2011
A quiet evening settled over the outskirts of Shinjuku. Sayuri Gojo stepped from the kitchen, offering her cousin a steaming mug of tea before settling beside him on the floor. While her apartment was nothing grand, it was larger than the dorm she'd occupied at Jujutsu High. It still carried remnants of her life there, especially with Satoru around. He was there more often than not—this time kneeling next to a bare Christmas tree. Sparse branches stretched toward the ceiling, looking awkward and misshapen as if waiting to be transformed into something spectacular. Sayuri let Satoru rummage through her box of ornaments, pulling out silver bulbs and a tangled garland.
"Silver again? I just bought new ornaments…" Sayuri raised an eyebrow, watching him stand over the rim of her cup. Since moving in over a year ago, she'd realized he was as particular with decorating as he was with his dry cleaning. "I told you it needs some red. Last year, the tree looked like a giant snowball."
"But this is classic." Satoru grinned as he placed a single silver bulb on a high branch. Next, he bent down to pull a bundle of lights from the box. "I saw Shoko this morning…" Without meeting her gaze, he disappeared around the back of the tree. "She told me that you are avoiding her, and she wants to know if you are coming to her Christmas party."
Sayuri looked down at her tea. "I'm not… avoiding her." Years later, it still felt strange to be around everyone, especially during the holidays. Every gathering seemed to sharpen the sense that someone was missing—an unyielding ache that had embedded itself so deeply she hardly knew life without it anymore.
Satoru peeked around the tree, watching her momentarily. He knew how grief clung to someone—how it hollowed them out. Despite all his bravado and strength, he had lost his best friend, too. And unlike Sayuri, who seemed content to let the sorrow swallow her whole, he had shoved the pain deep down, sealing it behind a handsome grin and carefree attitude. Still, bright, crystalline eyes reflected a rare flicker of something uncharacteristically soft. Understanding, perhaps even regret. "What else are you doing, then? I won't have you spend Christmas alone."
"I'm going to Nanami's." Sayuri nibbled on her bottom lip, her fingers turning white around her cup of tea. "He invited me over for Christmas Eve."
Satoru blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He strolled around the tree, coming into her line of sight with a dramatic flourish. "Nanami invited you but not me? I'm offended!" He placed a hand over his chest in mock hurt. "We're pretty much a packaged deal."
"We aren't," she responded flatly, though a tiny flicker of amusement danced at the corner of her lips.
"Well, we're family, so we are." He insisted, leaning in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're stuck with me."
Sayuri shook her head, refusing to give in. "Why would he invite you?" she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You're probably one of the reasons he quit."
Satoru scoffed, his mouth twisting into a pout as he struggled to untangle the strand of Christmas lights. "I am not," he shot back, his voice petulant. He knew all too well why Kento Nanami had walked away from their world, and it wasn't just because of the exhausting, thankless nature of being a jujutsu sorcerer. It was the constant reminder of the pain and loss—the kind that had driven Sayuri to retreat into herself.
But Satoru couldn't bring himself to remind her aloud. Instead, he forced a grin as if sheer willpower alone could brighten the mood. "I don't know how anyone could stand a desk job, but it's his life. More power to him for trading curses for spreadsheets..." His fingers tightened around the lights, frustration seeping into his usually steady hands. "Are you just going to sit there while I do all the work?" he called out as the lights slipped from his grasp again.
Another faint smile ghosted across her lips, but Satoru caught it. This small sign of life spurred him on. "C'mon," he teased, shaking the lights in her direction. "I can't possibly get this tree looking perfect on my own. Besides, you're the artsy one here."
She hesitated, staring at the tangled mess in his hands, but eventually stood up and walked over. "You're hopeless," she muttered, reaching out to help untangle the strands.
Satoru's smile softened. "See? We are a packaged deal."
Sayuri sighed, though there was a softness in her eyes he hadn't seen in what felt like ages. "Only because you'd screw it up otherwise."
But Satoru wasn't fooled. As he watched her, he noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders and how her fingers fidgeted with the lights even after they were perfectly arranged. Her smile, though genuine, didn't quite reach her eyes. He could practically hear the storm of thoughts spinning behind them and the emotions she kept so carefully hidden.
