A/N: This chapter is shorter than the first, which was a very deliberate decision for the style I'm going for with this work. I had a good time writing it, although I will say writing for JJK presents some unique challenges I wasn't expecting when I started this. I think it's because there are elements of the world-building I'm not as a familiar with and needed to do extra research in order to bend what's canon to my shenanigans. At any rate, I hope you guys have a good time reading this chapter. Best wishes and God bless you all.

Disclaimer: Jujutsu Kaisen is the property of Gege Akutami and other copyright holders. This work is a fan-made product. I only own my original characters.

Warnings: We're still in prologue territory when it comes to this story. That's the only warning I have for now.

Strolling through Shibuya was a bad idea.

I knew this before leaving the studio. I knew this when my feet carried me through the subway station to board the train. I knew this after arriving to traverse the congested streets, and I was extra certain this was a poor decision once the tantalizing aroma of burning sugar caught my nose.

My sweeping declaration to cut back on sweets was made less than an hour ago. At the time, I was determined to keep this vow made from the core of my heart to safeguard my figure, my livelihood, and my father's mounting medical expenses.

Unfortunately, none of the street vendors received the memo concerning this solemn oath…and reasonably so. My success rate in influencing the universe to do my personal bidding is at exactly zero percent.

A promise to avoid sugar was doomed to crumble as soon as those cravings hit.

And, like any self-respecting addict, I know where to get my fix anytime, anywhere.

In the end, it was a lack of self-control that drew me to this Dango stand in Shibuya where I would catch snippets of a conversation I was never meant to hear.

"Is that really the best course of action? Not that I'm calling your judgement into question, but…"

Growling lowly to myself, I watch the elderly vendor pause in his movements to glare at me. He assumes my grumbling is a show of impatience towards him, when really, it's merely a noise conveying my fraying nerves towards the anxious man on the phone three people behind me and my feral companion scurrying to wrap his little body around my neck like a scarf.

A very tight scarf.

Considering that no one can see this gremlin, I'm extra exasperated that he's basically choking me to hide from nothing.

Either way, the elderly man tsks at me, mumbling a nasty complaint about impatient tourists even though he should recognize me since I visit this stand every Friday.

The misunderstanding is aggravating, but I don't respond. This man has a habit of spitting on food once he's truly miffed at a customer. So far, I've been able to steer clear of his angry saliva, but one wrong move means no sweets and a loss of valuable Yen I should be saving instead of spending on carbs that will add another inch to my waistline.

Addiction really is a terrible thing. If not for my dependency on sweets, I would have taken the rude behavior of the vendor, my demon cat's choke-hold on my neck, and the anxious man's quiet rambling as obvious signs to get out of Shibuya.

But I don't…because my tastebuds decided they needed warm, sweet, doughy Dango drenched in chocolate.

How the human species has survived for any length of time, I'll never know. We're all idiots.

And I'm the biggest idiot of all.

Because…

"Yes. This one is the slippery type. I'll get it in record time, obviously, but an extra precaution won't hurt, right?."

The words from the irritant I like to call, "Broomstick Man" are ramblings I don't bother to make sense of initially. Shibuya is always noisy. Hearing low murmurings from people on their phones is nothing unusual. Frankly, it's a good source of entertainment when someone is vehemently angry about a business matter or throwing all propriety to the wind over a marital spat.

Broomstick Man is no different. He's not usually on the phone though. Or, in this case, he's not usually a voice on someone else's phone.

"If you say so…"

Typically, Broomstick Man is just a guy who places himself between me and my precious sweets on days when I really need them. In fact, a week before Fatty Tuna came along (yes that's what I'm calling the demon cat) the man added himself to my personal "Stab Repeatedly With a Rusty Fork" list when he bought all the sugar-coated donuts from my favorite bakery before I could get my hands on any.

Should I hold a grudge? Probably not, but the period cramps were vicious that day and watching an inconsiderate buffoon toss money at the cashier for donuts I desperately needed created a new crack in my sanity.

And, far-fetched and petty as it may sound, the damage done to my mind then may have cultivated the mental instability needed to see demon cats that are also adorable balls of fluff no one can resist…even when they're putting claw marks in all the furniture, whining all hours of the night for food and cuddles, or actively choking me for no good reason.

"Here you go, Miss."

The vendor passes me a stick of hot, chocolate covered Dango, thankfully free of spit. Fatty Tuna mewls softly, his quest to hide forgotten as he peers up at me, silently begging for me to share the treat.

In the pause I take to wonder if I'm dealing with a Death Note Shinigami situation, a collection of words strum a dissonant chord in my brain.

…

Broomstick Man is an easy person to spot in a crowd, especially with that silly blindfold he wears everywhere. Apparently, no one told him to keep his kinks out of the public eye.

Weird aesthetics aside, he's mysterious in a way that naturally entices others. With an easy smile and a pleasant, velvety voice, the female staff at the shops I frequent throw discounts, and themselves, at him repeatedly.

