Chapter 3: The King of Curses
The air smelled different.
Sunlight peeked through makeshift curtains of a window.
Blinking to prevent the moisture from leaving her eyes, Hannah craned her neck and rubbed the sleep from her lids. Her head was suspended on a soft cushion. A thick blanket draped over her shoulders. She appeared to be lying on a mattress.
Weird. She hadn't remembered falling asleep here.
Slowly, Hannah sat up from the bed and stretched out her arms, a tired yawn escaping her lips. She hadn't slept that wonderfully in ages.
Then she froze.
As she raised her elbows past her face, the embroidered silks of her wedding kimono were replaced with soft pink pajamas. Her pajamas.
They had little succulents on them.
Also, she wasn't wearing a bra.
Someone had seen her naked. Someone had seen her naked and gone through her stuff.
There was certainly not a spasm in her eyebrow.
Nope. Definitely not.
Trying not to dwell on the matter further, Hannah looked around the bedroom.
In keeping with Japanese sensibilities, the dormitory was very sparse. Situated along eggshell colored walls were limited pieces of furniture, such as a dresser, a writing desk, and a hanging mirror. An alarm clock and lamp were plugged on a night table, near her bed. Next to the large window pane stood a door, hiding a single bathroom, meaning the other door probably lead outside.
She caught sight of a familiar briefcase near the foot of her bed.
Aha!
Quick as lightning, Hannah rolled the duvet off her shoulders and swung her legs over to stand. The smooth wooden floor felt cool on her bare feet.
But just as she rounded the corner of the bed, the poor girl swiveled too fast, and, without so much as a warning, banged her right knee smack-dab in the middle of an unassuming bed post. Hard.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…!" she cursed through gritted teeth, massaging her kneecap in an effort to dispel the throbbing pain before adding a quiet, "…love me." Blimey, that really hurt. Why did she have to be clumsier than a newborn giraffe? Would've been easier to climb over the bed.
She was sure to brandish a nasty bruise by nightfall.
Still reeling from the pain, the woman hobbled over to her luggage, muttering "bloody bed-posts" under her breath, and grabbed the worn leather handle. Then she hauled the heavy trunk onto the bed, clicked apart the clasps, and opened the compartment.
The pungent smell of mothballs ascended up her nose and specs of dust traveled down her windpipe, causing her to cough.
Her old trunk broke, so the replacement was gifted to her by Sister Edith. Obviously, it hadn't been used in a long time.
Which reminds me. I'll have to thank her for all this later, she thought, striking her chest with a fist in an effort to expel the dust.
Now dealing with a throbbing knee and a cough, Hannah peered into the trunk.
She owned the bare essentials: a few undergarments, three floral dresses, two pairs of jeans and shorts, some t-shirts, a pair of ballet flats and strappy sandals, a hairbrush, toiletries, etc. She even had some worn renditions of The Story of a Soul, Treasure Island and Pride & Prejudice tucked within the slits of the suitcase.
Other valuables included a rosary, a small crucifix, and five sealed paper envelopes, barely full with what sounded like tiny beads when shaken, but they were not beads. Her smile was almost giddy as she brought one of the brown packets to her nose. Scented oil, rosa damascena, still rimmed the edges of the card stock. Their blossoms were sure to be top notch. She very much looked forward to digging into the little beauties later. However, their contents paled in comparison to her most prized possession.
Where is it?
At first, she panicked for not spotting the lapis blue box, the words Chaumet scrolled in gold cursive on the top, but quickly relaxed upon finding it hidden under one of her folded dresses.
With bated breath, she popped open the lid.
Inlaid with old mine diamonds and emerald cabochons, the art deco choker was worth a small fortune. It had once been a birthday present for her mother, upon turning seventeen and officially entering society. The custom piece could be fashioned both as a necklace and a bandeau. A sparkling set of diamond posts completed the ensemble.
Thank God. Everything looked to be intact.
Her mother never left a will or final testimony before her death. When confronted about the jewel's whereabouts, Lord Thames, sweet as vinegar, pretended having no inclination about its existence, and deigned his "darling" niece too avaricious for her own good. Naturally, this was a worse than average lie. Everyone knew Lady Elizabeth was quite fond of the necklace. Wasserton House held several portraits of her adorned in the glittering bijoux. Though, this hadn't stopped Hannah from having to grovel on her hands and knees for her uncle to finally relinquish the emeralds.
