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The funeral was mellow, with hushed whispers behind lifted hands as people congregated with their heads lowered. There was no music, at least nothing Satoru could hear, although Shoko assured him that there was a piano playing in the background. He trusted her; his hearing hadn’t been working well lately, selective listening and whatnot.
Maybe he gave off a cold demeanor, or maybe people saw his composed front for what it truly was, a fragile vase held together by sheer will. But regardless of the reason, no one approached him, leaving a six-foot radius around him empty. What am I, the plague? Satoru joked to himself.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Sukuna’s parents approaching. Like bees locating their queen, the masses flocked to them, showering condolences and emphasizing the many ways their late son had touched them.
He saved me on the battlefield numerous times. One soldier said. He was my mentor in the military, everything I know I learned from him. Another said. He helped me get counseling after I retired from the service. A veteran said.
An ode could be written of all of Sukuna’s heroic deeds that were mentioned today. He knew some of them were exaggerated or outright fabricated, but he didn’t care. Let them martyr his husband, so they would forget the true cause of his death.
Oh, sorry. Fiance, yet to be husband. And would never be his husband now.
Wasuke walked over, his young son, Jin, trailing behind him. Satoru turned to greet them, and they exchanged bows.
“Satoru…ai,” Wasuke sighed, patting Satoru’s shoulders. He seemed to have aged, his tone and gait older, worn down by time.
“Take care of yourself. And do not worry about the rest, we will handle it.” Wasuke was referring to the will dispute and military trial. Sukuna had left everything to Satoru, sparing not even a penny for his parents or relatives. As if the divide between Satoru and his in-laws weren’t bad enough, this completely severed their ties and started a legal battle.
It was ironic; neither he nor Sukuna had any interest in their family businesses. Satoru had planned to sell the shares back to the Ryomens and have the money reinvested into building an elementary school. That was what enraged them, the audacity of Satoru to sell them something that should have rightfully belonged to them.
The Ryomen couple finally noticed Satoru and their eyes narrowed to slits. He took that as his cue to leave, and said goodbye to the Itadori family.
It was snowing outside. Satoru looked up. A snowflake dropped on his cheek and slipped into his mouth. He smiled. The last time it snowed, they went skiing. He learned for the first time that Sukuna hated skiing, or any high-elevation snow sports for that matter.
The ski lift took them up the mountain. Sukuna frowned, looking at their swinging feet and the blanket of snow beneath them. “This can’t be safe. We’re a hundred feet off the ground.”
Satoru laughed. “It’s safe. Millions of people do this, it’s perfectly fine!”
“Millions of people also don’t wash their asses with a bidet after shitting. Doesn’t make it right.”
“Ugh, when are you gonna stop complaining about that! We got upgraded to a deluxe suite, with the best views of the Alps!”
“They can’t call that crap deluxe without a bidet.”
“Sukunaa, come on!” Satoru sighed. Then he leaned in and whispered into his ears, intimate. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to wash my ass thoroughly tonight. You can inspect it yourself.”
“Hm. Fine.”
Satoru smiled at the memory. Taking slow steps, he descended the funeral hall’s stairs.
It passed two months before he finally received the court decision: he had won the case and all of Sukuna’s properties were now transferred to him. Satoru promptly sold the company shares (publicly, the window of opportunity for the Ryomens had long passed), and began plans for his school. It was something he and Sukuna originally planned to create, a product of their failed childhoods. They wanted children to have a happy, safe space outside of their homes.
The problem was the recreation room. The couple had mixed ideas on how to design it.
“Not all kids like arts and crafts, Satoru. You need to think about what will benefit everyone.”
“How does a DOJO benefit the kids?? They’re babies and you’re already making them fight!”
“It’s called self-defense! They need to learn early on how to fight so they can protect themselves!”
“Wha—violence isn’t the answer to everything! Besides, we should foster a community where they feel safe, so they feel comfortable to tell us if they ever need help.”
“Tch. Let’s put a pin on this. I’ll talk to the contractor about the water pipes.”
“Oh no you don’t! I know you’re running off to finalize the design without me!”
“Ack—get off me, you crazy bastard!”
Picking up his phone, Satoru called the contractor. It rang five times until it connected. “Hello? About the submitted floorplan, is it possible to add another room on the first level?”
