Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

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


"The Art Of Water"

CHAPTER 12

The Flower Crown


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Hopping inside Himawari's room, Kasumi was met with Gojo Satoru's chipper countenance. On his black shirt, thin stripes lined wide apart, and sitting on a couch doing something as temporal as reading a newspaper, he looked like something out of a fairy tale. Kasumi huffed in her head, drawing her gaze off of him, directing it where it should be. "I'm getting married to what?"

"Gojo Satoru."

Par for the course, he leans back with his hands behind his head and throws his feet up, draping himself over the sofa like a white Maine coon. Her grandmother spoke in funny language, and Kasumi couldn't decipher a single word spilling from her mouth. While she is lost in her thoughts, Satoru gets to his feet from the chair.

"So, what do you say? Why don't we go for a walk?" He swings his arms, prancing to her line of sight. She played with her hair because he wouldn't dare to hook an arm under her elbow in front of the clan head like they were chums, childhood sweethearts who had known each other for years. However, he had obliterated her expectations each time they met. Getting shoved out of the room, Kasumi shrieked, turning her head to look at the older woman for protests. To her disbelief, Himawari sat on her chair, typing something on her tablet as if she had not seen anything.

Gojo caught her palms in his, dragging her through the corridors towards the courtyard, where he stopped stunned, one of his feet stilled, nestled in the folds of what must be a myth, the sapphire jewel in the land of rain—the garden of blues. Morning glories, love-in-the-mists, irises, delphinium, indigo buntings, flax flowers, campanulas, sea hollies, grape hyacinths, glory-of-the-snows, indigo milk caps, pea flowers, mazarine blue, Ulysses Swallowtail, and a hundred more, you name it. Flowers, insects, birds, everything! Miwa had learned some of the names from Yasha, who had turned out to be quite the plant nerd, though it shouldn't come as a surprise with his cursed technique.

"What's your future, Kasumi?" He had a faraway look on his face. Bright, no doubt about it, yet Kasumi shook her head.

"I don't know."

She blinks the haze out of her eyes to see the flowery twig in his extended palm. A blue rose. She smiles up at him, content, for he returns it. She takes the flower in her hand and smells it. Blue roses don't exist in nature. Right? Kasumi holds the flower close to her chest, the corners of her mouth lifting further. Like all good things, her happiness doesn't last forever.

Her lips uncurl a second after he speaks his mind. "Do you deserve me?" A cruel thing to ask, but Satoru's smile was off. She is horrified instead of relieved. Because when his visage morphs into that of a man with an angelic mane and hellish gaze, a Lucifer with no wings, she could do nothing to stop it, only witness the metamorphosis with brutal shock. "Will you nurture my blood or end it forever?" He hissed a siren song that made her chest open up like Amaryllis.

"Go away, Ryu." She said, blanching when his hand plunged into her chest to clutch her heart. It pounded in his hands, afraid he'd feast on it. The fear of her blood staining his jaw and dripping from his fangs makes her light-headed. She is numb when the rose in her hand mutates from blue to venomous black. "Get out of him! Leave me alone!" She wails when his hands clutch her wrist like the crooked claws of a draconic bird. She throws her hand out to punch him, but the only thing getting hurt is her hand, skin peeling off her knuckles for blood to prickle out. He was burning thermite, untouchable. She stands defeated when he seizes her lips like she cannot put up a good fight.

Everything catches fire: her clothes, eyelashes, lips and ribs; everything except her overflowing tears. "You'll never be enough, Miwa!" Flames spiral out, binding her to him.

Kasumi's hands find her alarm with an aggressive slap, water bursting forth and wetting the bed. She coughs on instinct when some water plops into her mouth, head in a daze as her feet take her to the bathroom. She cannot comprehend more. Another weird dream. She tugs down her nightgown, letting it pool at her feet as she broods at the woman in the mirror.

I don't give a shit about anyone else's standards but mine. Kasumi's fingertips wander over the birthmark, the feathers and arrows on her naked front. The reflection foretold a Future she wasn't prepared to face.

I don't think I could say that to myself. If I did, it would be a lie.

I care way too much because I haven't known any other way.

Yasha whined her name from outside the door.

She covered herself in a bathrobe and got out of the bathroom.

"Nightmare."

It was only a quarter to eight, but Kasumi was tired from yesterday's undertakings. She couldn't take a breather last night, and when Yasuragi wanted her at the training grounds this morning, she couldn't sit back to recharge her batteries. She pinched her nose before covering her face under Yasha's watchful gaze. As she sits down on the engawa, he stomps his feet beside her and joins her. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone but had no energy to bicker or put up a fight. She will not let him crush her soul like a warlord. Tips of grass tickled her feet where they fell dangling from the engawa.

