Chapter 10: There Is No Easy Path to Learning

Having a full day's rest and doing little to no strenuous activity had done the trick. Satoru was feeling better next morning, sitting across from Hannah during breakfast. Makoto hadn't even finished setting the table when the jujutsu sorcerer began filling his bowl with fried rice and smoked sausages, noticing the funny look his wife was giving him.

"Whah?" he said, stuffing his face with food like a chipmunk. "M'ungry."

A small smile tugged on the sides of Hannah's mouth, though it wasn't mocking. "I can see that," she said, scooping some scrambled eggs into her bowl. "Suppose this means your headache is gone?"

Satoru caught Makoto's warning glare as she came back with a pot of coffee, her cautionary way of reminding him to behave like a gentleman, and so as not to incur the housekeeper's wrath, Satoru wisely chose to swallow his food before speaking. "Yeah," he reached for the sugar bowl as Makoto poured the coffee into his mug. "It's gone"

Hannah's face relaxed. "Good," she lightly exhaled, pinching some fried rice between her chopsticks and bringing it to her lips. "I'm glad."

Satoru took another bite. "And you?" he asked. "Have you got everything…situated?"

She flicked her eyes to meet his for a brief instant, casting them back down on her food. "Almost. I sorted through some of the clothes yesterday, but it's going to take me a while."

"Thought so," he sighed, propping his cheek in his hand, twirling his chopsticks. "I don't really know what women like, so most of it was just guess work on my part."

Hannah looked up at him. He couldn't honestly expect her to believe that. Makoto said everything stored within that closet hadn't been put there without his approval. Given the fabric selection alone, Satoru's attention to detail was too educated for him "not to know" what women liked. And the notes he stipulated in the sketchbooks gave his secret away: "Remove the sleeves." "Velvet, not satin." "Does it come in red?" Hannah thought he'd make a better stylist, maybe even a better designer, than a jujutsu sorcerer.

"I like the clothes," she finally said, taking a sip of tea. "You have a good eye."

All she heard from across the table was a soft snort; the closest she'd get to a "thank you."

For the remainder of breakfast, the two newlyweds ate together in relative silence, listening to the ticking of the cuckoo clock situated on a wooden dresser, and the crinkling tatami as Makoto cruised in and out of the kitchen with either dirty dishes or another pot of coffee for Satoru.

Growing quite uncomfortable by the silence herself, Makoto cleared her throat and turned to Hannah. "Ma'am, with the young master feeling unwell, it seems I forgot to discuss something important with you the other day."

Hannah finished chewing and brought a napkin to her mouth. "Oh? Like what?"

Makoto looked at Satoru before looking back at her mistress. "As you are aware, the young master has informed me of your caffeine intolerance, but I'm afraid that's all I know. And being the lady of the house, it technically falls upon you to choose the meals we eat."

"Me?" Hannah's eyes flitted shyly to Satoru. "Are you sure?"

The white-haired sorcerer nodded and jabbed a lazy thumb at Makoto. "I'll eat whatever she puts in front of me, so go ahead."

"Alright," Hannah folded her napkin on her lap and redirected her attention to the housekeeper, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Anything your heart so desires," replied Makoto like it was no trouble. "The young master prefers I cook traditional meals, but I was thinking I might begin incorporating more English cuisine. Just curious, but how would you feel about kedgeree?"

"Kedgeree?" Hannah's entire face visibly brightened. "Really?"

Makoto stood proudly, eyes shining. "I did say anything, no?"

Satoru raised his hand like a confused algebra student. "What the heck is kadgeree?"

"Ked-geree," Hannah corrected, trying not to look too amused by his pronunciation. "It's a breakfast casserole made with rice, shredded smoked fish, and soft boiled eggs topped with spices."

"So it's good, is what you're saying?"

Hannah didn't hold back her smile this time as hazel brown meshed with turquoise blue. "I'd like to think so, yes." Although she omitted how she only ate the Indo-English casserole when she was staying at Wasserton, breakfast being the one meal where it was appropriate for an illegitimate to dine with their family (except when they were entertaining.) Lunch and dinner were more formal affairs, and so Hannah usually ate her afternoon meals in the servants' quarters together with the housestaff, but kedgeree had always been her favorite. "We should try it sometime."

Satoru hummed as though mulling it over, and went back to taking another bite of food. Smoked fish and rice did sound rather appetizing. Makoto turned to her mistress again.

"I'll write a new menu each week for you to review, and be sure to include descriptions, if that helps."

