Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

'Thoughts' in the flashbacks are in 'single' inverted commas.

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

Author's Note:

Alright, I'm alive and kicking. I knew my hiatus would've dragged on because of my exam dates getting extended, my computer getting sick, and that's it. I'm out of excuses. So, I've hiked up the chapter length to compensate and neutralize my tardiness. Aye.

I hit over 13000 words and am smiling like the cat that got the cream. I also did a little dance. (jk)


"Akira of Meraki"

CHAPTER 6

Princesses Don't Cry


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"Mhmm. Hah—hahh!" He felt her hardening nipples on his chest through the dishevelled shirt she wore. He grasped his arms on the sides of her waist and stuttered into her ear. "One hell of a vamp."

There, he saw it. A speck of vexation and fury fumed through her wide brown orbs. They stood against the wall, her skirt discarded and his pants unzipped. And like you might be thinking, his cock was ramming into her leaking pussy. They were fucking for half an hour now. The night had bloomed outside, way before her arrival before she came and sat on his lap, dry humping.

"And you're a fine one to talk, filthy perv." She hissed back, pulling a tuft of hair that's streamed down to the scruff of his neck.

"Ah. I never denied." He didn't shrug. Instead, he slowed his pace, panting.

Her goosebumps stood up, touching his skin, and she bit into his shoulder. "Faster. Faster, or I'll kill you." Her muffled voice squeaked.

There were pillows and white sheets splayed over the carpet of his house. He dug his fingers into the lurid blonde hair and locked their lips in a tasteless kiss.

"Call me my name. Call me Layla." His addictive hands had her head spinning. They halted about her ribs, sliding down to squeeze under her thighs.

"Forgot it." Scrutinizing his smirk, she hit and knocked over a deodorant spray on the dressing table. It clattered on the floor, crying out the sound of her ire. This man is getting on her nerves, acting like he doesn't care about her family background. Sure, he was one of the top-notch, even the most sought after, but so was she. On top of that, Layla couldn't tolerate him ignoring who she was, how drop-dead gorgeous she was, and that she was a fucking high class. Bastard. How dare he start forgetting my name! My foot.

Layla scoffed. "Maybe you are growing old faster than I thought."

"Mm. Then Hanazawa it is." After she slid his length out of her, she caught his cock in her arms, her fingertips rubbing against his balls. The drapes over the glass windows concealed their bodies, only a silhouette to be visible outside. In a trice, he groaned as she crouched down, and sucked on the head of his cock. "Geez."

That's when the tunes of a reggaeton rhythm pierced like a bullet into their ears, breaking the fragile bubble of Satoru's lust. "Don't take the phone." Layla gazed incredulously at him. He quirked an eyebrow and shook his head.

"You came twice. It might be important." Losing the excitement, his cock went limp in her arms.

"What we're doing is more important!" She caterwauled, at once discerning that she couldn't even touch a fibre in his skin. Disposing of the condom in a trashcan, Satoru proceeded past her reclined frame.

"Unfortunately not. Ciao." was his curt retort.

"Twat."

He shrugged, buttoning up his shirt. After tucking his phone in his pockets, he got out of the room and slammed the door. Taking it out of his pocket, he held the phone between his shoulder and head and pulled his feet into the sneakers. "Speak up, Toge."

"I thought you might've already known." Nanami had told him to inform Gojo. "You know about that Kyoto girl with bangs, Kasumi Miwa."

"Yeah. Miwa?"

"Ahm. Regarding the Kurama incident, there was an investigation set in motion by the government. That had ended on some speculations like she's the heir of the Ashiya clan or something." Inumaki didn't know the details. But he had pretty elaborate guesswork. "Must've also flashed it to the folks in all the high station Prefectures. Nanami told me to pass that there's only so much he could tell me and that he's ready to give you an earful the minute you give him the call.."

Heir. Gojo drew in a breath, weighing the word and its implications. What in the world! "Dammit." I knew something like this would happen when everything was going unrealistically smooth. I only saw her last month, right before I sneaked inside the Kyoto School to snitch any info on the sword. "If such a rumour is getting out of hand, disseminated like a virus, the girl could get in trouble." He had to keep an eye out for her. Soon.

"It doesn't seem like we had the time to stop that. At least it's not all over our group chat right now." But this is one big piece of news. If this is true, there's a good 90 per cent chance for Inumaki's negative statement to turn turtle into a positive one. So, this shit went down, all this time he was here. His phone dinged with a message. 2 missed calls from Yaga, one from his aunt, Utahime, and others. There were at least 30 texts to boot.

"I know you're only a handful of students but don't you start being a talker, now. When you should, I'll tell you." There was silence from the other end of the line, then a chunter.

"I will not" breathe a word.

Seeing that it had been the Ashiya clan's cursed object, the spike in energy will have something to do with the Ashiya clan. Into the bargain, the sacred blade is missing in action, nowhere to be found. It could mean only one thing, kicking in the Ashiyas's supreme power to revitalize after 48 years of dormancy, Akira finally merged with its fated host. It has come alive, absorbed into the body of their only descendant cursed with that distinguishing mark: an unmistakable, unordinary shade of blue hair indigenous and rare to the Ashiya clan. They must've been waiting for it. A report that the cursed energy got reborn can only be further evidence that the clan folk had tracked down their missing heir in no time.


.

Her skin felt sticky from sweat. Closing the shower curtain, Kasumi stepped into the shower, all set to immerse herself in the goodness of cool water. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of water, imagining a waterfall splashing into its plunge pool, crashing against pebbles and mossy rocks.

The first thing Suki wanted to do during her Junior High School summer break was to take her to the waterfall in the woods. As always, she had scolded him, taking on the vacant role of the responsible older one, before she finally gave in to his idea. No matter how Kasumi put it, Katsuki was the headstrong one out of them both and knew how to bend her to his will. No matter how she tried, there was a limit to her mature pretence. In the end, Katsuki would poke a finger at her cheek, popping her pouting fit. Besides, if Mizu was going along, then Kazu had no other option but to agree, not that she wasn't going to watch over the older one's stubborn ass, anyways. She recalled trotting across some lush glades as he tugged at her hand, dragging her behind him to the woods. None of the three could think through exactly when their trot had broken into a sprint.

Nervous excitement rose in the humidity when he finally showed her the chilled black coffee of a plunge pool at nightfall, yes, an unholy hour for teenagers to hang around in the woods. But Kasumi would let go of her inhibitions and once more savour this guilty pleasure, being the clueless young teen herself. The water stream emerged from the height of a whacking 70 feet, spraying down to create a crystalline paradise. The torrent trapped itself between two long stones denting inwards, a water glass reflecting verdant shapes like nature's mirror. This area was their secret spot. It had an intimate mood to it. A reason why Katsuki was sure she'd fall in love.

Kasumi held the soap near her lips and blew away the iridescent balls of water from the soap. Bubbles of the lime-scented soap slid down her belly, streamed down the v of her womanhood, and foamed at her feet. Back then, when her eyes saw this moonlit beauty concealed behind the willowwacks for the first time, the 15-year-old Miwa had felt somewhat territorial, although she convinced herself that someone else must've explored it before they did. But it's not like anyone comes there nowadays. Good for her that everyone else is missing out, she thinks selfishly.

She still remembers her mother's good night tales and lullabies. Those brought out the blues and opened up the cuts beneath her bandaged self. And she sang out the soft sedate while water swept over her closed eyelids, over the cupid's bow, dripping at her chin.

.

.

At first, Miwa thought she had imagined it. She traced her fingers about her scalp, massaging. Her hair soaked in the shampoo, smoothening out. The bluenette keened her ears to hear over the rush of drizzle wiping her skin clean. She cut out her singing at the first ratatat near her door. The second knock was loud-loud enough to make her hair stand on end, pricking dread shooting to the roots in a snap. "Suki! I'm using the shower! Stop knocking!" She was already drying her hair with the towel when the honk of a car confused her.

