Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru is fifteen years old when he falls in love.
Not that he recognises the emotion for what it is, considering the shitty day he’s had.
Between getting caught in machinations engineered by the higher-ups and those of his clan elders, it’d made a tough week. However, what had been the proverbial icing on the cake was the assignment to hunt down a special-grade curse terrorising the locals in a district on the outskirts of Tokyo.
For a few months now, the curse had been responsible for a string of violent deaths. Its victims were often left in pieces, their torsos shredded into macabre ribbons, guts spilling out like the innards of rotten fruit.
Satoru may only be a first-year, but with the considerable power he possessed, it was not a surprise that he was sent to deal with the curse.
It was just too bad that he was unable to prevent the death of a girl who could not be older than five years old.
Hours have passed, but he still cannot forget the look of unmitigated terror on the girl’s face. Nor can he forget the heart-wrenching wails she made before she was permanently silenced by a deformed claw ripping her apart. He suspects that if he squints hard enough, he might even be able to see specks of the girl’s blood in the ridges and grooves on his palms.
If he closes his eyes, he’s certain he can recall in perfect acuity the glassy emptiness of the child’s eyes when the remnants of her body were taken away. Or the tear tracks on her cheeks interspersed with blood splatters.
He’s no stranger to the wreckage and devastation cursed spirits leave in their wake. But not once while he’s out in the field has he failed to save someone.
Ever since he was a child, he’d always been told that he was a god amongst men. A divine being sent from the heavens. Someone whose mere existence has altered the balance of power in the world.
And now, with how the universe has seen fit to destroy his preconceived notions that he is infallible, it’s nothing short of a rude awakening.
A hard lesson to swallow.
It’s made worse when the price of such a lesson has been paid by an innocent’s blood and tears.
So much for the techniques he wields, the power flowing through his veins, and the strength in his bones. Satoru couldn’t even prevent the death of one little girl.
Ha.
The moment he had been debriefed and submitted his mission report, Satoru ensconced himself away in a remote corner of one of Jujutsu High’s many gardens.
Seated on the ground, legs sprawled out over evenly-trimmed grass, and back resting against the base of a stone bench, Satoru shifts his jaw and continues brooding. He doesn’t pay any mind to the picturesque view of the bubbling koi pond set against the fresh greens of plum and pine trees.
Not when all that he can think of is that girl’s last moments before she was murdered right in front of his eyes.
If only he’d been stronger, faster to react—
“There you are.”
Of course, it is when he wants to be left alone that the opposite happens.
A shadow falls over him. Satoru doesn't bother looking up. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. I heard what happened,” Iori Utahime says as she settles on the bench. Her hakama-clad leg bumps against his arm. “Are you okay?”
“What’s it to you?” he demands. For a moment, Satoru debates the merits of getting up and leaving. But why should he? He was here first. So for the moment, he settles on throwing the coldest glare he can muster in Utahime’s direction. “You here to gloat or something?”
“No,” she says softly. “It’s just that I know having someone die on your watch isn’t the easiest thing to deal with.”
“Right. You would know,” Satoru counters caustically.
Utahime’s face falls, and he feels the slightest twinge beneath his ribs. He scowls and shoves the odd feeling away. He doesn’t need to be coddled or handled with kid gloves, especially by someone like Iori Utahime.
He’s not some weakling.
He’s the Strongest.
Never mind that the moniker rings hollow in his ears now.
“You’re a brat,” Utahime mutters and sighs. “But yes, you’re right. I would know. I’ve had people die on me many times now. And as your senpai, all I can say is while you’ll never get used to it, it will become easier.”
“Yeah, for you. You’re nothing but a grade-two sorcerer with a supporting role, and I’m—Ow!” Satoru scowls and rubs the throbbing section on the back of his head. “Hell was that for?”
“Rank or not, I’m still your senpai,” Utahime informs him haughtily. “Watch your tone. Or else.” She raises a fist threateningly once more and arches a brow in challenge.
Satoru glowers and turns away, hoping she’ll get the hint and fuck right off to wherever she came from.
