Chapter Text
The Gojo Clan was founded over a thousand years ago. One of the Three Great Sorcerer Families in Japan, collectively known as the Big Three - they were believed to be descendants of one of Japan’s most vengeful spirits, Michizane Sugawara, a lineage that lent them immense influence and political power over the inner workings of the Jujutsu world. A Traditionalist family that stood out like a sore thumb in the backdrop of modern Tokyo. But their long and storied history could be seen in the graceful curves of the main house’s tiled eaves and the grand, green expanse of their gardens. The Gojos revered their history and traditions. They lived and breathed it.
The clan’s main compound was protected by an ancient barrier, shielding them not only from their enemies but also from the influence of the outside world. Allowing its surroundings to progress around the Gojo Estate.
The legacy of this thousand-year-old bloodline would live on in the next generation—through the beautiful little girl with long, stark white hair, crouching in the garden of the Gojo estate.
Her tiny hands clenched fistfuls of leaves, crushing them while they were still attached to their stems. Not content with wrecking just one side of the meticulously pruned bush, she scurried to the other side and tore through it like a storm. The little girl was angry and the leaves, unfortunately, bore the brunt of it.
Then, her gaze landed on the camellias.
Elegant, white, and blooming with quiet pride. Her mother’s camellias stood tall and radiant. They seemed to taunt her, basking in the love and care she longed for. Her chest tightened. Fury swelled. She reached out, yanked a blossom from its stem, hurled it to the ground, and stomped it flat. When that didn’t appease the anger in her heart, she grabbed another, crushing it under her heel with more force.
The brittle crunch of petals against the earth fueled her fury. It sounded like rebellion.
A young maid came rushing over and pleaded with the little girl to stop before the soil was littered with the remnants of Lady Gojo’s beloved camellias. Before she turned it into a mass graveyard of trampled beauty.
“Lady Sachiko, please…” she tried to approach her ward but was well aware that she was not to lay a hand on the young girl, not unless she had a death wish. “It took your mother years to grow them. She’ll be furious!”
“I don’t care!”
The warning fell on deaf ears. Sachiko was too far gone with her rage. The young maid panicked. She was torn between wanting to grab the little girl away or thinking of a way to distract the approaching lady.
“I hate you! I hate you!” Sachiko screamed, voice sharp and unyielding, and glared at the crushed petals on the ground. “I hate you!”
But it wasn’t the camellias she truly hated.
It was someone else entirely.
“Sachiko!”
The voice cracked through the air like a whip. Sachiko froze, her foot still hovering above the crushed petals. Her heart dropped but she clenched her jaw, forcing down the fear rising in her chest. She wouldn’t cower. Not this time.
Slowly, she raised her head and met her mother’s gaze head-on.
Lady Gojo stood tall, beautiful in a striking blue dress adorned with painted white flowers. Her posture - perfectly straight, perfectly poised - lent the outfit an air of quiet but steadfast grace. Sachiko’s sky-blue dress was a softened echo of her mother’s, deliberately made to resemble it. Tailored to match. Tailored to remind.
But the only thing that this reminded Sachiko was her mother’s need for the little girl to conform with the Gojo clan’s traditions and expectations.
Sachiko was affronted by the familiar brown eyes - sharp and serious. Her mother probably came because of the ruckus. Heaven forbid, Sachiko was not allowed to make a ruckus. Lady Gojo’s stern look dropped to the mess beneath Sachiko’s feet and her gaze faltered. When she looked back up, her expression had shifted. No longer stern, but thunderous. A storm brewed behind those eyes, one Sachiko was quite familiar with.
She had seen that look before. Like clockwork, Sachiko trembled with fear and guilt wrestling in her chest. Her mother had already scolded her earlier that day for skipping her private lessons. Lady Gojo was a disciplinarian. A woman of order, control, and consequences. And now Sachiko had crossed a line. She had desecrated her mother’s beloved garden.
Sachiko knew what was coming. She deserved it.
But before the first word could leave Lady Gojo’s lips, Sachiko screamed.
A scream so loud it startled the surrounding maids, echoing through the garden. And then came the words, spat out, one after another, fueled by something deeper than her simple defiance.
“I hate you! I hate you! I wish you weren’t my mother! I wish I was never born! I hate you!”
Then she turned her back on her mother and ran across the garden, through the ruined petals, into nowhere.
