The Zen'in clan's central main room reeked of stale bodies and booze. The storm outside had begun in earnest, a heavy curtain of rain drumming a relentless staccato on the rooftop. Into the air that hung thick with tension, Naobito belched loudly, then followed it up with a throaty sigh that seemed to deflate him like a punctured tire.
"This is a big, stinking mess," he declared, his bloodshot eyes settling on his son.
Naoya's face contorted in a grimace, resembling someone who'd just been forced to swallow a particularly sour lemon. "It wasn't us," he defended himself heatedly. "Why in the Nine Heavens would we kill our own guards? This fucking bitch…"
Naobito's head snapped up. "Shut your mouth, you incompetent fool!" he roared. A vein bulged on his temple, his face turning a dangerous shade of crimson as he gasped for air. "Whose idiotic idea was it to bring this woman here in the first place?!"
Naoya clamped his mouth shut so tightly his lips turned white.
Gojo couldn't see Utahime who was seated behind him, following the rigid Zen'in traditions of rank and deference. She was unhurt physically, but far from okay. The air itself vibrated with her barely contained anger.
Turning his head, Gojo stole a glance at Utahime, her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair lending her a wild, untamed air. He focused on conveying silent reassurance. Some fear flickered in her eyes, quickly chased away by a spark of defiance and unwavering determination. He offered her a small smile and a barely-there nod, a silent promise that he knew what needed to be done.
Of course, this clandestine display of affection didn't go unnoticed. Ogi Zen'in cast a sharp glance in their direction. "The Gojos send their women to cause problems in other clans now?" He snapped.
"Not to cause problems," Gojo countered, his voice smooth as silk, "to solve them. The woman you kidnapped sent for my wife's help, begging to be saved."
Naobito scoffed. "Proof," he demanded.
Utahime yanked her phone from her pocket and shoved it towards Gojo after tapping furiously on the screen. He passed it on to Naobito. A smug smile twisted his features as he studied the screen. "Suicide," he declared triumphantly. "That's what it was."
Utahime's laugh was a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Suicide?" Her voice dripped with cold fury. "Chia's throat was ripped out! It was no suicide!"
Naobito's smugness evaporated, replaced by a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Zen'in women," he snarled, "do not speak unless spoken to."
"We Gojos have no such problem with women," Gojo countered, his voice taking on a warning edge, "unless they end up murdered after a rival clan kidnaps them. I demand an inquiry."
Naobito groaned in frustration. "What, another one?"
"As many as it takes," Gojo nodded. "What caused her desperation, I wonder? What were you about to do to her?"
Heads turned towards Ogi, in whose household the Gojo widow had been placed. He shrugged, his face disdainful. "Don't look at me, nobody touched the vicious bitch after the wedding night. And who says she's the one who sent this message?"
Utahime made a strangled sound and Gojo congratulated himself on sending Nanami away with Utahime's Zen'in student. Having shown a weak spot for Chia before, Nanami would have lost his composure entirely at this point. Gojo doubted that Chia had willingly married into the Zen'in clan, but at least it sounded like she had fought back, however she could.
"The second message she sent," Utahime pressed out. "It's proof."
"A shame for the red car that burnt in vain," Naobito read slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's a code," Gojo said, a pang of something sharp twisting in his gut. Utahime, Nanami, and Shoko, strategizing behind his back, concocting a fake death to help his cousin's widow disappear... would the sting of their belief in his monstrousness ever dull?
"And who ensures us it wasn't your own woman, killing a love rival in cold blood?" Naobito handed back the phone, looking at Utahime with distrust.
Gojo sighed deeply. He had no patience left. "She has a witness from within your own clan. Can we dispense with these ludicrous accusations? It wasn't my wife. And Naoya is right, it wasn't a Zen'in either."
