lawly

by footfungus

lawly

25. Chapter 25

Suguru Getou was popular and handsome and charming, and polite, yet Utahime never quite liked him. He had a kind but mechanical way of speaking, an expressive yet cold gaze, and a studied way of being affectionate that never quite felt close enough. She was particularly irritated by the condescending tone with which he spoke of the weaklings, the paternalism with which he applied his impeccable ethics to the world they lived in. Suguru Geto was popular and handsome and charming, and kind, and he was the only person who could control the unbearable personality of Satoru Gojo, yes, but he was also calculating and reserved; he sought the affection of everyone he crossed paths with, and he possessed the kind of tough soul that allowed him to eat curses without being affected by them. Utahime always had an instinct not to trust this kind of person, but the rest of the Jujutsu community closed their eyes to the signals and did not want to open them until the blood of the innocent was running through the streets of the village; and Geto, who had always held his moral in great regard, decided to give up everything and join the side of the monsters.

Utahime would like to tell the world, "See? I was right," if the world was not about to break apart because of it.

Sitting on the side stool and with the saddest face she can remember seeing, Shoko alternates shots with cigarettes, and if she doesn't cry for him, it's because she has always kept her feelings in a box, but Utahime doesn't need any more clues to recognize the broken heart of a girl in love.

"He's an idiot," Shoko says, leaning over the bar and nibbling on a bit of nori seaweed from the dish they have been served. "And stupid. Who does something like that?"

"No one, Shoko," Utahime replies in her head. She hasn't come to debate, but to comfort.

A couple of minutes later, Shoko insists again in the face of the silence. Utahime hears "idiot," "ridiculous idea," and "talent wasted" also being thrown out this time, and once again, unable to find a response worthy of the circumstances, she simply strokes Shoko's hair and passes her hand over her shoulders to bring her closer. She knows there is not much more she can offer her than her presence and the firmness of their friendship, and all she hopes for is not having come too late. The news had reached her ears a few days ago, still on a mission in the north, and as soon as she had finished destroying the curse, Utahime had taken the first available train to Tokyo and entered Jujutsu Tech with the sole idea of sheltering Shoko in her arms and offering her a little of her support and trust in the first izakaya they found open.

It was already night when they entered, and the place has gradually emptied out.

"I tried to talk to him this morning, but he didn't listen to me. Then Gojo met him in Shibuya," she murmurs, tightly pressed against his chest. "Not even he could convince him."

Uthaime had seen Gojo from afar a few hours ago while looking for Shoko at school, and for a few seconds she had hesitated whether to go and greet him or not, but she figured Gojo was the type of person who hated to be pitied; the type of man who could only find comfort in himself and pushed away anyone who tried to help him. Utahime also had the personal mission of taking care of Shoko; she couldn't have allowed one of his cruel comments at that moment, nor would it have been in her nature to offer him any genuine relief.

But now that she recreates the scene - the two of them surrounded by busy, sweaty, insignificant people, facing each other like two chess pieces. The studied refinement of Geto's posture, the elegant tension in Satoru's body -; now that she imagines the sound of their deep, masculine voices; now that she practically hears the threads of their friendship breaking with each step they took, she wonders if she should have offered him, maybe just a little bit of her affection.

But there are people, she supposes, who prefer their anguish to nest within the walls of their soul and never leave.

"Yaga and the Council members think he should have killed him."

"Gojo?"

"Who else could it be?" Shoko separates from her and finishes what's left in a glass. Utahime thinks she sees a tear in one of the eyes when she looks at her. "Do you think like them?"

Yes. She won't tell her, but she does think the same. Yes. Utahime has always been a defender of rules, protocols, and etiquette: she considers them essential for the functioning of a society. And a sorcerer of his power turned against them, will only bring misfortune and problems. How can she not support it? She would report him herself if she crossed paths with Suguru on the street. But it seems inhumane to expect a boy, a child almost, to kill his best friend without questioning it, to end him as he ends the ugly, dirty, and dark curses that inhabit this world without thinking of all the light they have shared and all the shadows they have dissipated together.

"It's a complicated situation," she concedes diplomatically.

"But he deserves it. He killed his parents." Shoko tries to straighten up. Hiccups a little in the process. "Who kills their parents, Uta? There are limits. He always said that there are limits."

He did say that, it's true, with that pontificating tone that made Utahime so nervous. She has a very precise memory of a warm summer afternoon, theorizing about the role of sorcerers in front of an irreverent Gojo, lounging in a chair. She remembers him indoctrinating his friend, delighted to listen to himself as if he were giving a speech he had practiced many times in his head. People admired him for that. Professors, other students, elderly and venerable figures of Jujutsu. What a moral height; what a great man Geto Suguru will be someday, they thought. Now, those same people who touted his virtues so much, have fallen silent in the face of his sins. They have been stunned, thoughtful, absorbed by the eddies of whispers, "I would have expected it from Gojo, but not from him"; "it's always - say incredulously - the ones you least expect."

"We're not infallible, Shoko. We all believe we have very rigid boundaries, but circumstances say otherwise"

"That's what I think. But still..." She takes out a cigarette and puts it in her mouth. It takes her a while until she realizes that the lighter she's looking for is right in front of her. "The idiot."

Time passes and passes until the smoke from the tobacco makes Utahime's eyes water and the beer in her hands turns into a lukewarm and tasteless broth. She hasn't ordered more than one, aware that the situation required her most sober version. For hours, she listens and gives all her patience to her friend, who sprinkles her phrases with insults and bitterness until she dissolves into an alcoholic silence and the clock on her mobile phone announces that it's past two in the morning. With a loving tug on her arm, she gets Shoko's attention and tells her it's time to go home. The bartender nods and gives them a sympathetic look.

"So soon? I'm fine. I'm not drunk. Let's go somewhere else!"

Utahime smiles affectionately and pays the bill without worrying too much about the amount.

"I think even you would be drunk after all this booze."

Despite Shoko's proverbial resistance to alcohol, the moment she gets up from her seat, she stumbles and Utahime jumps to prevent her from falling. She hears her say with laughter, "Wow, I am really wasted!" as they stumble towards the exit of the bar. They are accompanied by a chorus of laughter from the last customers until the two girls step onto the Tokyo night's asphalt.

"I'm going to call a taxi, okay? Stay here for a bit."

She leaves Shoko's swaying body against a wall and dials the taxi company's number as she brushes her hair from her forehead. She looks green and about to vomit, yet somehow, she resists. It's as if she's a fish that has lived her entire life in barrels of cognac.

"They say they'll be here in 7 minutes, Shoko." Shoko leans her head on her shoulder, and almost all her weight falls with her. "You'll be home soon."

They both stand under a lamppost, pressed and still with sweat sticking them together. The sounds of the night produce a certain tranquility in Utahime, sounding like a well-trained orchestra: the sound of the garbage truck a few streets away; the cries of the cats in heat on the rooftops; the laughter of some young people coming out of the window of a nearby house. Utahime looks up and sees the moths crashing into the glass of the light bulb. Again and again, taptaptaptap, too blinded by the lights to see the danger.

"Uta..."

" Mm? " - She lowers her gaze to the brown hair resting on her shoulder and thinks that maybe she should have pressed on eating something more than algae. "Are you going to throw up?"

"No, no... Uta... Uta, listen to me. Listen to me, I've been thinking," she pauses, drunk and clumsy and lost. "You... do you know if it's possible to love someone you don't like anymore?"

Utahime blinks and repeats the question in her head. "It's possible to love someone you don't like anymore?" It sounds like one of those cheesy sentences that appear in a romantic drama trailer. She tries to find in her mind who could fit that description, and for a moment, just a flash of bile and adrenaline, the image of a white-haired boy sitting on the stairs, the sadness of the world nailed to his shoulders, appears in Utahime's head. She dismisses it with a shake of her head and a soft laugh and kisses the brown crown resting on her shoulder sweetly.

"What a philosophical question, right? Are you going to ask me now if the chicken or the egg came first?"

"I prefer that about the tree and the forest."

"You mean the one that goes 'if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?'"

"That one."

"I've always thought it was nonsense. Of course, it makes a sound."

"Nonsense," she repeats, savoring the word in her mouth. "Nonsense," and she bursts out laughing. "Nonsense like what Suguru did."

Utahime rolls her eyes, amused and worried. She recognizes in Shoko some of the alcoholic phases she goes through every time she accumulates beer in her system: the initial anger that gives way to sadness; the sadness that introduces craziness; the craziness that turns into a reflective stage; and finally, when the taxi is about to arrive, she becomes uninhibitedly euphoric. Shoko laughs at everything: at the driver who picks them up and helps them get into the car; at how the city warp when they travel along the roads to school; at herself when she sees her reflection in the window glass; until she falls asleep with a smile on her shoulder. Utahime endures the embarrassment and talks with the taxi driver through her gaze, asking her questions through the rearview mirror. "Are you okay?", "Do you need me to stop?", "Please, don't mess up my car."

Shoko wakes up as they climb the street that leads to the civilian entrance of Jujutsu Tech and stares at Utahime with heavy eyes. Drowsy and drunk, she reaches out to touch her face with the tips of her fingers and asks her questions that come out of the blue "Uta, why are you so beautiful?", that border on the absurd "Would you still be beautiful if you had light bulbs instead of eyes?, that kill like bullets: "Do you think Suguru would have stayed if I had been as beautiful as you?"

"Don't say silly things. You're beautiful, and you're not to blame for what happened with Geto," Utahime says.

"Maybe he would have stayed. Gojo would stay for you,"

Utahime looks at her skeptically and shrugs as she opens the taxi door.

"I'm convinced that Gojo would come back as a ghost just to keep making my life miserable," she says.

"No," Shoko shakes her head with more enthusiasm than energy and gets out of the car as best she can. "That's not what I meant."

The taxi driver helps them get to the door and squints when he doesn't see anything in the darkness ahead, unconvinced that it's wise to leave two girls alone there. Utahime reassures him that the lights in the area go off at midnight, although she can see perfectly through the ones that are all lit up. The curly eaves of the pagodas rise imposingly in the night, and except for the crickets, nothing can be heard. She bids him farewell with a bow of her head and a generous tip and waits for him to leave before entering the campus.

From there, the situation becomes complicated. Sneaking into a place filled with people in a constant state of alert is always a complex task; but with Shoko drunk, perhaps for the first time in her life, it's practically impossible. She loses her balance easily, insists that it's okay if she falls asleep on the grass, wants to start screaming for everyone to go party, and occasionally is hit by a wave of nausea, and they have to stop.

"Hold on, Shoko. We're almost at your room," Utahime says.

At the risk of falling into one of the ponds, Utahime decides to cut through the middle of the gardens and forget the paths. With all her senses alert to the surroundings, she passes under the windows of the teachers' rooms with her heart in her throat, hoping no one on guard duty hears them, and practically drags Shoko to the entrance of the student dormitories. At the end of the hallway is the room.

"I have to stop," Shoko says. She collapses on the doorstep with the least amount of grace and the most amount of exhaustion. "I can't go on."

Utahime is also grateful for the stop. She's exhausted. She hasn't rested since the mission, and she feels her hairline soaked, and the smell of fermented sweat mixed with Shoko's cigarette smoke hits her. Tokyo's heat is sticky, heavy, still, and unbearable, and few things would make her happier right now than being in her family's sanctuary in Miho, sitting on the pier while dipping her feet in the saltwater and chatting with the fishermen before they go to sea.

"Oh, Shoko...!" Utahime sees how her friend doubles over and empties the contents of her stomach into one of the entryway planters. She gathers Shoko's hair with her hands and improvises a bun with her pigtails bows. "I'm going to...you're going to...I'm going to get something from your room to clean you up, okay? Don't move."

Utahime comes and goes several times with a towel that she wets in the sink on short and fast flights, like a bird bringing branches to the nest. Shoko continues to vomit in the same spot, her retching breaking the silence of the night until on one of her walks to the room, Utahime stops hearing it and upon her return, discovers with frustration that she has fallen asleep leaning against the door frame. She weighs her options: leaving Shoko there is out of the question; asking for help would alert more people; and carrying her to the room is a difficult task, a mammoth task considering Utahime's small body, but she doesn't think she has any other choice but to do it. So she throws an arm over her shoulders and tries to lift the weight by pulling on her waist. A futile attempt that she has to repeat three times, falling and stumbling and grumbling. And then she hears footsteps nearby and panics.

If it's one of the teachers or guards if it is - God forbids - Yaga, there are few excuses that can justify her, the perfect senpai, the model student, being there with her clothes still unchanged from her last mission, smelly and dirty, carrying her very drunk friend's semi-conscious body. What will they say? Will the person walking towards her understand that everything is really Suguru Geto's fault, with his ridiculous ideas and stupid decisions? Will they believe her if she says it's the bartender, who has been refilling the glasses more times than necessary? And if she decides, once the shadow is practically upon her, to confess that she herself carries the responsibility and admits that she should have insisted on stopping earlier, on eating something before continuing to drink senselessly?

But the person who arrives is as long as a day without water, and their hair is the same color as the moon.

"What's wrong with Shoko?" Gojo strides towards them and takes off his glasses to frown at her. "Is she okay? What did you do?"