She had no direction, no destination. All Sachiko wanted was distance. To be far, far away from that woman.
She meant every word. She hated her. She hated that she was her mother. She hated that she had been born to her. And worst of all, she hated the quiet, aching truth that she didn’t love her anymore.
There was no sign of her slowing down even when her vision was blurred by the tears she kept on wiping away. She let herself be carried by her little feet wherever they wanted to go. The green expanse stretched under her small feet. She didn’t care anymore. Sachiko hated it there. Even when her feet wobbled, she pressed on. Until something strange happened. Suddenly, she felt like her feet weren’t touching the ground.
She looked down in alarm. Her legs were still pumping, still running across the curated grass. Until they weren’t. Now, she was stomping on air and it terrified her.
A tingling sensation started in her toes and rushed upward, crawling to her fingertips, then to the crown of her head. Strange and unfamiliar. She couldn’t name what it was, only that it shook every nerve, every atom of her small body. Yet, she kept on running. Because that was all Sachiko knew how to do.
Gradually, the ground reappeared beneath her feet. Only now it was no longer the pristine lawn of the Gojo estate. It was hard. Gold. Sandy. Her steps faltered, and her heart began to pound louder.
She stopped.
And for the first time, she looked around.
She wasn’t alone anymore. And she wasn’t home.
Before her stretched a colorful playground. A towering slide shaped like a castle, children gliding down with joyous shrieks. Swings creaked as laughing kids were pushed by adults who looked just like them - gentle hands, warm eyes. A sandpit. A spinning octopus ride. Bright colors. Brighter voices. Brightest laughters.
It was strange. It was unfamiliar. It was terrifying.
“Hi, there.”
Sachiko jumped in her skin. That voice was unfamiliar. A stranger. An adult stranger. She cautiously backed away from the woman and stayed alert. But she did not bolt. Not yet.
“You’re so pretty.” The lady said, bending down a little, “What’s your name?”
Sachiko did not answer. She stayed quietly studying and assessing the woman.
Another voice chimed in from behind. “What do we have here, Aiko-san?”
A second woman appeared, joining the first. Now there were two of them. Two adults. Two strangers. Double the trouble.
“Oh, wow,” the new one said with a soft gasp. “What a pretty child.”
Sachiko narrowed her eyes.
Yes, she was pretty. Everyone said so. But she had been warned, again and again, not to let her guard down. Never to talk to strangers. Not when she was special. Not when that blood ran through her veins. She was a child of the Gojo Clan and that meant people might come for her - dangerous people, dubious people. People who might use her to try to get to the Gojo clan by any means possible. Heartless people who were ready to toss her aside once they accomplished what they were after: her connection to The Strongest Sorcerer.
Sachiko’s wariness began to waver when she overheard the two women murmur to each other.
“Poor thing… she must’ve gotten lost in the playground.”
“Where are your parents?” one of them asked gently.
But Sachiko didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because even as doubt crept in, suspicion clung tightly. They could be pretending, not knowing who her parents were, as if her connection to Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan, wasn’t something to fear or covet.
“Do you need help finding them?”
The moment they took a step closer, Sachiko’s spine went rigid. Her instincts screamed danger. Her feet itched to run. In her head, she began to count.
One. Two. Three.
At three, she’d run. Bolt out of there like a curse spirit was after her and never looked back. But just as she reached the final count, a sound cut through her panic like a blade.
Laughter.
Not just any laughter. A bold, unmistakable cackle that could belong to only one man in the world.
She spun toward the sound, eyes scanning desperately. Maybe, just maybe, she was still at the Gojo Estate. Maybe she had somehow teleported a few steps outside the revered grounds. Maybe this was her father’s technique manifesting for the first time.
And then, she saw it.
A familiar shock of white hair swayed just ahead of three other figures. She could see the top of the dark uniforms they donned and instantly recognized them - Jujutsu High uniforms. Her heart leaped. Then, she swallowed a lump in her throat that had been stuck there for a while.
The tall, lanky man in the lead walked with exaggerated swagger, a blindfold wrapped lazily across where his eyes should be. His voice was animated, teasing.
“Megumi," he drawled on the name Sachiko knew by heart.
The boy with spiky black hair trudging beside him didn’t look amused in the slightest. But to Sachiko, the sight was everything. It meant she was found.
“Papa!”