Naobito's bluster seemed to deflate slightly. He eyed Gojo with a narrowed gaze for a moment, then finally succumbed to the siren song of alcohol. Grabbing his bottle, he took a long, frustrated swig. "Who then?" he grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Gojo sighed again. There wouldn't be any dates for him and Utahime, not in a long while.
"It was the child," he stated.
"You fucking idiot brought a raging lunatic into our house, nephew!" Ogi roared, directing his fury at Naoya, "you are the one who should pay for this!"
"But not for the front gate, that bill will be sent to the Gojos," Naobito added, cocking his head to look at the trembling bundle at the back of the room. The girl was flanked by two Zen'in guards who were watching over her with unhappy faces.
The thing with Mayu's features sat huddled in the corner, its form obscured by shadow. Was it crying pitiful tears in silence, sobbing so hard the small body shook? Or perhaps it was a soundless, mocking cackle cloaked by tremors, while it was plotting its next attack?
The Zen'ins were truly foolish to bring it here without first sealing it, Gojo thought, but it seemed to have successfully tricked them into believing it was just a traumatized child. It emitted a minimal amount of cursed energy, quite masterfully done – enough to deceive anyone who didn't probe its appearance carefully. It was possible he was the only one capable of seeing through the facade thanks to the Six Eyes' power. The cursed energy it held in reserve was colossal. In fact, it hurt his head to look at it.
But how had a young girl morphed into this…?
"Did you see whether it ate anything?" Gojo addressed Utahime quietly. Its teeth were red but so was everything else about it.
She shook her head, clenching her hands very hard. The fear in her eyes surged - clearly, she understood that this 'child' was no longer the little girl they had both met last year.
"It addressed me as mother," Utahime whispered and for a moment, it looked like she was going to be sick.
That was the confirmation Gojo needed. So it was indeed Michizane they were dealing with. Likely, he had somehow used the ghost child he had ripped from Utahime in the domain expansion to fuse with Mayu. Perhaps, all that had been needed was a blood sacrifice – Gojo blood from the brother, perhaps, or its mother's blood, or maybe even both. But why?
"Come here," Gojo ordered the child and it obeyed instantly, teetering towards the center of the room on legs that trembled. The girl looked horrifying – crimson from head to toe, dried blood flaking off in a macabre snowstorm. Her once vibrant blue eyes were now vacant white voids, staring sightlessly into the distance.
"When did she lose her eyesight?" Gojo asked sharply. One thing was clear, the girl was no longer capable of developing the Six Eyes. She was now thoroughly useless to the Zen'ins. Good. This thing couldn't remain here. The less the Zen'ins understood about it the better.
"She could still see earlier today," Ogi spat on the floor again, the gesture reeking of both disdain and unease. "She glared at me with those damned blue eyes when I threatened her with the Pit."
"And of course Chia was right there," Gojo interjected sharply. "No wonder she panicked."
"Pah!" Ogi pulled another face. "What weaklings!"
"Mayu," Gojo addressed the child, his voice softening. "Why did this happen? Why did you kill your mother and brother?"
"She wanted to give me to that man who kept touching me!" The girl's voice, raspy and raw, echoed in the room. Tears, or perhaps a chilling performance of such, spilled from her sightless eyes, tracing bloody tracks down her crimson-stained face. "She traded me so she could be spared!"
"That's a damn lie!" Naoya roared.
"And my brother, my brother..." The voice hitched, a tremor running through the small frame. "...he laughed! Laughed and said I deserved it!" The final words tumbled out in a choked sob, laced with a chilling edge of hatred.
"She's lying through her teeth," Naoya insisted. "I knew those men, I trained them myself! They would never have touched a child!"
"He even followed me into the bath house," the girl whispered.
Gojo sighed again. This was ugly, through and through and he couldn't help but feel guilty: For not realizing Chia could become a problem. For not getting her and the children out quicker once seized by the Zen'ins. And most of all, for not managing to keep a vengeful ghost in check.
