Phonenix's Note:
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Much love and gratitude!
Ochako wrinkled her nose as she approached the address Toji had scribbled on the card. It was a grimy, narrow alley that reeked of mildew and stale garbage. Trash bins were knocked over, and old, faded posters flapped weakly on the cracked walls. She paused, clutching her grocery bag tightly as she glanced at the peeling numbers on a rusted metal door. This can't be right... can it?
She double-checked the card. Same address. Ochako sighed, her face scrunching in mild disgust as she stepped closer. The place looked abandoned—windows broken, grime staining every corner. Birds nested in the rafters above, squawking indignantly at her arrival.
"This guy lives here?" she muttered under her breath. "Gross."
Still, she'd come all this way. She wouldn't turn back now.
Standing in front of the weathered door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking. Her fist met the metal with three sharp taps that echoed down the quiet, empty corridor.
No answer.
"Um... Mr. Toji?" she called softly, but her voice sounded small against the heavy silence. She knocked again, louder this time.
Nothing.
Ochako huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Maybe he's not home?" she reasoned aloud, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sounds—creaking floorboards, footsteps, even snoring.
Nothing.
"Hello?" she tried one more time, raising her voice. Her knuckles rapped against the door until her hand started to sting. But the only response was the quiet hum of the city beyond the alley.
She took a step back and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at the door as if her frustration alone could summon the man. Of course, she thought, a shady guy like him wouldn't make things easy.
The thought of leaving briefly crossed her mind, but a tiny spark of stubbornness flared inside her. No—he'd told her to come here. "If you ever think your quirk isn't enough, find me." Well, she'd thought about it, and she was here now.
Ochako sighed heavily and lowered herself onto the cold, dirty floor beside the door. "Fine," she mumbled. "I'll just wait here."
She glanced around at her surroundings. The building's hallway was filthy—water stains dripped down the walls, and dust clung to every surface. A cracked cactus plant sat near the door, brown and shriveled in a plastic pot that had definitely seen better days.
"Even the plants are dead," she muttered, her lips quirking in a humorless smile. She reached out and poked one of the cactus's dry arms. It crumbled slightly under her touch, leaving dust on her fingertips. She frowned and wiped her hand on her pants.
Minutes turned into an hour. Ochako checked her phone, sighing when she realized how long she'd been waiting. The alley outside the building had grown darker, shadows stretching into the cracks in the walls. Every now and then, footsteps echoed from outside, making her glance up hopefully, only to realize it wasn't him.
She leaned back against the cold wall and folded her arms over her knees. "Where is he?" she muttered to herself, feeling frustration give way to something heavier—doubt.
Had she made a mistake?
The words Toji had said to her still lingered in her mind. "If you ever think your quirk isn't enough..." She thought about the thug who'd humiliated her, how helpless she'd felt despite trying her best. Heroes weren't supposed to lose like that.
She hugged her knees tighter.
Time crept on. Ochako found herself staring at the cactus again, tracing the curve of its brittle body with her tired eyes. A dead plant sitting outside a deadbeat's door, she thought. There was something oddly fitting about it.
Her eyelids started to feel heavy. It had been a long day. Her legs ached, her arms were sore, and her head felt full of static. She leaned her head back against the wall, blinking slowly as the quiet of the hallway settled over her like a blanket.
I'll just wait a little longer, she told herself.
Her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyes fluttered closed. The hallway was cold, but exhaustion wrapped around her tightly, tugging her into sleep.
The last thing she saw was the dead cactus and the faint, distant hope that when she woke up, the door would finally open.
Ochako jolted awake with a sharp inhale as a foul stench assaulted her nose. It was thick, coppery—undeniably the smell of blood. She sat up abruptly, blinking groggily as she adjusted to the dim light of the grimy hallway.
"Huh?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat when she looked up to see someone approaching.
Toji Fushiguro was walking up the stairs, his heavy boots echoing against the metal steps. His dark attire was splattered—no, soaked—with blood. From his sleeves to his chest to the edges of his pants, crimson dripped lazily, pooling along the floor where he stepped. A faint squelching sound accompanied his every move.
