July 2006

Came July, they found themselves ensnared in summer's relentless grip. The oppressive heat clung to the heavy air like a malevolent spirit, wrapping the school in a shroud of humidity that seemed to smother the very breath of those who dared to navigate its embrace.

It was the summer that changed everything.

Subtle at first. Friendships, much like celestial bodies, slowly drifted apart under the strain of too little sleep and too many missions. It was a gradual widening of orbits almost indiscernible against the backdrop of daily life. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, each passing moment contributed to the growing chasm until the subtle drift had transformed into a palpable separation and attempts to bridge the gap felt like navigating a cosmic void.

If there was a point of no return, they passed it without noticing.

Rekindling deep connections requires more than a mere desire to return to the past. It demands a navigation through the vastness of changed perspectives. The hesitancy to reach out, born from the fear of talking about the unspeakable becomes like a barrier and then? The unspeakable becomes the norm. Everything that matters becomes somehow lesser, until it is only a ghost of itself.

The waning, like a shadow cast by the inexorable march of time, whispered a cautionary tale of inevitability.

Even if they had noticed in time, they couldn't have stopped it. Everyone was much too busy pretending they had it under control. Jujutsu Sorcerers were good at pretending, an instinctive survival strategy, because if they paused and reflected for even just a moment, they would have to acknowledge that they would never be able to win. Pretending was much preferable to the truth: The fight was without end and their numbers dwindling.

Is this my life now?

In the wake of his death and resurrection, after his high had worn off rather abruptly, Gojo Satoru found himself gripped by a profound sense of confusion and disorientation. In front of his eyes, the boundaries between life and death blurred. Insanity beckoned in every atom. The very fabric of life and death unfolded before him like an ancient scroll, forcefully shoving its secrets into his face. It was beyond comprehension, but he could not look away, locked into the relentless unveiling until his eyes felt raw and bleeding.

The isolation that followed was also inevitable. Gojo's experiences had set him adrift on a sea of solitude, distanced from the mortal coil. The weight of newfound power erected an invisible barrier between him and those who hadn't glimpsed the world's tittering chaos like he had. Loneliness lingered like a phantom, a constant reminder of the vast gap that separated him from the rest of humanity.

From his very best friend.

There was an echoing silence in the spaces where laughter and shared secrets used to reside. A hollow feeling marked by numbness in his chest, a space where joy or contentment used to dwell. How could one live through this and not lose oneself?

It is my life now.

Gojo feared it had always been, but he had been too young and foolish to see. A boy could be told what his birth signified a thousand times over, but he would not be able to understand. The weight of destiny, the profound implications of his existence, had lingered like an elusive truth beyond the grasp of his comprehension.

Now he did understand and it was incomprehensibly horrible.

His life was not his own. He may be rich beyond decency but that meant nothing. If he lost, if he refused to fight, if he took a break, curses would gain the upper hand, to humanity's detriment. The burden of responsibility pressed down on him, eclipsing the glittering facade of being a fabled prodigy with the stark reality that every decision he made carried consequences far beyond his personal desires. The realization was a bitter pill, one he thought he'd never come to terms with. He really didn't want to.

He hated his life. HATED it. He hated the teachers, he hated his family, he hated every single of his ancestors. Maybe he even hated his friends? They all knew what he had gone through, they all could have talked to him, but the only one who asked how he was feeling was Utahime.

Earlier, it had rained, painting the school grounds in fresh colors before humidity's murky veil descended again. Through his Six Eyes, the world appeared both vivid and ethereal. The air, heavy with the remnants of the rain, carried the earthy aroma of damp soil and rejuvenation. Each droplet clinging to the leaves reflected the soft sunlight, casting a kaleidoscope of shimmering hues that danced in the gentle breeze. The scent of wet pavement mingled with the subtle fragrance of blossoming flowers.

Like so often these days, Gojo wanted to bawl. It was a childish notion but he stubbornly allowed himself such whimsy. Some days even just breathing was too much.

At first, it was not her physical form that he noticed but the harmonious convergence of sound - or was it the absence of sound? - and stabilizing force, a distinct pattern of order

within the pandemonium. She radiated a subtle brilliance that stood out against the backdrop of chaotic energies, an unwavering presence that defied the surrounding tumult.