"Alright," he conceded as he rose to his feet. "Let's keep this between our two families. No inquest. Let's call it quits."
Naoya, predictably, exploded. "We will not let such slander stand!" He sprang to his feet too. "My men do not molest chi…"
"Down!" Naobita bellowed, hurling his bottle at Naoya's head. The glass shattered on the wall, a harsh clang echoing in the room. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of spilled liquor.
"I will take care of the funeral for the mother and her son," Gojo continuedzed unfa. "Nobody needs to know what happened here."
"I concur," Naobito pushed himself upright with a groan. "And the brat?"
Gojo feigned contemplation for a moment. "We take the child with us," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Naobito threw one last look at the filthy child and turned away in disgust. "Let us not speak of this anymore," he said and left the hall with heavy steps.
###
Taking cover against the rain underneath a protruding roof, they were waiting by the smoldering ruins of the outer gate for their driver to arrive. Gojo stood a bit to the side, brooding and silent. His Infinity was up, water glistening in the air where it hit the barrier around him. Utahime stole glances at him, her emotions in turmoil. He hadn't said a word since they had left the Zen'in's main hall, just made a few phone calls. Why did he cut her out? Did they not have tons of things to discuss? Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer.
"Are you angry? Say something!"
He turned his head slowly, the direction of his gaze moving from Utahime to the child huddled beside her. The rain had washed away some of the grime, leaving streaks of pink on fluffy white and pale skin peeking through splotches of dried blood. The Zen'ins had hastily stuffed some of the girl's belongings into a small suitcase and had thrown a coat her size in their direction. Of all colors, it was red too.
"I'm not angry," Gojo replied, falling silent again as he regarded them.
"Then what?" Utahime pleaded, tears threatening to spill. "I'm so sorry if I messed things up, Gojo. I truly don't understand what is going on."
As they left the main hall, the child had reached out and placed its hand in Utahime's, a gesture of trust as natural as breathing. Utahime had fought down a surge of repulsion at the touch even though the child's hand felt like any six year old's would: it was warm, small and trembled slightly.
Gojo sighed, and she hated seeing him so uncharacteristically somber. She hated everything about this new crisis they were in. Chia didn't deserve to be dead. Her children didn't deserve to be dead and possessed. Nobody deserved anything like it. What world was this to throw trials upon trials at them with no time to just live!? She didn't want Gojo to be burdened even more. As she had wished at first sunrise, all she wanted was for him to be happy.
How serious he looked. Maybe she should just tell him how grateful she was that he had come to save her once again? Maybe it was time to admit that she was weak, as he had claimed many years ago. And she should just tell him how she longed to be held by him, because in his arms, she felt safe.
As if reading her mind, he took a step closer, a hesitant movement. A flicker of warmth, a desire for comfort, crossed his face before he stopped short, the distance a tangible barrier. "Ah," he began, his voice softer now, almost apologetic, "you didn't do anything wrong, Utahime. It's just… I'm thinking."
Thinking was good, wasn't it? Surely, he was trying to find a good solution to everything. Yet, a cold dread coiled in Utahime's gut. "What are we going to do?" she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Please, Gojo, talk to me!"
Gojo's gaze returned to the child, lingering on the small, trembling hand clutching Utahime's. "She understands what I'm saying," he stated simply.
Utahime's breath hitched. With a shiver that ran through her entire body, she tried to pull her hand away. But the child, sensing the movement, whimpered and tightened its grip.
"What… what is she?" Utahime choked out, trying to see behind the child's facade, but it was futile, she had no special talent for seeing what wanted to stay hidden. "A curse?" she ventured, the word tasting metallic on her tongue. She felt no danger from the child, but did that really mean there was none?
Gojo's brow furrowed. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice. "Through my Six Eyes, she appears to be a living Special Grade Cursed Object. But frankly, it's unlike anything I've encountered. There is a very strong barrier keeping a lot of cursed energy in."
