Chapter Text
4th of November 2018 | Kyoto, Japan (3:37 P.M)
Utahime slowly blowed her tea as steam curled from her teacup, thin and ghostlike, dissolving into the quiet afternoon air.
From her seat by the engawa, she watched her twin sons wobble across the tatami mats, their tiny hands gripping the edge of the low wooden table as if it were the most important mission of their lives. Sunlight filtered in through the shoji screens, catching in their hair too light almost silver-white where it glowed.
“Careful, Aoharu,” her mother murmured gently from nearby. “Slow steps! That’s it.”
Himari, her mother and the twin’s grandmother stayed close enough to catch them if they fell but far enough to let them believe they were brave explorers. Utahime’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
Aoharu let out a joyful squeal after taking three successful steps. Kotaru, not to be outdone, puffed his cheeks and marched forward with determined little stomps.
“Ta!” Kotaru declared proudly.
“Yes, that’s the table,” Himari chuckled. “Very smart.”
Utahime stood slowly, setting her tea aside. Her feet moved toward them almost unconsciously. The boys noticed her at the same time.
“Momma!” Aoharu chirped, arms lifting immediately.
Kotaru followed half a second later, wobbling faster than he should. “Mama! Ma!”
She knelt down between them, her hands instinctively steadying their small bodies. Up close, the sunlight struck their faces fully.
White hair. Blue eyes, it was not the regular blue eyes you would expect. It was oceanic, and it was glowing when the light hit just right.
Her breath caught.
She brushed her fingers through Aoharu’s soft hair first, then Kotaru’s. Silky strands slipped between her fingers like silk thread.
“You two…” she whispered, voice already trembling.
Aoharu blinked up at her. “Mama?”
She leaned closer, studying their eyes. The exact shade she used to pretend she didn’t notice years ago. The same impossible blue that used to look at her like she was the only thing in the room.
“Your eyes,” she murmured softly, then let out a soft sigh.
Kotaru tilted his head. “Eye?” the toddler’s tone was full of curiosity.
“Blue!” Aoharu suddenly announced, proud of remembering the word.
Utahime let out a shaky laugh. “Yes. Very blue.”
“Bwoo,” Kotaru echoed seriously. Then, clapped his hand and babbled.
“Very, very blue,” she repeated, but her vision blurred. The tears slipped before she could stop them.
Aoharu reached up clumsily, patting her cheek with his small palm. “Mama…?”
Kotaru frowned, toddling closer and pressing his forehead against her knee. “Mama… water?”
“Oh?” Utahime let out a soft, broken chuckle. “I guess Mama’s eyes are watery.”
“Watwy,” Aoharu tried, nodding as if that solved everything.
Kotaru stared up at her, concerned in the innocent way only toddlers could be. He poked her cheek gently. “No cry.”
She swallowed, brushing her thumb under her eye. “I’m not crying. I’m just… thinking.”
Himari’s voice came gently from behind her.“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”
The question settled into the room like something fragile. Utahime didn’t turn around immediately. Her fingers remained tangled in her sons’ hair, her thumbs brushing the corners of their bright blue eyes, those are the eyes that did not belong to her.
Aoharu babbled happily, completely unaware of the weight in the air. Kotaru attempted to climb into her lap without coordination, demanding affection the only way he knew how.
Utahime pulled them both against her chest, inhaling the warm scent of milk and baby soap.
Silence lingered. Finally, she answered quietly. “Yes, mom. I do. So what?”
Himari sighed not out of anger, and most definitely not in disappointment, just a mother’s tired understanding.
“It’s been what? Two or three years, stop it already.” Himari said softly.
Utahime nodded against her sons’ hair. “I know.”
Aoharu squirmed. “Mama hug!”
“I am hugging you,” she whispered, tightening her arms around them.
Kotaru lifted his face and grinned suddenly, all previous concern forgotten. “Mama smile!”
Utahime forced her lips upward, even as another tear escaped. “See? I’m smiling.”
