For a long while, Nadja did not return to Japan, and when she did it was strictly for business. She did not bother getting close to anyone else in the jujutsu world, and frankly, she shouldn't have done so to begin with. The one person who knew what she was had been killed, and thus she was alone in the world again. It had never bothered her before, but now it seemed as if she truly was destined to walk a lonely and thorny path.
There was, of course, the matter of the Gojo heir, who seemed perishingly curious to find her. She'd returned to what could tacitly be called her 'ancestral' home in Kenya, which she had upgraded over the centuries to keep up with humanity's architectural and infrastructure advancements. Still, her home was vast, and she stewarded the land it sat on, entrusted to her by the people to whom it truly belonged.
Nadja belonged nowhere, because she predated everyone around her. But at least she had a home.
During her time in Kenya, she met with curse user, Miguel Odoul, whose tribe specialized in the nullifying cursed techniques imbued into the whip he carried. Nadja found this to be a fascinating ability, having seen different types of nullifying techniques and tools during her lifetime, her own arsenal included. Most of the jujutsu world ignored anyone who did not have a sufficient pool of cursed energy, and paid little heed to those born with heavenly restrictions. For Nadja, this suited her lifestyle perfectly. She did not hunt sorcerers, but she frightened them enough to be acknowledged. Ironically, that had been Toji's doing, since he essentially became a paid serial killer of sorcerers almost exclusively.
And Nadja could not fault him. After all, one might label her a predator's predator.
Her initial meeting with Miguel had been a tense one. He'd thought her there to take his life.
"You have me confused with another," she'd said, amused at his defensive posture, even as she herself was relaxed and unbothered. "I assure you, I am here as a neutral ally, no more. I have great interest in the sorcery of your tribe and wish to learn how it came about."
Miguel had been skeptical, but Nadja's features were friendly, if a little unsettling. There was an almost frightening symmetry to her face, marred only by the silvered scar over her right eyes, which itself was bone white. Miguel's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The eye was radiating cursed energy but just barely. A cursed tool?
"Show me yours and I'll show you mine," Nadja laughed, as if reading his thoughts, which startled him. "You can sense the cursed energy coming off my eye, right? It's exactly what you think it is."
Thus, this was how Nadja came to be in the company of Miguel.
They talked of course, and Nadja was puzzled to hear he had fallen in with a rather cultish-sounding group led by Suguru Geto. The beliefs espoused by the group were not alien to her. She had heard them before, in one form or another, over decades observing humanity. She had never understood the human desire to categorize all things and shuffle them into meaningless hierarchies. She recalled with fondness a conversation she'd had with Sukuna a thousand years prior.
Mount Shirouma, Hida Province, Japan"It makes no sense," Sukuna said irritably. "Packs of humans all striving against one another, stunting their own growth with pointless cock measuring and posturing. The proof of one's own strength should be in their ability to adapt and survive. By allying with those who are weaker, they risk stagnation."
Nadja had tilted her head, thoughtful and pondering his words.
"Truly?" She'd asked, leaning back against him. "And how is such a philosophy sustainable in the long-term, my king?" When had she begun calling him that?
"It doesn't need to be sustainable," Sukuna growled. "The strong live and the weak die. This has always been the way of the world."
Nadja chuckled, ever amused at Sukuna's view of the world, despite being much older than him. Much, much older, he'd learned over the course of the two years she tarried in his shrine. She had long since given up trying to kill him, and he only occasionally threatened to kill her, but they had come to an easy stalemate. She'd taught him some things, and he'd learned what she offered. Still, he knew a greater prize eluded him, and he would not allow her to go until he grasped even its most broad brushstrokes.
"I cannot deny that your philosophy has some merit," she said at last. "I have born witness to such things in my time, but so too have I seen the heights to which collectivism can take humanity. Is strength all there is?"
Sukuna gripped her and turned her to face him in the bath.
"You tell me, little would-be assassin," he said. "Who are you without your gifts?"
Nadja had long since stripped the eye patch, allowing him to see the strange milky false-eye engraved with strange symbols. The silvered scars of the injury gave her wolfish appearance a fierce savagery that Sukuna had come to love. She looked alluring and menacing all at once. A naked and wickless flame coaxing and tempting and burning all who dared to try and tame her.
Except him.
