"Hello! I'm home!"

Utahime tossed her car keys onto the small table by the entrance, slipping out of her boots and into her house slippers. As she shrugged off her coat, she shook out her hair, feeling the cool air of the evening still clinging to it. It had been a nice day, but the chill had crept in as the sun dipped below the horizon.

"Did you park the car at the spot I told you about?" her father's voice boomed from the living room, tinged with concern over his beloved car—the one he treated almost like an old family member.

Utahime smiled at his protectiveness. "Yes, of course I did!" she called back, rolling her eyes a little. "Exactly where you told me to."

The scent of soup drifted from the kitchen. She poked her head in, finding her mother chopping vegetables with practiced precision, her hair tied back in a neat bun, an apron from their Jeju cruise wrapped snugly around her.

"All good?" her mother asked, glancing at Utahime over her shoulder.

"Yes," Utahime answered, but the word came with a tiny hitch—barely noticeable, but enough.

Her mother caught the hesitation. She didn't press for details, though her face tightened briefly. Utahime's parents respected her silence, her need for privacy. Their quiet country home had become a place of refuge for her, a space to breathe and feel cared for without judgment.

Somewhat safe. If anything could ever be that again.

"I bought ingredients with extra iron," her mother said lightly.

Utahime froze, just for a heartbeat. She had mentioned feeling tired lately, though she hadn't offered any explanations. Still, her mother had always been perceptive, noticing the things Utahime didn't say.

"Thanks, Mother," she murmured, leaning against the doorframe. She appreciated her mother's quiet support, even if it made her wonder how much more her parents suspected.

"Is it dangerous?" Her mother had asked, her voice carrying a weight of concern when Utahime had told them about her new responsibilities. It was more than obvious that the situation had to be very serious if someone like Utahime was assigned special duties by the Higher-Ups. Like: we-have-nobody-else kind of serious.

"Yes," Utahime had replied. "But it's going to be fine."

Her parents hadn't asked further, though her mother's eyes had searched hers, looking for reassurance that Utahime could not offer. The mission was classified, far too sensitive for civilians to know about. The larger world couldn't fathom the threat posed by Sukuna's fingers and the calamity they would be confronted with if they, if he ever fully reassembled. She didn't know exactly what Tengen had told the Society, but the frantic urgency of their preparations spoke volumes.

The 1st year students she had taken over from Tokyo were sweet, if a bit chaotic. Fushiguro Megumi was stoic and serious, Gojo's reluctant ward, burdened with a heavy fate. Then there were the two new ones: Itadori Yuji with his boundless energy and terrifying potential, and Kugisaki Nobara, fierce and full of fire. They were good kids—enthusiastic, silly even, but they were teenagers thrust into a world that had robbed them of the right to just be that: kids.

And every day, being around them reminded her of how much she missed Gojo. His absence was a wound that never healed, an ache that twisted in her chest, stealing the very air she needed to breathe. She stubbornly refused to call it death—how could she, when the thought of a world without him was unbearable? But the longer he was gone, the more she felt the truth pressing in on her, a dark and suffocating weight.

Rumors swirled in Gojo's wake, feeding the fear that his disappearance had left behind. New specialists had begun to emerge from the shadows, reading every shift in cursed energy as a sign of impending doom. The curses themselves had become more dangerous—vicious, erratic, unpredictable. Barrier techniques were faltering; casting veils had become a struggle, their strength fading like everything else in Gojo's absence. The world felt unbalanced, as if teetering on the edge of chaos.

To make matters worse, Master Tengen had retreated into isolation, refusing to see anyone. The Tombs of the Star Corridor were dark and deserted. Without Tengen's guidance and with Gojo gone, the entire system felt as though it were unraveling, one fragile thread at a time.

And the nightmares… Utahime had them almost every night. In her dreams, Mayu was always there, her cursed form looming, chasing, trying to devour her whole. Utahime knew that the immobile cursed object was sealed in the Tokyo warehouse, locked away under layers of protection, but that knowledge did nothing to quiet the memories. The terror was as fresh as it had been on the day it all happened.

