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The mud squished under their feet, wetted by rain, blood and other bodily fluids. Dark sluggish soup was slowly soaking through their sandals and making their bare feet slippery. With a squelch they pulled their staff out of the eye socket of the sorcerer in front of them. Some Zenin with a far too inflated ego, Hajime vaguely remembered. No matter what the clan claimed, in the end their blood was just as red as anyone else's. Lazily swaying their weapon around, they took a deep breath and overlooked their surroundings.
Cursed energy flickered around them, thrumming in tandem with the remnants of adrenaline still running through their veins. The sizzling of lightning had replaced the chirping of songbirds that long fled the scene. Only crows were lending them company, ravishing the feast Hajime had spread out for them.
What once had been a peaceful little grove was now a smoking wasteland. Fallen trees and bodies lay side by side, equally bleeding their life into the earth. From afar the wooden stumps could barely be distinguished from the mangled corpses sticking out of the ground. Quietly burning fires sharpened the heavy smell of iron in the air, making it sting in eyes and nose. Grey smoke rose up and marred the now clear blue sky. This was perfect. This moment was what life was all about.
Stretching their arms, they relished in the burn of their muskels and the sharp sting a broken rib brought them. Pain was the reminder of a battle well fought. Defeating your opponents and emerging victorious was all well and good, but it was the struggle that made it all worth it. Going to your limits, challenging head on what seemed impossible to overcome. Both parties giving it their all until one would eventually overwhelm the other. When Hajime tasted their own blood in their mouth, they didn’t see it as a sign of weakness, it was true victory.
A movement in the corner of their vision caught their attention. At the edge of the clearing stood an indistinct figure. It was walking among the corpses, prodding and examining them, it’s movements not that dissimilar to the crows’.
Hajime took a step forward. The figure righted itself and turned around. It waved at them. They weren’t quite sure what to make of this. Was it a challenge? Should they just attack? Before they could make up their mind, the figure disappeared into thin air.
Muscles tense and nerves on edge, Hajime looked around, waiting for an attack. Nothing happened. After a few more minutes of only the screams of the crows and the crackling of fire breaking the silence, they gradually relaxed. Must’ve been a teleportation technique. Probably a spy for some daimyo trying to either hire them or in case that failed - as it would - get rid of them. As much as they enjoyed fighting, doing it at the behest of someone else just sucked all the fun out of it. Getting ordered around like a shogi piece, having to take care of and protect allies, no thanks. If that daimyo wanted something from them, they would surely show up again, and then Hajime could still kill them. Best deal with threats as they come.
Hajime watched the fiery ball of the sun cast the sky in a yellow and pink ocean of clouds, while slowly disappearing behind the swaying tips of the bamboo grove. One of their hands lazily stroked through the rough hair of the stray cat that was curled up in their lap, while the other loosely held the kiseru they were absentmindedly puffing from. Both had become quite old by now, the cat nearing 15 years and the pipe having lost most of its fine engravings through leisure use as well as fighting. Much like them, Hajime mused.
Light steps approached from behind, first crossing the tatami mats of the hut and then resounding hollow on the wood of the porch. They glanced up. Kenjaku looked as immaculate as ever, skin untouched except for the scar on their forehead. Only their loose hair and little specks of blood on their sleeves and collar hinted at what they had been doing moments before. Even that imperfection started disappearing as they gathered their long hair back up into a high ponytail.
The sight awakened that itch under their skin again. Nothing could shake the other jujutsu sorcerer for long. Always clean, always pristine. Always young if they chose to be. Especially in recent years, they seemed inclined towards bodies in their 20s or 30s, flaunting youth that Hajime was loosing with each day. Just another way to get under their skin, show them what they could have if they only accepted the deal. How they wished to plant their hands through the other’s heart once more, but even that would only be a momentary distraction, easily rectified with reverse cursed technique, leaving Kenjaku looking as unbothered as ever in only a matter of minutes.