She doesn’t. In fact, Utahime takes it as a sign to continue. Oh, joy. “Look,” she starts with a matter-of-fact tone. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. What happened was tragic, yes. But despite your abilities or how talented you are, you probably weren’t ready to face off with that curse. Don’t forget you’re just a kid with the unfortunate task of shouldering the responsibilities of adults.”
“I’m fifteen. Sixteen this December,” Satoru deadpans.
“Yeah.” Utahime makes a one-shouldered shrug. “Still a kid. If you were a non-sorcerer, the only things you'd be worrying about are high school exams and club activities. Maybe even girls.”
He can’t help but snort.
At that, Utahime offers a half-smile. She ducks her head and swings her booted feet. “Just so you know, I cried for weeks the first time I failed to save someone.”
Satoru pauses.
That, he knows. Shoko had roped him and Suguru into the arduous task of coaxing Utahime out of her dorm room for meals when she’d been more than content to drown herself in her pillows. When their attempts weren’t successful, he and Suguru had taken turns leaving food outside her door.
He lowers his gaze and swallows hard. “How’d you get over it?”
“It took me a while to accept that it doesn’t matter how prepared or skilled you are. Things don’t always turn out the way you expect them to. So whatever happens, accept them for what they are and move on. There’s no point lingering on your regrets. You can reflect, but you mustn’t take them to heart. Or else it’ll stop you from going forward,” she finishes with a sigh.
Her words, while long and convoluted, sink into the depths of his heart. There, nestled in the crevices of his soul, they take root.
Just like that, the knots of tension along his shoulders dissipate, and Satoru can’t help but grudgingly steal a glance at her.
Iori Utahime has always been pretty.
It’s a known fact.
But right now, with the reddish-orange hues of the setting sun illuminating her features, turning her dark hair a golden-bronze shade, bathing her in the warm hues of autumn, Satoru thinks she’s beautiful.
His heart begins to pound, and in the confines of his ribs, his lungs are laden with the familiar constricting pressure that always appears whenever their paths cross.
It’s not exactly a secret that he’s been harbouring a huge crush on her. Suguru had suspected it with how he’d been picking on her and riling her up. Shoko, despite being Utahime’s closest confidante, had claimed he was predictable as fuck but simply sat back to enjoy the chaos.
He supposes he has great friends who know when to keep their mouths shut.
But the longer Satoru gazes at her, his gut lurches.
He might be the Strongest, the heir to one of the Three Great Families, but he knows someone like Iori Utahime is out of his reach.
With how she acts around him, he doubts she sees him as anything more than a rowdy junior to keep in line. Or worse, a little brother to guide and protect.
At that, Satoru shudders inwardly.
Between being friend-zoned and brother-zoned, he’ll prefer the former, thank you very much.
“Oi, are you listening to me, you brat?”
“What?” This time, Satoru manages to thwart another delicate fist flying his way by ducking his head.
Utahime huffs. Whether she’s annoyed he’s managed to avoid her blow or because of the curt tone he used, he doesn’t know. “You better not be ignoring me! I was giving you some important life lessons!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and waves his hand dismissively. “Essentially, it’s easy to quit, but it takes courage and strength to move on, right?”
With smug satisfaction, Satoru observes how Utahime blinks and stares at him as if he possesses two heads. Like it’s the first time she’s really seeing him.
“Um, yes,” she says slowly. She then squints. “Since when did you get so smart, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” he grumbles and shoots her a haughty look. “I’ve always been smart. Smarter than you for sure.”
“As if!” Utahime retorts, face scrunching up as though she wants to smack him over the head again. To Satoru’s relief, a muffled buzz distracts her. From the corner of his eye, he watches as she rummages through her small ratty purse that has seen better days, fishes for her phone, peers at the screen, and pulls a face. “Oh, I didn’t know it’s gotten so late. I got to go. See you around?”
Satoru nods mutely.
Utahime offers him one bright grin, and much to his chagrin, ruffles his hair as if he’s a dog. Before he can snap or push her hand off, she gets up and walks off without so much as a backwards glance, leaving him to stare at her retreating form.
It’s funny how the loss of someone’s presence can make him feel so… bereft.
Abruptly, the pressure in his chest expands and bursts, and to alleviate the sudden itch in the back of his throat, he coughs.
A pastel pink petal falls from his mouth and into his lap.
Satoru blinks.