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On the narrow futon laid an elderly man, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His name was Yuusei, he was watching the news in the comfort of his apartment on the tenth floor when Geto made his attack. Yuusei’s skin had been burned on fifty percent of his body.
Utahime knelt beside him, her hands wrapped gently around his good hand. She stayed by him, her gaze soft, her thumb stroked the back of his hand in slow circles. She knew what this moment was going to mean, she had to get used to it tonight.
Death had snuck its way into the school with the survivors, waiting to claim what souls it could. It painted the air in shades of twilight, where sorrow and relief entwine in a single exhale. Some of their heartbeats slowed to a final sigh, and the world tilts gently, like a page closing on its last sentence.
She leaned in slightly, her voice soft, “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
His fingers responded with a weak squeeze. He couldn’t speak, but his good eye fluttered open for a brief second and looked at her. There was recognition. Gratitude. A lone tear fell, she brushed it away with the back of her hand, wishing she could erase his unbelievable pain. Utahime hummed softly, a lullaby, and held his hand until his eye closed. His breathing slowed, his hand grew cold as moonlight. His gaze softened. In his final moment, all she could give him was her peace, and the warmth of a hand that didn’t dare to let go.
She stayed with him a moment longer, for her own sake before she let go of his hand and placed it over his heart and stretched the white sheet over his head. Then Kusakabe and another sorcerer Kaito stepped in to retrieve his body, as they’ve had plenty of other times throughout the night.
Survivors piled into the classrooms of a Veil-weakened Tokyo Jujutsu High after the assault on a local apartment building by Geto’s curses. This makeshift clinic was nothing more than the repurposed schoolroom where young sorcerers once learned curses, techniques, domains. Now the chalkboards were obscured by the hastily hung sheets, to give the victims a semblance of privacy. The desks and tables where they once studied now served as triage stations and others held victims.
Ieiri Shoko and her team of sorcerer volunteers, Iori Utahime and Kusakabe Atsuya among them, were trying to treat everyone they could. Shoko did her best to preserve her cursed energy for the mortally wounded, but the victims kept piling in. The Hall now filled with the scent of blood mixed with sanitizer, mingled with the low hum of generators struggling to power a few flickering bulbs.
A young boy with a bandaged head sat quietly beside his mother, she winced when Utahime wrapped her arm. The boy’s name was Yuto. He was seven. His mother’s name was Mihara. Nearby, another elderly man clutched his chest, his breathing shallow, while Kaito fanned him with a torn piece of cardboard. Supplies started running low, but Utahime was sure they were through the worst of the assault. This was just the aftermath.
Despite the chaos, there was a quiet rhythm to the environment around her. Shoko and the others moved with practiced urgency, their hands steady even as their eyes betrayed fatigue. A woman with a shattered leg was comforted by another victim, who gently wiped her tears with the corner of a blanket.
“I can take it from here; we’re in the last of it. You can go,” Shoko told Utahime as she sat in the empty chair next to Yuto and Mihara. Utahime gave Yuto a cup of water as Shoko spoke. They watched him sip it slowly, slumping against his mother.
Shoko hadn’t known where to begin when the flood of victims poured into the school. She had just finished her degree this summer and the school immediately hired her as the on-call doctor. She was given an office, supplies, and other sorcerers who were trained in medicine to assist her when necessary. The elders agreed to have the veil lowered as aid to the civilians caught in the explosions. The school planned to wipe the civilians’ memories of this place when Shoko was finished, they just wanted to minimize the casualties as best they could since it was so close by.
She may not have fully understood why, but Utahime was the only thing keeping Shoko in the present helping people, when the aftermath of the last three years was a waking nightmare: Geto’s betrayal of her, Gojo, and everything Jujutsu Society stood for. He left her behind. She thought she meant something to him, but his betrayal altered her reality and understanding of relationships. How could you really know someone if you couldn’t see how badly they were struggling? She had no idea how sick he became; with everything he talked about becoming “Us vs. Them”. Sorcerers vs. monkeys.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re exhausted. We’re in this together,” Utahime learned quickly and knew some medicine herself, she had to do something. She was tired of being thrown to the sidelines. Utahime’s curse technique was an excellent asset on the battlefield because those who were in her domain would have their cursed energy amplified, but she wanted to be useful and do what she could in this makeshift clinic for her dear kohai.