Nobody was ready to ask the relevant questions. That was the Jujutsu Society for you: too desperate to pretend they were still in control, too eager to sweep everything under the rug and pretend nothing had changed. But the truth was, nothing would ever be the same.

The Gojo family hadn't sent her an invitation to the funeral, which was fine. She had heard through the grapevines there had been three caskets: one for Chia, two for her children. But Utahime knew the truth—two of those caskets had been empty. Only Chia's son, Mayu's brother, had a body to bury.

Aunt Narumi had called quite a few times in the last weeks, insistently, but Utahime hadn't answered. She simply couldn't. The energy it would take to speak with her, to confront the full depth of what had happened, was beyond her. So she had stayed away, protecting herself from the unbearable weight of their expectations, their sorrow, and the reminders of a legacy too grim to face.

The knowledge of the grievance Michizane had caused her ancestor was too painful and too vivid. She still felt her ancestor's pain in her own body. His broken vow had cursed their clans, poisoning the bloodlines and staining their names. He had destroyed an entire future line, sacrificing his own unborn child. A legacy of grief and hatred had followed, staining everything they touched for generations. The poison was still there. Now she had felt it, she would never be able to un-feel.

And through it all, Utahime had to accept that in Gojo's absence, her world was unraveling. One fragile thread at a time, everything was coming apart.

"You want a beer?" her father called, stepping out onto the veranda but quickly retreating from the cold evening air with a muttered curse.

"No, thank you," Utahime responded, pushing herself away from the kitchen door and moving into the living room where her father had settled. The TV flickered with the detective show he watched religiously, the familiar low hum of voices filling the room. Their home, tucked away in a small village southeast of Kyoto, was nestled halfway up a mountain. It was very peaceful here. Even as darkness crept in, a soft glow lingered outside, the last traces of twilight filtering through the branches.

The TV screen shifted to the national news, and Utahime's attention wavered—until the headline appeared: Gojo Clan Heir Allegedly Sighted.

Utahime sat up straighter, her heart suddenly racing. Her fingers clenched the armrest of her fauteuil as a taxi driver was interviewed, proudly recounting how he had driven a man fitting Gojo Satoru's description from Kyoto train station up the mountain to a shrine.

"Hm," her father mused thoughtfully beside her. "His kind doesn't easily die, that much is clear." He caught her startled glance and added quickly, "Oh, sorry."

Another interview followed—a baker this time, insisting she had given a doughnut to a man who matched Gojo's distinctive white hair and blue eyes. Utahime's pulse thrummed in her ears.

Wouldn't he have called me?

The thought hit her like a jolt of ice water. She hadn't heard anything in months—no word, no hint of his whereabouts, whether he was alive or dead or something in between. The government and the Higher-Ups had swept in as soon as Tengen's barrier had lifted, and Utahime had done what she always did instinctively—made herself as small as possible. She remained quiet, hoping their gaze would slide past her, that they wouldn't suspect she knew more than she let on.

And in many ways, she was glad she had stayed quiet. There was a secret she carried, one so explosive that it could destroy the fragile balance the world teetered on.

But it had cost her. So much. When they had come for Gojo's body, she hadn't resisted, hadn't staked her claim. She had let them take him, powerless to intervene, because she had no standing in their world. There had been no legal recognition of what she and Gojo had been to one another—no official documents, no public acknowledgment. Just the binding vow, a private oath forged in secrecy.

She is my wife. Powerful words, now powerless. They had never wanted to believe it. Now they no longer had to. The binding vow of the heart was no longer. Its terms had been met as soon as Mayu had devoured Kenjaku. Since Utahime had called the terms, she was now allowed to recall what they had promised each other: An eerie echo of what had once been promised between Michizane and his first bride, her ancestor.

The closeness they had shared earlier in the year had been a product of necessity, not choice. The terms had been clear: The two of them vowed protection, support, loyalty, respect to go against the common threat. Breaking the vow or any of its components would erode their strength and spirit, binding their souls in perpetual conflict. Together they were strong. Apart they were not. The battle had been won. The threat, gone. Their vow, completed.

How she had cried the moment she had realized that part of the strange numbness she felt wasn't shock or trauma, It wasn't the adrenaline leaving her system, or the grief from everything they had lost.