The throb in her knee now morphed into a new ache. Hannah never had cause to wear the necklace, but it'd been her mother's most treasured possession. That was reason enough to keep it.
There was a knock at the door, dispelling Hannah from her gloomy thoughts.
It was Mr. Ijichi, dressed in a navy suit and tie.
"Good morning, Hannah-chan!" he bowed cheerily as she opened the door. "Ah, I see that you've just woke up. Not to worry. This will only take a moment. I've come to deliver a message." He quickly dished out a piece of paper from his blazer pocket. "You see, our principal, Yaga-sama, would be honored if you'd join him for breakfast at 9 o'clock. I'd gladly escort you myself, but alas, a student is in need of transportation. So, I've come to give you a map of the campus grounds. You seem bright, so just follow the directions and you should be fine. Have a good day."
He handed her the map, bowed graciously again, and dashed down the hallway, disappearing from view.
Wordlessly, Hannah closed the door and glanced at the clock on her bed stand.
8:04 AM.
Hannah inhaled the smell of sweet grass. The humid air filled her lungs. It was already getting hot. Good thing she wore her hair in a braid.
Stepping outside the hallway, she stood in the midst of a long veranda, overlooking an impressive dry garden, a karesansui. Rows of pebbles were perfectly combed in symmetrical lines and patterns, reminiscent of cross-stitches. A pond dipped beside the stone bed. Little blobs of orange koi swam below the wading lily pads. Canopies of willow and wisteria trees shaded the landscape as little hummingbird moths buzzed around azalea shrubs and bearded irises, hungry for their morning meal. Their little velvety bodies shining in the sun.
It was breathtaking.
"Wow," she said appreciatively, her mouth slightly hung open. "A girl could get used to this."
Best of all, there wasn't a cloud in sight. She was free to stare into the endless dome of the sky.
Turquoise blue, she mused dreamily, but immediately struck a hand against her cheek. There was no way she was going to let him spoil a beautiful morning. Not when he wasn't even here for Pete's sake. Absolutely not.
Shaking the swirls of blue away, the young woman unfurled the folded map. Mr. Ijichi courteously outlined where she needed to go in bright red arrows.
Shouldn't be so bad.
She examined the piece of paper thoroughly, glanced down at her watch to make sure she wasn't too pressed for time, and began marching towards the garan, or main worshiping space, located on the east side of campus.
Venturing past the zen garden and down a flight of stairs, the twenty year old turned right, then made a left, then another left, walked under a large torii gate that was stationed in the middle of the path, only to come face to face with another stone garden.
Where's a Marauder's Map when you need one? she thought, praying she hadn't walked in one huge circle. She was just here a moment ago, wasn't she?
Hannah returned to studying her map. Despite the confusion, she appeared to be heading in the right direction.
On she went, her ballet flats softly clicking the cobblestone pavement.
She sauntered up another flight of stairs, nearly out of breath, before spotting the mokoshi pent roofs hiding amongst the many ginkgos and pines. Since the campus was meant to imitate a Buddhist school, seven Zenshūyō hallways surrounded a square plaza, their curved tiers looking like rafters on a boat. Each hall carried a different purpose, though Hannah couldn't remember what they were, other than the temple, which served as the primary prayer space.
The map was telling her to enter the third doorway on her left.
As Hannah climbed up the steps and approached Yaga's office, she noticed the sliding shoji doors were left ajar. A banquet of food, large enough to feed a family of six, lay atop a shortened table, a chabudai. Each dish looked more tantalizing than the last; steamed rice, miso soup, tamagoyaki, natto, pickled vegetables, grilled fish, and other cuisines Hannah couldn't name. A piping hot kettle of green tea sat in the middle of the meal. It all smelled heavenly. Her stomach grumbled, but she wasn't alone.
Two men sat quietly along the low table.
One of them was a hulking figure of a man, wearing an open black jacket and white zip-up. He was huge. Hannah almost mistook him for a retired rugby player. The bloke looked like he could break her arm with a squeeze of his hand. She couldn't make out the color of his eyes because they were obscured by a pair of large sunglasses, not unlike someone else she knew, though instead of snow white locks, his spiky black hair was buzzed in a serious crew cut. A goatee outlined his chiseled jaw.
Hannah gulped. This man was not to be trifled with, for in his meaty hands he held…
a needle?
