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@cyllres
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 To be honest gang, I just wanna yap.
just so you know, I block suspicious accounts âąáŽâą
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âčËââ§âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ§âËâč
Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader
Control | JJK x Makima! Reader Alternate Universe
Promise | KNY x Reader
Sunset | Suguru Geto x Reader
Side Character | JJK x Reader
âčËââ§âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ§âËâč
Hey guys, Cyllres here! Your support would mean so much to me, I'm gonna be honest with y'all, I'm FUCKED financially and school takes up most of my time. So any help would go a long way. I really appreciate it, and thank you for considering! Wishing you all a great day/evening!
support me on Kofi : ko-fi.com/cyllres
stay tuned! (â ââ âąâ áŽâ âąâ ââ )
Side Character | JJK x Reader
48
âSo if we were in a MOBA gameââ
âOh my god. Heâs starting again,â you muttered.
It hadnât even been five minutes since the mission ended.
The three of you had barely gotten into the car when Satoru began talking again, like heâd been saving this conversation for the entire duration of the mission. The manager hadnât even finished pulling into traffic. This time you had secured the window seatâa small victory you guarded carefully by leaning your shoulder against the glass.
Itâs 2005, do MOBA games even exist?
Probably.
You wouldn't even be surprised if Satoru played them. The amount of video games crammed into his dorm room alone was evidence enough. You had seen it once while dropping something off. There is an entire television, a PC setup, shelves full of controllers, and more figurines than anyone should reasonably own.
Not to mention the Digimon collection.
What a fucking otaku.
The backseat was cramped. Suguru sat between you and Satoru, long legs slightly angled because there wasnât nearly enough space for three teenagers who had just finished fighting curses for several hours.
Outside the window, late afternoon Tokyo slid by in long streaks of concrete and neon signs.
âOur team is fucked and imbalanced,â Satoru continued with absolute conviction.
Beside you, Suguru sat comfortably in the middle seat, shoulders relaxed despite being sandwiched between the two of you. He looked mildly entertained, like heâd already accepted that the ride back would include a lecture on imaginary game mechanics.
âListen,â Satoru continued, leaning forward slightly as if presenting a serious strategy discussion. âSuguru and I are obviously mages.â
Suguru hummed thoughtfully, as though this was a reasonable classification.
âTwo mages on one team is already risky,â Satoru said. âBut itâs manageable if one of the mages rotates fast enough to farm instead of staying mid. So Iâd do the honor and be the jungle.â
âYou donât think I can jungle?â Suguru asked sharpyâoffended.
âLet me cook, pookie bear.â
You watched the city pass by and wondered how you had become part of this conversation.
âShoko,â Satoru continued confidently, âis obviously the support.â That at least sounded correct.
âThe problem,â he said dramatically, âis that we donât have a marksman.â
Then he turned and pointed across Suguru directly at you. âYouâre obviously the fighter.â He paused. Then his expression shifted to horror. âBUT WE DONâT HAVE A TANK.â His finger remained pointed at you, like you had personally caused the imbalance of this fictional team. âAnd I seriously doubt youâd be a tank-type character.â
The disappointment in his voice sounded genuine. How is that your fault?
You looked at him for a moment.
Then, because the ride was long and you were tired enough to feel pleasantly detached from reality, you decided to humor him. âI can be the marksman.â You lifted your hand slightly.
Green light flickered in the air. A shotgun manifested in your gripâsolid, heavy.
Satoruâs eyes widened.
Before he could react, the weapon dissolved into drifting green orbs. A Glock appeared next. You held it for a second before dismissing it too.
Then a sniper rifle formed briefly in your hands. You dismissed that one as well.
Satoru gasped like youâd just performed a stage magic trick. Maybe heâd clap if you popped a few more. âI have never seen you manifest a firearm before!â
âWell,â you said calmly, resting your temple against the window glass again, âI prefer my naginata,â you paused. âand Iâm not that good at aiming, but letâs say that in this hypothetical game of yours, Iâm darn good at it.â
The admission came out flat and matter-of-fact.
Suguru chuckled quietly. âYouâre really good at using your cursed technique.â
You shrugged. âI guess so.â
Across the seat, Satoru immediately pointed at himself. âHey. Iâm good at controlling my cursed technique too.â No one argued. âSure,â he continued, sounding slightly less confident now, âI canât use Red yetâŠâ His voice trailed off.
For a moment the car settled into a quieter rhythm. The engine hummed steadily while traffic lights reflected faintly across the window beside your head. Suguru shifted slightly in the middle seat, adjusting his posture. You remembered the earlier part of the mission. The curses he absorbed, the way he always did it without hesitation, you spoke without looking away from the window. âHow bad does it taste?â
Suguru blinked.
Satoru immediately turned. âWhat does?â
You clarified calmly. âWhen you absorb curses.â
Suguru went still for a moment.
It wasnât a question people asked often, most sorcerers preferred not thinking about the details of each otherâs techniques. He considered the answer, then gave the usual one first. ââŠUnpleasant.â
Satoru tilted his head. âThatâs vague.â
Suguru exhaled quietly. There wasnât much point pretending with the two of you. ââŠIt tastes like rot,â he admitted. âLike swallowing something that should never exist in the first place.â
The words settled into the small space of the car.
You didnât react dramatically, you didnât grimace, or say it sounded awful. You just nodded once, as though confirming a detail. Then you spoke again in the same casual tone. âWe should go to cafĂ©s after missions.â
Suguru blinked.
Satoru blinked.
âSweets help with bad tastes.â You continued, still watching the city outside. âOr caffeine, or whateverâŠâ
There was a brief pause. Satoru grinned slowly. âOh?â
You added quickly, before Suguru could say anything. âI meanâŠ.we should hang out more.â You kept your voice neutral. âSince you made that condition before.â
Suguru glanced at you. You didnât look back at him. âIf weâre already out after missions,â you continued, âwe might as well stop somewhere.â
Another quiet pause passed.
Then Satoru clapped his hands once. âThatâs a great idea.â He leaned forward toward the driver immediately. âManager! Change of plans.â
The man in the front seat glanced nervously in the rearview mirror. âYes, Gojo-san?â
âDrop us off at the nearest cafĂ© instead of Jujutsu Tech.â
The manager hesitated. ââŠRight now?â
âYes.â Satoru was already digging his phone out of his pocket. âAnd Iâm calling Shoko.â
Suguru sighed softly beside you, though there was amusement in it.
Satoru held the phone to his ear. âShokooooo,â he sang into the receiver. âEmergency meeting.â
A pause, then he grinned wider. âYeah. ASAP.â
You remained leaning against the window, watching the city blur past. Suguru sat quietly between you and Satoru. After a moment, he spoke, ââŠYou donât even like sweets.â
You glanced at him. âThatâs fine.â
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didnât say anything else.
âHey, Y/n-chan, can you manifest a bazooka next?â Satoru asked with hopeful eyes.
-
âWhatâya two doing?â Satoruâs voice drifted in before he actually stepped into the common room. A second later, his head appeared around the doorway, white hair catching the late afternoon light that slanted through the tall windows. You didnât look up right away. Shoko was holding your hand steady, brush moving carefully over your nail. The polish was a deep, glossy purple that caught the light every time you shifted your fingers. âNails,â you said simply.
The common area of the dorms was quiet today. The low table had been pushed aside to make space, and the two of you were sitting on the floor with pillow cushions scattered around. Someone had left a half-empty soda can on the table (probably Satoru), and the TV hummed faintly in standby mode across the room.
âOooh.â Satoru wandered over immediately and dropped onto a cushion beside Shoko, leaning forward like he had discovered something fascinating. âDo mine next,â he said, shoving his hand into her line of sight. Shoko grunted without looking up, but she didnât refuse. It was easier to comply than listen to him complain for the next hour.
Suguru came in a moment later, closing the door behind him. He took in the sceneâthe nail polish bottle, your outstretched hand, Satoru hovering like an impatient childâand quietly sat down beside you on one of the cushions.
âShe was also sorta teaching me about reverse cursed technique,â you added.
Suguruâs attention sharpened slightly.
âAndâŠ?â Satoru prompted.
You lifted your hand a little so Shoko could reach the last nail. âWell,â you said, glancing toward him, âyou understand how my technique works, right?â
Satoru stared at you, completely blank.
You stared back, then you groaned. âAmazing. Truly.â
Suguruâs shoulders shook slightly beside you.
âBasically,â you continued, âI can make anything with my cursed technique. Objects, tools, weapons. Anything.â
Satoru perked up slightly.
âBut,â you added, tapping your temple with your free hand, âI have to know the structure of the thing Iâm making. Completely. Materials, shape, how it fits together. If I donât understand it, I canât reconstruct it.â
Shoko blew lightly across your nails to help them dry.
âSo technically,â you went on, âthat also applies to bodies.â
Suguru tilted his head. âHealing.â
âExactly.â
You flexed your fingers carefully so the polish wouldnât smudge.
âIf I understand the anatomy well enough, I can reconstruct damaged tissue.â
Satoruâs eyes widened a little. âThatâs actually insane.â
âWell,â you said lightly, âI can heal myself pretty well.ââYou sorta have to when your grandmother guts you alive to practice âhealing.â The words left your mouth casually, like it was a convenient trick you picked up somewhere. Your stomach tightened a little anyway.
Shokoâs brush paused for half a second before continuing with the last coat.
âBut I can only do it on myself so far,â you added. âHealing other people is harder. Their bodies arenât⊠mapped out in my head the same way.â
Satoru leaned back onto his cushion. âSo practice?â
You shook your head. âI canât just practice whenever I want,â you said. âMy cursed technique burns through cursed energy every time I reconstruct something. Plus I canât just purposely cut people to practice on them.â
âI might get completely drained,â you continued, keeping your tone steady. âAnd the process of getting cursed energy backâŠâ You shuddered faintly. âHorrible.â
The word slipped out before you could soften it.
Satoru tilted his head, curious.
Suguruâs gaze lingered on you a second longer than the others.
âSo maybe with RCT you canâŠâ Suguru started.
âYeah,â you said quickly, nodding once. âIf I combine reverse cursed technique with my cursed technique, it becomes precise reconstruction instead of brute force healing.â You leaned back slightly on your cushion. âIâm halfway there already, I think.â
Shoko finished the last nail and set the brush aside.
âHonestly,â you added dryly, examining the purple polish catching the light, âI might quit jujutsu and go profit off curing cancer or something.â
Satoru snorted.
Suguru laughed quietly under his breath.
You rolled your wrist slowly, watching the color shift. âI just wish I could practice healing other people,â you murmured.
For a moment, the thought drifted somewhere darker. If you were still back in Kyoto, that wouldnât be a problem. The clan there would offer themselves without hesitation. Smiling, even, proud to be useful.
The idea made something cold crawl up your spine.
You rubbed your arm unconsciously and pushed the thought away. âActually,â you muttered, ânever mind.â
Shoko glanced up at you briefly.
Satoru, completely oblivious to the brief dip in mood, shoved his hand toward Shoko again. âMy turn,â he announced brightly, fingers spread like he was presenting them for inspection. âPurple,â he added. âMake mine purple too.â
Shoko stared at him for two full seconds, the way a doctor might look at a patient who had just said something deeply stupid. Then she reached for the polish.
You turned your hand slightly under the light, examining the glossy coat Shoko had finished moments earlier. The purple was darker than it looked in the bottleârich, almost velvetyâand it caught the light whenever you moved your fingers.
You held your hand out toward Suguru, who was sitting beside you on the cushions. âLook,â you said, lifting your fingers a little closer so he could see. âIt kinda looks like your eyes.â
Suguru paused. Just slightly. Then the tips of his ears turned faintly red. ââŠHuh.â
In front of you two, a sudden noise erupted. âHAAAH?â Satoru jerked his hand back so fast Shoko almost painted the table instead. âThen I DONâT want mine to be purple!â He looked personally offended by the idea now, like the polish had betrayed him. âBlue!â He declared, adjusting his dark glasses with dramatic urgency when they nearly slid off his nose. âI want it to be blue!â
Shoko let out a slow exhale that suggested deep regret about agreeing to this activity at all.
Satoru, meanwhile, had already turned his attention back to you. He pointed at you accusingly. âWhy Suguruâs, huh?â His voice carried the tone of someone uncovering a conspiracy. âMY eyes are way more beautiful.â
You looked at him, expression completely flat.
For a moment you considered explaining that you hadnât chosen the color because of Suguru at all. That Shoko had picked the polish out of a small plastic box and you had simply noticed the resemblance afterwardâthe same deep violet shade that appeared in Suguruâs eyes whenever the light hit them a certain way. It hadnât been a grand statement, just an observation.
Instead, you rested your elbow against the cushion and looked at Satoru with quiet patience. âYes,â you said calmly. âYour eyes are very beautiful.â
Suguru snorted beside you before he could stop himself.
Satoru squinted suspiciously. ââŠYouâre mocking me.â
âNo, not at all.â
Shoko grabbed his hand before he could pull away again. âStop moving.â
âI said blue!â
âYou said purple first.â
âI changed my mind!â The argument continued while she uncapped the bottle again.
You leaned back slightly against the cushion, letting the noise fade into background chatter as you examined your nails once more. The polish had dried smoothly, the purple catching the soft dorm lighting in small flashes of color.
Beside you, Suguru cleared his throat softly, the sound almost swallowed by the faint hum of the dormâs common area. ââŠIt does look similar,â he admitted after a pause, voice quiet enough that you almost didnât catch it.
You glanced at him, just briefly. His ears were still faintly pink, a flush you noted without really processing itâlike noticing a crack in a tile while walking past a bathroom. You gave a small, absent nod, the kind of nod that confirmed a fact without investing any emotion. Your focus drifted back to your nails, the polish catching the light in faint flashes of violet.
Across from you, Satoruâs dramatic protests continued unabated. âNo! I said BLUE! BLUE, SHOKO!â He flailed his hands in exaggerated despair, nearly toppling the small tray of polish bottles. Shoko ignored him, calmly swirling the brush through the thick liquid, the faint, sweetly acrid scent of nail polish filling the room.
You watched your nails as the light bounced off them, glinting softly like shards of amethyst. Purple suited you. It didnât matter that Satoru was having an existential crisis over it.
Eventually, compromise won by exhaustion. Satoru finally let Shoko finish, though not without forcing the rest of the group into color solidarity. Suguru and Shoko ended up painting their nails blue just to keep Satoru from whining, his satisfaction audible in a low, self-congratulatory hum as he admired his fingers like a toddler with a new toy.
You didnât comment. You didnât have to. The chaos washed over you like background noiseâthe scent of polish, the faint buzz of conversation, the shifting light from the overhead fixtures. It was all mundane, normal, safe.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
47
You felt someone poke you.
ââŠNgh.â You groaned, pulling your hand weakly over your eyes.
The poking didnât stop. It pressed harder, sharper, like a particularly insistent headache manifesting in your flesh. You opened one eye, then the other, to see the white-haired idiot grinning down at you.
âWow,â he said, eyes widening theatrically. âYou do look like shit.â
âGo kill yourself, Gojo,â you muttered, voice hoarse, your ribs reminding you they still existed.
Satoru gasped, clutching his chest as if youâd just insulted his very soul. âYouâre saying that after I came all the way here in worry?â His grin didnât waver.
He revealed a tray carrying two bowls of curry and rice. Steam rose from it in thin, lazy spirals, carrying the warm, comforting scent of home-cooked food. Shoko had made itâhe said. You could feel your stomach tighten, torn between relief and pure exhaustion.
You pushed yourself up slightly, ignoring the sharp protest from your side. Sleep was tempting. Actually, it was more than temptingâit was a godsendâbut Satoru was already waving the curry like a weapon. He mentioned he'd pour the contents of your bowl on you. You knew the consequences if you tried to collapse back down.
âWhereâs Geto, anyways?â you asked, voice dry. Between Satoru and Suguru, your choice was painfully obvious.
âTaking care of those snotty brats with Shoko,â he replied, dropping onto the edge of your bed. His tone softened, just a fraction. âYaga-senseiâs busy contacting police stations and their parents.â He paused, tilting his head. âSo⊠uh⊠youâre alive, huh.â
âShould I be dead?â The words slipped out before your brain fully processed them.
He shrugged, flipping his hair back with one hand. âI mean⊠usually, when the higher-ups scheme, the victim ends up dead.â He leaned back, smirking, but there was a faint shadow behind the gesture, like he was trying to measure how much youâd survived. âSeriously annoying when they pull that. And you? Youâre an idiot for falling for it.â
Before you could respond, he flicked your forehead. Hard enough to sting.
âCanât you, I dunno⊠text us?â He leaned closer, eyes twinkling with mischief. âHey, my most handsome and strongest classmateâSatoru-samaâa weirdo is asking me to go on a solo mission. Should I take it?â He dropped his voice into an absurdly high-pitched imitation of your own, waving his free hand like he was casting some tragic spell.
You wanted to roll your eyes. Hard. But your body felt like someone had replaced it with lead and glass. Every movement carried pain, and every breath reminded you that surviving wasnât exactly fun.
ââŠYouâre insufferable,â you muttered instead, letting your hand fall back to your stomach. Your side throbbed, but at least you were alive.
âInsufferable?â he repeated, mock offense lighting his features. âFinally, a word I can respect.â
You closed your eyes again, only half tempted to punch him. Pain made your humor sharper, crueler, like you were testing the edges of being awake, being alive, and not being dead. Somewhere, deep down, it was good to have someone who didnât pretend everything was fine. Who could be annoying, while still reminding you that surviving didnât mean surrender.
ââŠEat your curry, idiot,â your tone softened just a little.
Satoru snorted, but picked up his bowl anyway.
You grabbed your own bowl and adjusted slightly on the infirmary bed, trying not to make the movement obvious. Pain still pulsed along your side in steady waves.
Then you spoke again.
You shifted slightly on the infirmary bed, trying not to wince too obviously. âHey, don't tell anyone about this.â You said softly, turning your head toward him. âNot the others. If Geto-san or Ieiri-san get wind that someone tried to⊠you know⊠end me,â you returned your gaze to your bowl, âI donât want them hovering over me every second, like Iâm some fragile porcelain doll. Keep it between us.â
Satoru paused mid-chew, curry halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised. âBetween us?â
You nodded, not bothering to explain further. The thought of spilling all the ugly details was exhausting. You didnât need himâor anyoneâknowing the full scope of what you went through.
âWhy?â he asked, tilting his head.
You didnât answer.
His grin didnât falter, though it softened slightly. Like he had already accepted that sometimes, you werenât going to explain yourself. âYouâre so full of secrets, you know that?â he said, shaking his head, amusement mixed with genuine curiosity.
You dug into your pocket and fished out a few strawberry candies, haphazardly tossing them toward him.
He blinked, offended. âYou seriously think you can buy me with cheap candies?â
You shrugged, letting your fingers brush against the bed sheets. âI canât?â
Before he could respond further, he unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he smirked, âHuh, fine. Iâll keep my mouth shut.â
You exhaled quietly, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders. âDonât get used to this,â you muttered.
He leaned back slightly, still savoring the candy, though his expression flickered with a trace of skepticism. âThough⊠I doubt Suguru doesnât already know. Honestly, anyone with half a brain knows how corrupt the higher-ups in Jujutsu Society are.â
You didnât respond, letting the silence stretch.
âAlright,â he said finally, eyes glinting as he leaned closer. âIâll agree on one condition.â
You tilted your head, curiosity flickering despite the exhaustion. âAnd that is?â
âYou start hanging out with us more.â He smirked, playful but sharp. âSuguru acts like a sad, kicked puppy every time you leave. Likeâseriouslyâlike a wife yearning for her husband whoâs off at war.â Satoru grimaced, âItâs⊠itâs annoying. Drives me nuts.â
Your lips twitched faintly, almost a smirk. âNoted,â you said, voice quiet but teasing.
âGood. Then Iâll zip it about the whole near-death adventure,â he said, leaning back, finishing the last of the candy. âFor now.â
-
âWagyu steak, two banana puddingsâŠâ Shoko continued listing items with the same calm tone she used when announcing medical supplies in the infirmary.
You watched the waiterâs pen slow down halfway through her order.
It had been a few days since that incident. A few days since you had accidentally used your domain inside another one like an idiot. Yaga-sensei had forced you to take time off until you âfully recovered,â which was ridiculous. You had been fine the moment Shoko patched you up with RCT. Your ribs didnât stab you when you breathed anymore. Your cursed energy has stabilized. Functionally speaking, you were operational.
But apparently that didnât matter.
So now you are here. Kidnapped (that was the only correct word for it).
Gojo Satoru showed up at your apartment in Yokohama, unannounced, dragged you out the door before you finished putting your shoes on, and somehow transported you to one of the most expensive looking restaurants you had ever seen in your life. How he knew your address was a mystery you suspected you didnât want the answer to.
Crystal lights hung from the ceiling like frozen rain. The air smelled faintly of butter, wine, and grilled meat. Soft music played somewhere you couldnât quite locate. Everything looked expensive enough that you were afraid to even touch it.
Meanwhile, Satoru was leaning back in his chair like he owned the building. He lazily spun a black credit card between his fingers. âMy treat,â he had declared earlier, waving it around like a flag of conquest. Which was apparently permission for your classmates to lose all restraint.
Geto Suguru had simply pointed at the menu and said heâd take the entire sashimi and sushi selection. Calm, efficient, zero hesitation. Shoko had followed with a list long enough to make the waiter question his career. âWhatâcha want, L/n-san?â Shoko asked, finally turning toward you.
You looked down at the menu. The amount of words was overwhelming. Everything had adjectives attached to it. Imported. Dry-aged. Hand-prepared. Seasonal. You didnât know what half of it meant. You settled on the safest option. âJust the steak,â you said quietly. âMedium rare.â
The waiter nodded with visible relief and wrote it down.