Himari stepped closer, kneeling beside them. She brushed a stray lock of white hair from Kotaru’s forehead.
“They deserve a mother who looks forward,” she said gently.
Utahime looked down at the twins in her arms at the mirrored fragments of a boy she once loved too much and too quietly.
“I do look forward,” she said softly. Her voice wavered. “Sometimes it just looks exactly like the past.”
The twins giggled at nothing in particular, blissfully unaware of history, of distance, of a father who had never seen the way sunlight made their eyes glow.
Aoharu tugged at her sleeve. “Mama… tea?”
Utahime blinked. “You want Mama’s tea?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Tea!”
She laughed softly through the lingering ache. “No, baby. That’s for grown-ups.”
Kotaru leaned back dramatically against her chest. “Grow!”
“Yes,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. “You’ll grow.”
Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the late afternoon light stretched long across the floor.
“And when you do…” she murmured under her breath, barely audible even to herself, “I wonder if you’ll ask about him.”
Himari heard it anyway. But she didn’t respond. Instead, she placed a steady hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“There will be a day, my dear. Just not today.” her mother said.
4th of November 2018 | Athens, Greece (8:37 AM)
The embassy air always smelled faintly of polished wood, expensive perfume, and quiet diplomacy.
Gojo had decided that diplomacy was just arguing politely while smiling like you were enjoying yourself.
He adjusted his tie dark navy, perfectly straight, because his mother would have noticed if it was even a centimeter crooked. She always did.
Through the tall glass windows of the embassy office, Athens stretched out beneath a pale Mediterranean sky, sunlight reflecting off marble buildings like the city itself was trying to impress foreign investors.
“Mr. Gojo,” one of the diplomatic aides said politely, sliding a folder across the polished table. “The trade agreement revisions from the Japanese delegation have arrived.”
Gojo flipped it open casually, scanning the documents.
Trade tariffs. Cultural exchange clauses. Agricultural export negotiations. Politics dressed in legal language so dense that even economists had to read it twice. In Greece, they treated interns as if they are already professional. That’s practical but also gives a lot of pressure towards the individual.
He smiled slightly.
“Ah,” he said, tapping one section. “They are still negotiating the technology import restrictions. Very persistent. Admirable persistence, actually.”
The aide nodded, visibly relieved that the ambassador’s son did not immediately start questioning the entire international economic system.
Gojo leaned back in his chair.
Someday, he thought, he would be sitting in a seat like this but bigger. More pressure. More responsibility. His mother’s seat.
He could almost hear her voice in his head.“Focus on results, Satoru. Not reputation.”
His lips twitched upward. Yes. He would be as good as his mother. Gojo Satoru was not modest about ambition. He simply preferred to call it long-term career planning. He had never been raised with the luxury of being ordinary.
His mother was known in diplomatic circles as the woman who could smile while dismantling another nation’s argument without ever raising her voice. A Greek ambassador by profession, she treated diplomacy like chess, patient, strategic, and devastatingly precise when necessary.
She believed diplomacy was not about power. It was about making other nations believe you were too reasonable to be opposed.
Gojo had inherited her posture, her calculating silence when thinking, and her habit of tilting his head slightly when listening, as if people were puzzles he had not yet finished solving.
His father, on the other hand, was the reason Gojo understood law as something closer to philosophy than procedure.
His father was a former chief-level figure within Japan’s highest judicial institution a man who believed justice was not loud or dramatic.
Justice was boring. Justice was paperwork, precedent citations, and decisions that changed history quietly.
Gojo’s father often told him that power does not need to shout. If it is real, people will already be listening.
Gojo had grown up between two worlds.
His mother’s world was loud with international politics, airport lounges, embassy receptions, and conversations held in three different languages during dinner.
His father’s world was quieter it was full of libraries, legal archives, and long philosophical discussions about how law shapes civilization more than war ever could.
That was why Gojo had chosen law school.
Not because he wanted to become a politician immediately.
