Chapter Text
It was raining again.
The soft, steady drizzle on the rusted tin roof was the only sound louder than Kiara Renji's even breaths. Despite the gash tearing her left side and the blood staining her tattered clothes, she stood over the last of the curses as it dissolved into nothing. The woman beside her whimpered, clutching her grotesquely angled arm, but Kiara only pressed her palm gently to the wound, her touch a stark contrast to the brutality of the fight.
A quiet glow pulsed.
A lance of agony shot up Kiara's arm, threatening to buckle her knees, but she bit back a groan, her teeth grinding together as she held firm. The woman's bone reknit with a sickening crackle beneath Kiara's palm, the sensation oddly viscous. Kiara didn’t stop the flow of her cursed energy until the bleeding had slowed to a trickle and the torn skin knit itself back together, leaving a pale, fragile line. The curse was gone. The village was safe. But her own body screamed from the half-dozen injuries she’d taken in their place.
She stood, pulling her coat tight around her, and ignored the new streak of blood soaking through the fabric. Her phone buzzed.
Principal Yaga.
Her chest tightened.
She hesitated for exactly three seconds before swiping to answer. “Yaga.”
“Kiara,” he said, his voice like gravel and warmth. “We need you.”
Her eyes shut. “You only call me when it’s bad.”
“This is worse than bad.” A pause. “It’s about Sukuna.” Her heart stopped. “Sukuna’s vessel.”
She was silent for a long moment. “I heard the reports. That he died.”
“His name is Itadori Yuuji. And yes… he lived. Because Sukuna brought him back. Only a handful of us know the truth. Me. Shoko. Gojo. Nanami. We’ve kept it quiet.” Yaga’s voice softened even as Kiara’s heart pounded painfully at the mention of Gojo. “He’s a good kid, Kiara. I think… I think you’ll want to meet him.”
Her fingers curled tighter around the phone. “You’re asking me to come back.”
“I’m not asking,” he said gently. “I’m telling you it’s time.”
A long silence.
Then, quietly, she asked, “He’s there?”
A beat passed. Then: “Yes. Gojo’s here.”
She didn’t respond.
But when the call ended, she stood alone in the rain until the chill reached her bones. Her arms wrapped tight around herself, as if that could hold in the pieces threatening to slip free. The silence after his voice was deafening—sharp as glass, hollow as loss.
She thought of them.
The boys who had once held her heart in tandem.
Suguru, who followed a path she could never walk.
Satoru, who pulled away before she even realised he was letting go.
Two halves of a future that never came to be.
After Geto’s death, she’d believed she might never see Gojo again.
Not truly. Not whole.
And now—
She didn’t know what she was more afraid of: that she would lose him again… or that she still wanted to hold on.
She was going home.
Jujutsu High
The gates of Jujutsu High hadn’t changed.
She stood before them, wrapped in her dark trench coat, her long brown hair damp with mist. The wards shimmered faintly as they recognised her, the familiar buzz of cursed energy welcoming her like an old friend.
The gates opened with a groan.
She took her first step back.
The courtyard was quiet. Autumn leaves crunched under her boots. A soft glow spilled from the main building, casting warm light against the encroaching evening. It smelled like cedar and faint smoke—like memory.
Her heart ached. A fleeting memory: a white-haired boy teasing her as they sparred, a dark-haired boy offering commentary and feedback before she laughed breathlessly.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”
The voice stopped her cold, the memory falling away. She turned slowly, heart already stammering in her chest.
Gojo Satoru leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, blindfold pushed up onto his forehead so his piercing blue eyes met hers without apology. He looked the same. Infuriatingly so. Taller, maybe. A little older. But still cocky, still beautiful, still the boy who shattered her heart.
He smiled, too bright for the moment. “Still dramatic, huh? Took you long enough.”
She raised an eyebrow, her face calm even if her emotions were in turmoil. “Still insufferable, huh? I see nothing’s changed.” Did he blame her? For running? For not being able to watch Geto Suguru fall deeper? For not trying harder to bring back the boy they both loved? For letting Gojo kill him?
They stared at each other in silence.
Then Gojo pushed off the pillar and walked toward her, slower now, less sure. He stopped just a foot away. The space between them thrummed with things unsaid. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her. Instead, he said, “You really came back.”
Her voice was softer now. “Yaga asked.” Gojo’s smile faltered. She didn’t move. “You didn’t.”
“You would’ve said no.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe.”
They stood there a moment longer, suspended in some space between past and present, until the door creaked open behind him.
“Kiara?”
Shoko.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned, and Shoko didn’t wait—she crossed the space between them in three strides and pulled Kiara into a hug that smelled like cigarettes and antiseptic. She didn’t just lose Gojo and Geto 7 years ago, she lost her friends, her home when she ran.
“You look like shit,” Shoko muttered.
“You say it like that’s new.” They both laughed, and for a moment, the tension broke before she headed to meet Yaga.
Yaga's Office
The office was warmer than she remembered. Yaga sat behind his desk, the same old stern expression on his face, but his eyes softened the moment he saw her.
“My girl,” he said, and that was it—that was all it took.
Kiara blinked back tears and let herself be pulled into the kind of hug only a father could give. An orphan, Kiara had been lucky not to be picked up by one of the clans; instead, she moved from orphanage to orphanage. She didn’t know home till she arrived at Jujutsu High. Yaga and her puppets fascinated her, and he took her under his wing, teaching her separately, but not for long. Giving her a goal had pushed her, and soon she was taking classes with her classmates: Gojo, Shoko, Utahime, and of course, Geto.
They talked for nearly an hour. About the state of the world. The rise in cursed spirits. The pressure the higher-ups were putting on Gojo. And then—
“Itadori Yuuji,” Yaga said, folding his hands. “He died. He let Sukuna take over to defeat a curse at the Eishu Detention Centre. Sukuna revived him.”
Kiara frowned, more concerned than shocked. “And he didn’t kill anyone?”
“No,” Yaga said. “We don’t know why. But Yuuji’s alive. And there’s something about him… you’ll see.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Where is he now?”
“Recovering. Gojo will take you.” She didn’t question him.
Private Wing – Restricted Area
The room was dimly lit, quiet, lined with wards. Yuuji slept on a futon, breathing peacefully, his face oddly serene for someone housing the King of Curses.
Kiara stood in the doorway, unmoving, the careful, uncaring façade she tried to build when she left slipping.
“He’s… just a boy,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” Gojo said beside her. “And already carrying more than he should.”
She didn’t look at him. “And you’re using Nanami to train him?”
Gojo smirked. “You disapprove?”
“No, I’d prefer to.” It wasn’t that she had anything against Nanami; on the contrary, she’d been fond of him when they were at school, but he was stern then and stoic. The complete opposite of Gojo. Itadori was a child; he needed compassion and nurturing alongside the tough love Nanami would give.
There was a pause. Then, softer, he asked, “You’ll stay?”
She still didn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the hope she heard in his voice. “I’ll try.”
Her Old Room
She opened the door slowly.
It was exactly as she left it. Dusty, unused, but untouched. Her books still on the shelf. Her jacket still slung over the chair. A photo on the desk—her, Gojo, Geto, Shoko, and Utahime. Young and stupid and full of hope.
She picked it up with trembling fingers.
Suguru’s smile beamed back at her.
“I’m back,” she whispered, the photo pressed to her chest.
Behind her, the window rattled with wind, and in the deep recesses of the school, something ancient stirred.