Satoru stared at you. ââŠThatâs it?â
You didnât look up. âYes.â
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, like heâd just discovered something fascinating. âThatâs adorable.â
You paused.
Suguru already looked like he knew exactly where this was going.
âYouâre being shy,â Satoru continued cheerfully. âOr whatâhave you never been somewhere like this before?â
You ignored him. The menu suddenly became very interesting.
âAw, come on,â he continued. âYou can order more than that.â He grinned, âDonât worry, just because you canât afford it doesn't mean I canât.â
Still nothing from you.
âŠHe was very good at this.
You knew that.
Satoru had a special talent for poking people exactly where it would irritate them the most. âOr maybe,â he added lightly, âyou just donât know what to order, because youâve never been in a place like this before.â
The table went quiet.
You slowly looked up from the menu. Your expression was calmâalmost blank. The waiter was still standing there, pen ready.
You closed the menu.
âActually,â you said politely, âIâll haveââ You leaned slightly forwardâ â55 burgers, 55 fries, 55 tacos, 55 pies, 55 cokes, 100 pizzas, 100 tenders, 100 meatballs, 100 coffees, 55 wings, 55 shakes, 55 pancakes, 55 pastas, 55 peppers, and 155 tater tots.â
Silence fell over the table.
The waiter froze.
Shoko blinked. Suguru, very slowly, turned his head toward you.
Satoru stared, ââŠYou canât just say that.â
You met his gaze calmly, âBut you said you were paying.â
The waiter looked like he was reconsidering every life decision that had led him to this moment.
Satoru pointed at you accusingly, âYouâre only doing this because I teased you!â
You shrugged. âYes, I am.â
Suguru lowered his face into his hand, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. Shoko leaned back in her chair, watching the scene with the detached interest of someone witnessing a rare environmental phenomenon.
Satoru looked at the waiter. The waiter looked back. ââŠYouâre serious?â The waiter asked carefully.
Satoru sighed dramatically and waved his card again. âYeah, yeah. Put it on my tab.â Then he leaned toward you, squinting suspiciously. âYou know you actually have to eat them, right?â
You rested your chin in your hand and looked at him with the calm, mildly dissociated expression of someone who had fought a cursed spirit in a morgue, and carried four unconscious kindergarteners through a forest. âI didnât say it was all for me.â
Across the table, Suguru laughed out loud.
The waiter returned forty minutes later looking like a man who had survived a small war. Not a dramatic war. Something quieter. Exhausting. The kind that involved trays.
Lots of trays.
Plates began arriving in waves. Burgers stacked like small towers. Baskets of fries. Platters of tacos. Plates of pasta, glossy with sauce. Meatballs in bowls big enough to wash your hands in. Pizza, after pizza, after pizza.
The table filled. Then it overflowed. The surrounding tables started watching.
You sat there quietly while the landscape of food expanded outward like a slowly growing city. Across from you, Satoru rested his chin on his hand and watched the spectacle with open delight. âThis,â he said, sounding deeply satisfied with his life, âis the best financial decision Iâve ever made.â Suguru rubbed his temple, trying very hard not to laugh again. Beside him, Shoko calmly continued eating like none of this was strange.
The waiter placed the final tray down. âYour taters⊠Maâam,â he said weakly.
You looked at the table, then at the waiter, then back at the table. There was absolutely no universe where you could eat even a fraction of this. Which was fine, since you hadnât planned to. You reached for one burger, peeled the wrapper open, and took a bite. The meat was still hot, grease soaking into the bun.
Satoru leaned closer across the table, eyes sparkling with mischief. âSo,â he said, âhowâs your plan going?â
You chewed slowly.
Swallowed.
âGood.â
He gestured broadly at the mountain of food. âYou hadnât even eaten one percent.â
âEfficiency.â
Suguru snorted quietly.
You took another bite, wiped your hands with a napkin, before calmly looking around the table again. ââŠCan we get boxes for these?â You asked the waiter.
The poor man looked like he might cry. âOf course.â
Soon the table transformed again, this time into a packaging station. Boxes stacked upon boxes, paper bags filling the empty space where plates had been. The staff moved quickly now, scooping fries, sliding burgers into containers, sealing lids. You helped when you could, sliding food into the boxes with careful hands.
Satoru watched you the entire time, clearly entertained. âSo whatâs the master plan here?â he asked.
You tied one of the bags closed and leaned back in your chair. âIâm gonna freeze all of these. Now I wonât have to worry about food for a week.â
He glanced at the bags. Then at you. ââŠFor a week?â
You shrugged, âMaybe.â Your father sent you an allowance every week. It was more than enough for basic necessitiesâfood, utilities, small expensesâbut you preferred spending most of it elsewhere. Clothes, makeup, things that didnât remind you of survival. If this food lasted you a few daysâmaybe a week if you portioned it well enoughâthat meant less money spent on groceries.
Which meant more freedom with the rest of it.
PlusâŠ.youâre used to eating food that has gone bad. If you get food poisoned you could always use your cursed technique to keep you healthy.
You stacked another bag. âThe rest,â you added after a moment, âIâll give away.â
Suguru looked up, âTo who?â
âAnyone who wants it.â There were always people around the city who needed food more than you did. Convenience stores, train stations, underpasses, the world had no shortage of hungry people.
Satoru leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, âYou ordered an entire restaurant menu just to start a charity program.â
You shrugged lightly, âYou said it was your treat.â
For a moment, he stared at you. Then he burst out laughing. Not horrified, not even mildly upset about the bill that was probably equivalent to that of a small car. Just completely amused. âThatâs incredible,â he said, wiping the corner of his eye. âYou weaponized my wallet.â
Shoko smirked, âHonestly, Satoru, thatâs on you.â
Suguru nodded solemnly, âYou provoked her.â
You slid the last box into one of the plastic bags and tied it shut.
Across the table, Satoru leaned forward again, studying you like you were some kind of interesting puzzle. ââŠYou know,â he said thoughtfully, âmost people wouldâve just ordered dessert out of spite.â
You met his gaze calmly. âThatâs inefficient.â
He grinned. âYeah,â he said. âIâm starting to notice.â
hru hun??? hope uâre doing well <3333
miss u luvvvvvvâ€ïž
I'm fineee, uni has me on a choke hold rn that's why I forgot to update, would update sidecharacter now tho! ilysm
Side Character | JJK x Reader
46
Using a Domain Expansion here was a terrible idea.
You knew that.
Domains layered over other domains was a stupid move even for experienced sorcerers. Even attempting it was something teachers warned students aboutâtwo territories colliding, barrier structures grinding against each other until one collapsed.
And you?
You had been at Jujutsu Tech for two months.
Two.
The higher-ups listed you as semiâspecial grade, which you were fairly sure was a clerical mistake that no one had bothered correcting yet. You werenât stupid enough to believe you were actually operating on the same level as the monsters that title usually applied to.
Trying to contest a curseâs domain with your own was the kind of move that usually ended with the sorcerer deadâwith the sole exception of Satoru Gojo (or any main character Gege Akutami doesnât have a personal hatred for).
Plus the fact that you never tried actually using your domain because the cursed energy it needs is too much.
Unfortunately, the cursed spirit was closing in.
And the four children clinging to you were crying hard enough that their shoulders shook.
You couldnât run forever so might as well die trying.
Your cursed energy surged anyway. âDomain Expansion.â You whispered. âYĆ«gen Rakuen.â
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the hospital corridor ruptured.
The flickering emergency lights dimmed and dissolved into darkness as the walls of the building peeled away like old paint flaking from wood. Rusted metal cabinets, broken tiles, cracked doorsâeverything blurred at the edges before quietly fading out of existence.
The air changed first.
Cooler.
Still.
The smell of antiseptic and rot vanished, replaced by damp soil and the faint sweetness of night flowers.
When the space finished unfolding, the hospital was gone.
You stood in a garden.
A large one.
Twilight hung over everything in soft shades of violet and deep blue, like the moment just after sunset when the sky hadnât fully decided whether it wanted to become night yet. Old trees grew in loose clusters, their branches arching overhead like natural canopies.
Stone lanterns lined narrow winding paths.
Inside them burned dim green flames.
The same color as the countless small lights drifting lazily through the air.
Green orbs floated between the trees like slow-moving fireflies.
Fragments.
Records.
ShĆga Kirokuâs archive of lived experience, given shape within your domain.
The Serene Origin Garden.
The children clinging to you fell quiet almost immediately.
You felt the shift the moment it happened.
Your domain didnât crush its occupants with overwhelming pressure the way most did. It didnât suffocate them or freeze them in place with absolute authority.
Instead, the space settled over everything like still water.
Calm.
Quiet.
The garden carried the accumulated impressions of countless livesâmemories, sensations, emotions stored within the drifting green lights. Anyone inside it inevitably felt that influence brushing against them.
The childrenâs sobbing slowed.
Their tight grips on your uniform loosened slightly.
One of them hiccupped softly.
Then another.
Even the cursed spirit stopped shrieking.
It had stumbled into the garden a few steps behind you, long limbs hunched and claws digging into the moss-covered ground.
But now it had gone still.
Its head tilted slightly as it looked around the twilight garden.
The violent tension in its body eased in a way that felt⊠unnatural for something like that.
The calming effect didnât discriminate.
Curse.
Human.
Anyone inside the garden felt it.
You exhaled slowly.
Good.
That made things easier.
The spiritâs hunger dulled just enough for it to hesitate.
That hesitation was all you needed.
You carefully shifted the children in your arms until their weight rested more securely against your shoulder. One of them had already fallen asleep, their small head pressed against your collarbone.
The other three werenât far behind.
The garden had a way of encouraging that.
Your naginata formed in your free hand with a soft pulse of cursed energy.
The cursed spirit noticed the movement.
It twitched slightly, as if remembering something important.
Like violence.
Like hunger.
But its reactions were slower now.
Muted.
You stepped forward.
The moss beneath your feet barely made a sound.
The spirit raised one arm.
Long black claws extended toward you.
You cut through them in a single motion.
The blade of your naginata slid cleanly through the creatureâs limb before continuing into its torso. The strike was simple, direct, and preciseâno wasted movement.
The cursed spirit jerked once.
Then its body collapsed inward.
The moment it died, the garden responded immediately.
The creatureâs form broke apart into a burst of green light, scattering into the air like a handful of glowing dust.
The new orbs drifted upward and joined the others.
Silence settled over the garden again.
You stared at the place where the spirit had been for a moment.
Then you sighed quietly. ââŠThat was stupid.â Your domain flickered faintly around the edges.
Maintaining it had cost far more cursed energy than the fight itself.
You hadnât actually needed to deploy it to kill the spirit.
If anything, contesting the domain like that had been inefficient.
Risky.
A gamble.
You were lucky it worked at all.
Still.
The cursed spirit was dead.
The children were alive.
That counted as a successful mission.
Probably.
You glanced down at the small bodies in your arms.
All four of them were asleep now.
Completely unconscious.
Your domainâs calming effect had knocked them out faster than you expected.
Which meant they were now four small, completely limp weights hanging off you.
Dead (but thankfully alive!) weight.
Your injured side throbbed immediately in protest. âFantastic,â you muttered under your breath.
The garden flickered again.
Your cursed energy was running low enough that maintaining the space any longer would be irresponsible.
You released it.
The twilight garden dissolved instantly.
The trees faded first, their silhouettes dissolving into darkness as the drifting green lights winked out one by one. The stone paths and lanterns followed, melting back into empty air.
When reality snapped back into place, the world looked completely different.
You were no longer inside a hospital.
You stood in the middle of a forest.
Tall trees surrounded you in every direction, their branches blocking most of the sky above. The ground beneath your feet was uneven with roots and damp leaves.
The abandoned hospital was nowhere in sight.
Apparently the curseâs domain had been overlapping the surrounding forest this entire time.
You adjusted your grip on the sleeping children with a quiet sigh.
Your side hurt.
Your cursed energy reserves felt uncomfortably low.
And you still had to carry four unconscious kindergarteners out of a forest.
You looked up at the dark canopy above. ââŠNext time,â you muttered quietly, âIâm killing Kamo.â
-
By the time you reached the road, the sky had already shifted into late afternoon.
The forest thinned just enough to reveal the narrow dirt path where the car had been parked earlier. The same black sedan sat where it had been left, engine off, one door slightly open.
You adjusted the weight of the sleeping children again.
Carrying four unconscious kindergarteners through uneven forest terrain was not something your injured side appreciated. Your ribs felt like someone had replaced them with cracked glass. The healing had sealed the worst of the damage, but the deeper tissue still pulled painfully with every step.
Progress, though.
You were alive.
The children were alive.
The cursed spirit was dead.
Technically a successful mission.
As you stepped out of the tree line, you heard a voice.
The envoy. He stood beside the car with his back partially turned, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was quiet, respectful. ââŠYes,â he was saying. âIt appears the matter has been resolved.â
You stopped a few meters away.
ââŠYes, my lord. The arrangement worked exactly as planned. The girl entered the building alone. Considering the domain that manifested there, survival would have beenââ
You tilted your head slightly.
Ah.
So thatâs what they were doing.
The envoy continued speaking. ââhighly unlikely. Yes. It should be safe to assume the problem has been eliminated.â
You shifted the sleeping weight in your arms and walked the remaining distance toward the car.
Dry leaves crunched softly under your shoes.
The envoy turned.
His eyes landed on you.
In his perspectiveâbarely an hour had passed.
For a moment his entire face froze.
The color drained from it so fast it almost looked impressive.
You stopped a few steps away from him.
The four children slept soundly against you, completely unaware of the sudden tension in the air.
You blinked once. Then tilted your head slightly. âWhat was successful?â The envoy stared at you like he had just seen a corpse climb out of its own grave.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Then, remarkably, he recovered.
Fast.
ââŠYouâre alive,â he said, forcing a strained smile onto his face. âThatâsâahâwonderful news.â
You watched him quietly.
He moved quickly then, stepping forward to open the back door of the car. âLet me help you with the survivors.â he said, his voice now carrying an appropriate amount of concern.
You allowed it.
One by one, you carefully lowered the sleeping children into the back seat. The envoy helped guide them into place, arranging their small bodies so they wouldnât roll off the seats when the car moved.
They didnât wake.
Your domain had knocked them out completely.
Once the last child was settled, you closed the door.
The envoy stood beside the car, wringing his hands slightly. ââŠYouâre all injured,â he said, his tone concerned now. âshould we contact Ieriââ
âYou realized something,â you interrupted calmly.
He stopped talking.
Your gaze met his. âYou realized you canât kill me.â
The envoyâs forced expression flickered.
âYouâre pretending not to understand what happened,â you continued, your voice flat. âWhich is smart.â Your hand shifted slightly.
Your naginata manifested in your grip with a quiet pulse of cursed energy.
The envoy didnât even have time to react.
One second he was standing beside the car.
The next he was on the ground.
The blade of your naginata pressed cleanly against the side of his neck, pinning him flat against the dirt road. Your foot rested lightly on his chest to keep him from moving.
He froze.
Your injured side screamed in protest from the sudden movement. You ignored it. âYou would have escaped this fate if you just,â you said quietly. âdropped me off and leave.â
The envoy didnât answer.
Your grip on the weapon remained steady.
âBut you didnât leave,â you continued. âYou stayed.â Your eyes shifted briefly toward the phone lying a few feet away where it had fallen during the scuffle. âYou had to make sure I died.â
The envoyâs throat moved slightly against the blade.
Before he could say anythingâ
A voice came from the phone.
Cold.
Calm.
âYou should reconsider that course of action.â
You clicked your tongue softly. ââŠOf course.â You glanced down at the phone still lying on the dirt.
The voice continued. âKilling a member of the Kamo clanâs official envoy would constitute a serious violation of jujutsu law. It would classify you as a traitor to Jujutsu Society.â
You sighed quietly. âTraitor, huh.â
The envoy remained perfectly still under your weapon.
Smart man.
Your gaze lingered on him for another moment.
Then you slowly lifted the blade away from his throat.
He didnât move.
Not yet.
You tilted your head slightly. ââŠListen carefully.â
Your naginata dissolved into cursed energy.
A moment later something else appeared in your hand.
A Glock.
You casually aimed it at his face. âIf you try something funny,â you said calmly, âI can just manifest this again and shoot you.â
The envoy stared at the gun.
His face had gone completely pale. âYou understand that, right?â
Silence stretched between you.
Then the envoy nodded.
Very carefully.
-
âYou look like shit.â
Shoko finally returned to the infirmary, her eyes scanning the room quickly before settling on you. She had finished attending to the kidsâchecking for lingering effects from your domain (she was half surprised when you told her about your domain, but thatâs what you get when your grandmother is obsessed with your training), making sure they were truly stableâand now she was here, focused entirely on you.
âCool. The kids are fine?â you asked, voice low and rough. Shifting slightly on the bed, your ribs reminded you that surviving didnât come without consequences.
âTheyâre asleep. Safe. Thanks to your⊠domain,â she said, kneeling beside the bed. Her hands rested lightly on your chest, and the reversed cursed energy she directed in felt warm, controlled, seeping into the muscles and easing the tension in your ribs.
âWell hello there, beautiful,â you said, letting your head tilt back against the pillow. The words were dry, clipped, but deliberately said. Pain made everything sharperâyour senses, your humor, your edges.
Shoko blinked, clearly caught off guard, but she didnât move. Her hands stayed in place, methodically working. The pressure from her cursed energy was precise, almost clinical, unraveling the knots and soreness in your body. âYou donât really use RCT, do you?â she asked, her tone cautious, watching you carefully.
âYeah,â you admitted, letting out a short, humorless laugh. âIâve been trying, but for now⊠I just reconstruct myself. Imagine how precise healing would be if I could pair it with RCT.â
Her gaze didnât waver. The steady flow of her energy made the sharp edges of your pain dull into something manageable. âAre you alright?â she asked finally, softer now, as though the words themselves were an attempt to anchor you.
âA little light-headed,â you said honestly, letting your shoulders slump slightly. âI sure as hell donât feel like myself right now. Pain makes everything⊠blurry.â You exhaled, the faint tension in your body easing. âBut having you here helps.â
Shoko didnât answer. Her hands stayed where they were, focused, drawing your body back from the edge of what it had endured. The throbbing in your ribs didnât vanish, but it became background noise, less insistent. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the stillness and her presence fill the space between the sharp, raw edges of pain and exhaustion.
It wasnât relief, exactly. Not yet. But it was enough to make surviving feel like something less miserable.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
45
If someone had told you five chapters ago that youâd be sent on a solo mission, you wouldâve laughed in their face.
The higher-ups were cruel cowards, yes, but not cruel enough to send a fifteen-year-old girl (one who had been at Jujutsu Tech for barely two months) into a mission alone.
Apparentlyâlike every single time with no failâyou had given them too much credit.
You should have been suspicious the moment the person briefing you wasnât your teacher.
It wasnât even the usual manager who handled missions for you and your classmates.
Instead, a wrinkled old man bowed stiffly and introduced himself as an envoy of Hideo Kamo. The man had the kind of polite smile that never reached his eyes.
He said Lord Kamo had personally requested this little favor.
Right.
In hindsight, threatening a powerful clan head with his grandson might not have been the wisest long-term strategy.
Who couldâve predicted consequences?
Certainly not you.
Now here you were. With the consequences of your actions biting your ass hard.
Alone.
Inside an abandoned hospital that smelled like mildew, rust, and something faintly sweet rotting somewhere in the walls.
Your sense of time had completely fallen apart.
Three hours?
Four?
Six-seven?
Maybe longer.
Your muscles ached like youâd been here for days.
You leaned one shoulder against a cracked hallway wall and exhaled slowly through your nose.
God, you hated curses that hid.
You hated the ones that turned a straightforward exorcism into a prolonged game of hide-and-seek. The ones that crawled through walls and ceilings instead of showing themselves.
And you especially hated the kind that dragged you straight into their teritorry without warning.
That had been a lovely surprise.
The mission itself had sounded simple enough.
A semiâspecial grade curse.
An abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town.
A few missing children who had apparently wandered into the area.
According to the envoy, Kamo had heard you adored children and loved rescuing people.
You stared at the cracked tiles beneath your feet for a long moment after hearing that.
Fucking fantastic.
You pushed away from the wall and resumed walking down the dark hallway.
Each step sent a dull ache through your left side.
You ignored it.
Mostly.
The real problem had started the moment you entered the building.
You had barely taken three steps past the entrance when the floor beneath you gave out.
A trap.
A very deliberate one.
The rotten tiles collapsed and your body dropped straight down into a pit lined with rusted spikes.
Your reflexes had saved you.
Barely.
Training drilled into you by your clan made your body move before your brain caught up. You twisted mid-fall, forcing your weight away from the worst angles. Guess you should thank your grandmother for that.
Even so, one of the spikes had punched straight through your side.
In one end.
Out the other.
Like someone skewering meat over a fire.
You stared down at the blood-soaked tear in your uniform now, pressing a hand lightly against the spot.
The wound had closed.
Mostly.
Your cursed technique had already begun repairing the damage the moment you dragged yourself out of the pit. Flesh knitting slowly together under layers of carefully controlled cursed energy.
But healing wasnât simple for you.
ShĆga Kiroku required understanding.
To rebuild something, you had to know its structureâmuscle layers, blood vessels, nerves. Every tiny detail had to be recalled and reconstructed correctly. A mistake meant rebuilding something wrong.
Healing yourself was manageable.
Healing others was⊠significantly harder.
Even then, it wasnât instant.
The hole through your side had sealed, but the tissue still felt tight and raw, like skin stretched over a bruise that hadnât fully formed yet. Your ribs protested every time you breathed too deeply.
Progress, though.
You werenât deadâyou didnât die after that injury. Which felt like a reasonable metric for success.