But because he wanted to understand how power worked before he inherited any of it.
The door opened again.
“Mr. Gojo,” another diplomat said, voice bright with the careful cheerfulness reserved for diplomatic small talk. “There was discussion earlier about succession planning.”
Gojo blinked slowly. “Ah. That topic.”
He straightened slightly, already anticipating where this was going.
“In the future,” the diplomat continued, “if you were to take a higher diplomatic seat perhaps following in your mother’s position would you have plans regarding an heir who might continue the diplomatic legacy?”
Gojo almost laughed
Instead, he gave the slow, polished diplomatic smile he had practiced since he was sixteen and realized that smiling was often more politically powerful than speaking.
“Well,” he said casually, resting his chin on his hand, “I am only twenty-three.”
He paused. “Legally, emotionally, and financially speaking, I am still in my early adult developmental crisis phase.”
The diplomat let out a polite, strained chuckle.
Gojo continued.
“Also, I believe my mother would personally resurrect herself just to slap me if I started discussing heirs before I have even secured permanent office stationery with my name on it.”
That earned a genuine laugh from the room. Good.
Politics liked humor. Humor made people think you were harmless.
Harmless was politically convenient.
He turned slightly toward the window again.
His mother’s reputation was not just diplomatic it was legendary. She was known for negotiating trade agreements that even rival nations described as “emotionally devastating but economically brilliant.”
Someday, he would want that same reputation. Competent, Unshakable and impossible to intimidate.
The embassy intercom buzzed softly.
“Mr. Gojo,” the receptionist’s voice said. “You have a personal call.”
He stood, smoothing his suit jacket.
“Excuse me,” he said politely to the room.
As he walked down the corridor, his phone buzzed in his pocket not once, but twice. He ignored it until he reached a quieter hallway lined with framed photographs of past diplomatic missions.
He answered. “Hello?”
Silence.
Then, a soft voice from the other end of the line spoke in rapid Greek, then switched to Japanese out of habit.
“You forgot to sign the travel authorization form again,” his mother said calmly.
Gojo winced.
“Yes, well,” he said, lowering his voice, “I was busy representing national interests.”
“You were flirting with diplomatic staff during lunch.”
“I was building international relations.” he defended.
His mother sighed heavily. He grinned. Then leaned against the wall, looking out at the city below.
“Aren’t you proud?” he asked lightly. “Your son is slowly becoming a respectable political asset.”
There was a pause.
Then she said, very simply “You are becoming competent. That is better than respectable.”
Gojo didn’t respond immediately.
Competent was higher praise in diplomatic families than affectionate praise ever was.
He exhaled slowly.
“Someday,” he said, softer now, “I will be as good as you.”
Another pause.
“Strive to be better,” his mother replied. “Not just good.”
He smiled.“Yes, ma’am.” He ended the call.
Outside, Athens shimmered under the Mediterranean sun like a city built for history, power, and quiet ambitions.
Gojo slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had trade negotiations to review.
And somewhere, he wondered if certain parts of his past were also growing competent without him.
He pushed the thought away. Diplomacy was about control. Not nostalgia.
Still, as he walked back toward the conference room, he found himself thinking of white hair, blue eyes, and a dare he had accepted when he was seventeen and very bad at saying no to things that felt like freedom.
He wondered, briefly, if freedom ever really stopped feeling like home.
Then he opened the conference room door.
Utahime was sitting at her small desk in the nursery, the soft glow of her laptop screen reflecting against the wooden surface.
Student papers were scattered across the desk, and essays filled with careful red corrections, margin notes about grammar structure and stronger thesis statements. Literature was her comfort. Structure. Meaning. Things that could be fixed with patience and effort.
Unlike people.
Aoharu was already fast asleep in his crib, small chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythms. His white hair was slightly messy against the pillow, one tiny fist curled near his face like he was still dreaming about something important.
Kotaru, however, had other plans.