Hannah nodded and offered her gratitude, while the housekeeper took her empty bowl off the table and headed for the kitchen. Satoru gobbled the last of his sausage and hastily swilled his coffee in such a way that made Hannah's throat burn. He rose from the table and stretched.

"Oh-kay," he groaned, reaching for the ceiling till he heard various bones separate and pop. "Ugh. Ready to go?"

Hannah winced from the crackling bones. "Go?" she said. "Go where?"

Satoru rolled his eyes, and searched his pockets for his sunglasses. "Training in the heat of the day is a pain in the ass. Best to do it now while it's still early."

"Training?" The food in Hannah's stomach sank like stones. "You're serious?"

Satoru said nothing and placed the sunglasses on his nose, giving her a devilish smile. "Serious as a heart attack, Princess." His head cocked to the door. "Hop to it. We're waisting daylight."

The next three weeks would become quite the undertaking for Hannah. Like a baptism through fire, her days were spent balancing the many tasks required of a jujutsu sorcerer's wife. There was no set routine, or light workload. Each day presented a new lesson in need of quick learning.

During that first day of training, Satoru had her running cardio through the mountainous terrain and the higher altitude had Hannah so out of breath, the poor girl thought she would faint. Her feeble legs were shaking from having to propel herself up the steep inclines, Satoru barking closely at her heels. "Sheesh, you're a turtle," he jeered from behind. "I know little old ladies with asthma faster than you." Hannah pretended not to hear him and kept her eyes on the dirt road, panting heavily until they stopped for a short break before continuing onwards.

Some unlucky days he had her jogging with weights lodged in her hands, or tied snugly around her waist like a counterpoise, "for strength conditioning," as he often put it. Those were the mornings Hannah wanted to fall to the ground and tap out, but Satoru wouldn't let her. "Ah, ah, ah," he would tut, wagging an admonitory finger. "I thought this was part of our agreement; No training, no Sukuna fingers." Then her motivation was restored when he added, "You want to save those people, right?" and she would somehow find the energy to finish the mile.

After two full laps around the school, Satoru had her doing push-ups, three sets with 15 reps each, but would only count the ones where her nose touched the ground or else force her to start over. He applied the same rule for sit-ups, demanding she lift herself all the way before starting another. Several failed push-ups and sit-ups later Hannah was sure she'd be sick. She struggled similarly with the lunges, the squats, the jumping jacks. His rationale for the grueling cardio was twofold; endurance training and increasing her muscle mass. "Gotta whip ya into shape before I teach you how to land a decent punch."

Following that tortious first week, it quickly became evident the Six Eyes wielder was missing a few marbles.

Hannah remembered one infamous morning when the white-haired sorcerer somehow managed to sneak inside her bedroom and thought it would be fun to dunk an entire bucket of ice water on her, all because she unknowingly slept past her alarm on accident. Suffice it to say, the little woman was not happy.

"Are you crazy?!" she cried as she leapt from her futon, wrapping her thin arms around herself to regain whatever warmth she could.

Satoru let out a low chuckle. "Maybe," he said and squatted down to show her an innocent, closed-eyed smile. "You wouldn't wake up, so I did it for you. Aren't I nice?"

Hannah glowered menacingly. "Quite," she shivered from the cold and looked down at the tin bucket he was holding. "May I ask how y-you got in here?"

The sorcerer gave his usual shrug. "Through the door, obviously." His smile widened as her glare deepened. "You let me in."

Her eyes stretched. "What? N-No I didn't."

"Yeah you did," he said, grinning ear to ear. "I asked if I could come inside and you said 'yes.'"

This was met with more scrutiny. "I don't believe you," Hannah insisted, rubbing her arms. "Makoto said no one d-dead or alive would be able to enter. You must've done something to break the seal."

His smug grin started to wane. Glacial blue eyes lingered on her for a frosty moment and Hannah could do nothing except hold her breath as his Six Eyes beckoned closer; nacreous, spell-binding, otherworldly. He was seeing something her eyes could not, but what?

"I'll be waiting outside," he replied, rising slowly from the floor. "Eat your breakfast and come out," and then she watched him vacate the bedroom, empty bucket in tow, like it never even happened.

Hannah blinked once, twice, a third time.

Forget marbles. Gojo Satoru was undoubtedly the strangest person she'd ever met, not only in appearance, but in character.