He's still wearing his uniform, and he's walking from the opposite direction of the dorms, and Utahime momentarily wonders where he's coming from. A different Utahime, one who left school two years ago, would have interrogated him until she screamed, suspicious of any strange behavior, but the current Utahime is too worried about her friend and doesn't have the time or inclination to find out.

"Nothing! She's just drunk."

"Shoko's drunk, really?"

She gives him a furious look as she adjusts the weight on her, all her loose hair falling over her face. She throws one of Shoko's arms over her shoulders, grabs onto her waist, and takes a fearful step. Her legs fail her a little.

"What do you think?"

"I thought you were the one who always ended up under the table. How did you manage?"

"What...?" Utahime bites her tongue and counts to ten. "Look, if you're going to help me, great; if not, get out of my way."

Through the curtain of hair falling over her eyes, Utahime sees Satoru hesitate for a moment, analyzing the scene in front of him. He grimaces in disgust at the vomit pool at his feet but makes no malicious comments about it. Then he stands there for a couple of seconds, adjusting his glasses on his nose again before approaching and putting Shoko's other arm around his neck. They try to take a few steps like that, but the height difference makes them stumble; so halfway through, Gojo decides to pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bedroom, Utahime following like a little field mouse.

The room is just as she remembers it: neat and austere. There is little more than a bed and a desk with a couple of photos from a trip with friends in the snow; another with her family on a beach in Hawaii. The rubber plant in one corner, a digital alarm clock on the bedside table, and on the windowsill a round fishbowl with a little orange fish that Utahime gave her as a gift before she left, and she's glad to see that it's still alive and well.

Behind her, Gojo moves carefully among the furniture, Shoko's body squeezed between his arms and he carefully places her on the bed under Utahime's watchful eye. She opens the window to let the air in and hurries to unbutton the uniform with fast fingers. Stops just short of the edge of the bra.

"Are you going to keep staring?" Gojo takes a step back. "I don't think Shoko would like that..."

"I'm leaving now."

The door clicks shut, and Utahime waits a moment before continuing to undress her. Jacket, shirt, skirt: anything that smells like vomit or has a sticky sweat consistency goes. She takes it all off until she's in her underwear and tosses the stained clothes into the laundry basket. Before leaving a bottle of water and some aspirin next to the bed, she cleans Shoko's face one last time with a damp towel. Tomorrow, Shoko will wake up with a terrible hangover, her heart just as broken as it was today, and Utahime won't be there to accompany her. She'll have already arrived in Kyoto, a new mission; another day of curses and politics, broken bones and bloodstains. Very little time to worry about defections and the disaster left behind them.

The heat is still there when she leaves, now animated by a chorus of crickets, and she doesn't know why, but she's surprised to see Satoru waiting; leaning on the railing with his hands in his pockets.

"Thanks for helping."

Gojo shrugs.

"Shoko's going to be a mess tomorrow. I've never seen her like that."

"It's my fault. I should have told her to stop earlier." He looks at her, agreeing, and Utahime sighs. "Hey, my train doesn't leave until 8. Do you know if there's a room available? I just need a futon and a..."

"The two by the entrance. Right next to Sug..."

The name dies on her lips, just on the precipice of the unusual, and Utahime curses her lack of delicacy. She also realizes that one of the other rooms must should have belonged to Yuu Haibara, the boy who died a few months ago. She didn't know him, but as far as she knows, his disappearance left a void in her juniors' spirits. So her chest fills with remorse as she looks at Gojo, who carries an ancestral seriousness. The cracks in his shell can almost be seen, how the pain seeps through them. He's just a kid, she thinks. A kid in mourning, with no references, no support, no anything. She knows Geto was his moral compass and without him, he is lost on unnamed roads.

Utahime had been there before, with different names and different circumstances, but she identifies the same moment of searing lucidity; the burning realization that you will probably never see a person again and nothing, no matter what happens, no matter how hard you try, will ever be the same as before.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened. For Geto and for what they've asked you to do to him. They have no right to expect that of you."

Utahime doesn't say it to give him comfort, but because she truly believes it. Because there are red lines that should not be crossed, and because even though she doesn't show often, she cares about the well-being of her kouhai, no matter how much she despises him.

"On the contrary," he sounds hollow today. A 17-year-old boy who could be 70. "They have every right in the world. That's just how it is, isn't it? They call the shots and if it doesn't work out, there'll be another young kid to serve as cannon fodder."

"Gojo, I understand how you feel but..."

"Do you?" he sounds sarcastic, and Utahime begins to regret giving in to compassion.

"You know perfectly well that I do," she jumps in firmly. "But there's no point in being here, mopping around and doing nothing."

"And what should I do? What I want is to kill every single one of those shitty bosses, Utahime. Are you encouraging me to do that?"

Utahime falls silent, once again in tune with Satoru's feelings. How many times had she dreamed of eliminating them one by one? How many times had she wished to make them feel the same pain she felt, the same desperation that robbed her days? During those months when rage and grief had made arsenic pools in her vertebrae, she spent a lot of time thinking about how to eliminate them one by one, how to make them feel the same pain she felt, to throw them into their own pit of despair. She came up with plans, and thought of strategies, only to realize that she was too weak and too alone to be able to change anything. But Satoru Gojo - Satoru Gojo of all people - he could do it.

"That would be a pretty mediocre plan, Gojo," she walks up to him, pushing her hair back until she practically bumps into his body and looks up. She speaks in a whisper. "Two weeks later, they would have replacements. You could be more ambitious."

Gojo scans her from above, with his glasses at the tip of his nose and his cinematic blue eyes peeking out from behind his white lashes. She feels his warmth and his breath, and his scent, suddenly realizing that this is the first time in his life that she's been so close to her without the infinity activated.

"Is the always correct, always perfect, teacher's pet, urging me to start a revolution?" He drags out his words, and she hates him a little for that. "Mm? I could do it alone, but then no one would follow me. And who would be my allies? I would be the general, without a doubt, but I need soldiers. A commander. A captain. Hey, we could be Colonel Mustang and his loyal sergeant, Hawkeye. What do you say, Utahime? Would Gakunjagi's songbird risk her immaculate reputation for me?"

Utahime holds his gaze and her breath, trying to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

"You can't always consider people as your pawns. We could help you."

Gojo laughs, and Utahime recognizes the cruel laugh that precedes mockery. She takes a step back, regretting every word she said.

"Most of you are weak, you wouldn't be good for much else."

His arrogance turns her stomach, and she tries to control herself so as not to yell at him as she always does. Gojo smirks, cold as the moon, and Utahime thinks of the fondness of Yasu's laugh that she'll never hear again, and Ren's lips that she barely had time to kiss.

"Strong or weak, both sides feel the pain of watching their comrades disappear. Your suffering is nothing short of exceptional. So if you want to be here whining, go ahead. I couldn't care less. Great Gojo Satoru can handle things however he wants."

She walks away, damming her foolishness. The vulnerability hasn't made him a better version of himself. He's still an insensitive jerk. She walks quickly to one of the rooms he has indicated and hears Gojo behind her: "Hey, Utahime, don't get so worked up, it's not a big deal!"

But by then she has already closed the door, bolted it, and is lying on the dusty futon wiping away tears.

Fucking Satoru Gojo.

Notes:

Hi! Thank you for reading :)
I have some explanations to make. As I mentioned, this fic is part of an experiment. "We did not expect it to be like this" is a translation of my story in Spanish, "No esperábamos que fuera así la vida," and it has been made with the infamous GPT AI chat that everyone is talking about. As a teacher, linguist, and writer, I cannot help but wonder about the limitations, issues, and possibilities that this kind of tool may entail, hence the experiment.
What you have read is a raw-ish translation with little to no editing - I changed the obvious things: collocations and expressions, sentences that didn't make any sense, the usual mistakes when it comes to translating pronouns and possessives between Spanish and English. I am aware that it is full of mistakes, but here I leave some of the things that I have learned (you can skip them, they are super nerdy):
* Spanish sentences are too long and too recursive to easily fit into the natural English language structure with an automatic translation.
* Vocabulary is okay, though a little repetitive.
* The AI chat doesn't seems to be subtle enough to replicate literary aspects such as rhythm, iteration, and the need for a variety of grammatical structures.
* Punctuation is far from perfect. But I think it can be fixed with a second or third correction of the texts.

This goes without saying, but a professional, human, trained, and experienced translator is ALWAYS better. But if this works, I could share my fics and writing with more people with little effort. And I don't plan to make money out of it.

In the following chapters, I will focus on other aspects of writing - e.g., dialogues, synonyms, repetitions. But in the meantime, I would like to ask for your help so I can have some guidelines. Native and non-native speakers are more than welcome to tell me if something you have read seems off - I will happily take note of it.

Also, of course, you can also leave a comment, kudos, or bookmark - I will thank every bit of it.
So, that's all.
:)

Chapter 2: Satoru Gojo

Summary:

Time skips here. And Gojo is a little shit, yes.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Satoru Gojo. The name resounds everywhere. Satoru Gojo. From the very outset of school, his presence is felt in every nook and cranny. Satoru Gojo. Other students whisper about his extraordinary abilities, his immense power. The teachers shake their heads in dismay at his impertinence and lack of respect toward his superiors. Satoru Gojo. The boy is but sixteen and yet already has earned a host of monikers, The Six Eyes, The Most Powerful, The Strongest, The greatest in four hundred years. Utahime hears these and stifles a yawn. Satoru Gojo, who appears in her life sporting a pair of dark glasses and a mischievous smile. He teases her relentlessly, until her composure crumbles into frustrated yells. He provokes her, getting under her skin with his impertinence. "Utahime," he croons, ignoring all honorifics, convinced that he stands above the good and the evil. "You're crying because you're weak, huh?" On the second or third occasion that she encountered him, "Why should I call you senpai ? Your cursed energy is pathetic. Don't think you're better than me." Her blood boils. He's nothing more than a brat, nothing else.

Satoru Gojo, with his grand entrances and boisterous laughter, always seeking to capture the spotlight. He spends his days playing video games and refuses to do his homework, too busy watching Digimon reruns at full blast. Gojo, who is infamous for consuming an obscene amount of sweets without putting on a single pound. Gojo, who laughs at her without restraint and doesn't understand the concept of personal space. Gojo, who becomes softer, more human when insomnia hits him after too many sweets and walks through the gardens, his guard momentarily lowered. Gojo, who suddenly comes to her one night when menstrual cramps grip her tight, and Utahime finds herself curled up in a chair in the kitchen, clutching a hot cup of tea, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. Satoru appears to own the place, his eyes scanning the room for an explanation of her presence. "Utahime!" he bellows, and she watches in silence how he strides to the fridge, rifling through its contents until he finds a carton of milk to pour over a mountain of chocolate-filled cereal. He spoons a heaping bite into his mouth, chomping away with an open mouth. Utahime turns away, disgusted by his lack of manners.

Satoru Gojo - the key to deciphering social cues seems lost on him - persists in his relentless interrogation of Utahime: Are you having nightmares? Poor Utahime! How long have you been here? Does darkness scare you? What's in your cup? Is it good ? And Utahime, consumed with the effort of concealing the pain that courses through her breasts with every brush of her nightgown's fabric, replies with curt phrases ( no, a little, no, tea, yes) , and shallows the infusion quickly, impatient to come back to her bed.

"Hey," he approaches her and crouches down to her level, the sound of food smacking against his molars ringing in Utahime's ears. So disgustingly crude. "Suguru and I were wondering the other day, why aren't you in Kyoto? Did they expel you?"

Utahime's first instinct is to bristle defensively, "why does it matter to you?," but he seems unfazed.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "You're the only exchange student here. It's strange."

She buries her nose in steam. It smells like cinnamon and orange. It smells like home, the big teapots filled with the concoction that all the aspiring miko would drink when they had their period.

"I'm the only student left from my year in Kyoto," she confesses, fixing her gaze on the brim of her cup, - jade green, polka dots - desperately avoiding eye contact with him. Gazing at him is perilous, - eyes judging from behind darkened glasses, his smile holding the power of a deity meting out mortal fates. "They thought it would more suitable for me to finish my education here."

"Your technique will count for nothing if you're alone," G akunjagi had said shortly after the funeral. "In Tokyo, you can work effectively with your peers. You already know them, don't you?"

"No. They're dead."

Dismembered. Condemned. Drained. Mutilated. Unrecognizable.

Utahime swallows hard, hoping her response is forceful enough to deter Gojo's prying. It doesn't work.

"Dead? I'm sorry," he says. It doesn't sound like he's sorry. "And how did it happen?"

Please, can someone tell him to stop? At least to stop looking at her like that, as if he's dissecting her with his gaze. If he keeps staring, Utahime won't be able to block out the images of her memories away. And if she can't do that, then Yasu and Ren - and their screams of pain, their open guts, the fear etched on their faces - are there with her, in this very same kitchen. And when this happens, her heart races, her breathing becomes shallow, the room shrinking in a black hole. And then there they are, don't you see them? She can. They haunt her.

A large, searing droplet traces a path down Utahime's cheek, threatening to shatter her composure. It's just hormones, she tells herself, as she shields her face. Behind closed eyelids, the sound of the abandoned clinic she and her classmates had been sent to kill a curse. They finish the job, but at what cost? Calm down, it's just the damn hormones

She exhales a shaky breath, trying to dispel the memory's hold on her.