That's when she heard shuffling, sounds flying closer to her ears, making her blood run cold. "Shit." She cursed under her breath. What an unpleasant way to break her peaceful daydream...? Or bath-dream? "Is that you? You're pissing me off. I repeat I don't find this funny. Ah. Is it Katsuki or Mizuki?" Her high-pitched rant dampened to a hiss.

"Who's there?" Through the shower curtain, she saw the outline of a body. Its terrifying shadow loomed over her dainty frame like a dark demon, excluding the horns. No. Mizuki was no more than a few inches taller than her, whereas this figure made her feel tiny. The air blocked up at the core of her throat, refusing to push out. At the moment, she couldn't even breathe. Slowly, she slid the towel from the rail and wrapped it securely around her body. Gandering through her claustrophobia-tainted eyes, there was nothing with which she could defend, but she did take the bottle of detergent before taking a stance. Or whatever it is that she could in a towel that had taken a liking to sliding off her body. "C-can't you hear me, you bastard? Who the fuc-"

She shivered. The lump in her throat hurt as she gulped. She didn't want to open it. Didn't want to open it—Didn't want to wrench open it—Didn't want to wrench open it before the devil does.

The frosted curtain was ripped open. Her heart missed a beat. Kasumi yelped when a large hand pressed over her face in a suffocating grip. "Shhh..." The voice rasped into her ears. "Sorry. We don't have time."

"No way!" Her first response had been denial, bewildered blankness taking over her features, much to the man's impatience. For what reason? He had said it once: there was little to no time. And if that's all the feedback he gets before he could do anything, he might as well take it as a silent agreement. Without intertwining their fingers, a large hand gripped her smaller one and he locked his eyes with her in a long stare, deciding it was time. Thus and thus, in one fell swoop, Kasumi was enveloped by a shroud of emptiness.


.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but this was not the impression she bore before making it here. What would you expect when someone gives you a call to butcher a bunch of curses? You can't be sure. Even pitcher plants captivate.

The building looked lit. Literally. Lit. Lanterns skirted the plinth garlanded in cherry and saffron yarns, bandages ecstatically gay at the cracks where red met gold. Kasumi jumped over a low fence and bonked her feet over the slabs connected to the driveway. Thankfully, they weren't wet, and she didn't kiss the floor. Kamo in tow, she slunk inside the once flamboyant, jazzy mall with eased-up steps.

"Miwa." Only a few meters behind her on the stairs at the entrance, Kamo suggested. "One of us should move to the side and look for the woman. Can you see to it until I take care of the curse?"

She didn't like what he said, or maybe she wasn't into how he worded it. Kasumi would've begged to differ, providing him with some extra data that she has all bases covered to deal with a curse. For all that, Miwa can come down to earth and take a bite of a bland reality sandwich. So while she peeked at her feet and nodded, she resigned herself to cramming the hard brick of truth down her oesophagus. "Okay."

There was no way to tell that this place was cursed. Viewed from the outside, it was just another fizzy place following the fireworks festival, with nothing seemingly out of position. Not until they crossed the threshold into the hall.

Inside the walls, lights wobbled in fits and starts.

She could work along, couldn't she? Missions like this got supposedly completed as a group. But it's not like he's in the wrong here or anything. She was the weaker of both of them, and Kamo probably thinks Miwa would get in his way and make it hard for both of them. I get it. It's group work. That being the case, if the bluenette cannot agree with him, what will that make her? A hypocrite. An arrogant, superficial person. To co-operate is her duty too. She must set her disappointment aside and address herself to the issue at their fingertips.

Miwa bent down and touched the floor before bringing her pointer finger to her face to give a deep sniff. "Yuck. It is not mud or sooty water. Most of it is blood." The neon lights made it hard to see the colour shimmering over the floor, and the dimness of this vestibule made it even more obscure.

"Miwa, be careful. The curse is close." As a matter of course, that's what Miwa thought. At first, she had brushed it off as spots of glimmer from broken lighting. But then, she saw the thousands of tiny eyes enveloping the floor to her right. The sight was gross, at the minimum.

"Kamo-san! MOVE." Kamo couldn't work out hitherto that he'd been upright above a curse. The split second he heard her scream, he wrenched his feet to the grey terrain to propel himself into the air, his unsheathed sword ready to strike. Howbeit, simultaneously, the lighting gave out altogether. "Miwa! Stay close." Kamo glouted into the semi-criminal black, susurrating. Still, there was no sound, no response reassuring him of his partner's presence.

The situation is not good. The manager told them that they were to exorcise a 2nd-grade curse. What they are confronting here and now was nothing short of a cacodemon, not registered in the report they got from him. Peering into the neverending murk, Miwa's dilated pupils met the ugly little monsters crawling around in the corners of every ceiling and counter. Icky pus percolated from their bodies, spoiling wherever they touched, slithering the dilapidated escalators and open shelves, and scaly tentacles worming from the ventilation, hanging upside down. To put it simply, a total mess. Depraved, bloodlusty chaos.

Blinking away the blur over his eyes and regaining his footing, Kamo hurriedly sprinted to his left to grab ahold of Miwa's wrist. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he let go of her hand, peeping into the windows they passed. Miwa avoided tripping over the boxes and slime on the way. Meanwhile, Noritoshi hastened to the nearest opening they saw with brisk diligent steps, the flapping sound of Fly Heads echoing in tandem.

"Let's go together. It'll be better to have each other's back." That tugged up the corners of her lips in the darkness.

Something nagged at her insides, scraping on her ear canal that the brunette wasn't concerned about working alongside her but just that he didn't want to witness a classmate's death, didn't want to let someone die in his presence. Very justifiable, she could agree to that. That's something she wouldn't like too. Although Kamo displayed an admirable character for a leader adept at providing a sense of protection, what she wanted was not that. She wanted to be the one who made people feel secure, wanted to be able to pull off what Kamo could. Yes, she can, except that Kamo had trained for years. Miwa was no Kamo. She can only try and try and try.

Forbye, for now, Miwa is satisfied. Ignorance is bliss.

They closed around the corner, bumbling inside a suite about where the caterwaul came. Huddled in the corner was a woman. Immediately, once Kasumi got closer to shake her awake, the woman extended her frail arms as if trying to say something but didn't let the bluenette hold her up. She chewed on her thumb, playing with the greasy chestnut hair that covered half of her contorted face. Despite that, what unsettled Miwa was the clot that smeared the floor, oozing from between the woman's thighs. At that very moment, her eyes caught the sight of a crying mess between her legs, barely veiled by her bloody crepe shawl. As anticipated, by god's perfect grace, the manager had not provided them that the hostage had been pregnant, not to mention in labour. Miwa adjusted her skirt, and her focus shifted to her dry lips. It mouthed 'water,' heaving hard but without any sound.

"Hey, we'll find some water. But come on, now. Let's get you out of here first." Miwa couldn't understand what she was trying to speak, so instead, she replied to comfort, "Don't worry. You and your baby are safe."

Kasumi tried to reassure, even with the dread pooling in her belly while she tried to believe the lie herself. Heck. If she couldn't get them out of here first, then that's going haunt her with regret, her own words biting her in the ass, killing her without killing her. She wouldn't be able to bear that.

They sensed it before they saw it. The silhouette was tall, taller than both their heights combined. Its upper body vanished into the darkness of the ceiling. The curse trotted left and right, drawing zigzags through the corridors. Sliding a finger up to the hilt of the bamboo rod in its right arm, it swung a Chirigiriki around in circles.

A cardinal red mohawk materialised in the thin air. The students pinched their noses from the stench of sulphur reeking from the mammoth form. Its harrowing eyes darted from Miwa to Kamo as if deciding whom to devour first, getting closer to the room's yawning doorway. Hot on his feet, Kamo's left hand jerked up to position his bow, shooting a powerful arrow athwart the empty corridors. He groaned as the arrow missed the aim, wherever his eyes had went. Miwa sprung into action when a shadow passed behind her, flicking the hair behind her ears. She unsheathed her katana, her orbs following the burning white line flashing in the dark.

