Chapter Text
He’s special. Infinitely rarer than finding a four leaf clover on the first try or mining a natural blue diamond or the blooming of the agave. That’s how special he is. Really extraordinary, destined for greatness, a God among men.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
It all sounds the same. Everyone panders. Everyone wants something. Everyone falls behind while he alone stands at the frontlines. Everyone bleeds into everyone! What an utter bore.
“Gojo-sama, any special requests for your birthday?” One of the house staff asks with a slight lilt in her voice. A characteristic hesitance that everyone seems to have around him, with growing severity.
“Sweets.” He responds in auto-pilot. Every year it’s always the exact same anyways.
“Hai, hai. We’ve prepared all your favorites. What color should your - “
But he’s already gone. He doesn’t have time to waste on the weak.
Massive floral arrangements and hand-crafted lanterns shuffle in through the main entrance in a blur, hurrying in before the gloomy gray sky turns to rain. He listlessly thinks maybe it would be better if it did rain. To watch everyone fret about under the waterworks, drenching all their hard work which amounts to nothing. The other prominent members of the elite sorcerer families would tsk under their breath in disdain, disappointment, contempt! ‘How could one of the great sorcerer families allow guests to get wet? Have they no shame?’ He snickers, thinking of what the cranky, rat-faced bastard Naobito would say.
For now though, it’s merely a bustle of unimportant people he’d rather avoid until the time he’s needed. His usual protocol was to nod when needed, eat the food he wanted, and generally tune everyone out. Nothing interesting happened during the first seven, why should this be any different? It was less a celebration of him and more a political flex to the community anyways.
He meanders slowly toward the training field. “Maybe Sensei will be there.” Though if anything, he’d probably be helping prepare the grounds for the incoming herd. Private tutors for his sorcery training came daily, though none lasted more than a couple months before he outgrew them.
Feet scurry across well-manicured paths and the sound of hurried shouts drift over the large stone wall that wraps around the main house. He stills, listening to the shrill tones of anxiety -
“You lost her?!” Screams a voice he recognizes as Gojo Hikaru, one of the guards of the outer estate. A distant lineage with moderate cursed energy. A grade 2 sorcerer with a little potential for higher.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The other sorcerer’s frantic apologies hinge close to tears.
“She could be dangerous - make sure to keep her away from the young master. Are you SURE she didn’t make it over the wall?” At that, his ears perk up. Danger? In his estate? He can’t think of anything more exciting.
“H-hai! I - I think. I’m pretty sure!” he responds, completely unsure.
“You THINK??” Hikaru’s voice takes on a rasping edge, clearly in emotional duress.
“W-we’ll find her right away!”
“I knew we shouldn’t have kept her! Kill her if you need to.” Well THAT is interesting.
His thumb comes to his chin as he ponders the best course of action. Well, he is the backbone of the family. Tons of responsibility! And wouldn’t the responsible thing be to help them in their search? Who better to get the job done than the man of the hour!
A tingle of excitement, of actual adventure, crawls up his spine. He smirks, running off toward the highest vantage point - the rooftop of the main house.
His Six Eyes pinpoint three unfamiliar cursed-energy marks. A middle aged woman with minor cursed energy helps sweep the garden. A low-ranking Zenin member delivers a letter. And a little girl scales the rooftop of one of the pantries. Cursed energy seeps from around your neck, wrists, and ankles - all points that are bound with talisman. “Hmmmmmm~ Who could you be?”
He hops down behind you. On your stomach, head dangling over the side of the rooftop as you try to peek into the building.
“Neh, neh, what’re you doing?”
“SHHHHHH.” You quickly turn toward him, large green eyes staring straight at his equally blue ones. Light brown hair frames your face as your bound hands come up to your lips, ushering for him to shut up as soon as possible. He chuffs slightly at your audacity to quiet him, of all people.
Your eyes widen as you take in his appearance with obvious scrutiny. He does the same back, as eyes scan up and down your form. He’s certainly never seen you before - he would know if he had. And the bindings are terribly oversized for your small frame.
You suddenly point at him (well the best you can with your hands bound together). “Small!”