A flicker of concern passed through him, so foreign and yet so persistent that he couldn't let it go. He watched Sayuri for a moment longer before deciding to press on. "So," he began, keeping his tone light, "are you and Nanami ever going to be more than friends?"
The reaction was immediate. Sayuri froze, her entire body rigid as if struck. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and her wide eyes snapped to him in shock. "Excuse me?" she demanded, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
He couldn't resist mimicking her stunned expression, his lips curving into a playful grin. "I'm just saying! Why not Nanami? You should try going on a date sometime. You know, for fun…" The half-smile he wore softened with genuine worry. He hardly let that part of himself show, but it slipped through the cracks for her. "I mean, seriously, Sayu. I worry about you. You're either working yourself to the bone or holding up in this little apartment with your cat and, what, like five plants? It's a bit... bleak, don't you think?"
The cozy apartment that she had painstakingly decorated suddenly seemed smaller under his scrutiny, every little piece of her carefully curated sanctuary feeling exposed.
Sayuri's hands clenched into fists at her sides, embarrassment burning hot in her chest. She hated how effortlessly he struck at the heart of her insecurities, how he could readily point out the parts of herself she avoided acknowledging. "Well, maybe I like boring," she snapped, her voice shaking more than she intended. Without thinking, she grabbed the remaining bundle of lights and hurled it at him with all the force of her frustration.
The lights hit his Infinity barrier, thudding to the floor instead of connecting with him. His smile faltered, watching as Sayuri turned on her heel and stormed off. The sound of her bedroom door slamming echoed through the apartment, leaving Satoru alone with the half-decorated tree and scattered decorations. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he stared at her closed door.
Inside her bedroom, the darkness welcomed Sayuri like an old friend. She leaned against the door, her chest heaving to hold back tears. But the dam broke, and silent sobs came as she slid down to the floor. Sensing her distress, her cat jumped from the bed and meowed softly before padding over to her side, nudging her with his warm, comforting presence.
Sayuri pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the cries that escaped her. Five years. Five years after Suguru disappeared, the pain remained a raw wound that refused to heal. His face filled her mind, more apparent than it had been in months—the gentle curve of his smile, the warmth of his voice that used to make her feel safe. She could still remember how he looked at her under the neon-lit sky in Tokyo or beneath the cherry blossoms in the gardens as if trying to burn her memory into his soul.
Her memories twisted, pulling her back to the morgue where Yu lay still, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Images of his wounds bled right into Suguru's departure—and their last kiss, something she could never entirely erase from memory. Every mission and every cursed spirit she exorcised felt like a futile attempt to claw back something she'd lost.
With a choked sob, she covered her eyes to block out the haunting visions. And, remembering her therapist's advice, her other hand pressed against her chest for slow, deep breaths to ground herself. But it was always easier said than done.
The world felt like it was closing in; her mind was a chaotic storm, and she couldn't calm it.
The black cat curled into her lap, his soft purring a steady rhythm that cut through the noise. Sayuri closed her eyes, focusing on his presence's gentle vibration and simple comfort. It took a while—an eternity, it seemed—but eventually, the chaos in her mind ebbed, leaving only the faint echo of her heartbeat and the quiet rustle of her cat's fur against her fingers.
Eventually, Sayuri moved to her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her breaths slow and even now. The tears had dried, but the ache remained, a constant throb that refused to disappear. She reached out a hand, brushing it through her cat's fur, letting his warmth fill the cold spaces Suguru had left behind.
The city was a blur of festive lights against the darkening sky. Sayuri watched from the train window, the gentle rattle of the car soothing her nerves. Holiday decorations wrapped the streets in a vibrant glow, casting a cheerful warmth that contrasted sharply with the biting cold. The world outside moved on, filled with children laughing and strangers walking the streets together against the chill. It was almost enough to lose herself in life's festive hum, if only for a moment.
She watched a couple as she stood to disembark, their fingers intertwined as they shared a laugh, oblivious to the world around them. There was something achingly beautiful in their ease, the way they fit together so seamlessly. Sayuri's chest tightened, a flicker of yearning tugging at her heart. She craved that comfort and intimacy. But before the longing could take root, she was jolted out of her reverie by a man shoving past her, the harsh scrape of his coat catching her arm. She stumbled, quickly regaining her balance, her breath clouding the air as she adjusted her grip on the gift bag she carried.
