Chapter Text
1994, Kyoto
The world outside the shoji screen was coated in shades of white as the snow was pilled on the centenarian karesansui. Fumiyo knelt at the edge of the veranda, legs folded beneath her, her hands neatly resting on her lap, feeling the cold damp air seep through the thin silk of her sleep yukata and into her skin, It did not bother her, it was one of the few things that felt real in the gojo clan compound
From the main house, the low murmurs of a meeting discussions drifted into her ears, the muffled voices of her father, uncles, some clansmen ventilating alliances, techniques, trades... the future
Her future was likely just another footnote, a marginalia, a incidental remark that will serve them and their never ending chase for prosperity. Her, the youngest daughter from a branch family, no innate cursed technique, adequate reserves of cursed energy and a wide knowledge of sealing art. That was her profile, that was her identity within the clan. And her function? a useful pawn for political maneuvers. The words were never spoken to her directly, but she knows what her planned fate was, she heard the discussions, a suitable marriage to strengthen ties with the kamo clan. A branch family girl to marry a branch family man. simple, transactional, political. devoid of emotions and the sentimentality that makes such relationship work
The words were never really spoken to her, but they hung around her as she walked, they hung in the air of every room she stepped into, as tangible as the scent of incense and old wood
She was eighteen but she felt a hundreds years old
her eyes traced the perfect lines of the rock garden, the raked gravel mimicking waves frozen in times was burried under deep deep snow. Every stone was placed with intention. Every mossy mound was a symbol, every empty space was calculated. Everything was a display of something, a message of power, a testament of longevity, the proof of a long history.
As the week passed, the hushed whisperes became a prominent explicit noises, in the same spot as she sat ruminating, her mother adjusted the collar of Fumiyo’s kimono, her fingers light and final. "You will do well", her mother said, not looking into her eyed. "The kamo family branch head is a serious young man. He will not expect.... more than you can give." the unspoken words were a loud echo, sharp and unbidden; he will not expect a technique, he will not expect greatness. He will expects silence, he will expect obedience and children who might possess what you lack.
The humiliation had been a quiet, cold thing settling in her bones and seeping through her spirit. She was not a person here. She was a pawn, a instrument for political alliance, a tool to facilitate the clan's prosperity. A vessel for potential, for gain.. for everything but her own self and soul
Fumiyo felt a soft flutter in the atmosphere from the eastern wing, a cousin or prehaps a branch child practicing a low grade projection technique. The air shimmered for a second, a visible warp of cursed energy that made her skin shiver. She had no technique to hone and practice. No potential to shape for fighting, not like she would be allowed or able to with her barely above average reserve of energy. All she can do is sit and observe and feel. See the curses, observe the progress of the poeple around her, feel the thick oppressive blanket of power that lays over the Gojo estate, a constant reminder of where she stood, in the sidelines, at the very bottom looking up at mountain she could never climb
Her mind lingered on Him for a moment. Satoru. The prodigy, the one who was born and the entire axis of the jujutsu world shifted in his wake. She had seen him only once, a month after after his birth three years ago, during a formal clan viewing. She'd been led into a heavily shielded room, the air was so dense with protective seals and charms she could barely breathe properly. In the center, in a cradle of enchanted wood, he laid, even as an infant, the Six eyes were visible, a stunning inhuman cerulean blue that seemed to see not the room but the fabric of the universe itself.
She had felt nothing looking at him. No familial warmth, no pride. Only a vast yawning distance. He was a god in a crib. She was a girl with nothing to offer but her name. They were family, by name and by blood, but they were, in the true sense of things, two endpoints on a spectrum she did not understand. He was the pride, the joy and the honor of the clan, she was just another girl to be used. As she carried him for the formal photographic commemoration, she felt nothing for her nephew. all she felt was an amplified notion of inadequacy and the magnified sense of everything she could never be.
She hadn't seen him since the formal viewing. He wasnt raised in the small estate she grew up in, or in the minor estate her brother had taken as his home after marriage. Satoru was taken to the main family compound, to be raised like the god he is. A clan head at birth, how nice
The murmurs from the main house rose in volume. A decision was being finalized. Her skin prickled. "Tonight", a voice inside her whispered, a voice that had been feeding her secret rebellious thoughts for years, a voice that meticulously planned her escape. It has to be tonight. It clashed with the plan she drew and was successfully executing, but she needed to move.
