He's my boyfriend. Haha, earlier I made a joke about him being my cousin. Haha, not me being a silly goose. Haha. Silly, silly me."

You flashed your best awkward smile, praying he'd buy it.

Geto's brow twitched ever so slightly, but he didn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice measured and calm. "We get that a lot. Must be the... eyebrows."

You shot him a quick side-eye. Was that helpful or sabotage? You couldn't tell.

Ishida raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Your legal guardian isn't here. Shouldn't they be?" His voice was light, but the insinuation behind it was sharp.

You leaned back in your chair. "She's nine months pregnant," you replied flatly. "If you wanna drag a lady who can give birth at any given moment down here, be my guest. But don't look at me when her water breaks in the middle of your interrogation room."

Lying was fun.

That seemed to shut him up for a moment, Nakamura clearing his throat like he didn't want to get involved in this mess. Geto shifted beside you, his hand resting on the table.

Ishida snorted, but Nakamura cut in before he could say anything. "Let's stick to the incident. You said you saw a man harassing a teenage girl outside the arcade. Can you walk us through what happened again?"

Oh, great. Taking your statement for the third time.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. "I was leaving the arcade when I saw him taking pictures of a girl who looked really uncomfortable. She seemed scared, so I stepped in and told him to stop. Politely, may I add."

"And then?" Nakamura prompted.

"He got aggressive," you said, your voice lowering as if the memory unsettled you. "I tried to de-escalate, but he started yelling at me and then hit me."

You took a moment to sniffle dramatically.

"At the end," you continued, your voice steady but laced with forced innocence, "I managed to get on top of him in self-defense. You know, to make sure he'd stop. I mean, I was scared - I thought I was going to die or something." You paused, glancing around for dramatic effect. "So I gently hit his head against the concrete. Like, super gently. Just enough to keep myself safe."

Ishida didn't seem amused. Geto, on the other hand, was barely stifling what you were sure was either a laugh or a sigh. Probably both.

"And you're sure you didn't provoke him in any way?" Ishida asked, his tone dripping with condescension.

"No," you said sharply. "I just told him to stop taking pictures of her... politely, may I add."

Ishida exchanged a look with Nakamura before leaning back in his chair. "Here's what I don't get. The dude doesn't have a scratch on him, but you looked... like you went ten rounds in a boxing ring. How do you explain that?"

You hesitated, the rehearsed story tumbling through your mind. "I tried to block his hits. I didn't fight back as much as I thought I would."

Ishida smirked, and you felt your stomach turn. "Right. Very noble of you. That's not exactly how the suspect tells it. According to him, you attacked him unprovoked. That makes it assault."

"Assault?" you said, incredulous. "I stopped a grown man from taking pictures of a 14-year-old. That's assault now?"

"The law isn't always about intentions," Nakamura said, his tone annoyingly condescending. "It's about actions. The suspect claims you attacked him unprovoked. And that he defended himself. And without evidence to the contrary..."

You blinked, having no idea what was going on.

"Right. Let's talk about the CCTV camera. Witnesses say you were near it before it stopped working. Care to explain?"

Witnesses?! Who could it be other than the girl and the pedo?

Under the table, Geto's knee brushed against yours - just enough for you to feel it. And enough to send a jolt up your spine. You stilled, the words momentarily catching in your throat, and the warmth of it lingered longer than it should've.

Geto didn't move. If anything, it felt deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing - or maybe he didn't, and that was worse. His knee stayed there, steady and unbothered, as if it belonged, as if the space between you wasn't suddenly too small, too close. You refused to look at him, focusing instead on Ishida's skeptical face, even though all you could think about was that fleeting, stupid, inexplicable touch.

After all, he was the reason the camera conveniently malfunctioned in the first place.

"Oh, absolutely," you said, too sweetly for it to sound genuine. "It was purely coincidence, as it makes no sense for me to interfere with it. Like, come on. You literally see me walking up to the guy on camera - so how the hell could I have destroyed the camera? Wouldn't it have been caught?" Your tone shifted, sarcasm slipping in before you forced it back, remembering the performance you had to keep up. You inhaled deeply, shifting your tone to something higher and breathier.

"You know how old those cameras can be," you continued, this time with saccharine sweetness that probably made them both want to puke. "Faulty wiring and all that."

"Faulty wiring," Nakamura echoed, his smirk widening. "Convenient."

"Well, I wouldn't call it convenient," you said, tilting your head slightly. "But it does make me wonder why the city budget isn't covering upgrades for public safety. Don't you think that's a bit of an oversight? Maybe that's why predators can go around and take inappropriate pictures of underage girls."

Ishida cleared his throat, cutting off Nakamura before he could respond. "Let's move on. You claim the man was behaving inappropriately toward the girl. Can you describe what you saw again?"

"Of course," you said, your tone still pleasant. "I saw him crouched down with a camera pointed at her skirt... like the skirt of her dress. It was clear he wasn't taking scenic photos, if that's what you're about to suggest."

"We reviewed the photos," Nakamura said, his voice laced with condescension. "None of them were inappropriate by legal standards."

You didn't need to look at Geto's subtle shift to feel the tension in the room thicken like smoke, but you couldn't let that sway you now. Sitting up straighter, you crossed your arms with deliberate calmness and locked eyes with Nakamura. "Okay, before we even get into that, let's make this clear," you began, voice measured but sharp with irritation. "You caught me full of bruises and him with nothing but a few scratches from when I pushed him into the concrete - after he beat me up - in self-defense. So tell me again how I'm the assailant here?"

Ishida shifted uncomfortably, shooting a glance at his partner, but Nakamura's expression remained unreadable.

"And just to add to this," you continued, your voice louder now, "I'm a minor. Seventeen years old. You've got no proof I was the aggressor, except for the word of the man who literally caused all these bruises. So explain to me how I'm facing prison time, because that math isn't mathing. If two plus two is four, and five plus five is ten, then what the fuck is this?!"

Nakamura cleared his throat, the discomfort in his posture betraying his stoic face. He looked down at his notes, his voice softer now. "It's not that simple. We're looking at everything. And, like I said, you're a minor, so we're trying to give you the benefit of the doubt."

You didn't flinch under his gaze, keeping your tone calm despite the anger simmering underneath. "The benefit of the doubt? You're questioning me like I'm a criminal. Let me remind you - under the law, I'm looking at counseling or a warning at most. I don't have a criminal record, and there's plenty of evidence that I was the one being attacked. So unless you've got a smoking gun hidden somewhere, there's no case here."

At least, that's what Fumiko told you. She'd been in trouble with the law herself, so you were more than willing to trust her.

A tense silence stretched out as the officers exchanged glances. Nakamura sighed, glancing briefly at Ishida before speaking again. "You're right. We don't have hard evidence tying you to the assault directly, and you're a minor, which complicates things. But you can understand why we're asking questions."

So you couldn't possibly go to jail. That was good. That was great, even. Juvenile status and self-defense were working in your favor. Which meant you could stop biting your tongue and let them have it.

Ishida suddenly leaned forward, his tone skeptical. "So, a week and something later, and here you are. No bruises, no marks. That's interesting, considering how injured you were. Got an explanation for that?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown. "What's your point? You have pictures of my bruises. They were even in the newspaper. I heal fast. Is that a problem?"

Ishida tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Fast healing, huh? Convenient."

Before you could snap, Geto's hand brushed your arm - a subtle, grounding gesture that made your breath catch for just a second. "We're here to answer questions, not argue," he said quietly, though the steel in his tone made it clear he wasn't entirely neutral.

Nakamura flipped a page in his notebook, glancing up briefly. "Did you know the man you confronted?"

"No," you said firmly.

"And you're sure he attacked you first?"

"Yes."

Ishida leaned back, crossing his arms with a faint smirk. "You know, some women these days think every guy is a predator. You see a man minding his business, and suddenly it's a witch hunt."

Your jaw clenched, and you sat up straighter. "Excuse me?"

Nakamura sighed like he'd heard this a hundred times before. "What he's saying is that not every man is out to get you. Maybe you should think about that before jumping to conclusions."

"It's good your boyfriend knows how to keep your emotions in check," Ishida added, his tone measured but undeniably condescending. "You seem a little... spirited."

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the audacity of his comment. But the shock quickly gave way to a sharp edge in your voice. "You mean mad about the normalization of sexual harassment of young girls? Yeah, actually, I am. Very, very spirited."

Geto's fingers twitched slightly against your arm, like he was torn between intervening and letting you dig your own grave. "She's passionate," he said finally, his voice even.

Nakamura chuckled under his breath. "Passionate. Sure. Let's call it that."

You forced yourself to take a slow breath, refocusing. "Fine. Let's stick to the facts then. What kind of photos were they, exactly?"

Ishida hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Nakamura before he finally answered. "Mostly... legs."

"Legs," you echoed, your voice flat and disbelieving.

"They weren't upskirt photos," Nakamura interjected, his tone clipped as he leaned back in his chair. "Just shots of legs. Could've been innocent, for all we know. Maybe the guy's an artist or something."