"Are you crying?"

"No!" she retorts, snapping her eyes open.

"You're crying, Utahime! Is it because of your classmates?"

Satoru Gojo, who only peeks into other people's souls to look at them with contempt, asks. Satoru Gojo, who knows no empathy and reminds her of a child who enjoys cutting the wings off flies and tearing the legs off frogs, presses on.

"Well, you shouldn't. When you get into this, you know what you're up against if you're not the strongest. It's the law of life."

Satoru Gojo , what the hell?

" In your case, you may be useful in a well-structured team, but if you're so weak and get upset about something like this…"

"Fuck off," she hisses, standing up and making a beeline for the door.

Utahime's patience snaps. She's not like this. She's normally polite, proper, and measured. She blames her hormonal imbalance.

"You don't have to get so hysterical, Utahime. I'm saying it for your own good," Gojo calls after her.

Utahime stiffens, steeling herself to keep walking. "Leave me alone, Gojo"

Satoru Gojo, her relentless tormentor; a personal stalker; a low-class prankster; a petty thug; a pampered brat; a contemptible loudmouth. Shoko tells her to be patient, MeiMei advises her to ignore him, but how can she ignore him when Satoru Gojo seems to gravitate towards her? It's as if he craves her all the time, at any moment of serenity. He doesn't comprehend boundaries, he breaches her space like a meteor crashing through the atmosphere.

Gojo is what stands between the true Utahime and the one who presents herself to the world.

And Utahime despairs.

It is a serene winter Saturday and large snowflakes drift down outside the window of Utahime's room. Shoko is sprawled out on the bed in her pajamas, reading a romance novel and sucking on a lollipop. Utahime is practicing the scales on the piano, striving to master the technique to unlock the next level of her skill.

The two of them enjoy this peaceful symbiosis, in which one plays classical pieces while the other interrupt by reading out loud particularly cheesy passages. Utahime is easily frustrated when she struggles to keep pace with the tempo and to help her, Shoko distracts her with idle chatter: school, teachers, the newest trendy hangout, the latest movie in the cinema. Sometimes Utahime pauses to jot notes in the margins of her sheet music, while other times Shoko says, "Hey, do you know that song that...?" and Utahime - having by now realized that there are few things she can deny Shoko - tries to work out the melody by ear. They hum, make mistakes with the lyrics, and banter about them. They laugh at their own jokes and then return to practicing and reading, sewing together the silence until it's ripped by a boyish voice.

"Shoooookoo! Where are you? We're looking for you!" Gojo bursts in without knocking, coat covered in snow and face reddened by the cold. "Let's have a snowball fight! Oh," he surveys the scene, "what are you guys up to?"

Utahime narrows her eyes at him over her shoulder. His face is barely visible behind the giant red scarf and brings the cold from outside into the room along with his brimming energy. "I'm playing some music," she responds, turning back to the piano determined to maintain her calmness on this Saturday. "What do you want?"

"A concert! Can I stay?" Gojo exclaims joyfully, unflappable by her indifference.

"It's not a concert. Uta is practicing," Shoko interjects with weary annoyance, already drained by Gojo's presence.

"Do what you like, but if you want to stay, please be quiet and close the door. The air coming in is freezing."

She extends the offer out of courtesy, almost certain that he will decline. After all, Gojo Satoru, whose existence revolves around turning the world upside down, must have something better to do, she reasons. Something wicked with Suguru, most likely. But on this occasion, he lingers in the doorway, swaying on the tips of his toes for a few seconds before sliding the wood behind him and entering, unbuttoning his coat and untying his scarf.

"I'm staying!" he exclaims and settles in a corner of the bed, stretching out his long legs on the tatami. Shoko steps aside to give him space without taking her eyes off the book, and Utahime caresses the keys with her fingertips once more. "Behave," she warns, "Don't touch anything," she emphasizes. He nods lazily in agreement, "yes, yes, whatever you say."

She chooses 'One more time, one more chance ' with intention. It is a song that she knows to perfection, and for reasons not entirely clear to her, she wants to impress him. She wishes to reveal her mastery over the kingdom of music - her natural habitat; a place where she belongs with the sound waves, scales, and notes.

While her eyes dance over the sheet music, her mind is divided. Her mind tracking Gojo's reaction is in constant conflict with her concentration. She anticipates his usual antics: a quick-witted insult, a slightly offensive joke at provincial girls upon seeing the photo of Miho's port taken last summer, perhaps even ridicule about her most treasured possession: a signed baseball from Yoshihiro Doi. Will he rummage through her collection of historical novels in search of a single underlined paragraph to tease her about? Another possibility is that he will point with a cruel laugh at the poster of the Berlin Symphony Orchestra that hangs above her bed. Utahime is prepared to endure the humiliation, but Gojo surprises her. He listens in silence for 10 to 15 minutes, with a concentration that unsettles her more than any of his words ever could. She turns to check that everything is still alright.

"He's asleep." Shoko whispers, gesturing towards Gojo, leaning against the wall with closed eyes and an open mouth. "Is our chance to draw some dicks on his face."

Utahime shakes her head, stifling a laugh despite how tempting the idea is, how deserving Gojo may be. She returns to her task at hand, and she is already midway through the seventh song when a polite knock echoes through the room, and Geto's dark head appears in the crack of the door. Snowflakes fall from his eyelashes as he smiles politely.

"Utahime-senpai, sorry, I'm looking for..." His eyes fixate on the bed, and a realization dawns. "Ah, there you are! I've been freezing my butt off waiting outside. What are you guys doing here?"

"Shh, don't wake him up! You know how grumpy he gets" Shoko warns, nodding toward Gojo's slumbering form. "Did he leave you out there?"

"Yeah, but we're even now. Yesterday, I stood him up for the movies." He waves his hand nonchalantly, downplaying the situation.

Suguru suggests they have lunch, and Shoko eagerly agrees, craving the warmth of tonjiru . Utahime, however, declines the offer, and although both offer to wake Gojo, she tells them it's not necessary. Truth be told, she feels sorry for disturbing his nap, despite her distaste for her kouhai . He is unbearable, a jerk who always gets on her nerves, but she knows he works tirelessly, that the higher-ups use his techniques indiscriminately to clean up their own messes and he doesn't fully grasp the concept of rest.

So Utahime let's him sleep for a little longer, and she resumes practicing until she feels she has mastered the piece, and then she cracks her knuckles to the air; indulging in the sense of victory.

The room is filled with a soft breathing.

She approaches Gojo, curious. For once, he looks serious and quiet, almost tolerable. Soft locks, long lashes. Shoko's right, it's an excellent opportunity to play some pranks: a mustache curling over his cheeks, a flower surrounding his white eyebrows, a little lipstick and blush…

"What are you looking at, Utahime?"

His Martian blue eyes are wide open.

"Nothing!", she says, hopefully not blushing. "I just wanted to see if you were awake yet. I'm going to eat, and I'm not leaving you alone in my room."

Gojo Satoru, who enjoys making her suffer, stretches his limbs like a cat and tilts his head.

"Utahime," he sings and brings his face closer. "Do you stare at all the handsome guys who sleep in your bed like that? It's pretty creepy."

"Get out."

"Sa-to-ru Go-jo," he spells, his smile flashing all of his teeth. "Yes, yes, that's how it's written. Will you call me?" Utahime doesn't comprehend why the girl's eyes light up when she nods, nor why she continues to gaze at him even after he's given her his number. He slouches next to her on the subway, and she cannot fathom what this other girl has seen in him because he smells terrible - the stench of the curse they just defeated clings to his clothes - and looks dirty - blood on the tips of his shoes, the usual black polish bruised and opaque - and his stupid hair is messier than usual.

And she wants to stand up and tell the girl not to do it, that she'll be making a mistake; to warn her that behind the long lashes, harmonious features, and pearly white teeth, there is someone terrible. Satoru Gojo, she wants to say, is adored by both girls and boys, and he flirts with both equally without any concern. Satoru Gojo, for all you know, won't reply to any of your messages once he gets what he wants; and if he calls you "darling" or "princess," it's not because he feels a special kind of affection for you, but because he probably doesn't remember your name. Satoru Gojo will brag to Suguru about his conquest one morning while they have breakfast, and the two of them will grin, and then you will have lost all semblance of dignity. And even if Gojo still dazzles you because he's that tall and has those enormous hands, you should be aware that he won't hold yours when you go for a walk, nor will he reach out to you when you need him to. No matter how much you plead for it, no matter how shattered you feel, you'll be alone.

"He's as charming as he is selfish," she wants to say. But Utahime remains silent, and the girl departs at the next stop and watches her vanish amid the commuters entering and exiting the train. And she is consumed by the same anonymity that she will have in Satoru Gojo's life.

Roughly in these terms, Utahime describes the situation to MeiMei that very same night in the kitchen while they prepare oyakodon for dinner. MeiMei has known Gojo since they were children and listens to the story with the amused fondness of someone who has news of the adventures of a distant cousin. Utahime feels betrayed because MeiMei doesn't seem to share her outrage."You're being dramatic," she says with a half-smile. "It's normal for girls to approach him". And it doesn't matter that Utahime snorts, " but he's just a brat! " because MeiMei is already exposing her reasons with a soft voice, "You have to admit," she says, "that he's quite cute. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

And yes, Utahime has certainly noticed, when he and Suguru come back sweaty from training with their shirts sticking to their bodies; every month taller, broader, more manly. Masculinity seeping through the cracks left by the sinewy angles and elongated limbs; long gone the childish voice; little by little shedding their adolescent clothing.

She doesn't plan on saying it out loud.

"I don't think there's any beauty in the world that can make up for that horrible personality"

"Nah! You say that because you still see him as a kid. In a few years, he'll be a good lay."

"MEI!"

Utahime blushes and MeiMei laughs with her mouth open. What one lacks in cunning, the other has in mischief.

"Utahime, don't be a prude. Or are you going to tell me that when Kusakabe comes to your room at night, you only play cards, huh?" Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Utahime's hand tremble a little over the scallions and takes pity on her. "Relax, your secret is safe with me. For a reasonable price, of course."

There's a brief silence that Utahime knows is a parenthesis to buy time and come up with a good response. It's not that there's anything she's ashamed of about what happens between Atsuya and her, but she is ashamed of her lack of control over her own impulses. If Gojo or Geto ever finds out, she doesn't want to imagine the teasing.

"What do you want?"

"You admitting that Gojo is quite an eye candy."

MeiMei looks at her expectantly, with her arms crossed over her purple shirt. Utahime falls silent, carefully placing the chicken in the oil and pouring the broth over it.

"Of course.", concedes, "A toxic candy, no doubt."

Satoru Gojo becomes "that idiot" shortly before the end of the classes, right after Utahime's decision to limit their conversations to purely academic and professional matters. When their paths cross, she greets him with a brief nod of the head. If he appears humming her name, she runs in the opposite direction.

In the months following her graduation, Satoru Gojo is nothing more than an anecdote on Shoko's lips from time to time. Background noise in the school hallways and nighttime outings with colleagues. A name written in a report that she skims over.

These days, Utahime is focused on doing what she needs to do to fully enter adult life. She rents a small apartment near the train station and buys new sheets, a dish rack, a matching set of cups and bowls. Her parents gift her a cookbook from a famous chef, and she practices new recipes the few evenings she is at home. She systematically asks for a promotion that is - also systematically - rejected. She starts dating Kusakabe seriously. They go on dates, to the movies, to soccer matches, to Universal Studios. They learn the names of each other's family members, buy gifts for Atsuya's newly born nephew, and coo at him when they visit together. They often sleep over at each other's homes. When a miracle happens, and their days off coincide, they usually go on excursions, romantic getaways where they walk hand in hand and compare their scars in hotel beds in Nikko, Hakone, Hokkaido.

Utahime feels as though love is beyond her reach, but he offers the warmth she needs, and she gives him the companionship he seeks. It is enough, she muses, at least for now, while they discover who they are becoming. They differ on many things but agree on what they deem essential: a strong sense of duty, an extraordinary work ethic, and a vocation for effort. Both are discreet and diligent, committed and persevering. Their conversations are pleasant, albeit infrequent. Atsuya is not very talkative, and Utahime makes jokes that he doesn't always catch. More often than she would like, they discuss work during their free time: political matters too grand for them both, theoretical issues about jujutsu that amuse them, even though they reach no conclusions, and they tell each other funny anecdotes and mission tales. Sometimes, they are the main characters, and sometimes they are not. Sometimes, inevitably, Gojo's name arises in their conversations. Utahime still twists her face when he is mentioned and she is scowling when she explains how she explains the time he caused a massive explosion that day she was on a mission with MeiMei, just as they were about to leave. Kusakabe chuckles softly at her indignation, amused by how Utahime, always perfect and contained, loses her composure.

"Do you remember when that happened?" Atsuya asks, his brow furrowed as he contemplates the time frame. Utahime chews on her food, unsure of the exact date. She had been too busy to keep track. "Maybe a few weeks ago? A month?" she offers tentatively.

He nods, still deep in thought, before coming to a realization. "It must have been before the Riko Amanai thing."