You wiped your hand absently on the side of your skirt, smearing drying blood into the fabric.
The more you thought about the trap, the more annoyed you became.
It had been too precise.
Too clean.
Cursed spirits didnât set traps like that.
No, that pit had been prepared by someone who understood exactly how a sorcerer would move through the space.
Which meant the cursed spirit inside this hospital wasnât the only thing trying to kill you.
Your lips twitched faintly.
âHideo Kamo.â you muttered under your breath.
What an idiot.
Did he really think a spike pit would be enough?
Did he forget that you could heal yourself?
Not perfectly.
Not quickly.
But enough to keep moving.
The real insult, honestly, was the lack of effort.
If Kamo was so determined to lead you to your death, he should have escorted you personally.
At least then you couldâve stabbed him on the way down.
Instead he sent an envoy and a half-hearted trap.
You sighed quietly.
Coward.
The deeper parts of the hospital looked like the building had already accepted its own death.
The lights had long since stopped working. The hallways were swallowed by a dull gray darkness broken only by the weak emergency lights that flickered every few seconds. Their pale glow made everything look sicklyâwalls stained with old water damage, doors hanging crooked on their hinges, medical carts overturned and rusting where they had been abandoned years ago.
Your footsteps echoed softly against the tile.
You didnât bother trying to find the exit anymore.
There wasnât one.
The moment you stepped into this place, you already felt itâthat subtle distortion in the air, the pressure pressing against the edges of your cursed energy.
A domain.
Not a full one.
More like a malformed territory that swallowed sections of the building and folded them inward.
Which meant the rule was simple.
You couldnât leave.
Not until the cursed spirit was dead.
You exhaled slowly, adjusting your grip on your naginata as you moved deeper down the hallway. Your side throbbed again where the spike had skewered you earlier. The wound had sealed, but the tissue beneath still burned whenever you twisted too quickly.
Annoying.
At least you werenât bleeding anymore.
Small victories.
You pushed open another rusted door and stepped into a wide chamber.
Cold air rolled over your skin immediately.
The smell hit next.
Metal.
Preservatives.
Decay.
Your eyes scanned the room.
Metal drawers lined the walls in long rows.
Autopsy tables.
White sheets.
Your shoulders stiffened slightly.
A morgue.
You had a very complicated relationship with corpses.
You were prepared to quietly leave. Then you heard the sound.
Wet chewing.
Your gaze shifted. At the far end of the room, hunched over one of the steel tables, something moved. You had found it. The cursed spirit slowly turned its head toward you. For a moment you wished it hadnât.
Its body looked like something that had crawled out of a nightmare made from hospital waste. Its limbs were too long, joints bending at wrong angles as if they had been assembled incorrectly. Its skin was stretched tight and gray over a frame that looked starved and swollen at the same time.
But the worst part were its hands.
Long, skeletal fingers ending in nails that had grown into black curved hooks. Each one easily as long as your own fingers.
Those claws were currently buried inside the open chest cavity of a corpse lying on the autopsy table.
The spirit pulled something free and stuffed it into its mouth.
You looked away for half a second.
You really did not need to see that. âGreat,â you muttered under your breath.
The cursed spirit screeched when it saw you move.
Its body unfolded in a disturbing way, limbs stretching outward like a spider climbing out of a hole. The claws scraped against metal as it dropped from the table and rushed toward you.
You moved first.
Your naginata flashed forward, blade cutting through the air in a clean horizontal arc.
The spirit shrieked as the blade carved across its torso. Blackened flesh split open and leaked cursed energy that evaporated into the air.
It retaliated instantly.
Those long claws slashed toward your face.
You leaned back just enough for them to miss your throat, the tips grazing your collar instead. The force of the strike carved deep gouges into the metal cabinet behind you.
Your weapon spun back into position.
Another strike.
The naginata pierced through one of its shoulders, pinning it briefly to the tile floor.
You twisted the blade, ready to finish it.
The cursed spirit suddenly jerked backward.
Instead of attacking again, it scrambled away across the floor with disturbing speed, dragging its long limbs behind it.
It ran straight toward the corner of the morgue.
Then it stopped.
Its body curled low against the wall.
Its mouth opened.
Wide.
Too wide.
You instinctively moved forward to finish it.
Then you looked past it.
And froze.
People.
An adult and four children.
Small bodies huddled together against the wall behind the cursed spirit.
Kindergarten uniforms and bright yellow hats.
Their faces were tear-streaked and pale as they clung desperately to the figure lying on the floor beside them.
For a moment your brain struggled to process what you were seeing.
You had assumed the envoy was exaggerating.
Who lets children wander into an abandoned hospital?
Apparently someone.
Your hesitation lasted only a second. Do you finish the cursed spirit with the risk of it injuring the children? Do you prioritize their safety and grab them all and run-away?
One second was enough.
The cursed spiritâs arm shot backward.
Its claws hooked into the body the children were clinging to and yanked it violently across the floor.
The children screamed.
You finally recognized the body.
A woman.
Their teacher.
She was still alive.
Barely.
Blood soaked the front of her uniform as she struggled weakly against the spirit dragging her toward its waiting mouth. Her eyes met yours for a split second. ââŠPlease run.â she rasped.
The word barely left her throat before the spirit sank its teeth into her shoulder.
Your grip tightened around your weapon. Your instincts screamed at you to kill the curse immediately.
That was the correct decision.
Eliminate the threat.
Then deal with the survivors.
But before you could moveââSensei!â The childrenâs cries cut through the room.
They clung to the womanâs arms as the spirit tore her away.
Your body moved before your mind finished deciding. The cursed spirit was already retreating with its prey. Kamoâs envoy had mentioned something during the briefing.
The curse replenished itself by eating humans.
If it finished consuming herâ
You lunged forward.
But not toward the curse.
Toward the children.
They were still frozen in shock when you reached them. You grabbed two under one arm and pulled the other two against your side, hauling all four small bodies against you at once. They were lighter than expected (or maybe it was adrenaline to thank for at this moment).
And shaking.
You didnât look back.
You ran.
The morgue door slammed open as you kicked through it into the hallway, your boots pounding against the tile floor, Behind you, the cursed spirit shrieked.
Loud.
Hungry.
The children buried their faces into your uniform as you ran deeper into the corridor. You could hear it behind you now.
Scraping claws.
Fast.
Very fast.
The target wasnât you.
You could feel it clearly.
The children.
Four small bodies.
Easy prey.
Quick snacks.
Your injured side screamed in protest as you ran, each step sending a spike of pain through your ribs. Your breathing grew uneven but you didnât slow down.
You couldnât.
These kids had already seen enough. They didnât ask to be here. They didnât deserve to watch their teacher die in front of them.
Did you do this because you think you arenât fast enough to kill the cursed spirit before it finishes consuming the corpse or is it because you can't....you can't let them see anymore of these any longer? That your heart aches for the children that experienced such horror, your instincts told you to grab them and run?
The cursed spirit rounded the hallway corner behind you.
Closer.
Too close.
Your options ran through your head rapidly.
You couldnât fight properly while holding them.
You couldnât outrun the spirit forever.
And you couldnât put them down.
Not even for a second. Because youâre scared theyâd get snatched.
Your cursed energy surged violently.
Fine.
If the situation refused to be reasonableâthen neither would you.
Your footsteps stopped. The air around you thickened.
Cursed energy spread outward from your body like ink dissolving into water.
You tightened your hold on the trembling children.
ââŠDomain Expansion.â You whispered. âYĆ«gen Rakuen.â
Side Character | JJK x Reader
44
The bamboo bridge creaked under every step.
Not a reassuring creak, eitherâthe thin, complaining kind that made you very aware of the river rushing beneath it. The current below wasnât gentle. It churned over rocks with a constant, hollow roar that drifted up through the gaps in the bamboo slats.
You walked stiffly across the unsteady bridge.
Ahead of you, Suguru and Satoru moved like they were strolling through a park instead of crossing what felt like a poorly maintained death trap. Their steps were easy, balanced. Not even a hint of hesitation.
Meanwhile, your hand was gripping the back of Suguruâs uniform like it was the last stable thing in existence.
If this cursed spirit didnât kill you, the bridge probably would.
You hated missions like this.
Itâs not a dangerous one, in fact itâs a semi grade one curse and EVEN if itâs dangerousâyou could deal with those. You preferred things that showed themselves clearly. A curse appeared, you exorcised it. Clean and efficient. But the ones that hid? The ones that turned the entire mission into some twisted game of hide-and-seek? Those deserved to be strangled.
âYou okay there, L/n-san?â Suguru asked without turning around.
You realized you were clutching the back of his uniform with more desperation than dignity.
Right. That.
Another problem with this bridge: beneath it was a river. A deep one. You considered, briefly, asking Suguru if he had a flying curse you could hitch a ride. He had plenty of them. Surely one could carry a person across a stupid bridge. But the idea of saying that out loud felt worse than death. You have far too much pride to show that youâre scared.
âYes,â you said instead. Your tone was completely calm and professional. Nothing like the quiet terror currently gnawing at your spine. The bamboo shifted slightly beneath your foot. Your grip on Suguruâs uniform tightened.
Wouldnât it be funny if you fell?
You wouldnât even be surprised. The author of your life seemed to enjoy that sort of thingâthrowing you into situations that were just a little too inconvenient to be coincidence.
If it happened, youâd at least like to complain about the lazy writing.
âUh⊠guys.â Satoru stopped walking.
That alone made your stomach drop.
He turned slightly, scratching the back of his head like heâd just realized something mildly embarrassing. âBlame me for being stupid and not noticing earlier all you want,â he said casually. âBut donât you think this bridge is a little too long?â
Before stepping onto the bridge, you had already noticed how long it was from a distance. That part hadnât bothered you.
Now it did.
âHuh?â Suguru said.
âI mean,â Satoru continued, glancing around, âyeah itâs long. But weâve been walking for like five minutes.â
Your eyes shifted forward. The other end of the bridge was still far away.
Not a little far. Not âa few more stepsâ far.
Far.
Slowly, like idiots collectively realizing the same terrible thing, the three of you turned to look behind.
The starting side of the bridge was also far away.
Suguru exhaled. âDid weââ He stopped, rubbing his forehead. âAh, shit. Satoru, arenât you supposed to sense things like this way better than we could?â
Satoru shrugged. âI didnât know I was leading our little field trip straight into the curseâs stomach.â His tone suggested this was merely an amusing development.
Suguru sighed, already summoning a curse. Dark energy gathered behind him before forming into the shape of a large dragon-like spirit.
You had exactly one second to feel relief.
Then the bridge lurched violently.
The dragonâs sudden appearance seemed to disturb something within the space. The bamboo beneath your feet swayed hard, ropes groaning as the entire structure tilted. Your stomach dropped.
HOLY SHIT.
HOLY SHIT.
HOLY SHIT.
FUCK YOU, AUTHOR.
Before anyone could properly react, the bridge jerked again.
Satoru lost his footing first.
Suguru grabbed for balanceâ
âand the next second both of them disappeared over the side.
A heavy splash echoed from the river below.
Before that even happened, you reacted on instinct.
Your hand released Suguruâs uniform instantly as your cursed energy surged through your arm. The naginata manifested in your grip and you drove the blade straight through the bamboo slats. The weapon lodged deep, the shaft vibrating as your weight slammed against it. Your body swung over the edge of the bridge for half a second before you managed to pull yourself back onto the unstable surface.
Your heart hammered violently. âFUCK!â you snapped. Your voice echoed over the rushing water. âGojo?! Geto?!â
No answer.
Just the river. The current churned below like it had swallowed them whole. Your pulse spiked.
âAhâfuck. Please tell me you idiots know how to swim.â You muttered. Panic crept in despite your best effort to push it down. Because there was a problem. A very specific problem.
You couldnât swim. Not poorly. Not âkind of bad.â You were catastrophically bad in water. Dying by drowning in a previous life had a way of ruining your relationship with it.
The river roared beneath you.
Your grip tightened around the shaft of your naginata, the blade still buried deep in the bamboo slats to keep you balanced. The bridge swayed violently now, the ropes groaning as if they were seconds away from snapping entirely.
You forced yourself to breathe.
Slow.
Controlled.
Your eyes scanned the river. âGojo?â you called again, louder this time. âGeto?â The current churned below, dark water smashing against stone.
No response.
Did they fucking drowned?
Your stomach twisted.
Then the river moved.
Not the natural movement of current over rocks. This was differentâdeliberate. The surface bulged, water rising upward like something enormous was breathing beneath it.
You straightened slightly. ââŠOf course,â you muttered under your breath.
Because missions were never simple.
The river split open.
Water surged upward in a spiraling column before collapsing inward to form something vaguely humanoid. Its body wasnât solidâmore like flowing liquid forced into a shape that shouldnât exist. Long limbs dragged behind it like currents. Its face⊠if it even had one⊠shifted constantly in the rippling surface.
And its eyes.
Two hollow depressions where the water churned darker than the rest.
It resembles a river spirit from every horror movie.
You exhaled slowly through your nose.
Great.
The bridge swayed again beneath your feet.
Right.
That was also happening.
The spirit rose higher from the river, the current around it responding like a living extension of its body. The water surged toward the bridge, slamming against the bamboo supports with violent force.
You adjusted your footing immediately.
Your stance lowered.
The naginata slid free from the bamboo with a sharp crack.
Balance first.
Then the fight.
The spirit moved.
A whip of water lashed upward toward the bridge.
You pivoted sideways, feet shifting across the narrow slats with careful precision. The bamboo dipped under your weight but you adjusted instinctively, letting the movement carry through your center of gravity.
The strike missed you by inches.
You retaliated instantly.
The naginata sliced forward in a clean arc, the blade cutting through the spiritâs torso. For a moment it looked like youâd split it clean in halfâ
Then the water simply folded back together.
Right.
Not that easy.
The river beneath surged again.
You stepped back quickly as another strike slammed against the bridge. The entire structure lurched sideways and you dropped your weight lower, one hand briefly touching the bamboo to stabilize yourself.
You hated this.
Fighting was easy.
Fighting on a narrow, unsteady bridge above a river was not.
The spirit rose higher now, its body stretching upward until it was almost level with the bridge. The water forming its limbs twisted violently as it lunged.
You moved.
A sharp pivot on the ball of your foot.
The naginata spun with you, the blade carving a precise circle through the air. Your body flowed with the weaponâshoulders, hips, and feet moving together in one continuous motion.
The blade struck again.
This time not the center.
The core.
A concentrated point where the cursed energy pulsed within the watery form.
The spirit shrieked.
A sound like rushing water forced through broken stone.
You didnât stop.
Your grip shifted along the shaft and the naginata snapped forward again in a thrust so clean it barely disturbed the air.
The blade pierced the core.
For a split second the entire spirit froze.
Then its body collapsed inward.
The river calmed instantly.
The monstrous shape dissolved into glowing green orbs of cursed energy that scattered across the air like fireflies.
You exhaled. ââŠFinally.â
The bridge creaked.
Loudly.
You frowned slightly.
Then the bamboo beneath your feet vanished.
Justâ
Gone.
The illusion maintaining the structure collapsed along with the curse.
Your stomach dropped. âOhââ The scream tore out of your throat before you could stop it as gravity yanked you straight down into the river.
The water swallowed you whole.
Cold.
Violent.
The current slammed into your body like a wall, dragging you under instantly. Your lungs seized as the water closed over your head, the roar of the river filling your ears.
Your mind went blank.
Not again.
Not again not againâ
Your arms thrashed uselessly against the current, panic tearing through your chest as water rushed around you.
You couldnât breathe.
You couldnâtâ
A hand grabbed your collar.
Hard.
Your body was yanked upward through the water before you even had time to process it.
Air.
You broke the surface violently, coughing as someone hauled you toward the riverbank.
A moment later you were dragged onto the rocky edge beside the water.
You collapsed onto the ground, coughing hard, lungs burning as your body tried to remember how breathing worked.
Everything felt wrong.
Your hands shook slightly where they pressed against the wet stone.
Beside you, Satoru pushed himself upright, equally soaked but looking far less traumatized by the experience. His white hair clung to his face in damp strands. âWell,â he said, shaking water from his sleeve. âThat was dramatic.â
You didnât respond.
You were still trying to regulate your breathing.
A few seconds later Suguru climbed up from the river as well, water dripping from his uniform as he stepped onto the bank. ââŠAnnoying,â he muttered, wringing out his sleeve. âThe entire river was its domain. Anyone weaker wouldâve drowned immediately.â He glanced back at the water with mild irritation. âThatâs why it was classified as a semiâgrade one despite its physical form being weak.â His expression shifted slightly. ââŠWhat a waste. I couldâve absorbed it.â
Then he looked at you.
Really looked.
You were still sitting where Satoru had pulled you out, shoulders tense, breathing uneven as your fingers dug slightly into the dirt.
Suguruâs expression softened instantly. He stepped closer and crouched down beside you. âHey,â he said quietly. His hand rested lightly on your shoulder. âItâs over.â
Your body was still rigid, muscles locked in the aftermath of panic.
Suguru knew.
Of course he knew.
Heâd known you long enough to recognize exactly what that reaction meant.
Across from you, Satoru tilted his head.
Then his mouth slowly curled into a grin. ââŠWait.â His eyes lit up with immediate mischief a shit eating grin forming in his mouth. âYouâre scared of water?â
Suguruâs head snapped toward him. The glare he gave Satoru couldâve cut steel. âNot. Now.â
-
By the time the three of you made it back to the manager, the sun was still hanging bright in the afternoon sky.
Which made the situation worse somehow.
The light showed everythingâthe way your clothes were dripping, the mud on the hems, the water running down your legs and pooling onto the dirt.
The manager froze the moment she saw you. ââŠOh dear.â Her eyes moved from Suguru, to you, to Satoru. âAll of you are soaked!â She hurried to the trunk of the car and started digging through a storage box. âI brought spare uniforms just in case,â she said quickly, pulling out two neatly folded sets. âBut I only prepared ones for Gojo and Geto.â
Satoru immediately leaned over her shoulder. âOh, nice.â
Suguru accepted the clothes with a small nod of thanks, unfolding one of the sets. The standard Jujutsu Tech uniformâdark pants, the inner shirt, and the high-collared jacket.
Two sets. For two students. You were not one of those two.
You stood there quietly, water dripping from the ends of your hair and sleeves.
Your own uniform was still the one from the all-girls school back in Yokohamaâwhite blouse, blazer, and pleated skirt. The blouse clung unpleasantly to your skin, the blazer heavy with river water.
Suguru glanced at you, then at the uniforms in his hands. He sighed quietly. âYou can wear my uniform.â he said.
You shrugged slightly. You werenât about to refuse dry clothes. âWorks.â The jacket went on easily enough. It was dry, and that was already a massive improvement. But the rest of his uniform was designed for someone much larger than you.
Suguru held up the pants once.
You both looked at them.
Then at each other.
ââŠyeah that wonât fit meâ you said. They would fall straight off you.
Suguru nodded in agreement. âRight.â
So the compromise was simple.
Suguruâs uniform jacket went over your damp blouse. The sleeves were a bit long, the shoulders slightly too wide, but it was warm and dry.
Good enough.
The ride back started a few minutes later.
You were sitting in the middle of the back seat.
Suguru on your left.
Satoru on your right.
The car smelled faintly like river water now.
Your shoes and socks had been abandoned because the moment you tried putting them back on, the sensation of wet fabric clinging to your feet made your skin crawl. So they were sitting near the floor while you stayed barefoot in the seat.
The upholstery beneath you was damp.
Satoru noticed immediately.
âThis is unbelievable,â he complained, lifting himself slightly from the seat like he had just discovered something deeply offensive. âWhy am I wet again?â
You turned your head slowly. âYou fell in the river.â
âYes, but I got out of the river and changed my uniform.â he shot back instantly. âAnd now Iâm getting soaked again because someone is leaking.â His finger pointed vaguely at you.
You looked down at yourself.
Your skirt was still damp.
Your hair too.
ââŠYouâre also wet,â you said calmly.
âThatâs not the point.â
Suguru leaned his head lightly against the window, clearly deciding he wanted no part in the conversation.
Satoru continued inspecting the seat. âAnd now the entire backseat is soaked.â
The passenger seat in front was completely empty. He could easily move there. He didnât. Instead he stayed exactly where he was, squeezed next to you, complaining like it was someone elseâs fault. âNext mission,â he declared dramatically, crossing his arms, âsomeone else is leading.â
Suguru didnât even look at him. âYou were the one who walked us into the domain.â
Satoru paused. ââŠThatâs unrelated.â
Side Character | JJK x Reader
43
You hadnât meant to fall asleep on the ride back to Jujutsu Tech.
But if you had to blame something, it would be the chronic sleeplessness that had been gnawing at you for a year now. That the moment you slid in the car and your body finally relaxed somewhere safe, the exhaustion hit like a switch being flipped.
Lights out.
When you finally stirred, it felt like surfacing from deep water. Your body was heavy, limbs slow to respond.
ââŠgh.â You pushed yourself upright with a quiet groan, blinking against the dimness of the room. For a moment, your brain lagged behind reality, trying to figure out where exactly you were.
Not your apartment. Definitely not the car.
You were sitting on someoneâs bed.
The mattress dipped slightly beneath your weight, sheets a little wrinkled where youâd apparently passed out. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to wake up fully while your eyes adjusted to the low lighting.
The room was unfamiliar.
Posters covered most of the wallsâvideo games, mostly. Bright colors and characters you vaguely recognized from arcade cabinets and magazines. Some were slightly crooked, as if theyâd been stuck up quickly without much care for neatness.
A desk sat against the far wall, cluttered but organized in a strange way. Stacks of notebooks, loose papers, pens scattered around, and a couple of textbooks left open like whoever owned them had been studying and then abruptly abandoned the task.