Utahime looked over at Shoko, who was now sitting in the chair, eyes half open, holding a water bottle.
“Hey,” she said, she squatted down in front of her, laying a hand on Shoko’s arm. Shoko’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled down at Utahime. Her smile was weak. Utahime rubbed her arm to comfort her old friend.
“Hey,” Shoko let out, “then I need your help with one more patient. Gojo’s being difficult, he won’t let anyone touch him except me. I figured I could send you over to treat him while I recover.”
Utahime would rather not deal with whatever was going on with Gojo right now. He and her weren’t exactly close, Utahime wasn’t sure if she could do anything for him. From what she’s heard and seen briefly of his and Geto’s relationship, betrayed doesn’t even cover what he was feeling. He wasn’t just hurt, he was devastated. What she can imagine from her own understanding, grief lingered in silence, a ghost of what was supposed to be. A pain that echoed of love once. Utahime doesn’t know if she ever wants to be that close to someone, especially when the echoes of that betrayal clung to Gojo three years later.
“Of course, just can’t guarantee he won’t be screaming until you get to him,” Utahime gave Shoko’s arm one last squeeze before she stood, “Where is he?”
“Straight back in the morgue, waiting, but he has no right to complain at the moment,” Shoko said while she took a sip of her water. Utahime turned to leave, but Shoko caught her wrist, “Can you also make sure he covers his eyes? If he complains one more time about eye pain, I might stab him.”
Utahime let out a weak laugh, “Of course, no promises though.”
Here goes nothing. Utahime didn’t know Gojo. They were practically strangers; their paths only crossed because of Jujutsu High, though their interactions were limited these days. She only really thought of him as an annoying underclassman that didn’t respect her or really anyone. He was arrogant, overconfident in his own abilities, acting like he thought less of sorcerers like her. In his eyes, she couldn’t be anything more than a liability. While her technique was quite useful, she had to rely on others like Gojo and Geto to protect her. She wasn’t completely defenseless, she had martial skills and pretty good endurance, but if she was up against anything level 1 or special grade on her own? Forget it. Not to mention his ego was heavily inflated from inheriting both Gojo clan’s innate abilities, Limitless and Six Eyes, that made him the strongest Sorcerer of their generation. Geto used Cursed Spirit Manipulation that allowed him to absorb and control natural curses in battle, making him and Gojo almost equal. Part of her even worried for them, she couldn’t begin to imagine the weight being the strongest carried.
Taking a deep breath, she walked down the narrow hall to the morgue and found Gojo. Through the doorway she saw the white room, metal tables shoved to the left of the room, the left of the room, against the mortuary cooler doors. The fair-haired Gojo was sitting on one of the metal tables in the back, eyes glued to the floor. He still wore his old school uniform, the jacket was now open, with a white button down underneath. He held his side seemingly wincing but dropped his hand and snapped his head up when he heard her enter.
“You’re not Shoko,” he said, his piercing blue eyes uncovered, a streak of blood slowly creeping down to his eyebrow. Bright exhaustion reddened his sparkling eyes. Something about them told her he needed to keep moving. If he stopped, everything would feel too real. That he couldn’t handle the situation, that he couldn’t handle Geto. It might break him.
“Glad to know you can still see,” Utahime smiled a weak smile at the pretty beat up sorcerer. He stared at her with a blank expression.
“I need to get back out there and the only person who can make that happen is Shoko,” his eyes closed for a moment, Utahime thought she saw him wince again. It occurred to her that she shouldn’t be seeing him like this, and for a moment she held fear for him. The Strongest. The Honored One. With this attack making him like this, somehow able to bypass his Infinity, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking what this meant for the victims tonight.
However, she pushed the thought aside and walked towards him. She was here for a reason, to help Shoko no matter how difficult he was. He watched her. The spark of annoyance in his tone didn’t reflect fully in his eyes. Something told her that he wasn’t upset with her.
“She sent me here to check on you, she’ll be here soon,” Utahime decided to keep her gaze neutral, not sure if he could handle anyone looking at him with any emotion. His legs dangled over the edge of the metal table spread at the knees. She decided to take an assertive stance and stepped between them. He was still taller than her even sitting, but they were close to eye level. She raised her hand to brush his hair away, deciding she could handle his head wound first, but his small cloud of Infinity stopped her hand before she touched him.