Utahime doesn't know what he's talking about, and when she asks, he sighs heavily before recounting with a neutral tone and quietly the tale of a young girl, two powerful shamans, and a ruthless killer. Utahime thinks "what a tragedy" and feels stones in her stomach.

Amanai couldn't have been more than 14 when she was shot in the head, and the sadness overwhelms her because she was so young and had so much to offer. Another innocent soul caught in the middle of the jujutsu business. Then she thinks about Geto and Gojo, and how they could have died too and the stones in her stomach turn her intestines into concrete.

"So did they manage to kill the guy in the end?"

"Toji Fushiguro, yes. Gojo took him down."

Kusakabe explains that Satoru came out unscathed from the gates of death. Now he's practically immortal, he comments, and Utahime wonders if Gojo with his newfound power has gone to his head. She also fears that knowing both of them, they won't be able to cope with the girl's death easily. Their perfectionism and unwillingness to share their worries will only add spoons of darkness to their minds.

As she sits silently, playing with the octopus ball, Kusakabe's voice interrupts her thoughts. "Utahime, these things happen. Let it go."

She sets her chopsticks down with reluctance and meets his gaze. "I was just wondering if those two are okay," she admits.

Atsuya shrugs, his eyes averted. In their line of work, "being okay" is a vague concept "You could call Shoko and ask. I'm sure she has more information than me." He finishes his beer and brings her hand to his mouth. It's cold.

"I'll call her when I get home," she murmurs caressing his lips with her thumb, her eyes lost in the ochre color of his trench coat.

But she doesn't. After finishing their meal, they stroll through the streets in a dense silence, consumed by the burning desire to feel alive. Tomorrow she could die, or he could die, and that's why Kusakabe fucks her wild against the wall the moment they step through the threshold of her apartment. They fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms, and when they wake up and bid each other goodbye, the monotony of summer takes over. Curses abound, and fewer and fewer of their own are willing to perform exorcisms. Soon, Utahime receives news of her grandmother's sudden passing and she must go to her hometown. And when she returns a few days later, she calls Shoko to go shopping for a new pair of sandals and share an ice cream. The fate of their two classmates and Riko Amanai is the last thing on her mind.

That summer, the days seem to pile up in small pyramids of bad news. Utahime learns of Yuu Haibara's death during a sushi and sake dinner with MeiMei, long after he's been buried. The details are vague, but Utahime can easily imagine the sight of a youthful face covered by a sheet in the morgue. Her thoughts wander to Yasu and Ren, and she once again makes a silent vow to check on Shoko and the other two, but once again, she forgets.

As Geto's treachery solidifies, Utahime rushes to Shoko's side. But instead of being weighed down by worry, she is consumed by guilt. It is this very guilt that propels her to speak to Gojo the night Shoko gets drunk in the izayaka. Despite the red flags, she opens her heart to him, offering her help and exposing herself. And she cannot tell which is more hurtful - his disdain or his arrogance. However, she is sure of one thing: she'll never pity him again.

In the following weeks, the rumors expand: Satoru Gojo is consumed by his own legend. He is hailed as the strongest, the most revered one, the man who stands between heaven and earth. He's a myth, unreachable at eighteen and Utahime couldn't care less. She believes that she has severed any emotional tie they might have had. Their bond, if one ever existed, is beyond repair. Nothing he does can annoy her anymore; nothing can make him more miserable in her eyes.

She is wrong.

Utahime should know by now that Satoru Gojo always surpasses himself.

On a March day that feels like May, she runs into him as he stands in line to enter the Tokyo Dome. He looms over the crowd, his towering two-meter frame and snow-white hair making him impossible to miss. He has grown, wider shoulders, a jawline chiseled, smile brighter. Clad in his usual sunglasses, he sips a drink with the black and mustard logo of the Yomiuri Giants, talking to someone that Utahime can't see.

Not that it matters. As soon as she spots Gojo, her mission is to get unnoticed. It's her day off, and she has no interest in dealing with him. She just wants to enter the stadium, watch the game, indulge in a hot dog, and capture the best plays on video to rewatch them later at home. Yet, fate seems to have other plans, for as she pulls her cap lower and seeks refuge behind a group of teenagers, she hears her name spoken in a familiar singsong, and she wearily sighs.

"Utahimeeeeee!"

In all honesty, she tries to ignore it.

"Utahimeeeeeee! Come here!"

She feels the weight of everyone's gaze as they turn to look at her. She hides further under her cap.

"Utahimeeeee, if you come with us, you won't have to wait in line for so long!" She hesitates, knowing that it is a difficult argument to fight. Not that she wants to wait in line for an extra half hour.

With a heavy heart, she drags her feet towards Gojo, who waves his free hand carelessly as she reaches his side, conversation as usual. She grunts, and he insults her without a second thought, "I called you for years. Utahime, are you deaf? Has age finally caught up to you?" And he continues talking as if she has not even gotten angry, "Did you come to see your Senbu Lions lose? Boo!" Just as she is about to yell at him, he says theatrically, dramatically, excessively, "If you have one of your violent outbursts, you must control yourself. You'll ruin the kids' special outing."

Utahime frowns at his words. "Kids," he said, and then she sees them

Truly, there are two tiny beings standing next to Gojo who cannot be more than 10 years old. A boy and a girl, each with melting ice cream in their hands, looking at Gojo with distrust. Who can blame them?

"But," the boy seems unimpressed by Gojo's jokes, and Utahime thinks they share the same spiritual mood, "I don't like baseball." The girl shrugs.

"And I really don't care for it," she adds.

Gojo brings his hand to his heart, mockingly wounded. Utahime rolls her eyes.

"Okay, okay, you don't like baseball very much," she gives them one of those stupid smiles that are all teeth, "but in exchange, I bought you ice cream."

"But I don't like vanilla ice cream," the girl licks the cone without much enthusiasm, "you didn't even ask what flavor we like."

"I don't like ice cream at all. It hurts my teeth."

"That's because you're an old man in a kid's body, Megumi-chan."

Utahime stares intently at the children. Who are these kids? Are they Gojo's family? They don't look like his siblings, that's for sure. Wait, does Gojo even have siblings? If so, she feels sorry for them. Are they his cousins? Is he taking care of them? Who in their right mind would let Satoru Gojo take care of someone?

"Gojo," Utahime interrupts, saying under her breath. "Who are these children?"

He turns to her, looking surprised. "Oh, right, of course. You don't know them!" He opens his arms and embraces the children. "They're my... children! I mean, not really mine-mine, you know. I'm their legal guardian. Children, meet Utahime Iori. We went to school together!"

Two pairs of curious eyes stare and her, and as Utahime struggles to form a coherent sentence, she lowers herself to their level.

"I'm his senpai," she explains, her voice low and measured. "And for that, he owes me some respect. But you can call me Utahime."

The children study her outstretched hand with interest. The girl, all proper and well-dressed, finally breaks the silence.

"My name is Tsumiki," she says, smiling warmly. Utahime returns the gesture, her own smile still tinged with surprise.

"Nice to meet you, Tsumiki," she replies.

The boy, with his dark locks and green eyes, hangs back, his gaze locked onto Utahime's face. She can feel his intense scrutiny as he assesses her, sizing her up and evaluating her trustworthiness.

"I'm Megumi Fushiguro," he says finally, his tone blunt and direct.

Did he say Fushiguro? The name appears in her head in neon lights. "It's not possible…" she thinks, feeling her mouth go dry. "Isn't that...?" She scans the area for Gojo, but he is typing in his phone, completely unaware of their conversation.

"Fushiguro, you say?", she tries to sound casual," And you're siblings?"

"No." He answers curtly. Not the kind of child to be called "cute".

"Step-siblings." Tsumiki corrects, giving him a serious and admonishing look. "Our parents aren't here. That's why Gojo-san is taking care of us."

Utahime nods slowly, her mind still reeling from the revelation. She reaches into her bag and takes a handful of bills from her wallet.

"You know what?" she says, her voice brightening. "Since Satoru chose everything for you, why don't you head over to those stalls and pick out something different? Dango, another flavor of ice cream, whatever you fancy. It's on me!"

The children pause for a moment, exchanging hesitant glances before their attention shifts to the money. Utahime isn't quite sure what's going on until Tsumiki speaks up in a small voice, gripping her flowered dress with sticky hands.

"Will you still be here when we return?"

"Of course, we will," Utahime replies, confused.

"We've already discussed this, Tsumiki-chan. I won't be going anywhere," Satoru adds, finally joining the conversation. He looks at the children seriously before patting their heads. "Now, do as Utahime says so she can scold me about whatever she's upset with me about."

Utahime watches as the children walk away together, and Satoru lets out an affected sigh.

"Aren't they just adorable?"

"I'm not going to scold you," Utahime retorts.

For once, warmth fills Gojo's eyes. "Yes, you will. It's your specialty."

Utahime crosses her arms over her chest, and Satoru smiles, putting the straw between his lips and sipping while peering over his glasses. What an idiot.

"What exactly are you doing with these children?"

"I told you, I brought them to see the Senbu Lions lose."

"I'm serious! What are you doing with the children of... - she looks around and lowers her voice - you-know-who! Do they even know what you did to him?"

He shakes his head and shrugs, not particularly caring.

"No, and apparently, they don't want to know."

"So you're not telling them the truth because you feel guilty, or because..."

"I'm just fulfilling the request of a dying man, Utahime," he cuts in. "In fact, I'm doing something unheard of in this business. It's called a very good deed."

"You're unbelievable."

"I know." He smiles, teasing her and winking. He finishes his drink with a loud slurp, and Utahime snaps, "Not like that!"

"Anyway, at first, Megumi is the only one who has to come with me. Tsumiki isn't part of the plan, but the boy insisted, huh? She's an extra. She's not even a Zenin."

"This is even worse. She has nothing to do with... our world," Utahime's voice quivers. Her fists tremble. Her anger trembles like a leaf shaken by a hurricane "They're innocent children. You can't exploit them for your own gain or your…"

"Tsk, tsk, Utahime," Gojo chides, his voice smooth, deeper than she remembered. "I'm not the bad guy here. I'm doing them a favor. Fushiguro was the one who sold his son to the Zenin, and I put a stop to it. Do you honestly think they would treat that little girl kindly, with no curse energy to speak of? She would be nothing more than a clan's whore, if she was lucky."

Utahime's eyes blaze with fury. "How dare you say something like that?!"

Gojo leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Still as weak as ever," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "You let your emotions and your sense of righteousness get in the way. That's not how it works, Utahime. It's all about who's stronger. You're not seeing the bigger picture here."

She places a pair of fingers on her temples and closes her eyes, trying to clear her mind. That morning, she had thought it would be a great day, one to cherish and relish. The plan was simple, come here, watch the game, and if Shoko was free later, catch up over a beer. Ant now, that damn Gojo Satoru and his stupid ideas had ruined everything.

Taking care of two young children, what kind of idiot would consider such a thing? He is not prepared for it, emotionally or mentally. Satoru is an immature boy, the type of man who would run away from his responsibilities if he knocked a girl up. The story of Toji Fushiguro asking him to care for his offspring and Satoru agreeing to do so is far from generous. There has to be something that interests both him and the Zenin clan, something potent and exceptional, something unique, something like…

"Shikigami," she murmurs to herself, and Satoru's eyes light up with excitement. She asks if Megumi can control the ten shadows, and a twinkle appears in the depths of his pupils as he praises her, "As clever as ever, Utahime!" And she feels a sudden rush of anger and hits him hard on his chest, leaving her somewhat stunned. For the first time in her life, she has touched Gojo Satoru, and she moves away from him as if he's electrified. The Infinite is down, and the shine in his impossible blue irises transforms into pure laughter.

"You cannot do that. You should have left them be. Find another way to care for them, give them a place where they could have a proper childhood and…" Utahime pleads.

"The safest they can be is if I am close to them," Gojo retorts, cold.

"Do you expect me to believe that you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart? I know you, Gojo. You want him because he is powerful and can be a useful pawn in your schemes. What's the aim? Build an army of super shamans? Train them to…?"

"Hey! Don't blame me! It was your idea!"

"What?!"

"You told me", he points a finger at her and she takes a step back, "that I have to change things. Something about "being more ambitious", if I recall correctly. And that's exactly what I'm doing."

The audacity!

"How any of that justifies using children to fulfill your insane agenda?"

Gojo brushes off her indignation with a casual wave of his hand. "As dramatic as ever, Utahime. You won't find a husband if you keep acting like this. Besides, they can't complain. I give them sweets, buy them new clothes, and the latest PlayStation. What more could they want? I make them quite happy."

Naturally, Gojo Satoru thinks like that. He is just that kind of person. He uses children as an excuse to come and watch his favorite team play and buys them ice cream without regard for their preferences. Undoubtedly, he is the same type of person who feeds them junk food, lets them stay up late watching TV and allows them to play video games that are far too mature for their age. Pampering children is not taking care of them, Utahime wants to tell him. What you like is not what other people like. Gojo Satoru is egoistic to the core, and that is precisely why he could never bring anyone true joy. He taints everything he touches, centers everything on himself, and casts a shadow over everything with his murky intentions.

"You didn't come here only to watch the game, did you?" she asks.

"What are you talking about? I love baseball!"

"You knew I would be here"

"Aren't you happy to see your handsome kouhai ?" Gojo Satoru asks with a smirk. Smug. He changes his mood in a blink of an eye.