Underneath the desk, tucked near one of the legs, sat a large glass jar. You couldnât make out what was inside it in the dim light, only the faint shape of wrapped objects stacked almost to the top.
Your eyes drifted toward the bedside table.
A digital clock glowed faintly in the dark.
9:45 PM.
You frowned slightly. You hadnât meant to sleep that long.
Your shoulder cracked softly as you stretched your left arm, the stiffness from sleeping wrong making you wince a little. Your body still felt sluggish, that strange heaviness that came after a deep, accidental sleep.
With a quiet exhale, you swung your legs off the bed and stood.
The floor was cool under your feet as you crossed the room, taking one last absent glance at the cluttered desk before reaching the door.
You twisted the handle and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the unfamiliar room behind without a second thought.
The hallway outside the room was dark.
Not completely blackâthin strips of moonlight filtered through the tall corridor windowsâbut dim enough that the corners dissolved into shadow. The dorm building was quiet, the kind of late-night stillness where every small sound carried farther than it should.
You stepped out and paused.
For a moment you just stood there, letting your eyes adjust.
âŠWhere the hell are you?
You didnât remember coming here.
The last clear memory you had was the ride back to Jujutsu Tech. Youâd leaned your head back for what was supposed to be a moment of restâjust long enough to ease the pressure behind your eyesâand apparently your body had decided that was the perfect time to completely shut down.
âFantastic.â You sighed under your breath.
The corridor stretched both directions with identical doors lining the walls. Dorm rooms, probably.
You had no idea which building youâd ended up in.
Your steps were slow as you started walking, the faint sound of your shoes against the floor echoing softly through the quiet hall. One turn, then another. The layout felt unfamiliar, or maybe you were just too groggy to recognize anything properly.
Either way, you were wandering.
Then you noticed something.
A thin line of light cutting across the floor farther down the hallway.
You followed it.
The glow grew stronger as you approached, leading you to a wider doorway that opened into a shared lounge area.
The common room lights were mostly off, but a small lamp in the corner cast a warm circle of light across the couches and low table.
Someone was sitting by the open window.
Shoko.
She was perched on the windowsill, one leg bent, shoulder resting against the frame as the night air drifted in. The curtains moved slightly in the breeze.
A cigarette rested between her fingers.
The ember glowed faintly when she inhaled, then dimmed again as she exhaled a slow stream of smoke out into the dark.
She looked over when she heard your footsteps.
Her gaze landed on you, lingering for a second like she was confirming you were actually there. ââŠOh,â she said, voice calm as always. She flicked some ash out the window. âYouâre awake.â
Shoko watched you for a moment, eyes half-lidded as the smoke drifted past her shoulder and out the window. âYou look like hell,â she said flatly.
You ignored that.
Your gaze drifted around the common room insteadâempty couches, a low table with a few magazines scattered across it, the dim lamp in the corner doing most of the work lighting the place.
Then Shoko spoke again. âYou hungry?â
You looked back at her. âMaybe.â
She nodded toward the hallway behind you. âSuguru wrapped some yakisoba for you. Itâs in the fridge.â
That got your attention.
You leaned slightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely. âGeto?â
âMm.â
You frowned a little. âWhere is he?â
Shoko took another drag before answering, exhaling slowly into the night air. âHe crashed in Satoruâs room.â
Your brow furrowed deeper. ââŠWhy?â
She glanced at you like the answer shouldâve been obvious. âBecause youâre in his.â
You blinked. ââŠI was?â
âYup.â Shoko tapped the cigarette lightly against the window frame, ash falling outside. With her other hand, she flipped open her phone without looking at it muchâa small silver flip phone. Her thumbs started moving lazily over the keypad while she talked. âYou passed out in the car,â she said. âSuguru carried you up.â
You stared at her. âThere arenât a lot of students in Jujutsu Tech, Iâm sure there are empty rooms,â you pointed out. Your tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatoryâjust practical.
Shoko didnât even look up from her phone. âYeah.â Her thumbs kept tapping. âBut those havenât been used in ages. Theyâre probably dusty.â
You waited.
Finally she glanced up again, cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers. âAnd Suguru wasnât gonna dump you in some dusty room like that.â
Your gaze shifted slightly, thinking that over.
Behind the casual explanation, the implication was pretty obvious.
Heâd put you in his room instead.
Shokoâs phone snapped shut for a second as she finished typing, then opened again immediately when it buzzed.
You noticed the small name on the screen for half a second.
Suguru.
She leaned her shoulder back against the window frame again, reading whatever heâd sent.
ââŠHeâs awake,â she murmured.
You raised an eyebrow. âGeto?â
Shoko hummed in confirmation, typing something back without much interest.
From the hallway fridge, the faint hum of the motor kicked on.
Your stomach reminded you that the yakisoba she mentioned was suddenly a very good idea.
-
You sat at the dining table in the common room with the bowl of yakisoba Shoko had pointed you to.
The noodles were cold, just like you expected, but they were still very yummy. Suguru had wrapped the container properly before putting it in the fridge, and the portion was big enough that it felt like an actual meal rather than leftovers.
You didnât complain.
The room was quiet except for the soft night wind drifting through the open window and the occasional flick of Shokoâs lighter. She still sat on the windowsill, one leg drawn up, cigarette between her fingers while she lazily scrolled through her flip phone.
You were halfway through the bowl when you heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
They slowed at the doorway.
Suguru stepped into the room.
His hair was loosely tied back, like heâd thrown it together quickly after getting up. A few strands had slipped loose near his temples. He paused when he saw you sitting at the table, chopsticks in hand.
For a second he didnât say anything.
Then he walked in.
Shoko didnât even look up.
Suguru pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, a little stiffly, hands resting on his knees. ââŠIs it good?â he asked.
Shoko immediately snorted.
You glanced down at the bowl, then back at him. âItâs cold.â
Suguru blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. âOhâI can heat it up if you want.
Instead of replying, you lifted the bowl slightly.
Only a few bites of noodles remained.
Suguru stared at it for a second before exhaling quietly through his nose. ââŠRight.â
Across the room, Shokoâs shoulders shook once with silent laughter.
You finished the last few bites without comment and set the chopsticks down on the table.
Suguru leaned back slightly in his chair. âThere are probably still trains running,â he said after a moment. âUntil midnight.â
You looked at him.
âButâŠâ he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, âthere arenât any managers awake right now who could drive you to the station.â He paused briefly before finishing the thought. âSo you might want to just stay here tonight.â
You considered it for about half a second. âThatâs reasonable.â
It was, objectively. Even if you personally wouldnât have minded walking to the station alone in the dark, staying in the dorms wasnât exactly an inconvenience.
Suguru seemed faintly relieved that you didnât argue. After a moment, he spoke again. ââŠDo you want to change out of your uniform?â
Your eyes dropped briefly to your clothes.
You were still wearing the same uniform youâd had on all day.
Your first instinct was to say no.
But at the same time, the thought of a bath wasâŠappealing. A long waaarm bath.
You hesitated. ââŠIâll think about it,â you said instead.
-
You sank further into the soft mattress of Suguruâs bed, the warmth from the bath still lingering pleasantly in your muscles. Your body felt loose in that rare way it only did after hot waterâheavy, relaxed, and slow.
Your damp hair hung down your back while Shoko knelt behind you on the bed, brushing through the strands with patient, unhurried strokes. Every so often the brush snagged lightly and she worked it free with surprising gentleness.
The faint scent of shampoo and steam still clung to your skin.
Somehow, you had ended up wearing Shokoâs loose cotton pajama pants and one of Suguruâs oversized long-sleevd shirts. The sleeves swallowed most of your hands, and the collar slipped slightly off one shoulder whenever you shifted. The fabric smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something subtler beneath itâSuguru, probably.
It wasnât unpleasant.
A lollipop balanced between your lips while your thumbs tapped steadily at the buttons of the Game Boy in your hands.
You werenât entirely sure if it belonged to Suguru or Satoru. Youâd found it sitting on Suguruâs desk along with a stack of study materials and decided that was enough justification.
The tiny pixelated character on the screen hopped across a platform.
Click. Click.
Suguru crouched near his closet, one knee on the floor as he rummaged through a lower drawer. Hangers shifted softly while he searched. ââŠI know I had a spare pair somewhere,â he muttered to himself, pushing aside a folded stack of clothes.
His voice was calm, almost domestic, like this strange late-night arrangement wasnât unusual at all.
Behind you, Shoko switched the hair dryer off with a soft click.
The sudden silence rang faintly in your ears.
She ran the brush through your hair one last time before letting it fall down your back. âGood enough.â she said casually, giving the ends a final pat.
The quiet lasted about three seconds.
Then the door creaked open.
Satoru leaned against the frame like heâd just discovered a crime scene.
His arms crossed slowly as he took in the entire room.
The bed.
You sitting comfortably in it.
Shoko behind you like a personal stylist.
Suguru digging through his closet.
His face twisted into an exaggerated scowl. âOi,â he said loudly. âSeriously? What is all this noise?â The hair dryer mustâve been what woke him. âShoko,â he continued accusingly, pointing at her, âhow come you never dry my hair. But does so for someone like her?â Then his eyes slid toward you. âAnd youââ He squinted like he was trying to process the audacity of what he was seeing. âYouâre just going to sit there like itâs normal that my classmates are acting like your personal staff?â
You didnât look up from the Game Boy. Your thumb pressed another button. âI didnât ask them to do all that.â you replied flatly, the lollipop making your words slightly muffled.
Satoruâs eyes flicked to Shoko immediately. âPeople let you do whatever you want,â he complained. âthis is outrageous.â
Then his gaze dropped.
Right to the Game Boy in your hands.
His expression changed instantly. ââŠAnd thatâs mine.â He pointed at the console like a prosecutor presenting evidence. âYouâre playing it without permission.â His eyes lowered further. âAndââ he added slowly, âyou are eating my candies.â
You didnât even pause.
The Game Boy clicked under your fingers while the character on screen ducked under a moving obstacle.
âIâm helping myself responsibly,â you said calmly, raising one eyebrow slightly. âi found it in the in Getoâs desk and Ieri said itâs a shared resource, technically.â You shifted the lollipop slightly. âAnd the candy⊠I just tried one.â
Satoru threw both hands into the air. âOne?!â he repeated loudly. âOne?!â He took two dramatic steps into the room. âThis is exactly why you shouldnât be allowed near my things!â
Suguru glanced up from the closet, one hand still holding a pair of indoor slippers heâd just found.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. âRelax, Satoru,â he said mildly. âItâs just a Game Boy.â
Satoru ignored him completely. âNo, no, no,â he said, pacing once across the room like an outraged teacher. âThis is a lesson, Y/n.â He pointed at you again. âYou donât use other peopleâs property without permission.â
As if he wouldn't do that himself.
You pressed another button.
Your character jumped cleanly over a pixelated pit.
âYou do not treat people like your personal servantsâeven if they technically are your classmates!â he continued. âItâs basic etiquette!â
You hummed softly in acknowledgment.
Which somehow made it worse.
âAnd your attitude!â Satoru groaned dramatically. âYouâre impossible.â
Shoko leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms with a small smirk. âHonestly,â she said lazily, âheâs just mad because he can't do that himself.â
Satoru whipped around toward her instantly. âExcuse meââ
But his attention snapped right back to you again when you continued playing like none of this mattered.
Your fingers moved easily over the buttons.
The lollipop stayed balanced between your lips.
Your gaze never left the screen.
He exhaled through his nose, half frustrated, half exasperated. ââŠI give up.â Then he pointed one last time for emphasis. âBut remember this.â He tapped the air with each word. âRespect. My. Things.â
You clicked another button, letting your character dodge a moving enemy. âNoted.â you replied in the same neutral tone.
Satoru muttered something under his breath about chaos, injustice, and âraising uncivilized peopleâ before dramatically flopping onto the edge of the bed beside you.
Apparently abandoning any attempt at authority.
Suguru chuckled quietly from near the closet. He walked over and tossed the spare slippers onto the floor near your feet. âHere.â
Shoko pushed herself off the wall, satisfied with the state of your hair.
And you simply continued playing, lollipop in place, completely unbothered by the small storm that was Satoru Gojo.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
42
âYo, Y/n-chan.â Satoruâs voice rang through the abandoned school hallway, echoing faintly against cracked walls and dusty lockers.
You didnât bother answering.
At this point, his insistence on first-name basis had become something you only half resisted. According to him, there were barely any students in your class anyway, so formalities were a waste of time. Apparently that meant he could do whatever he wanted⊠for now.
Though that doesnât mean you canât ignore him.
Suguru walked a few steps behind, his gaze drifting between the shadows and Satoru with the quiet attentiveness he always carried. The three of you had been combing through this school for hours, tracking a cursed spirit that clearly had no intention of being found.
The building smelled staleâold dust, mold, and something metallic lingering beneath it all. Every creak of warped floorboards and distant echo bounced unnaturally through the empty halls.
Satoru stopped abruptly.
In front of him, something shimmered in the air.
A portal.
Its surface flickered faintly, rippling like disturbed water. The light inside shifted in slow, unnatural currents.
Without hesitation, Satoru shoved his arm straight into it.
The reaction was immediateâa sharp inhale, shoulders tensing slightly as cold seeped through his sleeve.
Not fear.
Curiosity.
âEver play those multiplayer games,â he said casually, glancing down at you, âwhere one player has to stay behind so the rest can move on?â
You raised an eyebrow.
Something about that grin didnât sit right.
Your instincts screamed.
Donât trust him.
Unfortunately, realization came a second too late.
Satoru grabbed your arm with infuriating confidence and shoved you forward.
The cold hit instantlyâsharp and biting, like ice water pouring through your bonesâand the ground vanished beneath your feet.
-
Outside the portal, everything shifted.
The hallway behind it warped subtly, air thickening as if the space itself had hardened. The portalâs surface froze over in an instant, turning opaque and metallic.
Suguru lunged.
Too late.
His hand passed through empty air as the portal sealed completely. âSatoru.â Suguruâs voice dropped, low and sharp. âWhat the hell did you just do?â
Satoru leaned back against the wall like he hadnât just thrown someone into an unknown dimension. âRelax,â he said, lazy grin returning. âItâs fine.â
Suguruâs eyes narrowed.
âTrust me,â Satoru continued lightly. âNothing in there can harm herâ A pause. âAt least, not yet.â
âNot yet?â Suguru repeated the words slowly, tension still coiled in his shoulders. But Satoru wasnât panicking.
And Satoru never pretended not to panic.
If he was calm, it meant he understood something Suguru didnât.
Suguru exhaled through his nose. ââŠYouâre going to be the death of me.â He leaned back beside him, arms crossing. âFine,â he muttered. âBut if anything happensââ
âNothing will,â Satoru said smoothly, eyes flicking back toward the sealed portal. âBut we gotta exorcise the cursed spirit if we want your lover girl back~â
-
Inside the portal, the air pressed against your skin like static electricity.
Cold.
Heavy.
Alive.
The ground beneath your feet shifted subtly, the entire space humming with a low vibration that crawled up through your bones.
You tried to speak. âWhatâGojoâwhat the hellââ
The world snapped.
Walls twisted outward at impossible angles. Hallways folded into themselves like broken mirrors. The architecture of the school warped into something unfamiliarâsharp geometry bending into strange, resonant shapes.
Your irritation detonated instantly.
You slammed your hands against the solid portal behind you.
âHOY PUTANG INA MO, GOJO SATORU!â (Fuck you, Gojo Satoru!)
Your voice echoed violently across the warped structure.
âBABARANGIN KITANG PUTANGINA KA!â (I am going to fucking curse you!)
You kicked the wall.
âPUTANGINA MO TALAGA! KAYA KA SIGURO DI MINAHAL NG NANAY AT TATAY MOâANG KUPAL MO KASI!â (You motherfucker! No wonder your mom and dad didnât love youâyouâre such an asshole!)
Your shouting ricocheted through the space.
âTANGINA MO! MAY SALTIK KA BA SA UTAK?!â (You motherfucker! Do you have a screw loose?)
You stomped once more, venting the last of your fury.
âAKALA MO KUNG SINONG DIYOSâEH NO? ANG ASIM-ASIM MO NAMAN! ANAK KA NGââ (You think youâre some kind of god, huh? Youâre actually so gross! You son of aâ)
Something shuffled nearby. Your heartbeat skipped.
Your rage died quickly.
Not cursed.
Not hostile.
Small.
Fragile.
Alive.
Maybe, maybe you shouldn't have let rage consume you and let you yell curses atâŠ.hah.
Your naginata materialized instantly in your hands, cursed energy humming along the shaft as your body dropped into a ready stance. You're half convinced that the cursed spirit is so good at finding you can't feel it at all!
You followed the sound slowly.
Weapon raised.
Muscles coiled.
The blade swept around the cornerâ
And stopped.
A small child crouched in the corner, trembling.
Wide eyes.
Tear-streaked face.
Your grip loosened immediately.
The weapon dissolved into green particles.
ââŠAh.â You pinched the bridge of your nose. ââŠFuck.â Your voice dropped into a tired mutter. âOf course.â Your eyes scanned the space again.
No cursed energy spikes.
No hostile presence.
Just fear.
The kid shrank further into the shadows, staring at you like you might be worse than whatever chased him here.
In his point of view, you were probably some weirdo that yelled curses in another language. You were very angryâit didnât even help you were wielding a weapon.
You sighed. ââŠFocus, Y/n.â You rubbed your forehead. âNot here to babysit.â
The child kept sobbing.
You stared at him for a moment. ââŠHey kid.â You said awkwardly but he was too scared to even react.
Keep in mind, the last time you interacted with a kid was to threaten a higher up to cooperate with you.
You lifted a hand. He froze instantly.
âI can do magic.â Your fingers rotated slowly. âWatch my hand.â
His eyes followed.
Good.
Green light shimmered faintly around your fingers as your cursed technique formed.
A cat plushie appeared in your palm.
Lopsided.
Crooked.
Frankly ugly.
But harmless.
You held it out.
In this kidâs perspectiveâif he's a non-sorcerer, the ugly plushie appeared out of nowhere. Though you also think it would still look like âmagicâ if he could see the way your cursed technique worked.
The kid grabbed it cautiously.
Clutched it to his chest.
âGood enough,â you muttered. âHow did you get here?â
âI⊠heard noises,â he sniffed. âI got lost. I didn't mean to get lost.â
You checked him over. No injuries. Lucky. âCan you walk?â
He shook his head.
You sighed again. âToo scared?â
A nod.
ââŠFine.â You crouched. âThen, can I carry you? We have to find an exit and I can't just leave you here.â You crouched down, opening your arms at him.
He climbed into your arms immediately. Small arms wrapped around your shoulders. You adjusted his weight against your hip.
Why was he heavier than he looked? What the hell were they feeding kids these days?
You didnât comment.
Didnât tease.
Didnât tell him to stop crying.
Your job was simple.
Kill the cursed spirit.
Step by step you moved through the warped structure. The child clung tighter with every movement, face pressed into your chest.
You scanned every angle carefully. No cursed presence. Yet.
âDonât be scared,â you murmured flatly. âIâm pretty strong you know.â
The kid nodded silently.
Good enough.
One arm held him securely.
The other remained free, fingers ready to manifest whatever you needed.
The ugly plushie dangled between you.
Step by step you advanced through the humming space.
Eyes sharp.
Senses alert.
Waiting for the real threat to show itself.
-
Forty minutes.
That was how long you had been walking.
Every hallway in this place looked the sameâlong, narrow, dimly lit by weak bulbs that flickered like they were on their last breath. The wallpaper peeled in damp curls, and the air carried that same sick smell that had been clinging to the building since you entered.
Rot.
Old, stagnant rot that made the back of your throat itch.
The kid in your arms had long since stopped crying. His face was buried into your shoulder, small hands gripping the fabric of your blazer like if he let go youâd disappear too.
You shifted him slightly, adjusting his weight.
Your arms were starting to get tired.
More than that, your left side had begun to throb again.
It started as a dull ache earlier, something familiar you could ignore. But walking this long while carrying someone made it sharper. The pain pulsed faintly under your ribs, spreading down your side.
You kept walking anyway.
Complaining wouldnât fix anything. âWhere the hell is the exitâŠâ you muttered quietly. âThis place is so annoying.â
Another corner.
Another identical hallway.
You sighed under your breath and kept moving.
Thenâ
A hand suddenly shot out of the wall and grabbed the back of your blazer.
Your entire body reacted instantly.
âSHITâ!âYou twisted, pulling the kid closer against you while your free arm moved on instinct, ready to strikeâ
Before you could react further, you were suddenly pulled forward.
Into a hug.
You froze. ââŠGeto?â
His arms tightened around you for a second like he was making sure you were actually there.
âYouâre fine,â he exhaled, more to himself than to you. âWe couldnât find you.â
You blinked, still a little stiff in his hold.
âUhhh, you alright bud?â you said awkwardly.
Behind himâ
Satoru gagged.
Loudly.
âJesus,â he groaned. âShe was only gone for an hour and this is how you react?â
âYou pushed her in god knows where.â Suguru slowly turned his head. âAnd when we defeated the Cursed Spirit half an hour ago and she didn't show up. Of course I would get worried!â
âWow. Accusations already?â Satoru pointed at himself. âI only nudged her.â
âIâm going to kill you.â Suguruâs expression went flat.
âYeah, yeah. Later.â Satoru waved a hand dismissively.
Suguru ignored him after that, his attention dropping to the kid still clinging to you. ââŠYou found someone.â
âOh,â you said simply. âYeah.â You adjusted the child slightly so Suguru could see him better. âHe was inside one of the rooms.â
Suguru looked at the boy for a moment before holding his arms out. âIâll carry him.â
The kid reacted immediately.
His grip around your neck tightened.
His head shook against your shoulder. ââŠNo.â
Suguru paused.