The little boy was clinging stubbornly to the fabric of her shirt, sitting on her lap with sleepy determination. His blue eyes were half-lidded, blinking slowly as he fought sleep like it was a personal enemy.
Utahime gently rocked him side to side, her fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on his back.
“Sleep, Kotaru,” she whispered softly. “It’s 7:30(PM) already, thirty minutes past your bedtime.”
“Mm… no,” Kotaru mumbled, pressing his face closer to her chest.
She sighed softly, smiling despite herself.
Then her phone vibrated on the desk. The screen lit up. It was Shoko
Utahime hesitated.
For a moment, she just watched the phone vibrate against the wooden surface while Kotaru continued to cling to her like a tiny, stubborn koala.
She knew if she didn’t answer, Shoko would call again.
So she carefully shifted Kotaru higher onto her lap, making sure he was still comfortable, before reaching for the phone.
“Hello?” she said quietly.
Shoko’s voice came immediately through the speaker, bright and slightly loud like she had been drinking something already.
“Utahime! You are alive! Good. I was starting to think you were kidnapped by your own children.”
Utahime huffed softly. “They are very good kidnappers.”
Kotaru yawned loudly on her chest.
“So,” Shoko continued casually, “you are coming to my birthday party.”
Utahime blinked.
“Wait,” she said. “When is your birthday again?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
Utahime could practically hear Shoko slowly turning her head in disbelief.
“Are you kidding me?” Shoko asked. Her tone was slightly shocked and amused.
Utahime frowned slightly. “I am not.”
Another pause. Then Shoko sighed dramatically. “It’s on November 6th.”
Utahime nodded slowly. “Oh. That’s in two days. Not bad.”
“You sound like you are checking attendance for a school event,” Shoko said dryly.
Utahime glanced down at Kotaru, who was slowly starting to drift asleep against her.
“I have to take care of my sons,” Utahime said softly.
Shoko immediately scoffed. “Your mother and your sister can help.”
Utahime shook her head even though Shoko couldn’t see her.
“I don’t want to bother my mother,” she said. “And Yumime is in Tokyo, with her boyfriend.”
Shoko went completely silent for about two seconds, then she said “I swear to God you are becoming forgetful nowadays. I am literally from Tokyo too. Just bring your sons and leave them with your sister.”
Utahime blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Right.” Then she paused again. “But I can’t leave them with her” she added quickly. “She is… sometimes very irresponsible.”
Shoko snorted loudly. “Fair. Your sister would probably teach them how to gamble or something.”
Utahime almost laughed.
There was background noise on Shoko’s end music, people talking, glasses clinking together.
Utahime tilted her head slightly. “Is Mei coming?” she asked.
There was immediate shouting in the background.
“Hell fucking yes! she’s here with me drinking right now!” Shoko said loudly.
Then Utahime heard another voice in the background.
“Hey, who are you talking to?” Mei asked.
“Utahime.”
“Oh. Hi, Utahime,” Mei said cheerfully.
Utahime smiled. “Hi, Mei.”
Shoko returned to the phone. “There will be beer at my birthday party.”
Utahime was quiet for a moment.
She looked down at Kotaru, who had finally fallen asleep on her chest, small breaths warm against her skin.
She thought about how long it had been since she went out somewhere without thinking about diapers, milk bottles, or bedtime routines.
Then she said firmly “I’ll be there.”
Shoko made a triumphant noise. “Good. Wear something that does not smell like babies”
Utahime scoffed. “Rude.”
“True,” Shoko said. “But I love you.”
Utahime smiled softly. “I know.”
She ended the call and set the phone gently on the desk.
For a long moment, she just stayed there, rocking slightly in her chair with Kotaru asleep against her chest.
Aoharu made a soft sleepy sound from the crib.
Utahime looked at her sons.
“Mommy is going to a party,” she whispered quietly. “Just for one night.”
Kotaru did not wake up. Aoharu did not move.
The nursery was quiet again, filled only with the soft sound of breathing and distant evening wind brushing against the windows.