For one, the man never stopped talking, ever, constantly transitioning from one random topic to the next. One moment they would be discussing modern architecture, and then on a whim they were debating whether Hi-Chews tasted better than Kororo gummies (Hannah couldn't say), followed by an interesting fact he recently learned about blue-ringed octopuses and how they were no bigger than a golf ball and packed enough venom to kill at least 26 people, "and if they bite you, you're basically screwed because there's no antivenom." He also denied being a picky eater, but Hannah noticed how he would avoid sansho or wasabi like the plague. She made a mental note that he didn't enjoy spicy foods as much as she did.

Satoru was definitely not a morning person and was normally the last to arrive for breakfast — Actually, he was last to arrive for just about everything with a designated time — Although he was probably the fastest speed reader on the planet coupled with a photographic memory, which Hannah discovered one morning while waiting for him at the dining table. She was immersed in a Bible passage, enjoying a fresh cup of chamomile tea, when out of nowhere Satoru swiped the RNJB straight from her hands and demanded she reveal what it was. When she told him, his expression soured. "No way, this is it?" he flipped it open, "I thought it would be bigger," and then he took the holy book, beginning to end, and permitted the pages to cascade through his fingers like a large stack of playing cards. Hannah watched his blue eyes shift rapidly from side to side, the paper awash in a blur as he neared the Book of Revelation. Wait a minute, is he actually reading that? No one could read that fast.

"Wanna make a bet?" he challenged when Hannah unconsciously spoke this out loud. He closed the Bible shut. "Quiz me then. Ask me something only a person who bothered to read this thing would know."

And quiz him she did. Hannah asked the hardest thought questions her scrappy little brain could muster; "What items were stored in the Ark of the Covenant?" "Who replaced Judas Escariot after the Ascension?" "What was the name of Adam and Eve's third son?" To her immense frustration, Satoru answered every question she hurled at him like a reputable scholar, quoting the exact Bible verse and chapter, verbatim, just to rub it in her face.

"But…But that's impossible," she floundered once she could think of nothing else. "It takes decades to study on that level. Surely you've read it before."

Satoru had to force down a smile as he handed her back the Bible. "Yeah, no thanks. I'd rather have my eyes gouged than read that again," and finally sat down to pour himself a mug of sugary coffee.

His words were a razor. Hannah attempted to mask her hurt as she kneeled to join him. While Satoru probably meant nothing by it, he had a habit of being brutally honest to the point of sounding cruel. She didn't share that same perview when it came to his beliefs, but then of course, their personalities were basically night and day. She wondered if anyone knew how devoted he was to Buddhist meditation.

As the young wife confided in the ceiling one night, frustrated at how hopeless it was to fall asleep, her nose recognized the pleasant aroma of charred sandalwood and benzoin, the smell of burning incense. She checked her watch for the hour, 2:43 am, and sneakily cracked open her door to investigate. Having to squint as she crept along the dimly lit hallway, she saw a room glowing a tad brighter than the others and recognized it was the parlor hosting the Buddhist altar where the Gojo ancestors were commemorated next to the kamidana. Tiptoeing ever closer, she peeked around the corner to see Satoru sitting with his head bowed, eyes closed, legs crossed as he softly chanted the mantra, "namu amida butsu," over and over again in a hypnotic rhythm, a thread of prayer beads looped inside one palm. She observed him like that for a few minutes, the lanterns illuminating his broad physique and white hair like a sunset on untouched snow, a crystal Buddha. Even when he wore a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants, she was arrested by his beauty. A few minutes passed. Then, like a flower petal floating in the wind, she quietly made the journey back to her room, settled into her futon, and fell asleep to the words, "namu amida butsu," in her head. She would repeat this early morning ritual more than a few times, knowing her husband would likely be awake during the hour, chanting. He hadn't caught her in the act thus far. Fingers crossed.

When Satoru wasn't around for her to stalk, Hannah's main priority was familiarizing herself with the estate; going over finances, responding to congratulatory letters, and memorizing long family histories under the sagely council of Makoto. She learned that much of the Gojo's wealth came primarily from stock market exchanges, buying low, selling high. However, for several generations, the Gojo clan was one of the top sumo wrestling profiteers in the nation, training the winningest fighters across the land, but a bitter dispute against a rivaling family changed everything and the Gojo's were pressured to sell their livelihood before making it big in the timber industry. The career change paid off. Sumo steadily went on the decline, but the Gojo family did not. Hannah discovered there was not one, but four additional properties tied to the Gojo name; an opulent townhouse in Kyoto, a tobacco merchant's home in Osaka, a minka farmhouse in Gokayama, and a beachside cottage overlooking the Pacific on one of the Kyushu islands. As the current figurehead of the family, Satoru was obligated to live in the Tokyo residence, the crown jewel of the family, which to Hannah's surprise encompassed not only a tea garden, but fourteen acres of strolling gardens with huge sections of graveled karesansui framed around a ginormous lake.