"New Shadow Style: Simple Domain." Purple blood, like the poison from a heliotrope, sprayed into the heady air when Miwa peeled over the clawed limb that had come behind her blue-haired head. The rest of its body staggered before an angry holler pierced their tender ears with nefarious intent.

"Inarticulate. Disjoined. Ferine." Kamo heeded. Kasumi grunted in tune, latching onto his point. "A first grade." With eyes splattered on every inch of its skin, black-sclera gleaming.

The creature snarled, barreling inside the room like a starved animal, even if the contrary was true, with the number of accumulated corpses inside the mall. Kamo glowered and zoomed to the side, demanding a better aimed, spooking onslaught from the curse. Miwa dashed sideways to avoid the hit, her katana clutched tight, taking a low swing. The blade never met the spirit's chest, simply ripping through nothingness and nothing else.

The devil ducked his slice by hurling its body into the air in a somersault. It propped its body on a headstand before launching its arms to the floor at the speed of light. Trunk upside down, its legs soon split, stretching the Chigiriki between the toes of the feet before nimbly scoring a head spin. Such fast footwork. Kamo would've enjoyed the show if it wasn't for a curse.

The Chigiriki flung in the air from the dynamic momentum and Boom! Something thorny wrapped around Kamo's legs, gripping him like a fugly bloodsucker. The chains pinned him to the spot after they pulled at his calf, sending the brunette slamming to the ground. The burly figure bellowed out an anguished wail, holding up a pair of shackles to match the navy sheriff's uniform it had on. Beyond doubt, the cursed spirit must've snagged it from a corpse. They had no time to waste. With each passing second, even a feeble attempt at escape might become exceedingly cardinal.

Swivel-eyed, Kamo countered the attack with his own after thwacking one foot behind him on the floor while kicking the other over the ugly head of the curse. He brought his hands together, casting the spell with a biting shout. "Blood Manipulation: Slicing Exorcism." The chains got cut in half. Likewise, the balance snapped just about from both sides.

An iron-smelling gust stippled her skin with gooseflesh. Miwa's spine banged against the leg of a rusted bench flanked to the margin of the room, rolling aside after having buckled and brought down from shock. The katana flew out of her grasp, hitting the floor near the hunched figure of the hysterical, gory woman.

Kamo blinked his eyes, checking his sides after correcting his footing, so on edge. It was Quarter to ten, pitch black outside, while they strove to finish a job that demanded more time, if possible. "Quick." The older student urged in a gravelly dismal voice. Miwa must've missed the sharp-edged chains slinging to her face, "The fuck! Focus!" the third-year student scolded as he landed a scalding punch in the spirit's crotch before blootering off its chained rode.

It must've found the shackles useless, Kasumi notes, looking at the discarded metal on the ground. Prioritising escaping over exorcising is simply practical. But call them stupidly brave; they weren't backing down without effort. The woman held the baby to her chest when the curse suddenly regained its vigour. It tilted its gaudy head, eyes zeroing in on the little bundle in her arms.

Gulping, Miwa reached for her thighs where she always kept her dagger but paused as her lips drew to a line. Her face shadowed, her frame shuddering.

The infant screamed one last time before its head severed from its tiny body. The curse ate up half of its body in a few bites, leaving the limbless flesh to rot on the floor. The demonic creature craned its neck, letting out an ear-splitting growl before it took a stance beyond the soft glow of neon tubes. It lept out from the dark, blasting Miwa to a wall. Drool and blood dripped from its mouth, and the disgusting mess stuck against its maw.

"MIWA." Kamo buckled, spitting the vomit that had gushed up his throat at the consecutive sights, and snarled askance. When he shifted his weight against his right leg, Miwa noticed several lacerations from the blades that littered his rigid, gelid back.

The mother grasped at the part of her chest where her heart is awhile, eyes bulged and needled with torment, lips frozen in a small O. Inclined against the corner wall, she was soundless, and her ashen shoulders did not shiver.

Slowly, patiently, numbed as if by frostbite, Noritoshi raised his chin and held his thumb to the side of her neck. Stilling, he announced in an unusually cold drone, "They're dead." Not even when he said that did his eyes graze the corpse's face.

A heart attack is spasming and crippling to witness. Kamo is worse for wear, but Kasumi wasn't faring any better. What they saw was not merely an insult to their skills. It was grief, a pain that'll torture them for years from today. Beneath the guilt now weighing down on Miwa, her incompetence and limits came crashing down on her.

Kamo spun, reaching behind his shoulders. He saw red. It blistered cold in his slanted slits as his arrow hit the bullseye, one last look at the purple spewing from the punctured hole in the curse's chest like magma.

Kasumi's eyes screwed in a mixture of disgust and horror. The undercurrent of grief remained in her belly. "I didn't keep my promise."

.

.

.

This time she doesn't catch her breath, pant or puff. Instantly as she woke up in some bed, she could tell that it was still Saturday, but darker. Her hair was wet from the shower for good measure. It takes a few moments for her to process her state of affairs. And roll off the bed from the start, butt bashing the ground in silence.

Miwa had lost her mind. She's sure to have trauma, waking up from this day forth. It's the second time she gets roused up from her sleep, followed by something freakish, not to say with graphic nightmares. She only needed to shut her eyes to see the image that had perforated into her retinae not too many months ago: the constant, irrefutable evidence of her dead loss from that night. Rubbernecking up as she caught a movement in her peripheral vision, her eyes blew wide.

"Whaaah! Gojo-sensei?!"

Roosted on a chair, Gojo titled his head to her side, red wine lips smacking as he surveyed her with those eyes bluer and brighter than the Kyoto City sky at the beginning of September. "Mhmm. That was a short nap."

She was perhaps an hour or half apart from the next day. Sliding out of the chair, Gojo squatted down, his feet warm on the fluffy rug as he extended an arm for her to take. His eyes were wide-open, even so not as much as hers. Miwa noticed his eyes shifting down, cheeks dusted pink. She followed his line of sight and saw that he was lending an arm to help her up. Oh. Without further ado, Kasumi took the extended help.

She mussed the sheets closer to her bosom and rationalized her line of thinking, her state of undress dawning on her for good. Her cleavage was conspicuous, a peach dale melting off her creamy plumps. Under the white smoothness of a blanket squeezing a burrito around her, she felt mother-naked. There was nothing but a tiny excuse for a towel to case her nudeness.

"First of all, I'm sorry for barging into your bath like that. Long story short, we teleported, and you were out cold. Straight away, I put you on this bed and rolled you into that burrito. Just like that."

She struggled with words, croaks and cracks rattling her speech. "Why—what the fu—why have you—" It wasn't because she wanted water. It wasn't because her throat was parched. (Granted, chances are, the Atacama Desert would be in better shape than her.) Wrinkling the sheets with her fists, Miwa stopped for a breath. It wasn't because her flesh and bones had gotten deadbeat. But because shock scrambled her brains. She couldn't deduce answers, didn't know how to fill the gutters of blanks and spaces.

Little did she know of the reason behind his presence, but the picture that Miwa did get was that she just got teleported for the hell of it. And there she was, inside his apartment? At any rate, it didn't give her the vibes.

"It's not exactly my house, but it's the first place that came to mind. I did assess between bringing you here and hiding you somewhere else. But you know what happened. So, here, take my shirt. I did not find anything else here." He told, pushing the cloth into her arms. Gojo didn't miss how she inhaled a sharp breath nor how positively her body stiffened at his gaze. But that was just for a quick fading moment. Miwa, for the most part, sat too preoccupied with her anxiety, swarmed with unanswered questions.