"I am your fugitive of heaven, of course." She said with a slow smile. Sukuna scoffed, but there was no bite in it.
"You would still play coy with me after all this time, hm? I know well enough to know when someone is tangled up with the divine."
Nadja watched him, her gaze unwavering and unafraid. She was likely the only being in Japan who could claim as much, and even then…she'd felt what it was like to die at his hands many times.
"What of you, my king?" She asked softly. "Who are you without your gifts?"
That had been the wrong question, for Sukuna had grown cold and standoffish, leaving off their discussion and abandoning her in the bath. She smiled to herself, then, knowing that a seed had been planted…and she had all the time in the world.
Present Day, 2018Nadja eventually had to cross paths with the Six Eyes. She knew it was only a matter of time.
It began when Miguel took an assignment in Japan, called in by Suguru Geto. Nadja had made no moves to convince Miguel to leave off what she considered to be a foolish endeavor, but she'd wished him a safe journey nonetheless. For herself, she had little invested in the outcome of whatever Japan's sorcerers were bickering about. She knew her purpose had not yet been fulfilled.
After all, she was still alive and for the most part enjoying life.
But as the year wore on, she got a strange sense of emptiness as if her soul was taking a drawn out inhale, holding its breath.
Waiting for something.
Miguel returned some time early in the year of 2018, and came to see her.
"How was Japan?" She asked, letting him through the door. Miguel sucked his teeth in annoyance, taking off his shoes and joining her in her kitchen. Nadja's home was strange in the sense that its interior looked to be carved from a single mountain, the walls and ceilings all organic in shape. Muted sandstone colors mingled with the green, growing things hanging from artful planters beneath the many skylights of her home, which was flooded mostly with muted, natural light.
"Those sorcerers are fucking crazy," Miguel said irritably. "And Suguru was killed so I consider my ties to that country officially dead."
Nadja put on a kettle for tea.
"And the Gojo heir?"
Miguel took off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He kicked your ass all over creation didn't he?" Nadja asked with a laugh to which Miguel merely awarded her an irritable glare. For a while, they waited in silence as the stainless steel electric kettle hummed. Nadja reached into a wooden box on the island counter, fishing out a small green tin. She opened it, producing five, neatly rolled joints. She brought it to her lips, sparking up her lighter and then took a drag. As she exhaled, the pungent smoke of burning cannabis filled the space between them, swirls of the smoke trail illuminated by the diffused sunlight shining through the kitchen's skylight.
She passed the joint to Miguel, who gladly took it, taking a drag.
"I knew what it was when Geto asked it of me," he said bitterly. "I would have followed that man to his rightful place at the top, so being used as fodder for the Gojo heir only chipped at my pride initially. Still, agreeing to fight Gojo Satoru and actually fighting him are two very different things."
Nadja always admired that Miguel never let his pride make him reluctant to admit when he was outmatched. She knew of Gojo Satoru's power, but only allowed herself a cannabis-infused smirk at his words. Word had also reached her of the fate of Geto Suguru, and she had smiled grimly at that. The wheel of Samsāra spun irrespective of the consequences.
There it was, that waiting emptiness. Her soul felt like an egg, and within a void.
"And what about you?" Miguel asked, passing her the joint as the kettle began to steam. Nadja held the joint between her lips, taking puffs as she poured them both a steaming mug of soothing tea. Unlike most sorcerers, Miguel hadn't shunned her for her complete lack of cursed energy. And those who were truly tapped into their art knew what her condition represented. As a result, Nadja was able to keep a modest roster of allies—curse users, all—to keep her network of information and work flowing accordingly. By the powerful nature of her heavenly restriction, and the binding vows it forced on all who came into contact with her, her identity had become a well-kept secret in jujutsu society. A whispered myth, mostly, and usually a wild goose chase for any who chose to pursue. No history book nor scroll spoke of her, and she preferred it that way. Wayward anonymity suited her purpose.
The void within her shuddered, as if in anticipation.
"I've been keeping my blades sharp, if that's what you mean," she laughed. Miguel snorted, but the smile was evident. She passed him the joint, which he ashed before taking a drag, and then his mug of tea.
"I don't doubt it," he said, inhaling the steam of his tea before taking a tentative sip. His brows went up at the taste. Nadja smirked at him from across the island table, raising her mug in a subtle salute.