Despite all that, Hajime wouldn’t stop trying, using the other’s ever more frequent visits to pester them for a fight. A request that was only rarely accepted, usually negotiating them into working out their pent up frustration in less destructive ways or directing it at someone else.
Having smoothed the last stray hairs into place, Kenjaku sat down next to them and held out their hand. The cat between Hajime’s legs let out a warning growl, her hair standing up, bushy tail angrily thumping against their thigh. She had been exposed to the body hopper for about a decade but it had barely tempered her suspicion. Seemed like cats really could sense death. Kenjaku might be human but to Hajime they were more like a personal shinigami. The closer they got to their grave, the closer the other would draw in, the longer they would stay. And in the end they would take part of their flesh with them through the coming centuries. If Hajime let them.
Calming the cat down as best as they could, they handed their pipe over to the waiting hand. Kenjaku took a few deep drags before slowly letting the smoke escape into the air again.
Picking at one of the red-brown spots on their sleeve, they spoke up with a quiet chuckle. “You made quite a mess back there. It’s a wonder you even have sheets left.”
“Cloth isn’t that hard to come by if you aren’t picky.” They leaned back on their hands. “Most of the blood I can probably get out with some cold water anyway. For the rest…most of the sheets should still be fine.”
Kenjaku raised an eyebrow. “Well, you are the one who has to sleep in it.”
Hajime grunted, despite their words not looking forward to the housework. But all play came at a price and cleaning was one of the cheapest you could get. It took them a while to speak up again, getting a bit lost in the comfortable silence of the summer evening. The cat had settled back down and Hajime’s thoughts trailed after the billows of smoke that crept up into the sky.
“So, the Heian era, the Golden Age of Jujutsu, what was it like?”
Their companion looked over to them, as always a light smile on their lips. “I already told you a lot about it.”
“You mainly told me about Sukuna,” they retorted, “but I want to know about the time period in general. What makes it so fundamentally different from today? We might not have a Ryomen Sukuna but there are still plenty of strong sorcerers, like those Gojo and Zenin clan heads that recently killed each other.” A damn shame about the two. Hajime never even got a chance to challenge them.
Kenjaku hummed, leaning a little further in their direction and stretching out their legs on the porch. Thoughtfully looking towards the grove, they started, “It’s the diversity of jujutsu really. The big three were just forming and didn’t yet have the influence and prestige of today. Without the fixation on bloodlines, there was an abundance of techniques, many of which don’t exist anymore or might only show up again in a few hundred years. The fighting style was also different. It wasn’t so dependent on sure-hit effects and instead more focused on enforcing your technique’s rules onto someone else. Those rules could be anything really. That’s what made it so fascinating. In a way, they were more like deadly games than fights.”
That did sound tempting. Many renowned fighters these days came from influential clans, which inevitably meant that their techniques worked similar. Not a lot of variety. Kenjaku found some hidden gems for them but they too were finite. Hajime musefully ran their fingers over their budding facial hair - one of the advantages of age - and accepted the kiseru that was handed to them again. When they put the object to their lips, the mouthpiece was still warm and slightly wet from condensed breath.
“And you want to recreate that? How is that even possible? Jujutsu society is slow and stubborn. It would take a lot to break it.”
Kenjaku’s smile stretched. “It certainly would. You don’t need to worry about the details but I will create circumstances that will force it to adapt or die.”
Hajime frowned. Some bold words indeed. “Okay, let’s say the big three do lose their power. That still doesn’t bring back the techniques of the past. I get that you make contracts with people like me but they won’t be enough.”
Apparently that was one of Kenjaku’s favourite topics because they scooted closer, until there was only a hand’s length of space between them. The cat jumped out of their lap and threateningly arched her back, her yellow eyes glaring at the perceived threat. They rubbed her head a few times to signal that they were fine, before turning back to the other sorcerer.
