The Last Priestess

by MrFunAtParties

Summary:

When Gojo lay on the brink of death, Utahime made an irreversible choice. The world would remember his victory, but he would only remember what it cost.

Chapter 1: The Price of the Forbidden

Among the sacred techniques of the Iori clan, there existed a forbidden ritual that was lost in time. It was called “Horizon Rift.” It was named after the place where the sky meets the earth, always visible and present, yet impossible to reach. A power that tore a rift between two existences— the living and the forgotten. The name itself was a warning. An Iori who wielded this ability could act as a bridge between life and death, channeling their own existence into another sorcerer. 

It was a form of soul severance or ‘kondan’. The first stage boosted the target, by binding the sorcerer’s soul to the recipient which in turn amplifies their power beyond its natural limits, similar to the Solo Forbidden Zone Utahime already possessed. The second stage sustains the target’s life force by offering the user’s own entire being. 

It was a technique of total sacrifice. And no Iori has ever dared to perform this ritual.

Until the day Gojo fell.

Sukuna’s attack had cut through Gojo’s body and he was dying. His infinity was shattered and his energy was fading like dying ember. Blood pooled beneath him, his chest barely rose, and his breathing was shallow. He was too still.

Ui Ui appeared beside Gojo in a blur of motion, his Simple Domain activating instantly. They landed in a safe zone far from the battlefield where Shoko and Utahime were waiting. Shoko’s cigarette fell from her lips as soon as she saw Ui Ui materialize in front of her with Gojo’s broken body. For the first time in a long while, her hands shook.

“Shit.” She was already moving before she could think, pushing aside the patient she was tending to.

“I need space!” she snapped, immediately kneeling beside Gojo. Her hands hovered over Gojo’s severed body parts. 

Her Reverse Cursed Technique flared, but something was wrong. 

Utahime could barely move. She felt her chest tighten. No. No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gojo wasn’t supposed to lose. Not him. Not like this.

Shoko gritted her teeth. “This isn’t working,” she muttered under her breath.

Utahime turned sharply toward her. “What do you mean?”

Shoko didn’t look up. “His body…”

She exhaled sharply, frustrated. “All my technique can do is slow down his energy from dissipating. I cannot connect his body like this. He’s lost too much blood. And his energy… it’s not responding to me… it’s very unstable.”

Utahime’s heart dropped. “Then we need someone else!”

Shoko’s voice was grim. “There’s no one else. I’m the only healer here, senpai.”

Shoko continued, her voice defeated. “Nobara isn’t fully healed yet, Yuji isn’t ready, and Yuta won’t be back with Miguel for another week. This wasn’t supposed to happen this soon.”

For the first time, Utahime felt true terror.

She won’t accept it. There must be a way.

The realization hit her all at once. She remembered there was one way. It was reckless, irreversible. And it would kill her. But it would save him.

Her last offering to the strongest. Her final ‘boost’. 

Utahime clenched her fists, forcing herself to move. She knelt beside Gojo.

Shoko looked up, eyes widening. “Senpai, what are you—”

Her hands were already moving, forming the seals before she could second-guess herself. There was no time to hesitate.

She had never hesitated when it came to Gojo. Not when he had asked for her help in uncovering the traitor within Jujutsu High, despite knowing it would make her a target. Not when he had asked her to boost him in the greatest battle of his life, despite knowing it would push her to the brink. And now, even when it meant giving up everything, even her life, she still did not hesitate. Because it was Gojo. And if it was him or her, it had always been him.

The moment her cursed energy flared, everything shifted. She whispered the incantation no Iori had spoken in centuries. The ground trembled as Utahime activated the ritual. The Rift began to form beneath her feet, an invisible wound in reality, stretching outward like an abyss no one else could see.

She pressed her hands to him, pouring every ounce of her cursed energy into his body. The instant it activated, Gojo’s body responded. His cursed energy surged and his RCT reignited. He gasped, his severed torso stitched back together before his mind even caught up.

But Utahime was losing herself quickly as fast as Gojo’s life energy surged. Her form started to become less solid. Her very essence was being absorbed into the ritual itself.

Shoko stood in shock. And Gojo realized too late. “Utahime!” His voice was raw, furious. His hand shot out, grabbed her wrist. But she was already fading too fast.

“Stop!” he demanded.

Her eyes softened and she smiled. Almost apologetic. A small, knowing, devastatingly final smile. “You have to finish this,” she murmured.

His hands tightened around her.

“No.” His cursed energy was roaring back to life, but his heart was breaking. 

Utahime’s memories flashed before her eyes like glimpses from an old photobooth reel, flipping too fast for her to hold onto. Her parents. Her childhood. Her friends and her students. The moments that made up her life. And then him. The first day they met. His infuriating smirk. His untouchable face. His teasing voice. His beautiful eyes.

And as her fingers brushed against his one last time, his fingers tightened, as if he could keep her from vanishing completely. Her breath was unsteady, her body light as air, but for a moment, she looked at him like nothing else in the world mattered.

And then, she whispered, “. . . . . .”

Her words were lost in the wind. And she was gone. He only saw the way her lips moved, shaping words he would never know. And the worst part, it was the last thing she said to him. And the last thing he would never be able to answer.

Gojo felt his chest tighten.

He didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to process the chaos unfolding around him. Numbness crept through his limbs as a crushing sense of helplessness clawed within him. But he couldn’t stop now. Not when Utahime’s sacrifice was on the line. This was the only thing he could do to make sure it wasn’t in vain.

Without a word, he disappeared and materialized right in front of Sukuna. Forcing every last ounce of strength into his technique, he activated Hollow Purple one final time. But this time, it was different. Streaks of gold laced through the swirling energy, illuminating the battlefield in a brilliance unlike anything before. It shone brighter, blinding and overwhelming. And with no hesitation, he unleashed it toward Sukuna.

****

He won.

The battlefield stood eerily still. Only the gentle winter breeze was drifting through the ruins like a ghost. It whispered through the broken buildings, brushing against the scattered debris and the lifeless earth. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned, a structure finally giving way. A few loose rocks tumbled down, skidding over fractured pavement. And then, nothing.

But his cursed energy was different. It swirled in a gradient of color, shifting like refracted light in water. And in it, there was gold. Her gold. It flickered, warm, radiant, pulsing like a heartbeat. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it faded. The gold dispersed like dust in the wind, slipping through his fingers until there was nothing left of her at all. Gojo reached for it, to try to hold on and keep it. But it was already gone. The realization was a slow, suffocating thing. His hands fell uselessly to his sides. And then his body followed. Gojo fell to his knees. His breath shuddered, raw and uneven, but his eyes never closed. They remained open, unblinking. He stared straight ahead, unfocused. The horizon stretched before him, bathed in orange and red, the colors of a dying sun. The colors blurred at the edges of his vision as tears start to fall. He never felt so helpless before.

History would say Satoru Gojo defied death twice. That he rose stronger than ever, defeated Sukuna, and reshaped the future of Jujutsu Society. But he didn’t care about any of that. Because in his strongest moment, he had never felt weaker. She was gone. And as he stood there, victorious yet more broken than ever, he made a silent vow. If the Rift had taken her away, then he would tear through heaven and earth to bring her back.

 

Chapter 2: The Ghost Of Her

A knock pulled him from his thoughts. 

“Can I come in?”

The door slid open before he could answer. Gojo lay sprawled across his bed, an arm draped over his blindfolded eyes.

“Yes, Megumi?”

He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Megumi stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the mess— piles of books stacked haphazardly, scattered papers, and open scrolls. His computer sat on standby, its dim screen a quiet remnant of neglect. A few crumpled candy wrappers littered the floor, long forgotten.

“You’re not dressed,” Megumi noted. “Her ceremony starts in an hour.”

He paused before adding. “Everyone’s going to be there. Her students, her family—”

“I’m not going, Megumi,” Gojo finally spoke.

Today was Utahime’s kokubetsushiki, her farewell ceremony.

More than a few months had passed since he was declared the Champion of Shinjuku. More than a few months since she was gone.

Tokyo had been in ruins. The country was still reeling, still picking up the pieces, trying to recover from the devastation. It was only now, after the dust had settled, that people finally had the time to mourn their loved ones properly. To honor the ones who didn’t make it.

Including her.

Everyone else had accepted it. They mourned, honored her, and tried to continue forward. But not him.

Megumi’s voice softened. “We’re worried about you.”

Gojo didn’t move, didn’t react.

Megumi exhaled quietly, stepping further inside. He’d seen Gojo in many states— bored, smug, infuriatingly insufferable, but never like this.

“You haven’t left your apartment in days,” Megumi continued. “You barely eat, you don’t sleep— ”

“I sleep,” Gojo muttered, voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“Right.”

The clock ticked in the background, slow and dragging.

“She wouldn’t want to see you like this,” Megumi said finally. “You know that, right?”

Gojo’s fingers twitched.

“You’re not the only one who lost her.”

The air in the room shifted. Megumi didn’t expect an answer.

Although Megumi was technically Gojo’s ward, anyone would have said he was closer to Utahime than to Gojo.

Gojo had been too busy being the strongest— exorcising curses, handling missions, carrying the weight of their world, when he took in Megumi and his sister, Tsumiki. And as much as he liked to call himself their guardian, the reality was that he had pawned off a good chunk of that responsibility onto Utahime. Or rather, forced it onto her.

Watching them “a few times” quickly turned into cooking their meals, helping with their homework, attending their school events when Gojo conveniently “forgot”, and making sure they didn’t get into trouble. Utahime hadn’t really minded, though. She had always been good with children— patient, kind, and reliable.

It wasn’t surprising that Megumi developed an innocent little crush on her. Gojo had always found it amusing. Utahime had already been beautiful back when she was in high school, and her naturally nurturing nature made her even more lovable. To a kid like Megumi, who had lost his parents too soon, she must have seemed like a warm, steady presence.

Gojo still vividly remembered catching Megumi, on White Day, sneaking a handwritten letter, along with a small chocolate and a candy ring, using one of his shikigami to deliver it to Utahime.

Utahime, of course, had found it adorable. She had laughed softly, pinched Megumi’s cheek, and placed a gentle kiss on it, thanking him sweetly. Megumi had turned bright red, and Gojo had never let him live it down, bringing it up at every opportunity, even well into his teenage years.

“Ne, Megumi,” he would smirk whenever he had the chance. “Remember when you tried to propose to Utahime with a candy ring?”

And every single time, Megumi would scowl, mutter a gritted-teeth “shut up”, and pretend Gojo didn’t exist.

But as Megumi grew older, Gojo knew it was more than just a childhood crush. It was respect. He saw how much Megumi admired her, how highly he spoke of her in the quiet ways Megumi ever did. It wasn’t just him, either. Everyone loved Utahime. Her students, her colleagues, even those who barely knew her. She had this way of making people feel safe, of making them feel seen.

Gojo knew that better than anyone. Utahime had been there for him, even through his darkest times. They had shared moments that mattered in his life.

And now that she was gone, Gojo knew Megumi felt that loss just as deeply as he did.

Maybe there was truth to the saying, “you never know what you have until it’s gone”.

Utahime was a colleague. A friend. They had started off on the wrong foot, but over time, their relationship had evolved into something… complicated. A strange bond that neither of them had ever really defined.

He had always been drawn to her. It had started back in his first year at Jujutsu High. She was the beautiful upperclassman, serious and hardworking, who never spared him a second glance. It drove him insane. He had wanted her attention, but all she ever gave him were reprimands. At the time, he had found it amusing. So he teased her, relentlessly. He poked and prodded, always pushing, always provoking. It annoyed her, but to him, it was all in good fun. At least, that’s what he told himself.

As they got older and their responsibilities grew heavier, their dynamic matured to a certain degree. The teasing remained, the bickering never stopped, and maybe there was a little bit of disguised flirting in between.

There were moments where he had thought about crossing the line. Wondered what it would be like. To find out if she would ever look at him differently. But his responsibilities were always bigger than himself. He had a world to protect, burdens heavier than any single desire he could entertain.

Despite it all, Utahime had been one of the few people he trusted. One of the few he truly cared for.

Lying here in the wreckage of his own grief, he knew the truth. He knew she had been more than that. She had been special.

Gojo moved. Slowly, he lowered his arm from his face, slipping off his blindfold to reveal bare eyes, exhausted blue, dull and hollow. He sat up, rubbing his face, as if that would erase the weight crushing him.

Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

“You know…” His voice was quieter than usual. “Back in high school, around this time, I used to find my dorm room scattered with soybeans.”

Megumi frowned. “What?”

Gojo huffed a weak chuckle. A ghost of a smile.

“Utahime had this little Setsubun tradition. She’d throw them at me, chanting, ‘Gojo wa soto! Utahime wa uchi!’”

“‘Gojo out! Utahime in!’”

His expression softened, like he could still hear her voice.

“She called it her personal exorcism, said I was the worst demon she’d ever dealt with.”

Megumi blinked. That sounded exactly like Utahime.

“So I started hanging hiiragi on my door,” Gojo continued, his lips twitching in the ghost of a smirk. “Told her it was my Utahime-repellent.”

He exhaled heavily, his gaze distant, fingers tightening around his wrist.

“But now…” He trailed off, his breath unsteady.

“The quiet is deafening, Megumi.”

His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper.

“I guess… my hiiragi finally worked.”

A pause. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“She’s not coming back,” he choked out, the last words so quiet they barely existed.

Megumi didn’t speak. He didn’t know if anything he said would matter.

Gojo’s fingers threaded through his hair, and for a moment, Megumi thought he might actually stand.

But then, he sighed.

“You should go, Megumi.” His voice was flat.

Megumi’s shoulders stiffened. “Gojo—”

“I’m not going.” His voice was steady this time, final.

Megumi clenched his jaw. He swallowed hard, then took a slow step back.

“They put up a stone for her in Otani Honbyo,” Megumi said, placing a slip of paper with its exact location onto the desk.

There was no body to burn. No remains to bury. Yet, to everyone else, she was gone.

And maybe that was the truth.

Maybe he was the only one still clinging to something that wasn’t there, delusional, trapped in denial. Because no one could have survived what she did. He had seen it with his own eyes.

In all the records, all the ancient scrolls he had scoured for answers, the outcome was always the same. No one had ever come back from activating the Rift. No one.

Megumi hesitated for another moment, then turned, sliding the door shut behind him.

Gojo wasn’t ready to say goodbye. And maybe he never would be.

****

Although Gojo had been mourning in his own way, he never neglected his responsibilities. Still, Yaga insisted, or rather, forced him to take a leave.

“There are plenty of other sorcerers who can handle curses,” Yaga had told him. “You’ve done enough. The strongest, our greatest hero, needs a break.”

So, for the first time in years, Gojo stepped away. He spent a month at Mount Wutai in China, visiting temples, and immersing himself in a place he had never thought to seek out before.

Utahime had once mentioned, in passing, that she had wanted to visit this place with her mother. But instead, it was him, a man who had never cared for faith or gods, wandering through a place that should have been hers. She never got the chance to go.

He had thought, perhaps, that being here would bring him some kind of peace.

But it didn’t. Instead, it brought him clarity. He allowed himself to sit still, to truly feel everything he had been running from.

One of the elder monks he spoke to sensed his grief and told him, “You only lose what you cling to, Buddha said.”

It reminded him of what Utahime had told him before. She had found him at Jujutsu High, standing alone in the aftermath of killing Suguru. Her voice had been quiet and steady, offering something he hadn’t been ready to hear at the time.

“You don’t have to let go of him, Gojo. But you do have to keep going.”

Maybe this was why he came. Not to chase ghosts. But to learn how to live again.

By the time he descended the mountain, he wasn’t whole. But he knew he had to try. He had to start moving forward.

When he returned, he bought a new apartment to start afresh. Or at least, the illusion of one.

The months passed— spring, summer, autumn. The ache dulled but never disappeared, settling into something quieter, something he had learned to carry. He kept moving, kept working, filling his days with missions and responsibilities. Anything to keep himself from thinking too much. From remembering too much. From missing her too much.

He even started seeing women again. Not that he hadn’t before, but now, it was more intentional, another way to keep his mind occupied. A distraction. A temporary escape. If he kept his hands busy, if he filled the silence with someone else’s laughter, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t hear the echoes of her voice in his head.

And yet, without realizing it, he found himself gravitating toward a particular type. Dark hair, brown eyes. It wasn’t a conscious decision, at least, that’s what he told himself. But every time he looked across a bar, every time he let someone press against him in the dim glow of a club, there was always a fleeting moment. A second where his chest tightened. A cruel trick of the mind where, for just a breath, he thought, maybe.

But it was never her. It would never be her. And still, he kept looking.