You sighed faintly. âHeâs been like that since earlier.â
Satoru leaned a little to the side to look at the kid. âOof,â he said. âRejected.â
Suguru didnât even glance at him.
Instead, his gaze shifted back to you. Your arms. The way you were still holding the kid even though your shoulders had started to tense slightly from the weight. ââŠYouâve been carrying him the whole time?â
âItâs fine,â you replied without thinking.
Suguru looked like he wanted to argue.
But before he couldâ
Satoru stretched his arms behind his head.
âWell,â he said lazily, âsince everyoneâs alive and reunited, can we leave this creepy dump already?â
You honestly couldnât agree more.
-
The moment you stepped out of the school building, the night air felt noticeably lighter.
The suffocating pressure inside the building vanished the second you crossed the threshold. What waited outside wasnât a crowdâjust a small group of people near the gate.
A few school staff members.
One anxious-looking manager.
And a single woman pacing back and forth with her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
The manager noticed you first. âOhâ!â he hurried over, relief flooding his face. âYou found him?â
âWho?â You shifted the kid slightly in your arms. âHim?â
The woman froze the moment she heard that. ââŠKenji?â
The boy in your arms lifted his head slowly. âOkaa-chan.â
The woman rushed forward immediately. âOh my godâ!â
You crouched down slightly so the kid could climb down and go to her.
Except he didnât move.
Instead, his arms tightened around your neck.
You paused. ââŠYouâre going to your mom,â you told him quietly.
He shook his head against your shoulder.
You sighed.
So you ended up walking the rest of the way over with him still clinging to you.
The woman stopped a step away, her hands hovering uncertainly like she was afraid to grab him too quickly.
âKenji⊠are you okay?â she asked, her voice trembling.
The boy finally let go of you and reached for her.
She immediately pulled him into a tight hug.
âOh thank god,â she whispered, over and over as she held him. âThank godâŠâ
You stepped back a little, giving them space.
The manager let out a relieved breath nearby. âThatâs the only child reported missing.â he said. âI forgot to mention that earlierâŠâ
The woman eventually looked up at you, eyes slightly red. âYou were the one who found him?â
Well duh
You nodded once. âHe was inside.â
Her expression softened immediately with gratitude. âThank you,â she said sincerely. âThank you so much for bringing him out.â
You shifted awkwardly under the attention. âItâs fine.â
She gave a small bow anyway. âI really appreciate it.â
Behind you, Satoru quietly leaned toward Suguru. âShe looks like she wants to disappear.â
Suguru nudged him sharply in the ribs.
You pretended not to hear them.
The kid peeked over his motherâs shoulder and gave you a small wave.
You lifted your hand in a brief wave back before turning slightly toward the others.
Honestly, you were ready to leave this place behind.
âHe has a pretty ugly plushie by the way.â Satoru murmured.
-
The drive back to Jujutsu Tech was quiet.
The kind of quiet that came after a mission was over and there was nothing left to do but go back.
The car hummed steadily along the road, the faint glow of streetlights sliding across the windows as the city slowly gave way to darker, emptier roads.
You sat in the backseat between Satoru and Suguru.
For a while, no one said anything.
You leaned your head back against the seat.
Now that everything was over, the exhaustion started creeping in.
You hadnât fought the curse itself, but carrying a kid who clung to you like his life depended on it for nearly an hour was tiring. Your shoulders still ached faintly, and your arms felt heavier than they should.
Your left side throbbed a little too.
You ignored it.
Your eyelids started getting heavier.
You blinked once.
Then again.
Satoru noticed you first.
He glanced sideways, watching the way your head dipped slightly before jerking back up. âDonât fall asleep,â he said casually. âYouâll start drooling.â
You didnât answer.
Another minute passed.
The car rolled over a small bump in the road.
Your head tipped to the sideâ
And landed directly on Satoruâs shoulder.
You were already asleep.
Satoru blinked slowly. ââŠWow.â He said, offended.
Besides you, Suguruâs expression darkened almost immediately. âMove.â
Satoru glanced at him. âWhy?â
Suguruâs tone was flat. âBecause sheâs not your pillow.â
Satoru leaned back slightly into the seat like he had just been given a great honor. âWell,â he said lightly, âshe seems to think otherwise.â
Suguru stared at him. âPush her off thenâ He said. â.âŠgently.â
Satoru was about to make another comment when he looked down again.
Your breathing was slow and even, completely knocked out. Your shoulders had finally relaxed in sleep, the tension youâd been carrying all evening gone.
You didnât even stir.
Satoru clicked his tongue quietly. ââŠSheâs actually dead asleep.â
Suguru already knew that.
Heâd been watching you since you got in the carâthe way you sat a little more carefully than usual, the quiet exhaustion in your posture.
You were tired.
Suguru leaned back in his seat with a quiet exhale. ââŠFine.â
Satoru raised an eyebrow.
âOh?â
Suguru looked out the window instead. âJust donât wake her.â
Satoru smirked faintly. âLook at you being considerate.â
Suguru didnât answer.
But the irritation was still there.
Because if Satoru moved even slightly wrong and your head slid further to himâ
Suguru was going to start a fight right there in the backseat.
-
A/n: I tried translating as best as I could, but most of them are slangs and doesnât hit the same when said in english
Side Character | JJK x Reader
41
âYou tricked me,â you said flatly, pointing an accusing finger across the desk.
Across from you, Yaga didnât even blink.
It was routine by now that you only showed up at Jujutsu Tech when there were missions. Anything that smelled like school activities usually resulted in you mysteriously disappearing from campus until the problem resolved itself.
Which was exactly why you were currently sitting in Yagaâs office, realizing you had been baited.
âIt is my job as your teacher to assess you,â Yaga said calmly, hands folded on his desk. âI simply asked if you would join us for hand-to-hand combat training today. And since youâre already here, I assume thatâs a yes.â
You stared at him. ââŠYeah, because you tricked me.â
âThat is a matter of perspective.â
âThat is not very morally right of you, Mr. Yaga.â you grumbled.
âItâs Yaga-sensei.â
âWhatever.â You leaned back in the chair with deliberate laziness, tilting it onto two legs like you had all the time in the world. Your foot nudged lightly against his desk as if you were considering settling in for a long, comfortable sit. âYouâd never, ever drag me out of your office, Yaga-sensei,â you said, stressing the title with exaggerated politeness. âafter you leave, I'll just stand up and walk out and go home.â
There was a pause.
Yaga pushed his chair back. âBe my guest,â he said as he stood.
You frowned slightly.
âI suppose youâd be comfortable letting Gojo call you a coward when he hears you stayed here instead of joining training.â
âŠAh.
There it was.
You slowly lowered the front legs of the chair back to the floor.
Yaga said nothing more as he walked past you toward the door. The man knew exactly what he was doing, and the worst part was that he didnât even need to look back to know you were thinking about it.
Because unfortunatelyâ
He was fully aware of the dynamic between you and his students.
You shouldnât let it get to you, honestly. You were confident in your abilities. The missions youâd gone on with Suguru and Satoru proved that much.
And over time you were even getting better at tuning out the white street lampâs constant commentary.
Still.
Still.
You clicked your tongue under your breath and stood up.
A few seconds later, you followed Yaga out of the office.
The walk across campus was quiet except for the distant sounds of trainingâwood striking wood, the thud of someone hitting the mat, the occasional shout.
By the time you reached the training field, the afternoon sun had already warmed the grass into that soft, dry smell that always hung around the practice grounds.
And, of courseâthe loudest person there noticed you and Yaga immediately. âTook you long enough Yaga-sensei!â
You looked up to see Satoru sprawled on the grass like he had been personally offended by the concept of sitting properly. A crumpled paper bag of sweets rested on his lap, several colorful wrappers scattered around him like evidence of poor life choices.
He tossed another candy into his mouth.
Then he squinted in your direction. âOh?â he said, lifting his head slightly. âYou actually brought her here?â He sat up, clearly amused now. âFor real?â His grin widened. âThought she was too good for any of your teaching, Yaga-sensei.â he added casually, gesturing lazily in your direction with a half-empty candy wrapper.
Nearby, Suguru glanced over from where he had been stretching, one eyebrow lifting slightly as he took in the scene.
And just like that you were already regretting leaving the office.
-
You ended up paired with Suguru for hand-to-hand combat. No cursed techniques. No cursed energy. Nothing fancy. Just fists, elbows, knees, and the kind of awkward flailing you vaguely remembered from a single boxing lesson back in your clanâs âtrainingâ sessions. You didnât like it. You preferred weapons, preferred distance, preferred literally anything that didnât involve getting hit.
Suguru crouched in front of you, calm, balanced, arms relaxed but ready. Half of him was testing you, half teasing youâbut even the teasing was measured. You could feel the weight of someone holding back, just enough that every attempt you made landed awkwardly, ineffectively.
Satoru was lounging nearby, eating sweets, grinning like he was watching a sitcom. âCome on, L/n,â he called. âOr should I sayâŠcoward? Scared of a little sparring, huh?â
You ignored him, focusing on Suguru. He mirrored your stance, tilting lightly on the balls of his feet, patient, waiting.
The first exchange was tentative. You jabbed, just barely, and Suguru caught your wrist, shifting your momentum so easily it almost felt like he was guiding you. âRelax,â he said lightly. Half teasing. Half encouraging.
You scowled, muttering under your breath. âWhatever.â The word tasted bitter in your mouth. You tried again, forcing the jab, but he sidestepped, tapped your shoulder, and circled behind you before you could recover.
You were painfully aware he was holding back. And yet, somehow, you still lost.
A few moments later, after an attempt to block and counter that went entirely wrong, you ended up on your knees, breathing sharp, chest tight. Satoru laughed in the background. âAhh, there it is! The mighty Y/n, all talk!â
You ignored him, brushing dirt off your uniform with exaggerated care. You looked up at Suguru, who offered a hand with that faint smirk that somehow made your teeth grind harder.
âDonât think you got away just because I was taking it easy,â he said quietly, voice calm but carrying the weight of someone observing carefully.
You let him pull you up, straightening your shoulders, muttering bitterly, âItâs fine. You won, right?â
Suguru tilted his head, studied you for a moment, then nodded faintly. No teasing. No extra commentary. Just acknowledgment.
You exhaled, brushing off your uniform again, turning away. Victory or lesson, it didnât matter. Youâd survived. That was enough.
-
You settled onto the grass beside Shoko, the afternoon sun warming the back of your neck. For some reason, it didnât feel like a training field at allâmore like a small patch of quiet in the middle of chaos. You hadnât even noticed her earlier, though sheâd apparently been sitting beside Satoru the entire time, quietly holding the half-empty bags of his sweets.
âYouâreâŠnew here, right?â she asked, voice low and careful, she knows that of course, she just doesn't know how to start a conversation with you. Plus she wasnât sure how much you tolerated strangers Â
You tilted your head, studying her for half a second. Short, composed, the kind of presence that didnât demand attention but made it unavoidable. âDepends on your definition of ânew.ââ You kept your voice flat, dry, letting her fill the silence.
She smirked faintly, seemingly satisfied. âIâm Shoko. I guess youâreâŠY/n?â
You nodded once. âCorrect.â Short. Efficient. Not rude, not welcoming either. She tilted her head slightly, as if debating whether to push further. âThough I very much prefer being called by my last name.â
âIâve been holding Satoruâs candies for him,â she said finally, glancing at the crumpled wrappers beside her. âHe eats too many, you know.â
You raised an eyebrow. âIâll remember that for future torture methods.â
A faint chuckle escaped her. Small. Quick. Then she leaned a little closer, curiosity tipping her tone. âItâs true, isnât it? That you can heal?â
You glanced toward Suguru and Satoru, who were now circling each other across the field. Their movements were fluid, almost hypnotic in their precisionâfists, elbows, knees, and feints flowing seamlessly, the air snapping with the intensity of two experts testing each otherâs limits. Satoruâs blue energy seemed to flicker faintly as he moved, not fully unleashed, while Suguruâs calm control of timing and body made every strike deliberate and potentially lethal. Watching them was like observing the tides collideâbeautiful, terrifying, and exhausting all at once.
The no cursed technique rule is so easy to forget when you're Satoru or Suguru fighting against one another.
âTechnically,â you said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, âI can only heal myself right now.â You paused, shrugging. âMy cursed technique lets me manifest anything, as long as I know its structure. Iâve been practicing on others⊠slowly.â
Shokoâs eyes widened slightly. âSatoru said he saw you resurrect yourself.â
Something in your chest skipped a beat. Your fingers tightened on the grass beneath you for a fraction of a second. Satoru shouldnât know that. Not unless he was watching when you were trapped in the vault by your grandmother, fighting off hundreds of curses.
You forced yourself to shrug casually, eyes drifting toward the sparring pair. âItâs nothing special.â
Suguru and Satoru were a storm now. Suguruâs strikes came fast, precise, his body low and coiled like a predator ready to pounce. Satoru danced around him with effortless grace, dodging and countering, the sharp snap of impact echoing faintly across the field. Their fight wasnât just skillâit was controlled chaos, each trying to find a single flaw in the otherâs defense.
You watched, half in fascination, half in detached calculation. Even without cursed energy, they moved with the power of two sorcerers who had already surpassed most of their peers, who had been training together long enough to anticipate the subtlest shift in weight, the tiniest twitch in a shoulder.
Shoko leaned slightly toward you, quieter this time. âDo⊠you think youâll be able to fight like them someday?â
You blinked at her, hands resting lightly on your knees. âMaybe. Not today,â you said, voice neutral, almost bored. âBut if I have to⊠I will.â
The grass beneath your palms vibrated slightly as a heavy kick landed a few feet away, Satoru grinning despite the hit, Suguru adjusting instantly for a follow-up.
You let your gaze linger on the field a moment longer before turning back to Shoko. âItâs⊠not about being the strongest. Thatâs a headache you donât need.â
Shoko considered that quietly, her eyes flicking back to Suguru and Satoru. âThey make it look⊠fun, though.â
You didnât answer. Instead, you watched the two of them move, calculating, precise, deadlyâgrace under pressure. And somewhere under the dry observation, a flicker of something sharp and tense settled in your chest. The thought that one day you might have to be that effortless, that lethal, sat heavy and unfamiliar.
But for now⊠you had other priorities.
-
âGojo.â Finding him hadnât been difficult.
There were only four students on campus. It wasnât exactly a bustling academic institution. The school grounds stretched wide and quiet around the old buildings, more like a temple complex than a place teenagers attended classes.
Satoru stood outside near the wooden walkway connecting the training hall to the dorms, lazily leaning against one of the pillars. The late afternoon air carried the faint scent of pine and damp earth from the surrounding forest.
He looked entirely unbothered by the world. âWhat do you want, lady?â he said the moment he noticed you. âFinally here to apologize for being a little bit antagonistic?â
You ignored the bait. âHow much do you know about me?â
His eyebrows lifted. âHaaah? What do you mean?â
âIeiri-san mentioned that you saw me get resurrected,â you said evenly. âI just want to know how much you know about me.â
Satoru studied you for a moment, tilting his head like you had suddenly become mildly interesting. âAnd why,â he asked, pushing himself off the pillar, âshould I tell you that?â He stepped closer. Too close, really. Satoru had an irritating habit of invading peopleâs space when he was curious. His face leaned in toward yours, bright blue eyes searching for a reaction like he was poking a strange animal to see if it would bite. âI am notââ
You grabbed his hand.
He stopped mid-sentence.
The reaction was immediate. For once, Satoru looked genuinely confused.
You reached into your pocket with your other hand and pulled out a small handful of strawberry hard candies. The wrappers crinkled faintly between your fingers. Then you dropped them into his palm.
Satoru blinked. He straightened slowly, staring down at the small pink candies now sitting in his hand. ââŠWhatâŠ.Do you think you can buy me with cheap candies?!â He asked, offended.
âTell me,â you said. A brief pause. âPlease.â The word felt uncomfortable in your mouth, but you forced it out anyway.
Satoru glanced between you and the candy like he was trying to decide which part of this interaction was stranger. Then he popped one of the candies into his mouth, crunching through the wrapper with zero hesitation. âYour grandmother invited a bunch of higher-ups and sorcerer clans,â he said casually. âto watch what she proudly called the âRebirth of Tsumikage.ââ He lifted one hand, making exaggerated air quotes. âI was there becauseâŠâ he shrugged. âWhy not?â
You went still.
For a moment the quiet grounds around you seemed to fade, replaced by the sterile brightness of memory.
White walls.
White lights.
Your left side pulsed sharply.
The ache had never fully gone away since that day. Youâd assumed it was because the injury had been too severe. Your entire left side had been torn open and devoured by curses, muscle and bone shredded. You had rebuilt it quicklyâtoo quickly.
Precision hadnât exactly been your priority.
Your fingers pressed lightly against your side through the fabric of your uniform before you realized what you were doing.
Satoru noticed.
Of course he did.
âJust wanna say,â he continued, rolling the candy around in his mouth, âyou were kinda hardcore.â You blinked once. âThough,â he added, grinning again, âpiece of advice, Y/n-chan.â
âItâs L/n.â
âWhatever.â He waved a hand dismissively. âThe Jujutsu Society already treats us like weapons. With the way youâre acting right now?â He leaned slightly closer, voice dropping into something amused. âYouâre making it really easy for them.â
Your shoulders stiffened. âYou donât know my reasons, Gojo-san.â
He repeated the sentence immediately in a mocking tone. âYou donât know my reasons.â Then he snorted. âPoint is, you are a functional weapon right now! Maybe lay back a little. Defy everyone a little. Don't give anyone an opportunity to control you.â The breeze stirred the trees around the school grounds, leaves rustling softly overhead. âAnyone who truly understandâs the Jujutsu Techâs power structure knows who sorcerers are actually protecting at the end of the day.â His expression sharpened slightly, though the smile never left his face. âThe higher-ups themselves.â He reached forward and lightly jabbed your forehead with one finger. âTheyâre cowards,â he said. âAnd they need obedient weapons.â
Another light tap.
âYouâre doing a great job fitting the role.â
The touch was almost playful.
Your left side throbbed again, dull and persistent.
You werenât sure if it was the memory of that white room⊠or the quiet possibility that Satoru might not be entirely wrong.
-
The dorm common area at Tokyo Jujutsu High was quiet in the way places built for too few people always were.
The lights were on, the vending machine hummed faintly in the corner, and outside the tall windows the forest around the campus moved softly with the night wind. Most schools would have had laughter, footsteps, doors slamming, someone yelling across the hall.
There were only three people there currently.
Suguru sat cross-legged on the couch with a textbook open on his lap. He had been reading for the last twenty minutes, though the same page had remained open the entire time. Across from him, Satoru had claimed the entire opposite couch like a territorial animal, sprawled sideways with his feet hooked over the armrest.
Shoko leaned against the window, lazily flipping a lighter open and shut without lighting anything.
The quiet lasted exactly three seconds.
Crunch.
Suguruâs eyes slowly lifted from his book.
Satoru was chewing something.
Crunch.
Then the soft crinkle of plastic.
Suguru stared.
Satoru stared back with the innocent expression of someone who had never committed a crime in his life.
Suguru closed the book. ââŠWhere did you get that?â
Satoru tilted his head. âHm?â
âThe candy.â
âOh.â Satoru popped another piece into his mouth with zero shame. âThese?â
Suguruâs eyes narrowed.
They were strawberry hard candies. Bright pink wrappers. The exact brand he kept in a very specific, very large glass jar in his dorm room. ââŠDid you steal from my stash?â
Satoru scoffed immediately, offended by the accusation. âWhy would I steal from you when you hoard them like a dragon guarding treasure?â
âBecause you do that.â Suguru replied flatly.
Shoko snorted quietly from the window.
Satoru waved the candy dismissively. âRelax. I didnât steal your precious candies.â
âThen where did you get them?â
Satoru shrugged. âY/n gave them to me.â
The room went quiet.
Suguru blinked once. ââŠShe did?â
âYeah.â
Another crunch.
Suguru stared at him for a long moment, processing the information with the same calm expression he usually reserved for analyzing cursed spirits.
Except something small and unpleasant twisted somewhere in his chest. ââŠWhy?â
Satoru shrugged again. âI told her something. She paid me.â
âYou got bribed with candy?â
âWorks every time.â
Shoko made a thoughtful noise. âThatâs actually pretty on brand.â
Suguru ignored her.
His gaze drifted to the candy again.
Strawberry.
The same kind.
The exact same kind.
A memory surfaced without permission.
A younger you standing in front of him years ago, holding an absurdly large glass jar filled to the brim with pink wrappers.
The jar had been ridiculously heavy for you at the time.
He had kept the jar ever since.
Suguruâs eyes flicked back to Satoru, who was now happily unwrapping another candy like a raccoon discovering snacks. ââŠYouâre sure you didnât take those from my room.â
 âWhy are you so suspicious?â Satoru looked offended again.
âBecause those are the exact candies I keep.â
âSo?â Satoru said. âMaybe she also wanna share these candies with me. Why? Is there a rule where youâre the only one allowed to be given such candies? By her?ââ
Suguru leaned back slowly against the couch. ââŠShe gave you candy.â
âYep.â
âFor telling her something.â
âYep.â
âAnd you took it.â
âObviously.â
Suguru looked away, resting his chin in his hand.
Something about that bothered him more than it should have.
It wasnât logical.
He knew that.
StillâŠ
You had always brought those candies for himâonly him. His classmates (back in elementary) didnât even had that luxury.
Not as some grand gesture. Just quietly. Casually. Like it was an established fact of the universe that he should have them.
The jar in his room was proof of that.
And now Satoru was chewing through them like a thief who had accidentally received permission.
ââŠYou shouldnât accept things so easily from people you donât know that much.â Suguru said after a moment.
