The night air held a biting chill. Utahime bit her lip, her fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of her sleeve to calm her racing pulse. Moonlight filtered through the weeping willow's branches, casting an intimate, almost conspiratorial glow on the hidden corner of the garden. Unlike the layers of silk she usually wore, tonight Utahime sported a simple, flowing robe—the color of twilight, perfect for melting into the shadows.
This was madness.
Tonight, they were defying the strictures of her arranged future, stealing precious moments under the cloak of night. A thrill, laced with a touch of fear, danced in her stomach. If anyone discovered their secret tryst, not only would their reputations be shattered, but the delicate web of alliances her betrothal to another noble family was meant to secure could unravel entirely.
Yet, the memory of their last encounter, filled with stolen glances and a spark that transcended polite smiles and stilted conversation, had left Utahime yearning for something more. Much more. It was a yearning as consuming as a raging fire. It was, most likely, a subtle manipulation, a spell woven by the brilliant rising star in the Imperial court, lauded for his poetry, political acumen, and his stunning talent for Jujutsu Sorcery.
Even if it was indeed sorcery that had set her aflame, she didn't care. If somebody wanted her this much, who was she to deny it to him?
Michizane no Sugawara was shrouded in an aura of mystery. Legends whispered of his lineage, a bloodline said to possess very special powers that could not be learned only inherited. Whispers spoke of his prowess in manipulating time itself, bending it to his will in subtle ways. Others, his enemies perhaps, felt the unnerving sensation of time inexplicably warping around him, moments stretching or compressing in a way that defied logic. Perhaps it was this hidden power, this dangerous allure that thrummed beneath his proper scholarly facade, that had ignited a yearning in Utahime that transcended duty.
And reason.
A rustle in the bushes sent her heart into a frenzy. Michizane emerged. He wore his usual scholar's robes, but loosened at the collar. Utahime fought the urge to blush as their gazes met.
"Iori-sama," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against the rustling leaves. "You are finally here."
Utahime, her cheeks burning with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, held his star-filled gaze with difficulty. "Rules," she countered, her voice barely a whisper, "are like poems, Sugawara-sama. They exist to be beautifully crafted, but also to be creatively interpreted."
They inched closer, the air around them seemed to be charged with a forbidden energy. Each step brought them nearer to the precipice of desire, where the weight of duty threatened to pull them back, yet the pull of their hearts urged them forward.
The kiss began with a tentative exploration, a brush of lips that sent a jolt of electricity through them both. Utahime, her inhibitions melting away with each passing second, felt a surge of defiance against the constraints of the expectations piled upon her. Michizane, his touch laced with a reverence that belied his scholarly facade, deepened the kiss, his lips moving with a practiced sensuality that sent shivers down her spine.
The kiss was a wordless conversation where unspoken desires found expression. Their breaths mingled, a shared sigh escaping their lips as they surrendered to the intensity of the moment. Utahime's fingers tangled in Michizane's hair, the touch a silent plea for him to stay, to make this forbidden moment last forever. He, in turn, cupped her face, his touch a brand that seared the memory of this encounter onto her very soul. As they pulled away, breathless and yearning, their eyes locked, a silent promise exchanged.
"I will have you," he vowed.
Yes. He would.
The night deepened, the inky shadows offering a precarious cloak for the sin they were about to commit. Utahime, her heart a trapped sparrow in her chest, followed Michizane through a labyrinth of overgrown hedges bordering the garden. A knot of apprehension tightened in Utahime's stomach. This wasn't just a stolen kiss under the moonlight; this was a full-fledged trespass into forbidden territory—her own future. Michizane, sensing her hesitation, brushed his fingers against hers, a silent reassurance that sent more shivers down her spine.
When they entered the house, Utahime glanced back at the moonlit garden, a symbol of the innocence they were leaving behind. Stepping over the threshold, she felt the weight of her decision settle upon her shoulders. There was no turning back. Here, in the cool shadows of her home, she would offer him everything—her defiance, her passion, and the exhilarating uncertainty of a love that burned brighter than anything she had ever known.