"I will never understand you, woman," Miguel laughed. "But I suppose I will be grateful to have met you nonetheless. I take it you're not going to tell me how you obtained this rare herb to brew our tea this morning?"
Nadja shrugged, reticent as always. Miguel knew better than to pursue.
"So," he said, "I suppose it goes without saying that the Gojo heir may pursue me."
Nadja scoffed. "That whip of yours got his attention, did it?"
Miguel chuckled. "Yeah, only after it was damn near depleted. Do you know how long it took my people to craft it?" He snapped his fingers. "And that blue-eyed bastard just ate it in less than a minute. Whatever grudge Suguru has with that man is no longer my own to carry."
They both laughed at that. Nadja did not tell Miguel that he should be proud for having went toe-to-toe with the Strongest and lived to tell the tale. She knew about Gojo's reputation for hunting curse users. Miguel had gotten off easy. Gojo had killed Toji, after all.
Why did remembering Toji hurt? Strange.
"Well," she said slowly. "We shall toast to your survival. I suppose I ought to prepare for Gojo's inevitable arrival on my doorstep. He's been quietly looking for me, I've heard."
Miguel nodded, confirming what Nadja had up until that point marked as a hazarded guess, and making her smile with satisfaction.
"Tacit and subtle inquiries at best," he said. "But I suppose he'll track me here. Gojo likes to know things."
Nadja drained the remainder of her tea, setting the mug down.
As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long. Gojo worked fast. Whatever happened during the Night Parade of One-Hundred Demons [Nadja found the title laughably dramatic] had galvanized the sorcerer to hunt down leads and tie up loose ends. Whatever existed that could potentially harm him was hunted down with extreme prejudice. And she had been right: Miguel's whip had caught his attention, being able to neutralize his previously invioable technique.
It was nearly midsummer when Gojo arrived, and he was not alone.
Nadja knew it was him the moment she heard the knock on her door. She had been in the middle of her daily yoga routine when her security system alerted her to a presence at the front door. Miguel was in the shower, which meant she had to confront this enigma alone. Perfect.
Nadja went to answer the door, and Gojo's lanky shadow fell over her.
"Hello," he said, lowering his sunglasses to peer at her with eyes the color of distant galaxies. Nadja allowed herself a smirk, and then turned her gaze directly to the young sorcerer standing sheepishly behind Gojo.
"Hello," she said in that silky contralto, her heightened senses picking up Gojo's slight shiver and the blush in the young boy's cheeks. "And who might you be?"
She saw Gojo's pink lips puff in a slight pout.
The young boy bowed, formal and respectful, with nervous energy rolling off him in waves.
"Okkatsu Yuta," he said. "Pleased to meet you…"
"Hikmat," Nadja said, giving an indulgent incline of her head. "Hikmat Nadja."
"And I'm—" Gojo started and she held up her hand.
"Yes, yes," Nadja said with a grin. "Gojo Satoru, special-grade sorcerer. Japan's golden boy. A veritable prince of jujutsu society."
Gojo looked visibly nonplussed.
"Have we met before?" He asked, and his smile seemed almost predatory for how slight it was. Nadja looked up at him, meeting his gaze with naked fearlessness.
"I don't know," she said. "Have we?"
"Are you two done flirting?" Miguel asked irritably from behind her. Nadja glanced over her shoulder, grinning.
"Yes, I believe we've all met," Nadja said. She stood aside, opening the door wider and inviting Gojo and Yuta to come inside. There was a palpable tension in the air, and Nadja shifting her weight subtly as the two sorcerers crossed her threshold. Whatever calculations she was making, she knew the Six Eyes had already accounted for. She did not want to have to pit her skills against Gojo's so soon, to say nothing of the powerful companion he'd brought with him. His name was known to her, but only because Miguel had given her information on his time in Japan.
"So I take it you've been expecting us?" Gojo asked. Yuta, for his part, looked around the massive homestead in obvious wonder. Nadja took them to the living room, which was artfully arranged with plush carpeting, cushions, pillows, and a low table. All of them were accustomed to sitting traditionally, so they gathered around the low table. Nadja offered refreshment: dates and a cold spiced ginger drink.
"In a sense," Nadja acceded. "Miguel told me of his encounter with you in Japan. I deduced it was only a matter of time before you found your way to my doorstep. Miguel is a frequent guest here."