Am I going to get executed? What did I do wrong? Is it about that ordeal from the cemetery? If I die, who will look after my brothers? They will be devastated. Katsuki will have to take care of Mizu alone. If I hadn't been stubborn and listened to Suki in the first place instead of jumping at the opportunity, I could still be alive. But Itadori-san is not dead yet, so maybe I'll get to live. Or, perhaps they finally figured out that I'm useless and are expelling me. I hope it is the latter. I hope it's not either. What else can I do to earn a living? Maybe I can get a job at a hotel, work as a maid. No. No. No. No. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait, I'm overthinking.

Shh. Deep breaths. Shh!

Miwa gandered around the room aimlessly, clutching right at the cotton around her. Her mind swam, looking for a meaning. She felt like the walls were caving in, closing in on her. And when she gulped, rubbing her icy palms against her sides to warm up, the entire room became an Eskimo.

Shirtless, Gojo put his arms inside his pant pockets, his eyebrows furrowing, sensing her poor state of distress. "I'll give you an explanation in a little while. Go change now." He watched the crackling fire and said softly.

Take it easy, Miwa. Don't lose your cool in front of Satoru Gojo and make a fool out of yourself again. Get yourself together. Okay, that's not practical. Besides, he was the one who—why did he even do that? Did he kidnap me?

.

Jesus fucking christ!

He kidnapped me! He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me. He kidnapped me—Shut the fuck up, Brain!

Miwa Kasumi, you are not that silly. You mustn't go cuckoo at a time like this. YOUR LIFE is at stake.

Or did you finally go away with the fairies?

Kasumi squirmed out from the bed to make a beeline for the bathroom in no time flat. "Aano. It's stuck." She gripped the handle of the bathroom door to no avail. It did not budge.

"Shit. Shoko will be miffed." Satoru hesitated to break the door, and Kasumi had a distinct impression that this "Shoko" was uninformed of their short stay. Is this his friend's cabin? Motel? Nope, the room is ridiculously roomy for a motel. "Give me a second. I will—"

"Could you turn around for a couple of minutes?" Miwa coughed and broke in with a tight-lipped smile. "S'okay. I can change fast."

At the far end of the room, Gojo sat down on a hoary Windsor chair facing the wall-to-wall glass, and when the towel finally slipped from her body, there, on the glass, he caught the sight of a reflection. Tattoos? Or, more critically, markings...?

He spotted it betwixt the transparency of sixty seconds while she tucked her hands into the cuffs of his long-sleeved oxford shirt. Not many things spark his interest, but when it does, Satoru Gojo's curiosity is a Himalayan phenomenon. Miwa may have missed the exquisite sight of her umbral contours on the tinted reflective glass. Au contraire, Satoru saw the whole kit and the caboodle and knew he shouldn't espy, but the needle of his expiring moral compass did not stand a chance against his curiosity.

His eyes traced along the dark curls of the most enticing birthmark he had ever seen in his life, a work of art in itself.

He clocked it once she began buttoning up, the birthmark of a white serpent slithering around an arrow, a symbol of protection and transformation. Where its fledgling should be, the down shaft has three peacock feathers shooting out the tip like the waves of water, a mark of refined elegance, a potent seal that could've been hiding beneath her skin waiting for the right time to be revealed, the regalia of their clan. A symbol of royalty. A paramount no joke.

In plain English, is that clan branding? Yikes.

Down the middle of her chest, the feathers fanned out, efflorescent at her cleavage. The arrow streamed down the middle of her stomach, pointing at her navel.

The prim trim of cotton flicked against the arrow's razor-sharp dip up her belly button before it got pulled down to stop at her thighs. Thankfully, either Gojo veered his eyes away from her, alarmed that he's been staring, or Miwa quickly covered her front before his analysis could travel further down the ephemeral swathe of nakedness. Satoru cannot point out which. Miwa fiddled and tweaked at the hem of his shirt that was already loose and decently cloaking her curves. There is a shedload of reasons why a small arrangement could hit the skids. Satoru sighed as he remarked in his head. But it's not like me to leave anything halfway. If I'm doing this, I shall go the whole hog, ready to accept the repercussions.

Standing up from his seat, Satoru licked his chapped lips, took the pitcher from the bar table aligned near the wall, and poured a large glass to the brim. Offering her the water, Satoru exhaled carefully. There was a strange glint in his eyes. However, the next moment she felt detached from him and his emotions. "So you are. For real. Seriously, who saw this coming!"

Trepidation cracked in her eyes, circuiting into her nerves. It felt as if the real deal lurked behind an insouciant mask. From the side of the bed, heat poured into Katsumi's skin from the embers burning in the hearth. She glanced away, clearly bothered by his proximity.

"I'm sorry?" Kasumi sipped the water, frowning.

Gojo felt deific cursed energy wafting out of Miwa in waves and weaves, an oceanic burn winding out of her, tangible to those who can tell. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was a sight for sore eyes. In the bargain, to the same degree, the Ashiyas, along with the rest, can detect it too.

That being the case, why did the Kyoto school or her friends not sense the heat of potent power a week ago? That's because the cursed energy had taken time to adjust to her body. That was also why it had taken days for even a simple cut to heal.

"You don't know yet?" He laughed at the poleaxed expression on her face.

Satoru lolled, supporting his weight on a tall shelf athwart the cushions, clad in only a pair of black cargo pants. The colour of his hair was deceptively serene, a sharp contrast to his long faceted windows to the world.

"Oh crap, I thought that Gakuganji or someone might've informed you by now," Satoru asked Miwa, pensively rubbing his chin, making prompt gestures with his hands as though it made the situation any better. "You look fairly clueless. Have you any idea the stir you've caused in the Jujutsu world? You left people gobsmacked."

Releasing his breath in a whose, he mused. "Pin back your ears and bear in mind what I'm going to say."

Gojo started and stated. "You are now the wielder of Akira." He drawled. "It's a Special Grade cursed weapon belonging to your family. Of course. To put it mildly, it's lethal. As an automatic result to that, more or less prized."

Her jaw tightened. "What family?" Kasumi's messy turquoise hair gleamed sleek, and anyone within a 5-meter radius could tell she had dipped her head in an entire bucket of coconut-scented shampoo while bathing.

"What? Don't know anything at all? Shoot! You don't get it. Do you?"

Satoru jutted his chin and spread his arms wide. "Guess what, Miwa," For Kasumi, it happened in slow-mo. "you are the heir to the Ashiyas. Congratulations." Presto, she spewed the water she'd been drinking and spit. "I welcome you to the world of clan bullshit, the so-called Jujutsu royalty."

Miwa wasn't sure where he was going with this. A wary smile cropped up on her lips. "I'm sorry. I..., I don't. Ashiyas? Heir?" Slack-mouthed, she twiddled her thumbs, not sure if he was toasting her for her run of luck or tough luck. "Sensei, what are you saying?" Oh, he was obviously laying it on thick. "Actually, what am I saying? You have such dark humour. Hahaha."

He rattled on. "It's actually funny." Albeit being certifiable moonshine. "I should've known. I didn't give much thought to your hair colour until now. I thought it was dye. I thought I was more observant than this."

"Should I be concerned?" Against her better judgement, Kasumi wanted to growl in frustration.

"A whole lot. It's spooky too." He snorted, closing his eyes. "Don't you want to know why you're here? You were about to get kidnapped by your friendly neighbourhood clan, Zenin. Kidnapped as in abducted." He's making up stories, stealing scenes from bad flicks. He is dead set on making a monkey out of her.

"You know what I mean. What if I had failed to make it on time, and a hitman assassinated you? But chillax, you're in safe hands now!" Gojo pressed a peace sign to his left pectoral. "We don't know their plans. Nonetheless, ten to one, you have a bounty on your head right now, at least thirty million."

"T-thirty million yen?"

"At least." Never in her 18 years of existence had she imagined a car crash where her life is doomed to cost a mint.

"It's not funny at all." Her voice sharpened, a shiver tearing down her spine. It should scare the pants off her.

