Chapter Text
You wake with a start, big heavy breaths of oxygen entering your lungs as you try to orient yourself. You’re sitting in a chair, eyes darting around the room as the harsh lights of the candles on the ground nearly blind you. It’s not long before you spot him, a man. Sitting in a seat across from you. Your immediate thought is to prepare yourself for battle, standing up so fast that the wounds in your arms and legs practically burst right back open. You stand there for a while, hands clenched into fists. You now realize that power that once flowed through you is gone– you cannot fight. The man stands as well, reaching a hand out to you. He says something, but you’re too afraid to hear. Your heartbeat is so loud it pounds over his soft-spoken voice. A threat, you think he is. How did you get here?
The last thing you remember is the pulsing of your own heart as you tried to push that rubble off of you. Your head was aching, blood seeming to seep out of every part of your body. You were fighting something– a monster, you think. That’s what they were called in your homeland. Monsters.
The big, slimy creature stopped you as you were walking up the hill, towards that pull you could feel emanating through your body. It was getting stronger, more intense the closer you got. But, the creature jumped in front of you. Its flesh was green, slimy like a snake. There was a revolting smell coming from it, like a demon, you think. Disgusting. It put up a good fight against you, but even the strongest can be brought down to their knees. Your energy, your power was too much for it. Though it did a number on you, too. And just as you heard cars screeching and people running, you were buried under the rubble surrounding the outskirts of Tokyo as a result of the fight. Then, you blacked out.
You trip over your legs as you try to get away from the man, your breathing becoming more elevated as you panic. A man, standing over you. He’s tall, white-haired, fair skin, blindfolded. That pin on his jacket, the one you were taught to avoid. Men like him are dangerous, they will hurt you. They do not have your best interest in mind. Men like him are sorcerers, they told you. With those pins, the uniform, the calloused hands masked behind a gentle smile. You were not like him, and you would get away.
The man is cautious as he lets you crawl away, his hands in your sight. You feel the lanterns hitting against your back as you force yourself into a corner, never taking your eyes off of the man. He stops following you, standing there and looking down at you as he stays planted where he is. You can feel the panic coming on, your throat closing up. Why can’t you use your power? Where are you? Your heart is beating loudly over your thoughts. Who is this man and what does he want from you?
“I won't hurt you,” the man is saying, gently, slowly. “You are safe.”
But you cannot possibly listen to him. How could you? You were taught that these kinds of men, the sorcerers, do not value you. They do not want to care for you. You stare at him, your voice caught in your throat. You sound harsh as you speak, your voice scratchy with pain. But you ignore that pain. You must. After all, you need to be strong.
“Where am I!” It’s more of a demand, less of a question. “Who are you?”
The man smiles, his height intimidating you even as he smiles. “I am Satoru Gojo. And you… need to calm down.”
His words are almost a joke. Gojo speaks slowly like you are a child, but it is not patronizing. It’s more patient, if anything. He stays standing over his chair as he observes you cowering in the corner. His smile makes him seem immature, as if he cannot be serious about this matter.
“Where am I?” You demand once more, not daring to take your eyes off of him. However, they do notice the strips on the wall, words written in Japanese on little slips of faded, yellow paper. A curse, a spell of some sort.
“You are at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical Collage, in the heart of the city! Isn’t that nice~” The man answers enthusiastically, his smile awfully large as he describes the place. “You’re quite the lucky one. Not very many people come here.”
You don’t quite understand Gojo’s words, and you’re not sure if you want to. But you continue to ask questions, not quite understanding who he is.
“And who are you? Why am I here?”
The man seems to perk up a bit at that, his back straightening as he ponders for a moment how to describe this all to you. He snaps once he gets an idea.
“Well, we saw that little stunt you pulled earlier, and the higher-ups are not happy! We don’t have you in our records, and you’re a bit of a… threat. But don’t you worry! I’m sure you have a good explanation of who you are! And we can get all of this sorted out. How does that sound?”
Gojo’s words seem to confuse you even more, and he sees that written all over your face as your brows furrow. He sighs, understanding your confusion.
“That curse you fought was very strong. It was at least first grade. We are confused about how you were able to take it down so easily.”
Even more confusion, even more distrust. You don’t know what Gojo’s talking about, and you don’t care to know. You just need to get out of here. He has had his chance to hurt you, but he didn’t. You allow yourself to glance around the room, eyes perceptive as you try to pinpoint the exit or some way out. No cameras, no weapons, no exit. Just the large, heavy door behind Gojo. Your eyes land on him once again.
“Why am I in here?”
He sighs, looking a bit exasperated as he massages his temples. Do you really not get it? How else can he dumb it down for you?
“You fought something big and strong and now you are a threat.”
“Why am I a threat?”
“You are too powerful and we don’t know who you are.”
You sigh after that, pulling yourself up from where you sit on the ground against the wall. You look up at him, your eyes narrowing as you slowly walk closer.
“Let me out of here.”
Gojo hums for a moment before playfully shaking his head with a silly smile, “I’m afraid I cannot. I don’t even know your name yet, or your intentions. Who are you?”
His tone is patronizing, mean almost. He’s too cocky, too insulting. He’s calling you an idiot. You tell him your name, your voice growing more and more irritated.
“I am from the Azunta tribe on the island of Montalou. I have come here to Tokyo because I was pulled here by this… feeling. Something wants me here.”
Gojo seems to straighten up at that, his smile widening. He’s excited about something. “Ah, now we’re talking! And what is bringin’ you here? Some feeling? A weird sense of accomplishment? A new invention?!”
“No, this strange energy. I found a finger that had the same energy.”
“What?”