Sachiko sought the exit of the playground to get to them. Gojo and his three students were on the other side of the fence, strolling casually. Her father, as always, was teasing Megumi. Yuji and Nobara was laughing along.
“Papa!” Sachiko cried again, voice bursting with relief.
She sprinted to them and, without warning, flung her arms around Gojo’s leg, clinging tightly. Her heart was pounding from the overwhelming comfort of seeing someone familiar in such an unfamiliar place. She didn’t notice the way Gojo tilted his head down, puzzled, because his signature blindfold obscured his blue eyes; the same eyes she inherited.
Gojo shook his leg where Sachiko was attached like a koala. He was kicking his leg as if trying to get rid of the persistent bug on his pants. Sachiko clung tighter.
“Oi, kid! What do you think you’re doing?” He grumbled.
His hands stayed tucked inside his pockets, refusing to touch her. With one final kick, Sachiko lost her grip and dropped to the ground, butt first.
“Gojo-sensei,” Yuji chided, rushing over the poor kid, “you don’t have to be so mean.”
Sachiko rubbed her backside, a scowl wrinkling her pretty face. She shot a glare at her father for handling her so roughly. Yuji knelt down to help her up, but the moment his eyes met hers, those striking cerulean eyes, he froze. He swayed slightly, momentarily thrown off balance, and nearly toppled over beside her. Sachiko ignored him. She was used to Yuji who seemed to always be lost in his thoughts. She stood on her feet, straightened her sky-blue dress, and stormed toward Gojo with all the fury her small frame could muster..
“Bad Papa!”
Sachiko was so angry and offended that she didn’t realize the Papa in front of him looked somewhat different from the Papa she knew and adored. The lines on his face that weren’t there anymore. The angles of this man’s jaw was sharper and his skin was much brighter - younger. He was younger than the father Sachiko was used to.
“Papa!?”
The word echoed again, bouncing from one mouth to another. Gojo’s three students looked dazed and confused. Yuji and Nobara’s jaws dropped, eyes bouncing between their sensei and the little girl who had just claimed him. The resemblance was uncanny: the white hair, the long pale lashes, and those piercing blue eyes. She was a shrunken version of Gojo with long hair and a nasty glare.
And while Megumi didn’t look as dumbfounded as the two dumb friends of his, he, too, was very much surprised and very much convinced. There was no denying it: Sachiko looked exactly like Gojo-sensei.
But how? Gojo-sensei didn’t even have a girlfriend and this kid looked a little older than four. The closest he had to a relationship with a little semblance of romance, no matter how strange that was, was with the sensei from Kyoto. So… how? When did he even have the time?
Gojo ignored the noise around him and solely focused his attention on the scowling little girl boldly claiming to be his child. His Six Eyes assessed if she was a friend or a foe. Gojo wouldn’t put it above his enemies to somehow concoct a child that could pass up as his, only to plant a mole in his life to slip past his guard. He had too many enemies. Too many people eager to exploit his weaknesses. He searched every atom in her body and broke it down to every molecule to find any discrepancy that would reveal to him the truth.
What he saw was the smallest glimpse of her curse energy - a bean just about to sprout its first leaf. And even in that smallest glint he saw the signature energy of the Gojo clan. This kid who was claiming to be her daughter was a potential Limitless user.
But those eyes…
Same as his. The Six Eyes. It was impossible.
There had never been two Six Eyes users alive at the same time. It wasn’t supposed to happen. So what did it mean? Was this an omen of his own death? A sign of an approaching end? Or worse, had his enemies somehow managed to duplicate the most sacred and unique technique of the Gojo bloodline?
As far as he knew, that couldn’t be done. But the world was evolving. Time had changed and caution had kept him alive this long.
There were so many questions running about his head and he needed more time to investigate. So, the best course of action was to put the child in his care just until Gojo got an answer to all his questions. And if it turned out that this child was lying, or was being used by his enemies against him, Gojo Satoru would show no mercy.
---
It wasn’t possible.
Gojo never, in his wildest imagination, thought of progenating. Not with the burden of the world falling on his shoulder. The Strongest - a title that carried so much weight and so much isolation. He did not want the same thing for his child. No. It was enough that he could teach and train, shape the next generation of sorcerers. Comrades who were strong enough to stand by him and with him - side by side.
And yet… here she was. Gojo Satoru’s future child appeared before his twenty-five year old self.