"Can you just tell me what you want from me?" Utahime retorts.

"What you offered me. To be allies!"

"Allies? No. Don't count on me using children for whatever plans you have. I said I would help you, but not like that,"

"But Utahime! What about being the Hawkeye of my Mustang?" Gojo pleads.

"Forget about it. You're..." she struggles to find the right words. Unbearable. Irresponsible. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish .

"An idiot."

Megumi's voice cuts in from below as he chews on a rice cracker. Tsumiki looks content with a box of poki. Utahime hands over the change coins and thanks them, attempting to conceal her frustration.

For a moment Utahime contemplates running away from Gojo, but she finds herself anchored to the children, their small hands clasping hers. She listens to them chatter about the school, why they like it; what they do. She endures Gojo's endless teasing about her bad seats and she stays to shield the children from a very inappropriate conversation with a random woman on the phone. She is with them until they move down to the front rows. Climbs the start with a weight that felt tied to her ankles.

As the sound of cheers fades into the background, the guilt settles in, collapsing her lungs. Their duty as shamans is to protect the vulnerable, to give them the chance to live peacefully. She knows it. Gojo knows it. Where does that leave them if he kidnaps children for dubious reasons?

With the innings tick by, she finds herself anxiously searching for his unmistakable shock of white hair. Are the children having fun? She knows it's not her responsibility. It cannot be. She doesn't want to be a part of that.

By the third, she is unable to follow the game.

Before the fourth inning, she is resolved to extricate Gojo from her life before it is too late. She can't allow herself to be caught up in his Machiavellian schemes. She isn't cut out for high politics and revolutions, nor does she want to be one of his pawns. They had to be equals or nothing.

So she doesn't answer his calls. So she doesn't read his messages.

She gets on the first train home.

Satoru Gojo 5:40 PM

Where are you?

Satoru Gojo 5:40 PM

The kids are asking for yoou

Satoru Gojo 5:42 PM

You're going to make them sad 😣 You have no heart! 💔

Satoru Gojo 5:47 PM

Okay, we're leaving!

Satoru Gojo 11:16 PM

Utahime. You awake?

Satoru Gojo 11:38 PM

I was serious when I asked you to help me, eeeeh?

Satoru Gojo 8:02 AM

U-ta-hi-me

Satoru Gojo 8:03 AM

You left me on read!

Satoru Gojo 9:27 AM

I'll call you in a bit, answer, eeeew?

Satoru Gojo 9:29 AM

Utaaaaaa?

Are you sure you want to block this contact?

You will not be able to read any messages or receive calls from this number.

Yes.

Satoru Gojo.

Blocked.

Notes:

Hello! Thank you for reading this far. I have a lot of headcanons in my head that I've shared here. For example, I find it more logical that Utahime studied in Kyoto (since it looks like a more conservative school, and she has a technique related to music). I also believe that Gojo is a little shit well into his adult life, so for now, we're going to see his worst version.

As for my experiment this time, the translation failed in terms of verbs (Spanish tenses are much more complex than English), as well as in complex sentence structures (but that's my fault: in this chapter, I've been more verbose than usual), and in making the dialogues natural (the AI made the characters speak as if they were from the 19th century!). I also noticed that it's a bit redundant. I will work on making the text clearer next time.

Anyway, thanks for the comments! As always, both native and non-native speakers are welcome to tell me if something seems off - I will gladly take note of it. Additionally, feel free to leave a comment, kudos, or bookmark - I appreciate every bit of it.

Thaaaanks :)

RC

Chapter 3: Utahime Iori

Notes:

Reminder that this story intercalates points of view and has some time skips. Oh, and a little bit of SatoSugu here and there.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

On the Wednesday of his second week at Jujutsu High, Satoru meets Utahime first thing in the morning. That day, he oversleeps and arrives late to class. He runs down the hallway and opens the classroom door, only to find his classmates are already seated in their places, and Yaga gives him an inquisitorial look, demanding an explanation. He makes up an excuse as he finishes swallowing his breakfast and walks to his desk. It's just a normal day, with the summer sun streaming in through the window, his pen forgotten in his room once again. Next to him, Suguru lends him one with a lazy half-smile, while Yaga writes the date on the board before informing them that they won't have a regular class today. He's going on an urgent mission, he tells them, and a substitute will be coming in his place. They'll be in good hands, he assures them. "Iori-san is one of our best students. She's young, but she brings a lot of knowledge from Kyoto." And he warns, not taking his eyes off Gojo "I'd like you to be on your best behaviour"

A few seconds later, the named Iori-san enters the room, head held high and short steps that make her two ponytails sway on her shoulders. She's a petite girl dressed in navy blue kosode and hakama that make her look even smaller. Satoru recognizes in her that serene and traditional beauty that he has seen so many times replicated in the women of his clan, and it's enough for him to observe how she greets Yaga with a small bow and polite deference, to know that she embodies everything he despises. An spark of contempt ignites in him, and from that moment on, he leans back in his chair with a bored expression on his face. Everything the girl does repels him: her diminutive presence in the room, her measured manners, the humility with which she presents herself, the sweet voice with which she invites her classmates to do the same, the warm smile with which she embraces them. Suguru is as polite and restrained as he always is, but Shoko responds with an enthusiasm that she had not shown for anything else until now. When it's his turn, however, and the three pairs of eyes are fixed on him waiting for him to deign to speak, Gojo has decided to be as arrogant as he can be and rocks back and forth on his chair with his hands behind his neck.

"You should already know me, Utahime." He smiles and tilts his head, and Utahime raises an eyebrow. "Everyone knows my name." He hears Suguru clicking his tongue. "Senpai," the girl emphasises and wrinkles her nose, "I don't mind if you use my first name, but it's Utahime-senpai for you." She approaches him and stands in front of his desk with her hands on her hips. She has pretty amber eyes framed by a curious layered fringe. "I don't care about those things." "Satoru Gojo or not, respect is respect." "Why ask if you already knew?"

Utahime holds his gaze for a few moments, still and fierce; and Satoru can't avoid but think of his mother. The same female authority, the vain effort to make him follow the rules. One second, two, until she lets out a long sigh, turns on her heels, and starts the lesson. Gojo smiles to himself, pleased with his pyrrhic victory. Suguru reproaches him with a gesture of his eyes, and Satoru shrugs. He spends the rest of the class doodling on the margins of his notebook and looking out the window. He half-listens to Utahime's words, explaining something he has known for years. He acknowledges that she presents the topics well, didactic and structured; and that she answers the questions of the other two with competence and knowledge. A smart girl, yes, like so many others. That doesn't change an inch his opinion of her.

Gojo envisions for Utahime the same predictable and boring life that has befallen her cousins, aunts, and distant relatives: graduate, work for one or two years exorcising curses, and, if she survives, marry a weak man from one of the three big clans. She will abandon her family, she will forget her friends, devote herself to a husband who won't love her, and will lay with a concubine as soon as she bears him a child. And if that child is a boy and shows any special talent, she will cede custody to the clan so that he can be a weapon, cannon fodder in the name of the long-stained dignity of the family. She will watch him grow further away from her until nobody recalls her presence. She'll weave her days within the rice panels, trapped in the shadows of domesticity, surrounded by a group of women as sad and lonely as herself. She will live like this until the day a corpse with the name of her offspring arrives, devoured by a curse or poisoned by the jealousy of another member of the clan. And on that very same day, all the hope, ambition, and light that once illuminated her life will be lost forever.

Utahime seems so conformist, so conventional, so predictable, and submissive to everything he hates that paying attention to her is a waste of time. Satoru will not fall for it.

"I really like her," Shoko says as she exits the classroom, popping a lollipop into her mouth. "Her room is across from mine. She lets me use her hair dryer."

"You just like her because she's a girl and you probably have sleepovers and all that girly crap," Gojo retorts.

"Is she from a big clan?" Suguru doesn't pay attention to Gojo's comment and stands next to Shoko before turning to Satoru. "Don't the members of the traditional clan study in Kyoto?"

"Not all of them, okay?" Satoru steps between the two. "I stayed here. I didn't want to run into those idiots."

"I don't think Utahime-senpai comes from a big clan, from what she's told me." Shoko joins the trend of ignoring Gojo and sticks her head out in front of Satorus's chest to respond. "I think her family has something to do with temples.'

"That explains why she dresses like that…"

"Yes, yes, yes," Gojo interrupts, annoyed at not being the center of attention. "The Iori family runs several temples throughout the country related to jujutsu and all that. They do ceremonies, make amulets, store cursed weapons, and so on. They're not really good for much else. I didn't even know they could fight; their techniques are nothing special."

"Tsk, Satoru, don't be like that. She seems very competent to me."

"Meh, she's mediocre at best". Gojo looks over at Shoko, who raises her head from her phone and gives him an indifferent look. "So don't get too attached to her. I don't think she'll last long around here."

"You're a jerk"

"I'm just honest"

But what he really is, is that he is wrong.

Gojo quickly realizes that he has made a mistake in judging her. She may be weak, true, her luminous cursed energy dissipating easily, her focus in the field set on others' wellbeing rather than herself's. But what she lacks in strength, she composites with extraordinary theoretical knowledge and a tenacity that amazes all who witness her trainings. But much beyond that, Utahime has a certain charisma and personal charm and everyone seems to have good things to say about her.

Kind, considerate, intelligent, and generous. It's not just her behavior, he discovers, it's also her actions. More often than not, Shoko brings bento boxes with food that Utahime prepares for both of them: chicken, salmon, perfectly cooked edamame, cute faces drawn on the rice with tiny-cut vegetables. Second-year students get high grades on exams thanks to the explanations she gives them during lunch breaks; in return, they give her bouquets of flowers and vouchers for her favorite restaurants. Teachers rely on her to bring order to the most rebellious students and often give her after-hours library passes as a reward. Gojo growls at the infamy, his ego cracking into a thousand pieces when Geto seals the betrayal one afternoon that he pulls a small package with a flower-shaped wagashi out of his jacket; eating it in one bite. Gojo looks at him stunned and Suguru pulls out another one and hands it to him with an apologetic smile.

"Do you want one? Utahime-senpai was giving them out this morning. Didn't she offer you one?"

It's obvious that she didn't.

"I can buy it myself", grumbles Gojo, kicking a pebble "And I'm sure it'll taste better."

Geto says nothing.

They don't understand, he thinks, because they don't know the ins and outs of the clans. They're outsiders to all the politics of misery in which he's grown up. Most of his peers are children of civilians, or of widows in rural villages. They don't see what he sees in Utahime: the weight of tradition, the conservative education in which they were raised, the blind complacency with the status quo, her negligent mother hen vocation, her kamikaze sentimentality for her comrades.

For in his eyes, she was so much a personality and so little anything else that even staring straight at her he had no idea what she really looked like.

It is later in that year, on a sleepless autumn night, that Satoru realizes there is a physical Utahime that far exceeds the idea of Utahime he had formed in his mind.

Since he was a child, Gojo has always postponed the moment of going to sleep. His energy runs long after sunset, attentive to any hidden presence in the darkness altering the environment. As the rest of the world closes their eyelids, Gojo's eyes open like lanterns in the shadows, devouring books, watching movies, playing Game Boy under the covers waiting for sleep to come. Sometimes it's just a matter of time, but then hours pass while he turns around in bed, counting sheep, thinking too much until he gives up and gets dressed in the dark. He then walks to the kitchen to snack on something or wanders aimlessly, hands in his pockets and humming an invented melody, hoping that the buzzing stamina that runs through his veins will stop and he can rest.

At school, he likes to walk through the forest where curses live, to fight a couple of them out of pure fun. Always alone, weary of silence, there is something prophetical in his insomnia. That night the day his eyes capture some familiar energies in the south sector of the campus, the prospect of talking to someone excites him. Any conversation is welcome, and there's always something fun about teasing Utahime. What is she doing awake? Perhaps she's crying, like that one time. Or maybe both of them are coming back from a late mission. They must have something to tell anyway, he assumes. Something to entertain him with.

What the hell are they doing hiding behind those bushes?

He stops in his tracks when he spots them.

It seems that they have in mind to give another purpose to the mouth not particularly related to talking to him.

Utahime has her skirt hiked up to mid-thigh, the top buttons of her blouse unbuttoned, and her eyes closed. She is locked in the arms of Atsuya Kusakabe, who passionately kisses her against one of the walls of the school. There are touches, and tongues, and heat; and Gojo is not disturbed so much by what he witnesses - the moans, and the anxiety, the fingers that grip the white flesh of the thighs, and the hands that sink into the short hair. The passion and the urgency - But what his six eyes observe is not the physicality of the scene, but rather the way in which Utahime's usually tranquil, stable, and scarce energy is stirred up, curling up on itself and harmonizing with the rhythm of her desire, rising up in spikes, rays, and spirals until it almost touches Satoru's energy.

As simple as extending his finger to grasp it.

It's suffocating. He senses it. There's something inside him that stirs like a vermin, claws tearing his organs. The intimacy makes him dizzy, and for a moment that is too long, he stays watching how their hips brush against each other, how the Utahime with modest clothes and prudish behavior lets herself be undone in public spaces.

It's a revelation

Enraged and fascinated by Utahime's hypocrisy, Gojo is unable to sleep that night.