“We have a whole untapped market that is just waiting to bust.” A dramatic pause. “Non-sorcerers. Civilians.” Hajime cocked their head to the side in confusion. “The brain is a vital component for the control of cursed energy. By altering the brain, people with a predisposition for a cursed technique can access that technique and effectively become jujutsu sorcerers. Being unrelated to jujutsu society will make them very unpredictable.”
They had no idea how Kenjaku planned to do that, even with their extensive knowledge, but the concept did sound intriguing. Inexperience could be made up for with ingenuity. Since the people would likely be picked by Kenjaku themselves, that would at least ensure that there was some spark in them.
Lightly chewing on the pipe, they questioned further, “Then you make us all fight each other?”
“Yes.” Their black gaze burned straight through Hajime into the deepest depths of their mind. “It’s the principle of kojutsu.” They cupped their hands together into a hollow ball. “Put insects into a jar and let them kill and eat each other until only one is left alive.” The hands opened, displaying empty palms. “The death of the weak will nourish the one survivor and further strengthen their abilities.”
Hajime stared at the soft skin of Kenjaku’s current body. Unblemished, no calluses or scars, unaccustomed to hard work. Deceptively innocent. So unassuming and still hands like these would be the cause of the death of thousands of people, if not more. Without even lifting a finger. They might avoid battles but in a way Kenjaku was more dangerous than them. More elusive, always slipping out of one’s grasp and unseen leading an unending line of people to their demise. A shiver ran down their spine and little sparks of lightning danced around the ends of their hair. Kenjaku dropped their hands.
While Hajime certainly didn’t appreciate being called an insect, it was a thrilling future to think about. Leaning further into the other’s space, they caught a whiff of blood. Remnants from their previous escapades. There was also a hint of Hajime’s lavender scented soap that they had used to clean themselves up, together with the quite ordinary smell of oolong tea and miso. Things that should technically clash but worked quite well together. Very fitting.
They looked up into those dark eyes again. “Sorcerers, former civilians and curses, all locked together.” Slowly, a smirk crept over their lips. “It will be chaos.”
Bringing their faces closer together, Kenjaku replied with a sharp smile, “It will be. Only bloodshed and violence. For months. A giant game of cat and mouse.” Their smooth thumb stroked along Hajime’s stubbly jawline. “Do you think you could remain the cat in that scenario? Even when confronted with opponents like Sukuna?”
If the kiseru hadn’t been partially made out of metal, Hajime would’ve snapped it in two right now. Like this, it gave just enough resistance to keep them grounded. They pulled back a little. Kenjaku wanted them to agree to the contract when they were swept up in the heat of the moment. As tempting as that offer was, they weren’t quite sure yet if they wanted to put their life and death into the sorcerer’s ever-changing hands. And their life wasn’t quite over yet. Hajime refused to believe that they had completely exhausted what this era had to offer.
“Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it? How well you balance the contents of the jar and what kind of insects you put in it,” they retorted.
Kenjaku’s hand trailed down Hajime’s collar and the folds of their yukata before being dropped completely. “Certainly,” they answered, not seeming too perturbed by the indecisiveness. Seeing that this was as far as they could push them today, they stood up. “I should go. I want to be on Tokaido by tomorrow morning.”
Hajime snorted. “Some more poor souls to tempt?” they teased.
With a crooked smile, they replied, “Of course. I need more than you to succeed.”
That sounded oddly dismissive. They ignored the feeling of slight bubbling up inside of them. “You better bring me some good entertainment then.”
“I’ll do my best,” they held a hand over their heart in a mock show of sincerity. “Better agree to my contract soon or you’ll miss out on all the fun.”
With a last wave, they said their goodbye and left the porch, heading down the trail that led into the bamboo grove. Hajime watched as their back was swallowed up by the long evening shadows and gradually disappear between the logs.
A nudge against their arm reminded them of their other guest. The cat was rubbing her head against them and let out loud purrs, happy that the source of tension was gone. Smiling, they scratched her behind the ears, and stood up. Their hip protested but they could still avoid the indignity of groaning.
Looking back to the animal, they said, “I have some leftover chicken. Do you want to come inside?”