Each week, a team of gardeners would mow the grass, trim the hedges, and sweep dead foliage off the stepped-stoned path, connecting the physical realm with the spiritual. The raked gravel could symbolize the vast open sea, while a rock, smooth or jagged, could be a towering mountain, a sleeping tortoise, or a crouching tiger. Hannah knew that to enter the Japanese garden required "mindful abandon." To humble oneself to the elements.

There was nothing she found more humbling than watching gasps of koi swim underneath a red soribashi bridge that adjoined a small island where a traditional teahouse lay hidden, or feeding fresh grapes to the mallard ducks grazing peacefully beside a raft of water lilies, splashing their tail feathers and diving their bottle-green heads into the murky water below. The strolling gardens were a horticulturist's dream come true. They had everything; dogwoods, cherry blossoms, Japanese maple, black pines. A Chinese orangery cultivared in succulent mandarins and apricots that would be plucked from their boughs come summertime. Trimmed bushels of rhododendrons and azaleas and miniature wisteria trees. Hannah loved the stone lanterns sculpted to look as though they were donning wide-brimmed hats, and would close her eyes and listen to the bamboo chimes sway gently in the breeze, the trickling of the waterfall, and take in the sweet, sweet perfume of wild lemongrass. For years to come this garden would be her sanctuary, her safe space. Her nightmares couldn't haunt her here. She could be content, safe from the night terrors.

Jujutsu High was once part of this estate, before Satoru's great grandfather donated the land to build a jujutsu school on par with that of Kyoto. By affiliation, this made Hannah an honorary member of the educational board, and towards the end of the month she attended her first meeting on Satoru's behalf. She didn't have to talk too much - thank God - except introduce herself and take a seat, but the elders in the room made for an unpleasant welcome, eyeing her coldly and whispering in each other's ears before the proceedings began. Were these the higher-ups Satoru warned her about, she thought. If so, what would they have to ridicule? She hadn't done anything inappropriate or spoken out of turn. Makoto even dressed her in kimono, a seafoam houmongi with pearlescent butterflies stitched at the bottom.

Unless required to leave school premises, which was strictly reserved for Sunday Mass, Hannah started wearing kimono on a regular basis. Every morning, after her training sessions with Satoru and a warm bath, Makoto would instruct her young mistress how to wrap the nagajuban and kimono just right so the ground wouldn't dirty the skirt, and how to tie an obi into a "drum knot" and how to walk in zori sandals without twisting an ankle. She would also delegate to her which color combinations were best suited for each season and which combinations were to be avoided. With enough practice, Hannah was soon able to dress herself without help.

"Woah," said Satoru when she stepped out wearing a blue striped komon, accentuated by a navy sash covered in daisies.

Hannah was startled to see him standing in the hallway and froze. "Does it look alright?" she asked nervously, giving the kimono a once over. "I can change into something else if you want."

A furtive blush dappled his cheeks. "No," he hastened his eyes to the floor. "You look goo — er — nice," the sorcerer cleared his throat, "You look nice."

Makoto also began straightening Hannah's hair using a special heating technique called "thermal reconditioning." Hannah had to sit very still as the housekeeper mixed, worked, and washed the straightening solution from her hair, then flatten it several times with a hot iron to permanently break down the keratin structure, leaving the auburn strands glossy smooth. This time consuming process would need to be repeated again in six months, but Hannah didn't mind listening to Makoto relay stories of her past while she maneuvered behind the mirror.

"When I first came here as one of the nannies, the young master was no taller than a boxwood shrub," she chuckled, running the hot iron through Hannah's hair. "Used to follow me everywhere I went, begging for sweets, making me laugh. I was the only servant he liked so it seemed, though I couldn't tell you why. He was prone to all sorts of mischief at that age, you know." She shook her head. "Some things never change."

Hannah glanced up at both their reflections. "The only servant? There were more?"

The housekeeper halted her ironing. "For a time, yes," she replied, holding a lock of warmly pressed hair. "But when the young master became clan leader, he sent most of them away."

"Except you?"

Makoto also glanced at her mistress through the mirror and smiled. "Yes, ma'am," she said modestly. "Except me." The housekeeper carefully switched the hot iron for a fine-toothed comb. "Now, let's finish straightening this long hair of yours. I think I'll want to tweak your eyebrows too while I'm at it. They're looking a bit uneven."