It was the absence of him.

Not just Gojo himself, but the hum of their shared connection—the spiritual thread that had quietly tied them together. It had been subtle, like a constant presence at the edge of her consciousness, something that had made her feel grounded, made her feel whole. She hadn't noticed it fully while it was there, but now that it was gone, the loss of it was like a physical wound.

Even if their connection had been transactional, nothing more, and he had no reason to reach out now… Why hasn't he called me? The force of her disappointment that shook her literally was irrational, and she knew that. But still. She wished, more than anything, that their connection had been something more.

Her hand trembled as she reached into her skirt pocket, pulling out her phone. No new messages. Shoko hadn't written either. If anyone had news, it would be her, right? Perhaps the reports on TV were wrong, just baseless rumors that fed on hope.

Then the doorbell rang.

Her father glanced towards the entrance, his brow furrowed. "Who could that be at this hour?" he muttered. It wasn't late, but unexpected visitors were rare in their quiet village.

Utahime's heart raced even faster. She forced herself to her feet, feeling unsteady. Her hand lifted her phone, wanting to check it again, irrationally hoping it would provide the clarity she needed.

"Can one of you get it?" Her mother called from the kitchen. "My hands are dirty!"

"I'll get it," Utahime padded to the door, every step upping the tension, her mind running through impossible scenarios. "I swear I'm going to kill him," she whispered as she ripped open the door.

And froze.

It was, indeed, Gojo.

Standing there, alive, looking every bit like a movie star, his silver-white hair gleamed under the porch light, tousled as if he hadn't a care in the world, his sunglasses pushed up to reveal those magnificent blue eyes. Behind him, the phalanx of bodyguards stood stiff and silent, keeping a respectful distance.

For a long, breathless moment, they just stared at each other, the world narrowing to the space between them. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. Every emotion she'd bottled up—the anger, the confusion, the longing—rushed to the surface all at once, overwhelming her.

Gojo smirked, but there was a flicker of insecurity in his expression. His hand lifted slowly, almost hesitantly, reaching out to her as if he wasn't sure whether she would take it—or slap it away.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice low. "Miss me?"

"Hell," her father muttered from behind her, wide-eyed with disbelief. "Sweet heavens," her mother added, stepping out of the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, staring at the tall figure in their doorway with mouths that hung open.

"Good evening, Misses Iori, Mister Iori," Gojo bowed politely. "I am so glad to see you again."

"Won't… you come in?" Utahime's father made an awkward gesture, as though he couldn't quite stop himself from offering, despite a visible reluctance to do so.

Gojo stepped inside with a grace that seemed effortless, his eyes briefly scanning the familiar interior before resting back on Utahime's parents, both of whom still looked as though they were seeing a ghost. He smiled warmly, bowing his head once more in a gesture of respect.

"Thank you, Mrs. Iori, Mr. Iori. It's been too long."

Utahime still hadn't moved, her heart hammering in her chest as if trying to keep up with the impossible reality before her. She couldn't reconcile it—the man she had mourned for weeks was standing here in her parents' doorway. Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of him filling the air—familiar and intoxicating.

Her mother's eyes flicked toward the phalanx of bodyguards standing awkwardly before their door. "What about them?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty. "Should I offer them something to drink?"

Gojo waved a hand benevolently. "Oh, they'll be fine. They don't need to come inside." He turned to the guards, flashing a grin that somehow managed to combine charm and authority. "Take a break, gentlemen."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and, with one smooth motion, shut the door in their faces.

Utahime's fingers twitched, gripping the edge of the door frame as if anchoring herself to reality. There was a beat of silence as the air shifted inside the house, the space between them shrinking further. What did one say in such a moment? How did one greet the man they had pledged everything to, in what now felt like another lifetime?

Finally, she found her voice. "What are you doing here, Gojo?" Her words were sharp, but they trembled with emotions—an edge of pain and confusion, of all the feelings she had bottled up while mourning his loss. She was angry, yes, but more than that, she was hurt, but she was also relieved beyond measure, suddenly irrationally hopeful.

"Visiting," he answered. "I came to see you."