The more he examined the child’s cursed energy, faint as it was, the more his instincts screamed that this couldn’t be real. That he wouldn’t allow it to be real. The thought alone was suffocating. Gojo Satoru had never wanted a child. Not when he had enemies left and right. Not when the Jujutsu World viewed him as the lynchpin holding the Jujutsu world together. Not when the balance of the world hung on his shoulders.
The world was never kind to people like him - people born too strong, too powerful. Because while the world worshipped power, true power was also feared. His enemies wouldn’t be the only ones sharpening their knives. Gojo was sure, the Higher Ups, scheming and paranoid scumbags, had already placed safety controls around him. Because Gojo Satoru was too powerful, too unpredictable… and, most of all, unwilling to be controlled..
It should stop with him. He pitied that child that would inherit the pressure that came with the title of The Child of the Strongest. And the more he studied her kicking her feet while sitting on one of the beds in Shoko’s morgue, the more Gojo was convinced he should not want a child.
He wanted to send the child back to wherever or whenever she came from. But as far as Gojo was aware, this was the first time that a sorcerer in the future travelled through time, if you could call it that - time travelling. Not even the King of Curses was able to do that. So, as much as his instincts told him to push her away, reason told him to keep her close. If this Sachiko was telling the truth, he couldn’t risk her falling into the wrong hands.
Gojo trained his Six Eyes toward the girl, who sat casually answering Shoko’s questions with the ease of someone who’d known the doctor all her life. Every word came out animated, her hands flailing slightly, her legs swinging off the table like she had not a single care in the world. She smiled often, one of those wide, toothy grins that made her eyes crinkle shut. A smile that looked suspiciously familiar. The kind of smile that brought to mind one very drunk, very loud Senpai.
Then the doors to the morgue burst open and spat out the woman conjured by Gojo’s thoughts.
“Shoko,” she started, sounding as if she was expecting to be alone with the doctor, “what is so important that I had to rush all the way to Tokyo?”
Gojo only said her name once in his head and she appeared before his very eyes. She didn’t look too happy being called in the middle of something important - maybe, being pulled from her class. Yet, here she was. Gojo’s reliable Senpai who was always a call away.
Surprise flashed across her face upon seeing Gojo. She wasn’t expecting him to be there. Her eyes turned from round to narrow. Typical. When Gojo waved at her, ignoring the death glares she was raining down on him, the woman grunted. Then, she noticed the small figure clinging around Gojo’s leg. White hair. Long lashes. The very same blue eyes. A little girl who looked like a spitting-image of the most annoying person on earth.
She momentarily forgot the gripe she had with Gojo’s very existence. She blinked twice, then again.
“I-is t-that…”
“Gojo’s daughter, Utahime-senpai.” Shoko appeared behind Utahime but the latter didn’t seem to notice and she didn’t seem to hear her either. She was staring at the child, waiting for her to disappear or for anyone to say it was a prank.
“That’s not true.” Gojo denied it too fast. “She says she’s the child of the future me.”
“So, she’s still your daughter.” Shoko retorted.
Utahime seemed confused but not exactly surprised. She appeared to have accepted the news as truth. The little girl’s long white hair and shiny blue eyes were enough to convince Utahime. Utahime turned to Gojo, wanting to scold him at how irresponsible and stupid he could have been to have fathered a child outside of marriage.
The whole room tensed. Everyone in the morgue held their breath, anticipating Utahime’s outburst. She didn’t say anything. The silence between them stretched without breaking but the expression on Utahime’s face gradually softened. Utahime expelled a breath to placate her sudden burst of irritation.
“What do you mean, ‘the future you’? Are you saying she’s from the future?”
“That’s what she said.”
Utahime was visibly clenching her jaw, holding off her contempt. She let out a long breath through her nose, calming her nerves before turning to the little girl now hiding behind Gojo. Her almost outburst might have scared the child.
“Hi, there.” Utahime said, gently this time. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
The little girl avoided eye contact, clinging tighter to Gojo’s pant leg. A small spark of cursed energy pulsed from her. It was defensive, almost wary. Gojo noticed and it made him wonder.
“Don’t be scared.” Utahime added, crouching slightly to offer her hand. “I’m Utahime-sensei.”
Sachiko only stared at Utahime’s offered hand.
“Hey, kid! You don’t recognize Utahime?”
The little girl shook her head.