###
"What is happening?" Alarmed, Shoko looked towards Gojo.
How the fuck should I know? His eyes saw cursed energy entangle Utahime, but it wasn't like any cursed energy pattern he had encountered before. That in itself was not something he ever thought he'd experience. He looked back at Shoko. Her dark-rimmed eyes shot daggers of death at him.
"No need to glare at me like this," Gojo protested, "I didn't do anything!"
Only that he felt guilty nonetheless.
"I find that hard to believe," Shoko mumbled, stepping forward to gently shake Utahime, who had become entirely still, her eyes huge and unseeing.
Utahime's words danced in Gojo's mind like a haunting refrain. "Reaching out from the past," she had said. The realization sent a surge of boiling anger coursing through him, mingled with a deep sense of helplessness. That, too, wasn't something he ever thought he'd experience.
"I swear," Gojo vowed, his voice thick with emotion, "I'm going to travel back in time, and I'll murder the bastard."
"Don't be stupid," Shoko admonished him. "Vows like this will get you in trouble."
"Has she told you about the Michizane issue last year?" Gojo asked. "And that Michizane developed a certain… liking for her?"
He would never forget the dreams Michizane had conjured up to plague him. Utahime on all fours, her ass in the air for the bastard to mount her from behind, the lustful screams and animal-like frenzy of the coupling. Ever since, he understood Michizane's one true desire. To be reincarnated. To be free. To live again.
This was goddamn serious. As long as Michizane had been a ghost trapped in a shrine, or later trapped inside Gojo, where he could suppress and control him fully, things had been manageable. But now he was reaching out through time? How had he managed to do that?
Michizane couldn't get another chance to live. Michizane, one of the most powerful sorcerers from the Heian era, unleashed upon the modern world was unimaginable. The delicate balance maintained by the Jujutsu Sorcerers would crumble in the face of such a catastrophic event. The knowledge lost over the centuries, the thinning of their ranks—it all compounded the danger exponentially. He knew only too well: The Jujutsu Sorcerers of today were ill-prepared to face a threat of this magnitude.
"Yup," Shoko nodded gravely in answer to his question. "She told me when you landed yourself in hospital. Well, I guess it runs in the family, the obsession."
Perhaps there was a little too much truth in that saying. What had Naoya claimed earlier today? That Gojo men couldn't resist Iori women?
"I'm going to dispel it," Gojo said, but the domain expansion wasn't like the ones he had dealt with before. It wasn't a completely closed, floating black sphere—it was barely visible, more like a faint haze clinging to Utahime's person.
He hesitated.
There was nothing subtle about his techniques. Normally he just blasted all obstacles and enemies to smithereens. It was well known, if you got yourself caught inside a domain expansion, it could only be countered by an even more forceful domain expansion. If you found yourself outside, with your collaborators caught inside, you blasted a hole into the outer barrier to free the ones inside.
But he couldn't blast anything with Utahime standing right there, he'd hurt her.
"Are you sure? She looks really happy," Shoko observed.
Exactly. She looked much too happy and Gojo didn't like that, not one bit.
He extended his hand. There was a barrier, he could feel it faintly against his fingertips. It didn't like him, but most barriers didn't. It felt like warm dough. It was going to be easy to poke a hole into it, but he wasn't sure that was enough to make it collapse.
"I'm going in," Gojo decided. And if he got a chance to eliminate Michizane, he would do it without hesitation. Enough was enough.
###
The transition was smooth, more like a caress against his skin than the unpleasant feeling that trespassing into someone's innate domain usually was. The vista before him was breathtaking, ripped straight from a history book. Towering wooden buildings lined cobbled streets teeming with people in Heian period garb. The sky was a hazy blue, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke.
Gojo scoffed. What kind of innate domain looked like a theme park? His ancestor sure was whimsical.