Your lips curled into a humorless smile. "An artist? Sure. Because every artist starts their portfolio with random teenage girls' legs. Are you serious?"

Nakamura gave a slight shrug, his expression neutral but dismissive. "We're just saying there's no hard evidence he was doing anything illegal. You can't go around making assumptions."

But you were already past the point of no return. "No, actually, let me guess," you said, leaning forward slightly. "The only reason you're defending him is because you've got weird shit on your own hard drives. What's the matter? You think being attracted to a fourteen-year-old girl is normal? Is that it?"

"Miss-" Ishida started, his tone sharp.

"Let me guess," you continued, ignoring him entirely. "Fourteen's too old for you, huh? Who are you? Humbert Humbert?"

"Watch your tone. We're treating you fairly because you're a minor. Don't push it."

"Am I wrong?" you shot back, your voice rising. "Because it sure sounds like you're bending over backward to protect a predator. Or is that just standard practice around here?"

Nakamura straightened, his tone cooling as he spoke. "That's a serious accusation. If you have evidence to back it up, you're welcome to present it. But throwing around claims like that without proof won't get you anywhere."

Ishida chimed in, his voice edged with irritation. "We're here to investigate based on facts, not personal vendettas. So unless you've got something concrete, I suggest you dial it down."

Nakamura gave you a wry smile, his tone shifting to something more measured but still laced with an edge. "Speaking of this... the suspect's wallet was found empty. According to him, he had some cash - 20,000 yen, to be precise. Care to explain that discrepancy?"

Your stomach churned, and your mind raced. Shit, you did take it, didn't you? But you were sure he didn't have that much in there...

Without missing a beat, you shot back. "He looks broke as hell, probably a boyfailure who's spent his entire miserable existence harassing young girls because he's too much of a fucking embarrassment to be taken seriously by successful women his age. Why would I rob him of all people? He's a joke."

The officer's gaze narrowed, his lips twisting into a slight smirk as he leaned in, his tone coldly professional. "Ah, yes, an interesting theory-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting him off with biting sarcasm. "What, like the theory that the legal system actually protects young girls from predators? Yeah, real interesting theory, I'd say."

---

You stormed out of the police station, your eye twitching with barely-contained rage. Your hand was shoved deep in your pocket, your middle finger extended in the way you used to do as a kid after an argument with your parents. Back then, it was your secret act of defiance, flipping them off in silence where they couldn't see it. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.

The only thing that made the whole ordeal somewhat bearable was when they pulled out the newspaper. There it was, in full spread - an article about you, with your photos plastered all over it. As they droned on about how you could be sued for defamation or whatever, a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You'd leaned back, inspecting the photo with the exaggerated admiration of someone who'd just discovered their own masterpiece. "Ooooh, I look good in that shot," you'd said with a chuckle. "Should I start signing autographs? Or does that count as community service?"

You'd shrugged, still grinning, voice casual. "I've already SERVED my time." You'd laughed at your own joke, like you always did.

Yeah, that was the only thing that made the whole situation even slightly bearable.

Geto caught up to you effortlessly, his long strides making it seem like he didn't even have to try. He didn't run. With his height, he didn't need to.

He cleared his throat, like he was about to say something, but you cut him off with a low, frustrated grumble.

"Ugh, I hate men!"

Geto paused for a moment, clearly weighing his response, before tilting his head slightly. "Fair," he said, his tone light but edged with amusement. "But, uh, do I need to start walking three steps behind you now, or am I exempt for today?"

Your eye twitched violently as you whipped around to glare at him. Of course he'd say something like that. No wonder his obnoxious ass was best friends with Gojo. Birds of a feather flock together, or whatever the hell that stupid saying was.

"Three steps behind me," you said before you turned on your heel, your pace quickening.

You kept walking, muttering to yourself under your breath, "I'll break into their damn house at night, sneak around like a fucking ninja, and snap pictures of their grotesque, goddamn legs in every possible angle. Just wait - I'll make a whole fucking gallery out of them. They'll see what it's like to have their 'art' immortalized. Let's see how they like that kind of attention. Bet they won't be so smug then."

Yeah, you were definitely spiraling, but in that weird, almost comforting way. Like the moment you finally realized that the world was a mess and no matter how much you screamed into the void, it wasn't going to change. But you did it anyway. Because what else was there? All that anger, the frustration - it was the one thing you could still hold on to, even if it felt pointless.

You really thought you might be able to get him thrown in jail, and then prison. At least, that was the goal, right? But then - shit. The detectives were turning their suspicions toward you, making absolutely no sense. There was nothing, not a shred of evidence, to even remotely connect you to any crime. So why the hell were they even questioning you like this? What was going on?

This bastard could just walk right out of here, free as a bird, and continue his disgusting habits - harassing young girls, maybe even escalating his actions. That's how it always went. You got caught up in something dark, and instead of stopping, you started craving more. More risk, more excitement. You pushed the boundaries a little further, and a little further, until you were deep in it, and nobody was coming to stop you.

The police? They weren't going to do shit about it. And that just made everything feel worse. Knowing that he could keep going, that nothing would change, was like a slap in the face.

You didn't even want to see her, Tomoko. It wasn't that you thought she expected anything from you, but there was this gnawing feeling that she'd still be disappointed in you somehow. Maybe it seemed like a small thing to anyone else, but you knew how deep it could go. This moment could ripple through her life in ways that would change her, even if she didn't realize it yet.

She might start to feel uneasy wearing that dress again - or any dress, for that matter. The thought of cameras, a simple flash, could make her freeze up. She might start feeling paranoid about being out alone, wondering if someone was always watching. Or maybe it would be something as small as her favorite arcade, or just walking down this street, and suddenly she couldn't pass by without feeling that unease.

It might have sounded minor to anyone else, but it wasn't. Not when you understood how it could warp her reality, make her world feel smaller, tighter, more suffocating. How it could make her second-guess everything she thought was safe. That kind of thing didn't just go away. It lingered, digging its roots in, whether it was glaringly obvious or not.

But no one else seemed to see it that way.

Geto once again caught up to you, his footsteps silent against the pavement. You didn't even have to glance over to know he was right there. Despite the fact you'd told him to keep his distance, he was as close as ever. Three steps behind - it reminded you of a certain someone you'd rather set yourself on fire than think about. Ha. Naoya would fit right in with these sexist pigs in uniform. They'd probably toast beers over their shared inability to treat women like people.

Without warning, his hand settled on your shoulder, the weight of it subtle but enough to make you freeze for just a second. You felt it - warm, steady, like he was grounding you in a moment that felt... out of place. His fingers didn't squeeze, but they didn't pull away either.

"You did what you could," Geto said, his voice low but firm, the words brushing over your skin like they didn't need much explanation. You were still aware of his hand there, resting, gentle, like he wasn't just comforting you, but... supporting you in a way that felt just right. His fingers stayed where they were, barely pressing into the fabric of your sleeve, but the pressure was enough to keep you from thinking too much about anything else.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could get a word out, your phone rang, cutting through the tension like a knife. You almost felt relieved, honestly. The words had died in your throat, and you didn't even know what you'd say. You pulled the phone from your pocket without thinking, eager for the distraction. The sudden ring seemed to shake Geto out of his moment of stillness, and his hand dropped from your shoulder, just like that.

You glanced at the screen, frowning when you saw the name. Haibara..? What the hell did he want now? You stared at it for a moment, the coolness of the screen against your palm feeling like a jolt back to reality. You clicked the answer button before you could second-guess yourself.

"Haibara?" you said, not bothering to hide the confusion.

Haibara's voice came through loud and clear, loud enough for Geto to hear. "Guys! Geto-san! I'm coming! Wait for me!"

You both paused, blinking at each other in confusion.

"What-" You and Geto both said at the same time, mirroring the shock on each other's faces.

Haibara, as always, didn't give a damn about subtlety. "I'll finally ask her out! She's near the police station! The bakery is 25 minutes away! Ieri-san told me you were here!"

You nearly tripped on the sidewalk, your jaw dropping. "What the fuck?"

Geto, still trying to make sense of the situation, rubbed his temple. "Uh, are you sure it's-"

"You're supposed to confess tomorrow on the 14th, dumbass," you cut him off, frustration and disbelief making your tone sharp. "Tomorrow!"

Haibara's response came through the phone like he was just... completely unbothered. "Nah, this way, tomorrow we'll go on our date!" He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, staring at the phone like it had sprouted a second head. "What the actual fuck?" You shook your head. "Is this guy serious?" You glanced at Geto, who seemed equally as dumbfounded.

"Ah, I'll send you the address! Let's meet up there, it'll be suuuper fun! Finally gonna confess, you know!? Okay, see ya!"

You blinked, holding the phone away from your ear for a second as you processed the flood of words Haibara just threw at you. Confess? What the hell?

"Wait - Haibara!" you started, but by the time you brought the phone back to your ear, he'd already hung up. You were left staring at the screen, your mind scrambling to catch up with his sudden excitement.

You glanced at Geto. "...So, we just ditch him or what?"