Huh?
A tuft of wool lay limp in his other fist.
Wait a minute…is he…is he making…dolls? And why are they so…cute?
It was unnatural, witnessing a grown man using a reverse needle to create adorable animals, but sure enough. Behind the scowling giant, stood a small legion of multicolored puppies, closed-eyed kittens, and grinning bears. Hannah swore one of the dolls turned its head to wink at her, but she quickly chalked this up to being ravenous from hunger.
After all, stuffed animals couldn't wink. How absurd. But why so many?
The man was so focused in his doll-making that he had yet to acknowledge Hannah's presence. Using this to her advantage, the young woman turned her attention to his companion.
She recognized the soft brown eyes and Franciscan robes instantly.
It was Fr. O'Malley.
Seeing her, the meek Capuchin smiled warmly and gave a friendly wave, while his doll-making companion looked up from his unfinished plushie. Though he wore sunglasses, Hannah's spine went rigid from what must have been a very menacing glare.
"Why, you must be Hannah," rumbled the man in Japanese. He placed the needle and doll on the table. His face, unsmiling. "My name is Yaga Masamichi. I am the principal of Jujutsu High. On behalf of our faculty and staff, welcome."
A frog lodged itself in her throat.
"The…The pleasure's mine, Yaga…sama."
"Ha!" he laughed, still not smiling. "You're not one of my students. Only Kiyotaka calls me Yaga-sama. Please, it's Masamichi."
"O-Okay, Masamichi-san." Hannah's voice was soft as a mouse. She wanted to hide.
"And I'm sure you're already acquainted with my friend here." The principal rested a large hand on the priest's shoulder, "This is Fr. Thomas O'Malley. He works for the Archdiocese of Tokyo. He also acts as a Window for the school."
A Window? thought Hannah. She had no idea what a "Window" was. She doubted it had anything to do with the arching katōmado along the buildings.
So, him presiding over the wedding hadn't been accidental. Here she suspected Fr. O'Malley was a poor random sap, forced to cooperate with The Association's demands. When, in actuality, he was an insider the whole time. The betrayal stung.
"It's truly wonderful to see you again, Hannah," the priest said jovially, a ghost of an Irish accent dancing on the tip of his tongue. "My, you must be famished. Do help yourself to some breakfast."
The woman needn't be told twice. Too nervous from yesterday, she'd eaten very little. Her stomach was about ready to cave in on itself. Wasting no time, she grabbed a small bowl and filled it with the delicious looking food. Then, making the sign of the cross, she whispered a short "Itadakimasu", pulled apart a pair of chopsticks, ohashi, and plopped some sticky rice into her salivating mouth. The white grain tasted sublime. She didn't catch the thoughtful expression on Fr. O'Malley's face as she ate.
"I must say, you impress me, lass. Your Japanese ain't half bad." He chuckled softly. "Far cry from the likes of England, no? How long have you studied the language?"
Hannah swallowed a mouthful of food. Since Masamichi-san greeted her in Japanese, she only thought it polite to reciprocate, but her fluency wasn't nearly as good as Fr. O'Malley let on. She had immense trouble understanding people the other day at the wedding. Her comprehension was decent when they spoke normally, but speed talkers were the absolute worst. The bride wasn't able to decipher "kawaii" from "kawai," which was problematic because the words were basically polar opposites of each other.
Fr. O'Malley waited patiently for her answer.
Best to keep up with appearances.
"Well, uh, as of now, nearly… four months, I think," she said in cautious Japanese.
"Four months?!" parroted the two men disbelievingly. It seemed Principal Yaga had been wondering the same thing. Four months was hardly enough time to become fluent in a foreign language.
Hannah cleared her throat, nervously. She hated having an audience. Explaining might be tricky.
"Since my engagement, I've been studying under the Sisters of St. Horatia…um…One of the nuns acted as my Japanese instructor."
"Ah, but of course," exclaimed Fr. Thomas, snapping his fingers. "How could I forget? Yes, that makes perfect sense."
"Sisters of St. Horatia?" Principal Yaga asked.
Fr. Thomas nodded and turned to his friend.
"The Ancient Sisters of St. Horatia have the ability to alter the flow of time within a limited space. Elongating it by one hundredth of a second, they can draw five hours out of one minute. It's akin to Domain Expansion. Helpful, if you need to learn something fast. Many excorcists pilgrimage to their convent to hone their skills. However, the nuns are very selective about who enters, but if you're one of the lucky few, they'll teach you just about anything you want to know; Japanese included...I'm a huge admirer of their gardens, myself. Reckon they have the most fragrant roses in all of Europe."