She was that screwed. "Yes, that's true as well. Things are about to get serious."

"You're confusing me. Gojo-sensei." Shoulders slumped and wilting on the bed, Kasumi mumbled, not looking up from her toenails. Enough already.

"I wonder if I'll need that honorific, things being what they are." He made an off-hand comment.

"I'll tell you beforehand that I can't provide lotsa knowledge about your.. erm.. situation. I hardly know the bits and pieces, not counting your living ancestry. Had I known you would end up like this, I would've done my homework."

"You have those markings on your body? Do you?" He asked like he was making sure—like he hadn't stared at it a while ago. She nodded. "Have you felt changes in your body recently?" He just about made it sound like he was a concerned doctor. At that, a misplaced bubbly pluvial pitter-pattered and petered inside her.

The will-o'-the-wisp of a powder blue spirit swirling about a silver serpent clogged her mind space. "I've been dreaming, trancing. Quite profusely."

"From when on?"

"The other day. Hrmm, it's been a fortnight. Ever since I got bamboozled by a thief in—"

Eyes shut, Gojo hitched up a coolly arched eyebrow. "Kurama."

"And when I woke up after a week, I found these markings, and my katana...," Miwa crossed her arms and pouted. "my katana was missing. I was so mad." She ran her mouth in a high-pitched soprano. "It's the second time someone had mugged me and run off with my katana—Hold on, how do you know that?"

"Connections." She might not have meditated upon his tattoo inquiry. On second thought, Satoru surmised she'd brushed it aside as his expertise on arcane, metaphysical things. He didn't need her to know that he almost had her mapped out au naturel.

"And can I ask you what it was about if it doesn't make you uncomfortable? If it's not unrelated," he commented flatly.

Kasumi clasped her hands together, coughing nervously. Her eyes had somehow found time to roam over the male specimen that had her out-and-out attention.

Miwa was distracted by the pace at which his bare pecs rose up and down. When he moved his hands, the rippling on his biceps had her wanting to bite her bottom lips. The rugged bent between his stomach and hips, where his pants sank low, had her throat dry and gulping.

Blinking up at the right corner of the ceiling, she cleared her throat. That sharp jawline and those smoking hot lips didn't help her thirst.

It's hard for Miwa to not let that blush ruddy up her cheeks, despite the gravity of the situation. She didn't want to be caught off guard and trip up. "No, no, it doesn't. It's just a myriad of mental images. White snakes in the water. Shirohebi. And in the fantasies, it's always pelting down no matter where it is." Precipitously, her eyes glazed, getting her head out of the clouds.

Miwa's quietness was long drawn out, shoulders drooped, letting her bangs hide her face. "Is that all?"

She thought of Katsuki and Mizuki waiting for her at home. She hoped they weren't. What if something happened to them?

"Yes." How could she let herself fantasize at a time like this? I am the worst.

"The Jujutsu world of Japan is deemed hierarchical. Nothing that I approve of. You must know that."

"I'm not a vessel of sorts, am I?" Like Itadori Yuji?

"A 70/100 guess, not bad." Kasumi winced. No, everything about this was bad news. He smirked but answered with clinical indifference. "Except. You're not. You're powering cursed energy within you. You became one with your power, and Akira is your power. It's an innate Jujutsu like Inumaki's speech or my six eyes." That's the most far-fetched thing she's ever heard in her life. "You merged with it on that eventful day when you visited your mother."

"She's dead. When do you think I visited her?" Grinding her teeth, Miwa tried to smooth the way for coherence. How can she remain good-natured with an avalanche brewing inside her all the longer?

Satoru's words were more nonchalant than ever, leaving out that tonight, they had given her an acoustic shock. "Her grave. In Kurama."

Her stomach tied up in knots, all passivity curdled from her face, molten into deep-seated resentment. "Ashiyas. That g-grave." Her mouth opened and closed. "My mother is—No, this can't be true."

An innate cursed technique...

"Ahuh. What the hell is even Akira?" Without thinking, she yawned. The absurdity of her predicament, combined with exhaustion from staying up this late at night, was probably messing with her head. She was zapped.

I won't believe it. Yes, I had wished for a life of ease, milk n' honey. It's been harder for me. In my shoes, who wouldn't? Maybe someone brave, filled with conviction. But flipping heck, I'm just average. I can never be that guy. I've come to accept it.

Because I could've managed.

Miwa leaned forward with flared nostrils. She wiped a sweaty finger through the frown lines on her glabella, feet tapping the floor. Tch. How dare you give me hope like this! It's so cold-hearted, unkind! So fucking cruel.

.

Oi. It's a dream, a hallucination. Wake up, Kasumi. It's not happening, just a projection of your wish, a beautiful nightmare like any other. The only thing that does make any sense is that you've gone cuckoo!

Indeed.

"I could've stayed at home."

For five whole minutes, Satoru said nothing.

Wow. He dipped his chin, soaking in the indirect question that lay under her voice: the elephant in the room; Why am I here? You're the strongest. The Zenin won't stand a chance against you.

So, Why. Am. I. Here?

"It'll make things complicated. That's why I had to teleport you here. In the first place." Gojo's smile widened, and saccharine sarcasm dripped from his tongue. "Because I'm the prince of the Gojo clan. And you're the young princess of the Ashiya clan." The metaphors matched neither of them. Miwa's potty noggin protested. For Gojo, it's thanks to his general attitude, never mind her.

He wants to stave off everything that he can foresee. Gojo clan is biding its time, ready to pounce at the first opening they get. In fact, they wouldn't even need one. Chances are at their disposal to be made and modified. Should he tell her that?

No, not now. Satoru glanced outside. The windows overlooked swaying rice fields and fresh vegetable patches slumbering in the bedtime breeze. "It's advisable for us to steer clear from each other's vicinity, avoid each other like the plague. To save our asses from getting dragged into unnecessary gossip. These people can make weak tea and then make it strong."

Kasumi still looked puzzled as she rammed her bare foot back into the bed and pushed her weight against the wall.

"There shouldn't be any gossip." What is he not telling me? The ponders that ran through her mind were loud. They rumbled off the miscellany cluttering up the adjoining cupboard into Gojo's ears.

On the tiny balcony beyond the glass, green leaves of ivy clung to the wrought iron parapet, gracing it. The undertones of the weather were needlessly diaphanous out of doors. Sure, he could've taken her somewhere else. But he figured out that nothing would make any difference, let it be his apartment or a shanty in the woods. That's why Gojo brought her here, all the same, open-eyed for the ticking time bomb. He thought about it with the limited time at his expense, but then he couldn't come up with a place in his possession that his clan wouldn't be keeping tabs on.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew better." His face smoothed, retorting. "Our clans have a shared history." He whistled before folding a hand to scan his wristwatch. "Ah, leave it. It's quite a bit and hella complicated. I'll tell you later."

"Please explain." Kasumi hurried with an expectant look on her face. Satoru saw how wane she looked.

"Nuh. I wouldn't stress you out any further." Though, she must acutely want to relieve herself of the throbbing to anatomise this unsettled pain-in-the-neck of a trial. "Anyone can see how overwhelmed you are." His expression became neural, almost guarded. "It's alright. I know it is too much to digest. Rest easy. You'll get a panic attack if you continue to push yourself." He let loose a pronounced sigh. "And that isn't exactly gonna be ideal. Talk about double trouble."

.

.

"How long before I could get back home?"

"You're not staying unless necessary. We'll get you back soon after I make sure the Zenin fell back briefly. But you—Ow, have siblings, don't you? Outright forgot about that! Tch—" Gojo threw his head back, clicking his tongue to the roof of his jaws. "You and your siblings can't stay there forever. It's a bad idea since I'm assuming you don't know beans about your new dynamic. I'm leaving that for Utahime or someone else to explain. So you're gonna stay inside the confines of Kyoto High while that happens. You're gonna have to! If I'm not mistaken, they should've set up a meeting and must be having ongoing discussions about what to do with you. Succeeding that, I'm looking forward to their notification any minute now. Should I bump into one of your family members or relatives in Kyoto, I won't be in the least surprised."