Turning this way and that, he couldn't feel any imminent danger. Yet, a sliver of unease wormed its way into his chest. The press of the crowd, the grit beneath his sandals, the weight of the unfamiliar atmosphere—it all felt... real. Like he'd been transported through time itself.
He scoffed again, louder this time, to dispel the unwelcome sensation. "Showy trick, Sugawara," he drawled, his voice echoing in the narrow streets. Several people turned to look at him askance. "But hardly enough to faze me."
He sauntered forward, a deliberate arrogance in his posture. Inwardly, however, he couldn't help but feel a little awed. This was a world brimming with a very special cursed energy. It pulsed in the air, tangible and vibrant, a testament to the raw power the sorcerers of the time had wielded. It was like a glimpse into the cradle of jujutsu sorcery, the birthplace of the very power that coursed through his veins.
Creepy. And kinda cool.
A glint of recognition. In the distance, a familiar silhouette pierced the hazy horizon - the unmistakable shape of Mount Hiei-zan. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. So, this was Heian era Kyoto—a faithful recreation of Sugawara's own stomping ground. Perfect. Then he knew where to go next!
With a renewed sense of purpose, Gojo decided to take the game straight to his ancestor's doorstep. He wouldn't just break the domain. He would go up there and destroy Sugawara once and for all, if necessary sealing him deep within his own domain.
###
Utahime's face in the mirror glowed, a radiance that transcended the silks of her kimono. The vibrant scarlet fabric, a stark contrast to the pale ivory of her skin, seemed to borrow its vibrancy from the happiness blooming within her. Her pregnancy, though still in its early stages, added a softness to her features, a maternal grace that had not been there before. It suited her so well. How much more happiness could she take before she burst?
Gone was the nervous flutter that had once resided in her eyes whenever she thought of Michizane. Now, they sparkled with a contented joy, a love story woven into their depths. Her defiance, once a flicker of rebellion, had morphed into a quiet strength, the strength of a woman who had fought for her heart's desire and won.
The path hadn't been easy. Her father's initial fury at her defiance had been a storm to weather. But when Utahime, tears glistening on her lashes, had confessed the life growing within her, a responsibility settled on his shoulders heavier than any societal pressure. In the end, blood had proven thicker than alliances, and her father, with a heavy heart, had relented.
The Tairas, however, remained a storm cloud on the horizon. The shattered promise of the union between their families had left a bitter taste in their mouths. Whispers of vengeance traveled on the wind, a constant reminder of the price she had paid for her happiness. Yet, Utahime chose to focus on the warmth of Michizane's presence, the gentle rise and fall that hinted at the life nestled within her womb.
As she turned away from the mirror, a newfound determination strengthened her resolve. Happiness might demand sacrifice, but she would brave any tempest to safeguard it.
###
Gojo crested the final rise, his chest heaving and breath ragged. The trek up Mount Hiei-zan had been a slog, without the ability to teleport, getting around in the world was tedious. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his stomach grumbled in protest. Yet, the frustration simmering within him was a far greater irritation than any physical discomfort.
This wasn't supposed to be difficult. This entire domain was a cheap parlor trick, ahistorical kitsch. But the trek had been real enough, the exertion gnawing at his reserves a testament to the disconcerting realness of Sugawara's conjured world. Reaching the summit left him panting, a wholly unfamiliar sensation that only fueled his annoyance.
He stood before the estate gates, an imposing structure of lacquered wood. The scent of cedar and paper wafted from within, mingling with the crisp mountain air. Even the chirping of unseen birds sounded authentic, a chorus that echoed through the ancient trees that ringed the property.
On his ascent earlier, Gojo had surveyed the sprawl of Kyoto nestled in the valley below. The domain seemed to stretch endlessly, a meticulously crafted panorama that showed no limitations. A sliver of grudging respect battled with his annoyance. This was a damn solid Domain Expansion. The amount of power it took to maintain something like it wasn't lost on him. He straightened his posture, forcing his breaths to slow. Fine. Sugawara wanted to play his A-game? He'd play along. With steely resolve, Gojo pushed open the estate gates, the imposing wooden doors groaning in protest, ready to face his ancestor head-on.