Ochako froze, her stomach churning.
Toji stopped at the top of the stairs, glancing toward her with mild disinterest. His sharp green eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, and his face, though eerily calm, was streaked with a smudge of red along his jawline.
"Who..." he started, as if trying to place her. Then recognition flashed across his face, though it didn't bring any warmth. "Oh. The brat."
Ochako swallowed thickly, her heart pounding. "Um..."
He tilted his head at her silence. "What? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Her eyes darted to the blood that coated him. "That's...uh...a lot of blood," she managed to say.
Toji looked down at himself as if only now noticing. He sniffed and shrugged, completely unfazed. "Relax. It's sheep blood."
"Sheep blood?" she echoed incredulously.
"Yeah. I'm a...part-time butcher." He gave her a crooked grin, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Really messy job."
"Uh-huh," she muttered, unconvinced.
Toji sighed, clearly disinterested in her suspicions. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. "What do you want?"
Ochako scrambled to her feet, clutching her bag of groceries like a lifeline. "Um, about the...special training?" she said hesitantly.
Toji narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to recall what she was talking about. "Special training?"
"You gave me a card. You said, 'If you ever think your quirk isn't enough, find me.'"
The words sparked something in Toji's expression. He snorted lightly. "Oh, that."
Ochako nodded quickly, taking a step forward. "Yeah! That! I need help... I want to be stronger. I—"
Toji held up a bloodstained hand, silencing her mid-sentence. "Alright, alright. I get it. You're desperate." He turned, pulling out a key from his pocket and unlocking the rusted door. "Come on in."
She hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot as she stared at the blood trailing behind him into the dark apartment.
"Uh..."
Toji glanced back over his shoulder, his expression deadpan. "You coming or what?"
Ochako swallowed her fear and nodded. This is fine, she told herself. He's just...weird. She stepped cautiously into the apartment.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the smell of blood became even stronger, mixed with the musty, stale air of an old, unkempt building. Ochako wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe too deeply as she scanned the room.
It was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. The floor was littered with papers, unidentifiable stains, and discarded tools. Sheets—old, stained, and heavy—were draped over furniture and objects, creating lumpy silhouettes in the shadows.
Toji kicked off his boots, barely glancing at her as he muttered, "Don't touch anything."
"Okay," Ochako replied, stepping carefully to avoid the worst of the mess.
"Oh, and another thing." Toji's voice was casual, but his tone carried an undercurrent of warning. "Don't lift the sheets."
"Don't lift the sheets?"
"Yeah." He shot her a look that sent chills down her spine. "And don't look in the freezer room."
Ochako blinked at him, confused. "The freezer room?"
Toji's lips curled into a sharp grin. "You don't wanna know."
Her stomach turned again, and she decided not to press the subject further. Instead, she set her groceries down on a relatively clean spot on the counter and turned to face him.
Toji was rummaging through a cabinet, pulling out what looked like clean towels. He wiped some of the blood off his face and arms before turning to her.
"So, you think your quirk isn't enough, huh?"
Ochako straightened up, her face serious. "It's not. I tried to stop someone the other day... I used everything I had, but I still lost."
Toji hummed, eyeing her thoughtfully as he tossed the towel aside. "So you came here. You're not the first person who's been chewed up by reality."
"I don't care," Ochako said firmly. "I'm not going to sit around and let myself be weak anymore."
Toji smirked, though there was something unreadable in his expression. "We'll see." He cracked his neck, the sound echoing in the still air. "Training with me isn't easy. You're gonna regret coming here, brat."
Ochako clenched her fists, determination burning in her eyes. "I won't."
Toji stared at her for a moment, his smirk softening into something closer to approval. He gestured lazily toward an empty patch of floor. "Fine. Wait here, let me take a shower."
Ochako nodded, relief flooding her chest. "Got it."