Gojo peered at her again. "Is he, really?" He asked.
Nadja smirked, even as Miguel looked flustered.
"He is an old friend and powerful ally," she said, seemingly unmoved by Gojo's suggestive tone or Miguel's discomfort. "For reasons I believe have brought you here, Gojo."
Gojo's eyes never left hers.
"I want Miguel to train my student, here." He indicated Yuta, who seemed determined to stare into his drink.
"And why should I do that?" Miguel asked. "You're arrogant and powerful enough. What can I teach the brat that you can't teach him yourself?"
Gojo's smile was as calm and self-assured as ever. Nadja saw no evidence of a lie in his posture. He was entirely confident he had positive control of this situation, even as he finally slid his gaze from her to Miguel.
"Well since you and your friends' little stunt in Shinjuku, my work load has picked up," Gojo said as if he were speaking with two subordinates, and not an assassin highly capable of killing sorcerers and his erstwhile adversary.
"And your cursed technique interests me," Gojo continued. Nadja smiled. Miguel had been right: Gojo liked to know things. Especially things that proved to be a threat.
"And you…" Gojo's gaze returned to Nadja, his expression pensive and intense. She knew he was trying to parse whatever the Six Eyes were telling him about her. No cursed energy. She saw the change when he figured it out, saw for a brief moment, a god who was worried.
The tension in the room took up all the air, and Nadja shifted subtly, adjusting as she sat on her heels. Gojo's hand flexed at his side. A bead of sweat rolled down Miguel's temple. Yuta set his cup down, and all at once the tension seemed to drain from the room.
"Are you sure we haven't met before?" Gojo asked. Nadja simply smiled and shook her head.
Eventually, it was agreed that Miguel and Nadja would train the boy. Gojo had eventually tested Nadja's fighting prowess, and she had guessed right when she said he was worried. She reminded him of Toji. She wanted to laugh and tell him Toji should have reminded him of her, but he did not ask beyond her association with him. She told him only what he asked, volunteering no more than that. But he'd tasted her power, and she'd tasted most of his. He'd kept up with her with naught but cursed energy and martial arts, of which Nadja was visibly impressed.
He hadn't expected her blades, though, and that was why he made it a point to visit often.
The timing had been serendipitous in every sense of the word: the state she'd been in, the late hour, and his over-active mind.
Gojo had been thinking about Nadja since he first laid eyes on her. She intrigued him in a way that frightened him. She was an anomaly, just as Toji had been, but she was not connected to anyone he knew of in jujutsu society by blood or marriage. More than that, he'd injured her during their sparring matches and watched her heal despite having no cursed energy to speak of.
He'd figured out the nature of her false right eye almost immediately: a cursed tool, likely what allowed her to track his cursed energy and technique. Still, Yuki had told him that there had been no one else like Toji. Had she lied? Or had she been mistaken?
He had to know.
Thus, how he found himself in her home.
Nadja trained at night, usually, and she had been away on a rare assignment, returning to her home in the desert like a serpent to its den, relieved and fitful. Miguel had taken Yuta to his village where he would learn more ancient jujutsu techniques, likely to add to his growing arsenal. Nadja had sought to refine Yuta's martial prowess and combat skills, and the boy was a natural. When Gojo mentioned they were distant relatives, it made sense.
She'd wrapped up her training, dripping sweat, and undressed, unwinding with a long, hot bath. The freestanding tub looked like ancient, beatened copper or bronze, large enough for a fully grown man to soak in, which suited her needs as she sank into the scented, softened water with a grateful sigh. Hanging throughout the carved and sculpted bathroom were braziers of flame and censures of incense. The room smelled of sandalwood and frankincense, and Nadja leaned her head back, letting her thoughts wander.
It was the cool breeze against her damp skin that alerted her. She opened her eyes and sat up to look over and found Gojo Satoru had warped directly to her bathing chamber. His eyes glowed in the soft dimness of the bathroom, at odds with the warm tones around him, like a living sliver of ice in the desert. Nadja's eyes watched him as he watched her. She raised her head only slightly, a subtle invitation.
As Satoru approached, she tilted her head.
"I'm umarmed," she said by way of greeting.
Gojo laughed. "Bullshit."