By the time she reached Nanami's apartment building, her nerves had started to creep in, twisting her stomach into knots. She paused just outside his door, taking a deep breath to steady herself before she knocked. Almost instantly, the door opened, revealing Kento Nanami.
"Merry Christmas," he said. Without a second thought, he reached to take the bag from her.
Sayuri couldn't help herself—before he could say more, she flung her arms around his neck, laughing as strong arms instinctively wrapped around her. "Merry Christmas, Kento."
He laughed, lifting Sayuri off her feet with ease.
"It's been too long!" She squeezed him tighter.
Nanami set her down, the arch in his brow betraying his amusement. "It's been a month, Sayu."
His apartment was a haven from the cold, filled with the comforting scent of spices and the warm glow of candlelight. Sayuri shrugged off her coat, gratefully accepting Nanami's glass of wine. They slipped into their familiar rhythm effortlessly, as if no time had passed between them.
Before long, they moved into the kitchen. Sayuri chopped vegetables while Nanami checked on the duck, their hands moving in sync as though they'd done this a thousand times before. The comfortable silence between them was punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and the soft laughter that filled the cozy kitchen.
When they finally sat down, the meal's warmth seemed to seep into every corner of her being. Sayuri leaned back in her chair, listening as Nanami spoke about his job, the faint lines of stress etched into his usually calm features.
"It's fine," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Simple, predictable... All I do is make money so other people can make more money." He gave a slight shrug as if the mundanity didn't bother him, but something in his tone hinted at quiet resignation.
Sayuri nodded, chewing thoughtfully as silence fell between them. She knew he had made peace with his decision to leave jujutsu society behind, but neither could shake the weight of shared history.
"How's everything going for you?" While Nanami's question was soft, she could feel his attempt to read the answer in her eyes before she spoke.
Sayuri hesitated, pushing her food to the edge of the plate. "It's… fine," she said, forcing a casual tone, but the word tasted hollow. She glanced away, the awkwardness settling between them like a third presence at the table. She tried to give him a brief rundown of her missions, carefully avoiding the gory details that would only darken his mood. "I'm handling at least three missions a week."
"I didn't realize you were going so frequently," Nanami said. His usual calm seemed tinged with unease as he watched her carefully, the furrow in his brow deepening.
Sayuri shrugged, trying to brush it off. "It's my job, Kento…" She couldn't look at him, instead focusing on the half-empty glass of wine before her, twirling it between her fingers.
"I just… worry about you," he said gently, his voice almost a whisper. The weight behind his words made Sayuri pause, her defenses faltering under his earnestness. Nanami had always been like that—steady, unyielding, but with a soft heart he rarely showed.
Two years had passed since he'd walked away from the world of jujutsu, leaving behind the constant threat of death for the mundane safety of an office job. She hadn't blamed him, not for one second. If anything, she admired him for choosing to live for himself, to find some semblance of peace after everything they'd been through. And she was grateful that he had never left her despite leaving that life behind.
They had always been friends, but their bond was forged after Haibara's death. Their connection was unspoken, built on shared grief and the hollow spaces left behind by those they had lost. Over the years, Sayuri had come to see Kento as her rock, the one person she could rely on to be there, even when the rest of her world was falling apart.
But as much as she cherished him, there was no romantic spark, no flutter in her chest when he was near. Satoru's teasing remarks about them being a perfect match had always been easy to dismiss with a roll of her eyes. Kento was her anchor, her constant—she couldn't imagine their bond being anything else. And yet, part of her knew that everyone around her wished it would be. Shoko had hinted more than once that maybe it was time for Sayuri to open her heart and let herself love someone who could help her heal. Even her therapist suggested that she was holding on to the past out of fear.
But Sayuri had long ago convinced herself that love was something she no longer had the capacity for. Her heart had stopped the moment Suguru left. Or, perhaps, he had taken part of it with him, leaving only shards of what had once been whole. No amount of therapy, no well-meaning friends, or gentle encouragement could change that. The truth was a heavy, bitter thing that settled in her chest like a stone: she didn't want to feel that kind of pain again.