During the following weeks, Gojo thinks about it a lot, too much for his own mental health. He searches in corners for that same energy, wrapping itself around his own, luring him with sirens' songs. Geto notices him distracted; he makes up excuses. The revelation that there is a passionate and carnal Utahime causes a series of unexpected effects in him. Her image, her moans, the hypothesis of her body suddenly sneaks in between the photos of Waka Inoue, the excitement after training sessions with Suguru, the really long showers, and the mornings of waking up especially erect. He becomes so obsessed with the idea that there is a Utahime he doesn't know, that he begins to force anger onto her. He wants to unhinge her, to see if she will yield and show the world what she apparently only shows Kusakabe. He wants to see her fierce, he wants to see her unleashed, he wants to see what is behind her porcelain mask and he wants her to share that fire with him only.

He's greedy with that side of hers.

He discovers that if he can angry her enough, her façade crumbles. He discovers that if he is perverse enough, she pays attention to him. It makes him feel special.

"Utahime! Have you returned from the mission already? I thought you wouldn't make it this time."

She chases him furiously.

"Oh, poor Utahime, are you going to cry again? You shouldn't. You're an ugly crier."

There's no decorum in her shouting.

"Hey, Utahime, if I bother you so much, why don't you go back to Kyoto? I'm sure the clans can make better use of you."

Ok, maybe he does deserve the slap.

He doesn't stop teasing Utahime throughout the autumn, and by the end of winter, he has been cruel enough to almost bring her to tears several times. In the spring, the girl barely speaks to him. She graduates without saying anything to him, and Gojo has the audacity to be offended when he finds out that everyone but him has been invited to the celebration party.

"Why does it bother you so much that she didn't invite you? You don't even like her."

Satoru is in his room, grumbling in a corner; and Shoko glances at him as she closes her silver earrings in front of the mirror.

"It's impolite to snub your kouhai."

"Look who's talking about manners," Geto smirks leaning on the doorframe, ready to leave. "But don't listen to him, Shoko, it's not because of that. He's just that stupid."

"And why is that now?"

Gojo presses his lips together and avoids Suguru's slanted eyes.

"I'm sure he has his reasons."

Gojo is surprised that the conversation ends up hanging there, but he doesn't do anything to restart it and they move on to the next thing. He has to wait until the next term for him to mention it out loud for the first time. Geto finishes adjusting his hair tie and extends his arms towards the common room, spreading his legs on the couch, leaning over the coffee table, and the huge shadow of his shoulders darkens the aluminum soda can. He is practical, straight to the point, and seems very serious: "So that's why…" and he clarifies the 'why' making a dramatic pause, attentive to his interlocutor's reaction, "you have a crush on Utahime".

Satoru almost chokes on his drink. "Dumbass," He looks like a god, illuminated by the LED lights of the vending machine he's leaning against. "Utahime is weak."

Geto leans back on the couch and laughs. A loud, big laugh that throws his head back and expands his lungs. The golden light of the sunset falls on him, his skin almost orange, and the shadows on his face are so angular and dark that they devour his features.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" He looks around before continuing, "What does her weakness have to do with you jerking off thinking about her, huh?"

Satoru steps back from the vending machine and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he weighs the situation. Geto is trying to provoke a reaction in him. Their friendship is built on missions, pranks, and sleepless nights in Gojo's room, playing Final Fantasy XII and drinking Gatorade. They do childish things that test the waters of adulthood. They debate whether Digimon or Pokemon is better, why they have bad relationships with their parents, which exercise builds more muscle, and maybe even ranking which TV girl is the prettiest. But they don't talk about what they do under the sheets, in the showers, about the details of their dates in the city they return from late and with their shirts turned inside out.

Geto is pursuing Gojo to back down, but he forgets that they are 17 years old, dangerous and powerful, handsome and invincible, and fear and caution are not things they handle in their daily lives.

"She has a nice body and pretty face" he comments, shrugging his shoulders, not caring if anyone hears him, "but she's weak," he squeezes the Coke can in his hand,"and a kiss-ass," he flexes his arms, "probably a prude", he throws the can in the trash, "definitely uptight", and he scores. He turns to his friend. "Why would I like her?"

Suguru Getou has earned a reputation as a good guy, and everybody knows the good guys are always the worst of all.

"Pfff, well, because you'd like to know how tight she really is."

"Not as much as your ass, Suguru-kun."

The fight is lame.

Gojo's glasses fall to the ground, and Suguru's laughter twists his arm behind his back. They smell like sweat from their last mission and teenage cologne that wants to be masculine. They wriggle, growl, "go to hell," "if you come with me," and when they're about to crash onto the tiles, Satoru uses a bit of energy to get rid of Geto, who stumbles before getting up panting.

"Be careful next time, man. I almost broke my nose, and my fans would cry at such a loss."

"Do your fans include Utahime Iori?"

"Bleh. I don't think so." He puts his glasses back on. "But who knows, women are dangerous and complicated creatures."

"Would you like Utahime Iori to be one of your fans?"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" he furrows his brow. "Are you the one getting hard by her?"

"She's cute, but not my type," Suguru smiles faintly. Always so contained, always so calm that Satoru wonders if he doesn't feel that electricity that passes between them, that tension that starts from the skin and moves through his body like the worst of dark energies. "I don't chase her every chance I get, even when she no longer lives in the school. You even got nervous when Shoko told you she hadn't heard from her for a couple of days. And you're always trying to get her attention in ridiculous ways. If you were just a little nicer…"

"Is it about what happened the other day? We rescued them! And you also implied she was weak…"

"It was unintentional, you were the one who started picking on her. "You're crying, Utahime" and all that crap."

"She always cries!"

"You told me she cried once because she was thinking about her dead teammates, Satoru."

"Well, I won't cry on the day you die."

Suguru rolls his eyes and sighs into the air. The night expands in the sky, and Gojo feels a twinge of guilt.

"Don't look at me like that. What am I supposed to say? I'm an idiot who does idiotic things. I thought it was common knowledge."

Gojo knows he has been unnecessarily cruel, but in his defense, he will say that the conversation makes him uncomfortable. His nerves crackle through his hands, which he shoves into his pockets in the hope that it's not too noticeable. He doesn't like Utahime for many reasons, almost all of them related to her impeccable behavior. But above all, he doesn't like Utahime because every time she enters a room, he unconsciously seeks a way to catch her attention. She makes him feel insecure and he sees himself looking for her approval and endorsement of what he does, and that anger Gojo, who has made doing what he wanted, when he wanted a vital policy.

"Mm," Suguru looks at him as if he sees right through him and Satoru tries to hide the way his body recoils. "You're an idiot, it's true," he concludes. "More than you think."

"Huh? What are you talking about now?"

"Nothing." The shouts of the other students and their footsteps bounce on the cedar floor. Suguru walks past Satoru and heads towards the door with his head down. "Nothing of importance for now."

This is the last time that he talks to Suguru about Utahime. It is, in fact, one of the last times he talks to Suguru about anything personal before everything falls apart. The way he turns his back on him that day in Shinjuku, will haunt him for years. One day they're both untouchable and the next they're just a cursed memory that people fear. With his betrayal, Satoru is left out in the cold, a victim, stripped away of identity. Who is Satoru Gojo now that he cannot knock on Suguru's door just to talk about the day?

He begins a downward spiral. His skills are all he has left, so every day he takes on more missions; more lethal and effective than ever. Weeks weave together nightmares marked by blood, and he learns to live with the loneliness that has crept into his lap and stayed there, keeping him company at the top of the world.

Soon, he realizes that friends are not to be possessed, they build us up. They are like an army inside the body, occupying the organs, the membranes, and the beats, and when they leave, only a void and burnt ground where they planted a fire remains.

During the time that passes after Geto's betrayal and as he begins to find a new reason to let the sun caress his face in the morning, there are a few brave souls who approach him for a chat. His reputation precedes him and few people dare to break the bubble that creates his name every time he enters a room. Shoko, at times, resorts to sarcasm to remind him that invincible or not, he is still a kid with delusions of being a tragic hero, but they see each other less and less, and there are many more occasions where they avoid each other. Yaga, too, uses that wise and accurate tone, so sensei-like, to put him in his place when he's taken on too many missions in a short amount of time and his personality wavers in arrogance and psychopathic instincts; but Satoru hasn't bothered to listen to him in a long time, and his teacher's good intentions fall on deaf ears.

It is Utahime, however, who insists on talking to him in the same tone as always and has given him a scolding while still extending her hand. Utahime, he thinks, who is so weak, who has built everything she is by trusting in others, and it is that same strategy that she thinks may change the world.

Just like Suguru, she tells him that he's the only one who has the ability to make it happen. She's the one who extends her hand and offers to work together. Despite everything, even though he could crush her with a finger, even though she doesn't matter in the hierarchy, and her existence is a mere footnote compared to Satoru's biography; she's the one who lifts her head and looks him in the eyes even as he insults her. She's the only one who sees that Satoru Gojo needs a celestial map to navigate the realm of the gods, now that he no longer has Geto by his side to guide him crossing the waters of humanity.

Utahime is the only one who believes that there is still something good in Satoru Gojo now that Geto is gone, something that makes it worth moving forward.

And that's how he finds himself thinking about the Fushiguros.

He meets Megumi one late autumn afternoon, in the middle of a street near the boy's home. He's even smaller than he seemed in the detectives' photos, and his small size contrasts with the mature look he gives while holding the straps of his school backpack tightly. The lack of confidence is palpable, and for a moment, Gojo wonders if he should have called Utahime and included her in his plan from the beginning. She would know what to do with that circumspect boy and his sweet step-sister, apart from giving them everything that comes to mind at the moment: a small apartment near the school for the two of them, a cleaning woman who takes care of the apartment once a week and brings homemade food, a monthly stipend negotiated with Jujutsu High, and a series of promises to visit them as soon as he has a chance.

Megumi agrees as soon as his belly starts to grumble.

Setting aside his desire to reform the jujutsu world, anger the clans, blah blah blah, the reactions to the adoption of the Fushiguros are quite amusing, that's something he has to admit. Yaga almost has a heart attack when he finds out, for example. "Irresponsible," he shouts, and his dolls jump excitedly in fury in the poorly lit workshop, "You have no idea what you're doing." The higher-ups are furious, apparently. In the clan, they say that the Zenins have threatened the Gojos in every imaginable way, and there is some murmuring about it, more for amusement than real fear. And Shoko laughs in his face the day he takes them for a medical check-up as she is doing an internship in the school infirmary.

"But are they possessed or have they been attacked by a cursed spirit?"

"Noooo," Gojo waves his hands dismissively before becoming thoughtful. "Well, maybe Megumi is, and maybe that explains that lousy personality of his. Oh! And Tsumiki had a cold last week."

Shoko checks her pockets until she notices that the cigarette box is exactly where it should be. It's a relief.

"Last time I checked, Gojo, streptococci weren't curses," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Why did you bring them here?"

"Their school sent this," Satoru hands her a paper. "They need to get vaccinated and I thought: who is better than Aunt Shoko to put a needle in their tiny bodies?"

The paper hangs in the air as silence falls between them. Shoko can't help but let out a short laugh, covering her mouth.

"Following your reasoning, if I'm Aunt Shoko, then you're daddy Gojo?" she asks.

Satoru stays still for a moment, squinting.

"I... Dadd... Okay, I'll go to the regular clinic. You win."

But the truth is that for Gojo, raising children is not as difficult as everyone warns him. His educational policy is quite simple and is based on the principle of giving children everything he would like to have for himself. Sweets, a few vegetables in their meals, quite flexible bedtime schedules, and cable TV. And except for one day when there is a conflict as he changes to the channel when their favorite program is airing, everything has gone pretty well. Besides that, all he has to do is make sure they don't get into too much trouble, attend classes, and train Megumi in the evenings whenever Tsumiki has school clubs.

The boy is talented, he recognizes. He is focused, and smart, and at just 7 years old, he is already able to control his cursed energy with enough precision to manipulate the two shikigami dogs at will.

They usually train on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Some weekends, if Gojo is not traveling or has a date. Those days, Tsumiki stays home alone doing homework, and they go to the nearest 7-eleven, buy a bento box, and Satoru takes Megumi to the training fields that the Gojo family owns in the mountains. Along the way, while jumping over streams and climbing rocks, he explains notions about the jujutsu world or basic combat strategies to deal with small curses. Then they find a clearing that seems cozy, and Megumi sets his dogs free. He throws the stick, makes them fight each other, and controls their energy so they jump, attack, and bite. When he starts to get tired, he lets them loose like they were real animals and they chase each other among the tree trunks.
It's at this moment that Gojo sees Megumi smile openly. It's a warm and fleeting sensation that he wishes would happen more often.

"Hey, Megumi," he asks one day, "wouldn't you like to have friends?"

The boy looks at the dogs out of the corner of his eye, doubtful, and puts his hands in the pockets of his yellow raincoat.

"Why? I have them."

Satoru scratches his head.

"Well, I mean... human friends. With your likings, interests, who go to school, who have two legs... You know the stuff."

"Why?" he asks again, dryly. The white dog runs to him and jumps to lick his face. Megumi buries his hand in the white fur. "You don't have friends either."

The offense!