He merited a slow and knowing smile for that comment. She glanced over to the footstool where a towel lay folded, plush and the color of oxblood. As Gojo ascended the slight dais where the tub sat, Nadja moved, slowing her movements to a crawl as she rose from the tub.
As Gojo got a good look at the body designed by heaven itself, he knew he was lost. He could not have cared less why she was the way she was, he knew he wanted her. She was a puzzle he wanted to solve, but in that moment, watching her body glisten with water and oil, watching it drip between her legs from the bald swell of her cunt, he just wanted to fuck her.
And she knew it.
She stood to her full height, heedless of her nudity, of the starlight overhead, of the braziers burning, of anything but the threat before her. And she was unafraid.
"Why are you here, Gojo?" She asked.
"We've met before," Gojo said. "My family hired you, didn't they?"
Nadja smirked. "Tch. Yes. You weren't always able to protect yourself. So they hired me to dispatch a few of your would-be assassins preemptively."
Gojo nodded. He'd known about that.
"That's not all, is it? You're something else. Not like Zenin at all."
Nadja placed her hands on her hips. This was the part she hated. She had only been able to tell Toji because of…well, sometimes heaven threw her a bone every now and again. She knew Satoru was not that kind of bone.
"I am something else, yes," she conceded. "More than that, I am forbidden to say. Why are you here, Gojo?"
"Come to Japan with me."
Nadja blinked, visibly shocked.
"You flew—and likely teleported—all the way to Africa to ask me to come to Japan with you?" She demanded. Gojo grinned.
"I thought I'd fucked over a good asset when I was forced to kill that Zenin, and I've got a student with similar potential. I could use someone like you at Jujutsu Tech."
Nadja laughed. "Pass me the towel."
"Say yes?"
"Pass me the towel and I'll give you my answer."
For a moment they stood there, her hand out expectantly, and Gojo smiling at her like he hadn't just teleported into her home. His audacity had to be commended, she'd give him that. Eventually, however, Gojo grasped the towel, and Nadja stepped out of the tub, taking it and wrapping it around herself.
"So, you want me to have a look at Maki Zenin?" She asked. Gojo's brows went up.
"Yuta is a sweet and chatty boy," Nadja told him. "And supremely talented. You should be proud. And he's told me of Maki. She is a twin, no?"
As they talked, Gojo followed her, finding the entire experience surreal. Under ordinary circumstances, he was usually the one taking people by surprise, but Nadja seemed unphased by his abrupt appearance, nor bothered by his following her as she went about the task of getting ready, packing her suitcase as she got ready behind a folding changing screen.
"She is," Gojo said, his tone serious. "I know what you're thinking and no."
Nadja leaned out from behind the changing screen.
"It's the only way she can reach her full potential." She said, waggling her eyebrows.
"No." Gojo said, and the finality in his tone made Nadja drop the subject. She went back to changing. Gojo could see her as clearly as if there were no screen at all. He saw the suede straps settling onto her curves and lines, seamless. He saw her pulling on her underwear, a black thong and matching bra, plain and utilitarian but still undeniably sexy. He saw her pulling on her trousers, her top, her socks, and grabbing a pair of tactical boots.
"Very well," she said from behind the changing screen. "Just what do you hope to accomplish by stunting your students' growth?" She stepped from behind the screen and Gojo took a deep breath. Nadja was a woman who looked like she could kiss your throat right before tearing it out with her teeth. There was something frightening and alluring about her, even with the eyepatch she settled over her false eye, her long black hair falling in dark, damp ink-black waves before she hastily pulled it up into a ponytail. Gojo could only describe her appearance as 'assassin chic.'
"I don't see it as stunting her growth," Gojo challenged. "But she can achieve lethal results without resorting to murdering her twin."
Nadja scoffed. "Now who said anything about murder, Satoru? I would carry it out. Maki's hands would be clean."
"And I'd eat myself alive for having sanctioned it," Gojo said. "That'd make me no better than the higher ups pulling the strings."
Nadja glanced at him as she dabbed a bit of scented oil behind her ears and at the hollow of her throat.
"Then fucking kill them, Satoru."
"Will you come to Japan with me or not?"
Nadja gazed at him, her expression amused and thoughtful.
"Why not? I've naught left to teach Yuta, and Miguel is more than capable of training him. To whom shall I send my invoice?"
Gojo grinned. "Masamichi Yaga."