Utahime leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling. November 6th. That’s in Two days.
The embassy cafeteria was unusually quiet for once. No policy briefings, no diplomatic small talk disguised as intellectual warfare, no lazy ambassadors relying all their work to a pitiful intern, no one asking him to “review something quickly” that was never quick.
Gojo sat alone at a corner table near the tall glass windows overlooking the Athenian streets below. The sun spilled through the glass in long golden streaks, warming the polished floor and catching faintly in his white hair.
For five uninterrupted minutes, he had been just a man eating lunch. Not a law student juggling international expectations most definitely not an intern drafting memorandums that sounded far more confident than he felt. He was just a man with a plate of streak, with a side of asparagus and iced tea
He took a slow bite, chewing thoughtfully, savoring the rare stillness. His phone rang. He stared at it. It rang again.
He exhaled sharply and picked it up without checking the name.
“What?” he said immediately, irritation undisguised. “I have exactly thirty minutes of peace in this building and someone decided that was unacceptable.”
On the other end, Shoko burst into laughter. “Calm down, fucker.”
Gojo leaned back in his chair, glaring at the ceiling. “You called during my lunch. That is a violation of basic human rights.”
“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You thrive on chaos. Don’t pretend you were meditating.”
“I was eating,” he corrected. “Slowly. In silence. Like a mature adult.”
“You?” she said dryly. “Mature?”
He sighed dramatically but softened his tone. “Fine. What do you want?”
There was background noise on her end voices, faint music, the clinking of glasses. She was clearly not home.
“Nothing dramatic,” she said casually. “Just checking if you’re still alive and insufferable.”
“I am both,” he replied. “Efficiently.”
He took another bite of his food.
There was a brief pause before he asked, almost lazily, “So… are you still hooking up with Geto?”
Shoko went silent for half a second.
“That,” she said carefully, “is none of your business.”
Gojo scoffed loudly. “That means yes.”
“That means you should mind your own diplomatic affairs.” she chuckled.
“I am minding them,” he said. “I multitask. International relations and local gossip.”
She snorted. “You sound bored.”
“I am not bored,” he said defensively. “I am temporarily unoccupied.”
“Which is your version of bored.” she corrected.
He didn’t deny it.
Another pause occured
Then Shoko’s tone shifted slightly lighter, but deliberate. “Come back to Japan on my birthday.”
Gojo blinked. He swallowed his food.“What?! But thats in two days.”
“At least you remember,” she replied smugly.
He straightened in his seat. “Two days? You’re telling me this now?”
“Yes.” she replied very directly.
“That’s not notice. That’s an ambush.” Gojo whined and placed his fork onto the table.
“You love ambushes.” she teased
“In courtrooms,” he corrected. “Not flight bookings.” He ran a hand through his hair, already calculating. Two days. International flight. Last minute pricing. Ridiculous.
“Do you have any idea how expensive it is to book a flight that quickly?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea how rich your family is?” she shot back.
He choked slightly on his iced tea. “That is not the point.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, glaring at nothing in particular.
“I have obligations,” he said. “Internship work. Legal drafts. My mother will ask questions.”
“Tell her you’re attending a cultural exchange event.” she suggested.
He paused. “That’s not terrible,” he admitted.
“I know,” she said proudly.
He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling as if it might provide a responsible answer.
Japan? It had been what? Atleast two years.
He cleared his throat.
“Who’s going?” he asked casually, aiming for neutral.
“Everyone.” Shoko said, her background were full of glasses clinking.
“Define everyone.” he said, strictly.
“Me, of course, Suguru,” Shoko said. “And a few others.”
He hesitated. “Is she also coming? I’ve heard you stayed in touch with her. Some of your post also shows you’re still hanging out with her.” he asked, voice deliberately light.
There was a small beat of silence. “Maybe,” Shoko replied vaguely.
He frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
“You’ll have to show up to find out.” Shoko said.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “That is manipulative.”
“It’s called incentive.” she corrected, then let out a short chuckle
He picked up his fork again, though he wasn’t really hungry anymore. Two days. A sudden trip back to Japan would disrupt his carefully structured routine. It would cost more than it should. It would complicate things.
“Just come, you son of a bitch,” Shoko said bluntly.
He let out a quiet laugh despite himself. “You’re very persuasive.”
“I know.” Shoko proudly said, maybe with a small smug too.
He stared out the window at the bright Athenian sky. He could stay. Be responsible. Attend meetings. Remain composed.Or he could go back for one night and pretend the past didn’t exist in fragments.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally.
“That means you’re coming.” Shoko gasped dramatically.
“That means I will evaluate the feasibility of coming.” he corrected
“That means you’re coming,” she repeated confidently.
He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” she replied sweetly, “you answered the phone.”
He glanced down at his half-finished lunch. Five minutes of peace. Gone.
“Happy early birthday,” he said.
“Book the flight,” she replied. The call ended.
Gojo sat there for a long moment, staring at his phone. He reached for it again. Not to call anyone. Just to check flight availability. For purely logistical reasons, of course. He told himself that twice before opening the airline website.
The embassy building was slowly emptying as the evening settled over Athens.
Gojo stood alone in his office, jacket already slung loosely over his shoulder, one hand holding his phone to his ear while the other absentmindedly tapped against the edge of his desk in a slow, restless rhythm.
The sun was setting outside his window, painting the marble buildings in soft gold and deep orange shadows. The city looked quieter at this hour like even politics itself was taking a breath.
His shift had just ended. And instead of going home, he was calling his mother. The phone rang twice. Then she answered.
“Hello, Satoru,” she said immediately, voice warm but already suspicious. “You never call me after work unless you want something.”
Gojo rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see him.
“No,” he said. “I am calling to say I will have dinner at your place.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
Then his mother chuckled softly.
“And why,” she asked, voice amused but curious, “are you suddenly deciding to grace us with your presence?”
Gojo walked toward the window, looking down at the streets below.
“I am going to say something important,” he said.
That made her go quiet.
Not worried.
Just attentive.
Gojo hesitated for half a second before adding, “Is dad there with you?”
“Yes,” his mother said immediately. “He is pretending to read legal documents but he is actually just waiting to hear what you have to say.”
Gojo exhaled slowly. “Good.”
“Blue, are you okay? Should I be worried?” she asked.
“No,” he said immediately. “Well. Maybe slightly concerned. But in a healthy, emotional-growth kind of way.”
She spoke again carefully. “Are your… children coming?”
Gojo immediately groaned.
“Mom,” he said. “They are not my children. I am just raising them. For exactly three years already. As their emotional support older brother. To heal my only child inner self desperation for a sibling.”
There was silence.
Then his mother spoke very seriously. “If you wanted a sibling, you should have said so.”
“I am twenty-three,” he said. “That is not how siblings work.”
“Technically,” she said, “it still could be.”
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “I refuse to be emotionally responsible for a baby that is legally younger than my internship contracts.”
She laughed again.
Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anyways, They are coming too.”
“Of course they are,” his mother said calmly. “I will tell the chef to prepare their favorite dishes.”
Gojo immediately straightened.
“Hey!” he said. “I am your child. Not them.”
His mother laughed, a warm, rare sound the kind that made Gojo relax even when he didn’t want to.
“You wanted younger siblings,” she reminded him. “I heard younger children are more loved by parents.”
Gojo made a scandalized sound.
“That is favoritism,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”
He sighed dramatically. “I regret everything.”
“No you don’t,” she said immediately, too confidently for his comfort.
Gojo unlocked his car and got inside, resting his forehead briefly against the steering wheel.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
His mother’s voice softened slightly.
“You are coming to talk about something serious, aren’t you?”
Gojo didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Tonight.”
His mother didn’t push. She never did.
“Then we will wait for you,” she said simply. “Drive safely.”
“Okay, mom.”