Her scheme started 5 years ago, she saved her extra money and coins, skipped lunch to save the lunch money her parents provides. She was punctilious in her care for the little jewellery she owned, not out of attentiveness or diligence, but out of necessity, she was planning to sell them.
And she studied, she studied in every waking moment, she topped her classes, won the favour of her teachers, earned the approval of the school staff. She helped everyone, tutored and assisted her classmates in their studies. She gained the care and love from her classmates.
In January, she secretly applied for a private scholarship, one that doesnt require guardian approval, she passed the university entrance exams, she picked a major that felt .. nice. Interior design in Tokyo. She had her acceptance letter delivered to a friend's house, she listed a mail adresse she made herself as her guardian's contact information, she recently finalized her enrollment with her high school diploma and the scholarship confirmation. She still had a full week till the dorms move in start.
The gojo clan wasnt by any means progressive or lenient however they were far more merciful than the other clans, the zen'in clan was known to be hell for women. At least here, in the gojo clan, she had a certain freedom that came with being a weak child from a branch family, she attended a civilian school, she got to go out sometimes, but that didn't change what she was, a political tool, that measured freedom only postponed her utility. And now that she graduated high school, she was given away, as a bargaining chip in their path for the clan's prosperity.
The plan, her plan was not just a ploy, it was her carving a desperate way out. She had nothing for herself, no valuable contacts outside of the gojo clan and the jujutsu world that she wants to escape. she had nothing but her meticulous scheme and her observantions. She knew the guards rotations, the gaps in thee perimeter seals maintained by low grade sorcerers who grew complacent on quiet, snowy nights. She knew which gate was least watched after the moon reached its zenith.
And she had a small bag hidden beneath the floorboards of her room, Inside, she had a plain yukata, her school's gym clothes, coins that pilfered over years from unattended offerings at the household shrine and money bills from five years of saving. A small pouch where she hid her jewellery ; akoya pearls hair pins, three gold bracelets and one silver ring. Three changes of undergarments and a picture of her paternel grandmother, a women who, according to rumours, had also dreamed of a different life.
She had her mind set, she prepared for this, she planned it for years, and she will proceed as she planned, a week early, out of necessity, she cant afford to let the marriage chains tie her down any further, an extra week of waiting could risk marriage acceptance and preparations, things she has no say over. She needed to leave tonight.
And to leave was to die. The gojo clan would not chase her ; they would erase her. Fumiyo, the youngest daughter of her branch family would become a non-person. A slight against their honor quietly scrubbed from their records. The thought was not frightening, it was liberating. Let them erase the name, she will keep the self
As the first flakes of the early dusk snowfall began to spiral down, she moved.
It was not a dramatic flight, it was a series of small silent pliferings. She slipped out of her room, a shadow in the shadows, she moved across the compound, using the hush of the snow to muffle the sound of her tabi-clad feet on the stone. She glided past the guardhouse, her heart a frantic bird in her throat, pressing herself into the deep darkness of centuries old pine, her shallow breath fogging the air.
The side gate was a smell wooden thing, used for tradesmen. It seals were for intrusion, not for exit. She placed her hand on the ice cold weathered wood, and for a moment she hesitated.
This was the broder, on this side, everything know, everything safe, everything dead and empty. On the other side, nothing. a void of nothing known and uncertainties
She thought of the rock garden, of the perfectly placed stones, she would not be a stone anymore. She slid the bolt, it groaned and creaked, a sound like a dying thing. She froze, but the wind snatched the sound and buried it in the gathering snow. She pulled the gate open just wide enough to slip through
And she was outside
The cold hit her like a physical blow, but it was a clean cold, it did not smell of incense and ambition, it smelled of snow, of distant city fumes, of freedom. She did not look back, she walked, her hands gripping the strap of her bag as she walked into the white shrouded dusk, the further she walked, the lighter she felt, as if the chain tying her down were melting away in the frost
She walked towards the city, to the memorised streets that lead to the train station, she walked fast, she needed to catch the six am Tokyo bullet train.
