Work Text:
11.30.2019
Every month or so, Higuruma visits Jujutsu High at the request of the new higher-ups. He did what he told himself he would do— went back to being a defense lawyer. But he also stuck around to get a little bit more of Jujutsu society, funnily enough.
He'll have to live with whatever emotional consequences he forces himself to suffer because of it.
After all, nothing is fair.
And Higuruma knows that, very, very well. Or should, at least.
He likes to believe he does, but at the same time he understands that there are places and areas that function on a different basis than he is used to, or has read about, so truly his versions of unfairness only apply to places he knows of.
Although if he still has any solid grasp on the ideas and inner workings of humanity—and he does—people are still quite the ugly, fucked up beings they've always been, and will continue to be.
Which … is honestly a pretty depressing standpoint, Higuruma decides now, but to be fair, it's hard to keep that out of his philosophy when that's what he's known all his life practically.
Higuruma tries to remember that, but again, it's a hard thing to monitor yourself on. Four months ago was when he tried monitoring himself.
And after smoking a cigarette for the first time—and apparently wearing minor amounts of lipstick, too—more specifically. But life will always be a shitshow, no matter what seat you're in, so where's the harm?
Everywhere, actually.
That's the thing he can't let go of.
Unfairness is too obvious to him, and Higuruma can't let go of it.
He sees it on the streets of young men and women getting pickpocketed and he frowns, he sees it in the prices of the supermarket and he puts the item back and goes for a less expensive and lower quality item, he sees it in the cases he takes on where someone has been dropped into that dark corner, he sees it in alley cats and dogs left on the sides of roads to fend for themselves in harsh city environments … it's too noticeable.
It's that saying: once you see it, you can't unsee it. Only if it were multiplied by three and dropped over your head everywhere you went.
It's everywhere he turns. The mundane and the not-so-mundane contain traces of unfairness.
Higuruma hates it.
But what Higuruma had told them at that very first summons was indeed true.
He thought about it, for sure. He thought about it for days, and he decided to do something part-time, as he told them.
He went back to being a lawyer, as he told them.
He shifted what cases he decided to take on, as he told himself.
He still tried to protect the people that were ignored, because that was always his initial plan. Terrible thing that it was what corrupted his view of the world and opened his eyes to unfairness.
So Higuruma is back at Jujutsu High, four months after that first day, walking through the old wooden halls until he finds the double doors, pushes through the first set, and waits to be called in.
He fidgets with the tie wrapped around his throat, rather nervously. It's always too hot in the room for Higuruma's liking.
From what he'd heard, Gojo Satoru had murdered all of the previous higher-ups before the battle against the King of Curses. According to what minor talks Higuruma overheard, the late higher-ups were old and conservative elders with representatives from the Big Three Clans who hid behind shoji screens.
Like cowards.
They seemed to be the picture-perfect definition of unfairness to Higuruma.
He's glad they're dead, despite never knowing them, and as awful as it sounds, but it's true.
They replaced the screens with six desks, a seventh spot open for any visitor to stand and talk.
It reminds Higuruma of court in a way, even if it isn't much like it at all.
When Higuruma said he couldn't see himself sitting in either position—a lawyer or a sorcerer—without constant overlaps and reminders, he may have been lying to himself.
Just slightly.
He sits in both, though he does still lean more heavily toward being a defense attorney instead of sorcery, despite the fact that he could likely do more good as a sorcerer than he ever could as a lawyer.
But what he believes in is his opinion alone, and despite the rapid changes in his philosophy, Higuruma will stay by protecting those who haven't been.
The second set of doors in front of him finally opens.
He steps into the room, tugging at his tie again before walking toward the open spot he's meant to stand at.
Gakuganji, Kusakabe, Zamma, and Hirai nod at him, while Tsujimoto and Mei Mei smile. Though Higuruma will admit that Mei Mei’s smile always appears off to him in a way that makes him constantly avoid her face if he has to talk to her.
Higuruma nods to all of them in return.
“Hello, Higuruma,” Tsujimoto says to him.
He bows his head in greeting, and fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve.
Hell, he's still not used to being in here. And despite never having seen it before the renovations, he imagines it was rather similar— Though with the shoji screens, anyone in the center more likely than not felt as if they were being interrogated.
Higuruma certainly feels that way.
The usual questions on his CE output begin the meeting— It's done with every sorcerer they can reach. To make sure they're still keeping themselves up to speed with their techniques. Checking if someone is getting rusty or remaining stable.
Things like that.
“Are you still utilizing Cursed Energy?” Tsujimoto asks him.
“Yes.”
“How often would you say?”
“As often as I need to.”
“Which is …?” Kusakabe probes.
“Every once in a while.” Higuruma tells him with a half shrug.
They continue down that list of questions, marking down what he tells them and sharing short little looks with each other if he says something they don't particularly like.
“We've been monitoring some of the outcomes of the cases you take on,” Zamma tells him.
Higuruma raises a brow in question.