Six months later, his school was finally completed and open for business, attracting students from all classes and backgrounds. The Gojo name captivated many prestigious families, while the unprecedented free tuition and boarding led many busy and low-income families to send their children there.
“What prompted you to open this school?”
“It has always been my, and my loved one’s, goal to create a school like this. We wanted everyone to have access to education in a healthy and safe environment.”
It was too quiet, so Satoru learned to be louder and more obnoxious to fill up the space by himself. It worked out well in his profession; his bubbly and overenthusiastic behavior fit right in with the kids.
But even outside of class, he exaggerated his expressions, dragged out conversations with his coworkers and friends. People assumed he was a narcissist who loved hearing his own voice. But contrary to popular belief, he much preferred a deeper, coarser voice that was at times mocking and theatrical. One that would whisper sweet nothings in the dead of night while degrading him in bed just the way he liked it, one that would drop a pitch lower to melt away his fatigue after a long day at work.
But he didn’t say anything; better to be labeled a narcissist than the alternative. His mind kept replaying his voice in his head, in everything he did, and only talking could drown it out.
The kids helped. Happy bundles of energy, and Satoru was so occupied with taking care of them that he had no time for thinking.
Why think about the past when you can live in the present? The past is in the past, so let it remain there.
Sukuna always liked to say that. He lived by that too, so it was the least Satoru could do to honor him by living according to his principles. Or trying to. Damn it, he’s thinking again. Maybe he wasn’t busy enough.
If his friends and colleagues noticed his increase in caffeine and darkening eye bags, they didn’t say anything.
“Satoru, this is Wasuke. Call me back when you get this.”
“Satoru, it’s your best girl Shoko! We haven’t hung out in a while. I miss you. Call me back!”
“Gojo-san, Nanami here. The teachers are thinking of having a barbecue next weekend and they’re hoping you can join. Please call me back and let me know if you’re interested.”
Satoru ignored the calls. He only left the house for the school or the supermarket. He didn’t go out anymore because he didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to see things he hated anymore.
Consequently, selective hearing became a habit to him. The moment someone’s eyes and tone softened in pity, or they shifted topics in a certain way, he learned to dissociate. Like an ostrich, he stuck his head in denial and a facade of normalcy. People would eventually leave him alone; when he lifted his head from the sand, life would continue on as if nothing happened.
But it was a temporary peace. He had called for a ceasefire with his emotions, but they would not obey forever. He wasn’t like Sukuna, who had full command of his emotions on the battlefield. A ruthless killing machine who had taken the lives of hundreds of enemy soldiers without hesitation.
“Do you ever regret the lives you took?”
They lay in bed, sated. Satoru grinned a Cheshire smile; he had drained Sukuna dry tonight. Sukuna was snoring lightly until Satoru’s question woke him up.
“Huh… what brought this up?”
“Mmm, just thinking.”
“I only regret the lives I couldn’t save.”
“You saved a lot of people, including me. And that’s more than enough.”
“ ? When did I save you?”
“...If you don’t remember, then nevermind.”
“What…? Wait, Satoru, what do you mean?”
“...”
“Oi! Don’t pretend to sleep!”
Satoru’s lips curved up as he ignored his partner. Even when drunk, he didn’t hesitate to protect a stranger on the streets from kidnappers who were after the Gojo family's wealth.
Sukuna hadn’t changed. He was the nation’s hero. And his hero.
It happened by accident, a pure coincidence that should have never happened in the first place. But it did, and Satoru was stuck standing face to face with the parents of his lover’s killer.
In a grocery store, no less. The irony of it all.
They asked, begged him for a chance to speak to him, and he wanted to tell them no, what good could come from talking. But that wasn’t socially acceptable, was it?
There were lots of crying—on their end, not his—as they apologized repeatedly and offered their entire life savings to Satoru. He had already rejected it once, and he did the same again.
There was nothing he needed from them, so there was no need for them to keep contacting him. He told them this, hoping it would provide them comfort and relieve their guilt so he could leave, but that only seemed to make their anguish worse. He couldn’t quite understand why; shouldn’t they be relieved that the victim’s family wasn’t demanding compensation?