The ethereal glow of hundreds of lanterns greeted him. They lined the footpaths of the sprawling garden, their gentle sway mirrored by the old pine trees rustling in the cool mountain breeze. How tacky. Ignoring a chill that wanted to creep up on him, Gojo put his hands into his kimono sleeves. He marched purposefully down the main path leading directly to the house, his eyes scanning the garden's depths. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft murmur of the wind and the occasional chirp of an unseen cricket and the crunch of gravel under his feet.
The estate itself was the sprawling complex he knew so well. Directly ahead stood the main building. In the center of the veranda, a lone figure sat upon a plush tatami mat. Clad in flowing robes, his back was to Gojo, the long, white hair cascading down his shoulders a dead giveaway.
As Gojo approached, the figure slowly turned, revealing a face that mirrored his own in a way that sent a jolt through him. Utahime had claimed they looked alike, but this was the first time he had to agree. In his current form, Michizane Sugawara wasn't much older than Gojo and the same piercing blue eyes gleamed with an uncanny familiarity.
Michizane's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. His voice, when he spoke, was a deep rumble. "Satoru," he greeted, his voice devoid of surprise. "It seems the blood remembers."
Gojo bristled. He wasn't here for philosophical crap. "I'm here for Utahime," he frowned, his voice laced with impatience. "Where is she?"
Michizane's gaze remained steady, unwavering. "Your impatience is a youthful folly," he admonished him, his voice a gentle yet firm rebuke. "Sit down, boy."
Gojo didn't want to. He never obeyed orders without question. But the cursed energy within this domain, within this very estate, pulsed with an untamed ferocity that he couldn't take too lightly. Gojo, for the first time, wasn't entirely sure he could overpower his ancestor, at least, not without significant effort and damage to himself, which wouldn't help Utahime's situation.
The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, settled in Gojo's gut. He gritted his teeth, the frustration momentarily eclipsed by a begrudging respect. "Alright, old man," he conceded. "What do you want?" He reluctantly lowered himself onto a nearby tatami mat, his posture stiff, radiating a tense readiness.
Michizane looked at him in silence for a while.
"This is fate," he then said and took a slow sip from the cup standing before him. "Stop fighting it."
"Oh, please," Gojo scoffed. "Spare me that shit."
"Are all the people in the future as flippant as you are?" Michizane asked with a lift of his eyebrows. "Or is that your own special trait."
"I asked what you want," Gojo repeated, his voice tight. "You keep bothering us from beyond the grave and I want it to stop."
Michizane chuckled, a sound that danced on the edge of condescension. "Do you now," he said, setting his teacup down with a gentle clink. "Why, do you feel threatened?"
"Utahime is suffering because of you," Gojo accused, his voice low and dangerous. "You will pay for that."
Michizane's amusement deepened. "Suffering?" he echoed. "Not at all, Satoru. We are having a very... good time, to say the least. I really should thank you for introducing us. I never knew such... potential existed."
Gojo's hand instinctively flicked towards his blindfold, the simmering anger threatening to boil over. But before he could react, Michizane raised a hand, the gesture imbued with power. "Sit down and listen," his voice boomed. "I may not like you, but blood binds us, Satoru, and the chains of fate we forged on your 27th birthday cannot be broken. Do you really not see the gathering storm? Your eyes are given to you to guard against threats from the past as well as the future. If only you finally used them!"
"That shit again," Gojo grumbled. "'Its tendrils brush against your fate, a darkness that threatens to consume all you hold dear'," he repeated the words from his dream in an exaggerated, mocking voice.
"So you do listen," Michizane said, his face taking on a smug expression. "Good."
"Is she here?" Gojo demanded to know.
"Yes, of course she is," Michizane smiled. "She is my wife after all."
What the fuck…?
"No, she isn't!" Gojo yelled. "Utahime is my wife! And I want you to release her right this instance!"