He shot you a look, his tone dry. "You really trust him to handle it by himself?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "...Nah. If he sees her putting on makeup, he's probably gonna start some bullshit about how she looks better without it."

Geto let out a soft exhale - not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, somewhere in between. "Yeah, he definitely would... but, uh, wouldn't that be a compliment?"

You let out a long, exasperated groan.

Chapter Text

You and Geto were trudging down some random street you didn't recognize, supposedly heading toward wherever the hell this bakery was. Ugh. After that phone call, things had gone quiet - awkward, almost. Well, maybe awkward for him. You were deep in your own head, muttering curses under your breath like a lunatic. If those officers or that creep weren't coughing up a lung in seven days, you'd honestly be shocked. Geto could hear you, obviously. You didn't care. Let him think you'd finally lost it.

You were Jujutsu Society's resident town drunk, and honestly? You were thriving in the role. If they had something to say about Utahime's scar or Yuki not taking missions in canon, you could only imagine the shit they said about you. Oh, you just knew they were out there talking. You weren't just a liability - you were their first woke gay kid, and they couldn't handle it. Ha!

Some old geezer in the higher-ups was probably clutching his pearls right now, rambling about how "the youth these days" didn't respect tradition. And the gossip? You could practically feel it buzzing in the air. You didn't even have to overhear it. You just knew.

Anyway... discussion for another day.

Apparently, Geto had decided he knew the area well enough to get you there without issue. You were skeptical as hell. He was still pretty new to Tokyo, wasn't he? Just a small-town guy playing big city. Like a chick flick waiting to happen. You'd already texted Haibara for clearer directions, but true to form, the bastard still hadn't replied.

So here you were, stuck trailing behind Geto, who was absolutely pulling a classic "dad on a road trip" move - the kind where he missed the exit twenty minutes ago but refuses to admit it, all while claiming he's smarter than the GPS.

To be fair, Geto wasn't that bad, you thought. Maybe it wasn't ego, just... whatever weird compulsion he had to seem reliable. Or maybe this was his attempt at leadership. Either way, you were pretty sure he was lowkey lost, even if he hadn't admitted it yet.

Out of nowhere, Geto finally spoke, his voice soft. "Don't let it bother you too much." He didn't look at you, just kept walking with that steady pace of his. "You won't win every time. But that's the nature of things, isn't it? The weak still need someone to stand up for them. That's the role we take on."

His gaze flicked to you briefly, expression unreadable. "I understand how you feel, but as a sorceress, you'll have many more opportunities to help those in need. It's our responsibility, after all."

The words came out measured, careful - like he was choosing each one to make sure they landed exactly right. Like he wanted to say exactly what you needed to hear.

You blinked, halting in your tracks. "Weak meaning non-sorcerers?"

Your voice came out a little more defensive than you intended, though you weren't exactly feeling defensive. Not really.

Geto stopped too. For a moment, it was quiet - just the distant hum of Tokyo traffic and your breathing. His gaze held yours, like he was trying to figure out where you stood. If you were offended, defensive, or just curious. After a beat, he nodded, though the gesture felt hesitant.

"Well," he said, folding his arms loosely over his chest. His t-shirt was black, with nothing on it - how interesting, right? You were just looking for some kind of motif, or maybe trying to decipher why you'd started staring at his chest in the first place. Totally not because you were zoning out, nope.

His tone stayed steady but thoughtful. "We sorcerers are stronger than them. That's just a fact. It's not about looking down on them - it's about recognizing that power comes with responsibility. If we have the ability to protect people who can't protect themselves, then we should. That's the way it's supposed to be. The strong protect the weak."

He tilted his head slightly. "Strength isn't a blessing, it's a duty. And we are the ones who must shoulder it. It's the way it's meant to be."

You stayed quiet. He coughed into his hand, almost like he thought he'd said too much, but his expression didn't waver. He believed every word, even if he wasn't sure how you felt about it. After a beat, he started walking again, probably telling himself he ate that... and honestly, he kind of did. Not a full-course meal, sure, but he definitely nibbled. Chewed a little.

You furrowed your brows. "First of all, I lowkey don't want to take on any of that responsibility. I didn't sign up for this. I just wanna live, love, and laugh with the people I love and care about."

You could feel the words bubbling up, that familiar urge to say every single thought rattling around in your head. "Second of all... 'with great power comes great responsibility.'"

You forced your voice into your best Aunt May impression, and honestly? Kind of nailed it.

"And third of all... if we're following your logic, then that creep - the sexual harasser - is a non-sorcerer. And non-sorcerers are weaklings who need to be protected, right? So by that syllogistic reasoning, he deserves protection too. I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly lining up to save someone like him... but hey, maybe that's just me."

Yeah, you really went ahead and broadcasted every single thought you had. Well, might as well give him a bit of everything - some sass, a pop culture reference, and a little argument to chew on.

Geto's expression remained neutral, but you caught the faintest clench of his jaw. That subtle tell sent a small ripple of panic through you. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unflinching and just a touch too sharp.

Shit. He's going to pull out his dragon, isn't he? Just like he did with Gojo! What if he defects from Jujutsu Society right now because of you? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I understand what you're saying," he said, his voice calm, though there was a faint edge to it. Like a string pulled too tight. "But things aren't that simple."

He paused, exhaling slowly, deliberately, as if weighing every word. "It's not about whether people deserve protection or not. That's... irrelevant. What matters is our responsibility as sorcerers. If we start deciding who is or isn't worth saving, where does that leave us? Who has the right to make that kind of choice?"

His words should've carried the weight of conviction, but instead, there was something off. An uneasiness in the way he said it, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. Earlier, he'd fully believed what he was saying, his defensiveness a response to Gojo's endless disagreements with him. Geto always seemed to think his stance was the objective truth, the only real answer.

But now? Now he sounded unsure. Very, very unsure.

You blinked. Hard.

That's not what he said in the manga! Damn it, you were so not prepared to become his therapist.

For a moment, Geto seemed lost in thought, his eyes distant like he wasn't even on this street anymore. Then he shrugged and forced a small smile back onto his face, like he hadn't just bared a sliver of his inner turmoil.

"Anyway, it's just something to think about," he said, his voice lighter now, almost casual. "Shall we?"

You hesitated, feeling that annoying pull to say something back. Not to match his wisdom or whatever, but to leave the door open for future conversations. You weren't ready to lean into your role as the reluctant protagonist just yet, but someday you'd probably end up doing the whole jutsu no therapy thing with him. Might as well lay the groundwork now.

"Hey, uh... thanks," you said, trying not to sound like you were forcing it. "I don't really get what you're saying right now - haven't even been on my first mission yet, and uh, Jujutsu Society? Feeling peculiar about it, to say the least."

You laughed a little, awkwardly. "But I don't know... after my first mission, I'll probably need like, a reason to keep going, you know? Something to hang onto. So yeah. Thanks."

Geto glanced over at you, the corners of his mouth pulling into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That's fair," he said. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. First missions are... a lot."

He paused. "But if you ever feel like you're losing sight of why you're doing this - or if you need to talk about it - just let me know. I don't have all the answers, but... I get it."

There was a beat of silence, and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And for what it's worth, finding a reason doesn't always happen right away. Sometimes it takes time. But you'll get there."

Damn, you didn't know he was chill like that. Guess you kind of accused him of being cool with sexual harassers a minute ago though, so... But still, the way he was looking at you now had you feeling all sorts of weird. Not good weird. It was like that tingling feeling, but the kind that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Some people might call it being vulnerable. You? You didn't like it. Not one bit.

So you cleared your throat, stepping up to him and throwing a wry smile his way. You looked up, giving him that half-joking, half-serious look. "Get there? If 'there' means the damn bakery, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna make it anytime soon. Pretty sure you don't even know where it is either."

Geto's eyes flickered, a brief crack in his composure, before a quiet laugh escaped him. "Right," he said. "Guess I can't argue with that."

He glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings and then back at you, his gaze lingering, almost like he was trying to read you again. "But hey, you never know. Sometimes the best parts of a journey come from getting lost."

You snorted. "Right. Maybe the real friends were the bakery we made along the way."

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, looking like he was about to correct you. "I am pretty sure that's not how it goes-"

But before he could finish his mansplaining, you shushed him aggressively, your hand raised like you were swatting away a fly. You silently thanked the gods you didn't accidentally spit on him... because well, you had spit on friends before. They'd match your freak and say shit like "yum, water" or pretend to lick it off, but something told you Geto wouldn't be one to roll with it.

"Let's just call Haibara," you said, tone darkening. "The fucker better reply, or else we're homewrecking him."

---

The two of you hunched over your flip phone, squinting at the text Haibara had sent. The screen's faint glow lit up Geto's face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brow. Haibara truly had a gift for making simple things needlessly complicated, and this text was no exception.

"What the hell even is that?" you muttered, jabbing the phone with your thumb as if pressing harder would force it to make sense.

Geto tilted his head, his dark bang falling into his face. "Hm... may I?" His voice was calm, polite - too polite, honestly. It annoyed you how he could sound so composed while you were clearly spiraling.