“May I check your forehead?” she whispered. His stare burned into her this close, but he nodded, dropping Infinity completely. She brushed his bangs to the side and took note of the small graze. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch.
She moved from between his legs to the sink and cabinets to her left, by the coolers. She opened the cabinet to find one clean rag, a small roll of bandages, and some alcohol wipes. She took them out and put them on the counter by the sink, then washed her hands. Once she had finished drying her hand, she wet the rag in the cool water. Utahime returned to her spot between his legs, brushing his bangs aside again.
She was thinking so much about how to take care of his minor wound she didn’t realize he opened his eyes again and watched her. He realized he had never watched her move before. He wondered if she always moved with such fluidity. The way she moved with quiet grace made him wonder if he really knew her like he thought. He knew she probably wouldn’t back down when he snapped at her, because she’s stubborn, but he wasn’t expecting her to treat him with such care.
When she stepped back to her earlier position, he lowered his eyes again. Utahime pressed the wet rag to his cut. His head jumped back.
“What are you doing, that’s cold!” he yelled. Utahime froze. Then her face scrunched with annoyance. She scoffed.
“I’m cleaning your wound, idiot,” she retorted.
“Shoko would’ve warned me before touching me with a cold rag!” he yelled.
“Stop being such a baby, cold water helps the bleeding,” she shot back, “now hold still.” She placed her free hand on the back of his neck, lightly, trying to hold him still. He froze for a moment at the contact but then relaxed. She placed the rag on the outside of his thigh on the metal table and goes to grab the bandage when she feels his forehead on her shoulder. She froze.
Maybe it was the exhaustion setting in, maybe it was the weight of the last four years coming down on him. He was twenty, carrying the weight of his clan on his shoulders, burdened with the responsibility that he cannot fail. This wound cannot happen again. He was cursed to see all possibilities, all outcomes, all levels of energy pulsating off curse users and sorcerers alike. His mastery of reverse curse technique has allowed for him to keep his eyes on. But now it was failing him. They got through his Infinity.
When he teleported back to Jujutsu High, his eyes picked up on three distinct cursed energies. Two energies he knew well. He knew Kusakabe’s, one of the sorcerers helping Shoko, it was sturdy, focused, ready to make his move. Kusakabe worked efficiently, helping carry patients, grabbing blankets, etc.
Shoko’s energy was the second, hers was scattered, but she still moved with practice. He saw her clinical applications of her reverse technique, watched her make the impossible decision to conserve her energy for those she knew she could save. She was a leader of this small team, but she wasn’t proud or overconfident.
But the third energy, Utahime’s, stopped him dead. Cursed energy had never felt warm before. It washed over him like watching the sunrise on a summer day. It made him think back to all the times he’d been in the same room as her, how he had never felt her energy. On their only mission together since he graduated, he realized Infinity allowed him to use her technique for the output bonus without feeling her energy directly, however now in the cool light of the Main Hall, his Infinity dropped briefly, he felt her.
His mind was erratic.
After he exorcised the last of those stupid curses released on that apartment building, he was side swiped by a random special grade that could weaken its own cursed energy long enough to break through his Infinity like Toji Fushiguro could. It pissed him off.
He couldn’t let anyone know how destructive he wanted to be. He wanted to rip every piece of that building apart to get to Suguru. Maybe if he talked to him one more time, if he could get his words right this time, Suguru would come back to him. He didn’t care about the people he saved or what the higher ups would do. His best friend was there, and his best friend needed him. In the last three years, Gojo’s regret screamed inside his mind.
Time began to muffle the noise, but it was still there, in a whisper. It curled around his thoughts like smoke, rising from moments he couldn’t change. A word left unsaid. The door slammed shut. Gojo’s regret lived in the spaces in his mind, in the way he reread old messages and looked at their old photographs. Regret didn’t ask for forgiveness. It punished him with the memories and what it could’ve been. His world was crumbling. He wanted to figure out what clawed at Suguru and fight it for him. Suguru was not alone, how could he feel he was alone?
Gojo paused when he heard her quiet song. He watched her hold that old man’s hand as he died. He wondered if Utahime knew how she ripped through his anger, and, for a moment, the pain was quiet again. Her energy felt like a soft exhale after a long breath held in uncertainty. She wasn’t annoyed like he’d seen her plenty of times. In this clinic, she was soft, like the hush of dawn before the world woke up, or the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat when the smoke cleared.