Upon putting the finishing touches to her hair and perfecting her eyebrows, Makoto also placed Hannah on a strict skincare regimen that she was to uphold morning, noon, and night, on top of learning how to curl her eyelashes, apply foundation with a brush, and color her lips. By the end, Hannah had to admit that she felt more presentable, but the housekeeper's beautifying efforts weren't solely for aesthetics. It was important that Hannah master all her faculties in preparation for chanoyu.

As it were, the tea ceremony was no ordinary social event, but the epitome of Japanese culture, where people from all walks of life sat together to participate in a ritual meal and drink tea as equals. For Hannah, hosting a Japanese tea ceremony would become her greatest test; a trial by which the whole of jujutsu society would serve to judge. A successful ceremony would bring honor to her name. Anything less would bring ruin. She had much to study, but Hannah couldn't have been given a better teacher.

Like a love-struck poet, Makoto spoke of Japanese tea as though it were a deity, revering the camellia leaves like one would French wine or an expensive Scottish whiskey. How could one person be the housekeeper, the butler, the chef, the maid, the valet, a kimono teacher, a beautician - essentially a Swiss army knife of service and dedication - and now also a tea master? Hannah sat in awed silence as the woman went into grand detail about the history of tea and how it was first brought over to Japan from China, later inspiring the "Land of Wa" to create its own tea ceremony, with its own structure and rules, till Sen no Rikyu emerged in the 16th century and began introducing the idea of wabi-sabi, laying the groundwork for the tea ceremony as it's practiced today.

Makoto would teach her the subtle nuances between Japanese teas and how to tell them apart by leaf, fragrance, color, and taste. Since most were caffeinated, Hannah took tiny sips of each and tried memorizing the mouthfeel, flavor, and sweet umami on her tongue. Makoto had her drink various sencha teas, two seperate culinary and ceremonial grade matcha teas, high quality gyokuro grown in Uji that had been hand picked from the fields, and common bancha teas found in local grocery stores sold around the country. Even though the tea ceremony only used matcha, tasting and differentiating other teas was integral because Hannah would have to select these teas herself when housing guests.

There were also the tea utensils and how to correctly use them. For example, when cleaning a tea scoop, the host was to take a silk cloth, called the fukusa, and fold it into a long triangle, making sure to tug on the ends for a slight "pop," before turning it vertically on its side and using the circumference of their hand to wrap and fold the cloth into thirds, which was then used to wipe the tea scoop exactly three times. Because her hands shook from nerves, this step became very difficult for Hannah to get right. "Mistakes are a part of life, ma'am," Makoto would say each time Hannah folded incorrectly and the cloth came undone. "Ganbatte kudasai."

But sometimes "doing her best" was a hard ask when in the midst of their tea lessons, Satoru would unexpectedly pop in to show off his vastly superior tea-making skills, executing the steps without error. However, during non-tea-ceremonial-related occasions he would randomly appear when his wife was alone, hoping to satisfy his burning curiosity.

"So what's the difference between a Western sorcerer and a jujutsu sorcerer?"

Hannah peered up from reading Sei Shonagon's A Pillow Book to see Satoru's tall frame looming over her, shaded by the old fig tree she was reclining underneath. Makoto had released her from her tea lessons for the day.

Her head tilted. "What do you mean?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I mean, why are they classified different? Aren't they the same?"

Hannah folded the corner of the page she was on so she could easily find it again and closed the book, giving him her full, undivided attention. "No, I don't think so. Jujutsu encompasses a darker type of magic, right?" Satoru affirmed this with a nod as Hannah continued. "And I don't believe jujutsu sorcerers have ordained exorcists at their disposal either."

Satoru's face scrunched in confusion. "Ordained? What, like monks or something?"

He watched the woman lightly bop herself on the temple. "Ah, that's right," she laughed dryly. "Shinto and Buddhist priests perform exorcisms too. Though I'm guessing you don't give them fancy titles like 'Monsignor' or 'The Honorable Reverend.'" She lifted her head, looking up at the rustling fig leaves. "I wonder if Fr. O'Malley is a monsignor and doesn't want anyone to know. Makes sense, given how unpopular the monicker is nowadays."

Satoru lifted an eyebrow. He didn't know what the heck she was talking about. "You'll have to ask him — and for the record, not all monastics perform exorcisms," he sat himself beside her, playfully poking her in the arm, "and you still haven't answered my initial question, so spill."

