Chapter Text
Riko is smiling, tears in her eyes, when a blur of black and white obscures his vision, and hot blood splatters across Suguru Geto’s face.
Then, he is watching the girl’s smiling face transform into one of pale, unadulterated horror.
No.
In the same heartbeat, a hurricane of rats swarms around them. Twisted squeaking and nails scraping across the stone momentarily drown out Riko’s scream of anguish. The slap of their tails against his cheek and wrists stings with the speed the rodents are attaining—fast enough to at least distract the threat for now. Geto flings his arm around in a sweeping arc, and the creatures scatter outward like an unstoppable black cloud.
It all happens in less than a second, but Geto knows that it might already be too late.
Riko needs to get out of here. Now.
He’s already flinging her onto the back of a cursed swordfish and sending it away with as much strength as he can muster. Her shriek changes in pitch as a school of sardines erupts like fireworks behind it, scattering and hiding their trail.
Misato Kuroi’s lifeless corpse hits the ground.
How she had known about the assassin’s arrival—no, how she had managed to evade him and arrive in time to jump in front of the bullet, he didn’t know, but the caretaker of the Star Plasma Vessel had fulfilled her duty. Had given up her life to do so.
That oily-haired sleaze…. he managed to get past Satoru, which means…
No. Geto refuses to believe his best friend is dead. It’s impossible. Satoru is the strongest. He can’t be defeated by—
“How were you able to get to this place?” he asks. He tears his eyes away from the blood staining his shoes to the man before him. The sword in his hands is stained with the remnants of Geto’s cursed mice. There is nothing but empty space between them now. “How?”
The man cocks his head. “What do you mean 'how'?” Then, before Geto can reply, he smirks. “Oh, I get what you’re asking me.”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it—
“Gojo Satoru tried stopping me—” ugly, yellowed teeth knash together to form a cruel smile “—so I had to kill him.”
No.
Rage, unlike any he has ever felt before, slices through Geto’s chest. The man’s face warps, twists, and crumbles until all he sees is red.
Geto’s rainbow dragon roars into existence, ripping itself out of a crack in the barrier. Bile rises in his throat. Cursed energy floods every vein and crackles to life in the air.
“Is that so?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice.
But Satoru is dead.
So, this man? This man needed to—
“Die.”
When the curse dissipates midair, it flings Riko to the ground hard enough to knock her unconscious.
The first thing she sees when she comes to is the worried face of an elderly woman, face darkened from the shadow of her sunhat. Her mouth is moving, but Riko can’t hear her. She can’t hear anything besides the roaring of blood in her ears. The gunshot.
“Kuroi!” The first tears aren't even dry before they are replaced by more. Riko’s throat is already raw. “Kuroi!”
She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead. Kuroi might have survived somehow. It might have missed any vital—Kuroi could—she, maybe she—maybe Geto—
Riko screams into her hands, bloodied and shaking.
I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe—
“Child—”
I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe—
Warm hands envelop her own, and she thrashes at the contact. But there is no strength left in her limbs. She can’t dislodge their grip. She sags forward. Riko doesn’t care who they are anymore. She could be here to kill her, she could be here to get the bounty… what did it matter?
Kuroi…
Kuroi…
Why… why why why why why why why why… it’s all my fault… all my fault… “It’s all my fault—” hiccup “—it’s all my fault.”
“Oh, dear.” Warm hands rub circles along her back. It does little to comfort Riko. “Jin, forgive me. I’m afraid that I’ll have to make an exception to our promise.”
She died protecting me—oh, why did it have to be Kuroi—
“We need to move, girl. It isn’t safe here.” The elderly woman sounds apologetic.
Riko is being pulled up, but her knees won’t cooperate. They crumble the second she puts weight on them. Tears blur her vision, and she can still hardly breathe. Kuroi’s blood is on her collar—
She lands on something soft instead of the hard ground. It’s large and warm. “Good boy, Maru. Let’s go.”
The last thing Riko remembers is the sound of a twig snapping.
A damp, warm cloth runs over her eyelids. Then her forehead, cheeks, and neck.
“Awake now?”
Riko takes a moment to assess herself. One, she feels no severe pain. Two, she’s alive. And three, there are no chains or binds or gags. She doesn’t seem to be captured.
