Chapter Text
Gojo walks out, his arms stretched out, carrying the heavy, lifeless body of a girl he once knew. A thin white sheet was placed over her body–removing her youthful identity.
Boisterous clapping rang out in his ears, amplifying Gojo’s failure at protecting this sweet girl. Ages ranging from 60 to maybe 80 celebrated the death of a once lively young girl.Gojo’s face was littered with bruises and scratches. His mouth agape with disbelief at the sight. His clothes were stained with his own blood and the mixture of his assassin’s blood. People surrounded him, cheering, not for his bravery but for his failure.
A long creak cuts through the room. Geto pulled the door open. His face changed to different emotions all at once. Denial. Disbelief. Confusion. Geto’s purple eyes dragged Gojo. Gojo lightly let out quick gasps of air as he sauntered over to Geto; “You’re late, Suguru,” he said.
“My apologies, Satoru,” Geto replied to the tattered boy. Seeing his peer bruised and battered makes his head tense. Gojo grips the white sheet tighter, his teeth grinding against each other like unlubricated gears.
“Should we kill them, Suguru?” Gojo offered the hostile idea.
“No need,” Geto softly rejected. However, his rejection didn’t unclench the fist in his pocket.
A higher-up approaches the duo with a blissful smile. “Thank you, thank you for your service,” he said before having servants take Riko away. “You can see yourselves out,” he added, heedlessly kicking them out.
—
Where Gojo and Geto sat, the sun shone on the temple staircases. The large, extended tree casts them in shade. The cicadas are buzzing around the warm afternoon. Thick silence settled between the boys–wide until Geto slashed the awkwardness. “Um. What happened to that guy?” He stared blankly into the streets of Tokyo. Cars occasionally pass by. The sounds of zooms filled the streets.
“I... killed him,” Gojo answers, his voice cracking. He still felt the sting in his throat. He remembered how sudden the attack was. How unaware and vulnerable he was. That day Gojo thought he was dead. But somehow he revived himself. It felt like being on drugs; he unlocked his full potential. He realized what he could do that day. He wasn’t inexperienced anymore. He especially remembered how he stumbled upon Geto and Riko’s bodies. Geto was slashed, and Riko was shot through the brain. That day–Gojo swore he would never let anyone hurt his loved ones. Gojo sank further onto the concrete staircase as if it were a comfortable chair. Geto wanted to push more information out of Gojo, but he didn’t bother.
“How did you feel about the bastard?” Gojo asked. Geto’s pupils immediately shrink just by thinking of the day that didn’t happen too long ago. He could still hear the deafening sound of a gunshot being fired. Along with the hushed click of a trigger being pulled. Red blood splattered on his shirt and then pooled at his shoes. The sly grin of a well-done killer taunting him. Confidently stating to Geto with unexpected words, “Gojo tried stopping me, so I had to kill him.” 8 words that set Geto into offense. However, the offense turned into defense, which was met with defeat. That man slashed him in two. The thought made Geto ball his fists. A vein on his temple was throbbing with confusion and anger.
“I don’t know, Satoru. Everything was sudden,” Geto monotonal replied. Neither could pin an opinion on the situation, but they could silently agree that the situation was unspeakable. Both simultaneously got up to leave the temple. The sun was covered by nimbostratus clouds. A gray, gloomy sky covered the city. Droplets of water hit the ground, creating a constant pitter-patter. The buzzing sound went away and transitioned into honking car horns. The streets are packed with impatient drivers. Gojo shuffled closer to Geto, expanding his infinity to cover the latter. Both gave each other knowledgeable nods. Comfortable silence passes between them.
Shortly after, they made it to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. Gojo and Geto were located around the student residences. Rain was pouring down on the boys as Gojo repeatedly knocked on the back door of the common room. “Shoko? Shoko!” Gojo called repeatedly. But no answer. Geto leaned on the wall, then slumped to the damp floor. The sliding doors were locked shut; Gojo pulled with all his might.
“There’s no use,” Geto sighed, already accepting his fate. Gojo pulled and tugged again; the door slid open, causing Gojo to drive back into the sodden dirt. Water and mud were topping his already dirty uniform. A dying groan left his lips. Geto twisted his head to look at the person who opened the door. Principal Yaga stood imposingly tall, his arms folded across his chest.