Even teaching, one of the few things that had always given him purpose, felt different now. Watching students grow, pushing them beyond their limits, guiding them toward something greater— it was ingrained in him. But it also reminded him of her. Of the way she believed in people, the patience she carried, the quiet strength that defined her. In some way, it kept a part of her alive.

A year had passed since that fateful day. What should have been a time of celebration was now a painful reminder— Christmas Eve would always belong to her. Gojo finally visited her stone at Otani Honbyo. He stood before it, the weight in his chest heavier than ever. 

“Please give me a sign, Utahime.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the breeze.

“Tell me it’s okay to let go.”

The silence stretched. Unforgiving.

A soft breeze stirred. Then a single delicate purple iris, one he hadn’t noticed before, detached from the offering vase and landed gently at his shoe.

Utahime had always liked irises. It was her birth flower.

His fingers hovered over the flower, hesitant, before picking it up. He rolled the stem between his fingertips, watching the petals shift under the soft glow of the shrine lanterns.

“So that’s it, huh?” He exhaled, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

He closed his fist gently around the flower, eyes slipping shut.

“Alright.”

****

Shoko and Ijichi had been just as occupied, but somehow, the three of them started hanging out again— going to izakayas when they could, slipping into old routines.

The three of them sat across from each other, the air heavy with an unspoken understanding.

Shoko had been the one to suggest going out today, to her favorite place, on her birthday. None of them had questioned it. They all knew why they were here.

“I miss her,” Shoko murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips, but the ache bled through.

“She’d be yelling at me right now, nagging about my smoking,” she added, exhaling a slow drag of her cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the air.

Gojo huffed a laugh. “By now, she’d be twenty shots deep and absolutely butchering some cheesy love ballad.”

Ijichi smiled softly, shaking his head. “And senpai would be forcing us to sing backup.”

It had been an hour since they got here, and the bar was filled with their off-key voices, terrible song choices, and the kind of reckless abandon that only came with loss.

At some point, Gojo lifted his non-alcoholic drink,

“To Hime.”

Shoko and Ijichi followed suit, raising their glasses as well.

Gojo exhaled, his voice quieter now, almost lost beneath the low hum of the next song cueing up.

“Happy birthday… wherever you are, Hime.”

Gojo had sent a tipsy Shoko home with Ijichi, choosing to walk back on his own. He could’ve teleported, but tonight, he wanted to feel the air against his skin, to listen to the muffled sounds of the city at night. For once, the cold wasn’t biting.

Gojo had walked for a few minutes, hands shoved in his pockets, letting the night air settle around him— when something shifted.

The surroundings blurred at the edges, and suddenly, the temperature felt off.

The air grew thick. The usual hum of the city faded into nothingness. The streetlights flickered. And when he looked up, the sky, dark just moments ago, had deepened into a strange, burnt orange, as if the sun had been frozen in an unnatural twilight.

A tremor rolled beneath his feet, subtle at first, then violent. The pavement cracked, a jagged fissure splitting the ground open.

Everything around him seemed to still. No cars. No wind. No sound. The stillness made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Gojo exhaled slowly, lifting his gaze.

And there, standing across from him, was her.

Utahime.

Gojo’s breath hitched as he took a step forward.

She stood still, head tilted downward, her long hair partially obscuring her face.

“Utahime?” His voice wavered.

She didn’t react.

“Utahime!” he called again, louder this time.

Then slowly, she lifted her head.

Their eyes met.

But there was nothing there. It was just a blank, hollow stare.

Before he could say another word, she turned away and began walking.

“Wait! Utahime!”

He picked up his pace, trying to close the distance between them. But as soon as he did, the ground beneath him gave way.

A sudden force yanked him downward, like a vacuum pulling him into the abyss. His body lurched, weightless, as the world collapsed—

He jerked awake.

His breath was heavy, his heart pounded in his chest as he blinked up at the ceiling, trying to ground himself back to reality. The silence of his bedroom pressed around him.

Just a dream.

He turned his head slightly, glancing at the glowing numbers on the clock. 3:00 AM.

Beside him, the body next to him shifted.

“Satoru?” A gentle voice, laced with drowsiness, murmured as a hand found his arm. “Are you okay?”

Gojo exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face before sinking back into the bed.

“Yeah, Suki. Just a dream.” His voice was even, controlled.

She hummed sleepily, nuzzling closer. He turned to her, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

But long after she had drifted off, Gojo remained awake, staring at the ceiling.

****

More than a year ago, on December 24, 2018 , while Satoru Gojo was hailed as the Champion of Shinjuku, a new legend quietly took root in the mountains of Tenkawa. In the sacred peaks of Mount Ōmine, where monks had long walked the ascetic path, whispers spread of an unseen presence— one that had crossed the boundary between life and death.

Chapter 3: Stranger Things

Shoko flashed her penlight into Gojo’s eyes, watching his pupils react before clicking it off and slipping it back into her coat pocket.

“Well, everything seems fine. Is the medication not helping you sleep? Do you need me to adjust—”

“It’s not that.” Gojo leaned back, exhaling. “Maybe, change my medication. It’s giving me… weird dreams.”

“Weird how? Nightmares?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them that.”

“What kind of dreams, then?”

Gojo just looked at her.

Shoko understood and sighed. “You’ve been having them for a while?” she asked.

“Almost a month now.”

Shoko frowned, studying him. “You probably need to see someone, Gojo. Medications won’t fix your problem. You need a psychiatrist.”

“I’m already seeing one.”

Shoko didn’t even blink. “An actual good one. And I meant seeing— not fucking. Which, by the way, is extremely unprofessional on her part. How many sessions before you two started screwing?”

Gojo smirked. “Fourth—“

“You started sleeping with your shrink four sessions in.” Shoko deadpanned.

He stretched lazily, completely unbothered. “Don’t you think that’s kinda hot? Doctor falls for her dangerously irresistible patient—”

“She’s your therapist, Gojo.”

“Yeah, and? It’s not like I planned it,” he said, feigning innocence. “One thing led to another, and, well… here we are.”

“Utahime-senpai will rise from the grave just to puke in front of you when she hears this.”

The joke landed heavier than Shoko intended. Gojo froze for half a second, just long enough for her to notice. He then sighed dramatically as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Man, even in death, she’s gotta be dramatic.”

Shoko didn’t smile.

Gojo leaned back in his chair. “Look, I like Suki. She’s nice. She loves sweets, like I do. She makes me feel good. And I don’t have to—” He stopped himself.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Don’t have to what?”

Gojo exhaled loudly and waved her off. “Nothing. Forget it.”

She leaned and flicked ash into the tray. “You mean, you don’t have to think too hard. Or feel too much.”

“Wow, Shoko. Maybe you should be my therapist.”

“You know,” she took a slow drag of her cigarette, eyes still on him. “If Suki’s really good at her job, has she ever told you that maybe these dreams you keep having are just your brain’s way of saying you’re not ready to move on?”

Gojo’s lips twitched, and for a second, he almost laughed. “Oh, she knows. That’s why she’s helping me move on… in other ways.”

Shoko stared at him. “You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m resourceful.”

Her expression went flat. “How long have you been seeing Suki now?”

“About… six months?”

Shoko exhaled. “Why not go to a psychiatrist who’s a sorcerer, someone who knows our stuff.”

Gojo scoffed. “We don’t have a sorcerer who’s a psychiatrist.”

“Does Suki even know you’re a sorcerer?”

“Yes. Everyone knows me. The Champion of Shinjuku, remember?”

She crossed her arms. “And what, you have an appointment with her today?”

“In an hour. But our session’s only thirty minutes, so I’ll be back to pick up my meds.”

Shoko exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Session huh.”

Gojo grinned. “The best kind. And oh, I’m setting up a lunch— you, me, and her. I told her I have a doctor friend. She really wants to meet you.”

Shoko barely looked up from her cigarette. “Pass.”

“I’ll buy you a month’s worth of cigarettes, the fancy ones,” he bribed without hesitation.

She exhaled a slow drag. “Make it two months.”

“One and a half,” he countered.

She considered. “Fine. But only because I’m running low. Getting serious with her now, huh?”

Gojo made a face. “What? No.”

“You’re introducing her to friends.”

“She keeps asking,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s easier to just do it than keep dodging.”

“Uh-huh.” She flicked ash into the tray.

Gojo rolled his eyes. “Shoko, please. You know me. I don’t do serious.”

Shoko flicked her lighter shut one last time. “So you’re saying this is casual?”

“Painfully casual.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “And she’s cool with you not being serious?”

“Of course!” He paused. “…Probably? You know, you should really consider therapy, Shoko. You sound jealous.”

She stared at him, deadpan.

Gojo ignored the look she was giving him and clapped his hands together. “Great. It’s a date, then.” With that, he stood up, flashing a carefree grin, and waved her off.

****

[Gojo and Shoko’s text exchange]

Gojo: Yo, Friday lunch is still on. We’re eating near Younji Temple.

Shoko: Just tell me what time.

Gojo: Noon. After that, Suki wants to visit the shrine.

Shoko: I’ll eat, but after that, I’m leaving.

Gojo: Wow, don’t wanna try some personal enlightenment at the shrine?

Shoko: I already know I’m fucked up, thanks. I’d rather keep my demons.

Shoko: Also, you do realize that place is famous for cutting off bad relationships before welcoming new love, right?

Gojo: Dunno, didn’t ask. Just going with the flow.

Shoko: Your therapist is taking you to a shrine to spiritually dump Utahime.

Gojo: Coincidence, I’m sure.

Shoko: You’re so full of shit.

Shoko: But I mean, if I were your psychiatrist-girlfriend-whatever, I’d probably be sick of competing with a ghost too.

Gojo: Ouch. That’s harsh, even for you.

Shoko: She’s trying to get you to move on, dumbass.

Gojo: I am moving on.

Shoko: Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why every woman you’ve been with has dark hair and brown eyes.

Gojo: I have a type. Sue me. 

Shoko: She’s planning to exorcise Utahime out of your system.

Gojo: Well, if it works, it works.

Shoko: Good luck to that.

Gojo: Alright Dr. Freud, what do you suggest then?

Shoko: Film it if Suki makes you write Utahime’s name on a wooden plaque. I wanna see how hard your hand shakes.

Gojo: Hah, funny.

Shoko: Also this woman is Harley Quinn level quack. I like it.

****

“Come on, guys, Gojo-sensei wants us to watch that movie. He said we have a quiz later,” Yuji grumbled, stirring his drink lazily.

“Boring,” Nobara groaned, stretching her arms behind her head. “I’d rather check out that new pop-up store they just opened two blocks from here! What do you think, Megumi?”

“We already went to eight different stores, Nobara. We’re not your slave,” Megumi muttered, barely sparing her a glance as he sipped his soda.

The three of them were sitting in a quiet coffee shop. Yuji and Nobara engaged in their usual banter, but Megumi wasn’t listening. He sat facing the large one-way glass window, eyes idly scanning the street outside. The world moved on as it always had, people coming and going, lost in their own routines. It was normal. Ordinary.

It was just a glance, his eyes flickered up from his drink, not really expecting to see anything unusual, but the moment he did, he froze

A woman outside sneezed, swatting the air in mild irritation. Then, she instinctively turned toward the window, checking her reflection, brushing her bangs back as if making sure she looked presentable.

His heart lurched. The world around him faded into a distant hum as he stared. It was her. Utahime.

It looked exactly like her. The same soft features, the same way she fussed over her appearance, the same delicate tilt of her head as she inspected her reflection. For a split second, his mind tried to reason with it, tried to tell him that it was just someone who looked like her, that it was just a cruel trick of his imagination.

But there was no mistaking it. Yet, something was different. Her scar was gone.

The deep, jagged scar that had marked her face, the one that had been so unmistakably hers, was nowhere to be seen. Her skin was smooth, untouched.

Megumi felt lightheaded. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. 

This wasn’t possible. Utahime had died over a year ago. They had searched for her, waited, prayed for some kind of miracle, but there had been no body to bury, leaving only the heavy weight of grief behind. They had forced themselves to accept that she was gone.

But she was right there. Or at least, someone who looked exactly like her.

Yuji and Nobara kept talking, oblivious to the world-shattering moment in front of him. 

But Megumi couldn’t hear them anymore.

The woman turned away from the window and started walking down the street.

He had to go after her.

Megumi’s body moved before his mind could catch up. His fingers slipped from his cup, as his soda tumbled to the table with a dull thud. The spill went unnoticed as he shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor.

He barely registered Yuji and Nobara calling after him as he bolted toward the nearest door, pushing past a confused barista and nearly stumbling over a chair in rush to get outside, shoving the door open with enough force that the bell above jingled violently.

The cold air hit him as he stepped onto the busy sidewalk. His head snapped left and right, desperately searching. The street was busy, people walking in all directions, but there was no sign or trace of her. 

Megumi stood frozen, swallowing hard. He could still feel the ghost of adrenaline in his veins, his heart racing, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. Had it really been her? Or was it just some stranger, a coincidence, a trick his exhausted brain had conjured?

Megumi exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

He had to have imagined it. That was the only explanation. Utahime was gone.

Behind him, the coffee shop door opened.

“Megumi, are you okay?” Yuji’s voice broke through the haze, concern laced in his tone as he stepped outside after him.

“Did you see somebody you know?” Nobara followed, her brows pinched.

Megumi turned to see his friends standing just outside the coffee shop, Yuji looking confused, Nobara frowning at him with suspicion. Megumi opened his mouth, hesitating. What could he even say? I saw Utahime?

He exhaled slowly, schooling his features to neutral.

“No. I—I thought I saw someone, but… it’s nothing.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced, but Yuji just shrugged. “Alright. Well, if you’re done freaking out, can we please go watch that movie before Gojo-sensei fries our brains with a quiz?”

He forced himself to relax as he turned back toward the café. But inside, doubt gnawed at him.

Maybe he was just hallucinating. Maybe it had been a trick of the light, a stranger who only resembled Utahime. But the way his heart was still racing, the way every nerve in his body had screamed that it was her.

What if it really was her?

****

A week later…

Amane stretched lazily with a satisfied smile on her face as she woke to the sounds of cicadas humming and birds chirping outside. The morning air was crisp, filling her with a comforting sense of peace. She felt energized, ready to start the day.

Today, she was heading to the city to deliver boxes of wooden charms, each one blessed with prayers from the shrine in Tenkawa. It wasn’t her first time in Tokyo. She had made deliveries before, though she never stayed long. The city was too busy, loud and overwhelming. But still, she didn’t mind. Something about the city always pulled at her.

Her destination: Obachan Akie’s shop, a small, unassuming place which was part fortune shop, part eatery, selling handcrafted charms, talismans, and sacred trinkets while also serving homemade meals that were simple but undeniably good, located near Younji Temple in Shinjuku.

Chapter 4: Past Meets The Present

Amane’s destination was Obachan Akie’s shop, a small, humble spot tucked between larger buildings in Shinjuku. The shop is part fortune shop, part eatery. It wasn’t flashy or modern, just a quaint, familiar space that had somehow survived the catastrophic battle that had torn through the city more than a year ago. While much of Shinjuku had been reduced to rubble, Akie’s shop had remained standing, almost miraculously untouched.

Though Akie lived in Tenkawa, she had kept the shop running for years, traveling between the quiet mountain village and the bustling city. Her family had deep spiritual roots, as one of her brothers was a monk at Mount Ōmine. Even though she lived apart from them, Akie remained deeply connected to their beliefs.

That was why she had taken Amane in so easily.

“Blessings find their way to where they’re needed,” she always said. And she believed Amane was one of those blessings.

This weekend, Amane was helping out since the usual shopkeeper had fallen ill. Her tasks were simple— tending to customers, managing the small shrine corner, and keeping the kitchen running. Keiko and her younger brother, Hinata, had stepped up to run the place after their mother fell sick. And so, Amane had made the long drive from Tenkawa to lend a hand.

By the time she arrived, it was already noon. Amane carefully backed up the truck, her hands steady on the wheel as Keiko stood behind, motioning for her to ease it in. Once parked, she turned off the engine, hopped out, and headed straight to the truck bed to start unloading the boxes.

Keiko stepped in to help, grabbing a few of the heavier ones. “How was the drive? Sorry you have to stay a little longer.”

Amane lifted a box onto her hip as they moved them to the side. “Not too bad! And don’t worry about it. You know I don’t mind helping out.” She paused, “I always love coming here. You always teach me something new in the kitchen.”

Keiko smiled as they carried more boxes inside through the back door. “Still, it’s a nuisance. The doctors are working up mom for a stroke. The fall was bad. She broke a hip.”

Amane frowned. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.” She nudged Keiko’s shoulder gently. “I’ll be here as long as you need me. Where’s Hinata?”

Keiko rolled her eyes. “That boy is probably drowning himself in cologne right now since I told him you were coming.” She let out a sigh. “Last I checked, he was taking a shower. You know he’s going to ask you to be his girlfriend one of these days, right?”