Given the poor state of my pocketbook lately, I would happily take notes on his art of seduction if there were more male staff members at bakeries…and if my usual attitude while ordering wasn't, "Give me sugar or die."

Right now, however, his voice is a distorted, fleeting whisper in the wind, carrying a note of disdain that triggers an eerie memory of grey skies, billowing waves of midnight blue, and the image of my sister's striking crimson hair flying in the wind.

Another gust of air blows now, carrying the steam rising from my dessert toward the unassuming, glasses-wearing businessman still waiting in line to buy Dango as I leave. He continues talking quietly without any awareness that I've been listening in on his conversation with the guy on my "Stab With a Rusty Fork" list the entire time.

"This does not bode well."

Fatty Tuna mewls again, still begging me to feed him as I pivot on my heel with the determination to walk in the opposite direction of whatever clownery Broomstick Man is up to somewhere in this district.

Because again, coming to Shibuya at all was a bad idea.

However, despite having made the firm decision to finally go home, a faint rumble of thunder roars and lightning crackles among the clouds.

It's a call to destiny I'm familiar with.

You are not the main character.

After glancing around to make sure no one is paying attention, I offer Fatty Tuna the stick of Dango. He uncurls himself from my neck to take a tentative bite out of the first roll. Within seconds he's mewling again, and that simple satisfaction delights me enough to reward him with a quick kiss atop his head.

"I have another photo shoot tomorrow."

The words leave my lips noncommittally as I weave through the crowded streets. A second rumble of thunder echoes through the city as a few droplets of rain begin their descent from on high.

You are not the main character.

The call of destiny persists.

I don't want to listen.

But Fatty Tuna perks up suddenly, his violet eyes widening as his paws gently knead against my shoulder.

"What is it?"

The hesitation in the cat's expression is too human for comfort.

My footsteps halt. "What's wrong?"

Fatty Tuna plops down to the ground and sprints away immediately, even as a command to wait leaves my lips, toward what's bound to be a bad anime plot.

...

Innately, I know retaining any sense of normalcy comes down to the choice I make here.

Do I eat this dessert and go home…or follow Fatty Tuna to become the "main character"?

…

My life is painfully boring, but that doesn't mean I dislike it.

…

Boring is safe. Boring is painless.

Even so…

…

The sky opens, and a downpour of ice-cold rain pelts me while I stand there in the middle of the sidewalk, frozen in time.

…

Ordinary life is a blessing so many take for granted.

Every person that passes by me is caught up in their own story. They are the main characters. They are the masses I cater to with images of perfection on glossy pages.

It's far too easy to ignore the truth.

...

Human beings...misunderstand everything.

...

Rarely do we pause to see the tattered vestiges of other hearts. So many have been ravaged by loss, disappointment, and regret.

I'm no different.

…

…

...

I regret not bringing an umbrella.

…

…

…

I regret my hesitation to return home.

…

…

…

I regret surviving that day.

…

…

…

"Why did that man's conversation have to be within earshot?"

…

"Does it even matter anymore?"

…

My breath hitches as I push back against the momentum of bodies warning me to cling to this peaceful existence.

…

It's too late.

…

Those words won't let me.

…

Sorcerer…

…

Cursed Spirit…

…

Disappeared…

…

It rained that day too. Young as I was then, my family believes I forgot what happened, but…

…

Trauma is trauma…

…

And I need closure.

Satoru Gojo was born on December 7th, 1989.

Having inherited both the Limitless Technique and the Six Eyes, the world of Jujutsu experienced an unprecedented shift in the power dynamic between Sorcerers and Cursed Spirits. The resulting upset to this balance of powers spawned a series of formidable curses, many of which remain unregistered to the present day.

One such Curse to arise on that fateful day claimed its first victim on May 7th, 1991, in Clare, Ireland below the Cliffs of Moher.

Unlike other Cursed Spirits, this one is not malevolent in nature.

Taking life and spreading misery was never its goal.

Back then, confused and unsure of what its form even was, the Curse sought to discover if it had maintained abilities held in a different life.

What occurred below those famous cliffs was the result of a horrifying accident during a thoughtless experiment.

Ashamed and weak, the Curse fled to avoid death from the Sorcerers sent to find it.

Dying wasn't an option at that point. It had unfinished business to settle and wrongs to make right.

Of course, before any of this could come to fruition, the Curse knew it would need to regain its strength.

For this reason, its experiments continued in small increments for two decades in locations Sorcerers weren't likely to detect unusual activity. Avoiding other Curses also helped in its effort to stay below the radar while cultivating new skills.

However, all these years later, this Cursed Spirit finds that it cannot reconcile the human cost of its slow crawl to power, regardless of how necessary it had been to survive. For so long it had reasoned within itself that the sacrifices wouldn't be in vain, but one day the Curse concluded that its first experiment, conducted under extreme duress, was the only time it successfully replicated its original technique.