“You’re one to talk.” A slight red stains his cheeks. You’re at least three inches shorter!
You tilt your head to the side, confused. You’re not from around here, at least that much he’s ascertained. If you were, you would’ve known him the moment your eyes landed on him. It’s not like he had subtle features. Not in the slightest.
“Why are your hands bound like that anyway?” He leans in closely, not worried at all about your potential ‘threat’. What harm could you really do to HIM?
“Ummm… good.” You respond with an abnormal, unnatural inflection to your voice.
“…” Are you an idiot? Probably. Though he could toy with you a little longer. It’s better than returning to the estate to wait for something, anything to happen!
You lift up your hands, shaking the wood shackles. “Good!” Burnt into the cuffs are rows of intricate, overlapping symbols. Some familiar, but most he’d have to consult the old archives to truly glean their meaning. Below the cuffs are paper talismans wrapped tightly around your arms, covering from your fingertips to your elbows. A matching set of cuffs and talisman on your legs and neck altogether make up a relatively ridiculous ensemble for a kid. They seem quite overkill, but the jujutsu world does like to fret over small things. Every small piece of unknown seems to make them want to jump at the opportunity to cage and then destroy, so that the unknown may never become known.
It makes him want to burst into laughter.
How fearful they all are. How weak.
He doesn’t fear anything.
“I see.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t really care what you have to say anyway.
You nod resolutely, proud to get across your point.
“Stay!” You bark out an order to him.
“You can’t order me around.” He deadpans.
But you push up into a crouch on all fours, then swing down from the shingles into the slightly ajar window. It reminds him of an animal, deftly moving through the forest. Your movements seamless despite the shackles that should make acrobatics near-impossible. If you have cursed energy restricted from five major points then certainly there must be more to you than meets the eye.
It isn’t even a full minute and you hop back up onto the roof with an armful of sweets - mochi, chocolate, cake, cookies. The very sweets meant for his birthday that they’ve been keeping in the storehouse.
You hum happily, distributing the haul. Blissfully unaware.
He sighs. “Those are mine you know?”
You place four treats on his side, and four on yours, contemplating the last one. The tiebreaker.
“You must have heard about me. Everyone has. Six Eyes? Limitless?”
You place the last treat in his pile, ignoring his questioning. Well, mostly it probably just goes in one ear and out the other.
“Sucking up won’t do ya any good either.”
“Yes, good.” You respond, affirmatively.
“Is good the only word you know?” He shakes his head with a little scoff.
“Good?” You utter, now more unsure of the flow of conversation.
He can’t help but laugh. If this imbecile is able to sneak into the main house then security really needs to tighten up around here.
You smile in response to his mirth, opening your mouth wide for the first bite into the cookie.
“Wowwwww~” Eyes lit up with pure joy.
“It can’t be that good…” he mumbles, but follows suit. “Eh?” His eyes widen and you catch his glance, nodding exuberantly. It IS that good - better than it has been, richer in flavor and texture. A taste so vibrant and perfect that it lingers, long after, ushering in cravings from the mere memory of it.
“Good!”
“Have you ever had these before?”
You shake your head.
“If you come to my birthday there will be a lot more. A feast with at least six courses.”
You gasp, followed up by relentless clapping. He can’t help but swell with a little pride.
“I mean I am THE Gojo Satoru.”
He watches you for acknowledgement but you just nod and smile again .
“THE Kurumi.” You point at yourself, though stumble awkwardly through your own name. It makes no sense, but even something so simple is unfamiliar to you. Where did you come from?
He sighs, “”No THE. Just Kurumi.”
Your eyes twinkle. A pleasant trill escapes your lips.
“What was that?” He laughs.
You do it again. A strange, bird-like noise, that he finds rather endearing.
Both grab your last dessert - a fluffy white mochi. He holds up his in a little cheer before devouring in sync. The verdict is obvious.
“This one!” “Good!” You shout together.
“By far the best - the chewiness of the dough, the perfect sweetness of the filling!” Satoru analyzes.
“Mm! Umm - … Ahh…” Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find the words.
“It’s the perfect ratio of filling to mochi.” Satoru fills in.