Amane chuckled, shaking her head. “Let him be. I already told him he needs to finish school first before I even consider helping him find the right girl for him. By then, he’ll probably have forgotten all about me.”

Keiko scoffed, shifting a box onto the counter. “Good luck to that. Anyway, I’ve already prepped some meals and got a few customers coming in.”

Amane clapped her hands together. “Great! I’ll get started on chopping more veggies.”

With that, they slipped into the familiar routine of the kitchen that Amane had come to learn and know so well.

****

The bell chimed as the door swung open, and a tall, white-haired man strode into the shop, followed closely by a brunette woman in a white coat.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Keiko said, nudging Amane with a grin.

“What?” Amane blinked, confused.

Keiko tilted her head toward the man. “That guy right there? That’s Satoru Gojo.”

The white-haired man, still wearing sunglasses indoors, followed the brunette to a table, where they joined another woman seated beside someone who looked like her mother. As they settled in, they casually flipped through the menu.

Amane stared at the guy, waiting for recognition to hit, but it didn’t. “And… who is Satoru Gojo?”

Keiko gasped dramatically. “You don’t know? He’s the Champion of Shinjuku! Where have you been, silly?”

Where have I been. Good question.

Amane shrugged, feigning indifference and started chopping more vegetables. “I guess I just don’t pay attention to the news nowadays.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. She had heard whispers about what happened last year— the battle, the devastation— but only in passing. The details had never fully reached her. Living in the mountains made it easy to be out of the loop, and Obāchan Akie was never one to sit in front of a television or scroll through news feeds.

Still, Amane had picked up bits and pieces simply because of the shop’s location. Even now, Shinjuku bore the scars of that fateful day. Yet amidst the destruction, life pushed forward. Reconstruction was well underway, and Younji Temple stood as a quiet beacon of resilience. With its survival, Akie’s shop had drawn even more visitors.

Satoru Gojo. The name sat heavy in Amane’s mind as she glanced at him again. For someone with such a title, he didn’t exactly look like a war hero— not in those worn-out jeans and that suspiciously well-kept leather jacket.

“Ugh, I already know he’s annoying. I mean, who even wears sunglasses indoors?” Amane huffed, aggressively chopping vegetables as she shot a glare at the man from across the room.

Her mind was racing a hundred miles a minute.

He’s trying way too hard to look cool. What is this, a T-800 cosplay? Except this model is definitely the aliexpress version. Ahh, please. If he thinks this is Hell’s Kitchen, Matt Murdock is way hotter.

Keiko, who was supposed to be helping, was instead leaning against the counter, casually nibbling on a piece of daikon.

“I bet he wouldn’t even have that title if it weren’t for the other sorcerers who helped him win.” Amane muttered, frustration evident in the way her knife slipped and utterly annihilated a piece of tofu. ”What do you think, Keiko? God, I hate him.” 

Hate? What was wrong with me? She winced internally. She didn’t even know this guy. But for some reason, the more she looked at him, the more unease prickled at her skin. Why was she suddenly so irritated? Something about him set her on edge. His presence, his name, even just the way he leaned back in his chair— it all bothered her.

That smug expression. And that smirk— god, that smirk! That was the worst part. It’s as if he owned the very air around him. I hate it!

She exhaled sharply and looked down at the counter. The tofu was, in fact, a crime scene. She scowled at it as if it had personally wronged her, then shoved it into the miso pot like nothing had happened.

Keiko, watching all of this with mild amusement, raised an eyebrow before peeking through the small opening leading to the shop’s dining area. The group was still casually flipping through the menu.

Then, she turned back to Amane, who was still mercilessly butchering the vegetables in front of her.

“Hate’s a strong word, you know.” Keiko said, smirking as she popped another piece of daikon into her mouth. “Especially for someone you don’t even know.”

Amane faltered for half a second before scoffing, tossing chopped green onions into a bowl. “I have my reasons.”

“Uh-huh. And those reasons would be…?”

Amane hesitated, her grip tightening on the knife. “I don’t know. I just… don’t like him.”

She heard herself say it and immediately realized how stupid it sounded.

Keiko, ever the observant one, simply hummed. “Weird. You’re acting like he personally wronged you in another life.”

Amane scowled. “He didn’t. And even if he did, maybe he deserved it.”

Keiko, meanwhile, was looking more amused by the second. “I mean, not that I care, but he did fight the King of Curses and save humanity. If you’re gonna irrationally hate someone, maybe pick a guy who didn’t put his life on the line for, y’know, everyone?”

Amane shrugged. “Whatever. Sounds like a him problem.”

Keiko tilted her head slightly as she studied her friend.

Amane frowned. “What?”

Keiko, still watching her closely, suddenly smirked. “Hey, you know what they say, right?”

Amane sighed. “Do I even want to know?”

Keiko grinned. “Love and hate are basically the same emotion. You haven’t stopped sneaking glances at him since they walked in.”

Amane scowled. “I HAVE NOT.”

“Right. You nearly dropped that bowl when you heard his voice.”

Amane scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t sneaking glances! I was making sure he didn’t cause trouble!”

Keiko hummed, unconvinced. “And? Did he?”

Amane grabbed the nearest towel and chucked it at her.

Keiko dodged, grinning as she peered out at the table again. “They’re getting ready to order. You take their table, I have to finish this soup.”

****

Gojo had agreed to lunch with Suki, mostly because she insisted and partly because she had specifically told him to bring Shoko along. That was fine. Shoko almost always never turned down free food, and the month-and-a-half supply of cigarettes he had bribed her with certainly helped. He figured it would be just another casual meal, maybe Suki’s way of showing off their ‘totally normal and not-at-all-questionable’ relationship or another attempt to make their arrangement feel more real or serious. Not that Gojo ever took it that way.

What Gojo did not expect was to walk into the shop and find Suki’s mother already seated at the table.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, processing.

Shoko let out a low whistle. She sauntered past him, offered a polite bow toward Suki’s mother before sliding into her seat and flipping open the menu, browsing the pages with all the enthusiasm of someone settling in to watch a juicy love drama unfold.

Gojo snapped out of his daze, barely masking his shock, before striding toward Suki and quickly leaning in to give her a kiss, more for show than anything else. Then, with his trademark shit-eating grin, he followed Shoko’s lead, offering Suki’s mother a polite bow out of respect. Internally, he was malfunctioning.

“Wow,” Shoko mused under her breath, barely looking up. “Didn’t realize we were meeting the in-laws today.”

This was exactly why Gojo didn’t do this kind of thing. Meeting parents. Sitting through uncomfortable conversations. That was way past the level of commitment he liked to maintain.

Apparently for Suki, she thought that six months of exclusively seeing each other meant it was time for this. Sure, they had been seeing each other regularly. Sure, Gojo hadn’t slept with anyone else in that time. But that was circumstantial. He didn’t do serious.

“Satoru,” Suki said, reaching for his hand. “I wanted you to meet my mother properly.”

Properly? Since when was this happening!?

Her mother gave him a small nod but was already sizing him up, looking Gojo up and down like he was a questionable investment.

“Ah,” he said, with just the right amount of warmth. “A pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.”

Gojo was already mentally strategizing his escape route while Shoko was having the time of her life.

“This is Shoko by the way,” Gojo introduced.

Suki smiled warmly at her. “Hi, I’m Suki, Satoru’s girlfriend. And this is my mother.”

Shoko’s eyes flicked to Gojo for a split second before she offered a polite nod. “I’m Shoko— his doctor friend. Suki, you should’ve warned us. Gojo would’ve at least worn something nice.”

Gojo shot her a murderous side glance but quickly recovered, turning back to Suki’s mother with his signature charming-yet-forced smile. “I was caught off guard, but this is a lovely surprise.”

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Gojo picked up the menu, flipping through it with exaggerated focus. “Alright, let’s see what’s good today.”

“I saw a few charms on the shelf. We should grab a couple and take them to the shrine later,” Suki suggested.

Gojo hummed, barely looking up. “Mmm. Love that.”

“So, Shoko,” Suki said with a curious smile, propping her chin on her hand. “What’s it like being a sorcerer? I mean, you’re not like my amazing Satoru here, right? You don’t go around fighting curses?” She glanced at her mother before continuing, “I was just telling her, I wish I had a cursed technique. Or at least could see cursed energy.”

A normal person might have given a polite, watered-down response. But Shoko was not a normal person.

She gave Suki a slow, lazy smile. “You’re right. I don’t do what… your amazing Satoru over here does,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at Gojo.

Gojo, seated beside Suki, had his glass halfway to his lips. His expression remained unreadable, but Shoko knew he was carefully deciding whether to cut her off or let her run wild and watch Suki spiral into regret.

Shoko leaned in, her tone light and casual. “I patch up sorcerers. And honestly? It’s kind of boring.”

“The real fun starts when I get to dig for answers,” she continued, her voice curling into a slow, eerie lilt, like the whisper of a scalpel slicing through flesh.

Suki, oblivious and intrigued, leaned in further. “Oh? Like detective work?”

Shoko’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “No,” she said smoothly. “Like autopsies.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing in an almost reverent tone. “Peeling back cursed flesh is nothing like a normal autopsy. The tissue fights back— writhing, clinging to itself, as if it still believes it has a right to exist.”

Then, she smirked. “But I always win.”

She tilted her head, eyes dark with amusement. “Stripping veins apart to hunt for a hidden clot— it’s like unearthing the holy grail of their existence. And then, carving out their cores, watching the tainted energy bleed out like thick, black sludge. Easily the highlight of my day.”

She sighed. “Some of them don’t even have real hearts, you know.”

“Oh, and their bowels!” She clasped her hands together. “A fascinating maze. Sometimes they still pulse with leftover malice. I like to pull them apart, see how far they unravel before they finally snap. Or I tie them into these knots, rearrange them into something artsy… until they explode—”

She mimed an explosion with her fingers. ”—like gory confetti.”

She trailed off, smiling absently into the distance, her dreamy expression carrying the detached air of Luna Lovegood.

A thick silence settled over the table. Suki’s smile faltered. She looked alarmingly pale, as if she might throw up at any second.

Across from her, her mother, who had been only half-listening moments ago, now sat perfectly still, blinking at Shoko, her polite expression now bordering on concern. Her voice remained polite but clipped as she finally spoke. “Interesting company you keep, Suki. But I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our meeting short. I have— some important errands to attend to.” She cast her daughter a pointed look before shifting her gaze to Gojo.

Then, with the composed grace of a woman about to single-handedly derail his entire afternoon, she asked without hesitation and absolutely no bullshit, “Satoru, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Gojo nearly choked. But before he could fumble his way into a vaguely diplomatic answer, something saved him. Or rather— someone.

The soft clinking of dishes drew their attention as a server stepped forward, carefully placing down more utensils and appetizers, just as Suki’s mother finished her sentence.

Gojo glanced up, half-expecting some random waitress to be his accidental hero.

But instead, he saw her. Utahime.

She stood right there in front of them— or at least, someone who looked exactly like her. The height, the dark purple hair, the sharp, rich brown eyes, the porcelain skin— all identical. Yet, something was undeniably different. The scar that had once marked her face was gone.

The resemblance was uncanny. And yet, the differences made it all the more jarring.

Gojo’s breath hitched, and Shoko’s expression froze. Neither of them moved, both staring at the woman who had somehow, impossibly, returned. She looked at them, but there was no recognition in her gaze. Just a calm, blank stare.

Meanwhile, inside Amane’s head:

Why is he staring? Is he… about to neuralyze everyone? Or is this the part where he offers me the red pill or the blue pill?

Pffffft.

She didn’t realize she had chuckled out loud until it was too late. The moment the sound escaped, she quickly schooled her expression, bowed, and muttered a hasty apology.

“Sorry, I just remembered something funny,” she said, clearing her throat a little too loudly before smoothly shifting gears. “Do you need more time with the menu, or are you ready to order?”

That voice— that familiar velvety tone, warm and steady. The one he never thought he’d hear again. Unmistakably Utahime’s. It tugged at something deep inside him, stirring the ache he had convinced himself was long buried. But in that moment, the pain he had tried so hard to ignore surged back, washing over him like a wave.

Gojo felt a sharp pang in his chest. He had no idea what to do. His mind was in turmoil, his heart an absolute wreck.

“Satoru, hon, I’m getting the lunch special. You?”

Suki’s sweet, oblivious voice pierced through his spiraling thoughts, completely unaware that the fabric of his reality had just been ripped to shreds. Gojo almost didn’t register her words. 

“And for you, sir?”

Shoko, ever the first to recover, sensed his existential crisis and casually nudged his foot under the table.

Gojo blinked, his brain still lagging several steps behind.

“Uh, I—uh…” He furrowed his brows, cleared his throat and started flipping through the menu with unnecessary aggression.

Swallowing hard, he glanced up at her again. “I’ll just get what she got,” he said, gesturing toward Suki.

“Alright.”

Amane then turned to Shoko. “And for you?”

Shoko watched her carefully. “What do you suggest? Or better yet, why don’t you guess what I’d like? And I’ll order that.”

Amane actually considered it. She studied Shoko for a moment, then hummed thoughtfully.

“The grilled mackerel with daikon, a small plate of sashimi, and…” she paused, tilting her head slightly, as if confirming her instincts, “something that pairs well with sake.”

Shoko stiffened, it was brief, just a split second of silence before she finally exhaled and leaned back. She had asked Amane to guess her order— and she had gotten it exactly right.

“Smart girl,” she mused, grinning as she lifted her glass in a mock toast. “Sounds good, I’ll take that.”

By the time Amane had finished taking everyone’s orders, she casually walked away, completely unaware of the way two pairs of eyes followed her every movement.

Suki, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening between Gojo and Shoko, casually took a bite of one of the appetizers. Her mother, just as oblivious, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, sipping her tea as if nothing was amiss.

Meanwhile, Gojo and Shoko sat frozen, both staring toward the kitchen.

His stomach twisted violently. His chest felt tight and he could hardly breathe. The image of her face kept flashing in his mind. It wasn’t just the resemblance; it was the feeling of recognition, like his heart and mind had immediately linked her presence to Utahime.

Shoko wasn’t faring much better. Her gaze locked on the same spot, her expression unreadable but undeniably shaken.

Gojo couldn’t take it anymore. He could feel the overwhelming pressure rising in his chest.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, his voice low, slightly shaky. “I need to use the restroom.”

Without waiting for a response, he shoved his chair back and stood abruptly, striding toward the back of the restaurant. He just needed a moment to get up, breathe, and gather his thoughts.

Suki glanced up with a slight frown. “You okay, hon?” she asked. But Gojo was already out of earshot.

He stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the sink’s edge tightly as he stared at his reflection. Get it together, Satoru! He yanked off his sunglasses and turned on the faucet, watching the water rush out, the sound filling his ears like white noise. He cupped his hands under the stream, splashing the cool water onto his face— anything to shake himself out of whatever delusion he’d been trapped in.

Was he going to react like this every single time he saw someone who looked like her?

The thought made his stomach twist. He hated how weak it made him feel, how his body still betrayed him at just the resemblance.

She died. Last year.

His grip on the sink tightened. She was gone. He had seen it with his own eyes. And yet, there she was, except not. No cursed energy, nothing to suggest she was anything other than an ordinary person.

Gojo let out a slow, unsteady breath, his fingers pressing into the porcelain. “Fuck, I need those meds,” he muttered under his breath.

He stood there, water dripping from his face. Pull yourself together. Move on.

But how?

How could he, when every corner of his life seemed to drag him back into that same loss? When he couldn’t even escape her face, even on someone else?

Gojo lifted his head, meeting his reflection once more. His eyes hardened, his jaw clenched. He could feel it, deep in his chest— the weight of everything he hadn’t let himself process. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t processed it. He’d buried it. Under missions, distractions— anything to keep himself moving forward. But now, it was right in front of him, staring him down, and he couldn’t run from it anymore.

With a shaky breath, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face before tossing it aside. He straightened, forced his body to move, to step away from the sink and out of his own head. He couldn’t hide in here forever.

Gojo stepped into the hallway, his thoughts still spiraling in a hundred different directions. His gaze flicked toward the small dining area, to the kitchen, but there was no sign of her. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

Then, he heard her voice again.

His body moved of its own accord, drawn by the familiar sound. He followed her voice through the small shop, past the tables, to the back door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it open, and there she was, standing with her phone, her back on him as she spoke.

“Yes, Obachan, I’ll see you in a few days. Everything’s fine… Yes… Hinata helps a lot, he’s a good kid...” She chuckled lightly.

Gojo’s chest tightened painfully. Utahime?

His hand moved before his mind even had time to catch up and he couldn’t stop himself. He reached out, his fingers brushing the air between them, almost as if to confirm this was real.