The mother said something, but Satoru wasn’t listening. Recently, he had a bad habit of zoning out, selective hearing and whatnot. But he did manage to catch one thing.
“The day… that day, he told us he had a fight with you. He was worried that he’d upset you, and wanted to get you a present, something personalized.”
The woman took a deep, shaking breath. “I offered to make him something; I’m a candlemaker. It was the least we could do after everything he did for… for us.
“Later, I couldn’t bring myself to give this to you, and I…I was too ashamed to face you. But this was his gift for you, and I believe he would have wanted you to have this.”
She hesitantly pushed a light coral box toward him. Uninterested, Satoru lifted the lid and prepared to reject the gift, when a familiar scent wafted out. He froze. It was…
“Maison Margiela, Replica By the Fireplace. That was the scent he requested.”
The smell of his lover’s fragrance grabbed him by the throat, and he choked at the weight of painful memories crashing over him.
“I’m telling you not to go! Why can’t you listen to me?!”
“And I said I’m going! I’m going whether you want me to or not!!”
“Why? You can’t fall asleep, you have nightmares reliving your trauma…you think I can’t hear you at night? Just listen to me, for once!”
“You weren’t there, Satoru. You didn’t experience what we did, see what we witnessed. So no, Satoru, I’m not going to listen to you.”
“I don’t NEED to experience the same thing to know that something’s wrong with—”
“You don’t have the right to decide that! You don’t know anything, you’re just an outsider—”
“Oh, I’M the outsider?? I, your fiance, am the outsider, compared to some random guy you only met a month ago!!”
“You know that’s not what I meant! Stop twisting my words! And he’s not some random guy, he’s a former Delta, like me!”
“He’s suspicious is what he is! You didn’t see the way he looked at me! One look in his eyes and you’ll know he’s not normal…”
“Of course he’s not normal!! No one who served in that war comes out normal! That includes me. Do you know how many veterans die from suicide? I have you, but what about others? So many of them are suffering and have no one to turn to.”
He slammed the lid down, forcibly closing off the memory.
“If they are not to your liking, I have twenty other versions that I can bring to you. And if those are not to your liking either, I can make another one, as many as you’d like.”
The couple said something else but Satoru wasn’t listening. He simply sat there. Until afternoon turned to dusk, until he was the only customer left in the cafe. Then he got up and left, as if nothing happened.
The past is in the past, so let it remain there.
The candles were hidden in the garage, away from his sight and thoughts. But the scent lingered, in the pantry, in the shower, on his pillows, in the corners of the school.
He shouldn’t have accepted the gift.
Wasuke finally had enough of Satoru’s self-isolation and banged on his door early Saturday morning. Satoru groaned; who the hell was causing a ruckus at 8 in the morning?
Eventually, he got up and opened the door. If he didn’t, he feared that the man would never stop yelling and his neighbors would call security to drag him off. The brothers were both problematic in their loud anger and persistence.
“Get dressed, we’re going to the aquarium.”
The aquarium? Was this some misguided attempt for an intervention? He didn’t need one though, he was perfectly fine.
Satoru joked half-heartedly. “Aw, are you finally getting over your fear of sharks? Need me to hold your hand?”
Wasuke stared at him, unable to tell if he was deflecting or had forgotten the significance of the place.
“Think whatever you want, as long as it gets you out of this house. Have you been eating enough? You’ve gotten skinnier.”
“Hm? Sorry, what did you say?”
“...”
Two hours later, they arrived at the Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium. As they walked toward the entrance, Satoru once again marvelled at the exterior design. It was his second time visiting; he vaguely remembered going with Sukuna five years ago when they first started dating. They entered the tunnel entrance, and Satoru looked up. It wasn’t as impressive as he remembered.
“Sukuna, take my phone! I want a picture under this tunnel!”
“Again? I’ve already taken like thirty pictures for you.”
“A few more won’t hurt! C’mon!
“We’re supposed to be on our first date…yet here I am as your photographer. Unpaid, by the way.”
“Then join me! Let’s take one together, let me ask someone…”
He walked to the same spot and took out his phone, opening the camera app to take a selfie. Tried to smile, but it came out awkward. It wasn’t right. He tried again, but his cheeks were starting to hurt. When did smiling become so painful?