This technique is a vital component needed to fulfill promises it made long ago, but images of a crying girl haunt the Curse whenever it tries to rest.

In every vision she questions the validity of its mission.

The Curse has never been able to answer, and this compounds the guilt of its continual sins against humanity.

Unlike other Cursed Spirits, this one is not malevolent in nature.

Taking life and spreading misery was never its goal.

And so, on the morning of December 15th, 2017, the Curse reveals itself in Tokyo, the central hub of Jujutsu Society, to draw out its strongest Sorcerer.

It doesn't know if its own fear prompted success in 1991, but the possibility is palpable enough for it to lay everything on the line now.

After all, every curse knows there is no greater terror than to find yourself targeted by Satoru Gojo.

There is no greater pleasure than warm Dango on a cold, rainy day. Chewy and sweet, they're a perfect treat before a battle.

"Want some?"

I hold out the last dumpling to Ijichi as he fidgets with an uncooperative umbrella.

"No thank you."

With a groan he finally manages to get the thing open so he can position it over his head.

Not sure why he bothered. He's already soaking wet.

"But it's piping hot," I say, smirking at how the rain bounces off my Infinity. "Might help with the shivering. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

Ijichi shakes his head. "I-I'm fine, Gojo."

With a low chuckle, I take a gigantic bite out of the steaming roll and make a show of savoring the chocolate coating.

"Are you sure it's necessary to extend the barrier this far?"

"I'll remind you again that we're dealing with a runner," I answer after a few seconds, licking chocolate off my fingertips. "The larger barrier will ensure it stays contained to this area. Is it needed with me here? Not really, but it'll look good on the paperwork."

"Since when...have you ever worried about paperwork?"

"Since Shoko stopped doing it for me."

Ijichi nods once, adjusting his glasses before scrambling to examine the clipboard containing a very wet copy of the mission details Yaga had already delivered. The Unregistered Special Grade manifested in Shinjuku around 5am and created a series of small disturbances as it traveled south to Shibuya until it eventually settled here near the Indigo Hotel.

Guests and employees have been evacuated through the usual "gas leak" cover. They were also told it would be safe to return around midnight.

Tossing what's left of my dessert into a nearby garbage bin, I pluck out my phone to check the time.

"6:33pm." Another chuckle slips from my mouth. "I'm insulted the higher-ups think I need this much time to handle one Special Grade."

Ijichi's trembling shoulders heave into a shrug.

"According to this, not a single Sorcerer has seen this curse since 1991."

"Ha! Bet I could have still taken it out. Even at two!"

There's a pause.

"That's…highly improbable, strongest or not."

Pivoting on my heel, I peer at my former classmate. He may not be able to see my eyes thanks to the blindfold, but he doesn't need to see them to sense that I'm glaring at him.

"Or not?"

Ijichi blinks once, his eyes widening in a mild panic.

"I-I didn't mean it like that! Please don't hit me."

Another pause for effect…

…

And then I'm laughing in his face.

"Don't worry," I tell him, digging around in my pockets again until I've retrieved another invitation for tomorrow night's party. "Here. I'll be through with this in ten minutes, if that."

He stares at the offered invitation, blinking slowly.

"A Christmas Party?"

"I hold one every year."

"You do?"

There's another awkward silence.

"Crap…this is the first time I'm inviting him."

"I mean it'll be an annual party after this year," I explain, lying as I shove the invitation into his hand. "This party is a test run, you see."

"But… Gojo…"

"Be there," I interrupt, ducking under the yellow tape other managers prepared in advance. "Tomorrow night! 7 o'clock sharp! Bring a gift for Dirty Santa!"

Ijichi looks conflicted about the party, but he offers a nod that confirms his understanding of my unspoken request to take any other precautions he deems appropriate for the situation.

I doubt the higher-ups clued into this, especially since they aren't the ones on the field putting their lives on the line, but Special Grades manifesting without major casualties from the jump is highly unusual. There are intelligent Cursed Spirits that can stay off the grid for a day or so, depending on the nature of their energy, but to avoid detection by my Six Eyes for over two decades is indicative of this Curse's potential.

It may even provide a decent challenge.

Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?

Nausea burns through my chest at the sudden memory, especially once it's accompanied by that dry, dying wheeze I can't seem to erase from my mind.

However, Jujutsu can be a powerful narcotic under the appropriate circumstances.

And, like any self-respecting addict, I know where to get my fix anytime, anywhere.

I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile while living in this world.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I venture further into the winding alley my target chose as a hideout.

"I'll smile for us both then, Suguru."

A/N: And that's the end of this chapter. Next chapter is when the real story begins. Many thanks for reading everyone! Best wishes and God bless you all! Feel free to leave a comment if you feel so inclined. This is my first fanfic for JJK, so I'm not 100% sure if I'm doing this series justice, but I'll keep doing my best. I'm certainly having fun. That's for sure. See you guys next time!