Chapter Text
If this were some kind of movie, Okkotsu Yuuta thinks, or a TV drama, it would be night time. And raining. For atmosphere.
The early morning sun beams down through the window set high in the wall behind Yuuta. He’s crouched, mostly hidden behind a somewhat garish bronze and crystal sculpture of some sort of human-dragon hybrid. He’s pretty sure it’s meant to resemble the owner of this particular house. Or, uh, the former owner.
The statue is on the balcony of the third floor, overlooking the staircase up from the grand entrance and most of the foyer itself— Yuuta can’t see the actual doorway from this angle, but he figures it’s worth it since he’s least likely to be seen from here. And, yeah, maybe he’s trapped himself on the upper level of a building and anyone who shows up will then be between him and the door.
Except he’s not stupid, and there are other hallways and stairways and exits. He has other ways out. Hopefully.
Plus he wants to talk to the person he expects to show up. Probably. Kinda.
Look, everything he’s heard about the guy makes him seem kind of scary. He's supposed to be the strongest sorcerer alive. With a title like that, it’s no wonder Yuuta is nervous.
He’s been crouched here like this for over an hour now, sneaking in after everyone else left. As far as they know, he’s back at home, feeling sick since last night. He’s prone to sleeping in when he feels yucky, so no one should be concerned when he isn't up when they get back. And if anyone checks on him in his room, well, he did the typical teenager thing of stuffing pillows under his blanket to mimic the shape of a person before he snuck out. He’s seen American movies. He knows how it works.
Anyway, it’s fine. He’s thought this through.
A long whistle interrupts his thoughts.
“Wow~” Comes an animated voice, “You really did a number on this place, huh, Suguru.”
Footsteps on the white tile floor. The previously white tile floor: it’s really mostly red now.
Yuuta catches sight of the top of a head of white hair from his vantage point and immediately hunkers further behind the statue. This was a mistake.
The cursed energy he can feel from two floors below feels like static across his skin. He imagines this is what it feels like right before you get struck by lightning.
His head jerks to look down the hall— that doorway seemed a lot closer only a few minutes ago. The ten-or-so metres between him and the door to a staff staircase seems like an impossible distance.
“Really blatant with the residuals again, too.” The man wandering around below carries on, talking to himself.
Man, Yuuta wishes he’d brought his sword, or really any weapon at all. Stupidly he’d figured showing up unarmed would help him make his case— a show of good faith.
He twists his ring around and around on his finger.
“It’s a little like you want me to know you were here— actually,” A pause, both in words and footsteps. Cursed energy crackles, nothing crazy, but a noticeable difference.
“Were you planning on hiding out the whole time I’m here, or did you have some other reason for waiting around this long other than something to do with me?” The voice is much closer than it was before.
Yuuta tenses, somehow, despite how tense his body feels already, and slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder.
Standing mid-air, hands in his pockets, leaned over slightly to loom over Yuuta, is Gojo Satoru.
And, see, Yuuta isn’t stupid. He has a good head on his shoulders; he’s been praised for coming up with good strategies in the heat of the moment. He gets decent marks on his schoolwork and the tutors like him. He’s not stupid.
He’s also completely aware that he should not be here right now.
He’s not proud of how the animal part of his brain reacts.
Yuuta scrambles upright from his crouched position and takes off down the hall, darting into the staff stairwell and closing the door behind him. It’s a two inch thick piece of wood that means absolutely nothing to the barest application of cursed energy but Yuuta braces against it like it’s the only thing between him and a swift death.
Two quick knocks sound against the other side.
Yuuta turns the lock on the doorknob right before the man on the other side tries to twist it to open the door.
“Really?” He sounds amused. That’s good, right? Amused isn't angry.
Yuuta tries to come up with something he can do or say to get himself out of this situation. His brain is spitting out radio static. Thoughts are off-air, try another station.
Shit.
“Um,” Yuuta says, “I, uh.” Nope, nothing.
“Um. Uh.” Gojo mocks, “Wanna come out here so we can talk face to face?”
“Uh, not really?”
“Hm. Okay, fair.” Still amused, good, “Okay, nevermind wanna, if you don’t come out here, I’m going to blast that door off its hinges, and the higher ups have really been after me about property damage lately, so it’ll put me in a bad mood.” A pause, “Up to you.”
Yuuta steals himself. He unlocks the door and slowly pushes it open.
Gojo Satoru is standing a couple feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other held in front of him, surrounded in gathering cursed energy that falls away when Yuuta freezes.
“Good! Now we can talk!” He’s smiling, head tilted, looking straight at Yuuta. Or, Yuuta assumes he’s looking at him: the bandages covering his eyes make it a little hard to tell.
His skin prickles like he’s being looked at, anyway.
“Soooo~” Gojo says, the same light, airy tone he’s had this whole time, “You wanna tell me who you are and what you’re doing here? Because let me tell you, being at the scene of a pretty grisly murder isn’t a good look.”
“I’m not— I didn’t do this.” Yuuta defends himself, a little bit frantic.
“Oh, I know that.” Gojo says, casual, “The residuals here are nothing like the cursed energy you’re putting off— good work with how you’re suppressing it by the way, you’d definitely be able to slip past just about anyone else unnoticed.” He taps his face next to one covered eye, “Nothing gets past me, unfortunately for you.”
Yuuta isn't sure what to make of this guy; he's definitely strong, if that was ever in question. The way people avoided talking about him, aside from mentioning him as a potential threat, made him seem like some sort of boogeyman. The reality is...
Gojo rocks back and forth on his heels idly, “So… What’s your name, mysterious teenage sorcerer who didn’t kill these people~”
“It's Okkotsu,” Yuuta says, “Or— Okkotsu Yuuta.”
Gojo’s smile quirks up further, “Bond,” He says, doing a weird accent, “James Bond.”
“What?”
“Now then, Yuuta-kun,” He breezes on, “What’re you doing skulking around the scene of a murder committed by known curse users?”
Skulking?
“I was waiting for you.” Yuuta admits.
“Mhm.” Gojo says, “Figures. Why?”
Here goes nothing: “I need your help.”
“Yeah? ‘Course you do.” Gojo nods like he expected this, “What do you need my help with?”
“Right, um.” Yuuta takes a deep breath. This is it, “Okay, so, when I was little I made this friend in the hospital, right? And she was the first and only friend I had, and I was hers, so, so when she— Um. I, I was ten, and Rika-chan, she—”
At age ten, Okkotsu Yuuta’s best friend in the entire world dies. At age eleven, Orimoto Rika becomes a special grade cursed spirit, bound to her best friend in the entire world. At age ten, Yuuta runs away from home, terrified that the newly formed curse, born from his sweet Rika-chan, will harm his family.
In another life, he would have eventually talked himself into going home and been greeted by tearful parents, grateful for his safe return. In another life he would have lived six years in fear of his companion before someone discovered him and offered him knowledge and protection. In another life he learns about his abilities, makes friends, fights a great evil, and frees himself from his curse.
But this isn’t another life, and in this life, someone happens across the boy before he can convince himself that running away is a bad idea. In this life he is convinced that his family is better off without him, that he’s better off without his family, and that a different path is the right choice.
In this life, at a delicate and impressionable time in his youth, Okkotsu Yuuta joins a cult.