But as soon as she turned around, their eyes met. A flicker of recognition flashed across her face, but then came the shift. Shock. Fear. Then, anger.

Before Gojo could utter a single word, she drove her knee straight into his groin.

Pain exploded through him like a cursed technique aimed straight at his soul. He barely managed a strangled curse between gritted teeth. “Ow—fuck—damn woman!”

“Pervert!” she snapped, stepping back as Gojo doubled over, wheezing.

Still hunched over, clutching himself in agony, he struggled to form a coherent response.

“If you think you can just corner women whenever you want—” her voice was sharp, unwavering, “you’ve messed with the wrong one!” Her eyes blazed. “I’m not weak!”

Through the searing pain, Gojo found himself grinning. Even now, he couldn’t help it. He straightened, still gingerly holding himself, and raised both hands in mock surrender, biting back the chuckle threatening to escape.

This woman— everything about her, from the way she moved to the fire in her words, was too damn familiar. The voice, the stance, the sharp bite of her temper.

It was almost like the universe was fucking with him.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, she glared at him. “What the hell are you smiling about?”

“Nothing… I just remembered something funny,” he muttered, still grinning despite himself.

Her scowl deepened. “If you try anything again,” she warned, her voice sharp, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Before Gojo could say another word, a voice rang out behind him.

“Hey, hey, my bad!”

Shoko strolled in casually. “Sorry about him. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s harmless.” She shot Gojo a pointed look, one that all but screamed What the hell are you doing?

Amane didn’t look convinced. Her posture remained tense.

Shoko kept her tone calm and reassuring. “We’re really sorry. He’s not usually like this, honestly. You just caught him at a… really bad time.”

Gojo, still wincing, cautiously rubbed his groin.

Amane’s expression remained skeptical. “That’s… an understatement.”

Shoko sighed through her nose, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “Here,” she said, offering it. “I’m Dr. Ieiri. If you need anything— compensation for the trouble Gojo caused, just let me know.”

Gojo turned to Amane. “I’m sorry— what’s your name?”

Amane just stared at him.

“Right. Cool,” he muttered, grimacing. “Anyway, I swear, I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Shoko deadpanned. Then, with a glance back at Amane, she added dryly, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid. Thank you for not kicking him harder.”

Amane huffed, eyeing them both warily. She still looked unconvinced, but her shoulders eased a fraction.

Shoko elbowed Gojo in the side before the two of them dipped into a deep, formal bow, their apologies synchronized.

“We’re very sorry for the trouble,” Shoko said smoothly.

Gojo followed, his voice a bit more strained, “Deepest apologies.”

Amane crossed her arms but seemed slightly appeased. “Just keep him in check.” Then she turned away, muttering something under her breath as she walked off, still clearly irritated but less hostile. Shoko then turned back to Gojo, arms folded with a raised eyebrow.

“Seriously, Gojo, you’re so dumb sometimes. Anytime you see a Utahime look-alike, you’re just gonna turn off your Infinity?”

“I—” he started, then faltered. “I don’t know. Everything… it just messed with my head. She looked just like—”

“I don’t care who she looked like.” Shoko cut him off, exasperated. “If you’re gonna spiral every time someone reminds you of her, you’re never gonna get anywhere. You need to deal with this properly. And turning off your Infinity? That’s just asking for trouble.”

She exhaled, already heading for the door. “I gotta go. You should get your girlfriend back in there. Her mother left already. Mission accomplished, I suppose.”

Then, with a smirk, she added, “Oh, and by the way? Suki might actually think you’re cheating on her— what with you standing here, all flustered over someone who looks exactly like your dead ex. Well, not technically your ex, but close enough.”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got that shrine date, right? Just let her exorcise Utahime out of your system… since you clearly need it.”

Gojo just stared at her, half-dazed from the conversation, still processing everything that had just happened.  

“Call me later, Gojo.” Shoko didn’t wait for him to respond. With that, she walked out, leaving Gojo standing there, flustered but also oddly relieved.

On his way back inside, Hinata— 15, angry, 5’6” in shoes but thinks he’s 6’4”— materialized in front of him, blocking his path like an NPC about to force him into an unwanted side quest. The teenage whirlwind of emotions was currently glaring up at him.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Uh… you good, kid?”

Hinata inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. The emotional weight pressing down on him was almost comical— his idol, his role model, Satoru Gojo, was now his sworn nemesis. He radiated like a miniature sun of pure resentment, burning with the fiery intensity of an anime side character who just discovered the main protagonist had stolen his love interest.

Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his phone.

“Selfie.”

Gojo blinked. “What?”

“Selfie.” Hinata repeated, more aggressively this time.

Gojo, too confused to argue, shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

Click.

And then, immediately after, Hinata squared up, eyes blazing, voice low and sharp.

“Amane-nee-san is off-limits.” He declared with the confidence of a shonen protagonist about to unlock a new power level.

Gojo blinked. “Huh?”

“She’s mine.”

Gojo blinked again. “I’m sorry, what?”

Hinata doubled down.

“I don’t care if you’re the strongest or if you saved humanity.” His voice was steady, firm, filled with unwavering pure middle-school angst.

Hinata stepped back, dramatic as hell.

And then, with the weight of a thousand past warriors, he lifted two fingers, pointed to his own eyes, then pointed right at Gojo.

“I’m. Watching. You.”

Gojo was so taken aback. Then he smirked, “Noted.”

Hinata nodded in satisfaction, then spun around and disappeared into the kitchen.

Gojo exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, watching this pint-sized intimidation attempt unfold, as he struggled to keep a straight face.

****

Younji Temple, nestled in the heart of Shinjuku, was steeped in history and mysticism. With its deep ties to the famed kabuki legend Yotsuya Kaidan and its reputation for severing toxic ties, it had become a place for those seeking closure, hoping to move on from past loves and welcome new, positive connections.

Suki and Gojo were standing before one of the temple’s prayer stations. Sensing his detachment, Suki held Gojo affectionately by the arm, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Satoru,” Suki murmured softly. “I think this will help you. Will help us.”

She looked up warmly at him. “I’m here now. You’re here. We make each other happy, and— I feel like this can make our bond stronger too. Let’s just try, okay? Who knows, it might work, and you’ll be free of her.”

She paused, her voice softening as she held out the wooden prayer plaque. “Here. Are you ready?”

“Free of her,” the words echoed in his mind. Was he ready to let go? He’d spent so long pushing down the grief and the memories, that now he was unsure if he was even capable of truly letting go. Was he really ready to be free of Utahime?

He didn’t believe in things like this. He was a jujutsu sorcerer. His world was built on tangible power, on technique and cursed energy, not on wishes tied to wooden plaques. And yet, as he stood there, watching Suki’s faith in the process, a small, disconcerting thought crept in. What if it actually worked?

The thought was unsettling and the image of the woman at the shop made it even harder. The pain in his chest flared up again as the thought of her nagged at him. And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he was ready for that.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could find the words, his phone rang.

Relief flooded through him, and for once, he silently thanked the heavens for handing him an escape.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, already stepping back, eyes locked on the screen. “I have a mission.” His voice was tight, strained.

Without waiting for a response, he pressed the phone to his ear, turned on his heel, and strode away at a brisk pace.

Suki stood there, stunned, still clutching the plaque in her hand. “Call me?—”

But Gojo didn’t look back. Her voice faded into the background as his mind spiraled elsewhere. The woman at the shop, the one who looked so much like Utahime. How could he just let go?

****

Amane lay in her bed that night, tossing and turning. She couldn’t shake the image of him from her mind. Satoru Gojo. His eyes. His voice. There was something so familiar about him that stirred deep within her. The moment their eyes met made her heart race unexpectedly. It was as though their souls recognized one another.

But when she kicked him, the contact had triggered a strange shock through her chest. The strange pull she felt was unsettling, but also… comforting. But Obachan Akie’s words echoed in her mind. “Be careful my child. Don’t trust anyone too easily.” The warning had been clear. And Amane had always been careful. Trusting people never came easily to her, for good reason.

She turned on her side, rubbing her arms, trying to shake off the strange emotions. She reached down absentmindedly, scratching at an itch on her stomach—until her fingers brushed against something strange. Her movements stilled.

There, just beneath her fingertips, was a faint streak of red, barely noticeable, like the ghost of an old scar. It stretched across her skin in a thin, uneven line, subtle yet distinct, as if something was slowly taking shape beneath the surface.

She shrugged it off, muttering to herself, “It’s probably nothing.”

Unbeknownst to her, the connection between them was stronger than she could comprehend. With every step she took closer to the man who shared a fragment of her being, the part of her that had been lost— the missing piece of her soul— slowly began to return.

Across the city, Gojo stood before his bathroom mirror, towel-drying his damp hair. His mind refused to settle, the day’s events playing on an endless loop. No matter how hard he tried to push it aside, the woman at the shop lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face, until a phantom sting ghosted across his right cheek. It was fleeting, warm, electric. Then, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

According to the myths, the Rift had never been meant to preserve the soul of the one who activated it. And yet, against all reason, hers had survived.

But this wasn’t the universe restoring balance. It was an anomaly— one existence was never meant to allow.

And if even the laws of reality had no answer for what had happened to them, then what would come next?

Chapter 5: Confrontations

Notes:

Sorry for not updating sooner. Thank you for your patience, as always. :)

Gojo stood at the gate for a long time before ringing the bell. He almost turned back twice.

Utahime’s mother was the one who answered. She hadn’t changed much, same long braid black purple hair, same quiet elegance.

“Gojo-san,” she said, calm but cautious. “We didn’t expect…”

“I know... I’m sorry, I should’ve come sooner,” he said softly, tugging at his sleeve. “I just… didn’t know what to say.”

He looked more like a lost boy than the strongest sorcerer alive— hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.

She stepped aside and let him in without another word.

The house was quiet, lived-in. A little darker than he remembered from the one time he’d walked Utahime home after a mission they’d done together— half-teasing, half-worried, when she’d twisted her ankle. That night, she’d threatened to punch him if he told anyone.

A photo of Utahime smiled at him from the wall. She looked younger, maybe fifteen, wearing her training uniform, hair in those familiar pigtails he’d seen a hundred times before. She was holding up a cursed tool like it was a trophy.

He looked away.

Her father came in a few minutes later, slower now, a limp in his right leg. They exchanged a quiet bow. No one really knew what to say.

Her mother offered a faint, polite smile as she poured tea between them.

“You two were… always fighting, weren’t you?” Her mother’s voice was light, but her eyes were sharp.

Gojo gave a small, crooked smile. “More like… she fought. I annoyed.”

Her father snorted quietly at that.

“She thought I was an asshole. I made fun of her all the time.”

There was a pause. Her mother folded her hands. “She always talked about you.”

Gojo looked up.

“She said you were arrogant,” she added, and he smiled at that.

“…but kind. Trustworthy. And that you made her feel safe.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His smile faded.

“I didn’t come here to pretend I knew her better than you,” Gojo muttered. “I didn’t come to be forgiven. I just wanted to say she mattered. To me. More than I ever said.”

Her mother’s expression softened, but it was her father who stood and stepped out for a moment. When he returned, he held a small, lacquered cedar box in his hands and set it down in front of Gojo. “She’d want you to have it.”

Gojo looked at it, confused, then slowly opened the lid.

His breath caught. He recognized it immediately.

His blindfold— no. Her bow. That soft white cloth he’d given her after she came back scarred and silent from the mission. She’d flinched when she saw herself in the mirror. So he wrapped it gently, tied it behind her head, and said, “Now you look like a warrior priestess. The prettiest kind.” She’d rolled her eyes, but she kept it.

Gojo’s hand hovered over it, then closed slowly around the bow, thumb tracing the soft, worn threads.

“She told me once… that when she wore it, it was like wearing an armor,” her mother murmured. “Said it used to belong to someone stronger than her.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard. “She never told me that.”

“She wouldn’t have,” her mother said with a smile. “She was too proud.”

“She said,” her mother continued, “that when she wore it, it felt like someone was watching her back. She never said your name, but I’m her mother. I know.”

Gojo stared at it. The weight in his chest grew unbearable. Finally, he stood, bowed deeply.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

Her father shook his head. “She didn’t need saving. She made a choice. So did you. That’s what being a sorcerer means.”

Outside, the sky was beginning to darken. Gojo stepped beneath the plum trees, the cedar box still clutched to his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself breathing a little easier.

****

“Are you seriously ignoring me? I’ve been calling you all goddamn day! Since Friday!”

Gojo was halfway through buttoning up his shirt in the living room when Suki stormed into his apartment. He shut the door behind her calmly, already bracing himself for the conversation he knew was coming.

She paced ahead of him, heels clicking furiously on the marble floor as she made a beeline for his bedroom, like it belonged to her. Maybe it did.

Gojo followed her. She turned around, arms folded tight across her chest. “You didn’t even call me back once. I’ve been trying to reach you nonstop.”

“I know. I saw the calls,” he admitted. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just— tired.” It sounded pathetic, even to him.

“Bullshit,” she spat. “You always say that when you’re pulling away. You’ve been distant for weeks— don’t pretend this is new! Is it because I took you to the shrine? Is it about my mother? Is that what scared you off?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded. “You said we were okay. You said—” Her voice faltered, just slightly. “Do you remember when you asked me about my plans? My dreams? Well, this was it. You were it. I’ve dreamed about this my whole life. About you— about us. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to make this work.”

She drew in a shaky breath, pressing on. “When we get married, I can finally retire. Be a good wife. Take care of you the way I’m supposed to. The way you deserve—”

He hesitated, then met her eyes. “Suki… I think we need to talk. Really talk. About us.”

That was all it took. Her expression froze. Then slowly, like a storm cloud curling at the edges, her face began to shift— hurt warping into disbelief, disbelief turning into denial.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, you’re just tired. That’s all. You’ve been on back-to-back missions— I know how that messes with you.”

“Suki—”

“Are the sessions not frequent enough?” she cut in. “I’ll rearrange everything. We’ll add another hour, another day— whatever you need.”

“I can’t.”

She stepped toward him slowly. “Honey, come on. Let me help you relax,” she murmured, smiling, reaching up to trace her fingers along his jaw. “Let me do what I always do.”

Her hand slid to his collar, beginning to undo the first button.

“I know how to take care of you. Just how you like it, hmm?” she whispered, sultry. “You said I’m the only one who satisfies you, remember?”

Gojo caught her wrist— firm, but not harsh.

“Suki. Stop.” He exhaled sharply, locking eyes with her. “We can’t do this anymore.”

The words landed heavy, and final. For a moment, there was silence.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

She yanked her wrist free, taking a step back. “So that’s it?” she snapped. “After everything? After everything we’ve done?”

“Suki, we crossed a line,” he said quietly. “We both did.”

“Oh, don’t you dare pull that noble guilt act on me now,” she hissed. “You knew what you were doing when you fucked me in my office.” 

Gojo’s jaw tightened. “And I’m not pretending I didn’t. But this… it’s not working.”

Her face contorted. “What’s not working? Us? Or you hiding how fucked up you really are?” She stepped closer. “You sure as hell weren’t confused when you were inside me.”

He winced. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Too real for you, Satoru?” Her voice was rising now, biting. “You loved it. You loved how I made you forget. So don’t act like I seduced some poor broken man. You weren’t just my patient.”

She stepped closer, her voice almost possessive.

“You were mine. You still are.”

“You were my doctor—“

“And you never want to talk, Satoru!” Suki’s laugh was unhinged. “You never tell me anything! I’m supposed to be the one person who understands you. I’m your psychiatrist, for fuck’s sake!”

“That’s the problem,” he snapped. “You were supposed to be my therapist. And now you’re in my bed. That was a mistake.”

Suki recoiled like he slapped her. Then something caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to the white bow folded neatly on his nightstand. She lunged for it, snatching it up like it burned her fingers.

“This,” she hissed, holding the bow between two fingers like it was something filthy. “Whose is this? Did you bring another woman home?”

Gojo froze the moment he saw it in her hands.

“Suki. Put it down.”

“Well?!” Her eyes narrowed, voice sharp with accusation.

He swallowed, jaw tightening. Then, finally— “It’s Utahime’s,” he said.

Her hand dropped. She smiled darkly. “Oh, Utahime,” she spat, the name like venom on her tongue. “Of course. That dead fucking woman’s been living in your head since the day I met you.”

She held up the bow again. “Is this your twisted idea of love? Holding onto a dead woman’s hair ribbon while fucking someone else?”

Gojo closed his eyes. “It used to be mine. I gave it to her.”

Suki’s face twisted. “She’s dead. You said so yourself. She’s not coming back. But I’m here. I’m alive. I’ve given you everything.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why isn’t that enough?”