Satoru blinked at him. âHuh?â
âItâs suspicious.â
Satoru stared then burst out laughing. âAre you serious?â
Shoko pushed herself off the window. âWow,â she said mildly. âSuguruâs jealous.â
Suguru immediately looked offended. âIâm not jealous.â
âYou are,â Shoko said calmly.
âIâm not.â
Satoru leaned forward, grinning now. âOh my god,â he said. âYou are.â
Suguru sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
âThis isnât about jealousy.â
âSure it isnât,â Shoko muttered.
Satoru tossed another candy in the air and caught it in his mouth. âRelax,â he said lazily. âIf it makes you feel better, she looked like she regretted giving them to me.â
Suguru shot him a look. ââŠWhy?â
Satoru smirked. âBecause I told her the truth.â He crunched through the candy with a loud snap. âAnd people usually donât like that.â
Suguru didnât respond immediately. His gaze drifted briefly to the dark window beside Shoko.
Somewhere out there, far beyond the forest and train lines, you were in your apartment in Yokohama.
Not here.
Not in the dorms.
Not within the small, quiet world the three of them occupied at night.
He looked back at Satoru, who was still shamelessly eating the candy. Suguru exhaled softly. ââŠIf those are actually from her,â he said, âdonât finish them all.â
Satoru raised an eyebrow. âWhy?â
Suguru leaned back again, reopening his book. âBecause youâre gonna give it to me.â
âDonât wanna, Y/n gave it to me, itâs mine~â Satoru grinned and unwrapped another one anyway.
-
Meanwhile you back in your apartment : *sneezes*
A/n: Hala kayooo, nag tatampo na si suguru. Canonically toyoin pa naman yan.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
40
Like every normal fangirl/simp/unfortunate idiot who got isekaiâd into Jujutsu Kaisenâthere is a certain appeal to seeing the strongest duo in action.
That is, assuming you can first swallow the small, inconvenient detail that you might actually die here.
A minor drawback. Truly.
By the time you reached the graveyard, that fleeting âexcitementâ had already begun to rot in your stomach.
You paused near the rusted gate, taking a moment to look around. The place was exactly what youâd expect from a cursed graveyardâexcept worse, because expectation didnât quite capture the feeling of wrongness pressing against your skin.
The air was damp and heavy, thick with the smell of wet soil and old stone. Fog clung low to the ground like it had nowhere else to go. The crooked headstones leaned at awkward angles, half-swallowed by weeds and moss. Somewhere deeper in the cemetery, something creakedâslow and hollow, like wood straining against a weight that shouldnât be there.
And the cursed energy.
God.
Even with your limited awareness (limited by you meanâlesser compared to Satoruâs), you could feel itâlike static crawling across your skin, buzzing faintly at the base of your skull. Every instinct you had screamed that this place was very, very, very obviously fucking cursed.
Which was exactly why you stopped walking.
Unfortunately, the other two did not share your extremely reasonable survival instincts.
By the time you finished your quick environmental assessmentâalso known as standing there and contemplating your life choicesâboth Suguru and Satoru had already moved ahead without hesitation.
Of course they did.
Suguru in particular didnât waste a second. His pace was brisk, purposeful, the kind of urgency that made it obvious he wasnât treating this like some routine cleanup. As mentioned earlier there were five idiotic people who went ghost hunting here and went missing near the graveyard, and apparently the cursed spirit responsible was still active.
Possibly alive.
Possibly not.
Suguru glanced back briefly when he noticed you hadnât followed yet, his expression calm but firm in a way that left very little room for argument. âWe should move,â he said. âIf the spiritâs still hunting, there might still be people we can reach.â
Right. Yes. Of course. Saving lives.
A very noble objective.
You would absolutely love to participateâpreferably from a safe observational distance.
But before you could even pretend to catch up, Satoru noticed your lagging behind.
Which, apparently, was the greatest mistake of your day.
He slowed just enough to fall slightly behind Suguru, turning his head toward you with that infuriating grin that always meant trouble. âWhatâs wrong?â he called lazily. âDonât tell me youâre scared already.â
You stared at him.
Not even bothering to hide the flat look.
The audacity.
Because the worst partâthe absolute worst partâwas that Satoru said it like he hadnât been the one instigating half the chaos earlier. Like he wasnât the type of person who would absolutely provoke something on purpose just to see what happened.
Intentional. Always intentional.
And yet here he was, acting like you were the unreasonable one for hesitating in what was clearly the most haunted-looking graveyard to ever exist.
You exhaled slowly through your nose.
You were not going to give him the satisfaction.
Unfortunately, silence had never once stopped Satoru from continuing. âCâmon,â he added, voice lilting with obvious amusement. âIf youâre gonna tag along, at least try to keep up.â
There it was.
Ragebait.
Pure, shameless ragebait.
You could practically feel the trap sitting there, wide open and waiting.
And the worst part was that Satoru looked pleased with himself, like this was the highlight of his evening.
Whichâconsidering the circumstancesâwas honestly concerning.
For a brief moment you considered several possible responses. Most of them involved violence. Unfortunately, none of them were realistic given the overwhelming power imbalance currently present.
So instead you settled for the only strategy left available to you.
Quiet resistance.
With all the emotional enthusiasm of someone walking toward their own funeral, you finally stepped forward and started following them into the graveyard.
Not because Satoru told you to.
Obviously.
Just because standing alone at the gate of a cursed cemetery felt significantly worse.
You barely made it five steps past the gate before the air changed.
It wasnât dramatic at first.
Just a shift in pressureâlike the atmosphere had thickened, pressing faintly against your ears. The buzzing at the base of your skull sharpened into something closer to a warning siren.
Ahead of you, Suguru slowed.
Beside him, Satoru tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something the rest of the world hadnât noticed yet.
The joking tone from earlier evaporated.
Then the ground moved.
Not around you.
Underneath.
A deep crack echoed through the cemetery as one of the graves caved in. The soil collapsed inward with a heavy, wet sound. Another followed a few meters away. Then another.
The earth began to sink in uneven patches, gravestones tilting as the ground beneath them shifted.
Your stomach dropped.
Oh. Great.
The soil bulged upward like something massive was forcing its way through it. Wooden coffin fragments splintered through the dirt as the grave finally burst open.
And then the cursed spirit crawled out.
It was enormous.
Even hunched, the creature stood nearly three meters tall, its body an uneven mass of swollen limbs and rotting flesh. Gray-green skin hung from its frame in loose, decaying sheets, peeling back in places to reveal exposed bone and dark muscle slick with blackened cursed energy.
The smell hit a second later.
Rot.
Not just old rotâwet, suffocating decay that filled your lungs and clung to the back of your throat.
Your eyes watered instantly.
The creatureâs head hung forward beneath a warped spine, its jaw stretched so wide it looked dislocated. Something dangled from its mouth.
At first your brain tried very hard to pretend it wasnât what it looked like.
Then it moved.
A human arm swayed weakly from between the creatureâs teeth.
The corpse attached to it hung halfway inside its throat, ribs crushed inward where the creature had bitten through the torso. Another body was wedged behind it, already decomposing to the point where the skin had darkened and split.
More remains were tangled deeper in its mouthâbones, scraps of clothing, something that might have once been a skull.
Your gaze flicked toward the surrounding graves.
Several were open.
Coffins shattered.
Earth overturned.
The implication settled slowly and horribly into place.
It dug those corpses up.
The cursed spirit dragged itself fully from the grave with a heavy, grinding movement. Dirt sloughed from its body as it rose, massive hands digging into the soil for leverage.
Cursed energy rolled off it in suffocating waves.
It didnât feel refinedâthere was no clear technique shaping it. Just raw, violent density coating its body like armor.
Enough that you instinctively knew one thing:
If it landed a hit, it wouldnât need a technique.
The cursed energy alone would make it fatal.
The creatureâs head snapped upward.
Its hollow eye sockets locked onto your group.
Then it roared.
The sound came out wrongâwet, layered, like several voices screaming through the same ruined throat. One of the corpses lodged in its mouth slipped free and hit the ground with a dull thud.
And then it moved.
The ground exploded beneath its feet as the creature lunged.
But before it could reach youâ
Space warped violently.
Blue flashed.
Satoru vanished from beside you, reappearing midair as the pull of Limitless: Blue distorted the space around the cursed spirit. The technique dragged the creature off course, its massive body yanked sideways as if the air itself had grabbed hold of it.
It slammed through a row of headstones instead of barreling straight into you.
Stone shattered.
Dirt exploded outward.
At the same time, several shapes spilled from the swirl of cursed energy behind Suguru Geto.
Curses.
Three of them shot forward instantlyâone wrapping around the creatureâs leg, another leaping for its throat, a third clinging to its torso like a living chain.
Suguru didnât stay behind them.
He moved straight in.
You had a brief, detached moment to process the fact that he was about to throw hands with a semiâspecial grade cursed spirit.
Which, apparently, was just a normal Tuesday for him.
The cursed spirit tore one of the controlled curses apart with a violent swing of its arm. The impact cracked the ground where it landed, cursed energy splintering outward.
Suguru slipped inside the attack smoothly.
His fist drove into the creatureâs ribcage.
The impact detonated with a burst of cursed energy that ripped open the rotting flesh where his knuckles landed.
The creature staggered.
And through all of thisâ
You were still standing there.
Watching.
Which wouldâve been fine.
Except you were very much on this mission.
With them.
Meaningâ
Your turn.
Your gaze drifted back to the cursed spirit just as it opened its mouth again.
The corpses hanging from its teeth swayed slightly.
The smell of decay rolled across the graveyard like a physical wave.
Your stomach lurched.
God.
Up close, it was worse.
Much worse.
The rot was thick enough to taste. Something dark dripped from the creatureâs jawâfluids from the bodies stuffed inside its mouth, pooling into the dirt below.
You really, really did not want to get within stabbing distance of that thing.
Unfortunately, the universe had never shown much interest in your personal comfort.
You inhaled slowly through your mouth, trying not to breathe through your nose.
It didnât help.
Your cursed energy stirred anyway.
There was a brief moment of resistanceâyour brain very reasonably suggesting that maybe you should just⊠stay back. Observe. Offer moral support from a safe distance.
Then the cursed spirit ripped another one of Suguruâs controlled curses apart.
And Satoru, hovering slightly above the ground after using Blue to reposition, glanced back at you. âDonât just stand there,â he called casually, like you were watching a street performance instead of a corpse-eating nightmare. âYouâre on the team, remember?â
Right.
Fantastic.
You swallowed.
The dread didnât go away.
But you pushed it down anyway.
Your cursed energy surged outward, responding to the familiar mental pull of your technique. The shape formed almost instantlyâblackened energy condensing into something long and sharp in your grasp.
A naginata materialized in your hands.
The weight of it settled into your grip, solid and reassuring in a way that grounded the buzzing panic in your chest.
You adjusted your stance automatically.
Across the graveyard, the cursed spirit turned toward you again.
Rotting flesh shifted.
Cursed energy swelled around its massive arm.
You exhaled once.
-
The fight dragged on longer than you wouldâve liked.
Not because the cursed spirit was particularly cleverâit wasnât. The thing fought like a starving animal, swinging its massive limbs with enough cursed energy behind each hit to crater the ground.
But raw power still counted.
Each blow that landed shattered stone, uprooted graves, or tore through one of Suguruâs curses with brutal efficiency. The graveyard had become a mess of overturned soil and broken headstones, fog swirling wildly every time Satoru warped space with Limitless: Blue.
Your school shoes slid through damp earth as you ducked beneath another swinging arm.
The stench was unbearable this close.
Every movement of the creatureâs jaw made the corpses tangled in its teeth shift, something dark and wet dripping from the ruined bodies onto the ground below. The rot clung to the air so thickly that it felt like breathing through spoiled meat.
You had long since stopped using your nose.
Your naginata flashed through the fog, the blade carving through rotting flesh with sharp arcs of cursed energy. Each strike tore away chunks of the creatureâs body, but the sheer density of cursed energy coating it kept the spirit moving.
One wrong step and youâd be pulp.
Across the battlefield, Satoru pulled the creature sideways again with another burst of Blue, the distortion yanking the massive body off balance. âOpening,â he called lightly.
Suguru moved instantly.
Two of his curses latched onto the creatureâs arms, dragging them down just enough to expose its chest again. Suguru himself slipped forward with that same unsettling calm, driving a strike into its torso that forced the spirit to stagger backward.
And thatâ
That was the moment youâd been waiting for.
You pushed off the ground.
Your cursed energy surged along the shaft of the naginata as you closed the distance in a single forward dash. The world narrowed to the opening in front of youâthe torn ribcage, the pulsing mass of cursed energy inside it.
You drove the blade forward.
The naginata pierced straight through the center of the cursed spirit.
For a brief second, everything went still.
Then the creature convulsed.
A deep, distorted shriek ripped from its throat as the blade pinned its core in place. The cursed energy surrounding its body fractured violently, cracking like glass under pressure.
You twisted the weapon.
The core shattered.
The enormous body froze.
Then it began to collapse inward.
Cursed spirits didnât leave behind corpses the way humans did. Their forms broke apart into swirling fragments of energy, dissolving into the air like smoke.
Exceptâ
Yours didnât disperse.
Instead, the fragments condensed.
Thin streams of green light began forming where the creatureâs body had been, coalescing into small, glowing orbs that hovered briefly in the air.
âThatâŠwas new.â Suguruâs head tilted slightly.
The orbs drifted toward you.
Before anyone could comment, they touched your skin.
And vanished.
Your body absorbed them instantly.
The sensation was subtle but unmistakableâlike warm electricity spreading beneath your skin as the cursed energy folded neatly into your own reserves.
Suguru blinked once.
It was technically the first time heâd actually seen your technique in action.
He had sensed your cursed energy before, of course. Observed the way your weapon manifested. But watching a defeated cursed spirit compress into energy and get absorbed directly into youâ
That was⊠unusual.
Extremely unusual.
Meanwhile, the last remnants of the cursed spirit finished dissolving.
Unfortunately, one thing did not dissolve.
The corpse that had been lodged in the creatureâs mouth earlier slipped free during the collapse and landed nearby with a wet, heavy thud.
Your eyes flicked toward it.
Immediatelyâ
Eurgh.
You recoiled a step.
The body had been half-digested, skin sloughing away from muscle in places where the cursed spiritâs teeth had torn through it. The smell hit you again now that the fight was over, thick and nauseating.
Your stomach twisted.
You had never liked dead bodies.
Bad history.
Very bad history.
You quickly looked away.
Nope.
Not processing that today.
With a quiet exhale, you dismissed your weapon. The naginata dissolved into fading threads of cursed energy that vanished into the night air.
Fight over.
Mission accomplished.
Which meantâ
Time to leave.
You turned toward the gate without another word.
âWait.â
You paused.
Behind you, Suguru stepped forward slightly. âThere might still be people around the graveyard,â he said calmly. âIf the spirit was hunting earlier, the victims could still be nearby. We should search the area.â
You stared at him. ââŠWhy?â
Suguru blinked. âWhy?â he repeated.
âYes,â you said flatly. âWhy.â
There was a brief silence.
âWe just eliminated the cursed spirit,â Suguru said slowly. âIf there are survivorsââ
âI came here to kill the curse,â you interrupted. âWhich I did. Mission complete.â
Suguru looked genuinely confused now. ââŠThere are civilians who could be injured or hiding somewhere.â
âAnd?â
Suguru stared at you.
You shrugged. âThey shouldnât have come here.â
The silence stretched longer this time.
âYou mentioned that before,â Suguru said carefully. âBut I assumed you werenât being entirely serious.â
âOh, I was very serious,â you replied.
Suguruâs brows furrowed. âThere are people who might be terrified and alone somewhere in this graveyard.â
âYes,â you said calmly. âBecause they decided ghost hunting in a cursed graveyard was a fun hobby.â
Suguru opened his mouthâ
âYouâre a bitch.â The voice came from behind him.
You looked over.
Satoru was leaning casually against a cracked headstone, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable behind the blindfold.
Suguru immediately turned toward him. âSatoru,â he said sharply.
But Satoru didnât look the least bit apologetic.
âYou are,â he continued bluntly, tilting his head slightly in your direction. âA bitch.â
Suguru frowned. âThatâs unnecessary.â
âNo itâs not,â Satoru replied.
His tone wasnât teasing.
That was the weird part.
âYouâre a heartless, uncooperative bitch,â he continued matter-of-factly. âand you think your whole anti-heroâvigilante or whatever you are acting like right now persona makes you better than everyone else.â
The words landed heavier than you expected.
Because he didnât sound amused.
He sounded⊠certain.
For a moment you considered arguing.
Several responses lined up in your head immediately, sharp and ready.
Instead, you just lifted your hand.
And flipped him off.
Then you turned around and walked away.
If they wanted to play hero in a cursed graveyard full of idiots who went ghost hunting, that was their problem.
You had already done your job.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
39
You and Suguru eventually reached the end of the hallway.
The storage room door stood slightly crooked in its frame, the old metal handle scratched and worn from years of use.
You reached for it.
Suguru noticed your hand pause for the briefest moment before turning the knob.
It was small.
Almost nothing.
But Suguru had spent enough of his childhood around you to notice those kinds of pauses.
The door creaked open.
A stale smell drifted outâdust, old wood, and something faintly metallic.
Inside were stacks of unused desks, spare chairs, cracked training equipment, and boxes that had probably been forgotten by three different graduating classes.
You stepped inside first.
Suguru followed, letting the door swing shut behind him.
The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead.
For a moment the two of you stood there in silence, surrounded by furniture that no one currently needed.
The awkwardness settled in properly now.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
You walked toward the nearest stack of chairs and pulled one free, brushing a thin layer of dust from the seat with your hand.
Suguru watched you for a moment before speaking. ââŠKyoto suits you.â
It sounded casual.
But there was something careful in the way he said it.
Like he doesn't mean it but wasn't entirely sure what ground he was allowed to stand on anymore.
You glanced at him briefly. âNot really.â
Another quiet pause.
Suguru leaned one shoulder against a stack of desks, arms folding loosely across his chest. âHow longâŠâ he started, then stopped himself mid-sentence. His brow creased slightly. âHow long were youâuhmâŠâ
You saved him the trouble. âHow long was I a cult leader?â you cut in calmly.
Suguru straightened immediately. âNoâ!â
âJust a year ago,â you continued, brushing more dust off the chair like you were discussing the weather. âIf that's what you were asking.â
âNo,â Suguru said again, a little more firmly this time. âThat's not what I meant.â He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. âI meant⊠when did you start seeing curses?â
You stopped brushing the chair.
Suguru continued more carefully. âWhen did your cursed technique awaken?â
Your hand rested on the backrest of the chair.
For a moment, the room felt quieter.
âAm I still allowed to say âsecretâ?â you asked mildly.
Your tone was light.
Too light.
Suguru studied your face.
He knew that tone.
You used it when you were closing a door.
ââŠYeah,â he said after a moment. âI guess you can.â
You nodded once and resumed cleaning the chair.
Conversation over.
Suguru exhaled softly through his nose.
He could push.
But he doesn't want another conversation between you two to end up as an argument. Especially since right now, Suguru feels like the distance between you grew massively over the years.
So instead, he leaned his head back slightly and tried a different topic. âThe candy jar you left me is already half empty.â
You glanced at him. âThe strawberry ones?â you asked.
âYeah.â Suguru smiled faintly. âThose.â
He pushed himself away from the stack of desks and walked over to grab another chair. âCan I tell you something honestly?â
You didnât answer.
But you didnât stop him either.
âMy cursed technique makes me swallow curses to manipulate them,â he said lightly. âThey are, let's say, uhmâŠ..,â he continued, lifting a desk from the stack, âthey taste kinda bad.â He glanced at you briefly. âWhen we were kids, you used to coincidentally give me candy whenever I used my technique.â
You stilled slightly.
âYou probably didnât even realize it,â Suguru added. âBut it helped.â He smiled a little at the memory. âIt distracted me from you knowâŠ.the curses.â
For a moment the only sound in the room was the faint buzz of the lights.
Suguru adjusted his grip on the desk. âI know we argued last time we saw each other,â he said quietly. âBut⊠Iâm glad you decided to join us.â
You looked at him.
And reminded yourselfâ
He doesnât know yet.
He doesnât know yet how corrupt the Jujutsu Society is.
He doesnât know yet the kind of people sitting comfortably at the top.
He doesnât know yet that you âjoiningâ wasnât a choice.
He doesnât know yet that the higher-ups threatened you with your parents.
He doesnât know.
Your expression remained calm. âIâm only here to exorcise curses, Geto-san.â The honorific was deliberate. âIâm not interested in saving people.â
Suguru paused.
The words werenât loud.
But they landed heavier than shouting would have.
For a brief moment something flickered across his expression.
Hurt.
Not anger.
Just hurt.
Because the girl he grew up with used to bring stray animals home and cry with the possibility of them dying when left alone to fend for themselves.
He opened his mouth slightlyâ
Almost ready to challenge you.
To ask what happened.
But the moment passed.
Instead he shifted the conversation again. ââŠAnyway,â he said, forcing a small smile. âHowâs Jojo?â The thought of the dog brought a genuine smile on his face. Jojo would probably be eight by now. Of course Suguru remembers. âDid your mom let you keep all of her pups? The last update I had about her was when your mom texted my mom that she gave birth.â He grinned.
Your breath hitched.
It was small.
Barely audible.
But Suguru noticed. âIs Jojo still as stupid as ever?â he added lightly.
You didnât answer.
The chair in your hands suddenly felt heavier.
Dust blurred slightly under your gaze.
A flashâ
A dogâs bark.
White snow streaked with red.
Something breaking.
Something dying.
Your chest tightened sharply.
You closed your eyes.
Hard.
The memory slammed into a locked door in your mind.
And stopped.
You inhaled slowly.
When you opened your eyes again your expression was perfectly calm.
Suguru was staring at you now. Concern replacing his smile. ââŠAre you okay?â he asked.