Hannah's face grew warm at the gesture. That was another oddity about Satoru. The man saw no issue getting up close and personal with people, be it stranger or otherwise. They were now bucked shoulder to shoulder. She could smell the incense and coffee on his clothes. "Well, the way I see it," she began, fiddling with the pages in her book, "there exists two kinds of Western sorcerer; An ordained exorcist, whose primary job is to cast out demonic spirits from a possessed person, and a 'true sorcerer,'" she made air quotes, "who uses magic to eradicate those demonic spirits. They also eradicate curses and — "

Satoru waved for her to stop. "Wait, wait, wait, I'm lost now. You're telling me demonic spirits and curses are different too?"

Drat. Hannah realized her mistake yet again. She had used the Japanese word "yokai" (strange apparition) as her translation for "demonic spirits," when she should've used the more appropriate word "akuma" (devil). It was hard for her to remember all these complex definitions. In Japanese folklore there existed a bevy of supernatural creatures, each with their own unique characteristics and narratives. There were oni, sometimes pronounced "ki," who were frightening looking ogres with protruding fangs and long horns, often wielding heavy clubs and could be both evil or benevolent depending on the encounter. In early February during Setsubun, one might witness the "cleansing" of these ogres with the throwing of beans and the phrase "Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi" (Oni get out, luck come in). There were also akuma, which were more akin to the Western image of demons; a being that existed within a fiery, evil hellscape. And then there were the most fascinating creatures of all known as yokai.

Anomalous, shape-shifting, and spooky, there was no single way to define yokai. They were believed to be mysterious spirits or monsters that roamed the outskirts of Japan, waiting for an unsuspecting human to accidentally stumble across their path. Stories were told of scaly, turtle-like imps (kappa) that lured young children to their ponds before drowning them, or shape-shifting fox spirits (kitsune) who bewitched and possessed people, commonly taking the guise of a beautiful woman, or spiky leafed trees (ninmenju) that sprouted human heads instead of blossoms and bled when cut.

With such striking similarities, it was an ongoing debate as to whether curses were separate from yokai, or ostensibly one in the same. Regardless, such arguments held little sway in the West, who harbored its own conclusions about supernatural creatures, especially when discussing angels and demons, who were shapeshifters like yokai, but were strongly divided amongst the forces of good and evil, something yokai and curses were not. Anywho, the whole thoroughfare was very complex and made for a terribly long conversation, which Satoru gathered from the look on his wife's face and rightly brushed the question aside.

"Okay, scratch that. So a jujutsu sorcerer is equivalent to a 'true' sorcerer, and an ordained exorcist is its own thing? Is that it?"

The seer pressed her lips together. "I suppose. Although there are ordained exorcists who can also wield magic, so the two are often conflated, if that makes sense."

Satoru grunted, finding her explanation unhelpful. Since Japan outpaced the rest of the world's sorcerer population by a scale of 9/10, many were convinced that the existence of sorcerers and curses were strictly Japanese phenomena. In other words, everyone knew about jujutsu sorcerers, more or less, but that couldn't be said about other populations. Satoru was inquisitive by nature. He didn't like not being in "the know" and finally here was someone who could answer questions that long ago would've earned him a cold hard slap on the wrist.

That was the thing about Hannah.

To her credit, she wasn't the spoiled brat he had originally imagined. While she was horrendously shy, lacked self-confidence, and tripped on her own two feet, she was also attentive and sincere and went about her business unobtrusively. She wasn't fond of loud, overbearing colors and hardly, if ever, asked him for money. She was purposeful when she spoke and was quick to forgive when he pushed his boundaries, like the incident with the ice water, and she didn't become annoyed when he asked a question. Rather, she engaged with him and listened to what he had to say, even when he knew he was saying the dumbest shit. Something he was slowly coming to appreciate. Truth was, he liked how much she cared.

And this sense of compassion wasn't exclusive to people. He couldn't forget the one time she found a gangly-legged huntsman spider lurking in a corner and not knowing what it was at first gave a loud, girlish shriek, prompting Satoru to rush in and squash the said spider, whereby Hannah began to cry, aggrieved that he felt it necessary to maime such a "harmless creature."

"I didn't want you to kill it," she sniffed, wiping her teary eyes. "How would you like it if someone came along and squished you?"

Satoru could only stand there and take it on the chin. Women; damned if you do, damned if you don't. But irrespective of her unnatural empathy for creepy-crawlies, he found it a little cute that she was waking in the middle of the night just to spy on him. Silly girl, of course he knew. The Six Eyes saw past everything, even when fully closed, though a part of him didn't want her to know that for fear it might scare her off. One way or another, that's normally what happened; people were always afraid. And if it was any consolation, he'd been spying on her too.