Gojo just looked at her, eyes hollow. He didn’t say anything. 

“You are insane,” she whispered. She shook the bow at him. “You can’t even look at me without seeing her, can you?”

He took a breath. Then another. Then finally said, “You’re right.”

Suki’s mouth opened, stunned, not expecting him to agree.

“I shouldn’t have slept with you,” he continued. “That was my mistake. I knew I wasn’t ready. I knew I was grieving. I used you as a distraction, and I let you believe it meant more than it did. The truth is probably I didn’t want to feel anything. Not for her. Not for you. I thought if I just kept moving, it’d all blur together.”

His voice shook. “But it didn’t. I still see her when I close my eyes.”

Her expression cracked. Her eyes were glassy, furious and she was trembling. “And you still let me take care of you?” she hissed. “You kept coming back, letting this go on again and again?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Gojo said, “but I did. That’s on me.”

”I gave you everything, Satoru. I gave you my time, my body. I risked my license— my career— to make you happy. You’re backing out after I let you in? After everything I did for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do any of that,” he said, voice low.

“You didn’t have to,” she snapped. Then she laughed bitterly. “God forbid someone actually tries to love you. You wanted this. You used me. And I fixed you. I gave you peace.”

“No,” Gojo said, voice colder now. “You gave me escape. And I took it because I was broken. That’s not the same.”

“You were selfish! You were supposed to need me. And you did. Until you didn’t.”

“I still need help. Just not like this.”

“I saved you.”

“You patched up a wound and slept with it.”

She slapped him. He didn’t flinch. Her breathing was erratic now. “You never loved me!”

“No.”

Suki shook her head slowly. “You ungrateful—“ Her eyes flared and glistened with unshed tears, fury tangled with heartbreak. For a moment, she looked like she might shatter.

“You’re nothing without her, you know that? Broken. The strongest sorcerer in the world reduced to this. You’re pathetic.”

Gojo didn’t deny it. “I know.”

“You think anyone else is going to love you once they find out how broken you are?”

Gojo didn’t say anything. She stared at him, searching for some sign of remorse, but he didn’t fight back. He just stood there.

Then she dropped the bow on the floor like it disgusted her.

“She’ll never love you again, Satoru. She’s dead. She’s rotting in wherever the fuck she is while you keep chasing ghosts. I hope she haunts you.”

And with that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. 

“She already does,” he whispered.

Gojo stood there in silence. Then, finally, he knelt and picked up the bow. He dropped onto the bed and laid back, one arm draped over his eyes. The weight of everything— not just the relationship, but what it revealed about him— settled heavy in his chest.

He wasn’t the victim. He wasn’t the villain. He was just hollow. And he was alone. Again.

****

The city sprawled below in quiet and endless golden lights. Shoko lit a cigarette with one hand and barely glanced over when she heard the soft tap of footsteps behind her.

Gojo didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the railing next to her, hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were darker tonight.

“You look like shit,” she muttered, exhaling smoke.

“I deserve that,” he said.

She glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t one of your midnight ramen runs, is it? What’d you do?”

He hesitated. Then exhaled finally. “She’s angry. I ended it tonight.”

“Was it bad?” Shoko asked dryly.

Gojo gave a humorless laugh. “It was overdue.”

Shoko was quiet for a moment.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she finally muttered. “I told you she was crazy. And this is a goddamn disaster.”

“I know,” he said again. “I’m not here for a lecture.”

“No, you’re here because you’ve got nowhere else to go. And you know I won’t throw you out.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Shoko took out another cigarette, lit it, and handed it to him without a word. He took it.

They stood like that for a while. Two friends, burnt-out and broken in different ways, sharing smoke under a quiet sky.

Finally, Gojo looked out at the city again, and murmured, “I think I’m more lost than I thought.”

“You’ve been lost for a while,” she said softly. “You’re just finally admitting it.”

He laughed bitterly. “You ever look in the mirror and wonder how far you’ve drifted from the person you thought you’d be at twenty?”

Shoko lit a cigarette. “Every morning.”

Gojo exhaled, long and quiet. “It wasn’t just about missing someone. I liked the illusion of love, the comfort of touch, the way she made me feel like I’m just a man. The sex made it easier to pretend it was real. I know it was all bullshit, but god, I needed that lie. And I liked that she’d listen.”

“Even if it was her job?”

“Especially because it was her job,” he said. “I didn’t have to give more than I wanted to. She filled in the blanks.”

“Until you couldn’t fake it anymore.”

He nodded.

Shoko stared at him through the smoke. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Maybe I keep ruining shit on purpose. Maybe I want to suffer a little. I keep chasing traces of her in all the wrong people— like I’m desperate to feel her even if it’s a fucking lie. Or maybe the universe is just a cruel bitch that gets off on fucking with me. Keeps dressing up strangers in her skin just to watch me fall apart all over again.”

“Is this about the girl in Shinjuku?” she asked. 

He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know who she is. But when I saw her… I felt everything again, Shoko. It sucks. God, it really fucking sucks.” 

“And you know what’s pathetic?” he continued, voice barely audible, like he was trying to keep it even. “Utahime’s not even mine. Never was.”

He let out a slow breath, but it trembled on the exhale. His chest was moving too fast now, and he clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. He tried to open his mouth again, nothing came out, just another sharp, unsteady breath.

Just then, Shoko smiled. “I like this version of you— raw, unfiltered. When you’re hurting.”

Gojo let out a tired breath of a laugh. “Guess I came to the right place, then.”

“Go take a shower,” she said. “Crash on the couch if you want. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”

“…Thanks, Shoko.”

“You know,” he added as he followed her inside, voice softer, more cheerful now, “you really should be my therapist.”

Notes:

Don’t worry. Gojohime will appear in the next chapter.

Chapter 6: Fated Encounters

Gojo and Shoko strolled through the school gates, side by side.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Shoko asked, hands tucked into her coat pockets as they neared the entrance.

“No big plans,” Gojo said, stretching. “Sleeping in was the move. I feel better. Lighter, even.” He glanced at her. “Oh— remind me to replace your cereal. That stuff was actually good.”

He peeled off, veering toward the east wing.

“Alright. You know where to find me,” Shoko called after him. Then, as he turned the corner, she added, “And Gojo—”

He paused, glancing back.

“One step at a time, okay? You’re doing great.”

He smiled, “Thanks, Sho.”

In the classroom, Nobara groaned the moment he walked in. “Finally! You’re three hours late.”

Yuji perked up. “Sensei! Please tell me we’re not watching another movie. Can we go on a mission already? We need action!”

Megumi didn’t even look up from his book.

“Lucky for you three, I actually have something lined up,” Gojo said, rifling through a stack of mission folders. He pulled one out and flipped it open, flicking casually. “Let’s see… Tokyo Metropolitan Hiroo Hospital in Shibuya... People have gone missing. Shadow sightings… Creepy stuff. They shut down the oncology wing— 4C.”

Yuji blinked. “Wait… like, ghost ward spooky?”

“What grade curses?” Nobara asked.

“Somewhere between grade 2 and 3,” Gojo replied.

Yuji slumped. “This is child’s play.”

“Exactly,” Gojo said without missing a beat. “Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s all part of your training. And your grading.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. I need shopping money anyway.”

Megumi stood, wordlessly slipping in his earbuds and heading for the door.

“Oi, Megumi,” Gojo called after him.

Megumi paused, glancing back with a raised brow.

“After the mission… swing by my apartment. Let’s talk, yeah?”

Megumi held his gaze for a second, unreadable. Then, he sighed and gave a short nod, “Okay.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the hall, Yuji and Nobara trailing close behind.

****

That same morning, Amane stepped out of the shop carrying a neatly wrapped bento in a bag. She was on her way to visit Keiko’s mother at the hospital. Keiko had asked if she could drop off lunch and sit with her mother while she ran errands. Amane had immediately agreed. It was the least she could do.

Tokyo Metropolitan Hiroo Hospital stood tall and gleaming on a serene Shinanomachi street. Despite its modern exterior and the warmth of the staff, something about the place made Amane uneasy. 

She greeted the security guard at the entrance with a polite nod before checking Keiko’s message: “Mom’s on the 6th floor. Room 612.” Then she headed toward the elevators.

As the doors slid open and she stepped inside, a faint, but strange sensation washed over her. A slight pressure formed at the back of her head, then a flicker of warmth pulsed at the center of her chest, followed by a tingling in her fingertips. She blinked, steadying herself against the elevator wall. What was that?

Before she could make sense of it, the doors began to close, just as a young girl slipped in silently at the last second. Her head was bowed, hair long and dark, hiding her face. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

Amane blinked. “Hi… where are your parents? …Are you lost?”

The girl didn’t respond. Amane reached to stop the elevator, intending to walk her back to the help desk, but the doors had already shut. The girl silently pressed the button for the 4th floor.

Amane hesitated, but offered a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I’ll just walk with you.”

When the doors opened, she instantly knew something was off. The fourth floor was dim, eerily quiet. There were no nurses. No voices. No patients in sight. It was unsettling.

She glanced down the hallway. The girl was already walking ahead, feet padding silently across the linoleum floor.

“Wait— hold on, sweetie. Let’s go back downstairs,” Amane tried again gently, stepping out after the girl.

The child ignored her and walked steadily toward the end of the hallway. Amane followed cautiously.

The girl turned at the end of the hall and entered one of the rooms.

“Hey, you really shouldn’t be—” Amane reached out.

The door clicked shut behind her. The girl stopped, standing motionless at the center of the room. And then, the illusion broke. Her face contorted grotesquely, and her neck snapped sideways with a loud snap.

In seconds, her form split into three identical curses— lurching malformed creatures with elongated fingers, jerking toward Amane like broken marionettes.

Amane’s scream tore through the air. In pure panic, she stumbled back, reaching for anything— her bento bag, vials, IV poles— hurling them blindly as the curses lunged. Her heart raced as she ran, still screaming, throwing whatever she could get her hands on. But the creatures kept coming.

Just as one of the curses lunged, a flurry of white rabbits exploded through the door, tackling the creature. Megumi stormed in, hands forming into seals. Yuji was next, delivering a clean punch that sent one curse flying. Nobara followed, landing a direct hammer-and-nail strike through the final one’s head.

The curses shrieked, then burst into a spray of black mist, dissolving into nothing.

Nobara brushed a strand of hair from her face, adjusting her eye mask. “Seriously? This was a grade 2 at best. Maybe 2.5. He sent us for this?”

Amane, still panicked, spun around and flung another tray, missing Yuji by inches.

“Whoa— hey!” Yuji yelped, ducking. “It’s okay! We’re here to help!”

“She’s still in panic mode,” Nobara muttered. “Relax, lady. We just saved you—”

Amane tried to bolt again, only to run straight into Megumi, who caught her by the waist to keep her from crashing into the wall. “Okay— okay, stop—” he started.

“Don’t touch me—!” she screamed, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the energy drained from her all at once. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into his arms, eyes rolling back as she passed out, like a fainting goat.

Yuji blinked. “Did she just—?”

“She did,” Nobara said flatly. “Wow.”

“Uh…” Yuji blinked. “Dude. She kinda looks like…”

“…Utahime-sensei?” Megumi whispered quietly, staring down at her. 

“Holy shit. She really does look like Utahime-sensei,” Nobara said, frowning. 

A minute later, Amane jolted awake with a sharp gasp. The first thing she saw were unfamiliar faces hovering over her— three teenagers, wide-eyed and stunned. And then her gaze locked on Megumi’s. She shrieked, slapping him across the face.

“Get away! Don’t touch me!” she shouted, yanking herself free and scrambling away.

Megumi winced and stepped back, hands raised. “You fainted. I caught you.”

She grabbed whatever she could (again) and started chucking it in their direction.

Megumi sidestepped calmly. His rabbit shikigami casually intercepted every object midair.

Yuji blinked. “She throws like you, Nobara.”

“Say that again and I’ll nail your face to the wall,” Nobara muttered.

Then suddenly, the dim hallway flickered back to life. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The floor looked normal again.

Megumi tried again, gentler this time. “Ma’am, it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re jujutsu sorcerers. That curse is gone now.”

Amane remained frozen, still heaving, eyes wide like she was trying to decide if they were real or just another part of the nightmare. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna turn into… into that thing too?”

“If we were curses, we would’ve eaten you by now,” Nobara said flatly. “So let’s wrap this up, guys!” she turned to the two boys. “Let’s go tell the manager we’re done. They can handle the rest.”

Then glancing down at Amane, she added, “Also— are you treating us to lunch or what? We did just save your ass.”

“Nobara!” Yuji snapped, mortified. He bowed quickly. “I apologize, ma’am. Please ignore her. We don’t expect compensation. We’re not that kind of sorcerers.”

Megumi wasn’t listening. He was still staring at Amane, eyes slightly narrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Can I…” he began awkwardly, “Can I get your contact info? It’s uh— for the mission report, I mean.”

Yuji and Nobara both turned to stare at him.

“Dude,” Yuji said under his breath, suspicious. “We know she’s pretty, but she could be your mom already.”

“Excuse me?!” Amane snapped, standing quickly and brushing off her jeans. “I am not that old, thank you very much.”

“No, no—!” Megumi blushed, waving his hands. “You’ve got the wrong idea!” 

Yuji and Nobara exchanged a look and just stared at him.

“That’s not—just—ugh. Forget it.” Megumi was already walking away, red in the face, and clearly done. The two mess-keteers, Yuji and Nobara, trailed behind him, snickering.

“Wait— Don’t leave me alone!” Amane suddenly blurted, grabbing the sleeves of both Yuji and Megumi’s shirts.

As they made their way back to the elevator, the sight was almost comedic: The four of them walking stiffly down the corridor, except Amane was clinging tightly to Yuji and Megumi on either side like lifelines, sandwiching herself between them, while Nobara followed behind with her arms crossed and an arched brow.

“The curses are gone, Miss,” Megumi said dryly. “You can let go now.”

“No,” Amane replied weakly. “Not until I’m outside,” then—

“Shit!” Amane suddenly stopped and gasped. “The bento bag!”

She clutched her head. “I threw it at the curse, didn’t I?!”

Then, without missing a beat, she turned to them. “Actually, walk me to the 6th floor first. Then you can leave.”

She said it with such authority that for a moment, Yuji and Megumi instinctively straightened like students being scolded by a teacher.

“…Yes, ma’am,” Yuji mumbled. Nobara just groaned. 

The four of them made their way upstairs. From where the trio waited outside room 612, they could see Amane bowing deeply to Keiko’s mother, apologizing and clearly checking on her well-being. Despite the chaos she’d just survived, her tone was warm and her smile sincere.

When she returned and gently closed the door behind her, she looked at the three teenagers, more calmly this time.

“Thank you. All of you,” she said, bowing slightly. “I really mean it. For saving me back there.”

“You’re good kids,” Amane added, smiling softly. “Your parents must be really proud.”

The three of them went oddly quiet.

If the trio shared one thing, it was this: none of them had parents. At least, not anymore. What they had instead was loss, responsibility, and a bond not born of blood, but forged in battle and held together by the unspoken understanding only sorcerers know.

Amane didn’t notice the shift in their expressions. She was still smiling kindly. “I owe you. The least I can do is make you a proper meal— maybe for your families too?”

Before anyone could respond, Nobara snapped her fingers like a lightbulb had flicked on above her head. “I have a bright idea,” she said with a sly grin.

Amane blinked, amused. “Alright…?”

“Yes, actually. You should meet our guardian,” Nobara said, drawing out the word with exaggerated emphasis and wiggling her eyebrows pointedly at Yuji.

Yuji tilted his head, utterly clueless. “Huh?”

“You know…” Nobara continued, all too cheerfully. “Thank him personally for training us so well.”

Then it clicked. Yuji’s eyes widened. “Oh! You mean sensei?”

“No need,” Megumi cut in, deadpan. “He’s barely home anyway.”

“He travels a lot for work,” Nobara added, far too casually.

Megumi was already turning to leave. “We’re done here. Please take care of yourself.”

He started walking without waiting for a response.

Nobara lingered for a moment longer, slipping Amane a small piece of paper. She leaned in and whispered, “He’ll be home tonight. Our guardian. You could… drop off dinner?”

Then she winked and sauntered after the boys.

Amane stood there blinking, looking down at the address in her hand.

“…Drop off dinner?” she repeated to herself.

****

The setting sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Gojo’s office, casting long streaks of gold across the hardwood floor. The usual clutter sat untouched on his desk.

Megumi stood stiffly in the doorway.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked.

Gojo didn’t look up right away. He was seated behind his desk, his gaze distant.

“I visited her grave,” he said quietly. “Utani Honbyo.”

Megumi’s expression shifted. He stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind him.

“I’ve been going too. Left flowers last week. The weeds were already growing back. Rain’s been rough.”