"My family..." She peered into his exposed eyes and said in an iffy, shaky voice hovering slightly over a whisper. "They're my brothers."

I don't want this: people popping up like mushrooms after a rain. It feels so wrong and... and shallow like a flimsy excuse. But I'm lying to myself if I said I'm not keyed up and jumpy just the same.

I'm not foolish enough to turn down a golden chance, but I can't just suck it up. I can't...

.

I've known the taste of mediocrity, poorness and abandonment. I've been almost invisible. I've been starved and unsheltered. I have lost a lot and felt a lot lost. Do I still wish to be a part of this nepotic system? No, I certainly don't.

.

Do I deserve it? Am I worthy of the title he says I'm gonna have from now on? I don't know.

I don't know anything anymore. I don't even know myself anymore.

But I've been unsure many times in my life. It is indeed Gojo Satoru in the flesh, standing before me, spouting all this. But should I believe it?

I don't know that too.

It's too good—no—too surreal to be true.

.

Now, there's only one thing I can hold on to...

The fact that I'll survive.

.

This is less than ideal, not the worst.

.

"Tee-hee. It's a lot to take in. Yep." He grinned wanly, shaking his head. "Take your time. I'm going to buy some average-sized clothes. Um... Aren't you hungry? I'll get you something to eat as well." Kasumi almost did a technicolour yawn. She's not hungry. Her face may or may not have betrayed that notion to Satoru. "You need to eat. No 'buts.' You might pass out again, and I don't want to deal with the aftermath and a cranky Utahime."

There's a cunning nature prevailing in the clan. He didn't want to trigger their predictable urge to get them roped in and mixed up in this newly discovered opportunity. They're creeps. They keep tabs on him, and they know. As long as Satoru's the head of the clan, there's little he can do about it. He did not think about the Tokyo institution because if he brought her there, things would become official, and Kyoto school would intervene with interrogations, probably allegations against him for meddling with their students.

He tilted his head, looking to the door, then back at her, quipping. "Don't sneak out while I'm gone, eh?"

Without waiting for her answer, Gojo rounded the bed, striding across the room to shop for clothes and food. Before he can teleport, he senses something amiss, which Miwa didn't seem to be wary of. Kasumi leapt up to lock the door from inside. In the interim, he opens the door to a sound he couldn't quite place and goes out to check it out.

All at once, like a bat out of hell, a pang of conscience settled on her. She broke out in cold sweat, and ripe, shameful heat kindled her cheeks. She swore silently before folding the blanket around her waist. Miwa turned around to see the hunk of a man standing in the doorway next to some wooden boxes, his gorgeous frame filling the door frame with ease.

"Hold on," Their footsteps squelched on the wet tiles, awfully noisy. Hailstones had spurted in through the cosmic chinks in the net walls hedging in one side of the corridors. She yelled as she tried to not trip over Satoru. "Gojo-sensei, umm." Miwa squeaked as she grabbed his wrist before he could move further.

Otherwise, she is going to be sitting in the room, staining.

She felt a thorn skewering her throat when she asked, "Uhhh, will you lend me some money?" Her squint slipped to the exposed column of his pale smooth neck.

"Huh?" Her brother will not be embarrassed, won't be making a face or fuss. He had done it for her before and will do it again. Okey-dokey. Then again, she cannot expect every man to have the same mindset. Miwa ran a hand through her bed hair, looking awkward, flushed. She can't help it. She needs to wash the sheets and clean the shirt immediately.

Diametrically before them, a narrow flight of flagstone steps descended to the ground floor. It seemed like a modest apartment building, gratifyingly silent and safe. "It's just that.. ahem... I'm on my period. I didn't get time when you—" Underneath the blanket, his shirt on her had blood smeared. That explained her stomach cramps and irritation.

"Oh!" From the mezzanine, a cosy foyer is in sight. Miwa enshrouded her inappropriately clothed body perfectly behind Gojo, away from the nosy glances of the middle-aged woman scrambling down the stairs.

"Oh." He reiterated like he had an epiphany.

"OK. You don't have to buy." She quickly added. "Could you give me 600 yen? I'll re—"

"Hey, hey, hey." He leaned forward, eyeing her, amused. "D'you think I'll get abashed n' nervous? And how do you plan on going outside dressed like that? Miwa, you missed the entire point of why we're doing this." Miwa wanted to bang her head on the door. It had come across like she was not playing with a full deck. She's going to be sulking over this till the cow comes home!

Now Gojo-Sensei must be thinking that I have a screw loose. Way to go, Kasumi. Way to go. What a milestone you've hit in idiocy!

"Gosh. I'm a man. I can handle it. I'm not ashamed to buy it." He chuckled and patted her on the head like she was a child. "Feel free to ask for help when you need it."

"Also, I'll need—" Bra? Panties? Underwears? Oh My Fucking God! I'm going to die!

"Actually, I was going to bring someone." Hell. Her face is beet red. "An acquaintance. You can tell her your measurements, she'll buy them for you. I figured I didn't need to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He could've told me sooner! I would've avoided all this embarrassment!

Gojo put a name on that particular sound he heard while opening the door. He had pinned it down. This is a delicate situation, something not to be taken with a pinch of salt. Miwa can get attacked. They would get exposed.

He was right. Miwa should stay inside. Safe, sound, secreted.

Kasumi blinked and opened her mouth to speak. However, it was interrupted by Gojo grabbing her shoulders. He gripped hard at her elbow to haul her to his side.

Just when her face buried into the side of his chest from the strength of his arm. The musky cologne on his pale skin engulfed her senses. It took her some time to kick start her brain to shove those lazy words out of her mouth.

"What happened? Did you see something?"

If anyone were to spot them—no, she doesn't want to think about it. It makes her feel like she's doing something wrong, although they weren't. It makes her anxious.

He yanks her back and wedges them into a shallow alcove between the rooms, cramped with dusty paintings and bronze vases. He couldn't protect her by coming out in the open. He had decided against sauntering to the front of her house and threatening the Zenin because that'll cause some fresh, uninvited rumours, thanks to his elite status and her upgraded one.

"It's nothing. I imagined it." He lied before ordering casually, watching her go. "Lock the door. If you don't hear my voice, it's not me. Don't open it. I'll bring food and get the lady to buy you before I leave again."

.

.

Is it against my credo and ethics to get involved with a student?

Perhaps.

Satoru Gojo wasn't the best teacher. For good measure, he had caught onto it well in advance with plenty of time to spare. He wasn't exactly a good person all the more. Yet, as it happens, he knew the limits to his "limitlessness."

It smoothly sounded like a taboo. Again, what is startling is that I didn't pick up a hint of weirdness sneaking a look at the girl like that.

But heck, he wasn't one to feel guilty about it. So why should he care? Why bother when there are tons of pertinent matters that he should be giving a damn about?

He was a teacher, but was she his student? No, she wasn't his student, and what's more, she's not a minor. Miwa Kasumi wasn't a child. Ergo, it wasn't logically a taboo. I should cut the cackle pronto. I gotta get my mind off this shit and cut loose. It's not like he was attracted to her in the first place. It's no big deal. If presented with such a mesmerizing tattoo—scratch that, it's a birthmark, a pretty fuckin birthmark of the Ashiyas—any curious soul would take a lingering glance.

Besides, this was Miwa Kasumi, aka Ashiya Kasumi, the lass who may or may not make things complicated for both of them. Granted that Gojo had always been buckled up for hassles and hazards, this hurricane wasn't something he's come to terms with. She doesn't deserve what's coming.

Time to hit the clubs and do some hot yoga. Gojo twisted his lips for a brassy, rakish snicker. Bang Bang Bang.