“You.” You point to the white of his hair and the white of the mochi. “Me.” You points to the hazelnut center and your brown hair. It’s a stretch, most definitely.
He blinks at you. “I’m not sure I would say it’s anything like us.”
“Us.” You say the words in awe. “Us.” Familiarizing with the sound.
A high-pitched WHISTLE suddenly cuts through the air. More shouting, this time from inside the walls. You stand up, guiltily looking toward the direction of the noise.
He pulls your sleeve, “C’mon, I know all the best hiding spots.” He hasn’t even seen what you can do yet. It’s bound to be disappointing, but even he is a little curious. And he didn’t share his sweets to have nothing to show for it!
You shake your head slightly in disappointment. “No.”
“You want to go to them? They fear you, you know.” He doesn’t care one way or another.
You catch his gaze straight on. “Yes.”
“You want to go to them, even if they’ll hurt you?” You can do whatever you want, it has nothing to do with him at the end of it all.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re an idiot.” He doesn’t have time for those that can’t fight for themselves. It’s a sign of weakness. Giving in at the moment of adversity.
You bristle at this, shoulders tensing. “You idiot!”
“No, you.” His eyes narrow.
You shake your head viciously. “No! Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot!” You point at him, accusatory.
“I don’t have time for idiots like you!“
Then your little frame bulldozes into his side. He easily catches his footing, pushing you off. He smirks - maybe you do have some fight in you.
It feels unfair to go full power, considering your restraints, but his cursed energy flares. He runs toward you, leaping up as his kick descends. Your eyes widen, but you react quickly. You crouch to the ground, bracing for impact. Your hands lift to protect yourself and -
Andddddd he swung right at the shackles.
And now they’re falling to the floor…
“Ah.” “Eh.” You say in unison as the other shackles instantly break as well.
His eyes widen as the world around you comes alive in cursed energy.
Warm like summer in the tall grass, cool like the breeze under the maple tree. Heavy like the base of the mountain, light like the clouds. Dark like the deep blue night sky, bright like the stars amidst it. He could picture the cursed energy like a scene from nature, ebbing and flowing through the seasons. Empty like the beginning of everything, full like the end of it all. He’d never seen anything like it. A flow of cursed energy shattering, rebuilding, and continuing in repetition.
“GOJO-SAMA GET AWAY FROM HER!” The panicked cries.
But he can’t get away.
Oh why would he possibly get away.
You look at him - an expression of wonder on your face. He can see it in your eyes - that you can see him.
He’d been indoctrinated in fate since his birth. FATE . Fated to wield the Six Eyes, fated to master all the techniques of the Gojo clan, fated to change the balance of the world.
He hates fate.
Fate which seems to have its firm hold on him.
Fate which seems more powerful than any curse.
Fate which seems to have no sense of humor.
So why does it feel as if even the heavens have secrets? Gray skies begin to bleed. A sudden downpour of rain, but the sun peeks out in golden daggers.
A blessing.
Or destruction.
One of the two. He doesn’t really care which. He is strong enough to handle either.
So he offers his hand out to you.
There was a time even the great Gojo Satoru was merely Gojo Satoru. When he came out of the womb, knowing nothing of the world. He could see the bristle of the trees in the courtyard, the spike of a few heartbeats when he opened his eyes, the flutter of wings from the birds in the sky. He could see every little thing. And he truly believed that that was what everyone saw. If only for a moment, he was just like everyone else.
He couldn’t remember anymore what it felt like, to know, intrinsically that he was living in the same world. He’d been alone since the moment he knew how different he was.
“What do you see?”
He wants to know.
He needs to know.
You reach for his out-stretched hand. And as your little fingers curl around him, time slows, stretching on for infinity. Water droplets glitter in suspension. The guards are still as stone in mid-run. An utter quiet, save the breath shared between the two.
Messy brown hair, doe-like green eyes and a carefree smile. “You.”
It’s only a matter of time, until even you will lose your wonder.
Until this feeling is forgotten altogether.
…
Right?
Now though… even the air tastes sweet.
He wouldn’t know it - not yet. Not for a long time. That this memory would prove to be the first that truly withstood the test of time. How fitting, considering all things...