Heartbeat calming, Riko slowly tries to open her eyes. It takes effort, swollen and sticky as they are. But when she does, she finds herself staring at the ceiling of a traditional Japanese home. Streams of sunset set the pattern of the wood aglow.
Where am I?
Riko slowly tilts her head to the side to find an elderly woman sitting by a chabudai. Her salt-and-pepper hair is tied up in a neat bun near the nape of her neck. She is wearing a simple blue shirt over dark pants. If Riko had to guess, she’d say the woman is nearing her late sixties.
She is close enough to touch if Riko were to reach out, but her arm is weighed down under heavy blankets. It’s summer, but she is shaking. The ride here on the curse was such a blur that Riko had forgotten about the icy winds, how they’d chilled her to the bone.
Riko’s throat is raw. Painful. Even her tongue is dry. The woman seems to read her mind, because she asks, “Can you sit up? I made some tea.”
Aside from the scrapes on her hands and knees, she didn’t seem to have gotten any other injuries. Sitting up should be possible. Bracing herself, Riko flattens her palms against the ground. Her movements are sluggish, but she manages to push herself up into a sitting position. It takes so much out of her Riko has to pause to catch her breath.
What is wrong with me?
“Here. Drink this.”
The elderly woman gently hands her a cup of tea. It’s hot, but not painful to the touch. Riko spills a few drops onto the blankets before she manages a shaky sip. Then another. The tea is good. Strong. Hot. It is almost as good as what Kuroi used to make for Riko when she had nightmares, warming her throat on the way down.
“Where am I?” Riko finally croaks out. She stares blankly at the empty porcelain in her hands.
“You’ve probably never heard of the town name,” the old lady says. “But the nearest large city is Nagoya.”
How is that…
“Nagoya? Are you certain?”
The older woman nods. “Though I suppose our exact location is still a few hours of driving if you want to reach the downtown area.”
“... What day is it?”
“You’ve only been unconscious for a few hours since Maru found you,” she replied patiently. “You should rest now. You must have had quite the day. I have a few slices of apple I prepared this morning if you’re hungry…”
The old woman’s voice fades into the background. Riko has never been to Nagoya, though she’d once dreamed of going with her friends. Last she’d checked, even the fastest service by the shinkansen took at least one and a half hours from Tokyo; it was longer by bus to get to a specific area. Yet somehow, Riko swears that between her escape from the Tombs of the Star Corridor and crash landing here, it couldn’t have taken more than two hours.
Though in her state, she probably wasn’t the best judge of that.
“... Ah, sorry, I must have gotten lost in thought,” Riko responds quietly when she notices the older woman is waiting for an answer. Her fingers tighten around the empty cup. She is pretty sure she won’t be able to keep anything down right now. “I apologize for troubling you. I just need a place to stay for the night, and then I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Nonsense. Helping someone in need is never any trouble. You may stay for as long as you need to. My name is Yamamoto Haruko.”
“Thank you, Yamamoto-san. I’m Amanai Riko.”
Birds chirp outside the house. It is disturbingly peaceful. Riko allows Yamamoto to pour her another cup of tea, which she drinks quickly. They finish the whole pot in silence.
“You can rest if you need to, Riko-chan. You’ll be safe here for now—”
Riko shakes her head violently. “Yamamoto-san! You don’t understand.” She clenches her hands into fists, wishing she could tell her. Wishing there was a way to explain her situation without sounding insane. “I—there’s someone… he’s really, really strong, and he's after me for money. If I stay here, you could be killed...”
The menacing silhouette of the attacker flashes across her mind. Hulking. Dark. Terrifying. Somehow, they’d managed to sneak up on Gojo and stab a sword clean through his chest. Even Gojo hadn’t anticipated it.
That man can’t be underestimated.
But to her utter shock, Yamamoto just scoffs. Her kind face morphs into one of mild disdain, an expression Riko sees from her friends when they’re told to run laps during PE class. “Do you mean that good-for-nothing bounty hunter who’d trade his soul for some extra money and a beer? Black hair? Muscles as big as his ego?”
That… sounded about right.
“How… how do you know him?”
Yamamoto sighs and shakes her head. “Toji Fushiguro is infamous. Even a recluse like me knows who he is.”
Riko’s heart stumbles. “Then you know… are you a jujutsu sorcerer?”
Yamamoto carefully places the tray back onto the table and heads toward a bookshelf in the corner. There, she picks up the only photo on display and smiles. “Not me. My late husband used to be, but he left that world years before I even met him.”