Utahime wanted to argue, to scream that this child couldn't be an object. A strange protectiveness welled up within her, a feeling deeply unsettling because it ran counter to everything she should feel towards this monstrosity.
"What happens now?" she pressed, her voice tight. "Will they... execute her?"
Gojo shook his head slowly. "Not if she's indeed classified as an object. Cursed objects can't be destroyed, only sealed away. I need to talk to Yaga – maybe he'll have some insight."
He stepped closer, then lowered himself. He knelt before the child, his somberness replaced by a guarded curiosity. "You heard us," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Can you understand? Do you know what you are?"
The child stared back with its blind eyes, its silence heavy. Then, with a jarring suddenness, it bared its teeth in what might have been a smile or a grimace, before nodding once. "I can't talk or interact if you seal me, Gojo Satoru. Don't do it."
Gojo scoffed. "They'll order me to do exactly that, or worse. Something like you is taboo. Letting you walk around is probably a good reason to execute me."
The child, unflinching, met his gaze with unnatural maturity. "Not if they don't know what I am."
"What are you, then?" Gojo pressed.
"A gate," the child answered simply.
It looked like a shiver ran down Gojo's spine. "Let me repeat the question: Why did you kill your mother and brother?"
"To open the gate," the child replied, tilting its head and studying Gojo with an intensity that sent chills down Utahime's spine. "You still can't see?"
"A gate to where?" Gojo lifted his arm, as if to touch the child.
"Don't you dare hurt him," suddenly deadly afraid, Utahime pulled at the child's hand. It stumbled back and away from Gojo, both their faces contorting in surprise. Their faces… They looked so much alike.
"I will only defend myself if I must," the child frowned up at her, a gesture that seemed unnatural on its grime-streaked face. "Don't worry, Mother."
"I'm not your mother!" Utahime protested, her stomach lurching precariously.
"But you are," the monstrous child insisted, its voice brimming with a strange conviction. "You are the one whose love binds me."
###
The car's engine hummed softly, a steady backdrop to the tense silence within the black limousine.
"It's us, the Ioris," Utahime murmured, her voice heavy with defeat. She looked close to tears as she sank deeper into the plush leather seat. The child, seemingly asleep, was nestled between them, a fragile weight pressed against Utahime's side. "It's all because of us."
Her words were laced with self-blame, and Gojo felt it scrape at him like nails on a chalkboard. He knew she was just another victim, caught in the relentless gears of Jujutsu sorcery. They all were, entangled in a world that demanded more than it ever gave.
"Hardly," he said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. He reached out, his fingers closing gently over hers, offering a silent promise of support.
"No, listen to me," her eyes flashed angrily. He liked it when her eyes flashed. He had wanted to go on a date with her but he would take anything, any moment like this of closeness instead as well. He yearned for a normalcy they might never have, a life where stolen moments weren't the best he could hope for. A sliver of fear wormed its way into his thoughts. Was this all he'd ever get with Utahime? Fleeting touches, tense conversations, and a love always overshadowed by the ever-present threat of Jujutsu?
"Michizane died on 26th March 903. I know that because I teach shaman history at school…"
"You do?" He was genuinely surprised. Not once had he considered incorporating Jujutsu history into his own curriculum. Perhaps because, like most things in his past, it held nothing but bitter memories and ugly truths.
"Taira was born on the 27th March, one day after," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. She looked at him, her eyes searching for a reaction, a flicker of recognition.
"Yeah, I know that story," he offered, nodding encouragingly.
"It's probably not a story," Utahime pressed, taking a deep, shaky breath. "And you know that Taira, who might have been a reincarnation of Michizane, married a shrine maiden?"
"Says who?" Gojo asked, a frown creasing his brow.
"Naoya."
"I don't want you to speak with Naoya. His words are poison," Gojo said sharply.