She wore gray track pants and blue sneakers and her hair was up in a ponytail. Also, she was coming his way, hips swaying ever so slightly. Gojo felt a prickle of alertness travel down his spine, a pang of anxiety. His cheeks began to hurt. He was grinning stupidly.

"Are you alright?" She asked, looking down at him slumping on the wooden stairs.

How pathetic must he look for her to address him?

"Sure, a-okay," he answered, attempting a light, carefree tone as he sat up straighter. It was the standard answer he'd give anyone. Nobody was ever truly interested in how others felt in this world because you could be sure they felt like shit themselves.

"You look different," Utahime observed and that gave him a thrill because if she could compare, it meant she had looked at him before today! The thrill passed quickly though. He knew he didn't look different. In fact, just this morning he had stared at himself in the mirror, desperate to find himself as different on the outside as he felt on the inside.

This was going to be his life. Every day. Until he died. Exorcising curses. People dying if he messed up and also if he didn't. Stupid, hateful humans taking all they did for granted because they didn't even see curses, only made them.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Utahime's eyes were of such a warm color. Could he bathe in their glow forever? "The girl, I mean the girl," she added hastily when he said nothing and she mistook his silence for something it was not.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. Riko Amanai's fate was indeed tragic. What a waste. At least, they had a good time in Okinawa... Maybe that was the last time I had one too.

"I didn't mean to belittle your new… your new…," Utahime floundered and turned red. She made a helpless gesture indicating his person.

She couldn't mean his outfit because he was wearing a standard school uniform, though indeed fairly new but also very wrinkled due to the abhorrent humidity. So she probably meant his mastery of the Reverse Cursed Technique. Which was pretty neat indeed because it allowed him to use his Limitless to the fullest. He needed some more practice before he should brag about it though.

"... your new powers," Utahime finally pressed out, her face burning even hotter.

Her strange fluster gave him pause. Why was Utahime this timid around him? And blushing like the many girls who began to giggle hysterically when he batted his eyelashes? Was she… was she finally impressed with him?

He sat up even straighter. This is your chance! A cocky little voice jubilated in his head. Ask her out! Brag about your powers even without fully mastering them! Throw money at her, women like that! Catch her before she can run!

Obviously discomforted by what she saw in his eyes, Utahime blinked and took a step back.

"Er," he suddenly felt horribly tongue-tied. "Would you… I mean… is it…"

"Shoko was so very glad to have you two back," Utahime stammered, taking two more steps away from him.

Gojo felt his own cheeks heat up in mortification. You failed, you idiot! The little voice wailed. All that power… for what? She will never like you, never! She will graduate soon and then you won't see her anymore. You failed!

A dark shape sauntered up the grassy hill behind her. He was saved.

"Geto's back," Gojo jumped up and rushed towards his friend as fast as he could. A three-day mission. Geto had to be exhausted.

"Yo!" Geto lifted his hand grinning. Indeed, the dark shadows under his eyes spoke of little sleep. "Isn't that Utahime?"

She was still standing there where he had left her, her head turned in their direction to watch their reunion.

"Yes," Gojo attempted a grin too though he did not feel like grinning any longer. "I was about to ask her out."

"Bullshit," Geto laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "What did you talk about?"

"She said I look different," Gojo shrugged. "I think we had a moment?"

"She hates your guts, man," Geto sighed dramatically, "your pathetic little crush is only getting more pathetic as time goes by. Leave her alone!"

"Don't call me pathetic," Gojo frowned. "I'm the exact opposite of pathetic!"

"You look pretty pathetic to me," Geto scoffed, watching Utahime turn around and leave. "Damn, that woman should wear more trousers."

"You're dead!"

For a moment, it felt like it used to be. The banter, the shared understanding, and even the occasional clash of opinions—it was a fleeting glimpse of the camaraderie they once had. Yet, like a fragile wisp of a memory slipping through grasping fingers, the past could only be revisited briefly before the present reality asserted itself, leaving behind the ache of what could never be fully recaptured. It was the summer that changed everything. Inevitably.