A hand reached out, palms up. “Do you want me to take one for you?”
Wasuke stood in front of him, a knowing expression on his face. Like he already expected this to happen and was just waiting for Satoru to realize it.
“...no, it’s okay. I don’t think the lighting is good here.”
He walked forward and exited the tunnel. But the rest of the aquarium didn’t interest him anymore, so he fell behind Wasuke, waiting for him to finally tire of this charade. The narrow corridor soon widened into an open viewing area. Wasuke stopped in front of the shark tank and watched them swim in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you know why I feared sharks?”
“No, you never told me.”
“I don’t remember either. It was probably a movie, or something Sukuna said to scare me when we were kids. But because I’d never seen one before, my mind imagined it to be something terrifying. I associated them with kaiju and avoided seeing them. It didn’t have much of an impact on my life, but had I faced my fear earlier, I could have enjoyed the aquarium and ocean with my family sooner.”
Wasuke turned around as a shark swam past behind him. “What I’m trying to say is, avoiding our fears will only make them worse. Satoru, it’s been over a year since Sukuna has passed, but you still refuse to grieve.”
“I’m not…I’m just moving on…there’s no need to grieve over the past—”
“You’re suppressing your emotions, that isn’t moving on! I know you fear the pain of his loss, I lost him too. But you cannot find peace by avoiding your grief.”
Why was everyone saying things he didn’t want to hear? This was why he stayed at home, kept things strictly professional at work. Why couldn’t people respect his boundaries and leave him alone? He was fine.
Without responding, he turned to leave the building. He had enough of this farce, of people telling him what he was feeling and how he should feel.
“—Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you are enjoying the Churaumi aquarium thus far. It is currently 12:30 PM on this sunny Saturday, which means it is time for our daily message board readings. My name is Amanai Riko and I will be reading the submissions for today!”
Satoru froze, staring up at the intercom. Something nagged in the back of his brain.
“Wait for me, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Let’s come back here in five years.”
What day was it again? He checked his phone and froze. June 14. It was the same day…did Wasuke know? Was that why he brought him here?
The woman started reading out the messages and Satoru sped up. He had to find the exit soon, he couldn’t do this, not now. He knew that if he heard the one thing he dreaded the most, he’d collapse.
But with every step he took, another memory played in his mind and the grief he had been holding back pulsed like a drum, a symphony of emotions and voices crescendoing until it burst with a force that shook his entire body—
He had to calm down. He couldn’t break now.
Breathe. In. Out.
Breathe. In. Out.
Breathe. In—
Breathe,
Breathe,
Please—
Satoru choked on his breath as he struggled to keep his tears in. Don’t let it out, you promised. Keep it in, keep it in.
He finally saw the exit and ran forward as he slowly suffocated. Ran like he was trying to escape his grief, his aching memories. Swallowed down his cries, pretended he was okay.
“Our next submission is from Itadori Sukuna.”
No—
“This is a message from Itadori-san to Gojo-san: ”
Please, don’t—
“Happy Anniversary, sweetheart. I’ve only known you for what, six months? But I already know that I love you. Crawled through thirty years of hell just so I could meet you. If we’re not married in five years, then I have failed as a man.”
Someone was sobbing. Satoru wanted to tell them to shut up; this was not the time nor place to cry. But it wouldn’t stop, and like a broken dam, his emotions overflowed through his tears and the raw agony in his voice.
It hurt so much. Why does love hurt so much? This wasn’t what Sukuna promised him. He promised to make him happy, he promised to stay forever. He promised—
“You promised, Sukuna…” Satoru broke down on the ground. He couldn’t hear anything over the loud sorrow and anger in his mind, couldn’t hear his own anguished screaming, like a dying man being slowly split apart.
“On behalf of Churaumi, we wish Itadori-san and Gojo-san a happy fifth anniversary!”
There was just so much pain, his tears wouldn’t stop. He wanted Sukuna to come find him, cradle him in his arms and tell him everything was okay. Because it didn’t feel okay, it felt like dying.
But he waited, and waited, and Sukuna never came. Instead, his lover sent his twin to comfort Satoru in his stead. Shorter arms wrapped awkwardly around him, a heavy sigh escaping the other’s lips.