He will wait just a little more. Just a little more.


.

Utility poles drew long stripes of black into the blue horizon as night faded away. They were a good way outside the metropolis now, and rimming the dual carriageway were rolling barrows, unfurling shoots of marmalade sulphur cosmos, and citron leaves of coral bells.

"Are you learning to drive?" He rolled his eyes and huffed for the umpteenth time, tiredly pushing thick blonde tufts out of his face. Gust blasted over the tinted windows with little mercy.

"You are not my dad." Pressing his foot against the accelerator, Yasuragi craned his neck to the open tempered glass, coughing. "I am your dad."

"That doesn't have anything to do with you being a slowpoke."

The man was quick to retort. "Says the brat who begged me to take another car and delayed us in the first place." They passed a gas station after long stretches of pasture covered in barns and stables, the dwellings few and far between. It was only quarter to four in the morning, but it was almost inkier and boreal than the city.

The shorter blonde pondered that for a minute. "Yeah, it was in the weather forecast that my car would break down today...! And when did I beg?"

"You did beg. I don't have amnesia."

"I don't have amLessia either."

"Pfft. It's amnesia." There was a pregnant pause where Yasha's eyelashes fluffed wide around the whites of his eyes. "Old geezer can't understand sarcasm—" "—Yes, I understood that you hadn't graduated from middle school. Yet."

"DORKS! Look at the road before I throw you both out and ride by myself." A bristled Himawari reached out from the backseat to smack backhanded at the back of their heads. The older blonde grouched vehemently to express his disagreement. All along, Yasha howled at the torment. And one more time, it got still and tranquil in the car.

"We're just about there," Glimpsing down at his watch, Yasuragi slowed the car and said on autopilot.

Miwa's house seemed old, small and cosy; she must've brought it cheap since it's much away from the city. The charred wood, stubby fence posts threaded with rusted, coiled wires, and overgrown weeds stretched around the lane.

However, a bright parching beam athwart the road drew their attention away from the house. The older man and woman exchange glances. Something about the red Mustang parked near the house gave her a bad feeling in the gut. Its headlights were on.

Yasha narrowed his eyes, blowing a lock of gold away from his cheeks. "Obasan," It's that fucker's car. "it's the Zenin." The signal lights in his head flared and glinted red. Yasuragi's lips screwed into grimace.

The brunette bolts upright on her seat, heart pounding, thrumming in concern for her blood. Her daughter's baby.

.

"Too bright for sneaky business? Don't you think so, Yasuragi?" She chuckled aloud, waving a hand to their car. It was a nice attempt though. Treacherous.

Himawari can make a fuss over it. And this wouldn't be any minor clash with the Zenin. It'll be ugly.

When the Ashiya clan confronts the Zenin, the latter knows that the former has outnumbered them toot sweet. The situation is sort of similar to the Gojo clan without Gojo Satoru. Although it's like a gold crown missing its jewel, Ashiyas hold dominion united, persevered, on the same wavelength. Loyalty is their law. Compounded by the fact that they underwent about two decades without anyone to enshrine Akira, without their prime sorcerer. They are now more robust than ever.

"We are aware of your intentions, Zenin. You know that we would not remain idle at this sort of threat. Yet, would you deliberately invite bloodshed?" Ambushing a member of another clan, didn't they know the position that would put them in? The consequences that will follow!

"Hi there." They didn't seem worried about being caught red-handed. In fact, a little eager to welcome what might've turned into an uncomfortable situation. "Calm down a bit. We just wanted to come and greet your little strange-haired grandchild. I don't understand what you meant by intentions because all I want us to be is allies. Didn't expect you to expect..." The aforementioned fucker with piercing hazel eyes and bleached hair (accented with his black roots) minced his way up to her. Naoya, the youngest in Naobito's children who inherited the Projection Sorcery, the head of the clan's elite unit of jujutsu sorcerers, the Hei...

"such vile things from us." He moaned with crinkled eyes and raised cheeks.

"Who else breaks into someone's house to give a greeting?" Yasha rolled his eyes, nodding. "Is it common practice for all men in your clan to greet people like this? Strange for sure, stranger than my cousin's hair."

The news had been sold like hot cakes. Plenty of folks knew, sorcerers and curse users alike, but the heir herself was yet to be filled in on the matter. It is inevitable that with the avalanche of events, the Ashiya clan will rise. Ultimately, they had been staying down on account of the absence of an heir. Their passive rank as a powerful rivalling clan will jack up to active, in tandem. Too bad the Zenin let slip their chance to take away the young seed of power before it shoots out leaves and buds...

The brunette lifted her hand airily. "Oh, and you didn't need to go to such extremes of hospitality. Not at all. Props to your shady history." She outstared Naoya and his brutish comrade. Her forte to make people crawl beneath her feet, scared shitless, has never been a secret.

"Everyone has their secrets. Ashiya-sama." Although he put on a blank face, Yasha caught sight of the vein pulsing in his neck. Naoya was not the clan head yet. Flattery will be needed only until that fateful day.

"We are retreating for now. But try this once more, and we'll be forced to make sure you won't again."

"See you again." With downturned lips, the trio stood by in silence for the bloody red blur to vanish outwith the solid white lines.

Half-lidded, Yasuragi rubbed his chin, flinging the door of their car shut. "Where do you think we should head next?"

Keeping in view that Kasumi's not at her home, the Ashiyas have a hunch that she must've gone out. It's about time they should send someone out to confirm that she was safe.

Kasumi Miwa is not trained, is unaware of her own powers, and could even be in a sensitive, dramatic state, taking in the conditions of their discovery, the events she had to go through, and the plain bizarreness of everything. Let's be practical.

By herself, she's weak, a fledgling. Truth comes to light like a shot; honing a skill hardly ever happens overnight. It devours time like a paper caught on fire.


.

Not a damn thing goes significantly right when Atsuya Kusakabe gets an anonymous email on Monday. One with a video clip attached to it. Sun beat down on the rooftops, over Atsuya lying stock still against the clay tiles, staring at his phone. His elbows pained from propping up his arms for about a quarter-hour.

The sender must've been someone among the higher-ups or at least someone influential enough to snitch their details from the records. He bit his bottom lip, chest so heavy like someone had been sitting on it for a decade.

The teacher was nothing but exhausted over this tiny butterfly effect that was entwining with their lives. There was only so much he could take.

A door opened to the corridors donned in all these honey, homey hues, and Satoru Gojo promenaded out of a room in all his shirtless marvel.

The bombshell got dropped within a fraction of a second.

Gojo only stretched his legs a few steps before the saxe of Miwa's mane wheeched around the easterly, flipping like a koi fish the instant she exploded out of the room. She was wearing an oversized white shirt, a shirt that would fit Satoru perfectly well, a shirt Kusakabe has spotted him sporting twin fortnights heretofore. And there was a blanket wrapped snug about her waist.

Gojo turned around to take her by hand, pulling her to him, and his palm circled Miwa's meek hips to push her up against a blatantly disrobed, glistening sternum. Thereupon, he drew them away and out of the screen.

That was all, and that was enough. Enough for everything that had the chance to entail if you check the weird, unfair, annoying, nerve-wracking patterns in the history of Jujutsu clans.

There must be an explanation. Even if Gojo doesn't, Miwa will have reasons. That he's dead sure. Anyone connecting the dots with horse sense will be under an alternate impression: the picture that completes with either Satoru Gojo deflowering a previously demure innocent sophomore. Or Satoru Gojo and Miwa—who is no longer a simple Miwa, who no longer identifies as merely a Kyoto Jujutsu High student—who can't keep their hands off each other after steamy hours in the bed, in a dreamy stay, tucked away a long way from disturbances. Like secret lovers.

Still, despite all that balderdash, Kusakabe knows his students, and Miwa is no exception. Miwa wouldn't do something bat-shit crazy like sleeping with Gojo Satoru, actually fucking him.