Whenever he heard her singing in the bath, Satoru couldn't resist taking a quick peak, using the Six Eyes to see through the bathroom walls, keeping the erections to a minimum…Well, he tried to anyway. Sometimes when she hit a particular high note and turned to him full frontal, his mind would draw a massive blank and the contracted muscles bundled around his groin would involuntarily relax, allowing blood to flow inside the spongy cavities and take hold. Stretching. Expanding. Oh so good. Unlike the previous times, however, the sensation left him feeling a tad…icky. Hannah wasn't some no-name porn star he could heedlessly jerk off to and forget like a used condom, and yet he was treating her no different. If she ever found out, what would she think? What would she say? Probably nothing nice. Despite how things started between them, he wanted her to like him, or at least willingly talk to him. There was so much she didn't know about everyday life.

Take technology for instance. The woman knew next to nothing about technology. Earlier that month, he'd gifted her a brand new iPhone 6 and not until he saw her lost expression did he understand she had no idea what she'd been given. "I wasn't permitted to have one," she said sheepishly, as though attesting to a crime. Satoru spent the duration of that evening hovering over the little woman, teaching her how to open the lock screen, how to dial a phone number, and how to type a text message and search the internet. Still to this day, his wife is unable to text using both thumbs and holds the phone flat in her hand while using her pointer finger to tap on the keyboard, which for a while drove him insane, but he'd eventually make peace with it. Although her knowledge of pop culture was inexcusable.

"C'mon, you've had to have seen The Godfather." he stressed when the subject came up. "You know? The greatest motion picture ever made?"

Hannah shook her head.

"Star Wars?"

Again her head went left to right.

"The Dark Knight?Lord of the Rings?…Elf?"

Every Hollywood blockbuster Satoru listed, Hannah responded with a negative, except for Men in Black weirdly enough, which wasn't close to being the best Will Smith movie. Nor did it cover Japanese staples like Spirited Away, Hara-kiri, or Bayside Shakedown. It killed him.

"Really, you haven't seen any of these films?" he said, hands falling to his sides in disappointment. "Nada one?"

Hannah bit her lip and glanced at him warily. "I've read the books," she squeaked. "Does that count?"

From that day forward, Satoru made it a priority that once a week Hannah sat down to watch a movie with him and, as an act of goodwill, would let her pick the genre. "Except romance," he emphasized, making an "X" with his arms. "We're not watching any of that garbage." Though he must've been joking when he said this because a good quarter of his collection were rom-coms.

Unfortunately, Hannah couldn't say these movie nights were particularly enjoyable since every few minutes or so, Satoru would forget where he was and spoil the scene, or worse, spoil the ending, but she didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. Nor condemn the obscene amount of butter he drizzled on the popcorn because in a physical sense he appeared alive and well, but Hannah knew he was tired. She knew how hard he'd been working; traveling, exorcizing curses, haggling with the higher-ups, waking at the crack of dawn to train her, and doing it all over again. If watching a movie one day out of the week was his way of relaxing, then she wouldn't complain. After everything that transpired over the last month, things were beginning to change for the better.

Aloof, scatterbrained, and eclectic, Hannah initially thought Satoru a tough nut to crack, but after spending an inordinate amount of time together, perhaps a better analogy was a rough diamond; only until you looked under the light, very closely, could you see the tiny fractures sparkling within. That being said, he had difficulty opening up, jabbering for hours on end without saying anything at all, never personal, never too deep. Although some days when they got to talking and the film credits rolled, the mask would slip right off.

"I fuckin' hate this job sometimes," he admitted to her one night, resting his long legs atop the coffee table while massaging his aching eyes.

Hannah's own eyes deflected from the television screen, the half-empty popcorn bowl sitting comfortably in her lap. They'd just finished watching Disney's Hercules and were about to watch The Aristocats next. The hollowness in his voice worried her. "What makes you say that?"

Satoru sighed deeply through his nose. He'd lost interest in the movie roughly forty minutes ago. "Curses are conjured from negative emotions wrought by humans," he said, staring blankly at the scars lining his palm. "Envy, revenge, anger, despair. We could excorcize every curse in this country, find all the Sukuna fingers before they fully manifested, and it still wouldn't be enough," he balled his fist, "Maybe Suguru was right. Maybe humanity is too far gone to save."

"Suguru?" Hannah's brows contracted. "Who's that?"

His eyes quickly flicked to her. "Nobody," he muttered, before looking at the television. "Just some guy I used to work with."