Yasha's hands were bedaubed in alluring saffron. The kitchen maids must've shed blood, sweat and tears wrangling him out of the pantry. God knows why he even stepped foot in the kitchen. However, despite reminding her of her brothers when they were kids, Yasha wasn't like the other men in the clan, who couldn't cook to save their lives and hadn't crossed the threshold of the kitchen in a vicennial.

"You have not eaten anything since yesterday, have you?" He prodded her ankle with his pinky toe. "You look like you woke up from your grave."

She found herself amidst a floral downpour yesterday. Luckily, the tribe ascertained she had no allergies before letting her venture into the nearby villages. The ceremony had wrapped up by the time Miwa got back home. Atop her head, the flower crown orchestrated the delicate flit of butterflies. Himawari stood on the sidelines, offering an affectionate smile as they lifted her into the carriage. Following the customary practice, she was supposed to be taken across the island, stopping at every hut or structure along the route. If only Kasumi possessed a more extroverted nature, the exhaustion wouldn't set in, dropping her energy by one per cent after each interaction with the islanders. It wasn't all that bad. These friendly guys adorned her with bead bracelets and garlands woven from flowers, which was nice. Really nice. Until it wasn't. "Tut-tut, tell her I'm not hungry."

Turns out Kasumi Ashiya was popular on and off the island. It resonated throughout the Jujutsu world. It's only natural she'd feel this way, having crafted a lovely grave for herself once she visited the graveyard. Miwa found herself curious as to why they chose burial over cremation for her mother's body. At the very least, she evaded the thirty million yen bounty and made it out as alive as a newborn weapon prototype. Towards the evening, her hands were slotted in a rainbow of bracelets reaching the middle of her upper arms. It was a relief that she was spared from keeping the garlands around her neck all day, an impossible feat. There were just too many!

"Oh, please!" He slapped a hand over her back, licking his lips. "They've made Katsudon for dinner. You sure you don't wanna eat?"

Such were the marvels of serving as the chosen baby vessel. As though forbidden for her ears, she did not like when her peers called her that. Their giggling and high-pitched hush perplexed her. Nearly all residents knew her as the arcane-infused kiddo with the added advantage of encountering culture shock in her homeland. Only a handful on the island got to experience it firsthand, as most were disinclined to venture beyond their borders. They appeared to find comfort in remaining within the island's bounds, a feat Kasumi aspired to conquer in the proximate future. In her clan connections, her friendships with girls were not numerous. Her circle of male friends didn't go beyond her brothers and Yasha, either.

Chosen baby vessel?

Jealous bitches. For the most part, I don't let it get to me, but there's a line I wouldn't want you to cross! Each time she catches wind of it, she gets the impression that they view her as a baby-making device, a pawn in a game, rather than feeling like the favoured child itself. Nowadays, her destiny doesn't often cross Kasumi's mind. She had set falling in love on the back burner for quite a while, not to mention having kids. Does it matter? There are no wedding bells ringing for me next month. And that's an ample chunk of time with other equally generous obligations she must tend to. Kasumi was about to express her disapproval of the temptation, but her stomach didn't share the same sentiments. It growled as if in protest, getting the jump on her.

"Don't cry, Kasumi's tummy." Yasha prodded her belly, laughing like a drain. "Get off your ass, Cass. If you don't eat now, I'll finish everything in the kitchen, and you will have nothing to nom on when you sneak out of bed at 1 am." He tugs at her sleeves, adding, "You'll tell me about the dream later."

The islanders—correct that, her own folk—had bowed their heads in deference as she offered blessings, fulfilling the clan's directive to overfill their pots with water. She put on the guise of expertise in what she did, with only a loose understanding of the reasoning. Tradition dictates this because it's believed to bring about the ideal weather for the harvest season. She's been told that the gentle drizzle could do wonders for the crops, a soothing charm for the soil. On a different note, Kasumi had no control over the weather, which rendered the concept of overfilling pots a little absurd. She had lost all grip on Logic. Then again, magic did not operate on the grounds of Logic. It is what it is. Obliged to invest in self-improvement, she doesn't deem it worthwhile to unravel every aspect of her tumultuous life. Her curiosity remained strong. But sometimes, you should just let things be. Yasha drags her back by her shoulders, snickering. Her butt hurt from sliding on the floor, hands swiping to get him off her back. When he stops pulling, she falls on her back with a puff.