His mind wanted desperately to stay in that moment, to stay in that feeling, but his body moved to the morgue where Shoko had practice treating him countless times. Kusakabe was near him when he phased in, Gojo ordered him to get Shoko. While he waited for Shoko, he let himself sit in the pain. The pain in his side brought him down to Earth as a reminder that he was in fact human.
When Gojo’s eyes sensed her in the doorway, he wasn’t sure what to think of Utahime being in front of him. The flood of emotion he’d felt from missing Suguru, again, and the pain of his injuries made him want to blow a hole so large in the ground, Japan would no longer exist. He wanted to be reckless; he wanted to give up this self-righteous act that kept him alive. When their eyes met, he couldn’t let her break his resolve. He prayed she would just go, that she would be intimidated by his piercing stare and his quiet rage.
Instead, the girl who was so tiny and cat-like in her temper stood before him calm. He remembered vaguely how he and Suguru relentlessly teased her for needing their help on missions. How she’d hiss back at them her retorts. He didn’t know her, hell, he wasn’t even sure he liked her after the countless times she threw random insults at him and berated him for not calling her “senpai”. When she moved into the room, he wished he could stop her. He wanted her to leave.
But when she touched his forehead, he realized he’d never seen this side of her. The Healer. Her touch felt electric, like she was scanning his thoughts to understand him. No one had touched him like this. His eyes closed as he felt the warmth of her presence again. He didn’t scare her.
When he watched her getting the supplies, he noticed her hair, instead of her usual pigtails, was tied back with a small clip and she was wearing white overalls, discolored by the events of the evening. Her stance between his knees was assertive, her honey brown eyes spoke of determination in completing her task. Her eyes locked onto his with the precision of a blade unsheathed; they were still and sharp. There was no blinking, no softening, whether he wanted her to or not, she was taking care of him.
Not many people can say they unsettled Gojo, but the way Utahime pushed away the thin veil of arrogance he wore like armor scared him. How she carried the weight of this moment without questions. How she didn’t care that he was Satoru Gojo. How his state didn’t make her afraid. This was new to him; she was new to him. He was seeing her for the first time. Not as Mei Mei’s friend or his annoying senpai, but as her. A gentle spirit.
When she set down the rag and went to grab something, her other hand still on the back of his clammy neck, Gojo slumped against her, his forehead hitting her shoulder. He felt her freeze.
“Gojo?” she asked, warily.
He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace that felt way too intimate for who they were to each other. He didn’t respond. Just squeezed her closer to him. He wanted her courage. He was lost. Reality was slipping through his fingers every time he went outside. He couldn’t save everyone; he couldn’t save Geto, and he couldn’t save himself. Did she know he was crumbling? Did it scare her? Did he scare her? Was this as much as an act for her as it was for him?
“My eyes,” he said, softly. Utahime’s hand was still on the nape of his neck.
“Okay, look at me,” she whispered. He raised his head from her shoulder, loosening his arms around her, but not letting her go. When their eyes met, she felt a cool wet sensation on her shoulder. She brushed his bangs aside again, looking into his tear-stained eyes. She took a deep breath. We’re getting through this, she wanted to say. She picked up the bandage she had set aside. An idea occurred to her.
“Do you mind if I use this on your eyes?” she asked, holding up the white bandage. His head turned slightly, confused by what she was asking, “the lights might be why your eyes are so irritated. I read that those with the Six Eyes can still see even when their vision is obstructed, because cursed energy is always around us. I know you have those special sunglasses, but why don’t we try this?”
He nodded. Her hand that was on his nape had now slid up to his hair as she wrapped his eyes. She kept his hair out of the bandage. He wasn’t sure why that stuck in his mind. But the instant relief he felt when his eyes were covered, washed over him and made him sigh out loud. Uthaime wanted to giggle but chose not to.
“Can you see?” she asked. Gojo opened his eyes under the blindfold. His parents, Yaga, everyone told him he needed to use a blindfold. It’s even in the stupid texts everyone had to read in school, but he never listened. His eyes really hadn’t bothered him much as a little kid, but nineteen years of strain must’ve finally caught up to him. And they were certainly right about cursed energy being everywhere. While it wasn’t color, he could see outlines. He could still see her face, her hair, even the overalls she was wearing. He smiled. She was tense with uncertainty about if this could work, but it did.
“I can see,” he said. She smiled back at him.