Hannah bowed her head and slowly leaned forward. "Well…would you like to know what I think?" She placed the popcorn bowl on the table, enticing him to listen. She caught a slight trace of turquoise blue focused on her. "I think what you do is important. Because of you a mother didn't have to bury her newborn baby, a little boy didn't have to get his leg amputated from a curse infection, and an old man got to live longer to see his grandchildren grow up. People like you make a difference, Satoru."

But as she said this, the sorcerer turned away. He'd heard the same speech before. "What's the point? We can't save them all," he murmured.

"No, we can't," Hannah whispered sadly, knowing his words were true. "Like you said, there's terrible evil in this world," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "but there's also a lot of good. And if there's a way to protect even a little of that goodness, doesn't that make the fight worth it? Don't you think having a little good in this world is better than having none?"

Satoru wheeled his head to look at her, Six Eyes blue as a cloudless sky. Is that what she told herself when the nightmares became too real? When she would cry out in the dead of night and beg someone, anyone, to come save her from the monsters she faced in her dreams?

"I wish I never had it," he recalled her saying, and now several weeks after the fact, Satoru was beginning to understand what she meant. He couldn't confirm to what extent, but Hannah's visions were afflicting her almost every night, seemingly more morose and violent than the last. The walls weren't soundproof. He could make out her helpless whimpers emanating from across the hall, begging for help.

Gravely concerned for her mistress, Makoto once tried breaking the seal with a counter charm, a powerful disarming spell inked on a white tag, but the incantation swiftly rebounded upon making contact with the door and nearly engulfed the hallway in an inferno of bright purple flames. It was no good. The seal was indestructible. Sorcerer or not, nobody was getting in from the outside. They'd have to wait for Hannah to awaken on her own. It worked once with the ice water. Perhaps it would work again.

Satoru didn't have to wait long to find out.

Late one night when he was returning home from another mission, trudging tiredly up the dimly lit hallway, his ears detected the sound of Hannah crying in her bedroom. Had he opened his door too quickly and closed it shut, he would've missed it.

"Sa…"

Satoru froze stiff, fingers hooked around the latch. Could it be — was she?

"Sa…u"

He glanced cautiously towards the other side, seeing her tiny figure through the walls on the ground, thrashing under the blankets like a butterfly tangled in a web, desperately wanting to be freed. The thought reminded him of that lousy hair clip he returned on her nightstand weeks ago. He walked over and pressed his ear to the door, her voice clear as a bell.

"Satoru."

Nope. He wasn't imagining things. That was definitely his name she was calling. But was it enough? Would it let him in like last time?

His hand gripped the door handle and yanked it gently to the right.

The door cracked a tiny sliver.

Ha! Success.

Quickly, he stepped into the room brimming with paulownias and looked down at his foreign bride, her pretty face contorted as though in pain; skin sweaty, teeth gritted, glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. His chest lurched. She looked so frail, so weak, trapped inside that limbo state of neither sleep nor real consciousness, but Satoru knew his orders. He was not to wake her. He was not to disturb or inhibit the visions by any means. He could do nothing except watch the little woman go it alone. The inaction made him feel powerless, a horrible mixture of both pity and subdued agitation.

"No," she cried out again, voice breaking from the violent sobs that overcame her body. "Ple-e-ease."

Fuck the rules. It had been like this for weeks. Orders be damned. Those old fogies could go drown themselves at the bottom of the Sumida river. Satoru knelt on the floor.

"Hannah?" he said, cupping her cheek and tapping it lightly. "Oi, you're dreaming, Hannah," he grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook, "Hannah. Wake up." Her head lulled. Auburn hair clung to the sweat and tears on her cheeks as more sobs followed. She squirmed in his hold.

Running out of available options, Satoru was tempted to place two fingers on her forehead and disrupt the vision with cursed energy, but found himself reluctant to do so. He didn't know the effects of using spells on people during powerful visions. It could easily backfire similarly to the charm Makoto placed on the door. What if he gave her irreparable brain damage or made her permanently blind? Maybe it wasn't good of him to come here after all.

"No," Hannah begged, her hand grappling for air as though reading his mind, "Please don't," she sobbed harder, "don't go."

Without a momentary thought, his palm found hers, tracing the smooth skin with his thumb in an effort to soothe, giving it a tender squeeze. This woman had shown him actual kindness when few else did and asked nothing in return.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, caressing her dollike hand in the moonlit dark. "I swear."

Refusing to leave, the sorcerer stayed by her side the whole night, holding her hand until the sun trickled in the next morning, and secretly making his exit before those innocent hazel eyes flitted open.

As always, Hannah would remember none of it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For this chapter's notes, please visit AO3 (Same name).

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