“Suguru and Satoru,” Yaga acknowledged them. Gojo was now getting up from the ground with a bit of a limp. Yaga places his hand over his face with a disappointed sigh. “Get inside, and I have to speak to you, Satoru. So, see me in my office.” Yaga leaves, and Gojo and Geto turn to look at each other.
Gojo audibly gulps, “Am I in trouble?” He asked Yaga. Yaga didn’t answer his question. Gojo’s squeaky, sopping shoes echoed in the narrow passage. Yaga rolls his eyes and sighs. Yaga opens his office door and walks behind his desk. Promptly after, Gojo took a seat in front of him.
Yaga clears his throat, “I want to speak to you about the recent mission.” Gojo unconsciously nods his head. “I want to say I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware that you and Suguru would almost get murdered,” Yaga continued. “Including I’m sorry that you had to go through with that overall,” he added. “But I want to acknowledge you and how you developed quickly,” Yaga said. Gojo bops his head up and down quickly, his lips pressed into a thin line. He truly wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible. The rain drummed against the windows as if it were begging to be let in. The room was vast but somehow cramped, filled with bright, cute dolls that could come alive with a snap. Gojo’s eyes glazed over as Yaga’s finger rattled the desk. Yaga swallowed; “You know, Satoru, you are one of my most outstanding students and you learn quickly. With this information, I believe one day you could become a special grade sorcerer. But are you ready to put in the work?”
The words “special grade sorcerer” fell upon Gojo’s ears, which lifted the two ends of his lips. “Me? A special grade sorcerer?” Gojo insisted, hoping those sweet three words would come again.
“Yes, you could become a special grade sorcerer, which requires your full attention,” Yaga said whilst rolling his eyes at the grinning boy. “Could you do that, Satoru?”
“Mhm!” Gojo nodded his head up and down, almost causing whiplash. “When do I start?” Gojo asked.
“You start when I know you’re ready,” Yaga answered. Gojo rolled his eyes at the ambiguous answer, and the old man was back at his “wise talk.” “Well, you’re free to go now,” Yaga flicked his hand towards the door. Gojo hastily dashed to the door as if his life depended on it. Gojo leaned back against the wall with a sigh. A twinkle in his eyes and a wide smile plastered his face. Hearing Yaga say he’s on track to become a special grade sorcerer made his bones shake and his heart thump with excitement.
—
“Relax,” Shoko pushed down Geto’s chest once again. Her fingers caressed the “X” marked on his chest. The tips of her fingers feel the coarse scabs. They’re jagged, dry, and overall sensitive.
“I’m trying,” Geto’s breath hitched when Shoko’s nails dug firmly into the dried tissue. His chest felt tense as if it were replaying the trauma endured over and over. “Is it going to properly heal?” Geto questioned.
“It’ll be done properly with the right treatment,” Shoko responded, removing her hand from his chest. Geto pulled down his T-shirt and sat up on the bed. “He got you good,” Shoko mentioned as she lit a cigarette, an orange light warmly resting on her face. Soft hissing and cracks of thunder filled the room. Geto rolled his eyes.
“He was practically undetectable. Like some type of sorcerer killer.”
“Hmm,” Shoko hummed, a potent gray fog leaving her lips. “A Sorcerer Killer that is undetectable,” she repeated in her monotone voice.
“What? You don’t believe me?” Geto excused her, his head snapping to glare at her.
Shoko lets out a breathy chuckle, her hands waving side to side. “No, I believe in you.” Shoko puts her cigarette in the ashtray on her nightstand. The soft glow disappeared. Two firm knocks came from the door. Then another three knocks came right after. “Someone is surely impatient,” Shoko observed; she rose from her bed and flicked on her bedroom light. Geto looked around the room, photos from group hangouts, and sticky notes sporadically placed from her nightstand to her desk. Shoko opened the door to reveal Utahime.
Utahime leaped into Shoko’s arms. “Shoko!” She emphasized.
“Hello to you too!” Shoko smirked; she hugged Utahime until she pulled away.
Utahime stepped into the room; “You didn’t tell me Geto was here too,” she said.