"Be my guest," you said, shoving the phone into his hand.

He took it like he was handling something fragile, as if his careful touch would somehow unravel Haibara's cryptic message. For a moment, you thought he might actually figure it out. He stared at the screen with the kind of concentration you didn't have the patience for, scrolling once, then twice.

Two minutes passed in silence before he sighed, that small, almost theatrical exhale he always did. "I don't have it," he said simply, handing the phone back to you.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "Right. Thanks for that, genius."

He just shrugged, unbothered, like his complete failure to contribute was somehow part of the plan. The casual way he did it made you want to throw the phone at him, but you held back. Haibara was the real problem here, not Geto. Probably.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, dragging your hands down your face before rubbing your temples. "Okay, we need to stop and ask someone for directions." You glanced around the unfamiliar streets, then added begrudgingly, "But... uh... it should probably be you. Please?"

You clasped your hands together and, against all better judgment, your voice actually pitched higher on the "please." And to make matters worse, you did that cringe-inducing /\ thing with your eyebrows.

Oh god. Yes, you wanted to die. Yes, you were cringing at yourself because what was that?! You weren't even half as good at the whole burikko act as Aika, so why did you even try?

Geto glanced your way, his expression maddeningly blank, though you swore there was the faintest glimmer of amusement at your pitiful attempt. His tone, ever composed and maddeningly self-assured, slipped out effortlessly. "Yeah, sure," he said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. He stepped forward, moving like he owned the sidewalk. "I'll handle it."

Damn.

Geto moved without hesitation, his long stride eating up the space between you and the nearest person - a middle-aged woman standing just outside a grocery store. She had a tote bag slung over her shoulder, stuffed to the brim with what looked like groceries. She looked the part of 2000s Tokyo, dressed in a pastel cardigan over a floral blouse, her knee-length skirt neat but practical. Her short hair was curled at the ends, a soft permed style that hinted at an early morning spent with rollers. A pair of sensible low-heeled shoes completed the picture, the kind you'd expect from someone who probably worked in an office or maybe a bank, with a neatly packed bento waiting back at her desk.

Women in corporate, girlbossing, working hard as a gainfully employed, high-performing, dark-feminine type. Mhm, now that's what you're talking about!

Geto stopped a respectable distance from her, cleared his throat softly, and dipped his head in a small bow. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for this address." He held out your flip phone with a slight tilt, the screen catching the light.

The woman blinked, startled, her fingers pausing mid-rummage in her bag. Her gaze flickered up - taking in his face, his height, and that inexplicably infamous dark streak of hair (referred to by everyone as "a bang" for reasons no one has explained) that framed his features like he'd just stepped out of a glossy drama poster. You could practically see the moment she straightened, one hand self-consciously smoothing over her cardigan as if ironing out invisible wrinkles.

"Oh, um," she began, her voice soft and hesitant, like she couldn't quite believe she was the one being addressed. Chin up, queen! Your crown's slipping! "Let me see..." She leaned in a little, squinting at the screen like the map would magically start making sense if she stared at it hard enough.

You folded your arms and leaned against the nearest lamp post, watching the whole thing like a scene you weren't invited to. The blush that crept over her cheeks wasn't subtle, and you had to bite your tongue when she nervously tucked a curl behind her ear.

Somehow though, of course, she knew. The first person he asked... what the fuck?! Maybe he is the main character!

"It's just three blocks down," she said, pointing past the bakery. "Turn left at the corner with the pharmacy, and it should be right there."

"Thank you," Geto said, flashing her that polite, practiced smile of his. It wasn't smug, but it had this uncanny way of landing just right. Like he was genuinely grateful. Like he wasn't entirely aware he was the reason middle-aged women everywhere suddenly felt the need to adjust their cardigans and fix their hair.

You could only hope - desperately, wildly - that she thought he was in his early twenties, chalking it up to his sharp features and ridiculous height. Hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like you to have, but you have it.

The woman waved a hand, smiling back. "No trouble at all. Good luck!"

When he turned back to you, you were already fuming. "Three blocks? She just happened to know? Seriously?" You pushed off the post. "I asked at least five people earlier on my way to the station, and all I got were blank stares!"

Geto handed your phone back, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and then just stood there, studying you with an unreadable expression. But you didn't miss the faint curve of his lips, the kind that meant trouble. You already hated whatever thought was brewing in his head.

Crossing your arms, you narrowed your eyes. "What? Is there something on my face, or are you just practicing your judging skills?"

He didn't answer right away, his gaze flicking over you like he was trying to decide just how much of a smartass he wanted to be. Finally, he said, voice maddeningly calm, "You know, maybe you'd have better luck if you were... less intimidating."

You blinked, caught off guard for half a second before shrugging it off. "I'm intimidating?" You tilted your head, a slow grin spreading across your face. "Nice."

Ha, he really thought he had you with this!

Geto didn't even flinch. "Anyway, shall we?" He gestured ahead, already moving like he hadn't just hit you with the most backhanded comment of the year.

---

The bakery was tucked into a snug corner of the street, its faded red awning sagging slightly as though tired from years of weathering Tokyo's seasons. It was the kind of place you might miss if you weren't looking for it - except for the wooden sign above the door, its kanji worn and cracked, proudly advertising its name in a way that felt more like a quiet legacy than an attempt to attract customers. Beneath it, a chalkboard rested on the pavement, the day's specials scrawled in looping handwriting with playful doodles of croissants and melonpan decorating the edges.

The glass display window was misted with condensation, blurring the view inside, though it didn't entirely hide the neatly arranged pastries behind it. Rows of perfectly golden melonpan, plump anpan filled to the brim with red bean paste, and curry bread so flaky you could almost hear the crunch just by looking at it. The smell of warm sugar and yeast drifted out faintly onto the sidewalk, teasing passersby. Somewhere down the street, a bike bell rang, mingling with the steady hum of the city.

Inside, the bakery was small but alive with character. A couple of worn stools hugged the narrow counter near the register. Behind it stood a teenage girl, her dark curls catching the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the frosted window. Her complexion was deep and rich, her sharp features softened by the warm, golden glow of the bakery's overhead lights. She leaned on the counter, chin propped up on her hand as she watched a small TV perched precariously on a shelf behind her. On the screen, Chihiro darted across a bridge in Spirited Away.

That must be her! Haibara's crush!

She glanced up at you and Geto as the bell above the door jingled faintly, straightening up just enough to acknowledge your arrival. "Hello," she greeted simply.

The shelves behind her were crowded with jars of pickled fruit that glimmered like jewels in the soft light, neatly wrapped bags of flour, and stacks of small wicker baskets filled with fresh bread. The walls bore evidence of the bakery's personality - hand-drawn posters promoting seasonal treats, faded Polaroid pictures of smiling customers, and a pinned calendar that looked older than you.

The bakery's warmth was immediate and comforting, wrapping around you like a thick blanket on a cold day.

"Oh my god, hiiii!" you blurted, your voice a little too enthusiastic. "Uh, you close at 7 p.m., right? 'Cause we're waiting for a friend, but he's sooooo damn late... ugh, he's such an idiot sometimes."

Geto snorted at this.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her ponytail swaying as she motioned toward the TV with her chin, where Chihiro was mid-sprint across a rickety bridge. "Nah, we close in like, an hour and a half?" she said. "I mean, I'm watching this right now-" she jerked her head at the screen again "-so yeah, I'm not exactly rushing or anything."

"That's great, thanks," you said, letting out a relieved breath.

You leaned on the counter, eyes flicking over the neatly arranged pastries once more before deciding. "Uh, can I get a hot chocolate, please?" you asked, keeping your tone polite but casual - just like you'd heard people do. Short and sweet, nothing over the top.

Geto's earlier comment still lingered in your mind, poking at your ego like an itch you couldn't scratch. Intimidating? Really? That didn't automatically translate to impolite, and he damn well knew it. You could be polite when you felt like it - hell, it was practically second nature, muscle memory from whatever residual instincts came with your old JJK-self. You could use "watashi" and toss out the most perfectly constructed keigo, sounding like you just stepped out of a corporate office meeting... and then immediately turn around and cuss someone out in the same breath. It wasn't a Gojo situation where you had to be chihuahua-trained. No, you were fully capable of speaking politely - it just depended on whether or not you thought the person deserved it.

And besides, you'd been casual enough with Haibara, and even Shoko recently, and neither of them seemed to mind. So what was it? The way you talked? The way you looked? Your resting bitch face? You frowned at the thought, then groaned internally. Knowing Geto, he'd probably say yes if you asked, just to mess with you.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, smiling wide. Oh, you were beaming right now, all teeth, all warmth. If he thought you were intimidating now, then what was it? The posture? The tone? Or was Geto just being Geto - annoying for sport?

The girl nodded, reaching for a clean cup. "Yes," she said, her tone even and steady, though her gaze flicked back to the TV briefly, still keeping track of the scene unfolding in the film.

Next to you, Geto finally shifted his gaze from the chalkboard menu. "I'll have genmaicha, please," he said, his tone low and smooth, the words flowing out with an effortless politeness that almost made you roll your eyes.