You picked up the chair. âYes.â
A beat passed.
âDid I say something wrong?â he pressed gently.
âNo,â you said quickly. Then quieterâ âNo. JustâŠâ You rubbed your temple once. âStop asking questions, okay?â
âY/nââ Suguru frowned slightly. âYou know if somethingâs bothering you, you can always tell me,â he said. âIâm your friend.â
Something sharp flickered behind your eyes. âGeto-san,â you interrupted. Your tone had cooled. âHow many times do I have to tell you?â You lifted the chair and started walking toward the door. âItâs L/n.â
Your voice remained calm.
Controlled.
But distant.
âBoth of us arenât close enough to call each other by our first names.â
Suguru froze where he stood.
The words stung more than he expected.
For a moment he almost called you out.
Almost said something sharp in return.
âWe used to be.â The words sat at the back of his throat.
Then he looked at you again.
Really looked.
At the way your shoulders had stiffened.
At the way you were gripping the chair just a little too tightly.
At the way you were avoiding his eyes.
And the argument dissolved before it could begin.
Suguru exhaled quietly. ââŠRight,â he said. He bent down, picked up a desk and another chair. âLetâs get back before Satoru starts complaining about how long we took.â
You nodded once.
Neither of you spoke as you walked back down the hallway.
The distance between you was only half a step.
But it felt much farther than that.
-
âLook, newbie!â Satoru pointed at you like a prosecutor presenting damning evidence. âI donât know why youâre allowed to not attend classes,â he continued accusingly, leaning forward from his seat, âbut that doesnât mean I wonât figure out whatever trick you used and copy it.â His sunglasses were pushed up on his head now, bright blue eyes narrowed with exaggerated suspicion. âI refuse to believe someone gets special treatment for no reason.â
âKidnapping a higher-upâs grandson usually encourages cooperation.â you thought.
You adjusted the hem of your school skirt slightly, tugging it down over your knees.
God, sometimes you regretted not ordering a proper uniform from Jujutsu Tech. If you had, you couldâve requested pants like a sensible person.
Instead, you were stuck wearing the stiff navy uniform from your all-girls school in Yokohama. The pleated skirt felt impractical for a job that occasionally involved jumping across rooftops or fighting something with too many limbs.
Unfortunately, you never have thought of that earlier.
And now you were paying for it.
You could have easily shoved Satoru away. Or freeze him in place with a well-placed application of cursed energy (you don't know if you could, but you want to try).
But the three of you were currently wedged together in the backseat of a car barely designed for three teenagers.
The manager from the auxiliary staff was driving you to the mission site, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror with the expression of someone reconsidering their career choices.
You and Suguru sat by the window.
Satoruâwho sat between you and Suguruâhad somehow managed to occupy more than half the remaining space through the strategic use of elbows, knees, and aggressive manspreading.
You stared out the window instead of acknowledging him.
The city rolled past in muted shades of grey and neon as the car moved toward the outskirts.
You should have asked Suguru to take the middle seat.
You had forgotten how insufferable Satoru could be when he was bored.
âAnyway,â Satoru continued, apparently undeterred by your lack of reaction, âusually Suguru and I split up during missions so things finish faster.â He tossed your Jujutsu Tech ID card lightly in one hand like a poker chip. âBut since you're a newbie,â he went on, âwe decided we shouldnât split up this time.â He grinned. âWho knows how weak you are.â
You didnât look away from the window.
The mission itself was simple enough.
On paper, at least.
A semi-special grade curse had been lingering in an old graveyard outside the city. The location had recently gained popularity among local teenagers who apparently believed wandering through a graveyard at midnight with a flashlight counted as entertainment.
Five of those teenagers had decided to go âghost huntingâ two nights ago.
Predictably, that had ended poorly.
Now the three of you were being sent to clean up the problem before anyone else wandered in.
Truly idiotic behavior.
Satoru kept examining your ID card. âBut itâs impressive,â he added after a moment, sounding mildly annoyed, âhow you were immediately labeled a semi-special grade.â He glanced sideways at you. âEspecially since Iâve already seen you move and I'm telling you, I am not impressed.â
Your gaze shifted slightly.
What did he even mean by that?
You turned your head just enough to look at him.
Satoru was watching you like someone observing a puzzle piece that didnât quite fit. âyouâre so boring too!â he said casually. Then he shrugged like it didnât matter.
Still tossing your ID card in the air.
You looked at him for another second. Then you looked back out the window. âI guess losers like you donât enjoy the idea that someone might be stronger than you.â You said it quietly.
But loud enough.
You don't know why you're a semi-special grade! You're also sure as hell it's rigged and the higher upâs way to easily send you to your doom.
Satoru froze. âHaaah?â He slowly turned toward Suguru with exaggerated disbelief. âDid you hear that?â
Suguru, who had been silently enduring the entire conversation with saint-like patience, rubbed his temple. âYes,â he said calmly. âShe called you a loser.â
âUnbelievable,â Satoru muttered, offended. âThe newbie has been here for five minutes and already started talking trash.â He leaned forward, pointing at you again. âIf I get the chance,â he declared dramatically, âIâm leaving you in a sea of curses.â
You didnât even look at him. âPlease do.â Your voice was calm. âIâd prefer that over being with you.â
Suguru let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
Satoru stared at both of you. âWow,â he said flatly. âYou two are terrible.â
Suguru smiled faintly. âYou started it Satoru.â
Satoru scoffed loudly and leaned back in his seat again, still holding your ID card hostage. âYou better not die on this mission,â he added, glancing sideways at you. âOtherwise people will say I bullied the new girl to death, plus it's embarrassing for someone as cocky as you to die..â
Satoru Gojo doesn't have the right to call you cocky. If you are, what is he then? Cocky pro max?
You finally turned toward him. Your expression was perfectly neutral. âIts highly unlikely Iâd die,â you said calmly, âthough one thing's for sure, your ego would be the death of you.â
Suguru covered his mouth with one hand.
Satoru stared at you for two full seconds. Then he burst into laughter. âOh, I like her,â he said, pointing at you again. âSheâs rude.â
Suguru sighed. âThis mission is going to be exhausting.â
Side Character | JJK x Reader
38
âSo you know how I travel two hours every day to attend school, right?â You kept your tone light, conversational, as if you were asking for the soy sauce. Steam curled from your miso soup. The apartment smelled like grilled mackerel and detergent and the faint citrus cleaner your mother liked too much.
Your mom hummed and nodded. âMm.â
An easy lie.
To them, you were a diligent daughter commuting four hours dailyâtwo there, two backâshoulders hunched on a train seat, earbuds in, textbooks open. In reality, you spent everyday at your grandmotherâs estate refining cursed energy control until your veins felt like frayed wiring.
âMom. Dad.â You set your chopsticks down carefully. âI told drandmother I want to stay in the dormitories.â
Your father paused mid-bite. âHuh? When will this happen?â
âAfter winter break.â
âThatâs three days from now.â His brows pulled together. âWhy so sudden?â
You shrugged slightly. âTraveling four hours a day burns me out.â
That part, at least, wasnât entirely false. Pretending was exhausting.
Your mother frowned. âFlower, why did you agree to attend a school all the way in Yokohama anyway? There are better schools closer.â
You closed your eyes for half a second, irritation flickering behind your ribs.
âBecause you have a crazy mom, Mom.â
Aloud, you said, âIt doesnât matter. The point is Iâll be staying in the dorm instead of coming home every day.â
Your father set his chopsticks down. Not loudly. Just deliberately. âDoesnât matter?â His voice didnât rise, which somehow made it heavier. âFlower, ever since middle school, decisions about you are made by your grandmother and weâre the last to know. You are a kid. Our kid.â
The words hit somewhere inconvenient.
You exhaled slowly. âI told you now.â
âThree days before it happens,â he replied. âThatâs not telling us. Thatâs informing us.â
Your jaw tightened.
He wasnât wrong.
You hated that he wasnât wrong.
âIâm not running away,â you said, keeping your tone even. âItâs just a dorm. A school dormitory.â
âYou canât make decisions like this so brashly without us,â he continued, and there it wasâthe edge. Not anger. Hurt.
Your mother shifted in her seat, eyes moving between you like she was watching a tennis match no one trained for.
âIâm not being brash,â you said. âIâm being practical.â
âYouâre fifteen.â
âIâm capable.â
âI know you are,â he snapped back, then immediately softened. âThatâs not the point.â
The room felt smaller suddenly. The hum of the refrigerator too loud. The ticking wall clock intrusive.
âYou donât look at me anymore,â he said quietly.
You blinked. âWhat?â
âWhen something goes wrong, you donât look at me like I can fix it.â His voice was steady but thinner now. âYou used to look at me or your mom once when something was troubling you. Now you shoulder everything.â The irritation drained out of you, leaving something hollow and uncomfortable in its place. He wasnât accusing you. He sounded⊠displaced. âIâm not trying to control you. I don't want to invade your privacy.â he added, almost as if clarifying to himself. âIt just feels like youâre slipping off my finger.â
The metaphor was clumsy. It still landed.
Like he used to hold your hand when crossing the street and now your grip was gone.
You stared at the condensation forming along the rim of your water glass. Your reflection warped in it.
You couldnât look at him like he could solve your problems.
Because some of your problems would devour him.
You swallowed. âSorry.â you said quietly.
It wasnât theatrical. It wasnât defensive. Just⊠honest.
Silence lingered.
âI promise, someday. Iâd get us all out of here.â
Your motherâs expression softened first. Your father ran a hand over his face and sighed. âI have a point, though.â he muttered.
âYou do.â you admitted.
That seemed to deflate the tension faster than any argument could have. He leaned back in his chair. âAre you sure about this?â
âYes.â
A pause. ââŠOkay.â
Your mother blinked. âThatâs it?â
He shot her a look, then turned back to you. âDo you need help packing? What do you need? Clothes? Storage? Iâll buy it.â
The abrupt pivot almost made you laugh.
This was how he loved. Logistics.
âI can manage,â you said. âI have everything Iâd need.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â he replied immediately. âTell me what you need.â
Your mother hesitated. âAre you sure about the dormitory? School dorms are cramped. Shared bathrooms. Bad insulation. The heating probably breaks.â
âItâs fine.â you started.
He cut her off gently. âSheâs not staying in a cramped dorm.â
You looked up.
âIâll find you an apartment in Yokohama,â he continued, already mentally reorganizing finances. âClose to campus. Safe neighborhood. You donât need to live like a sardine.â
Your stomach droppedâthen steadied.
An apartment.
Privacy.
No dorm curfew. No roommates. No school supervision.Â
Since your parents brought itâyour dad is the one paying for it, thereâs a high chance your grandmother canât spy you.
It works for you.
âThatâs too much,â you said automatically, because you were supposed to.
âItâs not,â he replied firmly. âIf youâre going to live alone, youâll live properly.â
Your mother still looked uncertain. âLiving alone at her ageââ
âSheâs already living halfway somewhere else.â he said quietly.
You pretended not to understand that.
He turned back to you. âWeâll go look tomorrow.â
You nodded slowly. âOkay.â
There was a warmth in your chest you didnât entirely trust.
You hadnât expected support. You had prepared for resistance. Calculated it. Structured arguments around it. Instead, your father was rearranging his world to cushion yours.
Guilt pressed against your ribs like a second heartbeat.
You pushed rice around your bowl absently. âIâm not slipping away,â you said after a moment.
He looked at you carefully.
âI just⊠need to handle things myself sometimes.â
He studied your face like he was searching for the little girl who used to cling to his sleeve in grocery stores. ââŠI know,â he said finally. âBut donât handle everything by yourself, flower. If your mom and I canât help you, ask your friendsâŠ.okay?â
The argument dissolved not because it was resolved, but because neither of you wanted to keep pulling at it.
Your mother started asking practical questionsâlaundry, groceries, emergency contacts. Your father pulled out his phone and began browsing listings before dinner was even finished.
You answered when necessary. Nodded. Agreed.
All the while, a quiet part of you observed the scene from a distance.
You were about to attend two schools.
One fake.
One lethal.
You were negotiating with clan elders and hiding it behind math homework.
And your father was worried about insulation.
You almost smiled.
When dinner ended, he ruffled your hair as he passed you.
-
You sat in Yagaâs office with the composure of someone waiting for a dentist appointment they couldnât cancel.
On the surface you looked indifferentâhands folded neatly in your lap, posture straight, gaze resting somewhere politely unfocused on the shelves behind his desk. Inside, however, you were contemplating the architectural stability of the building and whether it might collapse in a way that would be both fatal and convenient.
Your school uniform felt oddly formal here. The navy blazer from your all-girls school in Yokohama sat stiff on your shoulders, the crest embroidered over your chest a quiet reminder of a life that had nothing to do with curses or clan politicsâjust some prestigious all girls school. You hadnât bothered ordering a uniform for Jujutsu Tech.
Why would you?
You had no intention of being here longer than absolutely necessary.
Show up for missions. Fulfill obligations. Leave.
A perfectly efficient arrangement.
Yaga, unfortunately, seemed determined to pretend this was a normal academic transfer.
He was in the middle of giving you what you assumed was the standard introduction speechâhistory of the school, expectations of students, responsibility of sorcerers. You knew all of it already. Your grandmother (despite her distaste for the Jujutsu Society) had made sure you knew everything the Jujutsu Society wanted you to know, and several things they very much did not. You would never lack knowledge especially since âknowledge is powerâ.
You drifted halfway through the speech, attention returning only when Yaga stood and motioned for you to follow.
âClasses started thirty minutes ago,â he said calmly. âYou should meet your classmates.â
Exciting.
You stood and followed him through the quiet hallways. The school smelled faintly of chalk dust, old wood, and the kind of institutional cleaner that promised sterility but delivered only damp floors.
âI am glad youâre able to join us, L/n-san,â Yaga said as you approached the classroom.
You scoffed softly. âYeah, right. Iâm beaming with excitement.â You said sarcastically.
Yaga didnât react. Either he had excellent patience or a very realistic understanding of how the higher-ups operated.
Probably both.
He slid the door open.
You paused for a moment outside the threshold, taking a slow breath before stepping in.
Two heads turned.
One didnât bother looking up.
A tall boy with white hair lounged in his chair like the classroom furniture had been designed specifically to accommodate his boredom. A Game Boy rested in his hands, the tiny electronic chirps of whatever game he was playing filling the quiet room. He didnât even glance up.
Gojo Satoru.
Besides him sat Suguru, who looked up immediately when you entered. His expression shifted from curiosity to something more attentiveâmeasured, observant.
Then the only girl in the room leaned back in her chair, a cigarette absent but implied by the languid tilt of her posture. Shoko watched you with mild interest, like someone observing a new exhibit at a museum.
Yaga addressed them. âAs I mentioned a few days ago, another student would be joining us once classes resume.âÂ
The Game Boy continued to beep.Â
âIt would be nice if the four of you introduced yourselves before we begin.â A subtle glance from Yaga told you exactly who was expected to start.
You inhaled slowly. âI am Y/nââ
âWhatâs the point?â Satoru cut in without looking up. âWe all know each other anyway.â
Technically true.
Also incredibly irritating.
He finally glanced up, flashing Shoko a grin. âYo, Shoko. Thatâs the girl we traveled all the way to Kyoto for last October.â
Your jaw tightened.
âThe cult leader.â He leaned toward her and stage-whispered with absolutely no effort to lower his voice. âAnd Y/nââ
âItâs L/n, Gojo-san.â You cut in flatly. âL/n.â
âOh?â he said lightly. âTouchy.â Satoru finally looked directly at you. Blue eyes bright with mischief. âAnyway, this is Shoko.â
Yaga sighed in the quiet, exhausted way of someone who had been a teacher long enough to develop something very close to spiritual fatigue. âGojo.â
Satoru tilted his head from where he was slouched in his chair, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. âWhat?â
Yaga scanned the classroom slowly, eyes moving across the rows of desks. Then he frowned. ââŠWhere is the extra desk I asked you to grab?â
There was a pause.
Satoru stretched like a cat that had just been disturbed from a perfectly good nap, arms lifting above his head with an exaggerated groan. âOh.â
âGojo.â Yaga said slowly.
âRelax,â Satoru replied lazily. âIâll get one.â
âYou were supposed to bring it before class.â
âYeah, yeah.â He made absolutely no move to stand.
âYou know what, it's my fault for asking you in the fireplace.â Yaga murmured. Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose like a man who was actively reconsidering every life decision that had led him to teaching teenagers with supernatural abilities. âYou will retrieve it now.â
Satoru sighed like the request physically pained him but finally pushed himself up from his chair. âBut Yaga-sensei!â he whined dramatically, rolling his shoulders like he had just come back from war. âI am too tired to do it. Yesterdayâs mission beat me up so bad!â
You didnât even look at him.
Suguru did.
And then, with the same quiet composure he always carried, he stood up from his seat. âYou can take mine,â he said, turning slightly toward you. âIâll grab another from the storage.â
The offer was simple. Genuine. The kind of thing that used to be second nature between the two of you.
Your response came before he could even take a step. You shook your head. âNo. Iâll get my own.â
Suguru paused.
Just slightly.
A blink too long.
âItâs fine,â he said. âItâs just a chair.â
âI know.â Your voice was calm. Even. Careful. âI still prefer to get my own.â
The air between you both shifted almost imperceptibly.
A small distance.
A very familiar distance.
Before the moment could settle into something heavier, Satoru snorted. âBold of you,â he said, leaning against it with one shoulder. âConsidering you donât even know where the storage room is.â
Your fingers twitched at your sides.
He was ragebaiting you.
Very obviously ragebaiting you.
You pictured several extremely satisfying ways to rearrange his skull.
You inhaled slowly.
Across the room, Suguru noticed the small movement of your hand. The slight tightening of your shoulders.
He remembered that.
You always did that when you were holding back.
He stepped in before the silence stretched too long. âI can show you the storage room instead,â he said. âmay I, Yaga-sensei?â
Your gaze shifted to him for the first time since the conversation started.
It wasnât hostile.
But it wasnât the easy familiarity he remembered either.
âItâs just down the hall.â he added.
You nodded once. âThank you.â
You walked toward the door without looking at Satoru.
As you passed him, he leaned slightly out of the way, one eyebrow lifting behind those ridiculous sunglasses. âTry not to get lost,â he added lightly.
You kept walking.
Suguru followed beside you as the classroom door slid shut behind you with a quiet click.
The hallway was quiet.
Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, stretching long gold reflections across the polished floor. The school felt strangely calm compared to the noise of the classroom.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Your footsteps echoed faintly in the empty corridor.
Suguru walked half a step behind you at first.
Then beside you.
He noticed things he hadnât expected to notice.
Youâd grown a little taller.
Your posture had changedâstraighter, more guarded.
You also lookedâŠ.more tired.
Kyoto had shaped you in ways he hadnât been there to see.
Finally he spoke. âYou donât have to let him bother you.â
You didnât look at him. âIâm not.â Your tone was calm enough that someone who didnât know you might have believed it.
Suguru did know you.
A beat passed.
Then you added, voice dry as dust. âI just thought it would be rude to bash his head against the wall in front of the teacher.â
Suguru stopped walking for half a second.
The mental image appeared instantly.
Gojoâs head. Wall. Impact.
He let out a quiet laugh before he could stop it.
Not loud.
Just enough to acknowledge the image. ââŠFair,â he said. âSatoru gets so annoying sometimesâŠ.most of the time.
Side Character | JJK x Reader
37
Hideo Kamo had long ago accepted that he would never be the kind of man history remembered.
He had not inherited the bloodline technique. He had not possessed the volume of cursed energy that made the elders murmur with approval. His late brother howeverâthe twenty-third head of the Kamo clanâhad been born correct. His brotherâs son, the current head, had been born sufficient. Hideo had been born adjacent.
So he chose politics.
If he could not be power, he would sit beside it.
Replacing his uncle as one of the higher-ups of Jujutsu Society had not been glorious work, but it had been strategic. He served his uncle. Kept his head down to a bow. Brokered marriages. Secured alliances. Measured children the way merchants inspected grain. He married his son to a woman of strong lineage, calculating probabilities like prayer beads.
Perhaps the grandson would inherit the clanâs cursed technique and deem him worthy as the clan's next head.
Perhaps that would be enough.
His grandson.
Four years old. Cheerful. Loud. Supposed to be at home with his mother.
Which was why the sight in his office made something cold settle behind his ribs.
You were seated comfortably in his chair, one leg tucked beneath you, the other dangling lazily over the edge. The late afternoon light streamed through the shoji screens, catching in the dust suspended in the air. His office smelled faintly of aged paper, polished cedar, and the lingering trace of incense burned earlier that morning.
On the floor in front of you, his grandson was in the middle of a very serious negotiation with a wooden toy horse.
âNo, no,â you were saying, your tone conspiratorial. âIf the horse jumps from there, he breaks his legs. Then youâll have to heal him. Are you a healer?â
The boy giggled, loud and delighted. âNo!â
âAh. Then perhaps he should not be reckless.â you replied gravely. You had folded one of Hideoâs documents into a small paper crane. It sat on the desk beside you, wings uneven but functional. The boy kept trying to grab it, and you kept lifting it just out of reach, dragging out his laughter until it filled the room.
You looked relaxed.
Not tense. Not threatening.
That was what made it worse.
The door slid open.
You glanced up immediately, grin widening as though this were a pleasant surprise. âOh! Osamu-kun, your grandpa is here.â
The boy twisted around, saw Hideo, and beamed. âJiji!â
He sprang up and sprinted toward him without hesitation.
Hideo dropped to one knee and caught him instinctively, his hands checking shoulders, arms, face. No bruises. No trembling. No tears.
âJiji, she made a bird!â the boy announced proudly, pointing back at you.