"Mai also knew," Utahime continued, urgency creeping into her tone. "In the domain expansion, I was supposed to marry a Taira but was snatched away and seduced by Michizane. In reality, your ancestor lost his first wife in some tragedy. I'm sure she was a Iori! It all started back then. This connection... it explains his pull towards me, doesn't it?"
"That's not proof of anything, Utahime," Gojo interjected, but the unease he felt intensified. It was possible that Michizane's strange fascination with Utahime from the get-go was linked to binding vows made in the past. If strong enough, they became what was known as chains of fate. He didn't want it to be the case though. His love for Utahime was his and his alone, it had nothing to do with Jujutsu vows and his ancestor.
"He needed a son with the Iori bloodline," Utahime insisted. "He got one as Taira. And he got another one..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes welling up with a mixture of anger and a painful realization, "...because I was stupid enough to fall for his tricks."
"Utahime," Gojo's voice was firm yet gentle, "You are not stupid. None of this is your fault. Michizane manipulated you, just like he's manipulated everyone else."
Yes, he was certain that the child turned into a cursed object was Michizane's agent, which was certainly fascinating because its purpose was a mystery to him. Twice he had been scolded for not using his eyes properly, once by Michizane in a dream, just now by a child that claimed to be a gate. He looked down at the pitiful small body between them. No, he wouldn't seal it yet. It was a big risk, but he was much too intrigued.
"Wait… Does that mean I'm somehow related to them?" Gojo pulled a disgusted face and shook himself, finding the thought of Zen'in relatives rather off-putting. At least they didn't seem to be able to manifest the Six Eyes.
"I already told you that he and three other powerful sorcerers were learning how to manipulate time in my visions," Utahime grabbed his sleeve. "We need to find out who the three other men were. And where they are, too!"
He nodded. That other thing creeping around and seeking to hurt Utahime or snatching Geto's body was still on the loose, though just as elusive as before. Perhaps he should try and talk to Master Tengen again? Perhaps he would be more amenable to a chat if he brought Utahime with him.
"Let me take care of the funeral arrangements first before I prioritize this," he said. "As soon as we're back at the estate, Aunt Kimiko needs to be informed of her grand-son and daughter-in-law's demise and kept away from Mayu. Maybe you can help with the latter?"
Utahime nodded, a somber line etching across her forehead. "Will you be expected to honor the traditional mourning period of 49 days as head of the Clan?"
"Yes," Gojo pressed her hand again. "And so are you. Have you forgotten you are a Gojo now?"
Utahime blanched, then a blush crept up her neck. "Gojo, I just realized that I haven't spoken to my parents in days. What if they find out through the media?!"
Gojo frowned slightly at her panicked tone. "Hopefully, they'll be delighted either way."
"It's not that easy," Utahime said, looking down at the child with a pained expression.
"Don't you like being married to me?" Gojo blurted out, the old fear of rejection readily gripping his heart again.
"It's not that easy," Utahime's voice softened as she repeated her words, her luminous eyes gazing at him fondly, "and you know we aren't really married."
"We're much more than that," Gojo's words sounded almost desperate as he tried to cover up the hurt he felt. "If your theory is correct, there are chains of fate and a fresh binding vow between us. I'd like to see you getting out of that!"
"But Gojo, what if it's something really bad?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "What if I am to actually hurt you through the chains of fate between us? Naoya said…"
"I told you not to listen to him!" Gojo's exclamation was so loud, Mayu whimpered in her sleep. "He knows nothing," he added more softly.
But Utahime seemed unconvinced.
Gojo shook his head, refusing to accept that their lives were nothing more than the result of cursed energy bonds turned into. "We make our own choices, Utahime. We forge our own paths. No matter what happened in the past, we're in control of our future."
She looked at him, searching his eyes for reassurance. "Can we really fight against something that's been set in motion a thousand years ago?"
"We can, and we will," Gojo said, his resolve unwavering. "We'll break whatever cycle this is and create something new, something better."
Utahime took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. And with more determination: "Okay."