“Cry…cry, and let your tears wash away your pain.”
“Hey Shoko! It’s me. You know that new movie that just came out, wanna see it together?”
“Nanamin! Sorry I missed the barbeque. But I’d love to join the next one, so keep me posted!”
Baby steps. He took it one day at a time until eventually, he no longer avoided connecting with others, no longer feared his feelings and memories.
A decade passed, and then another, until Jin had grown into a fine gentleman and soon-to-be father. Satoru got to hold the child, and his heart melted at the sight of the baby’s sunny smile. In the blink of an eye, the bubbly infant became a tiger cub. The year he turned five, Jin enrolled him in his alma mater, Satoru’s school. Just in time, as Satoru planned on retiring after teaching the child.
“—Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you are enjoying the Churaumi aquarium thus far. It is currently 12:30 PM on this sunny Friday, which means it is time for our daily message board readings. My name is Miwa Kasumi and I will be reading the submissions for today!”
They were on a field trip to Churaumi Aquarium when the intercom sounded. Satoru paused. Twenty seven years had passed, but it appeared they still maintained the message board. His eyes crinkled softly as he recalled the memory.
“Kids, would you like to write something for the message board?”
“Yes!!” His class clamored excitedly, circling around Satoru and grabbing his hands and legs. Slowly, he walked over to the request box, dragging the children hanging onto him.
A little boy spoke up. “Gojo sensei, did you ever write a message?”
Satoru paused. “I have not, Megumi. But I know someone who did. It was…a message to his lover in five years, although that was twenty years ago.”
“Wow! That’s so romantic!! They must be married now!” Nobara clutched Satoru’s hands, hearts in her eyes.
“Hmm unfortunately, he passed away. But he was very loved.”
He knew many of his students had lost loved ones, and decided to use his and Sukuna’s story to have a healthy conversation about grief and loss.
He looked over at Yuji, who was uncharacteristically solemn. Did Wasuke ever tell Jin…?
Thirty minutes passed of Satoru listening to the sniffles and muted sobs of the boy trailing behind him. Soon, more sniffles and weeping joined in, until the entire class was bawling. He stopped and sighed. This was supposed to be a field trip, a learning experience for Yuji and the kids. How did it come to this?
He turned around, walking back to the boy who started this whole mess and bent down.
“Why are you still crying?” Satoru patted his head, exasperated. “It’s just a trivial story, you don’t need to cry because of it.”
Yuji was crouched down and wailing right in the middle of the aquarium, nestled in a circle of teary-faced children. It would have been endearing if it weren’t for the suspicious stares of passersby. They looked between Satoru and his students, giving them a wide berth.
“I’m not.” Yuji sobbed. He looked up at Satoru, tears streaking his face. “I’m crying for you and granduncle.”
Satoru exhaled. So Wasuke did end up telling his son. Yuji probably heard it from Jin. “Yuji, there’s no need for you to do that. Look at sensei, I’m not crying at all.”
“But…but…how can you not be sad? You lost granduncle…”
“Loss heals with time and age, so don’t worry about me, I’ve had plenty of time to heal,” Satoru chortled. He wiped the boy’s tears. “But thank you for caring about us.”
“Sensei…I don’t want you to die too.”
This boy. Satoru smiled fondly. “Silly child, I won’t die yet. And even if I leave, I will live on inside you,” he tickled Yuji’s tummy, making him giggle, “and everyone in this class. Just like Sukuna lives on in our hearts.”
Loud chatter interrupted them, and he looked up to see Yuta bringing his class over. Satoru’s kids ran over to greet Okkotsu sensei, and he watched in satisfaction as his successor interacted with the children. His school was in good hands.
He turned back to the message box. He picked up a pen and paper and started writing.
“To my students:…”
Life went on, whether people wanted it to or not. But the past still lingered in the dusty corners of their minds—hidden but never forgotten. Like old books in a vintage library, memories were precious treasures that shouldn’t be destroyed, but appreciated and remembered.
And so, Satoru walked forward, keeping his past stored safely within the bookshelves of his heart. When the time came for his story to pen its last chapter, he too would become a treasured memory shelved in the hearts of his loved ones.