Her hand traces the old frame as she brings it over to show Riko. It is clean, not a speck of dust in sight. In it, there are two people: a young man around the age of thirty, and a young woman who must be Yamamoto when she was younger.
“I’ve always had a strong sixth sense, but I am no sorcerer. My husband was the one who told me all about this world. We vowed to never mention it when we got married, though it’s almost impossible to never hear about sorcerer news from time to time…”
Sharp, brown eyes bore into Riko’s. “... especially news about a Star Plasma Vessel with a bounty over her head.”
Riko swallows. Her hands tremble. She knows about me. I was stupid for trusting her.
“You misunderstand me, Riko-chan.” Yamamoto gently takes the photo back and returns it to the shelf. “I have no wish to turn you in or kill an innocent child. This world does not treat its people kindly—that has not changed. I do not approve of their methods, and I am not associated with them in any way. I offer you my aid because you are a young girl in need of help. I do not wish to gain anything from you.”
Riko is about to say something, but the panicked squawks of birds, followed by a heavy thump, startles them both. Loud barking erupts from outside.
“Maru!” Yamamoto calls, already hurrying toward the back door. Riko follows closely behind, and her heart drops at what she sees.
His face is obscured by his long hair, matted with blood, but it is undeniably Geto. The dark uniform is slashed in so many places it is all but unrecognizable. One shoe is missing. Any visible skin is bruised and cut. When Riko falls to her knees beside him, he doesn’t even flinch.
“Geto-san!” she cries. Her hands hover over his form, unsure of where to treat first. The worst injury seems to be the two slashes across his chest in the shape of an ‘x’, but several stab wounds litter his torso and legs as well. Tears well in her eyes as she recalls him leaping in front of her in the Tombs.
Why is there so much blood? Oh no, he’s going to die.
The older boy makes a low, pained noise. Riko flinches back as Geto curls into himself with another hurt gasp.
“Do you know him?” Yamamoto asks from behind them.
Riko immediately flings herself between the two, arms raised to shield him as much as she can. “Get back! Don’t touch him!”
“Is he someone you trust?” Yamamoto asks, tone urgent. “I am not your enemy, Riko-chan. If we don’t help him now, he will die.”
Riko hesitates. Her gaze flashes toward Geto and the barely there rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly, she desperately wishes for Gojo to be here as well. The older boy, annoying and arrogant as he was, would at least know what to do. He would at least be able to protect them.
In this moment, Riko is so furious with her own helplessness she could scream. But now isn’t the time. Her top priority is to save Geto.
Riko nods once. “He’s my friend. Please don't let him die.”
“We can't treat him here. Someone may have followed him—”
“No.” A weak voice protests.
“Geto-san!” Riko whirls around and leans over him, hands carefully brushing away the hair sticking to his face. His eyes are mere slits, but they relax when they find her.
“No… I… made sure I wasn’t followed—ah.” He winces and squeezes his eyes shut. Blood drips from his mouth and paints his pale skin.
Yamamoto nods, mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll get the supplies. You'll have to hold him down while I work.”
When Geto is announced ‘out of immediate critical danger’, it is well into the night. The lights in Yamamoto’s home provide just enough for the two to treat the wounds. Geto lost a lot of blood. They're still not sure if he will make it until morning.
Now, the older boy is resting on the same mat Riko had been on not twelve hours ago. He’s wrapped in bandages from the chest down, wearing nothing but his undergarments. Whatever that stupid Toji Fushiguro had done to him, it had left both his attire and his body in tatters. There had been almost nothing to salvage of his uniform.
Geto had woken up screaming several times as they worked, then promptly passed out again from the pain. It makes Riko’s heart ache. At the end, he'd been so weak that even she could hold him down with ease. She knows that in the days to come, the smell, the squelch of blood and muscle, the sight of Geto on the brink of death… it will all come back to haunt her in her nightmares.
But for now, Geto is asleep and out of danger with pain medicine that Yamamoto swears isn’t expired in his stomach. His cursed energy had managed to keep him alive, but just barely. The dark tan of his skin is ghostly pale, and Riko can’t help but compare it to a corpse. She’s never seen one in real life, but she’s watched a few horror movies with her friends to know a thing or two.
At least Geto is breathing normally and no longer coughing up blood.