It was a strange revelation but what confused Gojo was the little girl’s curse energy starting to ball, turning aggressive the more Utahime approached her. He could chalk it up to her being apprehensive of a stranger, considering that she said she did not recognize Utahime. Yet, Gojo found it to be too big and too weird a response to a docile and gentle Utahime. Everybody liked Utahime-sensei.
“That’s odd.” Shoko muttered. She crouched down to see the kid eye to eye. “Sachiko, you don’t recognize this lady?”
“No.” Sachiko answered too quickly in Gojo’s opinion. But if she was telling the truth and this kid - his kid - from the future did not know Utahime then Gojo did not want to finish that thought.
“That’s okay, sweetie. Sachiko, is it?”
Sachiko gave a reluctant nod. She pursed her lips, annoyed at having to respond. Gojo snorted. That’s exactly how Utahime reacted when Gojo entered a room: annoyed at his existence, angry at not wanting to interact with him but having to. Gojo was that one constant thing in her life and so was Utahime in his. There was no way they could exist in a world where neither of them was present in each other’s lives, no matter how much that annoyed the woman. She’s stuck with him and so was he. If this kid was saying she didn’t know Utahime, then she must be lying.
“How old are you, Sachi-chan?”
Sachiko tightened the grip on Gojo’s leg pants. She wasn’t looking, avoiding Utahime’s gaze but answered by raising her hand, all five fingers standing in attention.
Five. The kid was five years old.
Sorcerers typically manifest their cursed energy at around the age of five and six. If this little girl was truly Gojo’s progeny, she should be showing some form of her cursed energy and she did. His Six Eyes saw the bean of cursed energy sprouting veins of dark smoke - growing and growing without showing signs of stopping. If Utahime sensed it too, she didn’t show. She was focused on the kid.
“So this guy is your father, Sachi-chan?”
Sachiko’s mouth tightened. She nodded slowly, still refusing to meet her gaze. Utahime looked like she was about to ask something more but was hesitating, careful in broaching the topic. Gojo already guessed it. It was the same question that was in everybody’s mind.
“Then, how about your mother, Sachi-chan?”
Utahime saw the slight panic in her blue eyes and so she trained her voice and expression to court Sachiko’s trust. She finally realized that, out of the people around that room, Sachiko was most apprehensive of her.
“Do you know where she is now? ‘Cause, we can look–”
Utahime didn’t finish her question. The doors slammed open, crashing against the walls like they’d been kicked by fate itself, and in swept a woman whose presence demanded the room’s attention. Tall. Poised. Hair braided and draped to one side, obscuring half her face, and yet she was unmistakably beautiful. Sharp brown eyes, arched brows, and an air of effortless confidence that turned heads on instinct.
“I’ll be damned.” Her voice was smooth and dripping with confidence.
Mei Mei announced her arrival with three words. Her dark brown eyes landed quickly on the figure hiding behind Gojo. Her smile then widened seeing the resemblance of the little girl to the man she was using as a shield. She approached the group, strutting towards the middle of the room, her brain computing the money she could earn from this information. But before she could reach the center of the morgue, the little girl darted out from behind Gojo and flung her arms around Mei Mei’s legs.
“Mama!”
Sachiko proclaimed, beaming up at Mei Mei with those shiny blue eyes. The sorcerer was taken-aback but only for a second. She didn’t hate it, accepting the title without hesitation. The cash count in her head quickly rose to an unbelievable number.
The room fell into stunned silence.
All attention quickly turned, not to Mei Mei, not even to the child, but to Utahime who could only blankly watch the reunion between Mei Mei and Sachiko. Gojo turned too. Slowly. Waiting. Hoping. For what? He didn’t even know. A reaction. A snide comment. A roll of her eyes. Anything. But Utahime didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She simply… stared. Oblivious of the pairs of shocked eyes that were starting to soften into pity. As if the news of Mei Mei being the mother of Sachiko was sad, unbearable news. They started to feel sorry for Utahime. It was as if, in that single second, the entire room quietly agreed that if, by some divine mishap or miracle, Gojo Satoru were to fall into love, to stumble into family and softness, it wouldn’t be with just anyone. It would be with her.
With Iori Utahime.
Even Gojo, who had never once pictured himself as a father, let alone a husband, had to admit: there was only one person he would have considered and it wasn’t Mei Mei.
He'd always thought it would have been Iori Utahime.
---
Curious how Gojo Sachiko looks like? Thanks to Pina, we don't have to imagine it anymore:
