Gojo lets a grin spread over his face. "Who knows! Only one way to find out, eh, Megumi-kun?" He smacks the boy on the shoulder, and Megumi grunts.
"What do you mean by that?" he mutters suspiciously.
"Are you warmed up?" Yoshi asks, ignoring his question again. "If not, then go run a lap first."
"Huh?" Megumi looks mutinous already, looking down at the woman with mistrust.
Yoshi just raises her eyebrows, gesturing towards the track around the soccer field. "We're going with everything at once, Megumi-kun. If you're not warmed up, you'll have a hard time moving."
"But… right. Okay." He deflates under her heavy gaze. Without any more prompting, he begins a light jog around the track.
Gojo watches Megumi's receding figure with a sort of fond exasperation. "I wasn't joking about you being a natural at this, Yoshi," he says to the shorter woman beside him. "Megumi already respects you, just from the way you talk."
Yoshi doesn't pause in her movements, pulling one arm across her chest in a light stretch. She's still wearing that dark grey windbreaker, but the sleeves ride up along her forearms again, revealing her collection of slap bracelets and her skin, beneath that, inked with obscure black lines.
"You'd fit in here," Gojo adds.
"Really?" Yoshi asks, and this time he's certain she's being sarcastic. "Are you sure I don't look too much like an American to fit in?"
Gojo pauses. "What?" he chuckles, confused. "Why would that be a problem?"
She stops stretching to look at him, like he's the biggest idiot in the world. "Besides, I have a life in New York," she continues on, as if dwelling on the issue is too much work. "I grew up there, I have friends. It isn't much, but I'm happy with it. Sorcerers don't live long or happy lives."
"You won't be living happily for much longer if you go back." Gojo doesn't mean to drag her into this world, but the more he thinks about what he's seen her do, the more he thinks it might be inevitable. Besides, what sort of person could hold such power and not be a part of the jujutsu order?
"One way or another, you need a meeting with the higher-ups," he concludes.
Yoshi exhales through her teeth, letting the air hiss sharply out of her lungs. "It seems that way," she grumbles, "But I'm still pissed off. I can't just quit my day job and stay here."
"It'll be a temporary thing," Gojo points out. "And sorcerers might be unhappy, but they're certainly paid well…. more than what you make as a little league coach."
She looks at him sharply, and Gojo dangles his phone in front of her face.
Her nose scrunches up in confusion as she skims over the information on the screen. It's mostly just her private social media accounts, but there's also a copy of her apartment lease and baseball coaching license. There were pictures of her, some that Yoshi had never seen before, taken by strangers or parents of the kids she'd worked with in the past.
"Just look at those munchkins in matching uniforms! You're like a mama duck to those seven-year-olds," Gojo murmurs, a grin spreading across his face.
"Did you hire a private investigator?" Yoshi asks, annoyed. "Seriously?"
"You're not very good at talking about yourself, you know! And this is my school. I needed some kind of assurance you weren't a threat to my students." Gojo shrugs. "What's the big deal? As far as I'm concerned, you've got a glowing resume right here"
Yoshi's eyes narrow at him. "I thought you didn't know my name until I introduced myself."
"I didn't," Gojo confirms.
"So you—you mean that you got all that information on me in… the past forty-five minutes?" she asks, unnerved.
Gojo gives her a careless shrug. "It's crazy what technology and money can do for you these days. By the way, your real name is pretty. No idea why you'd change it to just Yoshi."
"Real name," she says mockingly. "My mom picked it. In America, you can give yourself and your kid whatever given name and surname you want, as long as it's not 'Jesus' or 'Buddha'."
Well, that spoiled his plans to look up her family name for any connection to a clan. "This is progress," Gojo declares. "You're finally opening up about your family."
Yoshi scowls. "Stop being creepy. Don't stalk me online."
"Why would Gojo stalk you online?" Megumi interrupts, panting as he slows to a stop in front of them, finishing his lap.
Quickly diverting the conversation, Gojo starts scrolling through Yoshi's public photos. "Because I wanna know who this hottie is next to Yoshi in all her photos," Gojo teases, tilting his phone screen enough to show Yoshi that he's hitting the 'like' button on a long line of instagram posts that Yoshi's friend is tagged in.
Gojo's student just grunts and looks away, as if this is a common occurence not worth his time.
Yoshi isn't fazed either. "She's gonna block you if you keep doing that," she informs Gojo frankly. "When someone looks at all your bikini photos at once, that's a sign to run very far away."
"Eh? What?" Gojo looks up suspiciously. "No, you're just trying to scare me off. This isn't weird, her account isn't even private. What's her name? Is she single?"
He's startled when Yoshi answers without missing a beat. "Her name is Wendy." She picks at the bracelets on her wrist idly as she speaks. "She's a civilian. And yes, she's single."
Gojo feels his mouth hanging open again, shocked that he hasn't been immediately shut down. Yoshi seemed like the overprotective kind of friend. "Damn, I didn't you'd actually answer me," he chuckles under his breath. "There must be a catch, huh?"
"No reason to lie about her." Yoshi shrugs.
Again, it seems like Gojo won't be getting any explanation, so he moves on. "Well, in that case, does she like guys over six feet?"
"Sometimes." Yoshi shrugs, again overlooking his teasing tone. "But you're too old for her."
"What?!" Gojo looks shocked. Megumi just grumbles something under his breath, already done with this conversation.
"What?" Yoshi frowns at him, like she's annoyed that he's acting offended. "You're like thirty. That's too old, she's my age."
"First of all, I'm twenty-eight!" Gojo corrects her smartly. "And you're only twenty-three!"
"Twenty-two." Yoshi corrects him frankly. "Are you done stalking yet? Go sit on the bleachers," she shoos him away. "Megumi, are you ready?"
"Yes," Megumi nods, following her onto the field.
Yoshi holds up her wrist. "I'm going to time you."
"I—what?"
She raises her eyebrows again. What sort of training do they do in this school if he's surprised about her taking out a stopwatch? "I want to see how long you can avoid me. We'll keep it simple, three strikes and you're out. Dodge whatever I throw at you, okay? Don't block," she warns him.
"I see," Megumi straightens up, squaring his shoulders. "Okay."
"Now then," Yoshi sighs, fiddling with her watch. "Let's get started." She tugs on the zipper of her jacket and yanks it off.
Megumi freezes. Gojo's teasing smile dissolves into a small frown.
Beneath her jacket, Yoshi wore a sleeveless shirt. It wasn't scandalously low-cut or suspiciously see-through. No, it was a simple racer-back tank top, made of a breathable nylon meant for exercise. It wasn't her clothing that was the issue—it was her skin, and the jet-black tattoos that snaked along her shoulder blades, coiled along her arms, and disappeared down her back. Tar-black lines, flourishes of red and blue scales, a litany of bruise-colored flowers—
Tattoos, they're normal tattoos, and yet Megumi thinks she looks just like Ryoumen Sukuna.
Damn it, Megumi thinks to himself. I need to stop thinking about Itadori.
Yoshi is busy folding up her jacket into a neat square, and doesn't take notice of his staring. But by the time she's set it aside and looked up, Megumi's expression has cleared up into a carefully neutral look.
Still, she seems to realize something's changed. "Is there a problem?"
"No, but… You're from New York, you said?" Megumi asks, keeping his voice level. He knows he's being ridiculously rude. He still can't take his eyes off her skin. "It's just that, uh. Tattoos like that… aren't very popular in Japan."
"I'm aware," Yoshi rolls her wrists and flexes her fingers. "It's frowned upon in this country, so I'd usually keep them covered."
"Why do you have them, then?" Megumi asks before he can help himself. His face isn't red, but he can hardly meet her eyes. "And—I'm so sorry, I don't mean to stare—"
"I get it," Yoshi dismisses his apology with a lazy wave of her hand. "But the culture around tattoos is different in New York. It's a personal choice." She waits a little, in case he has another question, but Megumi just nods. "I'm going to start the stopwatch."
"Right," he nods curtly, raising his hands in preparation.
She raises one arm, palm down, and a baseball bat slowly emerges from the center of her hand. "This isn't a cursed tool," Yoshi informs him. "It hasn't been used long enough to become one."
She lets the bat hang loosely from her hand, her grip slack and her posture relaxed. Again, Megumi is reminded of Sukuna—him in Itadori's damaged body, hands in his pockets, eagerly waiting to see him fight. Taunting him with a crooked smile, describing Itadori's last moments.
Megumi quells the flare of rage in his chest. He can't let it get to him. If Yoshi is as good as Gojo says, he won't stand a chance against her if he's distracted or angry.
He takes a deep, calming breath. Then he drags his hands together and calls forth his Shikigami. "Gyokuken."
It's almost midday, but he's close enough that his shadow extends to almost right in front of Yoshi—his black dog emerges vicious and snarling, right in her face, and the fight is on.
–/–/–/–
Meanwhile in New York, a young woman with bright auburn hair and sun-burnt shoulders stares up at an apartment building in Queens, watching smoke rise from the seventh story windows in gray, billowing gusts.
"Oh my god," the man beside her gasps, grabbing her arm. "Don't you and Yoshi live on that level?"
She pats his hand gently before prying him off. "No," she lies in a soothing tone. "We're on the sixth floor. And our place is getting fumigated, so we didn't leave anything important in there anyway," she assures him.
"Really?" He looks down at her skeptically. "I could've sworn you lived on the seventh floor."
"Don't worry," she says again, beaming up at her date with shining blue-green eyes. "The fire's already been put out, and they're letting the residents back in. I'm sure everything's fine."
"Are you sure?" He frowns at the petite woman, eyes roaming over her. "You know you can always stay with me instead, Wendy. I wouldn't mind. This isn't a safe neighborhood."
Wendy lets her smile stretch even wider, and hopes that it hides the distaste in her eyes. She's seen where he lives already, and his offer isn't as generous as it sounds. "This is home," she tells him simply.
"Wendy…" he complains.
She draws away from him, readjusting the strap of her date dress. His eye follows the movement, skimming over her chest impulsively. "A little fire isn't enough to scare me away," Wendy giggles. "But it's getting late, so I'm going home."
"Where?" he points out, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't you say your apartment's getting fumigated?"
"Yeah," she confirms breezily.
"So?" He frowns. "Where are you staying, then? I'll walk you there, babe." He reaches for her, and Wendy leans away.
"No thanks," she shakes her head, letting the smile drop from her face. "It's not that dangerous here."
He smiles. "What if I wanna spend a little more time with you?" he asks softly, stepping closer.
Wendy laughs, a bright and clear sound that floats through the air like a bird song. "You're silly, Sam!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes. "I'm going down to Mapleton, did ya wanna split a taxi with me?"
"Mapleton?" he repeats with unconcealed displeasure, his smile dropping away. "Y'mean Brooklyn? That's an hour away, Wensy."
"Mmhmm," Wendy presses her lips together hard enough to disguise the scowl on her face. She's already told him she doesn't like that nickname. "Well? Are ya coming with me?"
"You're joking, right?" he asks harshly. "Brooklyn? Even if we split it, that's gotta be like fifty bucks each! Just stay at my place tonight."
"No," Wendy declines again. "I'm going to Mapleton. Have a nice night, Sam."
"W-wait!" he calls, stepping in her path. "C'mon baby, you don't need to be spending that kinda money just for a place to crash. Just stay with me, it's like two stops away from here."
"Good night Sam," she repeats sweetly. "I gotta go."
He huffs, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. I oughta quit while I'm ahead, eh?" He laughs, and Wendy doesn't. "Aw, honey. At least gimme a kiss goodbye?"
Wendy laughs again, dryer and sharper than before. "I don't think so," she says, stepping back.
"No?" He pouts, leaning down to her.
"No," she repeats gently, drawing away. "Quit while you're ahead, Sam."
She can see the disappointment blooming in his gaze, but keeps her distance.
"Alright," he says again, but this time his voice is flat. "I'll text ya. Night, Wendy."
"Bye," Wendy fights the urge to roll her eyes, and steps out to the edge of the sidewalk to flag down a yellow cab. Sam slouches his shoulders and trundles off, not sparing her a second glance.
When he disappears around the corner, Wendy quickly puts her hand down and sighs.
The hot dog vendor at the corner of the street cackles in his low, gravelly voice. "That was painful to watch, chica," he exclaims, shaking his head. "Not even a kiss? Must be bad. Next time I call Carlo, okay?"
"Oh, Abuelito," Wendy gives an exasperated sort of chuckle, "No le digas a Carlo, he's already scared off every boy on the block!"
"Exactamente, chica. Let him scare away the boys. Then, you will find a man," the vendor points out smugly. "You understand? A man. No more boys."
Wendy exhales audibly, hands on her hips. "You sound like Yoshi now," she complains, but a fond smile plays on her lips.
"Claro, Wendy, claro. ¿Dónde está ella? She will scare them off too."
Wendy's smile dims, glancing back at the faint smoke trailing out of the windows of their building. "She's out of town. But I'll see her soon."
A/N: Spanish translations!
Abuelito - Grandpa/Elder
No le digas a Carlo - Don't tell Carlo
Exactamente, chica - Exactly, girl
Claro - Clearly/Of course
¿Dónde está ella? - Where is she?