Of course. Because he would order tea like it was second nature, like he'd been doing it since the dawn of time. Meanwhile, your own attempt at casual politeness suddenly felt clunky in comparison. Ugh. Maybe some people were just born with that kind of grace, and apparently Geto Suguru was one of them.

The girl nodded again, her curls bouncing as she grabbed another cup and set about preparing both drinks. "Sure," she said simply, her focus shifting between the counter and the kettle on the burner behind her. The soft clinking of cups and spoons filled the air, blending into the hum of the TV and the distant murmur of street noise outside.

As the girl prepared your hot chocolate, her eyes flicked up to the TV screen, catching the familiar animation playing there. She smiled slightly, almost fondly. "It's my favorite Ghibli movie," she said, a little sheepishly. "A popular choice, I know, but..."

"No, no, I love it too," you said, waving a hand as if to dismiss her apology. "I actually wrote a whole essay about it back in school."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "Ah, really?"

"Yeah," you shrugged, trying to recall the exact words from so long ago. "But like, I was uh, 13? I think? Anyway, I wrote about how it was like, an analogy for capitalism. How it was supposed to symbolize prostitution after this theory I read online."

Her eyes widened, and she snorted, an unexpected burst of laughter escaping her. "Really?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And like, No-Face? He's this weird, creepy guy who can't take a hint. He's like, 'Chihiro, I'll give you money, pay attention to me,' and it's like, dude, leave her alone. She doesn't even fuck with you like that. She's got her dragon boyfriend - he's literally a dragon, and you're just a creepy guy with a mask. Fucking weirdo."

The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained, but before she could respond, Geto, who had been standing beside you, chimed in. He was staring at the TV screen, his gaze steady, a far-off look in his eyes as he folded his arms.

"I saw it differently," Geto said, his voice steady, yet you could feel the weight behind his words, as if each one was carefully chosen. "I think No-Face isn't just a character. He's a mirror - he reflects whatever environment he's in. That's why they call him 'No-Face.' He takes on the traits, the darkness, of the people around him. But when he leaves, when he's free of that environment, he changes. He adapts to something else. He's not static, not defined by one thing. He's like an empty vessel - an empathic spirit."

...

You exchanged a glance with the girl, both of you silently agreeing on the same joke. Before you could stop yourself, you shot Geto an exaggerated, mockingly offended look and boo-ed him as she started preparing his tea. Anti-intellectualism, rise up! Who needs media literacy anyway? Maybe the curtains are just blue, right?

"Naaaah, he is giving predator vibes," you declared with a grin, pointing at the TV screen as No-Face swirled around, giving off those unsettling, possessive vibes.

Geto didn't even flinch though, his gaze fixed on the TV. He had learned by now that arguing with you, especially when you and the girl had already teamed up, was pretty much a lost cause. At this point, he was probably more accustomed to being the target of your pointed "critiques" than he'd ever admit. He was also smart enough to know that any attempt to explain his earlier take on No-Face would just get him accused of, as you liked to put it, "mansplaining."

Wow, Geto was actually learning! Good.

The girl, still standing behind the counter, her hands moving quickly as she wrapped up Geto's tea, let out a small laugh. "But wow... excuse me, but you're so pretty!" she blurted, then quickly looked up at you with a shy smile. "I didn't tell you earlier, but it's uh... you know, the end of my shift and..." She trailed off, gathering her thoughts but still speaking in a rush, like the words just slipped out. "I just wanted to say that!"

You blinked, your brain catching up to what she had just said. For a second, you stood frozen, the words spinning in your head. Then your face broke into another grin so wide it practically felt like your cheeks were going to hurt. What was happening? Did this just happen? Seriously, what?

This... well, this was the second time you'd been called pretty. The first was by Aika, but that didn't count. She was just trying to get close to you for thee reason. But this? This was different. She was the first person here who actually went out of her way to say it. Shoko had said you looked "decent" once, and Fumiko had called your makeup "acceptable," but pretty? Wow. That was a whole new level.

You couldn't hold back the feeling of excitement. Being called pretty by a girl you barely knew - no strings attached - was a high you couldn't describe.

You bounced on your feet, barely containing your energy. "Oh my gosh, noooo! Don't sweat it!" you responded quickly, feeling like you could explode from the joy. "And really??? What the hell, you're prettier!!! Oh my, thank you so much but literally when I walked in, I was like, 'Oh my gosh, she is sooo pretty!'"

She laughed softly, her tone a bit hesitant. "Ha, thank you, but I've been going through it lately. I literally look terrible. Can't even put on some makeup."

You studied her for a moment, your gaze lingering just a second too long. The way the light played off the soft curve of her cheekbones and the natural smoothness of her skin was almost distracting. Her dark curls framed her face perfectly, effortlessly voluminous without trying too hard. And then you noticed it - what Haibara had been raving about.

No concealer, no foundation, no eyeliner. No fake lashes. Just... her. Barefaced and unapologetic (well, maybe a little apologetic). Damn. Haibara wasn't lying.

You'd half-expected the usual "no makeup" that was still technically makeup - like a dab of mascara, a swipe of tinted lip balm, the bare minimum that somehow still qualified as "natural." Men thought that no eyeshadow meant no makeup whatsoever. But this? This was the real deal.

Haibara really got you this time. Shit.

"What, NOO! You're gorgeous!" The words burst out before you could stop them.

She blinked, a soft smile spreading across her face as if she hadn't expected you to say that. "Thank you," she replied quietly. Then she looked up at you, a curious gleam in her eye. "What's your name?"

You grinned, stepping a little closer and introducing yourself.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well, mine's Destiny."

"Well, nice to meet you, Destiny!"

She placed Geto's tea on the counter with the same smile but then glanced at him for some reason. "How will you be paying?"

Oh...

Before you could even think about pulling your wallet out, Geto casually said, "Cash," and slid the money across the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was also very clear that he wasn't about to let you pay for anything.

You froze, stomach doing an unexpected little flip. "Dude, what? No, you did me a solid today! I'm paying."

Geto didn't even glance your way, just shrugged. "No need. What kind of guy would I be if I let you pay?"

"Uh... a financially intelligent guy? What the fuck? No, I'm paying!"

But the universe, ever against you, had other plans. As you reached for your wallet, a horrifying realization struck - you didn't have any cash. Of course you didn't. Why would you? Your card was too convenient, and your PIN was easy as hell to remember, so easy in fact that you'd never bothered to carry actual bills. Cash was for emergencies, and apparently you didn't consider this one.

Destiny, looking a little sheepish, gave an apologetic laugh. "I uh... don't really know how the machine works all that well," she admitted, motioning awkwardly to the card reader like it might short-circuit if she touched it wrong.

You blinked at her. "Oh."

"Don't worry about it," Geto said smoothly, handing over the money before you could even argue further. He took his tea like the whole thing hadn't just bruised your pride and turned to leave.

But, as if to add insult to injury, when the small container of sugar was placed beside his cup, he simply slid it aside without a glance. No sugar, no sweetener. Just the tea.

You stared at him, baffled.

Geto took a calm sip, unbothered as ever. "You're welcome, by the way."

You blinked at the sugar packet, then back at Geto. "You drink tea with no sugar?" you asked, voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. You couldn't imagine it.

Geto didn't even flinch. "It ruins the taste," he replied casually.

"You're insane," you said, shaking your head as you grabbed the sugar packet for yourself.

Geto sighed dramatically, as if the entire situation was somehow a burden on him. "Will you be able to sleep at night if I add in the sugar?" he asked, voice laced with mock exasperation.

You gave him a pointed look, a little smirk pulling at your lips. "Yes," you said flatly.

Geto's eyes stayed locked on yours as he poured the sugar into his tea, each crystal falling slowly with a quiet clink. The movement was deliberate, almost too slow, and you found yourself drawn to it more than you'd care to admit.

You shifted, trying to look anywhere but at him. The quiet swirl of the tea felt too loud in the space between you.

You cleared your throat, avoiding his gaze. "Uh, good for you," you said, your voice sounding off, like it was just filling the space.

But then he came.

Haibara, as usual, made 

You and Geto were trudging down some random street you didn't recognize, supposedly heading toward wherever the hell this bakery was. Ugh. After that phone call, things had gone quiet - awkward, almost. Well, maybe awkward for him. You were deep in your own head, muttering curses under your breath like a lunatic. If those officers or that creep weren't coughing up a lung in seven days, you'd honestly be shocked. Geto could hear you, obviously. You didn't care. Let him think you'd finally lost it.

You were Jujutsu Society's resident town drunk, and honestly? You were thriving in the role. If they had something to say about Utahime's scar or Yuki not taking missions in canon, you could only imagine the shit they said about you. Oh, you just knew they were out there talking. You weren't just a liability - you were their first woke gay kid, and they couldn't handle it. Ha!

Some old geezer in the higher-ups was probably clutching his pearls right now, rambling about how "the youth these days" didn't respect tradition. And the gossip? You could practically feel it buzzing in the air. You didn't even have to overhear it. You just knew.

Anyway... discussion for another day.