Hannah bobbed her head in agreement, glad to have been rescued from speaking.
"I see," muttered the principal, his folded hands pressed neatly to his lips in contemplation. There was so much the jujutsu world didn't know about Western magic. He'd be sure to inquire his friend about these time altering nuns later. "Anyway, let's get down to business, shall we? I'm sure you're wondering why we've asked you to join us this morning, Hannah."
Hannah pursed her lips. Sensing that the conversation was becoming serious, she placed her chopsticks gently on her plate. She already knew what they were going to ask. "It's about The Sight, isn't it?"
Yaga raised his eyebrows, looking somewhat pleased. "So, The Association kept their end of the bargain. Good. Very good. Makes our job easier." He shared a nod with Fr. O'Malley.
The Capuchin cleared some dishes away to create a small gap and lifted a dark wooden box, no bigger than a cigarette case, onto the table. He dutifully opened the lid.
Suddenly, Hannah's chest felt compressed by an invisible weight. A wave of dread penetrated the air. The familiar sensation of spidery fingers scratched into the crevices of her brain. A row of sharp needle-like teeth twisted in a demented smile. The rancid traces of ammonia, mixed with rotting flesh pierced her nose. Piles of mangled corpses. That scratchy voice.
Not one shall live. Not one!
Hannah almost surrendered the contents of her stomach. The severed finger looked as if it were dipped in formaldehyde. Its puce colored skin, wrinkled from rigor mortis. A sharp black claw was glued to the nail bed.
"Is that?…"
"Indeed," said the priest forebodingly. "This is the cursed object recovered from the Louvre. Hard to believe this foul thing was initially protecting the museum, eh? Wonder how it found its way to Paris?"
"We were told you predicted the attack," bellowed Masamichi, not one for small talk.
"I-I didn't do much." Hannah mustered. "Just had a nightmare, is all. I wouldn't —"
"Don't mistake your dreams for accidents," barked the school principal. He talked much like Lord Thames, the resemblance was uncanny. "The vision was likely triggered by the volatility in the atmosphere. The amount of cursed energy has been unprecedented these past few — "
Fr. O'Malley nudged his comrad in the ribs with his elbow. The big gimp wasn't helping matters. The girl was clearly frightened.
"What my friend here is trying to say is," interrupted the priest calmly. "You must have these visions quite often, yes?"
Hannah looked down at her lap. Too often. The nightmares seemed to haunt her almost every night.
An old man sitting on a park bench feeding the birds. A lonely businessman waiting for the a train in the middle of the night. Some teenage girl taking a selfie on an unmarked grave, or a newborn baby sleeping peacefully in its crib. Didn't matter their age, or who they were. The crunching of their bones and splattering of their insides sounded the same. They hardly stood a chance, most of them caught completely unaware. Cursed spirits were never subtle. It was unfair that she woke up unharmed, while they were silenced forever.
"Hannah?…"
Since the Louvre, The case of the newborn infant was, by far, the worst. She'd never heard a baby wail like that. An innocent life, snuffed out before it had a chance to truly live.
And those four vermilion eyes, sequestered in the shadows.
"Thames," they hissed
"Hannah!"
The woman blinked, red eyes vanishing. The principal and priest shifted back into focus, as if emerging from a fog.
"Thought we lost you there, lass. You alright?"
"Y-Yes," she whispered, voice shaking. "I'm fine. Really." Despite the bile pooling in her throat, yeah, she was perfectly fine.
The two men shared knowing looks.
"Humor me, Hannah," said the stone faced giant. "How much do you know about the legendary cursed spirit, Sukuna?"
Scarlet flickered, then quickly faded.
"Sukuna?" she said, testing the name on her lips. "The name sounds familiar, I guess, but…No, I don't believe I've ever heard of such a spirit."
Principal Yaga opened his mouth to continue, but Fr. O'Malley beat him to it, elbowing him in the ribs once again.
"I think it's best that I be the one to explain it, Masamichi," he said wryly and in a softened voice mumbled, "You've intimidated the girl enough as it is."
"I…alright, fine," retorted the spiky haired man, emitting a small cough into his sleeve. His cheeks turned pink. "Go ahead, Tom."