Gojo exhaled. “You know what I miss? That quiet she carried with her. Even when she was yelling.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Maybe that was part of her technique. I never did figure it out.”

Megumi leaned against a side cabinet, arms crossed. “She didn’t need a cursed technique. She could just make people listen.”

“I’m sorry,” Gojo said at last. “For how I acted after she… after she was gone. I wasn’t fair to anyone.”

Megumi didn’t respond right away. He stared at the window, the gold light painting lines across the floor. “Do you miss her?” he asked quietly.

Gojo’s voice came softly. “Every goddamn day.”

Megumi dropped his eyes. “I saw someone who looked like her. A few days ago. And again today. My brain knew it wasn’t her, but grief doesn’t care.”

He sighed, then continued. “Someone once said it’s like glitter. You throw a handful in the air. Try to clean it up. But you still find it later, stuck in the corners.”

Gojo smiled faintly. “She smiled at me, you know. Right before the Rift took her. I think… she died without regrets.”

Megumi let the silence stretch before finally saying, “Love makes you weak.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

“…That’s what I used to think,” Megumi went on, quieter. “When they used Tsumiki against me… Clinging to her made me reckless. And blind. I was… just scared to let her go.”

Gojo gave a bitter laugh. “Tell me about it. It’s the reason I hesitated. When they sealed me. That half-second was all they needed. I saw my bestfriend’s face and… I faltered.”

They sat in that shared understanding of how the people they loved had been turned against them, used as bait or leverage to break them.

But then Gojo added, more softly, “But maybe… maybe it’s why I came back. Why I fought. Why I’m still here.”

Megumi’s gaze flicked up to him.

“Love made us vulnerable,” Gojo said. “But it’s what makes us human. We lose people, and it destroys us. But it also gives us something to protect.”

Megumi exhaled. “It also made us strong. Because if it didn’t matter, we wouldn’t still be standing.”

Gojo looked at him. “Still standing,” he echoed, with a hint of a smile, bittersweet.

Ding-dong.

They both turned toward the sound of the doorbell.

“…You expecting someone?” Megumi asked.

“No,” Gojo said, frowning, already rising from his seat.

Yuji sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table in Gojo’s living room, furiously typing away on his laptop with one headphone in.

“I’m telling you, Nobara, the mission report doesn’t need that many adjectives. You called the curse ‘bootleg The Ring meets ramen grease’— ” he mumbled, not looking up.

Across from him, Nobara was lounging on the couch, casually mashing buttons on a video game controller, completely unbothered.

Megumi stepped out of Gojo’s study, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked tired, but a little more at ease. Gojo passed through the living room just then, headed to answer the door.

Amane hesitated outside the door marked 1010, balancing a small stack of neatly packed Tupperwares in her arms. She glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand. This was definitely the address the loud girl had given her. It had led her to a sleek apartment complex tucked behind a quiet street in Aoyama. Not flashy, but clearly expensive. The only apartment on the entire floor. A penthouse.

She lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, paused, then pressed it before she could talk herself out of it. Footsteps approached, and the door opened.

Gojo stood still in the doorway, dressed in black hoodie half-zipped over a white undershirt, gray sweatpants, and barefoot in house slippers.

Amane’s heart beat a little too fast. That was him— definitely him. But now, he was wearing a black blindfold instead of those ridiculous sunglasses. Why did he look even more annoying now? 

Gojo froze the moment he saw her. The woman from the restaurant who looked exactly like Utahime. He hadn’t forgotten her. Not the face, not the voice, and definitely not the pain in his groin from that fateful day in Shinjuku. He just hadn’t expected to see her again. Especially not here, not now.

“…You?”

”—You?”

They spoke in unison, equally confused.

Amane blinked and instinctively took a half-step back. “Uh… is this apt 1010?”

She glanced down at the small scrap of paper in her hand, then back at the number on the doorframe.

“Yes… it is…” Gojo replied slowly, eyes narrowing.

She stiffened. “Actually, I think they gave me the wrong address. Sorry to bother you,” she mumbled, already turning away.

Before she could escape—

“Hey! It’s the lady from the hospital!” Nobara’s voice rang from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of socks skidding on tile. She popped up behind Gojo, spotted Amane, and lit up. “Ma’am! You made it! Come in!”

Before Amane could protest, Nobara grabbed her by the arm and tugged her firmly inside the apartment. Gojo stepped aside reluctantly, still staring.

Amane stumbled forward with a startled, “Wait, no— I think I really shouldn’t—”

But it was too late. The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Nobara flopped onto the couch. “Now, Miss—? Uh, what’s your name again? And what did you bring us for dinner?”

“I— My name’s uh— Amane,” she said, her voice rising slightly.

Megumi, still visibly stunned, finally spoke. “What… are you doing here?”

Nobara stretched lazily. “She’s thanking us for saving her life. With food.”

Gojo stood behind Amane, hands in his pockets. The tension in the air was awkward. For Amane, it was disorienting. Her chest felt tight. A strange dizziness crept in, and yet there were butterflies in her stomach she couldn’t explain.

For Gojo, it was something else entirely. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see her again, until she was standing right there. And it threw him off, in a good way.

He was the first to break the silence.

“I’ll show you the kitchen,” he said, casually gesturing over his shoulder. “You can put the food there.”

“Of course,” Amane replied quickly. “I’m just going to drop this off and then I’ll leave.”

But Nobara scoffed, slinging her legs over the armrest. “Absolutely not. We insist you stay for dinner. You’ve gotta thank all of us, and him, properly, y’know?” She sent a mischievous look in Gojo’s direction.

Gojo raised a brow, but didn’t object.

“Thank… him?” Amane echoed, confused.

“Yes!” Nobara said brightly. “Meet our sensei-slash-guardian. We don’t have parents, so he’s the closest thing to one.”

Before either of them could react, Nobara marched over, grabbed Gojo by the arm, and yanked him directly in front of Amane. Then, with equal force, she shoved Amane’s shoulders so she stood squarely facing him.

“Formal introductions!” Nobara announced. “Satoru Gojo— Amane. Amane— Satoru Gojo.”

Gojo tilted his head slightly, eyes hidden behind his blindfold, but his smirk gave everything away.

“Funny,” he said casually. “You ever get that feeling like you’ve met someone before?”

Amane’s eye twitched. “I—no. Never.”

“Huh.” Gojo pretended to think, then added with a grin, “Well, déjà vu’s a sign you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Amane tensed but didn’t look at him. “You must say that to a lot of women.”

His grin widened. “Only the violent ones.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, kitchen’s this way,” he replied smoothly, already turning on his heel, hoodie swishing behind him. “Let’s get dinner set up, yeah?”

Amane stared at his back, seething silently, then followed with slow, reluctant steps.

Back in the living room, Nobara whispered to Yuji, “What was that vibe?”

Yuji whispered back, “Was that flirting or just pure irritation? I can’t tell.”

Megumi, arms crossed, exhaled sharply. “Let’s not encourage either.”

In the kitchen, Gojo cleared the counter so Amane could put down the Tupperware containers she carried.

“So,” he said casually, tossing a candy wrapper into the trash, “nice to finally meet you properly, Amane. Didn’t catch your name last time.”

“Glad to know that day left such an impression.”

“How could I forget? I’m still recovering,” he said gravely. “You left a mark on my groin, it actually reached my soul.”

Amane just shot him a glare.

“The plates and bowls are in that cupboard to your right,” Gojo said, already moving toward the shelves. “I’ll grab the cups.”

Amane, feeling oddly like a scolded intern, sighed and followed his directions without a word. Together, they made their way to the dining area, where she helped him set the table in silence— awkward, domestic, and way too casual for two people who’d previously met under… strange circumstances.

Then she followed him back to the kitchen, awkwardly lingering near the counter like she was waiting for her next set of instructions. 

“What would you like to drink?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve got soda, juice, or if you’re feeling spicy, alcohol’s by the bar.” 

“I’ll just have water, thank you,” she said dryly. “What about the kids?”

“We’ll just toss soda at them and hope for the best.”

She eyed his black blindfold. “What’s with the getup, anyway?”

“This?” He tugged at the edge of the cloth. “Oh, it’s for my powers. You know. Sorcerer stuff. Also adds mystery.” He winked.

With that, he began opening the lids of the Tupperware she brought. One by one, a colorful spread appeared: tamagoyaki nigiri, spicy tuna rolls, salmon sashimi over daikon ribbons, inari stuffed with seasoned rice, a small tray of karaage chicken, a side of pickled vegetables, and in one corner, a modest portion of fresh kimchi.

Gojo let out a low whistle. “Wow. Not bad for someone like you.”

Amane narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You give off… rough vibes. A little chaotic.” He smirked. “But this?” He gestured to the food. “This looks really pretty. Precise. Delicate. Like made by a forest fairy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you complimenting me or insulting me?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Yes.” 

Before she could protest—

“Oi! Come on, you brats! Chop chop. Don’t make me eat all this myself. Show some manners and thank our guest properly!” Gojo called out, flashing a grin as he led the way to the table.

Amane blushed but followed quietly.

The trio shuffled over and took their usual spots at the table. Gojo pulled out a chair for Amane.

She blinked. “Uh… thanks.”

Yuji and Nobara exchanged silent grins across the table. “Ooooh. Gentleman Gojo in action,” he whispered.

Megumi made a face and muttered, “Ugh,” under his breath.

“This is really good, Miss Amane!” Yuji said, already halfway through his second helping. “Like, actually legit.”

“I didn’t get your names earlier,” Amane said politely.

“I’m Yuji!” he replied, mouth still full of food.

“Megumi,” he added with a small nod, rising slightly to offer a polite bow.

“Nobara!” she chimed in, flashing a peace sign without looking up from her plate.

Amane smiled. “Yuji, Megumi, Nobara… Thank you again. For saving me earlier today. I’m really grateful.”

She glanced down at her watch and said, “But I’m afraid I should get going. It’s getting late. It was lovely meeting all of you. Please excuse me.”

Yuji asked through a mouthful of rice, “Do you live around here?”

Amane blinked. “Kind of.”

“Any family?” Megumi added, curious but reserved.

Nobara leaned in. “Any boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend, maybe?”

Amane nearly choked on her water. “I—uh. I’m adopted. And I’m not from here.”

That quieted the table for a beat.

“Where are you from?” Gojo asked, his voice softer, more serious now.

Amane looked at him for a moment, then down at her plate. “Far. A small town you’ve probably never heard of.”

Yuji tilted his head, studying her. “It’s just… it’s so mind-boggling. Your eyes, your hair, even your voice… you kinda remind me of—”

“Don’t,” Megumi cut in flatly, not even looking up from his plate.

Yuji blinked, caught off guard. “What? I was just saying—”

“Still. Don’t,” Megumi repeated, sharper this time.

Gojo watched Megumi for a beat, his expression unreadable, then turned back to Amane with a gentler tone. “Ignore them. They get nosy when they’re full.”

Nobara clapped her hands. “Well! Either way, dinner’s amazing.”

For some reason, an overwhelming fatigue crept up on Amane. Her body felt heavy, her limbs ached in a strange, dull way. “I really should go now.”

Just as she pushed back her chair, Gojo stood up too. “I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said quickly.

He smiled, all faux innocence. “Please, I insist. It’s the least you can do to thank me properly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that the other way around?”

He shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto.”

She sighed, clearly catching his tone, but didn’t argue. “…Okay.”

****

As they stepped out into the cool Aoyama evening, the city buzzed gently below, distant and blurred beneath the penthouse lights.

“We’ll cut through here,” Gojo said casually, hands in his pockets as he led her down a narrow alley.

Amane raised a brow. “Is this really the way to the train station?”

He smiled. “Nah. Shortcut.”

“To where? The middle of nowhere?”

“You wound me,” he said with mock offense. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Fair.”

She hesitated, but she followed anyway. His strides were long, unhurried. The narrow alley they turned into was… too quiet. No pedestrians. No traffic. Just the faint hum of power lines and the sound of their own footsteps.

Amane slowed. Something in the air shifted and her skin prickled.

She halted, eyes narrowing at the shadows near a wall. “Wait…”

Gojo stopped. “Hm?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, she said, “I feel… strange.”

Then, she saw it. A hunched, distorted figure squatting in the shadows, twitching like a broken puppet. It turned its head and its eyes glowed faintly like fireflies. Amane screamed.

In one fluid, panicked motion, Amane flung herself at him, arms locking tight around his torso like a human koala. Gojo stumbled back half a step.

“Well. This is moving fast.”

“SHUT UP!” she shouted, still clinging. “Is that a ghost?! A demon?! Do something!”

He patted her back lightly. “Nope. Just a curse.”

Then, with a flick of his fingers, the air snapped inward. The curse jolted forward, twisted, then disintegrated into nothing.

Gojo dusted his hands off. “Blue. Just a little one.”

“You brought me here on purpose?!”

He smiled. “I had a theory.”

Chapter 7: Sweet Misery

Notes:

Think of this as one of the in-between chapters I’m gonna write. They’re meant to look back, to retrace the steps and feelings, and build the foundation that will define Gojo and Utahime’s relationship.

February 18, 2007 — Downtown Tokyo

Inside a swanky bar that doubled as a disco lounge, Utahime strolled in next to Mei, fresh off a successful mission barely an hour earlier. It was her twentieth birthday, finally old enough to drink legally.

Not that she was a booze hound or anything. Missions had a funny way of dropping her near sketchy sports bars with nothing but rerun baseball games and cheap beer to keep her company. She’d fib to the bartender to score a drink, just so she could stay and watch the ninth inning in peace without getting side-eyed for hogging a stool. And okay, maybe she’d pestered Mei and Kusakabe a few times for “just a sip” during team dinners. They always caved, against their better judgment, obviously, though she’d never admit how often they let her get away with it. But tonight, she could raise her own drink without guilt, and she was damn well going to enjoy every drop.

Her short black dress clung in all the right places. Boatneck neckline, bold cutouts at the waist, and an open back that dipped daringly low. Leather combat boots made her black-stockinged legs look endless; the same pair she wore on missions, just in case she got called in again tonight. She wore her hair down in soft waves, a suggestion from Mei to switch things up from her usual pigtails. Utahime knew she looked stunning.

Mei ordered something fancy and unpronounceable, while Utahime ordered a beer, flashing her ID with pride.

“Asahi Super Dry, please,” she said, beaming.

The waitress grinned as she jotted down the order. “Welcome to the club, birthday girl.”

“I’m feeling generous,” Mei said, standing up. “Take 8,000 yen off what you owe me. Happy birthday. Go grab another beer and find yourself a hot guy to dance with.” She winked, then vanished into the crowd, already locked onto her next target.

Utahime watched her for a moment, amused, then her gaze drifted toward the dance floor. She had always loved music and dancing. Long before she first stepped into the shrine as a teenage miko, and long before she discovered she had cursed energy.

The beer gave her just enough of a push. She stepped onto the dance floor and let herself move unreserved, her hair clinging damply to the back of her neck as the rhythm took over. Tonight, she shed every inhibition unbecoming of the uptight assistant Tokyo instructor she was known to be.

She was a little tipsy and lost in the music, until a tap on her waist jolted her back to reality.

She turned, and the guy was cute. Sharp jaw, kind eyes, just a little taller than her even with her heeled boots on. He offered her a shot glass, smiling charmingly.

“Word is, it’s your birthday. Figured someone should toast the most beautiful girl on the dance floor.”

She blinked. “How did you…?”

He tilted his head toward the bar. “Told the waitress I wanted to buy you a drink. She let the secret slip.”

The guy had rizz, she had to admit. She chuckled softly, took the glass, and knocked it back in one go. She smiled lazily as she handed the empty glass back with a faint shrug in her eyes that said, ‘not my usual taste but not bad either’. 

“Thanks,” she said, already feeling the extra buzz kick in.

“Anytime.” He grinned, stepping closer, and started dancing with her. Excitement curled within her. Maybe she was going to get a date. Maybe even a boyfriend, she thought.

His smile was warm. But not that smug grin she was used to.

His voice was smooth. But not that teasing drawl.

His shoulders were broad. But not absurdly so.

He smelled good. Just not like the kind of ocean-and-citrus blend she actually liked.

Goddammit. 

She winced internally, recoiling at her own thoughts. And then, like the universe had been waiting for her to say it, there he was. Under the colored lights was that familiar tall mop of white hair, dancing with a girl whose smile was practically a mating call. Her perfect night splintered like glass in a blender.

“Arggh!” she growled, stumbling a half-step out of rhythm. The guy gave her a concerned look, but she was already storming across the dance floor, eyes locked on the irritating kouhai who never failed to derail her peace.

Utahime didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the collar, spun him around, and hissed, “Gojo, what the hell are you doing here?”