Apparently, Geto had decided he knew the area well enough to get you there without issue. You were skeptical as hell. He was still pretty new to Tokyo, wasn't he? Just a small-town guy playing big city. Like a chick flick waiting to happen. You'd already texted Haibara for clearer directions, but true to form, the bastard still hadn't replied.

So here you were, stuck trailing behind Geto, who was absolutely pulling a classic "dad on a road trip" move - the kind where he missed the exit twenty minutes ago but refuses to admit it, all while claiming he's smarter than the GPS.

To be fair, Geto wasn't that bad, you thought. Maybe it wasn't ego, just... whatever weird compulsion he had to seem reliable. Or maybe this was his attempt at leadership. Either way, you were pretty sure he was lowkey lost, even if he hadn't admitted it yet.

Out of nowhere, Geto finally spoke, his voice soft. "Don't let it bother you too much." He didn't look at you, just kept walking with that steady pace of his. "You won't win every time. But that's the nature of things, isn't it? The weak still need someone to stand up for them. That's the role we take on."

His gaze flicked to you briefly, expression unreadable. "I understand how you feel, but as a sorceress, you'll have many more opportunities to help those in need. It's our responsibility, after all."

The words came out measured, careful - like he was choosing each one to make sure they landed exactly right. Like he wanted to say exactly what you needed to hear.

You blinked, halting in your tracks. "Weak meaning non-sorcerers?"

Your voice came out a little more defensive than you intended, though you weren't exactly feeling defensive. Not really.

Geto stopped too. For a moment, it was quiet - just the distant hum of Tokyo traffic and your breathing. His gaze held yours, like he was trying to figure out where you stood. If you were offended, defensive, or just curious. After a beat, he nodded, though the gesture felt hesitant.

"Well," he said, folding his arms loosely over his chest. His t-shirt was black, with nothing on it - how interesting, right? You were just looking for some kind of motif, or maybe trying to decipher why you'd started staring at his chest in the first place. Totally not because you were zoning out, nope.

His tone stayed steady but thoughtful. "We sorcerers are stronger than them. That's just a fact. It's not about looking down on them - it's about recognizing that power comes with responsibility. If we have the ability to protect people who can't protect themselves, then we should. That's the way it's supposed to be. The strong protect the weak."

He tilted his head slightly. "Strength isn't a blessing, it's a duty. And we are the ones who must shoulder it. It's the way it's meant to be."

You stayed quiet. He coughed into his hand, almost like he thought he'd said too much, but his expression didn't waver. He believed every word, even if he wasn't sure how you felt about it. After a beat, he started walking again, probably telling himself he ate that... and honestly, he kind of did. Not a full-course meal, sure, but he definitely nibbled. Chewed a little.

You furrowed your brows. "First of all, I lowkey don't want to take on any of that responsibility. I didn't sign up for this. I just wanna live, love, and laugh with the people I love and care about."

You could feel the words bubbling up, that familiar urge to say every single thought rattling around in your head. "Second of all... 'with great power comes great responsibility.'"

You forced your voice into your best Aunt May impression, and honestly? Kind of nailed it.

"And third of all... if we're following your logic, then that creep - the sexual harasser - is a non-sorcerer. And non-sorcerers are weaklings who need to be protected, right? So by that syllogistic reasoning, he deserves protection too. I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly lining up to save someone like him... but hey, maybe that's just me."

Yeah, you really went ahead and broadcasted every single thought you had. Well, might as well give him a bit of everything - some sass, a pop culture reference, and a little argument to chew on.

Geto's expression remained neutral, but you caught the faintest clench of his jaw. That subtle tell sent a small ripple of panic through you. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unflinching and just a touch too sharp.

Shit. He's going to pull out his dragon, isn't he? Just like he did with Gojo! What if he defects from Jujutsu Society right now because of you? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I understand what you're saying," he said, his voice calm, though there was a faint edge to it. Like a string pulled too tight. "But things aren't that simple."

He paused, exhaling slowly, deliberately, as if weighing every word. "It's not about whether people deserve protection or not. That's... irrelevant. What matters is our responsibility as sorcerers. If we start deciding who is or isn't worth saving, where does that leave us? Who has the right to make that kind of choice?"

His words should've carried the weight of conviction, but instead, there was something off. An uneasiness in the way he said it, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. Earlier, he'd fully believed what he was saying, his defensiveness a response to Gojo's endless disagreements with him. Geto always seemed to think his stance was the objective truth, the only real answer.

But now? Now he sounded unsure. Very, very unsure.

You blinked. Hard.

That's not what he said in the manga! Damn it, you were so not prepared to become his therapist.

For a moment, Geto seemed lost in thought, his eyes distant like he wasn't even on this street anymore. Then he shrugged and forced a small smile back onto his face, like he hadn't just bared a sliver of his inner turmoil.

"Anyway, it's just something to think about," he said, his voice lighter now, almost casual. "Shall we?"

You hesitated, feeling that annoying pull to say something back. Not to match his wisdom or whatever, but to leave the door open for future conversations. You weren't ready to lean into your role as the reluctant protagonist just yet, but someday you'd probably end up doing the whole jutsu no therapy thing with him. Might as well lay the groundwork now.

"Hey, uh... thanks," you said, trying not to sound like you were forcing it. "I don't really get what you're saying right now - haven't even been on my first mission yet, and uh, Jujutsu Society? Feeling peculiar about it, to say the least."

You laughed a little, awkwardly. "But I don't know... after my first mission, I'll probably need like, a reason to keep going, you know? Something to hang onto. So yeah. Thanks."

Geto glanced over at you, the corners of his mouth pulling into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That's fair," he said. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. First missions are... a lot."

He paused. "But if you ever feel like you're losing sight of why you're doing this - or if you need to talk about it - just let me know. I don't have all the answers, but... I get it."

There was a beat of silence, and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And for what it's worth, finding a reason doesn't always happen right away. Sometimes it takes time. But you'll get there."

Damn, you didn't know he was chill like that. Guess you kind of accused him of being cool with sexual harassers a minute ago though, so... But still, the way he was looking at you now had you feeling all sorts of weird. Not good weird. It was like that tingling feeling, but the kind that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Some people might call it being vulnerable. You? You didn't like it. Not one bit.

So you cleared your throat, stepping up to him and throwing a wry smile his way. You looked up, giving him that half-joking, half-serious look. "Get there? If 'there' means the damn bakery, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna make it anytime soon. Pretty sure you don't even know where it is either."

Geto's eyes flickered, a brief crack in his composure, before a quiet laugh escaped him. "Right," he said. "Guess I can't argue with that."

He glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings and then back at you, his gaze lingering, almost like he was trying to read you again. "But hey, you never know. Sometimes the best parts of a journey come from getting lost."

You snorted. "Right. Maybe the real friends were the bakery we made along the way."

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, looking like he was about to correct you. "I am pretty sure that's not how it goes-"

But before he could finish his mansplaining, you shushed him aggressively, your hand raised like you were swatting away a fly. You silently thanked the gods you didn't accidentally spit on him... because well, you had spit on friends before. They'd match your freak and say shit like "yum, water" or pretend to lick it off, but something told you Geto wouldn't be one to roll with it.

"Let's just call Haibara," you said, tone darkening. "The fucker better reply, or else we're homewrecking him."

---

The two of you hunched over your flip phone, squinting at the text Haibara had sent. The screen's faint glow lit up Geto's face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brow. Haibara truly had a gift for making simple things needlessly complicated, and this text was no exception.

"What the hell even is that?" you muttered, jabbing the phone with your thumb as if pressing harder would force it to make sense.

Geto tilted his head, his dark bang falling into his face. "Hm... may I?" His voice was calm, polite - too polite, honestly. It annoyed you how he could sound so composed while you were clearly spiraling.

"Be my guest," you said, shoving the phone into his hand.

He took it like he was handling something fragile, as if his careful touch would somehow unravel Haibara's cryptic message. For a moment, you thought he might actually figure it out. He stared at the screen with the kind of concentration you didn't have the patience for, scrolling once, then twice.

Two minutes passed in silence before he sighed, that small, almost theatrical exhale he always did. "I don't have it," he said simply, handing the phone back to you.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "Right. Thanks for that, genius."

He just shrugged, unbothered, like his complete failure to contribute was somehow part of the plan. The casual way he did it made you want to throw the phone at him, but you held back. Haibara was the real problem here, not Geto. Probably.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, dragging your hands down your face before rubbing your temples. "Okay, we need to stop and ask someone for directions." You glanced around the unfamiliar streets, then added begrudgingly, "But... uh... it should probably be you. Please?"

You clasped your hands together and, against all better judgment, your voice actually pitched higher on the "please." And to make matters worse, you did that cringe-inducing /\ thing with your eyebrows.

Oh god. Yes, you wanted to die. Yes, you were cringing at yourself because what was that?! You weren't even half as good at the whole burikko act as Aika, so why did you even try?