Michizane let out a sigh, his tone akin to that of a parent growing exasperated with a stubborn child. "You misunderstand. We were wed a fortnight past. Even prior to that, an arrangement was in place. I am not holding her against her wishes. She came here of her own volition, and gladly so."
Gojo's blood ran cold at Michizane's words, his mind struggling to process the implications. And like all the other bitches before her did, she's betraying you too. Naoya's words, a kind of poison he had no defense against.
"No... that's not possible," Gojo whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself. "Utahime would never..."
But even as he spoke the words, doubt gnawed at him. Memories of their past interactions, the subtle nuances of her expressions—all suddenly called into question.
"Love," Michizane made a sweeping gesture, "is the most twisted curse of all. You, as I, will be plagued by it until your dying breath. It brought you here, to this moment. It is the tool they will exploit to reach you. Do you understand now?"
###
Utahime gazed fondly at the little boy nestled against her leg. A crown of soft, white hair, almost luminous in the dim light, framed his face. His deep brown eyes, large and round, sparkled with curiosity as he clutched a worn wooden toy, his chubby fingers tracing the faded paintwork.
Utahime's heart swelled with a fierce, protective love. It was a love that felt primal, a fierce need to shield this fragile being from any harm. It was a love that defied logic, one that had blossomed even amidst the strange circumstances surrounding their family. Every coo, every gurgle that escaped the boy's lips brought a smile to her face. Every clumsy giggle, every tentative step he took filled her with a fierce pride that went beyond anything she had ever known. This tiny person represented a future she hadn't dared to dream of – a future where love, not just power, held meaning.
Who wouldn't want to be immortal? Michizane's words, spoken just yesterday, echoed in her mind. Time, he'd claimed, was not linear. He and his friends were learning how to master it, bending it to their will, all in pursuit of a life unmarred by death, a life extended beyond the grave.
Immortality…
Looking down at the boy, his innocent face bathed in the soft light, Utahime knew her answer. Immortality, with its endless expanse of time, could never hold a candle to the precious, fleeting moments she cherished now. The joy of watching him grow, the warmth of his tiny hand in hers, the fierce, all-consuming love that bloomed with every giggle–these were the things that truly mattered. These were the things worth living, worth fighting for.
"It's unnatural," Utahime whispered. She would tell her husband to be careful. She had met his overly ambitious friends and even if she wouldn't tell him, she didn't like any of them. Actually, she feared them.
And one of them felt… strangely familiar.
Ancient. Dusty. Dead.
###
Gojo's throat tightened, the air suddenly thick and suffocating. He lunged forward, hand outstretched towards Michizane, but a barrier flickered into existence, deflecting him.
"Show yourself, Utahime!" Gojo roared, his voice raw with a mix of disbelief, fury, and a sliver of desperation. "Tell me it's a lie!"
Silence echoed around him, broken only by Gojo's ragged breaths. The silence itself felt like an accusation. Minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of his internal clock a hammer blow to his already fracturing trust.
Finally, from the shadows of the mansion, a figure emerged. Utahime. But something was different. Her gaze flickered with an unsettling uncertainty. She looked pale, fragile, and in a strange way, much older.
"Satoru," she spoke, her voice a mere whisper, "what are you doing here..."
"I'm here to get you out," Gojo pressed out. "This is just a domain expansion. He's manipulating you to…"
His words were cut short by a tiny hand that emerged from behind Utahime's skirt, followed by a mop of luminous white hair. A chubby boy, barely able to walk, peeked out with his large, curious eyes – the same deep brown as Utahime's. He toddled forward unsteadily on fat legs, clutching a half-chewed wooden toy in his other hand.
Utahime bent down, scooping the boy into her arms. He snuggled against her chest, burying his face in the folds of her kimono.
"This..." Utahime began, her voice trembling slightly, "this isn't a domain. This is my family."
A cold fury ignited within him, a fire hotter than any cursed technique.