"You need to improve your observational skills," Satory muses, "because I don't know where you get that from…"

"Tsumiki thinks you don't have friends because you spend a lot of time with us," the boy interrupts, raising his head. He seems victorious. "She also says you need to go to school more and that you need a girlfriend to teach you how to cook. She also says you look too skinny."

But what is this infamy? Tsumiki was supposed to be the good one of the two!

"Girlfriends need a time that I don't have, Megumi. You'll learn that when you're older." He's convinced he'll be a handsome boy, but he doesn't see him as a guy jumping from woman to woman. "And I have lots of friends, thanks for asking."

"Who?" There's a hint of mockery. "We've never seen you with anyone."

"Well, there's…" Suguru, who's a mass murderer. Shoko, who hides from him. Nanami, who avoids him. Ijichi, who's afraid of him. MeiMei, who would sell him to the highest bidder. And... "Utahime. She is always scolding me."

That seems to catch the boy's attention. The little traitor.

"Utahime," he repeats, syllable by syllable. The black dog has joined them, and Megumi has reclined in the back of the two animals as he always does when he's tired of training. "Is she your friend? You've never talked about her."

He muses on it for a moment. Are they friends? Well... they're... they're...

"Something like that."

"Show me a picture so I can believe you."

Now Satoru's ego is wounded. "I don't have a picture, what kind of creep do you think I am?" he says, and with a childish rage he waves his hand and with a bit of cursed energy, he makes the dogs disappear and Megumi's head hits the soil. The boy looks at him with anger as he scratches his crown.

"Then how am I supposed to believe you if you don't tell me what she's like?"

He can do that.

"She's..." Weak. Small. Admirable. Funny. Hypocritical. Pretty. Sweet. Unpredictable. Loyal. Strict. Magnetic. "... pleasant. When she wants to be. And she likes to sing. And baseball." Gojo approaches Megumi and offers his hand to help him up. It takes a few seconds for Megumi to accept it, but eventually, he coils his small fingers around Satoru's massive hand. "Hey, one day we could go watch a baseball game and you could meet her! It's been a while since the last time I hang out with her and I'd like to catch up."

"I don't like baseball."

Gojo holds Megumi's challenging gaze for a moment, his ridiculously adult-like attitude both annoying and endearing. He tousles his hair with one hand, leans towards the kid and whispers in his ear as if they were sharing a great secret.

"But you'll like Utahime."

Notes:

Thank you very much for your likes, kudos, and comments! They really make my day :)

Now, some clarifications:

I wrote this at full speed after spending almost the entire month of March sick in bed. Now I have to catch up with my work and my life, and in a few days, I'm going on a very long trip, so if you see any mistakes or errors, please don't hesitate to point them out. I will fix them as I have time.

This chapter is half of a 10k chapter. I don't know if I got carried away with the conversation with Geto, with Megumi... The second half will be published on April 7th.

Some headcanons here:
- It's not even my HC, but Gojo had a huge crush on Uta in his younger days. The guy was just pitiful, but he was also proud, a terrible combination. This doesn't prevent him from also feeling something for Geto. I think the story between those two can be read in romantic terms or in terms of a tragic and epic friendship, and both options give rise to interesting readings in characters as complex as both of them.
- Utahime is hypocritical, and precisely because of that, she plays politics so well. There's the image she presents at work and to the clan leaders, but then there's the uninhibited person who loves alcohol, dresses in modern clothes, and insults Gojo. Her complexity lies in that duality, and I want to explore it.

So, that's all!

I hope you have enjoyed it. All comments, kudos, bookmarks, and recommendations are welcomed :)
Have fun, be good, and avoid any winter virus - they are the worst.

Chapter 4: But power is not pain

Notes:

Some development, finally! BTW, today is my birthday! So, be kind?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The encounter with Utahime doesn't go as well as Gojo had hoped, to say the least.

Perhaps, in retrospect, Gojo thinks he should have prepared a speech before expecting her to work with him without complaint. In his heart of hearts, he had hoped that the presence of the children would appeal to Utahime's maternal nature, but Utahime always resists any approach he makes with claws and teeth, and he has the gift of being his worst self when she's around. He tries again later when he tries to put his thoughts in order and really knows what he wants to tell Utahime, but she doesn't answer to messages or calls.

At first, it doesn't bother him.

He assumes that ignoring him is as good a strategy as any to show her anger. But as the weeks go by, and the phone still doesn't ring, and his messages never receive responses, Gojo begins to feel a certain sense of rejection mixed with a surge of concern. What could be keeping her so busy that she can't pick up the call? Is Utahime okay? Has something happened to her?

"She's perfectly fine," says Shoko, taking a drag of her cigarette and burying her head back into her notes. "She'll answer when she has the time."

"It's been almost four months," grumbles Gojo, leaning against the wall of the library.

This time, she doesn't even bother to look at him.

"Would you take calls from someone who only insults you?"

"That's not-"

"Satoru," she slams her pen down on the table and her brown eyes narrow under the light of the desk lamp, "I have four units to study before the day ends. Please?"

The entire campus has orders from Yaga not to disturb Utahime as she prepares for her entrance exam for medical school, and Gojo has decided that this rule doesn't apply to him. He suspects that Shoko knows something she's not telling him, and he presses a little harder. He backs off when met with silence, feeling a little nostalgic for the specific loyalty embedded in friendship.

"Leave whatever you're doing and find out the whereabouts of Utahime Iori," Gojo commands hours later, causing Ijichi to jump and turn around in the middle of the hallway, stuttering and terrified.

"The... the... address of Utahime-senpai, Gojo-san?" Ijichi asks, unsure.

"Didn't you hear me?" Gojo approaches him, and the poor boy shrinks in fear. Satoru sighs in frustration. "You have access to that kind of information."

"Yes, yes," Ijichi replies, trembling as he places his glasses on his nose with a shaky hand. "But... but... that's illegal, Gojo-san. I'm just an apprentice, and there are certain privacy and security regulations…"

"As if I care about that," Gojo interrupts.

"But I could lose my job if..." Ijichi trails off and lowers his head. "Why don't you ask Nanami-san? He often meets with Utahime-senpai and maybe he knows…"

Satoru raises an eyebrow and clenches his fists. Nanami meets with Utahime? Why, for what, how often, and where do they meet, why didn't he know anything about this, why does Utahime meet with Nanami and not even answer to his damn calls? A terrified Ijichi tells him it's because they "talk" apparently, after what happened with Yu Haibara, as a kind of therapy for Kento. "Utahime is very kind and empathetic," he explains as if Satoru didn't already know. He corners Ijichi against the wall.

"Nanami won't even give me the time of day, Ijichi. Find me the address or I'll slap you. You choose."

"Okay!" Ijichi yells a little, sweat running down his forehead. "I'll send it to you this afternoon, Gojo-san."

He can sense the rapid beating of the heart of the boy who is two years younger than him but seems two decades older. Ijichi has eyes the color of fear, and Gojo lowers his gaze.

"Alright!" Gojo suddenly grins all teeth and shows a thumbs-up in approval. He takes a step back and starts walking down the hallway with his hands in his pockets, then turns to look at him again. "Attach her available days as well. And better send it to my phone. I never know who might read my work email!"

Ijichi nods repeatedly and waits for Satoru to disappear before letting out a long, slow sigh and leaning against the wall, and then rushing to the administration office. Quick and efficient, he does what he has been asked to do, disregarding all rules and protocols, unaware that he has just signed an unbreakable contract as Gojo's loyal dog.

Days later, Satoru gets out of a taxi in front of a five-story cream-colored building with flower-filled balconies. It's a workday morning, and a couple of men in suits and ties exit the house in a hurry right after them, a girl in a tight skirt and low heels smile flirtatiously at Gojo as he holds the door as a gentleman and uses the opportunity to sneak in the hall. According to Ichiji's information, Utahime lives on the fourth floor, apartment number 43, but Gojo only needs to take a few steps up the stairs to recognize traces of her cursed energy scattered here and there, leaving a clean and smooth trail, like freshly washed clothes, up to her door.

The doormat is made of red, white, and blue tatami, and the metal numbers are so clean they gleam under the corridor light.

He knocks on the wood with his knuckles and takes a step back.

While he waits in front of the door, Gojo notices that he is nervous. He goes over again what he wants to tell Utahime, the speech he has been thinking about for months. Namely: that he has a plan to revolutionize the Jujutsu world, although he cannot reveal it all yet ("it's a work in progress," he wants to tell her); and that for this, she needs to trust him. In exchange, he would like them to be allies. Satoru can almost see her suspicious face, and then he will assure her: "Really, Utahime, I believe we can work well together" not because they are equally strong, but because he recognizes that Utahime has a set of skills that complement his well. For example, people love her. They love her sincerely and purely. On the contrary, they fear, admire, and respect him at best. He is convinced that Utahime's way of being in the world is good for obtaining new allies. And also, he wants to explain, she is a natural for politics: she is discreet and intelligent, and the elders trust her harmless appearance. They could indeed be a good team.

All of this he wants to tell Utahime.

But to do so, she has to open the door, of course.

This time, he rings the doorbell.

The phone marks 7:34AM, and he wonders if it's too early for her. Maybe she went out last night and is hungover. Maybe she's not home. Maybe she's out training. Maybe she's in the shower. Maybe she's really so angry that she's noticed his cursed energy and refuses to open the door. That would be really bad, of course, because then he would have no choice but to use his six eyes to check if she's inside the house, which could make her even angrier; not to mention that even for him, doing so would be a blatant abuse of his technique for spurious purposes. Ugh, social norms and the right to privacy and all that stuff are such a hassle.

He presses the doorbell again, and this time, along with the sound of the bell ringing behind the door, he hears an urgent "I'm coming" and fast footsteps. Satoru has already prepared a smile for when the door opens, but suddenly it falls off his face, stunned by what he sees in front of him.

This Utahime is not the Utahime he remembers from a few months ago.

Because the Utahime he remembered would never have worn a dark green silk nightgown with black lace that barely covered the beginning of her thighs. The Utahime he remembered wouldn't have had messy strands falling over her shoulders, or arrived at the door out of breath with her chest rising and falling from the effort, or slept with a bit of mascara on her lashes and blush on her cheeks. The Utahime he remembered, in short, did not resemble at all one of the protagonists of Western porn movies that occasionally appeared on his hard drive out of the blue.

Or so he had told Suguru.

"Gojo?!"

"Utahimeeeeeee!" Satoru enters in a couple of strides without waiting to be invited and takes off his shoes haphazardly, throwing them anyway in the genkan.

"What on earth are yo -"

"We haven't seen each other in a long time," he explains as he guides himself through the house. Behind him, he hears Utahime aligning his shoes and cursing at him in the same breath. "So I said to myself, 'I'm going to visit Utahime!' And here I am."

Satoru is all self-satisfaction and surveys the environment with his hands on his waist and sunglasses on his head. He has arrived at what appears to be the living room, a cozy little room with a flat-screen TV and a green velvet sofa in front of a low table. Next to the window, the leaves of the plants caress the glass, and on the wall, there are several photos of people Gojo doesn't know and landscapes he doesn't recognize. There are also cabinets, little glasses, plates, and small decorative objects; and it doesn't look anything like what he has always called home, the Gojo compound filled with spaces dedicated to the mere fact of making transitions. Here, everything has its use and purpose, and in the ornamental chaos, there is a certain aesthetic aim that cohesive everything.

"I really like your house," and he says it from the heart. "Did you decorate it yourself? I didn't think you knew how to put together anything beyond red and white, but... hey!"

Utahime has thrown one of the sofa cushions at him and is going for the second one when she yells at him.

"What are you doing here!?"

"Age causes multiple brain damage, that's clear. I just told you that... oh," he interrupts himself. "What's that?"

Satoru tilts his head, and his smile wavers when he sees, just behind Utahime's angered petite body and next to the sofa, some scattered piles of discarded clothing. Male and female, as far as he can tell. Pink cotton panties with a red tiny bow, and navy blue boxers. Utahime turns around to see what he's looking at, and even though she's facing away from him, Gojo can feel her cheeks heat up by five degrees.

"Do you have company, Utahime?"

He doesn't wait for her to answer. With all six eyes alert, he turns his body and takes a quick glance at a door on the left, seeing through the cheap pine wood the silhouette of a man next to the bed hastily putting on his shirt, and it takes him a moment to swallow when he recognizes Kusakabe's cursed energy. So these two were still hooking up?

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No...it's...us...we just woke up." Utahime manages to say. She's charmingly scarlet and nervously looks at the clothes Gojo found on the floor. Suddenly aware of her semi-naked state, she covers the rest of her body with her arms. "But...oh God...let's go to the kitchen! And you explain to me immediately what you're doing here."

He follows her down the hallway without protest, cautiously admiring the sway of her hips. The heavy summer humidity causes the silk of her nightgown to cling to her body, leaving little to the imagination as it accentuates each curve. The fabric bunches up at the top of her thighs, revealing toned muscles, and Gojo doesn't know what to do with all of that sensuality as they enter the kitchen, cluttered with dishes and pots and barely enough space for them both to breathe.

They almost crash into each other when Utahime stops and turns towards him with her head tilted down. Looking down from his height, all he sees is her eyes, the freckles on her nose, and the tight cleavage.