Kusakabe cuts in, hand raised. “Before you take it in a … bad way, it is admirable the work you put into helping everyday citizens. But, as we have said, it is also admirable to help those in Jujutsu society— not just regular society.”
“I told you. I'd only do part-time,” Higuruma says. “I'm more suited to being a defense attorney, anyway.”
“That's understandable, yes, but you are still fully capable of dealing with sorcery, too.” Tsujimoto tells him, hands folded neatly on her desk.
“Plus, you've been spending more time around the campus …” Mei Mei drawls, and Higuruma stares at a point above her head, instead of her actual face.
Whatever she says next he doesn't register— Only grunts slightly in acknowledgement.
He wouldn't admit to them his reasons for stopping by so often, even after returning to a relatively normal day job.
He hardly even admits it to himself.
Sure, saying you come back for a few people might not sound too bad, and he had a conversation with the Itadori boy once or twice, but there was another person.
Higuruma wanted to avoid acknowledging that for as long as he could.
Kusakabe mutters something to Gakuganji, who nods with a dull grunt, hand stroking the white beard on his chin.
Higuruma looks at Tsujimoto, countering her previous statement with his own, “And I'm fully capable of dealing with law, too,” he says shortly, “just as I've been doing for years.”
“Hmm, yes, but you're a powerful sorcerer … why let a good one go to waste?” Mei Mei asks in a sing-song voice, picking at a nail.
He sees Zamma shoot the light-haired woman with a pointed glare before fixing it onto him again. “While we understand that you have a job, again, you are still a sorcerer. And sorcerers have responsibilities. You can't just turn tail and run. It's unfair to everyone else that is suddenly required to shoulder the weight you dropped.”
Unfairness.
Isn't as if it's not everywhere. Higuruma should've anticipated that topic would be thrown in his face at least once.
It always is.
So glaringly obvious all the time.
Tsujimoto continues, “We can set aside specific missions for sorcerers like you— who want to do sorcery as a sometimes thing. Do you know the Fushiguro boy? That's what he's decided to start doing, alongside a few of the other sorcerers who were awakened during the Culling Games.”
Hirai adds, “It's also to keep curses out from the people who are trying to stay blissfully aware, even though the news has been out for almost a year. It's just one or two assignments every so often.”
Higuruma represses the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, so he tugs at the collar of his shirt instead. “Do you do that with everyone?”
Gakuganji raises a brow. “Do what?”
“Tell them to go sort out a curse situation whenever you need it. Is recruitment truly that low?”
By the looks on their faces and passing glances, something tells him it's a yes. Mei Mei just laughs at her desk all the while.
Zamma grumbles and fixes his glare on Higuruma—he just looks back at Zamma with his own weary expression—saying, “Look, even though Gojo Satoru has died, there are still powerful curses out there running. We need people like you to take care of them. Power for power.”
Their recruitment scheme is always so glaringly obvious, every single meeting. It always devolved into it.
For the past four months, four times they tried getting him to do more than part-time.
Higuruma was getting tired of it.
He was tempted to agree to the set-aside missions Tsujimoto suggested just so they would stop pestering him in their overbearing ways.
This is a different kind of unfairness.
Higuruma is tempted to drop sorcery altogether because of it.
He has killed people. He killed people in that courtroom.
Every time he enters a courtroom it makes his stomach churn about little by little. It's such a disgusting feeling.
But instead he tells them, “I think I'll pass.”
Tsujimoto sighs.
So do the rest of them.
They let him leave, but their next scheme will be back soon enough.
As soon as Higuruma exits that stuffy room, he exhales a sigh of sheer relief. The cold breeze of winter hits his face, and it stings nicely.
He turns down the hallway and walks to God knows where.
Higuruma does that after a meeting each month, too.
Sometimes he'll run into people and hold an awkward conversation until they depart. Sometimes the Itadori boy will wave at him across the field, arm in arm with a dark-haired boy—likely the Fushiguro that Tsujimoto mentioned—and a girl with orange hair near them, most of the time he passes by the infirmary.
For no particular reason.
He takes a turn and enters an actual hallway, the cold air seeping away from him, and keeps walking.
He keeps walking until he spots the familiar doors of the infirmary.
Ieiri walks towards the open doors, one hand placed on the handle of it. But she spots him and pauses.
Higuruma slows his pace and nods.
She pulls her mask down, leaving it to hang around her neck and nods back at him.
It isn't as if he suspected anything to change, but they still share the same bags under their eyes. Still tired. Still there. Still there.
Probably always there, especially if they continue in the lines of work that they do.
Ieiri starts to head into the cold room of the infirmary as Higuruma passes by.
But a question suddenly burns in his skull. So, he stops, and looks over his shoulder. He calls out, “How fast does a cigarette burn your lungs?”
She stops.
She turns to look at him, a crease in her brow.
She blinks, then tells him with a slight scoff, “You're fine.”
Then she disappears into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Higuruma glances around before nodding to no one besides himself and starting to walk again.