"You will regret this, Michizane," Gojo snarled, his voice laced with the force of his anger as he ripped off his blindfold. "I'll tear you apart, even if it takes everything I have."
Michizane's mocking laughter echoed through the space, resonating like the toll of a temple bell.
###
Utahime's movements halted abruptly. A prickle of unease crawled up her spine, a cold spiderweb sensation that snagged at the edges of her consciousness. It was like a misplaced note in a familiar melody, a jarring dissonance that sent a tremor through her forced sense of normalcy.
Looking down at her son nestled against her chest, a strange hollowness settled in her gut. The warmth of his tiny body, usually a source of immense comfort, felt oddly muted. She tried to recall the events leading up to Gojo's sudden appearance, but her memories felt hazy, dreamlike, their edges blurred and indistinct. A disquieting sense of unreality washed over her, a feeling like she'd been sleepwalking through her own life.
Gojo. Gojo was here.
Gojo?
For the first time since stepping out onto the veranda, she truly looked at him. And in the depths of his blue eyes, she saw a raw vulnerability so profound it stole her breath. She realized how much she yearned for him, his embrace, his warmth, the safety he represented. But she had hurt him, once again.
"Don't do anything," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Satoru, don't attack. Michizane isn't the enemy here, he's just…" She trailed off, searching for the right word. Not the enemy? Was she sure of that?
Suddenly, pieces clicked into place. The unnatural stillness of the air, the way the light seemed to bend around Michizane, the way her own memories felt hazy and dreamlike. Gojo was right. This was an innate domain. A domain that felt so real, it had ensnared her completely into its illusion.
She clasped a hand to her mouth in shock. Oh no. What have I done? She looked down at her baby boy in horror. Not real. He couldn't be real. Yet, the weight in her arms felt so undeniably solid, his soft breaths tickling her skin. It was a terrifying contradiction.
Across from her, Michizane's face remained an emotionless mask. "I release you," he declared, his voice devoid of warmth. "I have what I need."
Utahime whimpered, clinging to the illusion of her child like a lifeline. "No," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. A child. She had promised him a child, in a truth-lie.
Michizane rose with a predatory grace, stalking towards her. "You thought you could outsmart me?" he scoffed, cruel amusement flickering in his eyes. "A naive attempt, considering I am the one who invented it all, foolish girl."
He stopped a hair's breadth away, his finger poised to touch her forehead. "The Binding Vow between you two… it's transparent to me. I cannot keep you here, you've made your choice."
Utahime looked into Michizane's eerie blue eyes, searching for the truth behind illusions. Their shared life – it felt so real, this echo of what might have been, a cruel twist of the knife from the domain's artifice. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent goodbye to a life that never existed.
"Now, now," Michizane used his thumb to brush the tear away, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. "No need to get sentimental."
They were back in the present in the blink of an eye. Shoko gasped.
"That was quick!" Shoko's smile, bright and oblivious, scraped against Utahime's raw nerves. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the phantom warmth of her child, the echo of Michizane's laughter, to fade.
"I… I need a minute," Gojo muttered, his voice strained, evading Utahime's eyes. He folded his fingers and was gone.
Shoko's brows furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"
Utahime swallowed, the taste of ash clinging to her throat. "I..." The words wouldn't come. How could she explain the depths of her folly? Shame burned in her cheeks. Here she stood, clad in her ridiculous pink pajamas, feeling heartbroken and very, very stupid. Had she really believed the likes of her could dupe the likes of Michizane Sugawara?
Finally, the words forced themselves out. "I really, really messed up."
But, she realized with a sudden thrill, she had also gained invaluable insights.
"What time is it?" She asked, kicking herself into motion. "I need to call someone. You have Kusakabe's number, right?"
"Kusakabe…?" Shoko echoed, confusion etched on her face.
"I met someone at his New Year's Eve party," Utahime explained hastily, shoving down the pang of longing that flared in her chest at Satoru's absence. "I think… I hope that someone might be able to help us."