"Right. Let's see now…" the Capuchin collected his thoughts. His soft brown eyes hardened to stone. "A thousand years ago, during the height of jujutsu, there existed a man who many considered to be the strongest curse user on earth. He was likened to a god and crowned himself 'The King of Curses.' Brutal, immoral, and sadistic, Ryomen Sukuna's cruelty knew no bounds. Humanity was his plaything to torture and dispose of as he wished. The body count was staggering, and many people went missing. It was a dark time in Japan's history," The priest's voice grew more solemn. "Eventually, sorcerers from both East and West banded together to vanquish the malevolent king, but not before Sukuna became a cursed spirit and separated himself into pieces. To this day, his twenty fingers lie scattered, waiting to be rejoined with their master."
"Twenty?" Hannah shivered.
"Yes. You're looking at one of them now. Sukuna was said to have four arms."
"Oh," was all she managed to say. "That's…not good."
"Indeed. When all the fingers are reunited, Sukuna will be fully resurrected and regain his powers. Only pain and suffering await such a future. It would bring this country to its knees."
The number of unexplained deaths and missing persons in Japan was on par to exceed 8,000 that year. Humans were hard pressed enough without the need of a demon dictator, that is, when they weren't secreting negative energy onto themselves, increasing the abundance of curses.
"That's where you come in, Hannah," Masamichi's thundering voice intervened. "Little is understood about The Sight, since few people have been gifted with the ability, but it's generally believed that the visions are triggered by intense influxes of cursed energy — Well, powerful cursed objects to be more precise. Their protective seals are beginning to wane, making the quiet ones easier to spot. Until we find a way to destroy the fingers, we need your help to find the remaining nineteen."
The room grew very still, Hannah could hear the birds chirping outside.
"I don't have a choice, do I?"
"No," came the Capuchin's sad reply. "You never did, really. Had you refused, both parties would've forced their hands. This task is too important. We need to recover those fingers before more people get hurt, or worse, before a curse user gets ahold of them first. Sukuna still has loyal followers."
Time is of the essence.
Hannah stared into her lap, thinking. The fear of having to witness more innocents suffer in her sleep was grotesque, yes, but the good far outweighed the bad, right? She would be saving people for once. The Sight would be both the poison and the cure. That left one remaining question. The band of gold glinted on her finger. Cold daggers of glacial blue pierced moss brown.
"You're not my prisoner."
"So, why marriage?" said the woman tentatively, her tiny voice barely audible amongst the birdsong. "What does marriage have to do with any of this? Knowing what you just told me, I would've done anything you asked."
"A reasonable question, whereby the answer is well above our pay grade," came Masamichi's curt tone. He knew better than to mettle in aristocratic affairs. Burned himself far too many times poking those particular fires. His ordained companion, on the other hand, gave a more diplomatic reply, but not before casting the principal a dirty look.
"I'm sure neither Masamichi and I are best suited to explain the political machinations of sorcerer families to you, of all people, Hannah," said Fr. O'Malley somberly. "But to tell the truth, we don't know what Lord Thames and the higher-ups have in store for you and Satoru. Of course, there's the obvious prospect of children, but nothing jumps out specifically."
Hannah couldn't help herself. At the mention of her enigmatic husband, the dam broke.
"But Satoru — That doesn't explain why he agreed to— I mean — Oh, Father, Masamichi-san, he hates me! Made himself scarce, the moment we were alone. Said he 'didn't want to be a babysitter' and all that. How do they expect this marriage to work, if he can't stand the sight of me?"
The more Hannah talked, the more desperate she became. She'd been so hopeful, anticipating Satoru would accept the roles of marriage with open arms, just as she had, only to have the rug pulled out from underneath her. Nothing made sense. Nobody was giving her straight answers about this man she married. The muscles in her forehead were beginning to tighten and constrict; the early signs of a migraine.
At this exasperated confession, both principal and priest exhaled a weary sigh.
"Goddammit," cursed Masamichi under his breath. He ignored the menacing glare Fr. O'Malley shot his way, knowing how sensitive the Christian pastor was to the profanity, and removed his sunglasses to massage his eyes. "That idiot."