One morning, she awoke a hundredfold richer than she had ever dreamt, transformed into a prominent persona with a proclaimed purpose. Luck had its big hand on her life's trajectory. Nary a question. Purpose? She could rest easy. Her brothers were safe now, out of harm's way, their well-being assured. She no longer fretted over making both ends meet. That had taken an about turn from looking after her siblings to bearing the weight of an entire lineage's duties. Ahead of her laid a lengthy road, and the journey had barely started. "Why do the girls call me Chosen Baby Vessel?"

Yasha pondered over it, amused. "They're jealous." He snaps an answer.

To sum it up, yesterday was a whirlwind ride that kept her on her toes, an integral one marking the coronation of the daughter of water, the resurrected deity. She had been anticipating it since she heard it from some maids and others in the clan. Yasha won't spill the beans on matters like these. Evasive rascal. He had gone so far as to call her a wimp who couldn't take a joke or a surprise. Here we go again! She huffed softly. "That's not why."

"Why not? What else, then?" He rolls his eyes.

The ceremony's flower festival wasn't the source of her astonishment; it was the teary eyes and overflowing waterworks which followed. Clearly, her sense of reality didn't cement itself despite the progression of time. That scenario played out when she got crowned, paraded around, and treated like a princess. It prompted her to come to terms with identity, at last. One hell of a time she took. Is she to blame? Though the acceptance was comforting, having an emotional breakdown in the middle of Yakushima, surrounded by strangers—she now called home, proved overwhelmingly embarrassing. The princess role felt fine. "Get to the fucking point, Sunflower."

"Your thing with your Gojo Sensei is famous for all the wrong reasons."

"Wow. My thing with My Gojo Sensei? That's a first."

Meanwhile, being a crybaby princess? Well. Should that be the picture she painted, she's uncertain about changing it. Because to bring about change, if she's honest with herself, she'd have to compel herself to care (while appearances mattered, pretences were not her strong suit.) Not very befitting of a princess, but that's who she is. On the other end of the spectrum, if she lays herself bare, she's practically signalling to enemies to strike her weakest spots. "Are you lying to me or to yourself?"

"Does everyone think I slept with him?" Kasumi griped warily.

"There, you have your answer." Along with blessings came expectations she must meet to become someone her clan could one day look up to and others would fear to mess with. Someone like Himawari. So, isn't Kasumi a complete bitch if she admits to herself that deep inside, she doesn't want to give a shit about expectations despite all of this luck she will never refuse. Was this how Gojo-Sensei felt growing up? She wants to scream at herself to make up her mind. But you were not him or Kamo. You were just Miwa Kasumi. Nothing ever came free! So get your head out of your ass and take a stand already! She doubted if that doubled with her notoriety as the student who had a fling with her teacher would make her reputation suffer, possibly standing in the way of the goals she had pieced together over the past few months. "I DID NOT SLEEP WITH GOJO SENSEI!"

"Too late for that." He shakes his head. "Will you be okay?" Yasha brings a hand to her forehead, pretending to check her temperature.

"No, I'm not hyperventilating at all."

Then, as if stung by a jellyfish, he drew his hand back, looking at her like he knew something about her she didn't. She narrowed her eyes even more.

When it seemed like he had no intentions to shed light on the matter, she scoffed. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm living among secrets I'm not allowed to know." She was wrong to think that he would tell her, even if no one else did.

"Because you are." He peers down at their interlinked fingers and sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to tell you everything."


.

Gojo did not let the children stooping near the sink, vomiting their guts out, distract him. He had cared less about the man on the bed, trying to get his spouse back to consciousness. He had bothered enough. An ambulance was on its way. All that interested him now was the great clock overlooking the entrance of the covered terrace. He rushed out of the haunted apartment complex, not looking twice at the survivors of the attack or the guy in the business suit thanking him for the rescue of his wife. "Okay. Excuse me, I have to go." He hurried towards the terrace, kicking his feet to teleport in midair, convinced he had the bloke behind him open-mouthed.

He's running behind schedule because he got distracted saving people from a fire. The curse was more volatile and mortal than anticipated. The wretched thing had been winding around a lady, crippling her for over a year. Her man said she was paralyzed from the waist down after a helicopter crash. It's not hard for him to guess what caused the mishap in the first place. The moment he cast out the curse, she raced out of her wheelchair, and nobody could believe what was happening. Her husband nothing but bawled when she ran towards him. It was his miracle. Luckily, everything went smoothly.

Gojo strolls through the street to figure out what went wrong. The location in the address corresponded to the descriptions, but there was something peculiar about the cursed energy emanating from it. Next thing he knows, he's heading in. What could go wrong? It's unlikely anything could even touch a hair on his skin. What if someone's crying out for help? They said it was an emergency. He must lend a hand.


Author's Note:

had to cut a long ass chapter into smithereens. cuz it had my head spinning, and needed to be edited piece by piece.