"Well?" she spits. "What are you doing in my house? How did you find out where I live? Answer the second question first."

"I'm a resourceful man," he smiles cryptically and looks towards the sink. "Are you going to offer me something to drink? I wouldn't mind some water."

Utahime turns around, angry, and with a swipe, she grabs a glass from the dishrack. She fills it to the brim with tap water and slams it down on the countertop, the liquid splashing around and also onto her clothes. The ghost of her nipples shows through the wet fabric, and Gojo takes the glass to gulp down the water while trying to look away. There are several empty beer cans lined up next to the trash, and a dying basil plant on the windowsill.

"So, Atsuya and you...?"

"It's none of your fucking business, Gojo," Utahime snaps. Of all the versions of a furious Utahime, the one who swears and curses is the most unpredictable. "Answer my questions."

Questions? Oh, right, the questions.

"I've come to talk to you in person, Utahime." he replies. "You haven't answered any of my calls lately."

Utahime hugs herself and looks down, biting her lip.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Utahime," he warns, his tone suddenly dangerous. He runs a hand through his hair. "You're too smart to play dumb."

"I blocked you," she confesses, leaning towards him and then turning her gaze away. "That's why I haven't been responding to you."

"What?" he blinks, stunned.

"After you introduced me to the kids, Gojo," she continues. "I don't want to get involved in any of your messes, especially if they involve the Zenin. Any problem with that?"

Hundreds! And he doesn't even know where to begin.

"That's absolutely irresponsible," he comments, and can't believe he's the one who has to explain this to Utamihe-don't-be-an-idiot-Iori. "What would have happened if it had been a work-related emergency? A curse goes wrong. You're in danger. Or something serious happens. You get kidnapped. Or I need your help, or..."

She turns to him, seething.

"As if you would ever going to need the help of someone as weak as me, Gojo. You've made it clear that can never happen."

Suddenly, she begins to open the cupboards with force. She pulls out a tea filter shaped like a ball, and a small metal box.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Gojo tries to make himself heard over the clatter of dishes.

"About how I'm weak? A pawn?" She turns on the faucet full blast, filling the electric kettle on the countertop as she spits out her words. "About how we're worthless compared to you? You can spare me that; I've been hearing it for years."

Utahime turns on the socket and pulls down some cups from one of the highest shelves, giving Gojo a glimpse of her glutes. Once again, he has to avert his gaze. He knows that if this were a different situation, he'd have made a thousand comments by now; if it were a different woman, he'd have had her in his arms already, and he'd have run his fingers over the patterns on her black lace. But it's the damn Utahime Iori in front of him, and there are no flirting rules that apply to their relationship.

"I really want us to work together, Utahime," he approaches her. "I think what you told me that night is true: we can change things."

Although Utahime is focused on putting the tea in the strainer, Gojo reads from the way her shoulders move that he has caught her attention and understands that it's his moment to explain everything he wanted to tell her months ago. With the sound of boiling water in the background, he speaks slowly about his plan, about trusting him, about how they can really complement each other. She receives the proposal with grunts, shaking her head, staring fixedly at the clock above the door. She doesn't look him in the eyes once.

"I don't know if I can do it," she finally says as she fills the cup with water and moves the tea around a bit. She takes a lemon from the fridge and cuts a slice, dropping it in the liquid. "I mean, trusting you. You're... so unbearable, Gojo. I never know who I'm talking to when I'm talking to you. All those jokes... The I-don't-respect-anything attitude... Sometimes I think that you are like that to cover up how lonely you feel... It's... what do you really want, Gojo? Do you even know what you want?"

What he wants? He wants Suguru to come back. He wants Haibara Yuu to be alive. He wants Riko Amanai to return to school with her classmates. He wants the council and the clans to also get their hands dirty with the blood of the young they send on missions doomed to fail.

"I want the future to be better than what we have now. I thought that's what you wanted too."

He approaches her until he's against her back, and she flinches but doesn't move. She takes the cup against her chest, absentmindedly moving the tea around and carefully taking a sip. Gojo puts his hand on her shoulder, warm and sticky skin, and sees nail marks on her shoulder blade. Something tightens in his chest and pulls on his ribs until it pierces his heart.

"Utahime," he murmurs against the top of her head, "I'm not asking you to tell me your darkest secrets. I know you don't like me a lot. But you also know that when you've really needed me, I've been there, haven't I? When you've had a real problem or been in real danger, I've been there. How many people can you say the same about?"

"Shoko," she automatically answers without turning to face him, gripping the cup tightly.

"Well," he coughs a bit and a corner of his mouth curls into a slightly sad smile. Utahime's hair smells good, like berries and cream, he thinks. "Shoko hasn't rescued you when there's a curse involved. That's been me."

"You like to brag."

"I like the people I care about to not end up in a coffin before they're 30. Call me weird."

"Weird"

Satoru chuckles, and for the first time since he entered, he doesn't feel like an intruder.

"It's a leap of faith, Utahime. And I can catch you if you fall. I can fly, remember? "

Under her chin, Utahime's dark mane shakes from side to side, but she doesn't yell at him. Instead, she separates from him and walks to the window. She stands there, looking through the glass, inhaling and exhaling every few seconds. Gojo tries not to think about the empty space of warmth that's left where her body was and focuses on listening to the sounds on the other side of the kitchen wall. Atsuya paces around the living room like a caged animal.

"You've never apologized to me," says Utahime after some time, turning and staring at him.

"Apologize?" Satoru looks at her incredulously. "For saving you?"

"No, idiot. For... for everything else. For everything you've said to me since we met, sometimes you've just been cruel."

When Geto left, Gojo learned that guilt is a stone tied to the lungs and sunk to the stomach. It's a feeling he still hasn't gotten used to.

"I'm not going to apologize for the jokes I've made to you."

"If those are jokes to you…"

"But I can apologize," he interrupts, raising a hand in defense, "for that night when you brought Shoko drunk. You were trying to help me, and I was an idiot. And now, almost two years later, I'm trying to convince you of the same thing you asked of me. It's kind of humiliating, you know?" And he adds, pronouncing each letter, "I'm sorry, Utahime. Is that enough?"

Utahime sips her tea slowly, still focused on his face. Gojo can't explain how she manages to make him feel naked when she's the one wearing that ridiculous nightgown that barely covers her, bare feet resting on triangles of morning light, and bits of another man's passion scattered across her body. It's maddening.

"It's a start," she concedes, finally. Not fully convinced. "Who else would be in?"

"Who... else?"

"We're going to need more people. And I'm not doing this alone with you, Gojo. You'd drive me crazy."

"I tend to have that effect on women."

"I'm serious!"

"It was a joke," he clarifies, just in case. "I haven't thought of anyone, really."

Which is not entirely true. The sorcerers that come to mind are still very young, or not trustworthy enough, or it is still too early in their project to try to include them.

"I have a name," Utahime says. "Do you want to hear it?"

Actually, no, because he already knows who she is going to suggest. And it's not that he dislikes Atsuya at all. In fact, he admires his level of skill considering he has no innate technique, but he doesn't have the character, personality, or kindness necessary to get involved in their little revolutionary conspiracy. For this endeavor, you need some sense of self-sacrifice and bravery which Kusakake totally lacks. But Utahime is obviously so in love with him that she overlooks all those details, as expected for a woman raised in the ropes of traditional expectations. He finds it utterly disappointing.

"Shoot," he resigns, crossing his arms.

"I've been thinking about Kento Nanami."

What?

"Oh? Nanamin?"

"Yes." She furrows her brow and tucks her hair back. She paces back and forth in the kitchen, arguing to the air. "He's at a point in his life where he needs a constructive purpose. I've noticed he's been very depressed since Haibara's death, and giving him a clear and ambitious goal will be beneficial for him, do you understand? And well...we don't want him to end up like...well, you know who. I've tried talking to him on many occasions, but I still can't find something that really motivates him. He's a good boy, very intelligent, very capable, very brilliant. He'll go far," she says, "and he really is a good person. If you can convince him, I'm in."

Gojo can almost feel the fire emanating from the flames that have ignited in Utahime's eyes, and he wants to get closer to them so they can warm up the coldness in his own.

"Sure, Nanami," he murmurs absentmindedly. "Good idea."

Which it is. How this has not occurred to him? Nanami is plainly awesome and trustworthy. However, convincing him will be a titanic task comparable to returning from the clutches of death. But if he's done it once, he supposes he can do it again.

"Are you sure?" Utahime asks.

"Yes, yes. I'll talk to him," Gojo replies. "And then you're in?"

Utahime bites her lip and then nods slowly. Gojo smiles, victorious.

"See? It wasn't that hard, Utahime. Riza also started distrusting Roy, and look where they are in the latest chapters."

"Separated by the Fuhrer?"

"No! Haven't you seen it? They are in love!"

"What?! What are you saying now?" Utahime exclaims, pushing Gojo towards the door. Oh, how he missed her. "Stop talking nonsense! Get out!"

"You're against love and perfectly good ships. I never would have thought that of you," he retorts.

"I'm against you."

The door suddenly slides open behind Gojo, and Atsuya's bulk enters the room. He looks at Utahime and doesn't even glance at Gojo.

"I heard shouting. Is everything alright?"

Utahime lowers her arms and nods, the tension still evident in her shoulders. Kusakabe then holds something over Gojo's head that Utahime grabs in a jump. It's a haori printed with lilac butterflies, which she quickly wraps around herself and thanks him with a sweet smile.

"Gojo was already leaving," she says.

Atsuya returns Utahime's smile and then looks down at Satoru. "There's something I can do for you?"

Satoru nods with his hands in his pockets. The intimacy between them stirs up the dirty waters of his sadness, and his stomach turns.

"I was just leaving, as Utahime said," he says with a smile. "I think I know the way out by now."

Still, Utahime accompanies him to the door and watches him as he puts his shoes back on. Not far from them, Atsuya watches with his arms crossed over his broad chest, and Satoru understands that his attitude hides some territorial instinct that he doesn't want to confront right now. However, he still has something to ask Utahime.

"I'll have to call or write you when I talk to Nanami. Will you answer?"

She gives him a short smile, and suddenly Gojo has the extraordinary revelation that she had never smiled at him before, and he doesn't know what to do with that information.

"As long as it's not on my day off," she says. "And call me senpai."

"I can't promise much."

"Ugh, Gojo…"

But this time Satoru respects her wish and calls her on a weekday while she is coming back from a mission in Kobe. Weeks have passed, typhoons have come and gone, and Gojo has to wait until the third ring to hear her voice on the other end of the line.

"Sorry," she says, "I didn't hear the phone. Is everything okay?"

"Nanami said yes," he blurts out without greeting. "It's been the hardest thing I've ever done. I had to chase him even into the shower, Utahime. The shower! And I had to go with him to a meeting to get into the economics university. I think the most boring guys on the planet gather there. Aaaaand I have to pay for a lot of fancy french pastries or whatever. I do it all for you, you know. Just for you."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"As a senpai, you have a lot of room for improvement."

"That's not true."

Gojo smiles into the microphone.

"No. It's not true." He takes a breath. "So, what do you say? Are you up for the thrilling adventure of conspiring with me?"

"Please don't say those kinds of words out loud," she whispers. "You never know who might be listening at the moment."

"Ah. Well, it's a yes or no question, not that they'll get much out of it. Utahime, yes or no?"

He hears her sigh a little and mutter something.

"I didn't hear you well."

"I said okay."

He throws a fist into the air.

"Excellent! You won't regret it."

"And yet I am inclined to disagree." Utahime groans "Anyway, I think it's better if we try to talk about this in person. I'll arrive in Tokyo in about two hours. Where are you?"

Where was he? If he told her, she would never believe it.

"I'll go wherever you want."

"I'm not sure you want to know where I'd like you to be."

He chuckles, "so mean!", and she breaths, and the conversation continues for a few more seconds until he no longer pays attention. He's lost in his surroundings. From the tallest tower in Shinjuku, you can barely hear the honking of traffic, and the treetops in the parks look like beads. Suddenly up there, the air is cleaner, decisions are easier, life is lighter. The universe opens up, expands into eternal songs and immense skies.

Satoru Gojo is on top of the world, and for once, he doesn't feel alone.

Notes:

Hello :)

Little by little, the two poles seem to be getting closer.

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, imagining the scene and the conversation. If I had been Utahime, I would have thrown a plant pot at his head, but the girl has much more patience than me. They still have a bit of a way to go, however, a bit of going back and forth, like crabs.

And no, I am not going to stop comparing them to Roy and Riza. They are my OTP ever, and they share a lot with Gojo and Hime dynamics. This chapter is set in 2008, two years before the end of FMA and they are totally following the manga. It's canon.

I hope you have liked it, and thank you very much for all the feedback! You guys are great!

From my side: have fun, be good, and stay positive despite Gege's cruelty.

RC

BTW I've quitted the tag "experiment using AI" since it seemed to be misleading. I clarify it here: this is my own work, that I write without any extra help, and I only use chatGPT to speed up the translation. The content in this fic and in the original in Spanish is the same in 97% of the cases (some paragraphs work better shorter in English than in Spanish or vice versa, and some puns/wordplay require that I alter some other details, but they are not relevant to the plot). I believe ART is part of the human condition and I stand by it. That's all.