Kusakabe will have that chit-chat with Miwa when the time comes right. But come hell or high water, Gojo Satoru is getting a generous earful at his earliest convenience.


.

He asked himself if it was the best idea. Or not, but shoved those hunches to the back of his head in the twinkling of an eye, letting peppy anticipation resurface. He studied his work with a dreamy goggle. It is at its finest. "Cool. That's Cool." He leaned against the steel net wall opposite the door of an apartment that sat atop a low hill on the outskirts of Shirakawa Village, casting a shade on the velvety lawn splaying down below.

Dragging down the bill of his baseball cap, Do-won bit his lips at the conspicuous twosome who hid nowhere but a conspicuous place. Satoru Gojo, the current notoriously strongest sorcerer in the entirety of Jujutsu Kaisen, and a pretty lass who is also a Kyoto High student, in an apartment together. If that didn't raise any suspicions, then their attire—rather lack thereof—definitely would. Why would he even tear up the miles so far to Gifu if he wasn't trying to cover up? Dating a young 18-year-old student, even if it wasn't directly his. Isn't that shit juicy!

Click. Snap. Click.

He looks up at them and snaps more pictures and videos. Even if anyone dumb dares to claim it isn't, he has plenty of tricks and talents up his sleeve to spice it up. Lucky shot.., of course, but no, what did they take him for; why should he bother with petty snapshots when he had an entire video to flaunt?! A pretty lass or that was what he thought. If only he knew.

Do-won had been lazing out in his room on a cloudy, sweltering afternoon when he got the call. He'd been lying fagged out, bored out of his mind on the floor. After an earful from that prick called his boss in the morning. To him, that caller ID read ready cash, asking whether he was free or not. Of course, who is he to say no to money? He was always in need of lavish bankrolls. He had also wanted an excuse to get out of his house.

Maybe, he can have a blast and blow off some steam tonight. He was your average extroverted and workaholic white-collar worker, nonetheless.

It's not pure luck that he put Shoko Ieri's unoccupied apartment at the top of his list of places to snoop around. There were details directly provided by his other boss. If she hadn't had way too much information on the young master of the Gojo clan, he wouldn't have made it on time.


.

"My only regret is that we didn't find her sooner. The first time I looked at her picture, I thought it was Mayura herself. I can't describe how shell-shocked I was. I would've mistaken her for her mother if it wasn't for her eyes and the divine colour of her hair. The next Akira. "

"We looked in on her and went over her files. I am not surprised. Even more surprising is the part where we didn't catch sight of her even after Mayura stopped dying her hair black." His lips stretched askew, and a conceited dimple puckered up the left of his face, head held straight and high. Still and all, that didn't mean he hadn't got intimidated.

"The reporter gave me the clips. It is now enough evidence that Gojo has something going on with that girl. I'm surprised myself. The cunning brat snagged the little Ashiya girl, a young student of Kyoto School at that. So unlike him, but the boy sure stole the jackpot." He breathed a whizzing sigh, twirling a strand of his hair, a shade reminiscent of light wisteria lining the gateways of first loves and high school nostalgia. She had fallen for that, taken the bait, one big blunder.

"Yes. That's very unlikely of my darling nephew. Very unlikely, I admit. It's making me doubt if he knew of her current status or if he's really been in love. But no matter what he or anyone does, we can't let the girl go. I received orders to box them in, to make sure they find no choice but to get roped in together, clean. Like I need orders from your dear brother-in-law! Satoru must marry Kasumi Ashiya, one way or another." The lady sat, knees apart like she owned the land she had taken up as she noted her husband tch in her peripheral vision. She shrilled a titter as if she was about to lighten up their mood. Despite that, the look on her face said a different story. "Haha. What? Don't look like you wish to become a trustworthy person. You won't get anything from me. I can't comprehend, for heaven's sake, why you want that delinquent to break the equilibrium in our clan."

"What did I do? Love him?!" His voice suddenly dipped, dulcet, golden, and pained. "Precious, is that what I did wrong?"

"Oh. I love him too but not enough to accept what he's become." She brought a hand to her face, thumbing her nose, jet black eyes sombre like she was remembering something. "Come on, we had this conversation a million times. At this point, I'd prefer to watch a death over your attempts at gaslighting me."

The man gnashed his teeth and fisted his arms until his knuckles turned white. "He is our son, Kagomi."

"Yes, he is." She stared, her honey brown, peppy features ironically colourless and composed.

"You old whore. I don't have time for your horseshit." He loomed over her like a volcano, threatening to spill. "I will kill you in your sleep and fuck your corpse!"

He wouldn't. Kagomi knew he wouldn't dare. "Ew. No thanks, hon. Why didn't you say it sooner and save our time! Our son grew up very cultured, and it's all thanks to his perfect role model at home." Eyes irate, Kaname barged ahead. His wife held up her hands and shook her head unimpressed, a pseudo-placating gesture. "Simmer down, Kaname, simmer down." He didn't: Kaname's feet did rapid staccato on the luxury vinyl as he mumbled something incoherent under his breath, rushing out of what he considered a godforsaken place. His mutters had been presumably of profanity. Forasmuch as another minute in that hellhole would get the contents in Kagomi's teapot spilt on his shirt "not so" accidentally.

Drama-king dickhead. Gah. I know where my son got his acting skills from. Someone incompetent and negligent like him can never preserve the stability of our people. Anything is better than witnessing the spoiled brat half-assing his reign.

Kaname had announced it to her face that he despised her.

Only last Sunday did their rancour get promoted into a whispering campaign among the clans, during an unofficial get-together with the Inumaki clan when Kaname, in a fit of blinding anger, lifted his hand against the woman, perhaps to slap across her cheek. The slip-up ended becoming a miserably failed attempt the instant he grew awake to their backdrop, aware of what his wife is also capable of at close quarters, and decided to retreat. Now, he doesn't have to make it even more entertaining, does he?

Only last Sunday did she use her money power to flash around dirty news. When Korean-born Tokyoite, Tokyo Television reporter Hwang Do-won's mouth watered, counting the number of zeros on the wad of money she slapped across his face. Poor man hardly got enough time to tremble and comply with her orders.

Nope, this has nothing to do with, Do-won being a reporter. He was one of their family friends, or maybe family spies hired for shitty business, and that's all there is. He gets the cash, he becomes a lap dog, shapeshifts into whom you want him to be, and does whatever you ask of him. It's pure skill.

Kagomi smiled again. "Hm. That's the least I can do... But I don't have to tell you, Kaname. Not when you're being cleverly stupid."

She sighed. "Ugh. Satoru will not be cool with this." The ball wasn't exactly in his court. Neither is his dad palsy-walsy with him nor is he someone excited to utter a "pardon my traditional criminality." Here, Satoru must think twice before becoming the daredevil. And he was thinking and thinking. It was not entirely Gojo Satoru's fault for not being joined at the hips with his one and only sire. So far so bad. One might expect things to get better if he refrained from his duties, but he was sure, such behaviour with be welcomed with passionate outrage, followed by a big tear in the map of his plans. His very blood father's old-fashioned ways can only get uglier to pore over.

"Who cares if I use weak tea for a catalyst? They can go to hell."


Author's Note:

Thank you very much for your reviews, the opinions you give are treasured by me and please let me know if you found any mistakes or if something is not clear.

Thanks for reading.

To my dear readers:

TheOtherDestiny & Yuzuki476: Hope you enjoyed this one. Hugs n kisses.

Bonus points

*The chapter name "Princesses Don't Cry" is a song by CARYS. I had this connection with this song on a deeper level. It means that no girl should be expected to behave like a princess and that sensitivity should not be treated like a personal flaw. Stop bottling up your tears! Let it all out and be free!


Also, I made my first GojoMiwa fanart. I stash my doodles and stuff on Tumblr! If you wanna check it out,

my Tumblr ID→ boreal-mint

Hasta la vista, baby!