Gojo blinked down at her, amused, like she was some angry little pomeranian, so fluffy when mad, and far too cute to take seriously, barking as if she could actually scare a bear. He grinned lazily.

For one humiliating second, Utahime forgot to be mad. He looked unfairly good tonight— white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hair messy in a way that seemed intentional, and those smug crystal-blue eyes. Always looking like trouble dressed too well.

“Whoa, fancy seeing you here,” Gojo said, leaning in close. “But last I checked, bars in Tokyo are open to the public. You own this place now, Utahime?”

She grit her teeth. “You’re ssh-sheventeen—”

“Woo!” she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I don’t know why I said it like that,” she muttered, swaying slightly.

Gojo’s eyes ran over the delicate sliver of skin at her collarbone, then down to the cutouts at her waist before returning to her face. She was flushed, sweaty, and clearly tipsy.

“You clean up nice,” he said. “But you’re sparkling with sweat and wobbling in that dress. Probably time to call it a night. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Utahime swayed slightly, squinting at him as she crossed her arms tight across her chest.

“And missh… my birthday?” she slurred, defiant. “Please. Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission?”

“Aren’t you?” he shot back.

“Wrapped it up early,” she huffed, shrugging and swaying again.

“Same. Special grade,” he added casually, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t even break a sweat.” 

“Why are you really here, Gojo? You s-seriously couldn’t give me one night without you around?”

“What are you on about?” he feigned innocence, then broke into a cheeky sing-song. “I just wanna dance with somebody~”

“Pfft…” Utahime rolled her eyes. “You’re so—”

Before she could finish, the other girl wrapped her arm around Gojo and snapped, “Hey, bitch. Mind your business and go find your own guy.”

Utahime gave her the flattest look imaginable like some fly over her dessert, before turning back to Gojo. “Whatever. Just stay out of my way.”

She turned on her heel and stalked back to Mr. Potential Boyfriend, who was still waiting for her at the edge of the crowd.

“You wanna go somewhere else?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he said easily, clearly thinking the night had taken a very lucky turn for him.

Utahime forced a smile. She just needed to cool off. Talk. Maybe get to know the guy. Anything but deal with Gojo.

“Bathroom first,” she muttered, pointing toward the hallway. “Give me five.”

She walked briskly toward the restroom. Inside, she stared at her reflection.

“I’m not letting him ruin my night,” she told the mirror, reapplying her lipstick like armor. “Gojo can eat shit with that girll,” she slurred.

She adjusted her neckline, pushed her chest up an inch, and tried very hard not to think about Gojo.

The bathroom door creaked open, and she glanced up in the mirror, startled. It was her dance floor date.

“Hey— this is the women’s—”

The door clicked shut behind him and locked. He was smiling as he stepped closer.

“We don’t need to go somewhere else,” he murmured, reaching out to grab her waist. “We can do it right here.”

“What? Hey— wait!” she said, backing into the sink, hands coming up to push him away.

“You’ve been giving me the look all night, sweetheart,” he said, cornering her. “Don’t be shy now.”

“Stop!” she snapped, trying to shove him, but her limbs were heavier than usual, and he was stronger than he looked.

Outside, she could hear a couple of girls laughing and the muffled beat of the music.

The guy grabbed her wrists. “Relax. I know you want it.”

Someone pounded on the door. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The guy shouted, “Fuck off! It’s occupied!”

Utahime opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with one hand, the other arm pinning her back.

The door burst open. Gojo stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. The guy pinning Utahime against the sink, her lip smudged, wrists held too tight, dress rumpled.

Gojo’s jaw clenched, and his fist curled at his side. He took one slow breath, then, without a word, closed the door.

He left? No, no, no—

“Gojo?” she choked out.

The guy smirked. “Guess he’s not your knight after all, huh?”

The door slammed open again. Gojo stepped inside. And this time, he locked it behind him.

“You again?! You got a problem, pretty boy?” the guy sneered, squaring up. “This your girl or something?”

Gojo just tilted his head, with a coldness in his eyes that didn’t belong to a seventeen year old.

The guy lunged. Gojo sidestepped casually and drove his elbow straight into the guy’s face.

“FUCK—!” A loud crack echoed off the bathroom walls. The guy staggered back, clutching his face, and a glob of blood hit the floor. His nose was crooked. His lip was split and swelling fast. But he still grinned, teeth pink with blood. “Fucking psycho…” he muttered, wiping his mouth.

“Relax, man. It’s not like she’ll remember anything in the morning. Girls like her are practically asking for it. We can share, yeah? I’ll go first—”

A fist slammed into the guy’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, wheezing, only for Gojo’s knee to drive up hard into his gut. The scream barely left his throat before Gojo seized his arm, twisted once, and dislocated his shoulder, sending him crumpling unconscious beside the trash bin.

He finally turned to Utahime. “Let’s go.” He walked over to her, gently took her cold shaking hand and led her out of the bathroom, out of the bar, and into the alley behind it.

Outside, Utahime stumbled behind him, dizzy with shock, shame, and alcohol. The night air was cold against her sweaty skin, her breath caught in short, panicked gasps.

She looked up at him through blurred vision, then suddenly burst out. “I thought you left me! Huhuhuhu— I thought—!” She was now full-body shaking and sobbing.

Gojo stepped closer, unsure on what to do with his hands. “Hey, hey… no, I didn’t leave. I was—”

“You closed the doorrr!” she sobbed, slapping his hands as he tried to reach out. “You closed it like… like… like you were walking away! Why would you do that?! And I was like, he’s gone, and then I was alone and I couldn’t even scream and I hate your stupid face and…”

“Utahime,” Gojo said gently, catching her wrists. “I came back, okay?”

She looked up at him. Without thinking, she grabbed the front of his shirt, and blew her nose into it.

Gojo stared. “…Seriously?”

“I didn’t have a tissue.” She hiccuped, and her expression changed. Then, she immediately gagged.

Bleaarghh.

Gojo stared down at the mess on his shoes, and then back at her. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Utahime whimpered, covering her mouth. “I’m so ssoo-sssorrrry.” 

With a heavy sigh, Gojo peeled off his ruined overshirt. “Just a magical fucking night. You’re lucky it’s your birthday.”

For a moment, she seemed to calm down, and her sobs softened.

“This is the worst day ever,” she mumbled. “You’re right. I need to go home.”

She kept her eyes on the ground as she turned to leave, shoulders slumped.

If the Six Eyes had a kryptonite, something that could actually throw Satoru Gojo off, Shoko and Suguru might argue it was alcohol. They were there the first time he snuck a drink. Three sips, and suddenly Gojo was laughing one second, crying the next, and marching toward Utahime’s dorm to confess his feelings… only to choke, lose all composure, and end up hurling insults at her instead, then blasting what he thought was Kusakabe’s dorm in a jealous meltdown. In reality, he leveled Yaga’s office.

Or maybe it was the Inverted Spear of Heaven, the cursed tool that once killed him. Fair guesses, either way.

But if you ask him, it’s something else entirely. Something that unlocks a flood of feelings, whether he wants to admit them or not. All leading back to one person: his miko senpai.

It’s the way she pouts, or the blush she swears isn’t there. The way she rolls those little brown eyes, or snaps at him like he’s some delinquent kid and not the strongest sorcerer alive. The particular quality of her voice— that sharp tone when she yells, a sound some might find irritating but to him is fatally cute. Sometimes it’s this uncanny mix of a shriek and a siren, hitting a very specific decibel his six eyes can’t help but catch. The way her small, dainty fingers point at him, or how her hands move in fierce gestures when she argues— movements that feel almost like choreography to him, something he secretly loves watching, like a furious little conductor directing an orchestra running something like Symphony No. 5 in G Major. And her tears, the ones that hollow him out— it wrecks him all the same.

Pathetic, really, how long the list has gotten. And somehow, it keeps growing.

He doesn’t even see the point in putting up his Infinity around her. She already got through, slipped past every layer of defense and landed square in the middle of his chest, right into his idiot, overpowered heart. Heart and soul. Game over.

“Utahime, wait…”

He caught her wrist and yanked her into his arms. The air cracked, and with a pulse of cursed energy, they vanished, warping through space and time.

Gora Kadan, Hakone — 9:35 PM

Former imperial villa, now the crown jewel of the Gojo clan’s off-the-books holdings, served tonight as a sanctuary for one messy, mortified birthday girl.

Gojo and Utahime landed silently on the stone walkway just outside the side gate.

She wobbled in place, gripping Gojo’s sleeve. “I’m gonna puke again.”

“Ugh. Please don’t,” he murmured. 

The entrance door slid open. Two staff members froze at the sight of Gojo and a flushed, tear-streaked young woman in a black dress, tipsy and clutching his arm.

“G-Gojo-sama?” one of them stammered.

“We need to get cleaned up,”  he said, calm but firm. “Fetch her some fresh clothes. We’ll take my favorite room.”

The staff bowed politely at once. “Right away, sir.”

They were led through quiet halls lined with cedar and paper lanterns until they arrived at a discreet private suite. Minimalist elegance in every line- tatami mats, sliding shoji doors, and an open-air onsen on the balcony, steaming beneath a velvet black sky dusted with snow.

Utahime sank to the floor, sighing wearily. “Why are we here?”

Gojo slipped off his shoes and knelt beside her. “Well… considering I already SAVED you once tonight from that creep, because I’m a NICE guy like that, and since I’m obviously THE best, I figured I might as well go all the way and give you the full Satoru Gojo experience… I remembered you like onsens.”

A gentle knock interrupted them. More staff entered wordlessly, bringing warm towels, robes, tea, water, and a small velvet pouch.

“That’s the emergency care kit,” Gojo said with a nod.

Utahime blinked. “A what?”

“Your drink was spiked.”

“Oh.”

The staff bowed politely and left the room.

“Here,” he said, pressing a few pills into her hand. “Take these, and drink plenty of water.” Then he rose to his feet. “I’m going to clean up. You should too. Feel free to explore the suite.”

Ten minutes later, Utahime emerged, her hair towel-dried and piled into a loose bun, cheeks pink from the warmth of the onsen water she hadn’t even entered yet. She eased into the hot spring gently. The water lapped against her shoulders as she submerged her naked body. The warmth seemed to clear her head. The fog was lifting, leaving her more sober, and she was finally starting to forget the disaster that had been her birthday.

Until—

Knock knock. Her eyes flew open.

“Oi,” came the too-familiar voice just beyond the door. “Coming in.”

“Wait— what?! Don’t—!”

The door slid open anyway. Gojo stepped in, steam already curling around his tall frame. His hair was damp. His long legs were bare beneath a low-hung towel that was absolutely clinging to sin.

Utahime turned her head away so fast she nearly slipped. “Are you kidding me?! Don’t you dare take that off!”

Gojo blinked at her, still mid-motion as he tugged the knot at his waist. “What, this?”

“YES, that! Stay over there!”

He rolled his eyes like she was the unreasonable one, then stepped into the bath anyway and settled at the far edge, arms stretching along the rim like he owned the entire mountain. Which, technically, he did.

“This is my favorite part of the onsen,” he said simply. “The view, the snow, the water temperature. I’m not skipping it just because you’re here.”

“I told you not to come in!” she hissed, cheeks burning as she sank deeper into the water until only her nose and eyes were visible. The water rippled between them as the quiet snow fell just beyond the cedar fencing.

Gojo leaned back, head tilted toward the sky. “Whatever. I just wanted to make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown. Plus, you’re covered by steam anyway.”

She glared at him from her corner of the spring. “You know this is wildly inappropriate.”

He shrugged. “Bold of you to assume I’d look.”

She opened her mouth.

“There’s nothing to look at anyway,” he added casually, staring at the sky. “I’ve seen better.” He lied.

She splashed water at him. Gojo just smirked, barely flinching.

“You’re such an ass.” Utahime kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest beneath the water, eyes fixed furiously on the opposite edge of the onsen and glaring holes through the mist. She stayed still, the kind that suggested a deep, simmering rage, and maybe just the faintest bit of panic because she’d forgotten to grab a towel before entering the water. And now, Gojo was here.

He hadn’t said anything in a while.

She finally snapped. “Why are you so quiet?”

Gojo tilted his head lazily, watching the snow fall over the bamboo fence. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He glanced at her, deadpan. “Your tits are too big.”

She choked. “Excuse me?!”

“Seriously,” he said, casually flicking water. “You’ve got way too much going on in that department.”

She was about to say something, mouth hanging open.

“And your waist is too small,” he continued, unfazed. “Also, your butt’s kind of ridiculous.”

“WHAT—”

“How are you supposed to have proper balance like that?” he went on, half-musing, half-taunting. “But there’s something advantageous about your built. At least your thighs could crush a third grade curse. It’s like your proportions are engineered in a lab.”

Her jaw dropped. “How dare you even look at my body parts?!” she shrieked, slapping a wave of water at him. 

“You were the one splashing around like a noodle.”

“‘Cause YOU— you’re being a jerk!”

“And now I’m body-shamed for having eyes.”

“Close them next time! Uggh!” She groaned loudly.

“I don’t know why you’re so uptight. It’s not like you’re my type anyway. You’re not even my top five.” Lied again.

She closed her eyes. Her brow twitched, and the red anger mark can be seen on her temple.

“I like… less scowl, less cleavage.” Lie #341.

“I don’t care!”

He raised a hand. “Just saying. Shoko’s got great shoulders. A little taller…”

“I said, I don’t care!”

He kept going. “Mei’s taller too. One time, I saw her out of uniform and I—”

Utahime had had enough. She was hoping Gojo would shut up and drown quietly. But Gojo was still talking. Talking about her entire ratio is mathematically upsetting. Talking about how if the Jujutsu Tech dress code were stricter, he’d sleep better at night. 

They had been in the bath for five minutes. Long enough for Gojo to run his mouth. And far too long for her tolerance.

“SATORU GOJOO!!” 

Utahime, blinded by rage, stood up. Arms mid-gesture, mouth open mid-insult. 

They locked eyes. Then his gaze dropped once before snapping back up like he’d been caught in a trap. 

She gasped, realizing it. In her panic, she flailed and slipped trying to cover herself and scramble back into the water.

Gojo reached out on reflex. His hand landed squarely on her waist.

“Wait— wait— I got you! Oh shit—“

“Let go!” she howled.

His grip slipped lower to her butt. She shrieked. “Get your hand off my ass!”

He tried to move. “I’m trying to help!”

Utahime screamed, slapping his hand away, and she kicked, but her knee buckled. There was a chaotic splash, an awkward grunt, and the distinct sound of skin slapping skin. Gojo’s back hit the rock wall with a dull thunk, coughing. And somehow, she landed straddled in his lap.

He made a small dying noise. 

Utahime froze. “Did you just make a sound?”

“…No.”

“You just whimpered!”

“I swear to God if you move even a little—” he panicked.

“What?! This is your fault!”

“You’re on my—!”

“Turn around!” 

“I can’t move! You’re— You’re everywhere!”

Utahime desperately scrambled off of him with the urgency of someone escaping death. But every time she braced herself, her hand slipped against wet skin. They wrestled in the water like two possessed koi fish.

“Utahime. I’m begging you. Stop climbing me!”

“I’m trying to get off!”

“That’s the problem!”

Her heel slipped on the stone again, and she pulled him down with her by instinct.

He mumbled something unintelligible into her cleavage before she pushed him back with both hands to his forehead.

“Pervert!” she shrieked, slapping his face so hard his head spun. 

“Woman—!” he wailed.

“You’re hard!” 

“It’s a reflex!”

She tried to stand, only to slip again. Gojo instinctively reached out to catch her, and of course, she toppled right onto him, his hand somehow cupping her chest. Utahime ended up on top of him again, one knee wedged uncomfortably between his thighs. She shoved his face away with one hand, trying to crawl backwards. She twisted, and Gojo tried to retreat too, but he slipped on her foot in the process and crashed forward, landing over her. One arm hooked protectively around her neck, the other pressed against the floor of the onsen to keep them both from plunging under the water. Her arms, despite herself, clung tightly around his neck.

”Are you OK?!” He asked, worried.

“Gojo… Again… You’re pressing. THINGS. Into me!”

“I know. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t move!” She hissed. “just— don’t move!”

“I’m literally not breathing.”

She inhaled. “Alright. We clearly lack basic coordination.”

Gojo started to speak, but she cut him off with a raised finger. “Uh-uh. Just listen. We go slow. I’m in charge.”

“You want to choreograph this?” He was still crouched above her.

“Yes.”

“You don’t trust our instincts?”

“Do you?”

“…Fair.”

“On three, I’m going to shift my weight to the left, and you are going to lean right. Don’t flail. Don’t twitch. Don’t breathe weird.”

“I breathe perfectly.”

“Shut up.” 

She counted under her breath. “One… two…”

“Wait! Am I going to my right or your right?” 