She wanted to touch him, to confirm that he was real and not some figment of her imagination. But she was acutely aware of her parents standing just behind her, staring at Gojo and at her, their expressions a mix of shock and wariness, as if they were expecting him to do something outrageous.

Her mother cleared her throat. "So... are you hungry, Gojo-san? I've just made dinner. Sukiyaki."

"Oh," a beautiful smile spread across his features, further lighting up his marvelous eyes. "Yes. I love Sukiyaki."

Utahime watched as her mother's expression softened into maternal warmth. When she looked again at Gojo's appearance, concern washed over her. He looked paler than before, his cheeks a touch more sunken, and there was a slight weariness in his posture. Her heart suddenly clenched with fear and sympathy, and before she could stop herself, her hand shot out to grab his sleeve.

His eyes dropped to where her fingers clutched the fabric of his designer jacker, and then traveled up to her face, pain flickering in his gaze. "I'm sorry for making you worry, Utahime," he said sincerely. "I came as fast as I could."

"Do you even begin to understand how much you made her worry?" Her father suddenly accused Gojo angrily, his voice rising as his protective instincts kicked in. "Look at her! Look at how thin she is, waning away!"

"Dad," Utahime cautioned, feeling her face heat up as she glanced between the two men. "I'm sure Gojo had good reasons to—"

"Stop making excuses for him," her father continued angrily, undeterred by her interjection. "You know people like him never change. Even if they promise it will all be different in the future, that they will never leave you? They don't know how to be different. They dazzle you with their looks and their wealth, but in the end, you have nothing."

"Dearest," Utahime's mother intervened gently, placing a hand on her husband's arm. "I think that's enough."

"Enough?" her father snapped, turning to her mother. "How can you say that? He shows up after all this time out of the blue, and we're supposed to just welcome him back with open arms? I won't allow my daughter to get hurt again!"

Gojo heaved a heavy sigh, hanging his head.

"See? He won't even defend himself!" her father continued, his voice rising with indignation.

"Stop it, Dad!" Utahime exclaimed, her voice sharper than she intended. She had never before raised her voice against her father, but she was suddenly very angry and thoroughly fed up. "If he says he came as fast as he could, he came as fast as he could. Come on, let's go to the living room and sit down like civilized people."

Reluctantly, her father exhaled heavily, clearly torn between his protective instincts and the desire to honor his daughter's wishes. Utahime's mother shot him a look that suggested her husband should trust Utahime's judgment. With a resigned nod, her father relented, following her into the living room. Gojo trailed behind looking so much like an oversized puppy she could barely contain herself.

"I know exactly what happened between the Iori and the Gojo family," Utahime told her father once they were seated. "I relived that past."

Her father turned very pale, his breath hitching in his throat. "What do you mean?" he managed to ask.

"It wasn't us who broke a binding vow," Utahime told him, referring to that text message question she had sent him weeks ago and that they had never addressed. "It was his ancestor. But Michizane no Sugawara paid a heavy price for it. I released him from his suffering."

Her father's face crumpled with emotion, probably understanding what that must have cost her. "Oh, my Utahime," he choked out. "My dearest child."

"I couldn't let the mistakes of the past dictate our futures. And Gojo hasn't done anything wrong," Utahime continued, having trouble meeting Gojo's luminous eyes that looked at her with an expression that made her much too lightheaded.

"I was in a coma," Gojo said quietly, his gaze focused on her father. "I only woke up yesterday. I would never have chosen to be away from your daughter for so long! After all, there's a…" Utahime held her breath as Gojo's expression morphed from uncertainty to sudden fear. His blue eyes widened. "Is there? Is the binding vow between us still intact?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Utahime shook her head slowly, a sense of confusion washing over her. "No, it's not," she confirmed, wondering why he would ask when he had to feel it too. "It's gone. We're free from it now."

"Oh," Gojo murmured, turning a little paler. "Then… we're just…?" His shoulders sagged.

He said very little during dinner, declining all offers of alcohol. Something about him felt off, and she hated to see him so subdued. Reaching out impulsively, Utahime took his left hand into hers, surprised to find it cold against her warm skin. Gojo looked up at her touch, his cheeks flushing slightly.

They engaged in polite conversation about her parents' recent Jeju Island cruise. Thanks to the influence of alcohol, her father animatedly recounted their adventures, from the breathtaking views atop Hallasan Mountain to the serene beauty of the beaches where they had lounged under the sun. He spoke of the vibrant colors of the local markets, where they had sampled delicious fresh seafood and picked up handmade souvenirs.

"Your mother nearly lost her mind over the tangerines!" he laughed, shooting a teasing glance at her mother, who playfully swatted at him with a napkin. "And that hot spring resort? You should have seen her! She practically glowed after soaking in the mineral baths."

Utahime smiled wistfully at her parents' enthusiasm. She hadn't yet managed to confess to her parents that Gojo had orchestrated their getaway as soon as he sensed a heightened threat; she let them believe that her mother had genuinely won this prize. Gojo played along, nodding and even occasionally chuckling at her father's stories, but he seemed distracted and unusually taciturn, gripping her hand with a little too much force as if searching for some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay.

"Oh, look at the time!" her mother yawned sometime later. "I'm off to bed. Are you coming too, dear husband?"

"Hm, hm, yes, yes," her father murmured, staggering slightly as he stood up. Gojo had generously refilled his sake glass, and it was clear the drink was taking its toll. "It is way past my bedtime."

"See you in the morning, Utahime!" her mother smiled warmly, gathering her things.

"Goodnight, Mr. Gojo."

Gojo rose and bowed respectfully to her parents. As the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Any lightheartedness evaporated, replaced by an intense, charged silence that hung heavily in the air. Utahime could feel the tension spiking between them as they stood in the dim light of the dining room.

"Utahime…" Gojo began, his voice uncertain, as if he were searching for the right words. She could sense the weight of the unspoken emotions between them, and it made her pulse quicken. It was as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in this fragile moment.

"I don't blame you for anything," she rushed to assure him, wanting to ease whatever guilt or burden he might be carrying. "Kenjaku is gone."

Gojo nodded slowly, but there was no relief in his expression.

"I don't understand what it all means, do you?" The words tumbled out of her mouth. He had to have answers, didn't he? But he pressed his lips together and remained silent, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

"What happened to you?" Her voice cracked with desperation. She needed to know. She had waited long enough.

Gojo sighed, a heavy, soul-deep sound. "Utahime," he began, his voice a mere whisper, "I've lost my powers."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. What? Her mind reeled in disbelief, cold dread spreading through her chest like wildfire. "What?" she exclaimed, the room spinning around her. Without Gojo, we're… we're screwed. Her legs felt weak, and she sat down heavily on a chair, trying to steady herself. They'll eat us alive.

"The government moved me to a secret facility," Gojo continued, his voice flat, as though he had rehearsed this revelation over and over again in his mind. "They were afraid of what would happen if word got out. The Zen'ins and the Kamos have already started moving against the Gojo family, trying to strip us of everything in my absence."

"But… that's impossible," Utahime stammered, still reeling. "Your powers—they're hardwired into your body. How could you lose them?"

Gojo shrugged.

But suddenly, the pieces fell into place. She understood. "You refused the power of the Six Eyes when they were offered to you," she blurted out. "You idiot!" Gojo looked hurt at her outburst, but Utahime was beyond restraint now. It all made sense. "It wasn't me who released him," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "It was you. You set Michizane free. Gods help us."

"I couldn't tell your parents," he admitted quietly, glancing toward the direction where they'd gone to bed. "I wanted to, but they already don't like me much anymore. I was afraid they'd kick me out if they knew I'm now only… rich."

A startled laugh escaped Utahime's lips.

"I thought it wouldn't matter to you," Gojo said, his voice defensive now, like a child trying to explain a misunderstood choice. "I thought… but then I didn't think… without the binding vow... is it like it was before?"

"Oh, shut up!" Utahime exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. "Of course it matters! You returned the Six Eyes for what? A wife, an unborn child? Everything that anchors you to this world?"

Gojo's eyes widened in response, recognizing these words, his hurt evident, but there was a flicker of indignation there too. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, confirming what she had just said. For me. He did this for me. For us. Her hand instinctively drifted to her belly.