As Toji turned away, she let out a shaky breath. She glanced once more at the draped sheets and the door labeled Freezer Room in peeling paint.
What have I gotten myself into? she wondered.
But she pushed the thought aside. If this was what it took to get stronger, she'd face it head-on.
O—O—O
Shigaraki lounged on the battered couch, one arm lazily slung over the backrest as his other hand swiped at the cracked screen of his phone. The dim light of the bar illuminated the posts flooding social media, each one feeding his twisted satisfaction.
TokyoHeroWatch: "Over 40,000 lives lost. Heroes failed. Is this really what we're paying for?"
JusticeRising: "UA, once a beacon of hope, now stained with blood. How can we trust the 'protectors' who couldn't even protect their own?"
QuirklessWarrior99: "No heroes. No villains. Just humans. This massacre proves we need a better system—one without people playing gods."
WeWantAnswers_Tokyo: "Someone needs to take responsibility for Sukuna. For Gojo. For everything."
Shigaraki chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a grin. The heroes were crumbling. Society was turning against them. Perfect.
"Fools," he muttered.
In his head—or perhaps not entirely—Sukuna's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"This isn't even one percent of what I'm capable of, boy. Give me full control, and you'll see what true power looks like."
Shigaraki's smirk faltered, his grip tightening on the phone until the screen cracked slightly. "Shut up," he snapped aloud, his tone sharp but still quiet.
Kurogiri, who had been silently observing from behind the bar, stiffened slightly, his concern evident even beneath his mist-like form. Shigaraki had been talking to himself more and more lately, and it was unsettling—even for them.
"And yet you're curious," Sukuna sneered, his voice a mix of amusement and malice. "Aren't you, boy? Wondering how I took you as a vessel in the first place?"
Shigaraki grit his teeth, his free hand twitching against the couch fabric as if he were itching to decay something—anything. "I said, shut up."
"I have my ways," Sukuna replied smoothly, his voice echoing within Shigaraki's skull, coiling like smoke.
"Stop reading my thoughts," Shigaraki hissed, glaring at the empty wall as though he could burn holes through it with his gaze.
Sukuna's laugh was a slow, menacing growl. "Your thoughts are too loud. Like a crow cawing in an empty field."
"Shut up," Shigaraki growled, louder this time.
Kurogiri's head tilted slightly, his mist swirling with subtle unease as he watched his leader muttering to himself like a madman. "Tomura Shigaraki," he said softly, trying to ground him. "Is... everything all right?"
Shigaraki snapped his head toward Kurogiri, his red eyes gleaming dangerously from beneath his disheveled hair. "I'm fine."
But the tension in his voice, the strain pulling at the corners of his grin, said otherwise. Kurogiri didn't push it further. For now.
Shigaraki slumped back onto the couch, muttering one last time as his fingers dug into the cushions. "Damn loudmouth."
Sukuna's laughter rumbled softly, a chilling sound that only he could hear. It felt like it was rattling in his bones.
"Get used to it, boy. I'm not going anywhere."
O—O—O
Ochako fidgeted awkwardly on the small, lumpy couch in Toji's grimy apartment, trying to ignore the rancid smell of stale blood and rotting food. It was suffocating. Ten minutes had passed since Toji disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower's water pressure barely masking her unease.
She glanced around, wrinkling her nose. Dust coated every surface, garbage was strewn about, and the sink was a disaster zone of unwashed dishes. The only plant in sight was a dead cactus on the windowsill. Even the air felt heavy, tainted by the stench of decay.
She tapped her foot anxiously, glancing at the door. Should she just leave? But no—she'd come here for help, for training. Besides, she thought, looking at the state of the room again, how can someone live like this?
Her gaze landed on a battered broom leaning against the wall and a rusty bucket in the corner. Completely disregarding Toji's command to not touch anything, she decided she couldn't sit still anymore.
"I can't breathe in here," she muttered to herself, rolling up her sleeves.