"Oh, we suspected this might happen," mourned Fr. O'Malley, his ire towards his friend soon forgotten. "Honestly, the nerve of that bleedin' melter. Mark my words, one day he's going to trap himself ten feet under, and there'll be no Infinity or Six Eyes to bail him out." Then the priest shook his head and sighed, "Well, Masamichi, you'll have to speak to him. He's not a boy anymore. At this rate, the lad can kiss his teaching aspirations goodbye. Last thing we need is 'top-brass' breathin' down our necks."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll talk to him. The brat," groaned the principal, waving a lackadaisical hand at the priest. He placed his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose. "We apologize for Satoru's behavior, Hannah. In the meantime, feel free to explore the campus grounds all you like. We intend to make this your new home."
Quietly, Hannah kept staring at her hand.
"Is there anything else you wanted to ask us, lass?" inquired the priest.
The hazel-eyed woman paused. Actually, there was something else, remembering the tiny scented envelopes in her trunk.
"Hmm. Yeah, now that I think about it…"Masamichi and Fr. O'Malley leaned in, eager to listen.
"Do you have any gardening tools I could borrow?"
...
Hannah was permitted to leave shortly after the conversation came to a close. Apparently, Masamichi-san was satisfied with her answers for the day. Stomach full from breakfast, she decided to return to her room, head spinning with all the newly acquired information.
Ryomen Sukuna; A former sorcerer-turned-cursed-spirit, so powerful, so evil, that other curses dare not walk where he tread. Now, his resurrection loomed large, placing millions at risk. "It would bring this country to its knees," Fr. O'Malley had said.
Ha! And they expected her to help? Little ole Hannah, who banged her knee into a bedpost this morning because she's a total lummox? Come off it. It's not like she could control the dreams. For all she knew, it would be months before another incident took place. What did they expect her to do 'till then? Take up knitting? She could use a beanie.
"You mean, you haven't noticed?"
Her steps came to a grinding halt.
Every time the name "Gojo" was uttered in Western circles, a pause of trepidation soon followed, for fear the jujutsu sorcerers were listening down the hall. It was one of the few times Lord Thames would withhold his judgement, unable to find fault with the family, or rather, too afraid to hurl his usual insults. But why?
Satoru was strong. Hannah knew that. The scarred constellations of on his hands were the evidence. So what had Father meant by an "Infinity" and "Six Eyes" not bailing him out earlier? Suppose it was just another question to add to her long list of inquiries for Sr. Edith.
Hannah became so enmeshed in her thoughts that her sense of direction became basically obsolete. In her haste to leave the garan, she'd forgotten the map Mr. Ijichi so kindly accommodated her. Now, the poor girl hadn't a clue where she was going, already passing under the same torii for the third consecutive time. Or was it a different gate? They all looked the same.
Anxiety steadily increasing, Hannah hadn't registered the pounding of paws drawing closer until it was too late.
Suddenly, the woman found herself flung to the ground. Dirt and grass clashed with tufts of black and white as she fell backwards, slamming onto the earth. The whiplash made it impossible to focus. Her hair was undone from its plait, obscuring her vision.
What's happening Hannah was amazed she hadn't vomited from the sheer impact alone. She might as well been run over by a bus; The wind was totally knocked out of her. She couldn't catch her breath.
This was it, wasn't it? She was being attacked by a curse, surely. Everything Masamichi-san and Fr. O'Malley said back there was just a ruse, making her believe she was doing something righteous to let her guard down, when in reality, they'd been plotting to kill her. No wonder Satoru was quick to flee. He was probably in on the act.
Hannah closed her eyes, tears ready to fall. I knew it. I just knew my uncle was up to somethin. They'll allow this curse to finish me off, extract my brain and blood for experiments, then dump my body in a river somewhere.
Too terrified to move, she couldn't free herself from the large paws pinning her to the ground. Yips and snarls emitted from bared teeth, as the curse sniffed her hair. There might be two of them, but Hannah couldn't tell. Her eyes were sewn shut. She could feel the fangs inching closer. One swift bite to the jugular and it would all be over.
"Pl-please," Hannah begged pitifully. "J-just finish me already." But her words went unheeded. The curses probably didn't understand human speech.
I hope it's painless, she thought morbidly, preparing herself to die.
"Oi! You two!" someone yelled. A pair of footsteps ran towards the commotion.
In a flash, the beasts were yanked off her.
"What did you guys find? Better not be another dead squirrel, or I'll — Oh, it's you."