To love was to risk losing, and she'd lost enough already.
Nanami watched her in the quiet that followed, the air thick with unspoken words between them. He wanted to say more—she could see how his jaw tightened, and he leaned slightly forward as if trying to close the distance between them. But, like always, he held back, respecting the walls she kept so firmly in place.
"I know it's your job," he relented. "But you deserve more than just… surviving, Sayuri."
She could sense how much he cared, how deeply he wanted to pull her out of the darkness she refused to let go of. But all she could do was offer him a faint smile, a ghost of what used to be so effortless between them. "I'm fine, Kento," she insisted, even if they both knew it was a lie.
Nanami's eyes lingered on her, and there was a quiet sadness there that mirrored her own. But he said nothing more. Instead, he raised his glass, a silent truce between them. For now, it was enough to pretend.
Later in the evening, the two of them settled comfortably on the couch. The ambient light from the TV flickered against the darkened walls as an old black-and-white film played. The familiar crackle of static and soft dialogue filled the room, providing a comforting backdrop. Sayuri lay across the cushions, her pillow propped against Nanami.
The warmth of the wine still lingered in her veins, and she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Her thoughts drifted between the lines of dialogue and the bittersweet memories of Christmases past. This peacefulness was rare—something she was unaccustomed to—and she let herself sink into it for as long as it would last.
Inevitably, her phone buzzed, the vibration cutting through the delicate silence. Sayuri blinked, her momentary peace shattered as she reached for her phone. A message from Yaga waited to be read.
Need you to check on something. It should be quick. I'll pay double.
Sayuri sighed as she read it, having hoped for one night free from work. Sitting up, she drained the last sip of her wine, the pleasant haze quickly giving way to the sharp clarity of responsibility.
Nanami's gaze followed her movements, his brow creasing. "You've had too much to drink," warned. "And it's Christmas Eve, Sayuri..."
She waved him off. "It's overtime—just a quick check. It won't take more than a few minutes."
But he wasn't convinced. Nanami's frown deepened, his arms crossing over his chest. "Tell Yaga it can wait until morning."
Sayuri turned to him, her expression softening as she noted his worry. "Kento, I'll be careful," she promised, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She didn't want to burden him, especially not tonight. But there was a part of her, a restless part, that couldn't sit still. Work distracted her from reality. "Come with me if you're that worried?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He scoffed, shaking his head, though his lips quirked upward in a reluctant smile. "Absolutely not," he replied firmly. "But come back here after. I don't want you wandering the streets alone on Christmas Eve."
As she exited his apartment, the winter night's chill greeted her, biting her cheeks and turning her breath into soft puffs of mist. A black car waited for her at the curb, headlights casting a glow in the night. She climbed in, and her driver, a manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High, took their drive to brief Sayuri on the case.
The police file detailed the case of an elderly woman found dead in her home just three days after reporting strange occurrences there. Although she had insisted someone had broken in, her children were convinced something far more sinister was at play. They assured investigators that their mother had been in good health and would never have taken her own life. When they arrived at the scene on the night of her death, all three refused to enter the house to identify her body. Back at the station, the eldest son revealed that a supernatural presence had been tormenting their mother in the days leading up to her death. Given the lack of evidence or signs of forced entry, authorities brought in a jujutsu sorcerer to investigate further.
The car stopped at a small, isolated home on the city's outskirts. Sayuri stepped out, her boots crunching in the fresh snow. Police tape stretched around the property, fluttering slightly in the cold breeze. She stopped short, feeling the weight of the task ahead. Sayuri closed her eyes and raised her index and middle finger. The words needed to activate a curtain came as second nature, but they were laced with memories she would never shake.
Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.
Suguru's voice filled her mind, echoing like the ghost of their shared youth. He always activated the curtain, his incantation firm yet calm as the barrier shimmered into existence around them. Now, it was just her.
The curtain enveloped the house, sealing it off from prying eyes. Sayuri's stomach twisted with dread and determination as she stepped over the threshold and into the cold, dark house. Silence encompassed her—even her footsteps were muted against the worn wooden floors.
The house was modest, filled with decorations that spoke of a life once filled with warmth and care. Sayuri's eyes lingered on a small, hand-stitched Christmas towel draped by the sink; its cheerful red and green patterns now faded with age. The scent of something faintly sweet, like old perfume, hung in the air, a reminder that someone had once called this place home. Yet beneath the faint scent of nostalgia was a bitter undercurrent.
She navigated through the cramped kitchen and into the narrow hallway, her senses on high alert. The wallpaper had begun to peel away with age, and the overhead bulbs had long since burnt out, leaving Sayuri to rely on the glow of her phone for light. Every door she passed seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her touch. But the last door at the end of the hallway pulled at her like an unseen force.
The air grew colder with every step, and the oppressive weight of cursed energy pressed down on Sayuri's chest. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm.
She hesitated at the door, fingertips brushing against the worn brass knob. A shiver coursed through her, sensing the cursed energy pulsing on the other side like a frantic, erratic heartbeat. The door slowly opened to reveal a small, sparsely furnished bedroom.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to the closet in the corner, its door slightly ajar. Darkness pooled beneath it, seeping out in tendrils that clung to the air like wisps of smoke. The cursed energy was suffocating—warped and dense, twisted by emotions that had rotted over the years. Grief, rage, and despair twisted together like a nest of serpents.
Sayuri steadied herself, focusing her technique as she crept forward. She could feel the cursed spirit's gaze—angry and desperate, as if it sensed her approach. Slowly inhaling, she extended her hand and opened the closet door. The darkness rushed out instantly, flooding the room like a tidal wave of ink.
The cursed spirit lunged, its form unraveling into a chaotic mass. Tendrils spilled forth, grasping at Sayuri with greedy intent. Her instincts took over, and Infinity flared to life in a burst between her and the spirit. The shadows halted just inches from her face, unable to pierce the invisible barrier. She took a measured step back, her gaze icy and unyielding as she studied the curse's frantic, desperate thrashing.
"Get in the closet!" the spirit shrieked, its voice a high-pitched wail. "Closet!"
Sayuri ignored its frantic cries, extending her cursed energy outward and plunging into the creature's very core. Years of relentless practice had refined her technique, a ruthless, invasive strategy known as Intuition—her unique art. While other sorcerers would obliterate curses from the outside, she unraveled them from within, dismantling them at their most vulnerable points.
Her energy pierced deep into the spirit's essence, drawing a scream so raw and primal that it sent a shudder down her spine. The entire house trembled in response, walls creaking and groaning like the spirit's agony had seeped into its very bones. Sayuri's energy snaked through the darkness like roots, burrowing into tainted soil, seeking the curse's subconscious where its defenses were weakest. It resisted, thrashing wildly against her intrusion, but she pressed on.
In its depths, she found warped, broken memories—twisted fragments flashing through her mind like shards of shattered glass. This was the heart of its rage. Sayuri's cursed energy constricted around those memories, crushing them with a relentless grip as she dug deeper. The spirit let out another guttural scream, its form flickering, unraveling like a frayed thread pulled loose from a tapestry.
The cursed spirit collapsed with a final, pitiful whimper, but Sayuri was no longer aware of her surroundings. Her heart stuttered painfully as something long-buried clawed its way to the surface—a sensation that tore through her defenses, dragging her back into memories she thought she'd sealed away. Memories of cherry blossoms, stolen glances, and silent promises she'd once made.
The air thickened as the curse's death became a distant echo, drowned out by a presence that filled the room behind her. She didn't need to turn to see who it was; that unmistakable energy washed over her, enveloping her in a warmth she had desperately tried to forget—a warmth everyone had wished she'd let go of. The world seemed to shrink, everything fading as soft, familiar footsteps drew near.
Her breath hitched, her hands trembling as the air crackled with a cursed energy that felt like home—dark, rich, and hauntingly familiar. It stirred her energy, coaxing emotions she had locked away to surge back to life, intertwining with his in a dance as old as they were.
She felt him now, so close that his breath ghosted against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Her pulse pounded, fists clenched as she struggled to steady herself. But she didn't need to turn; his presence was a force that pulled her into a past she had fought so hard to leave behind.
"You look lonely," he whispered.