Geto glanced your way, his expression maddeningly blank, though you swore there was the faintest glimmer of amusement at your pitiful attempt. His tone, ever composed and maddeningly self-assured, slipped out effortlessly. "Yeah, sure," he said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. He stepped forward, moving like he owned the sidewalk. "I'll handle it."

Damn.

Geto moved without hesitation, his long stride eating up the space between you and the nearest person - a middle-aged woman standing just outside a grocery store. She had a tote bag slung over her shoulder, stuffed to the brim with what looked like groceries. She looked the part of 2000s Tokyo, dressed in a pastel cardigan over a floral blouse, her knee-length skirt neat but practical. Her short hair was curled at the ends, a soft permed style that hinted at an early morning spent with rollers. A pair of sensible low-heeled shoes completed the picture, the kind you'd expect from someone who probably worked in an office or maybe a bank, with a neatly packed bento waiting back at her desk.

Women in corporate, girlbossing, working hard as a gainfully employed, high-performing, dark-feminine type. Mhm, now that's what you're talking about!

Geto stopped a respectable distance from her, cleared his throat softly, and dipped his head in a small bow. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for this address." He held out your flip phone with a slight tilt, the screen catching the light.

The woman blinked, startled, her fingers pausing mid-rummage in her bag. Her gaze flickered up - taking in his face, his height, and that inexplicably infamous dark streak of hair (referred to by everyone as "a bang" for reasons no one has explained) that framed his features like he'd just stepped out of a glossy drama poster. You could practically see the moment she straightened, one hand self-consciously smoothing over her cardigan as if ironing out invisible wrinkles.

"Oh, um," she began, her voice soft and hesitant, like she couldn't quite believe she was the one being addressed. Chin up, queen! Your crown's slipping! "Let me see..." She leaned in a little, squinting at the screen like the map would magically start making sense if she stared at it hard enough.

You folded your arms and leaned against the nearest lamp post, watching the whole thing like a scene you weren't invited to. The blush that crept over her cheeks wasn't subtle, and you had to bite your tongue when she nervously tucked a curl behind her ear.

Somehow though, of course, she knew. The first person he asked... what the fuck?! Maybe he is the main character!

"It's just three blocks down," she said, pointing past the bakery. "Turn left at the corner with the pharmacy, and it should be right there."

"Thank you," Geto said, flashing her that polite, practiced smile of his. It wasn't smug, but it had this uncanny way of landing just right. Like he was genuinely grateful. Like he wasn't entirely aware he was the reason middle-aged women everywhere suddenly felt the need to adjust their cardigans and fix their hair.

You could only hope - desperately, wildly - that she thought he was in his early twenties, chalking it up to his sharp features and ridiculous height. Hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like you to have, but you have it.

The woman waved a hand, smiling back. "No trouble at all. Good luck!"

When he turned back to you, you were already fuming. "Three blocks? She just happened to know? Seriously?" You pushed off the post. "I asked at least five people earlier on my way to the station, and all I got were blank stares!"

Geto handed your phone back, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and then just stood there, studying you with an unreadable expression. But you didn't miss the faint curve of his lips, the kind that meant trouble. You already hated whatever thought was brewing in his head.

Crossing your arms, you narrowed your eyes. "What? Is there something on my face, or are you just practicing your judging skills?"

He didn't answer right away, his gaze flicking over you like he was trying to decide just how much of a smartass he wanted to be. Finally, he said, voice maddeningly calm, "You know, maybe you'd have better luck if you were... less intimidating."

You blinked, caught off guard for half a second before shrugging it off. "I'm intimidating?" You tilted your head, a slow grin spreading across your face. "Nice."

Ha, he really thought he had you with this!

Geto didn't even flinch. "Anyway, shall we?" He gestured ahead, already moving like he hadn't just hit you with the most backhanded comment of the year.

---

The bakery was tucked into a snug corner of the street, its faded red awning sagging slightly as though tired from years of weathering Tokyo's seasons. It was the kind of place you might miss if you weren't looking for it - except for the wooden sign above the door, its kanji worn and cracked, proudly advertising its name in a way that felt more like a quiet legacy than an attempt to attract customers. Beneath it, a chalkboard rested on the pavement, the day's specials scrawled in looping handwriting with playful doodles of croissants and melonpan decorating the edges.

The glass display window was misted with condensation, blurring the view inside, though it didn't entirely hide the neatly arranged pastries behind it. Rows of perfectly golden melonpan, plump anpan filled to the brim with red bean paste, and curry bread so flaky you could almost hear the crunch just by looking at it. The smell of warm sugar and yeast drifted out faintly onto the sidewalk, teasing passersby. Somewhere down the street, a bike bell rang, mingling with the steady hum of the city.

Inside, the bakery was small but alive with character. A couple of worn stools hugged the narrow counter near the register. Behind it stood a teenage girl, her dark curls catching the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the frosted window. Her complexion was deep and rich, her sharp features softened by the warm, golden glow of the bakery's overhead lights. She leaned on the counter, chin propped up on her hand as she watched a small TV perched precariously on a shelf behind her. On the screen, Chihiro darted across a bridge in Spirited Away.

That must be her! Haibara's crush!

She glanced up at you and Geto as the bell above the door jingled faintly, straightening up just enough to acknowledge your arrival. "Hello," she greeted simply.

The shelves behind her were crowded with jars of pickled fruit that glimmered like jewels in the soft light, neatly wrapped bags of flour, and stacks of small wicker baskets filled with fresh bread. The walls bore evidence of the bakery's personality - hand-drawn posters promoting seasonal treats, faded Polaroid pictures of smiling customers, and a pinned calendar that looked older than you.

The bakery's warmth was immediate and comforting, wrapping around you like a thick blanket on a cold day.

"Oh my god, hiiii!" you blurted, your voice a little too enthusiastic. "Uh, you close at 7 p.m., right? 'Cause we're waiting for a friend, but he's sooooo damn late... ugh, he's such an idiot sometimes."

Geto snorted at this.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her ponytail swaying as she motioned toward the TV with her chin, where Chihiro was mid-sprint across a rickety bridge. "Nah, we close in like, an hour and a half?" she said. "I mean, I'm watching this right now-" she jerked her head at the screen again "-so yeah, I'm not exactly rushing or anything."

"That's great, thanks," you said, letting out a relieved breath.

You leaned on the counter, eyes flicking over the neatly arranged pastries once more before deciding. "Uh, can I get a hot chocolate, please?" you asked, keeping your tone polite but casual - just like you'd heard people do. Short and sweet, nothing over the top.

Geto's earlier comment still lingered in your mind, poking at your ego like an itch you couldn't scratch. Intimidating? Really? That didn't automatically translate to impolite, and he damn well knew it. You could be polite when you felt like it - hell, it was practically second nature, muscle memory from whatever residual instincts came with your old JJK-self. You could use "watashi" and toss out the most perfectly constructed keigo, sounding like you just stepped out of a corporate office meeting... and then immediately turn around and cuss someone out in the same breath. It wasn't a Gojo situation where you had to be chihuahua-trained. No, you were fully capable of speaking politely - it just depended on whether or not you thought the person deserved it.

And besides, you'd been casual enough with Haibara, and even Shoko recently, and neither of them seemed to mind. So what was it? The way you talked? The way you looked? Your resting bitch face? You frowned at the thought, then groaned internally. Knowing Geto, he'd probably say yes if you asked, just to mess with you.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, smiling wide. Oh, you were beaming right now, all teeth, all warmth. If he thought you were intimidating now, then what was it? The posture? The tone? Or was Geto just being Geto - annoying for sport?

The girl nodded, reaching for a clean cup. "Yes," she said, her tone even and steady, though her gaze flicked back to the TV briefly, still keeping track of the scene unfolding in the film.

Next to you, Geto finally shifted his gaze from the chalkboard menu. "I'll have genmaicha, please," he said, his tone low and smooth, the words flowing out with an effortless politeness that almost made you roll your eyes.

Of course. Because he would order tea like it was second nature, like he'd been doing it since the dawn of time. Meanwhile, your own attempt at casual politeness suddenly felt clunky in comparison. Ugh. Maybe some people were just born with that kind of grace, and apparently Geto Suguru was one of them.

The girl nodded again, her curls bouncing as she grabbed another cup and set about preparing both drinks. "Sure," she said simply, her focus shifting between the counter and the kettle on the burner behind her. The soft clinking of cups and spoons filled the air, blending into the hum of the TV and the distant murmur of street noise outside.

As the girl prepared your hot chocolate, her eyes flicked up to the TV screen, catching the familiar animation playing there. She smiled slightly, almost fondly. "It's my favorite Ghibli movie," she said, a little sheepishly. "A popular choice, I know, but..."

"No, no, I love it too," you said, waving a hand as if to dismiss her apology. "I actually wrote a whole essay about it back in school."

Her brows lifted in surprise. "Ah, really?"

"Yeah," you shrugged, trying to recall the exact words from so long ago. "But like, I was uh, 13? I think? Anyway, I wrote about how it was like, an analogy for capitalism. How it was supposed to symbolize prostitution after this theory I read online."