Geto waved at her. “Hey, Utahime,” Geto welcomed. He rose from the bed and stood where Shoko stood. “Well, I’ll be going,” Geto declared.
“But I thought you were staying for a while,” Shoko inquired, tilting her head to the side.
“Change of plans,” Geto responded. He closed the door behind him. Geto walked down the hall to his room. The silence grew louder than before. He could hear his own breathing and the little noises from the other rooms. The hall was dimly lit, not too much fluorescent light but too dark. Gojo was walking to his own room. His posture was tall and confident. He rubbed a towel over damp hair, pinching and squeezing out the water. The same three words have run around his head ever since the conversation with Yaga. The lights were bright and illuminated the winding hall. Gojo’s eyes automatically squinted. Could it be ever so bright? The sounds of distant steps were starting to come together to form a solid sound. Both boys stopped in front of their doors. Both their hands were on the knob, waiting to twist and turn it open.
“Suguru,” Gojo purred, “I thought you would be in your room already.” Gojo turned to face him. Geto noticed the wide smile that piqued his interest. What is he excited about?
“No,” Geto denied, “I was with Shoko.” Geto scratched the back of his neck. “What are you smiling about?” Geto wondered.
“Nothing,” Gojo answered, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the door. Gojo tried to appear nonchalant. Geto rolled his eyes at the façade.
“Okay,” Geto accepted with a shrug of his shoulders. Gojo stood up straight immediately.
“Actually! Yaga stated, “I’m on track to become a special grade!” He blurted out.
Hearing that information felt like the thunder outside struck Geto. “A special grade?” Geto muttered to himself. Satoru is on track to become a special grade.
“Yes, a special grade!” Gojo exclaimed. Gojo mocked Yaga’s deep voice, saying, “Satoru, you are so strong and perfectly suited to become a special grade sorcerer, and you are also all-powerful.”
“I’m sure he definitely said that last part,” Geto chortled at the absurdity of the retelling.
“Well, he didn’t exactly say that, but that’s what he meant,” Gojo joked.
“Did you tell Shoko yet?” Geto asked, his eyes falling to his doorknob.
“No! Actually, I’ll tell her right now!” Gojo beamed, dashing into the hall to get to Shoko’s room.
Geto inhaled deeply and let out a shaken exhale once he stepped into his room. Geto flicked on the light switch. His room was bleak, forlorn, and cold. Tones of black, gray, white, and sometimes purple were the dominant colors of the decor. Notebook papers were scattered on his desk, and history books about sorcerers were stacked under complicated philosophy books next to the wrinkly pages.
Geto kicked off his slides and plopped onto his bed face-first. Special grade sorcerer, Satoru, is becoming a special grade sorcerer. Geto felt warmth in his heart for Gojo, but that warmth mixed with a confusing emotion. Geto rolled onto his back, staring at the wooden ceiling. What will I become? Geto thought, a dozen questions passing through his head.What am I on track to become?
Geto’s eyes glanced at his alarm clock, which read 8:40pm. Geto promptly got up to remove his shirt and toss it into the laundry basket. Once he turned back to his bed, he passed his mirror. Geto stood in front of the full-body mirror. His fingers automatically grazed his scar. The scar was emphatic. Tears filled Geto’s waterline, but they didn’t dare to drop. Geto’s breathing was moving in and out; it paused, then continued. His chest heaved in and out at an unsteady rate. Air barely reaches his head, causing throbbing and an ache. Geto inched closer to the mirror. The intricate incrustation was reflected in the mirror. The bumpy outlines. Appearing crusty and peeling, the skin seemed to beg for removal. Around the scar was patchy red skin. One then two tears rolled down Geto’s cheeks which traveled from his chin to his chest. The tears welled up to his scar; the saltiness irritated the skin. Geto wiped his face; his eyes were becoming red and puffy. His nose was rosy red now. Geto reached for the shirt in the hamper and put it on. He could hear the excited sounds down the hall from Shoko’s room. Their shared laughter turned exuberant.
Geto turned onto his side, facing the bare wall. The rain transitioned into gentle tapping against the window. Geto was sniffling, his head tense as his breathing tried to relax. Everything ached for him—his heart especially.
The only thing that was prevalent was the question, “Who am I?”