I wonder how Gojo is doing.
Riko shudders at the memory of the sword impaling the sorcerer through the chest. But she is infinitely less worried about the white-haired boy. Geto had said he was the strongest. Gojo would be fine.
Hopefully.
“Get some sleep. You both need it.” Riko doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. Yamamoto makes no sound as she places a set of fresh clothes for her on the table. “The boy will live. Maru will protect us tonight, so do not worry.”
Riko tears her gaze away from Geto’s scarred chest to the window, which reflects his sleeping figure. How can she possibly go to sleep knowing a madman is hunting her? In less than twenty-four hours, her only family had sacrificed herself for Riko, two of her friends had nearly lost their lives, and now they were stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way to protect themselves.
If Toji finds us, we're screwed!
“Riko-chan.” Yamamoto's firm voice cuts through her spiral. She glances upward, vision swimming slightly to find the old woman watching her. “There is no fault on your shoulders, child. Not a single scrap. Tomorrow, we will deal with everything once he is awake, and you will need to be at full strength to help your friend. Try to at least close your eyes.”
Yamamoto fetches a blanket and a pillow from the closet. “I’m down the hall if you need anything.”
Riko manages one nod.
“Good night.”
Riko sits vigil next to Geto, determined to stay awake the entire night. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, or even lying down, but when she wakes up, it is to sunlight streaming through the windows, and dull, purple eyes staring right back at her.
Riko bursts into tears instantly, which seems to amuse Geto because his cracked lips split into a grin.
“Not happy to see me?” he teases.
Riko tries to respond, but she’s sobbing too hard to speak. She ends up blubbering something along the lines of “I’m glad you’re okay” and “I’m so sorry” instead.
Geto is laughing when she finally looks up from her lap. Well, a very muted form of a laugh, considering his injuries. Riko pouts, cheeks heating at his reaction to her very sincere, very vulnerable apology.
“Don’t look so angry… I’m not laughing at you… well, no, I suppose I am.”
“Ugh.” She wipes at her eyes and nose with her sleeves, still glaring at him when he tries to apologize. “Stupid bangs. I can’t believe I wasted my tears on you.”
“Come on now, Riko-chan. I saved your life, didn’t I?”
“Technically, Kuroi did. You just tossed me on a fish.”
Geto’s expression freezes. The humor drains from his face, and he looks away. Riko instantly wants to take back her words. “I… I’m so sorry. I failed both of you.”
“The only one who failed are those haughty old men in charge,” Yamamoto cuts in as she slides open the door. She’s dressed casually, hair in a neat bun. A tray of porridge and fruit is in her hands. “Everything Jin told me is true, then. They really are sending children to protect children.”
Geto scrambles to sit the moment she enters, and Riko panics and shouts at him to lay back down, which he ignores. His face pales at the exertion, sweat beading his temples. “Miss, sorry for the intrusion—”
“Bah, save it. Riko-chan, move the table over to him before he tries to get up like an idiot.”
Once the table is placed over Geto and the food is set in front of him, Yamamoto says, “Now, both of you, tell me what happened. From the very beginning.”
Riko and Geto share a glance. Slowly, he nods, so Riko begins, starting from when she was kidnapped by Q.
Yamamoto is unnervingly silent until Riko finishes her recollection of the past few days. She condenses it as much as she can. Geto is silent, nothing more than a comforting presence despite his relative state of helplessness. He only confirms her information with a nod whenever Riko turns to him for assurance. His purple eyes remain wide open. Alert. Trained on Riko mostly, but also scanning their surroundings.
Riko knows little of Geto’s abilities—something to do with controlling curses—but she’s almost certain he has one of his pets patrolling the area.
Yamamoto’s expression is grave when Riko finishes. Her heart lurches at the thought of them being turned away. That the older woman will find their situation too risky to interfere with. Yamamoto may not have been a sorcerer, but Toji didn’t seem like the type to care about that. If someone got in his way, he’d deal with them. Simple as that.
Instead, Yamamoto makes a very, very disappointed tsk sound with her tongue. Riko has only heard the noise one time, which was when her school’s English teacher revealed the girls’ average score for the midterms. There is annoyance, bewilderment, and an overall air of frustration.