Her eyes widened, and she snorted, an unexpected burst of laughter escaping her. "Really?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And like, No-Face? He's this weird, creepy guy who can't take a hint. He's like, 'Chihiro, I'll give you money, pay attention to me,' and it's like, dude, leave her alone. She doesn't even fuck with you like that. She's got her dragon boyfriend - he's literally a dragon, and you're just a creepy guy with a mask. Fucking weirdo."

The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained, but before she could respond, Geto, who had been standing beside you, chimed in. He was staring at the TV screen, his gaze steady, a far-off look in his eyes as he folded his arms.

"I saw it differently," Geto said, his voice steady, yet you could feel the weight behind his words, as if each one was carefully chosen. "I think No-Face isn't just a character. He's a mirror - he reflects whatever environment he's in. That's why they call him 'No-Face.' He takes on the traits, the darkness, of the people around him. But when he leaves, when he's free of that environment, he changes. He adapts to something else. He's not static, not defined by one thing. He's like an empty vessel - an empathic spirit."

...

You exchanged a glance with the girl, both of you silently agreeing on the same joke. Before you could stop yourself, you shot Geto an exaggerated, mockingly offended look and boo-ed him as she started preparing his tea. Anti-intellectualism, rise up! Who needs media literacy anyway? Maybe the curtains are just blue, right?

"Naaaah, he is giving predator vibes," you declared with a grin, pointing at the TV screen as No-Face swirled around, giving off those unsettling, possessive vibes.

Geto didn't even flinch though, his gaze fixed on the TV. He had learned by now that arguing with you, especially when you and the girl had already teamed up, was pretty much a lost cause. At this point, he was probably more accustomed to being the target of your pointed "critiques" than he'd ever admit. He was also smart enough to know that any attempt to explain his earlier take on No-Face would just get him accused of, as you liked to put it, "mansplaining."

Wow, Geto was actually learning! Good.

The girl, still standing behind the counter, her hands moving quickly as she wrapped up Geto's tea, let out a small laugh. "But wow... excuse me, but you're so pretty!" she blurted, then quickly looked up at you with a shy smile. "I didn't tell you earlier, but it's uh... you know, the end of my shift and..." She trailed off, gathering her thoughts but still speaking in a rush, like the words just slipped out. "I just wanted to say that!"

You blinked, your brain catching up to what she had just said. For a second, you stood frozen, the words spinning in your head. Then your face broke into another grin so wide it practically felt like your cheeks were going to hurt. What was happening? Did this just happen? Seriously, what?

This... well, this was the second time you'd been called pretty. The first was by Aika, but that didn't count. She was just trying to get close to you for thee reason. But this? This was different. She was the first person here who actually went out of her way to say it. Shoko had said you looked "decent" once, and Fumiko had called your makeup "acceptable," but pretty? Wow. That was a whole new level.

You couldn't hold back the feeling of excitement. Being called pretty by a girl you barely knew - no strings attached - was a high you couldn't describe.

You bounced on your feet, barely containing your energy. "Oh my gosh, noooo! Don't sweat it!" you responded quickly, feeling like you could explode from the joy. "And really??? What the hell, you're prettier!!! Oh my, thank you so much but literally when I walked in, I was like, 'Oh my gosh, she is sooo pretty!'"

She laughed softly, her tone a bit hesitant. "Ha, thank you, but I've been going through it lately. I literally look terrible. Can't even put on some makeup."

You studied her for a moment, your gaze lingering just a second too long. The way the light played off the soft curve of her cheekbones and the natural smoothness of her skin was almost distracting. Her dark curls framed her face perfectly, effortlessly voluminous without trying too hard. And then you noticed it - what Haibara had been raving about.

No concealer, no foundation, no eyeliner. No fake lashes. Just... her. Barefaced and unapologetic (well, maybe a little apologetic). Damn. Haibara wasn't lying.

You'd half-expected the usual "no makeup" that was still technically makeup - like a dab of mascara, a swipe of tinted lip balm, the bare minimum that somehow still qualified as "natural." Men thought that no eyeshadow meant no makeup whatsoever. But this? This was the real deal.

Haibara really got you this time. Shit.

"What, NOO! You're gorgeous!" The words burst out before you could stop them.

She blinked, a soft smile spreading across her face as if she hadn't expected you to say that. "Thank you," she replied quietly. Then she looked up at you, a curious gleam in her eye. "What's your name?"

You grinned, stepping a little closer and introducing yourself.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well, mine's Destiny."

"Well, nice to meet you, Destiny!"

She placed Geto's tea on the counter with the same smile but then glanced at him for some reason. "How will you be paying?"

Oh...

Before you could even think about pulling your wallet out, Geto casually said, "Cash," and slid the money across the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was also very clear that he wasn't about to let you pay for anything.

You froze, stomach doing an unexpected little flip. "Dude, what? No, you did me a solid today! I'm paying."

Geto didn't even glance your way, just shrugged. "No need. What kind of guy would I be if I let you pay?"

"Uh... a financially intelligent guy? What the fuck? No, I'm paying!"

But the universe, ever against you, had other plans. As you reached for your wallet, a horrifying realization struck - you didn't have any cash. Of course you didn't. Why would you? Your card was too convenient, and your PIN was easy as hell to remember, so easy in fact that you'd never bothered to carry actual bills. Cash was for emergencies, and apparently you didn't consider this one.

Destiny, looking a little sheepish, gave an apologetic laugh. "I uh... don't really know how the machine works all that well," she admitted, motioning awkwardly to the card reader like it might short-circuit if she touched it wrong.

You blinked at her. "Oh."

"Don't worry about it," Geto said smoothly, handing over the money before you could even argue further. He took his tea like the whole thing hadn't just bruised your pride and turned to leave.

But, as if to add insult to injury, when the small container of sugar was placed beside his cup, he simply slid it aside without a glance. No sugar, no sweetener. Just the tea.

You stared at him, baffled.

Geto took a calm sip, unbothered as ever. "You're welcome, by the way."

You blinked at the sugar packet, then back at Geto. "You drink tea with no sugar?" you asked, voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. You couldn't imagine it.

Geto didn't even flinch. "It ruins the taste," he replied casually.

"You're insane," you said, shaking your head as you grabbed the sugar packet for yourself.

Geto sighed dramatically, as if the entire situation was somehow a burden on him. "Will you be able to sleep at night if I add in the sugar?" he asked, voice laced with mock exasperation.

You gave him a pointed look, a little smirk pulling at your lips. "Yes," you said flatly.

Geto's eyes stayed locked on yours as he poured the sugar into his tea, each crystal falling slowly with a quiet clink. The movement was deliberate, almost too slow, and you found yourself drawn to it more than you'd care to admit.

You shifted, trying to look anywhere but at him. The quiet swirl of the tea felt too loud in the space between you.

You cleared your throat, avoiding his gaze. "Uh, good for you," you said, your voice sounding off, like it was just filling the space.

But then he came.

Haibara, as usual, made an entrance that could only be described as Haibara. The door jingled open, and he practically stumbled in, tripping over his own feet like he had no idea where they were supposed to go. His backpack swung wildly behind him as he swerved to catch himself, knocking over a chair in the process. He barely stopped himself from crashing into the counter, his face flushing a deep red as he tried to smooth things over with a sheepish grin.

"You dumbass, you're so late!" you snapped the second Haibara tumbled through the door, all chaos and no grace as usual.

"Uh..." He froze, holding up a slightly crushed bouquet in one hand and a guitar slung over his shoulder like it was some sort of peace offering. "Sorry!"

"What the hell?" you said, staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"Oh, right," Geto chimed in. "He can play the guitar."

You leaned in closer to Geto, whispering, "That's bad. Like, really bad."

Destiny, who had been watching the whole exchange with a mix of amusement and confusion, tilted her head. "Oh, hi, Yu-kun. Wait, you know them? Ahh, so you're the friend in question."

"They're here for emotional support," Haibara said quickly, clutching the bouquet like a lifeline.

"Emotional support - what?" Destiny blinked, her confusion deepening.

You weren't about to let him spiral. "C'mon, Haibara, you better fucking do this. Don't embarrass us!" you said, your tone half-encouragement, half-threat.

"Just remember-" Geto started. Then he stopped, as if reconsidering, and sighed. "Alright, nevermind. Don't be yourself. Do anything but that."

Haibara shuffled forward like a condemned man walking to the gallows, and you honestly couldn't decide if you felt worse for him or the bouquet he was holding. The thing looked like it had survived a natural disaster - wilting petals clinging to clashing colors, a random dandelion sticking out like it didn't get the memo about floral arrangements. Petals sprinkled to the floor with every step, leaving a trail of defeated blooms in his wake.

Then there was the guitar. It was massive, absurdly oversized for a space like this, and swung off his shoulder like a weapon of destruction. He managed to clip the edge of a table, sending a teacup rattling like it had been personally offended. A chair screeched as he tried to squeeze by, and someone in the corner ducked with a look of genuine fear when the guitar neck came dangerously close to their head.

You exchanged a glance with Geto. No words were needed - his barely restrained grimace said it all. This was going to be a trainwreck, and all you could do was brace for impact.