"We're desperately trying to find Sukuna's fingers," she said, forcing herself to focus on their immediate problems. "So far, we've only retrieved ten."

"I know where they are," Gojo replied.

Utahime stared at him, her mind racing. How could he know? "How?" she demanded.

"It was revealed to me in a dream or whatever that was," Gojo said, his tone bitter and distant. "Before Sukuna killed me."

The words sent a chill down Utahime's spine, but if it was true, they were not as screwed as she had feared. She sprang to her feet, a new energy coursing through her. "If Sukuna's fingers are secure, and with Michizane at peace, Kenjaku gone, we won't have to fear these ancient sorcerers anymore."

Apart from Tengen whose role she still didn't understand. Without the Six Eyes, he was lost too, no?

"That's not what I care about," Gojo said softly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

He wasn't thinking about power, or curses, or the world's fate. He was thinking about them. About what they stood to lose or gain. About the life he had chosen—without his powers, without the Six Eyes. For her. For their future.

Utahime's thoughts whirled as she struggled to process the weight of it all. How could she accept something so monumental? He had given up everything that made him who he was. He had sacrificed his legacy, his status, his power—for her. For a life they hadn't even discussed, a life that was fragile and uncertain.

"You can't…" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You can't just give up everything like this."

Gojo's hand tightened into fists. "I didn't give up everything," he said, his voice steady.

Her throat tightened as tears threatened to spill over, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She shook her head, trying to find the right words, trying to make sense of this impossible reality.

"Gojo…" Utahime's voice barely broke through the weight in her chest. "I cannot live up to this. It's too much."

Gojo smiled, that familiar, heart-melting smile, gentle but full of conviction. "It's not too much," he said softly. "It's exactly what I want."

The tears that threatened to fall finally gathered in her eyes. She wasn't worthy of him. She wasn't worthy of his sacrifice, his devotion.

Without a word, Gojo reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, something familiar. He held it up, his expression flickering with hurt and uncertainty. The magatama. The one she had left at Michizane's shrine just the day before.

"Was this for me?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with unspoken longing.

She shook her head slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

"For him?" he continued, his tone sharper now, laced with jealousy. "For Michizane?"

Again, she shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.

Gojo's brow furrowed. "Then for whom?"

Her breath trembled as her hand moved to rest gently against her stomach. For the unborn life she carried. To pray for it to be a normal child, made in desperation and love, for its sole. For its future.

Utahime's breath trembled. Gathering her courage, she whispered, "Satoru... you better sit down. I'm pregnant."

The room seemed to still as the words hung in the air. Gojo's eyes widened in astonishment. Instead of sitting down, he surged forward, scooping her up from the chair and pulling her into a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped around her with a strength that spoke of disbelief, joy, and something even deeper.

"I'll be a stay-at-home dad!" he declared, his voice overflowing with excitement. "You can go to work!"

Another startled laugh escaped Utahime. "No. Stop, it's... I haven't even dared check yet…" The horrors of carrying a monster inside of her were not easily forgotten and what if...

But Gojo was already lost in the wonder of it all. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence. "Oh, but it's ours," he said with absolute certainty. "I can feel it. I know it."

Suddenly, he stiffened and so did she. He pulled back, his eyes glowing with an intense expression she couldn't read.

"Utahime," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"What?" she whispered back, her own emotions a whirlwind of dread, hope, and disbelief.

"I think my powers are coming back," he gulped, his expression one of pure astonishment.

"What?" She gasped. How…?

Gojo pressed his forehead to hers, his voice soft but urgent, almost like a plea. "Please don't tell anyone. I want to live my dream for as long as I can."

Utahime felt her heart catch in her throat. She understood what he meant—this fragile moment of peace and possibility, something so rare for them, was a dream they both feared might slip through their fingers. His lips met hers then, gentle but full of promise, sealing them into a moment that felt eternal and fleeting all at once.

It was a moment to hold on to, a secret shared just between the two of them. Because in their world, where everything could change in the blink of an eye, who could know how long such a fragile hope would last? The future was uncertain, but for now, they had this—each other, their unborn child, and a sliver of a dream they could finally call their own.