Shakily, the woman held her breath and slowly, oh so carefully, opened her eyes.
Above her stood a boy, no older than twelve. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats, his dark blue hair was disheveled, pointing up in various directions. Calculating green eyes peered down at her. Hannah thought the glare too mature for someone so young.
There was something eerily mysterious about this child. Was he really a kid?
He was attempting to restrain two large canines, one white, the other black.
Dogs? Hannah thought in mild surprise, expecting something more ferocious. The two wolf-like dogs sat at their young master's heels, tails wagging excitedly as if to say, "Look what we found!" Her cheeks became warm with embarrassment.
No longer in mortal peril, she redirected her attention from the dogs to her rescuer.
Their eyes met.
The boy and the woman blinked at each other for a few moments, saying nothing.
Hannah remained unmoved on the ground.
"Uh, sorry about that," came the boy's reply, awkwardly running a hand through his messy hair. "You're that guy's — I mean, Gojo-sensei's wife, aren't you?"
Hold on. Gojo-sensei?
"Uh, yeah…That's right," said Hannah, trying not to cringe at the word "wife".
"Here, let me..." The boy drew a sharp gasp and stiffened, the words having died on his lips. Unbeknownst to Hannah, his eyes made the precarious mistake of wandering farther south, discovering what wasn't meant to be found. Frozen in horror, a prominent shade of crimson bloomed across his cheeks. The two dogs, sensing their owner's unease, began whining and tilting their heads. What's the problem? Was there something on her face?
Hannah looked down at her person and visibly blanched.
Wanting to make a good first impression at breakfast, she decided to wear one of her floral dresses
An unfortunate choice on her part.
No thanks to the dogs, the ankle length frock rode up significantly. The translucent skin of her legs were bare for all to see, but it wasn't the early signs of a bruise on her knee that concerned her. The skirt bunched past her thighs, up her waistline, exposing the skimpy lace of her panties.
The fabric wasn't very opaque, save the thicker patch covering her (*ahem) lady-bits.
She was flashing the boy, point blank.
Dear God, why?!
Hannah bit her lip and exhaled through her nose. Auburn hair curtained her face from view as she bowed her head. Didn't matter if he was a kid. Two hot plates smoldered her cheeks. She lost all feeling in her fingers and toes.
Peals of laughter roared from beyond the void. Turquoise blue eyes racked her up and down, panties included. His pearly whites flashed a devilish grin.
"Hehe. Not at all what I was expecting, Princess," he teased darkly.
Mercy. One of her worst nightmares came to life and not even her own subconscious would bid her escape.
Welp, so much for first impressions.
"S-Sorry," she croaked, seizing the skirt with a trembling hand, pulling it down.
The boy shifted uncomfortably, still blushing.
Hannah fiddled with her hair, pretending not to notice.
He looked up, she looked down.
They continued this awkward dance for a few agonizing seconds, eyes un-meeting.
Finally, the boy sighed in defeat. He just wanted to go home. It was best to ignore the incident all together.
"You lost?"
"Huh?"
"Are. You. Lost?"
"What?!…H-How'd you—?"
"Lucky guess," he shrugged. Although, it was fairly obvious. No one ever walked this side of campus besides him. He sighed again. "C'mon. I'll take you back to your room."
He extended a hand for her to reach. She obliged, her bigger hand embracing his slightly smaller one, noting the star marked scars on his palm.
"Say…What was your name again?" she asked as the kid hoisted her up. She was almost a full head taller than him.
"I never said," he added. "It's Megumi."
"Um…Well, thank you, Megumi. I'm Hannah, by the way."
"I know."
"What?! You do?"
"Yeah. Saw you at the wedding and everything."
"Really?…How come I didn't see you?"
"Not really my thing; weddings...I was forced to go."
"Oh…Right…Um…Hey, Megumi?"
"Hm?"
"You're not gonna mention…well…what happened here to anyone are you?"
…
…
"…Not if you don't want me to."
With that, the two strays began their trek back to Hannah's dorm, wolf-dogs in tow.
Still to this day, Megumi continues to keep his promise, but that hasn't stopped Satoru from pestering his wife and student about how they actually met.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
For this chapter's notes, please visit AO3 (Same name).
Tumblr: lovedrunkheadcanons
The official GTAW Discord server is on my profile page. Come join us. We'd love to have ya. (Might have to copy/paste the URL from the website and not app).
:)