And she did, she bought a Kodama service ticket to tokyo, a 3 hours ride, she can sit and enjoy, for once, just sit and enjoy, no chains tying her, no whisperes of men she was best suited for, no talks of the politics behind something.
The train hissed to a gentle stop, and she rose, limbs heavy from the journey, the rythme of the rails fading behind her. The door opened, spilling her into the vast concourse of Tokyo station. A rush of warm human life pressed against her senses, the scuff of shoes on stone floors, the low murmur of voices, the metallic click of luggage wheels, the distant whistles of another train.
She stepped out, her eyes lifting to the wide hall, the glass and steel trembling beaming sunlight. Beyond the station, the city sprawled in every direction, towers of glass catching the light. It was immense. unyielding, alive. For the first, she felt herself, yet untethered
The air was different, freer somehow, laced with it was the faint smell of exhaust and bread and possibility. She drew it in and held it, letting in fill the space that had long been been held by walls, by rules, by the quiet and heavy wight of expectations
She stepped forward, one foot, then the next. No one told her where to go, no one’s shadow followed her. The city pulsed around her, a living thing, and in that pulse she felt it, she was free. Not just free in the abstract, not just in theory. Here, in this sprawling, humming and bustling metropolis, she, for the first time, belonged to herself. She smiled, a small unguarded smile that the city could not steal, a declaration as simple and as infinite as the streets that spread before her.
She wandered the streets of Tokyo as if the city has been waiting for her, and she let herself move without purpose, pausing when a window shop caught her eyes, listening to the rythme of the bustling city and taking in its seemingly never slowing down pace. By noon, she found a modest hotel tucked in a narrow alley, the clerk smiled, took her cash and handed her a key. Her first private space, her first payment for herself. That night, she curled under the thin sheets, she slept .The morning awaited her with its uncertainties, the uncertainties she was ready to face and overcome
The next day she drifted through tiny shops, the kind thag smelled faintly of detergent and rusty floors, she bought a loose blouse, a jacket, a skirt, a scarf and, a pair of shoes, shoes that weren’t polished to perfection but fit her perfectly. She let herself longer in the aisles, running fingers over fabrics, trying funky colors without the shadows of judgment and disapproval from the stern women of the clan
When hunger gnawed, she stopped at a convenience store and bough a cup ramen, she ate it slowly, hot steam curling around her fingers as she tasted the simple flavours. Her mind wandered to the clan's ornate dinners, food sculpted into shapes, rich with spices, heavy with ceremony yet always cold to the spirit
Days blurred, she traced her fingers along street signs, paused in parks, watched the neon lights glow and flicker, paused in parks, and let the city breathe around her. She returned to her small hotel room each night, counting coins for the next day's city exploration letting freedom stretch in the spaces between sunrise and sleep.
When the dorms opened for university, she packed lightly and moved in, carrying only what she could shoulder. One of the two bracelets she bought with her found a new home in a jewellery store, and with the money it brought her, she bought a lamp, notebooks, and a few more garments and beddings that made her room feel like hers. And with that, Gojo Fumiyo was gone for good
A name came to her then, as she warmed her hands over a tiny street vendor’s grill, buying a skewer of dango with one of her precious coins. Usui Sonoko. Usui: thin, light, insubstantial. A name that would attract no attention, hold no weight. Sonoko: a garden of origins. A private joke. Her own little garden, where she would decide what grew.
A nice common name until she could legally change her name for good. A name she chose for herself.
Orientation was a blur of schedules, introductions, navigating hallways, finding conference rooms, yet each piece of paper she collected, each timetable marked felt like a map she was writing for herself. She moved through the campus, eyes wide at the new world she was stepping into. She scribbled in her notebook : Where to be, when ane how to reach it and get there, her first of never ending survival plans
Job hunting followed, she handed out resumed, smiled through interview, and by the end of the week, she found a job at a konbini around the corner. She was given a uniform with a name tag "Usui Sonoko" on the small patch on her chest. The hum of refrigerators and the ding of the cash register, all new rhythms, all her own. She stocked shelves and rang up customers, each coin sliding into the till was a small, tangible proof that she was independent, that she made it to the world
The city was no longer a place to escape to; it was the space where she could grow, stumble, and rise again