Understanding that there was a promise of food, she tripled ahead of them into the hut, tail held high in excitement. She too wasn’t quite as nimble on her feet anymore but it wasn’t going to hold her back from what she desired: roasted chicken.
Hajime rolled to the side and desperately gasped for air as their body was wrecked by another heavy cough. Blood and other slimy bits that they suspected might be their lungs, mixed with their spit and drooled into the cloth underneath them. Kenjaku had insisted on laying out their resting place with sheets, claiming they didn’t want them to make a mess. This was Hajime’s house, they could make as much of a mess as they wanted but they currently weren’t in a position to argue.
Blinking away the sweat that was running into their eyes and wiping away the loose hair that clung to their forehead, they squinted to the side. Their personal shinigami sat peacefully a few steps away on the old tatami mats, watching them suffer with unrelenting eyes. A roll of talismans and a pouch with a variety of surgical tools were already spread out on the ground. It made Hajime feel even more like a corpse that was only kept upright through sheer stubbornness.
Rubbing away the blood from their mouth, they patted for the tanto hidden between the sheets. With hands trembling from exhaustion not fear, they unsheathed it. Gathering what was left of their strength, they pushed themselves up and launched forward, grasping the other’s haori and pushing the hilt of the sword against them.
“Fight me,” they gritted out, “Kill me. It can’t end like this. This isn’t how I’m meant to die.”
Kenjaku’s hand closed around theirs, stilling it's unintentional shivering. The obviously fake apologetic expression on their face was one of the greatest insults Hajime ever had to endure. This was the body of a non-sorcerer, untrained in the use of cursed energy and without a technique. Only Kenjaku’s presence made it halfway competent. Just a few months ago this wouldn’t have been much of an obstacle for them. Now, they were reduced to begging this small fry to take mercy on them and put them out of their misery. The death being only temporary made it even worse. Hajime just wanted to get this over with.
“I’m sorry,” Kenjaku said in an agonizingly sweet tone, “but me killing you would null our contract. I can’t make you die earlier than you’re meant to.” Their hand tensed, forcing Hajime to clutch the tanto firmer. “If you want to quicken the process, why not do it yourself?” Apparently, they weren’t enjoying this pitiful display either. Probably had other more important things to do. Like that canon guy up north.
Hajime frowned, still holding onto the black crestless haori to steady themselves. “ Harakiri ,” they mused out loud.
Those samurai customs had never really been of value to them but under the current circumstances it sounded appropriate. Far better than writhing on the ground and waiting to choke on your own lungs. The exact process of the ritual was only vaguely familiar to them but they got the important bits. Cut open the stomach, then die. Easy enough.
Tumbling back, they arranged their limbs on the futon, trying to get into a somewhat dignified position. Their knees hurt and their muscles ached as they pulled their legs underneath them and sat up straighter. Putting the sword to the side for now, they tugged on their yukata , freeing their arms and pulling the top down to their hips.
They could feel an intense gaze roam over their naked skin. It was nothing Kenjaku hadn’t seen before but it evidently didn’t keep them from staring. Looking up again, they challenged the other to meet their eyes, without much success. Just as Hajime was reaching for the tanto again, their companion in death spoke up.
“By the way,” Kenjaku’s eyes were currently lingering somewhere around their lower abdomen. “Do you have a preference for which body part of yours I use to make the cursed object?”
They hesitated but then simply shrugged. “Use whatever you want. Fingers, toes, my spleen, I don’t care.”
Kenjaku’s gaze raked one last time over their body before finally meeting their eyes and humming, “Okay.”
As flattering as the attention was, Hajime started to feel like a piece of meat on the marketplace. An old and dry piece of meat, which seemed to be exactly what the other was looking for. What a crazy situation. It truly was time to part from this life.