She grabbed the broom, filled the bucket with water from the tap, and got to work. Dust flew up in clouds as she swept the floor, her hacking coughs breaking the silence. She wiped down the table, throwing out several crumpled food wrappers and bottles. The sink was a nightmare, but she tackled it, scrubbing at layers of grime and clearing the foul-smelling dishes one by one.
The freezer door caught her eye, but she quickly shook her head. Nope. Not going near that. He said not to, and I really don't want to find out what's in there.
Despite her focus, she couldn't help but wonder about the man who lived here. Toji was gruff, bloodstained, and clearly dangerous, yet he had offered to help her when she felt at her lowest. Still, how could someone offering help live like... this?
After what felt like an hour of scrubbing, sweeping, and tossing out trash, the air in the apartment started to feel a little less oppressive. She glanced at her reflection in the window. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her hair was a mess, but she felt oddly accomplished.
O—O—O
Izuku Gojo entered the libraries of Tokyo Jujutsu High with slow, deliberate steps. The air was thick with the scent of ancient parchment and wood polish, and the vast hall loomed above him, its towering shelves stretching endlessly into the dimly lit expanse. Dust motes danced in the pale light streaming through the tall windows.
He paused, his hand brushing against a nearby shelf, the texture of the worn wood beneath his fingertips sparking long-buried memories. As Satoru Gojo, he had always avoided this place. The library had been a refuge for others—nerds like Utahime or students like Megumi who found solace in quiet study. But for him, it had been a reminder of the burden of his lineage.
The whispers of the past echoed faintly as he walked deeper into the maze of books. The shelves seemed to carry the weight of centuries of knowledge, secrets, and techniques, each spine inscribed with the power and tragedy of sorcery.
He sighed, running his fingers through his snowy hair, adjusting his broken sunglasses. "Well, looks like I can't avoid it forever."
At a corner table, he found what he was searching for: records of past Jujutsu sorcerers and archived reports of curses and cursed objects. The leather-bound tomes were heavier than he remembered, or perhaps it was the weight of the questions he carried.
Sitting down, he opened the first book, the brittle pages crackling softly.
The first entry he skimmed was about the Gojo clan—the clan he had once been the head of. Its history was proud but fraught with conflict, the Six Eyes and Limitless Techniques making its members both revered and feared. His jaw tightened as he read about himself, written in clinical detail. Satoru Gojo, the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of his era, killed during the Shibuya Incident by Ryomen Sukuna.
He closed the book abruptly, the noise echoing through the empty library. "Yeah, no need to relive that," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.
Instead, he reached for the archive on cursed objects. If Sukuna was back, stronger than ever, the key had to be here. His eyes darted over the neatly written entries, each describing cursed artifacts: their creation, their history, and in some cases, their destruction.
Then he found it: Ryomen Sukuna's 20 fingers.
The entry was detailed, recounting how the fingers had been scattered across the world to prevent his resurrection. Sixteen fingers had been consumed by curses before Sukuna's demise, leaving four unaccounted for. Two were confirmed destroyed.
That left two.
Izuku's hand hovered over the page as his thoughts raced. Tengen-sama had said Sukuna's last finger was stolen sixteen years ago. That timeline lined up too well with the events surrounding All For One's rise.
"All For One…" Izuku whispered, his fingers tightening on the page. "What game are you playing?"
The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, breaking his concentration. He looked up, half-expecting Eri or Tengen-sama, but it was no one. Just the creaks of the ancient building.
Closing the book, he exhaled and leaned back in his chair. The library still felt suffocating, but now, it was less about the weight of memories and more about the storm that was brewing.
Izuku stood, tucking a few key volumes under his arm. If Sukuna's return was linked to All For One, the answers weren't just in the past—they were in the present, in the tangled chaos of quirks and curses.
As he walked out, he glanced back one last time. The library stood silent, its secrets still whispering. But Izuku wasn't the same man who had avoided this place centuries ago.
Now, he was ready to face them.
O—O—O
Toji stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. His sharp green eyes scanned the room—and froze. The brat was cleaning. Cleaning. In his apartment.