“MY RIGHT!” 

“Copy.”

They moved. Then Gojo shifted ever so slightly, probably to blink, or breathe, and somehow his knee bumped her leg under the water.

They flailed apart again, slipping and yelping like panicked seals. By now, they had already grabbed just about everything they weren’t supposed to.

Utahime started whacking his arm with frantic, useless punches. “Do you NOT know where my shoulders are!? Why do you keep grabbing my—”

“Look, I’m trying—”

She stopped, tilting her head and squinting at him. “…Wait a second.” 

Gojo stilled, shoulders squared. “…What.”

“Your—” pointing at him like she was solving long division on air. “Why is it off?”

“Huh?” 

“Your Infinity! You could’ve avoided all of this. I wouldn’t have landed on you. You wouldn’t have grabbed me. Your junk wouldn’t have collided with… with my skin! All of this could’ve been avoided if your dumb barrier was ON! WHY is it off?!”

“Uhhh…”

Utahime narrowed her eyes. “Gojo...” 

“…To be fair, I didn’t think we’d be wrestling naked in this puddle tonight.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “You absolute idiot… TURN IT BACK ON.”

He hesitated. “But it feels weird in the water—”

“TURN. IT. ON!”

Gojo sighed, finally activating his Infinity. She immediately felt the faint, vibrating hum in the space between them.

He sank lower. “Geez. You’re so mean. No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend.” 

She slapped the water, furious. “This whole mess is your fault!”

“My fault?! You’re the one who stood up full frontal and fell on me!”

“You’re such a child! I can’t believe I’m arguing with a kid!”

“Kid?! I’m almost the same age as you!”

“In your dreams!”

The chaos finally ended in a splash, a string of muttered curses, and the word “idiot” repeated so many times like a broken record. Somehow, Utahime managed to peel herself off Gojo without tumbling onto him again.

“Gojo-sama,” a polite voice called from the other side of the sliding door. “The snacks you requested are almost ready.”

“Perfect! Coming out now.”

He stood casually, towel in hand, like he hadn’t just spent half an hour accidentally touching every part of her body, and strolled to the door completely unbothered in all his naked glory. 

Her eyes betrayed her and her gaze slipped, dragging lower his frame. In fairness, she admitted, his back was sculpted in long, smooth lines of muscle, his thighs thick and powerful, and his ass— tight, toned, the kind that begged a second look. She swallowed hard, snapping her eyes away, and horrified at herself. Her scowl came back and she stared at him in disbelief, nearly throwing a rock after him.

She lingered behind, scrubbing her face as if she could erase the last thirty minutes. By the time she finally emerged, Gojo was already clean, lounging on a futon near the low table in a navy-blue yukata, damp hair falling in his eyes and looking every bit too comfortable.

Utahime joined him, hair now brushed, wearing her own patterned yukata. Then she saw the bed.

Gojo caught her gaze and raised a brow. “Don’t worry. I’m sleeping on the couch. I know how much you value your personal space…” His grin widened. “…especially after crawling all over me earlier.”

She picked up a pillow and threw it at his head. 

He laughed, catching it mid-air. “Kidding. Kidding.”

“…That couch… looks uncomfortable.”

He shrugged. “I’ve napped in worse places.”

A moment later, the staff returned with the midnight snacks. On the tray were grilled skewers, oden, sweet roasted chestnuts, and a bottle of amber liquor in a fancy glass decanter.

Her eyes widened. “Wow. This is all my favorite!”

Gojo looked at the tray. “Huh. Lucky they had it all at the property.”

“Alcohol too?” she asked, eyeing the bottle.

He held it up. “After tonight, you deserve something better than that cheap alcohol at the bar.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll only drink if you do.”

He smirked. “You do remember it’s illegal for me, right?”

She leaned on her hand. “Pfffft. Like you’ve never broke a rule before.” 

He squinted at her. “You’re baiting me.”

“Am I? Or are you afraid you’re gonna act weird or say dumb things when you’re drunk?” 

“Aren’t you describing yourself?”

“Are you in or not?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But just ONE sip. The Six Eyes get… weird with E-T-O-H.”

She grinned in victory. He poured two small cups, took one reluctantly, and they clinked them together.

Then came uno. “Are those…” Utahime leaned in, squinting. “Digimon cards?”

Gojo lit up. “Limited edition. Got them in Akihabara. Only two thousand sets in the world.”

Utahime rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re such a nerd.” 

They played for a while. She accused him of cheating three times. He accused her of stacking draw-fours. The staff probably heard them yelling “UNO!” down the hallway like children.

“Wanna arm wrestle?” Utahime asked suddenly, flushed and bold from the alcohol.

Gojo laughed. “You’re challenging me?”

“I’m sober enough to still whoop your ass.”

“You’re getting cocky,” he squinted, and grinned. “But fine.” 

They moved to the floor, elbows braced against the low table. Gojo’s grin widened as their fingers intertwined. “This won’t end well for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You sure?”

He rolled up his sleeve. “Please. This’ll be over in five seconds.”

Gojo flashed a sly smile as he applied gentle pressure, only for his gaze to suddenly dip. As she leaned in, her yukata slipped slightly down her shoulder, revealing her perfect décolletage. Gojo’s gaze flicked down for half a second, purely by accident, but just long enough for her to slam his hand down against the table. Wham!

Gojo just stared. Utahime beamed, then leapt to her feet. “I beat Satoru Gojo! I beat Satoru Gojo! I beat Satoru Gojo!” She sang at full volume, spinning in a giddy, tipsy loop with her arms raised in victory.

Her yukata slipped slightly off one shoulder again, but she didn’t care. She was too busy laughing, dancing and looking too proud of herself.

Gojo stayed sprawled on the futon, watching her from where she’d crushed him seconds ago. He was grinning like a fool. She was glowing, cheeks pink from laughter and liquor, eyes bright with mischief. For once, she wasn’t scolding him, or annoyed. She was just happy. Here, with him. 

And maybe to her, beating him at anything felt like a real achievement. A rare win against the world’s strongest. A crack in the wall she’d probably always thought was unbreakable.

She flopped back down beside him on the futon, breathless and still smiling. “You’re not gonna ask for a rematch?” 

“Nah. I think I’m good losing to you.”

“Such a sore loser,” she teased, elbowing him playfully.

“Yeah, I really am.”

But not in the way she thought.

*****

The room had gone quiet, save for the faint creaking of wind in the wood outside and the soft rustle of the bed sheets. They lay side by side, facing each other, their faces lit by the gentle flicker of the paper lantern beside the bed. Gojo shifted, pulling the blanket up to his chest. 

“You sure you’re cool with this? Me sleeping here on the bed, I mean?” he asked, voice barely a whisper, and trying not to sound too hopeful.

Utahime nodded slowly, eyes sleepy. “I want you to be comfortable,” she murmured. “You worked hard tonight… Despite everything.”

She yawned. Her eyes fluttered half open as she looked at him. “I had fun. Thank you.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet when you’re sleepy.”

“You saved me.”

“I do that. A lot.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Why do you always have to be so smug. Even when I almost died.” 

“You didn’t almost die,” Gojo said gently.

She scooted closer. Then, like it had been sitting on the tip of her tongue all night, she whispered, “Your eyes are… really pretty. I mean… beautiful. It’s like there’s a chrysanthemum blooming in a crystal blue ocean? And… are those gold flecks? And purple? Maybe green too? I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

“Didn’t know alcohol makes you say things I thought I’d never hear.”

She stared at him, drowsy. “Maybe,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Maybe it just makes me… more honest?”

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm…” she breathed, barely holding onto the thread of her thoughts. “I also think… you don’t really believe I’m weak… And you… like me. A little.”

Then, catching the weight in his silence, she added softly, “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes, you know. You can trust me.”

Gojo inhaled sharply. Every word pierced him and soothed him all at once.

Her eyes were growing heavier. “You can talk to me, Gojo.”

He swallowed. “Utahime…” 

“Mm…?” 

“I—” 

She exhaled, and then started to snore.

Hokkkrhhh… Hokkkkrhhh…

Gojo exhaled. His smile was painfully gentle.

“…Unbelievable.”

Of course she’d do that. Drop a grenade and leave him sitting in the shrapnel. And now, staring at the ceiling with her warmth beside him, he knew.

That strange ache, being next to her but still not close enough.

Wanting her quiet, wanting her loud.

Wanting to be with her. And also fearing it.

His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, more to the air than to her.

“You think I like you a little...”

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it. If only it were that simple.”

Gojo looked at her, sleeping so peacefully. Maybe it was better this way. Then exhaled a tiny sigh, full of fondness and quiet defeat.

“That’s what it is. Misery.”

“With you. Or without you. I don’t get a break either way, huh?”

 

****

Present…

“Asshole!” she shouted, shoving him hard before storming off toward the busy street and fuming.

“What? I wasn’t gonna let anything happen,” he called after her. “Geez, I’ll never understand women. One second they’re kicking you, next they’re hugging you, and then— bam! Pushed again,” he muttered, grinning to himself.

He trailed after her, hands in his pockets, dodging pedestrians as they moved onto the busier sidewalk.

“I don’t need you following me. I can take care of myself,” she snapped, picking up her pace, still not looking at him.

Now on the crowded train platform, they were jostled by commuters. When the doors slid open and they stepped inside, Gojo stood behind her, his tall frame shielding her from the crush of passengers as they were pressed close. She hated to admit it, but she liked the way he smelled. Like fresh, expensive. A hint of ocean and citrus.

“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said casually, glancing down at her. “Didn’t want you running into any more creepy curses.”

He leaned in a little closer. “Besides, my students really like you. Yuji even asked me to ask you if you were single.”

“Tell your students to focus on their grades, not my love life.” Then she paused and turned to face him— well, as much as the crowded train allowed— and she squinted suspiciously. “Wait. Did you ask him to ask me, so you could say he asked you to ask me?”

Gojo raised a brow, his smile lazy. “Whoa. Someone’s confident. You think you’re my type?”

She scoffed. “I think you’re full of it. You’re literally following me home.”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Maybe. But even if you were my type…” His voice softened, growing distant. “…My heart’s already taken. So, sorry— you never had a chance.” His gaze slipped past her, and though he was smiling, it never reached his eyes.

Makes sense, she thought. She remembered the dark-haired woman from their first meeting at the restaurant. Of course he’d be taken. A man like him could have anyone he wanted. And of course it would be someone elegant, sophisticated… beautiful.

Amane stared at him. The playful tension faltered for just a moment. Then, the train rocked slightly, and she stumbled a little, just enough for Gojo to reach out and catch her elbow instinctively.

“See? I’m totally useful. I just saved that pretty face from a nasty collision.”

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the window, saying nothing.

Gojo chuckled softly. “Shame. I do like difficult women,” he murmured, smiling to himself as he watched the reflection of her annoyed expression in the glass. But then, just like that, the image was replaced by Utahime’s scarred face. And his smile faded.

Amane kept sneaking glances at him. His hoodie was pulled over his head, sunglasses still on even though it was night. Probably to go incognito, she figured. He was the Satoru Gojo, after all. She stayed silent for the rest of the train ride, pointedly ignoring him as she stared out the window or pretended to scroll through her phone. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t easy either.

When they reached their stop and began walking, he looked up puzzled as she led him back to that familiar restaurant in Shinjuku.

“…Wait. You live here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, flatly. “Now, I’m home safe. Thank you. You can leave.”

“Nope. I need to check inside. Gotta make sure it’s clear.”

Before she could protest, he was already fiddling with the front door handle.

“Oh my god, stop.” She sighed and surrendered, unlocking the door with her key.

She turned the lights on and tossed her small purse onto the kitchen counter. Gojo pulled down the hood of his jacket, revealing tousled, messy hair that somehow made him look unfairly younger, and slipped off his sunglasses, unveiling those crystal-blue eyes. Gojo strode in like he owned the place, giving the room a full sweep.

“I don’t see a bedroom up there,” he said as he came back down the stairs.

“Because there isn’t one,” she replied, unbothered. “I sleep in that storage room upstairs.”

“What—”

“It’s temporary. Keiko and Hinata’s place is a tiny studio. Three’s a crowd. I’m just helping out here until their mom’s back on her feet. Or until we figure something out.”

Gojo looked around again, slower this time. “Where do you… take a shower?”

She pointed out the window. “See that bathhouse across the street? I cook free breakfast for the front desk lady. In return, she lets us use the shower room.”

“So…” she paused, and asked a bit awkwardly, “we’re all clear? No curses lurking around?”

“Nope. You’re good,” he replied, making no move to leave. Instead, he asked, “So, when did you first start seeing curses?”

“It’s— it’s actually the first time. This morning. At the hospital, I mean,” Amane said, rubbing her arms. “It’s crazy, thinking there are things like that out there.”

“Curses,” Gojo clarified, leaning casually against the counter.

“Curses. Right. Whatever you call them.” She looked up at him. “Why am I seeing them now?”

Gojo dropped into a nearby chair, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced as he fell into thought. “There must’ve been some kind of trigger,” he murmured. He rubbed his chin, then he cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck with a pop. Amane hated how effortlessly cool he looked doing the most mundane things. Cracking joints shouldn’t be attractive. Ugh. Get a grip, Amane.

“If I can see curses,” she said, shaking her head, refocusing, “and they attack me… how do I kill them?”

“With a cursed technique,” Gojo said simply.

She blinked. “I don’t have a cursed technique.”

“Then you’re kinda screwed,” he said cheerfully.

“Gee, thanks.” She crossed her arms, annoyed. “Don’t you have something that can, I don’t know, shoo them away?”

“A repellent, you mean?”

“Yeah! That!”

Gojo tilted his head in mock thought. “Hmm. No, I don’t… Wait… actually, yeah. I do.”

“…Okay?” she said slowly.

“You’re looking at it,” he said, straightening up and leaning further back in his chair, arms crossed, grinning.

Amane stared, deadpan. “Haha. Very funny.”

“If you must know, I repel curses. My cursed energy’s too overwhelming, they hide the moment they sense me nearby.”

“Then why the hell did that thing show up in the alley earlier?”

“I suppressed my energy,” he replied smoothly. “Had to test my theory.” He winked. 

“Whatever,” she said. “If there’s nothing else, you can go. Just lock the door from the inside on your way out.”

She turned away, opening cupboards and reaching for something on the top shelf. She heard him stand, and a moment later, felt his chest at her back as he easily grabbed the bottle of alcohol she’d been struggling to reach.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

She raised a brow. “Thanks.”

Obviously, he still wasn’t in a rush to leave. She sighed inwardly. Fine. She might as well offer him a drink.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching her. “You like to drink?”

“I like the taste. And the way it makes me feel afterwards.” She reached for another cup. “Why don’t you join me—”

“No, I—”

“Please? Otherwise, I’d rather you leave.”

He hesitated. “…Uh. Okay.”

It was ridiculous, really. One word of please from that familiar voice, and a thinly veiled threat, and he was already folding, like alcohol wasn’t the nemesis of his cursed technique.

“This is a bad idea,” Gojo said, eyeing the bottle warily.

“Why? Afraid you’re a lightweight?”

“Lightweight isn’t exactly the issue.”

She leaned in slightly. “Do you get weird or say dumb things when you’re drunk?”

“I don’t know. I was told once I did,” he said, half-smiling.

She gave a mock sigh. “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes, you know.”

He gave a humorless laugh.

“What?” she asked with a teasing smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just… a memory.” His grin faded into something softer. “You know, you’d be vulnerable too,” he murmured. “I thought you didn’t trust me.”

She met his gaze, still smiling faintly. “I realized I don’t get that kind of vibe from you.”

He took the cup she offered. “Or maybe I’m just good at waiting.”

She studied him closely. “Waiting to pounce on me? You would’ve done that in that alley earlier.”

A call cut through the moment, and Gojo answered his phone.

“Ijichi! Is this about the report I asked you to—” He paused, even with the phone at his ear, his eyes locked on hers, unreadable, like he knew something she didn’t. “…Okay. Sure, I’ll drop by shortly.”

“I have to go. Sorry to cut our date short.”

“This is not a—”

“Shh.” He grabbed a sticky note, scrawled a number, and slapped it on the counter. “Here’s my number. Emergency hotline. In case you need a strong and effective repellent.”

He stepped closer, almost reaching for her hand. He stopped just shy of touching, then offered a soft, reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. If you need me, I’ll come… just like that.”

Then, with clear reluctance, he disappeared.

Notes:

I was lost
And you were found
You seemed to stand on
Solid ground

I was weak
And you were strong
And me and my guitar
We strummed along

Sweet misery, you cause me
That's what you called me

— Michelle Branch

This song is a personal favorite of mine, and I had to work it into this fic because it’s so GojoHime-coded.