Determined, they grabbed the short sword and held the blade against their stomach. The skin broke and a thin trail of blood ran down their belly, along their pointy hipbone and eventually seeped into their crumbled clothes. So this was it. Now they would find out if all of Kenjaku’s sweet words were actually true. If they really could bring a new era of jujutsu, and more importantly, if they could bring Hajime the joy of a second life. A life full of challenges, and new discoveries, and death, and gore, and excitement. A life where they could fight the King of Curses.
It didn’t matter really. Either they would die and didn’t know any better about what would happen to them, or they would wake up again in a young body as a participant in a game of life and death with the ability to challenge Sukuna. Both options were better than their current situation.
They rammed the tanto into their guts until only the hilt and a slim shimmer of silver were left visible. Gritting their teeth to suppress a scream, they slumped forward, bringing their free hand forth just in time to keep from toppling over. The ruffle of shifting clothes alerted them to Kenjaku moving closer. Taking a deep rattling breath, they pulled the blade horizontally across their torso. Muscles and organs ruptured. Warm blood spurted over their lap and seeped into the futon and the sheets below. They couldn’t suppress that scream anymore.
Their whole body went limp, the hand slacked around the blade’s hilt and fell loosely to the side. The world turned. They could only feel the burn in their intestines and an additional sting as the tip of the tanto shifted in their side, scraping against one of their rips. The feeling seared as the weapon was pulled from their side and more boiling blood gushed over their legs. Hajime felt sick. Hands grasped their shoulders and kept them from falling further.
What would unlife as a cursed object be like? Just unending darkness? Would they be able to perceive their surroundings and feel the centuries pass by or was it more like sleep, nothingness until they would be reborn in a new body? A new body. They couldn’t wait to have that.
Fingers that felt comfortably warm against their cooling skin nudged their face up by the chin. Despite their swimming vision, Hajime was able to make out the oval shape of Kenjaku’s face. It was hard to discern their expression. Being framed by black hair, their eyes were naturally drawn to the pink line of scars.
“See you on the other side,” Hajime slurred, stretching their mouth into a lopsided grin.
“No. Probably not,” came Kenjaku’s response, their voice so light that they had trouble picking it out among the waves of blood roaring in their ears. They frowned, trying to focus more closely on the person in front of them but failing.
Suddenly, a heated mouth connected with their own. Teeth scraped their lips, and then a tongue pushed them further apart, granting itself entrance. It teased the roof of their mouth, stroked Hajime’s own tongue, slightly sucked on it. If they weren’t dying, this would’ve been pretty hot, but like this they could only lie in Kenjaku’s arms while the other took their fill of sickness, blood and death. Hajime couldn’t imagine that there was any other taste to be gather from them in this state. Kenjaku still drank it all in.
“Good luck.”
When they parted again, Hajime felt themselves being lowered down. Their head was rested on something soft. First they thought it were the blankets but when it shifted slightly underneath them, they figured it must’ve been Kenjaku’s legs. They couldn’t see anymore. Maybe they had closed their eyes. It was impossible to tell. A hand brushed through their hair.
“Give my regards to Sukuna.”
Hajime felt themselves drift further away. Everything was becoming numb. Even the rush of blood was quieting down. Losing their senses, they weren’t even sure anymore if they were still lying down. Were they still breathing? It seemed ages ago since they last inhaled fresh air. Oddly enough they could still make out the quiet pulse of Kenjaku’s cursed energy. It was like a blanket, slowly suffocating them. Asphyxia that didn’t cause panicked thrashing but instead a quiet slip into death, subtly nudging you to let go of life.
The last thing they perceived were the words echoing inside their mind.
“If you manage to meet him.”
Kenjaku fished the cursed object out of their sleeve. It fit neatly into their palm. A lump just small enough that a person would be able to swallow it. Casually they threw the embalmed organ up and down in their hand, smiling to themselves.
They stepped up to the showcase that was lying on the table in front of them. The wooden box was divided into a dozen smaller squares, some already filled, others still empty. After surveying their collection, they dropped the object into the compartment that was labeled: Kashimo Hajime .
Another one secured. On to the next one. On to the Date domain.