His gaze swept over the bucket of soapy water and the pile of trash bags by the door. The blade he kept tucked away in the corner for emergencies? Sitting in the bucket, covered in bubbles.
"...No way," he muttered under his breath.
The sound of scrubbing came from the kitchen. Ochako, humming softly to herself, was furiously wiping down the counter with a rag.
His eye twitched. What does this girl think she's doing? He quickly glanced toward the freezer, the one place she absolutely could not open. His blood ran cold as he saw her hand hesitating over the handle, seemingly debating whether to check inside.
In two long strides, he was there.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Toji barked, slamming the freezer door shut before she could open it.
Ochako jumped, spinning around with a startled yelp. "Oh! Uh—hi! You're done with your shower?"
"Don't dodge the question." His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing?"
She blinked at him, rag still in hand. "Cleaning?"
"Why?"
She tilted her head, as though the answer should be obvious. "Because it's dirty?"
"So?"
"So... I figured I'd help?" she said hesitantly. She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly self-conscious. "I mean, you're going to teach me how to fight, right? I thought I should, you know, repay you somehow."
Toji stared at her, dumbfounded. "Repay me... by scrubbing my kitchen?"
"Well, yeah," she said, crossing her arms. "It was gross! And I couldn't just sit around doing nothing while you were helping me."
His eyes flicked toward the bucket again, where his blade sat soaking in soap. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. "You're unbelievable, brat."
Ochako puffed out her cheeks in mild indignation. "Hey, I'm just trying to be polite!"
"Polite's not opening someone's freezer," he snapped, jerking his thumb at the sealed door.
Her face flushed. "I didn't open it!" she protested. "I was just curious! What's in there, anyway?"
"Nothing you need to see."
"...That's not ominous at all," she muttered.
He leaned closer, his expression dark. "You don't want to know."
Her eyes widened, and she quickly held up her hands. "Okay, okay! Got it! No touching the freezer!"
Toji stepped back, exhaling heavily. His gaze softened slightly as he looked around the now-spotless kitchen. "...You cleaned this whole place?"
She shrugged. "Most of it. The living room, too. You're welcome."
He glanced at the empty trash bags and the now-shiny counters. For a moment, he was silent, then let out a low chuckle. "You're a weird one, brat."
Ochako blinked. "Huh?"
"Most people would've run screaming after seeing this dump," he said, leaning against the counter. "But you? You decide to scrub it clean." He shook his head, smirking. "What kind of hero are you trying to be?"
Her cheeks turned pink. "The kind that doesn't sit around in filth?" she muttered.
Toji grinned faintly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Fair enough. But next time, don't touch my stuff unless I tell you to."
"Fine," she said, crossing her arms.
"Good." He took a long sip, then pointed toward the now-damp couch. "Training starts now."
Ochako hesitated. "You're not mad?"
Toji gave her a lopsided smirk. "If I was mad, you'd know it."Toji shrugged, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "Whatever. Guess it's easier to breathe now." He gestured to the couch. "You done playing maid? Sit. We're starting."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, dropping the broom and collapsing onto the couch.
"Thanks," she said quietly, though she wasn't sure he heard her.
Toji glanced over, smirking faintly. "Don't thank me yet. You'll hate me by the time this is over."
Ochako gulped, gripping her knees. Whatever training he had planned, she could only hope it was worth it.
She swallowed, her nerves returning. "Okay... So what's first?"
"First?" He cracked his neck, grabbing a towel to wipe his damp hair. "First, I show you why you'll never survive a real fight without me."
Ochako sat down, her fists clenched. Whatever she'd gotten herself into, she was determined to see it through—even if Toji's definition of "training" turned out to be as terrifying as he was.
O—O—O
Author Note: Nothing special here, actually, these old stories if mine are critical, can't write big stuff without thinking— and can't think too much since my exams are banging at the door, thus, here is a relatively normal chapter.
Thanks for reading this chapter. Drop your thoughts in the review section. Your words motivate me to write better, larger and with more depth.
Till next time!