“These people… every time I think it’s impossible for them to be such imbeciles, they prove me wrong. How pathetic can they get? The two of you are practically the same age.” She sets her cup of tea onto the table with a harsh clink, ignoring Geto’s protest that he is perfectly capable of completing any missions he receives. “Well, from the looks of it, the two of you are better off staying here for the time being. At least until we receive more news on the situation.”
She turns her piercing gaze to Geto, whose glare is gleaming with indignation. “My name is Yamamoto Haruko, and my late husband was a sorcerer. I’d tell you to trust me, but I can see you clearly don’t. But that doesn’t matter because I’m all you have right now. Do you have any way of contacting your school?”
Wow. Straight to the point. Riko admires her bluntness.
“No, Yamamoto-san. After I was… incapacitated by Fushiguro, it took me a while to recover enough to escape the collapsed corridor. When I got back to my school, I only saw Toji Fushiguro attacking the faculty. I think he believed we were hiding the Star Plasma Vessel. A… another friend of mine… she told me to run. I didn’t stick around to find out what happened.” Geto’s voice is raspy, but doesn’t waver. “My first priority is to ensure the safety of the Star Plasma Vessel.”
Purple eyes find hers, and he continues, “Even if she chooses not to merge with Tengen, that won’t change.”
Tears well up in her eyes again, but she furiously blinks them away.
Yamamoto glances toward her, then back to Geto. She sighs and shakes her head. “I suppose that’s none of my business. But how did you manage to get Riko-chan here? Tokyo is quite a long way from Nagoya.”
There is a long pause before Geto finally responds. His voice is softer, as if his previous reply had drained him of most of his energy. “I have the curse manipulation technique. One of my curses got Riko out. Its counterpart followed it here on my command.”
“Incredible,” Yamamoto murmurs under her breath, so quietly Riko barely hears it herself. “And you are certain that you weren’t followed?”
“Positive.”
Yamamoto flashes him an unreadable look, but nods. “In that case, I will do my best to keep it that way. But there are no major hospitals here—at least none of the calibre needed to properly care for your injuries. I can try my best, but ultimately, you will need to find someone who can treat the wounds on your chest.”
“No hospitals,” Geto says. “I’ve survived worse.”
“Tseh. Sorcerers. Always so proud and stubborn,” Yamamoto grumbles. She waves a hand dismissively and stands. “I will go prepare lunch. Come find me if you need anything.”
She is gone with a thump of the screen door.
Riko slumps. The tension in the room has lessened, but there is an undoubted gloom over them. She wonders if Geto blames her. Or maybe he regrets offering her the choice to merge with Tengen. Either way, Riko won’t begrudge him. Why couldn’t she have just accepted her fate? Why did they have to go to Okinawa? Why did she have to be so weak—
“I’m sorry about Kuroi-san.” Geto’s voice is soft in a way she hasn’t heard before. He takes a rasping breath before continuing. “I should have noticed that good-for-nothing rat… but I—”
“None of this is your fault!” It comes out as a shout, which surprises even her. She keeps her stare dutifully on her lap. “It’s… it’s mine. I had a duty, and I chose to ignore it. If we’d gone to Jujustsu high like we were supposed to, none of this would have happened, and—” hiccup “—everyone would still be okay. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Hey.”
Riko makes the mistake of glancing at Geto and instantly wishes she hadn't. His stare isn’t angry or disappointed or even sad, it’s just… blank. Drained.
“Riko-chan… you aren’t to blame,“ Geto’s lids droop, even though he appears to be making an effort to keep them open. It would be hilarious—like patients desperately fighting anesthesia before surgery in those videos Riko sees online—if it weren’t for the solemn stare. The black eye. The cut on his lip. The bandages that cover nearly two-thirds of his body.
Geto loses the battle with exhaustion, and his eyes slide shut fully. “Go help Yamamoto-san. There’s no need to wake me up for lunch.”
When the room darkens and Riko’s footsteps fade away, a singular tear slides down Geto Suguru’s battered face.
He’s too injured to even raise an arm to muffle his sobs. Broken fingers bleed onto the pale sheets—the only thing he can reach; they twist the fabric tightly inside his fists, shaking. Grief blurs his vision and forces small, broken sounds through his gritted teeth.
In the darkness, Geto cries alone.
Gojo Satoru’s broken sunglasses lay abandoned on the table. Yamamoto had pried them from Geto’s fingers, where he’d held onto them tightly, even when unconscious from blood loss.