You lifted the crane between two fingers and wiggled it slightly. âHe named it Taro. I suggested something more dramatic, but apparently Taro is non-negotiable.â
The child laughed again.
Not a trace of fear.
Hideoâs gaze snapped to you.
âWho are you?â he asked without looking at you, his body angled protectively.
You stood slowly from his chair, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your sleeves. The faint scent of incense clung to the room, and underneath it, something metallicâfear, maybe. Or imagination. âYou donât know me?â you asked, tilting your head with exaggerated disappointment. âBut you and your, ah⊠council have been trailing me for weeks or maybe years!âHow would I know? I thought we were closer than that.â
His eyes finally lifted. Recognition dawned. âTsumikage?â he breathed.
You wrinkled your nose. âNo, no. Thatâs my grandmother.â You stepped forward, unhurried.
He stiffened immediately.
Interesting.
âI am L/n. Just L/n.â
âDonât look so tense,â you said mildly to Hideo. âIf I intended harm, he wouldnât be laughing.â You crouched again, lowering yourself to the childâs height instead of looming over him. âHeâs very trusting, you know?â you added, brushing imaginary dust from the tatami. âFollowed me without complaint. Didnât even cry when we passed security.â
Hideoâs cursed energy flickered uneasily.
It was thin. Defensive. Not impressive.
âI told him we were playing hide-and-seek,â you continued thoughtfully. âHeâs very good at hiding.â You felt it the way one feels a draft through a cracked window. âI didnât hurt him,â you added, almost kindly. âIf I wanted to fight you, I wouldnât do it in front of him, there would be casualtiesâŠ. someone so innocent might get hurt.â
You let that sit.
The unspoken continuation hung between you like a blade suspended by thread.
Who knows what I can do.
Silence thickened the room. Outside, somewhere in the courtyard, a wind chime rang once and stilled.
âI just wanted to chat,â you said lightly, straightening again. âAdults should communicate, donât you think? It prevents⊠accidents.â
Hideoâs voice hardened. âYou broke into my residence and abducted my grandson.â
âAbducted is such an ugly word,â you replied gently. âBorrowed. I returned him.â
You glanced at the child, who was now tugging at his grandfatherâs sleeve. âJiji, can she stay?â
There it was.
Not fear. Attachment.
You had sat on the floor with him. Folded paper. Let him win imaginary arguments. Listened when he explained the difference between fast horses and brave horses. You had matched his energy without overwhelming it. You had made yourself small, safe, interesting.
Anyone naive gravitates toward warmth.
Predators know this.
Hideo rose slowly to his feet, keeping his grandson tucked close to his side. âState your purpose.â
You wandered back toward his desk, running your fingers idly along the edge. The wood was old. Well maintained. Political power smelled like varnish and old tea. âYou want me at Jujutsu Tech,â you said. Not a question. âPreferably monitored. Preferably close.â
He did not deny it.
You gave him a small, distracted smile. âIâll attend.â
His brows twitched, just slightly.
âBut,â you continued, âmy attendance will not be strict. In fact, there may be months where I do not appear at all. Entire school years, even. I dislike rigid structures. They make me irritable.â You clasped your hands behind your back and rocked gently on your heels, as though discussing extracurricular activities rather than institutional oversight. âIâll prefer to enroll in the Tokyo branch so it's easier to keep this from my grandmother.â you added. âUnless youâd prefer Kyoto.â You paused, glancing at him through your lashes. âThough I imagine my grandmother finding out immediately and throwing a rather petty tantrum if I were placed there. And we both know she despises you.â The thought made you giggle.
That earned the faintest tightening of his jaw.
Good.
âFeel free to send me on missions,â you went on smoothly. âAny mission. Dangerous ones are fine. I donât mind.â Your voice was almost bored. âBut if I choose a specific assignment, you will allow it.â
âYou are in no position to dictate terms,â he said.
You looked at his grandson.
Then back at him.
Your expression remained light, almost distracted. âIt was very easy,â you said softly. âTo reach him.â
The child, oblivious, tugged at his grandfatherâs sleeve again. âJiji, she said horses shouldnât jump from high places.â
You smiled faintly. âRisk assessment is important.â You met Hideoâs gaze again. âI walked past your guards. Entered your home. Spent half an hour teaching your grandson origami. And brought him here.â You folded your hands politely in front of you. âIf I wanted leverage, I already had it.â
The boy leaned toward you slightly, as if considering whether he could wriggle free and return to your side.
He wasnât afraid.
That was the most dangerous part.
âIâm offering cooperation,â you said quietly. âYou secure the Tsumikage heirâs enrollment. Voluntarily. It will look impressive to your council.â You stepped back toward the door. âIn exchange, I retain flexibility.â
âAnd if we refuse?â Hideo asked.
You shrugged lightly. âThen I suppose we all start making less comfortable decisions.â Your hand slid the door open. The corridor air felt cooler against your skin. You were already halfway through the doorway when you paused, as if remembering something trivial.
âOh,â you murmured, turning back.
Hideo stiffened instantly.
You ignored him and crouched in front of his grandson again, lowering yourself until you were eye level with the boy. The floor pressed faintly against your knees. The office felt smaller nowâair thinner, heavier with anticipation. âOsamu-kun,â you said gently, holding up one finger. âFollow this with your eyes, okay? Donât move your head. Just your eyes.â
The boy blinked, then nodded very seriously. âOkay.â
You lifted your hand between you.
A faint glow bloomed at the tip of your fingerâsoft, green, almost translucent. It wasnât violent. It wasnât explosive. It looked harmless. Like firefly light caught and held in place.
Hideoâs cursed energy spiked instantly.
You felt the shift before you saw itâhis body angling, muscles tightening, ready to intercept. Ready to attack.
You didnât look at him. You simply began to move your finger. Slowly at first, drawing a curved line through the air. The green light lingered faintly where you traced, as if ink were soaking into invisible paper. The boyâs eyes followed obediently, wide and fascinated.
You drew a circle.
Two triangles.
An uneven, lopsided shape that might generously be called a head.
The glow thickened, curling into itself. The air hummedânot loudly, but enough that Hideoâs breath hitched.
Before he could step forward, before he could commit to strikingâ
The light collapsed inward.
And in your hand, with a small, soft pop, something appeared.
AnâŠ.object.
You blinked down at it.
It was a horse plushie.
Technically.
Its proportions were questionable. The legs were uneven. The head was slightly too large for its body. One ear flopped downward in a way that suggested either artistic intent or catastrophic error.
It was, objectively, ugly.
The boy gasped.
Hideo had already moved half a step forward, cursed energy risingâ
You glanced up at him and giggled.
âPlease,â you said lightly. âYouâre going to strain something.â You turned the plushie over in your hand, inspecting it critically. The stitching was visible. The eyes were slightly mismatched in size. The colorâa muted brownâwas fine, but the execution was⊠debatable. You pouted. âThatâs unfortunate,â you murmured. âItâs a little ugly.â
Osamu lunged for it. âItâs horsie!â he declared triumphantly, grabbing the plush from your hands and hugging it to his chest like a treasure. The crooked ear flattened against his cheek. He buried his face into its misshapen head and laughed.
Hideo stared at the toy, then at you.
No residual cursed energy pulsed from it. No malicious intent coiled beneath the fabric. It was simply⊠a plush.
Hideo hadnât relaxed. Not even slightly. Because he understood what he had just witnessed. You hadnât needed incantations. You hadnât needed a weapon. You hadnât needed to touch the child. You had gathered cursed energy inches from his grandsonâs faceâand chosen to create something harmless.
Chosen.
You rose slowly to your feet, brushing your hands together as if dusting off chalk. âYou see?â you said mildly to Hideo. âNo need to be so tense.â
The faint green glow at your fingertip had already faded.
You tilted your head slightly, watching the boy cradle the toy like it was priceless.
âChildren are easy,â you thought distantly. âGive them something imperfect, and they love it anyway.â
âTake care of him,â you added softly, though it wasnât clear whether you meant the horse or the child.
Osamu looked up at you, beaming. âThank you!â
You offered him a small smileâreal enough to pass, distant enough to survive. âOh one last thing,â you added, almost as an afterthought. âPlease improve your security.â You looked at Hideo. Your gaze flickered briefly to the child one last time. âGoodbye, Osamu-kun. Take care of Taro and horsie.â
He waved enthusiastically. âBye!â
You bowed just enough to be technically polite. Then you stepped backward toward the open door.
âHappy chatting!â you chimed, as if you had just concluded a pleasant afternoon visit. And with that, you turned and walked out, leaving behind an elderly politician clutching his grandsonâand a crooked, ugly horse plushie that proved you could create something gentle just as easily as you could destroy.
-
âGrandmother.â
She was seated near the engawa, back straight, sunlight pouring across the tatami and catching in the silver strands of her hair. The garden outside was trimmed within an inch of its lifeâprecise, controlled, obedient. Unlike most things in this world.
She looked up at you without warmth, without hostility. Simply expectation. âYes?â
You folded your hands inside your sleeves so she wouldnât see the faint tremor in your fingers. Not fear. Just calculation settling into place. âI think I want to take school seriously,â you said. âI want to attend every day.â
The koi pond outside made a soft, wet sound as something broke the surface. Your grandmotherâs gaze sharpened slightly. âWhat,â she said carefully, âdo you mean?â
âI know you enrolled me in Yokohamaâs most elite all-girlsâ academy for prestige,â you continued evenly. âThe paperwork. The connections. The polished transcript.â You tilted your head. âBut Iâd like to attend classes properly.â
There was a small pause. Then, bluntly: âWhy?â It wasnât anger. It was suspicion.
You kept your breathing steady. Slow. Neutral. The house smelled faintly of incense and medicinal herbs drying somewhere deeper inside. Familiar. Containing. âThey offer strong recommendations for medical school,â you said. âspecifically in Tokyo.â
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. âAnd you believe,â she said, âour clan cannot provide superior education?â
âI know we can,â you replied immediately. You had learned long ago that hesitation read as defiance. âBut I am only thinking about the long term.â You lifted your gaze to meet hers. Calm. Earnest. âMy cursed technique reconstructs cellular structures. I understand the concept. I feel it instinctively.â Your voice softenedânot pleading, just measured. âBut instinct and knowledge are not the same thing. If I study medicine properly⊠anatomy, pathology, cellular biology⊠Iâll understand what Iâm rebuilding.â You let the next part land gently. âIf I know what a healthy liver cell looks like, I wonât just imitate memory. Iâll replicate accuracy.â
Silence.
âI need people, actual people to work on. I know our clan is willingâŠbut wouldnât it be better to go to medical school instead? Donât get me wrong. I know how capable we areâhow capable you areâbut if we rely on only one placeâŠwe might end up clipping our wings instead of soaring up high.â
A cicada began its distant mechanical scream outside.
She watched you with that unreadable expressionâthe one that weighed whether you were being strategic or sentimental. âIf you attend every day,â she said slowly, âyou will neglect your training since that would mean youâd stay in your dormitories instead of going home.â
There it was.
The real concern.
Not your education. Your usefulness.
You lowered your eyes slightly in something that resembled deference. âI wonât.â
Her brow lifted.
âMy school is in Yokohama,â you continued. âIf I attend properly, Iâll stay in the dormitory during term. That gives me uninterrupted evenings.â You allowed the faintest hint of determination into your tone. âI will train every day on my own.â The koi pond rippled again. âI can structure my time more efficiently,â you added. âMorning classes. Afternoon study. Evening technique refinement.â You paused, then added lightly, âI would never neglect my goal.â
That earned the smallest flicker of somethingâapproval, perhaps. Or pride. âYou believe medical school will enhance ShĆga Kiroku,â she said, using the name of your technique like one might reference a sacred relic.
âYes.â You did not mention Jujutsu Tech. You did not mention Tokyo branch enrollment. You did not mention elderly politicians and crooked plush horses and negotiations built on implied violence. You kept your expression steady. âIf I am to inherit properly,â you continued, âI should refine it beyond instinct.â
Her gaze lingered on you longer this time. Assessing.
You could almost feel her measuring the distance between ambition and rebellion. âYou have never shown interest in mundane schooling before,â she said.
âThat was before I realized medical school might be able to enhance my abilities and if I want to enter that, I need to seriously study in high school.â you replied. âIf Iâm going to rebuild myself repeatedly, I should know what Iâm rebuilding.â
The logic was clean. Clinical. Hard to argue with.
She studied you for another long moment. You let your posture remain straight but not rigid. Devoted but not desperate. Finally, she exhaled softly. ââŠVery well.â The word settled like a stone dropped into still water. âYou may attend.â
Your shoulders did not sag in relief. You had learned not to show victory.
âYou will not allow your discipline to falter,â she continued. âIf I sense decline in your techniqueââ
âYou wonât,â you said gently. A faint pause. Then, because you knew exactly which thread to pull, you added, âI want to be worthy.â
That did it.
Pride flickered across her faceâsubtle, but unmistakable. âSee that you are,â she replied.
You bowed your head. âI will train every evening,â you promised. âIâll send updates. Measurements. Progress logs.â
The more data you offered, the safer she felt. âGood,â she said.
The conversation ended as cleanly as it began.
You would be attending two institutions at once. One for appearance. One for survival.
A double life built from recommendation letters and cursed negotiations.
-
A/n: Hideo and Osamu Kamo are no one important HSHSHHS. :))))
Side Character | JJK x Reader
36
âI am glad you dealt with it accordingly, dear.â Your grandmotherâs voice carries the same gentle warmth she uses when discussing flower arrangements or funeral rites. You sit before the vanity, spine straight, hands folded in your lap while she draws the bamboo hairbrush through your hair in long, deliberate strokes. The bristles scrape faintly against your scalp. It should be soothing.
It isnât.
âThough I wish you had been less lenient with those filthy sorcerers,â she continues, adjusting her grip. âHow dare they trespass on our property?â The word filthy lingers in the air like incense smokeâsweet at first, then suffocating.
You watch her reflection instead of your own. The lamplight softens her wrinkles, turns her silver hair almost luminous. If anyone walked in now, they would see nothing but a devoted grandmother tending to her granddaughter. A tender domestic scene. Oil-paint worthy. âBut isnât patience an important virtue, Grandmother?â you ask mildly. Your tone is light, almost curious. You have perfected the art of sounding harmless. âBesides, I am nothing compared to a Gojo heir.â
The brush catches.
Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.
âNonsense,â she says, the word clipped. Her fingers tighten briefly in your hair before smoothing it back into place. âYou are far greater than that Gojo brat.â
Delusional.
The thought passes through you without heat. It doesnât even feel rebellious anymore. Just factual. Like observing that water is wet, or that silk suffocates if layered thick enough.
She resumes brushing, slower now, as if polishing something precious. âIf you think you arenât,â she adds, voice honeyed once more, âthen let that be your motivation to train harder.â
There it is.
Everything is always training. Every encounter, every restraint, every breath you do not waste on emotion. Even mercy must be sharpened into a weapon.
You close your eyes, not in obedience but in self-preservation. Behind your eyelids, the world is quieter. No gold screens. No ancestral portraits watching. No expectations pressing into your shoulders like ceremonial robes.
Just the faint awareness of the estate breathing around youâlayers of barriers humming at the edge of your perception, servants moving softly across polished floors, curses trapped and catalogued in underground chambers like specimens in glass jars.
Elsewhere.
You open your eyes again.
âItâs getting late,â you say, rising smoothly to your feet. The motion dislodges a few strands of hair from your shoulders; they slide down your back like something shed. âItâs time for me to go.â
You dust nonexistent lint from your sleeves. A small performance. She appreciates tidiness.
Your grandmother studies you for a moment, measuring something unspoken. Then she nods once. Approval, dismissalâoften indistinguishable.
âNo need to walk me out,â you add.
âSafe travels, dear.â She leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. Her lips are cool. For a secondâjust a secondâyou allow yourself to imagine this is what normal feels like. A grandmother sending her granddaughter off after dinner. No curses. No bloodlines. No strategic alliances disguised as etiquette. âDo tell your grandfather youâre leaving,â she says lightly.
You incline your head. âI will.â As you step out into the corridor, the air feels thinner. Or perhaps that is just you. Your fingers brush the side of your neck where her hand had been earlier, where the comb had tugged. The sensation lingers longer than it should. You wonder, not for the first time, whether you are being groomed or sharpened.
Lol, probably both.
The lanterns along the hallway flicker as you pass, their flames bending subtly toward you. The estate recognizes its own. It always does.
You do not look back.
-
Youâre being followed.
The realization arrives the way winter doesâquiet, persistent, impossible to ignore once it settles into your bones.
It is past midnight, and the city is muffled beneath fresh snow. Streetlights glow in halos, their light diffused into something almost tender. Your breath ghosts in front of you as you walk, arms full of convenience store contraband: canned soda, strawberry milk, chips you absolutely did not need but purchased anyway because the packaging was festive and you are weak to marketing.
It is, objectively, idiotic for a girl your age to be out at this hour. Itâs idiotic to sneak out of your house while both of your parents are asleep.
Fortunately, you are not objective.
This is one of the few indulgences you allow yourself. When you arenât in the estate, in the cult. The apartmentâsmall, cluttered, faintly smelling of detergent and your motherâs cookingâis the only place that does not look at you like a relic or a weapon. Sleep has not been kind, when night stretches too long and silence turns viscous, you leave. You walk. You buy sugar. You pretend you are ordinary.
Crunch.
The sound is soft but distinct. Snow compressing beneath a second pair of feet. You do not turn immediately. You let your awareness unfurl instead, slow and practiced, feeling for distortions in cursed energy. The snowfall interferesâcold always makes your perception lag by half a secondâbut there is something there. Controlled. Concealed well enough that a weaker sorcerer might miss it.
Crunch.
You stop walking.
The night hums distantly. Snow continues to fall, steady and indifferent.
You exhale.
Green light gathers in your palm before condensing into the familiar weight of a pistol. Cursed energy crystallizes along the barrel, faint orbs orbiting briefly before embedding themselves into the metal like stars swallowed by night. The glow reflects against the snow, sickly and luminous.
You turn.
Empty street. Snow-laden vending machines. Parked cars half-buried in white.
âShow yourself,â you say calmly. Your voice carries strangely in the cold air. âI am not too scared to use a gun. Actually, Iâve been dying to use it, but my teachers refuse to train me in modern weapons.â You tilt your head slightly, scanning rooftops, alleyways. âApparently, traditional weapons are more dignified. Very unfortunate for everyone involved.â
Silence lingers a moment longer.
Then a figure steps out from the shadow between two buildings as if he had been there all along. He is not dressed like your clan. Not like a civilian either. His kimono is understated but impeccably tailored, layered beneath a dark overcoat unsuited for snow yet untouched by it. The flakes seem to avoid him, dissolving inches from his shoulders.
A stranger.
You do not lower the gun.
He studies you with mild interest, the way one might examine an artifact discovered in an excavation. âImpressive,â he remarks. âYour awareness is sharper than reported.â
Reported.
Of course it is.
âWho are you?â you ask, sweetly enough to rot teeth.
He inclines his head just enough to satisfy etiquette without conceding equality. He gives you his name, followed by a title that drips with institutional authority. One of the higher-upâs envoys. A voice of the conservative faction within the jujutsu higher-ups.
How festive.
You smile, small and polite. âTo whom do I owe the displeasure of meeting you?â
For a fraction of a second, something flickers in his eyes. Amusement, perhaps. Or irritation poorly disguised. He wastes no time. âYou will be transferring to Jujutsu High.â
Snow collects on your lashes. You blink once then laughed. âNo.â you reply. Not dramatic. Not defiant. Simply factual.
He chuckles softly, as though you have made a charming but naive joke. âYou misunderstand. This is not a request.â
âIt sounded like one,â you say. âYou might consider improving your phrasing.â
His gaze sharpens. âIt is naive of you to believe your grandmotherâs whims will protect you.â he continues. âThe balance of power is shifting. Your clan hoards you like a family heirloom, but heirlooms are displayed when necessary. We simply wonât allow power to remain unchecked.â
Yeah right. Bunch of cowards.
You say nothing.
He steps closer. Snow crunches under his sandals, deliberate now. âWe are aware of your parentsâ residence,â he says conversationally. He recites the address of the apartment building as though reading from a grocery list. Floor number. Unit number.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the pistolâs grip.
âIt would be unfortunate,â he adds, âif a âminorâ curse happened to wander inside. These areas are so unpredictable in winter. Negative emotions accumulate. Doors left unlocked. Windows poorly sealed.â
There it is.
Anger does not flare the way it used to. It settles instead, cold and precise. A blade placed carefully on a table. You tilt your head, as if considering his weather report. âIf a curse were to enter that apartment,â you say gently, âwhat makes you think Iâd be unable to exorcise it. Might even shoot this gun while I am at itâ
His smile does not falter. âIs that a threat?â
âItâs a public safety announcement.â
âNothing stops you from doing that.â He said. âBut how sure are you that your non-sorcerer parents would remain intact the moment you arrive at your residence?â
You clicked your tongue in annoyance. You cannot shoot him. Not here. Not without consequences that would ripple far beyond this street. So you smile instead. âYouâre very concerned about my education,â you continue. âItâs touching. I didnât realize the higher-ups cared so deeply about a teenage girlâs academic future.â The snow falls heavier now, collecting on your shoulders, melting against the residual warmth of your cursed energy. You let the pistol dissolve; green light fractures into particles and disperses into the air like fireflies dying.
âWe care about power in control.â he corrects.
At least he is being honest.
âYes.â you murmur. âThatâs what I said.â Silence stretches between you, taut as wire. You hate that they forced your thoughts there. You hate that it worked. âI will consider your suggestion,â you say at last, voice composed. âAfter all, it would be irresponsible of me not to evaluate all options.â
His eyes narrow slightly. He knows a strategic retreat when he hears one. âDo so quickly,â he replies. âWe would hate for circumstances to make the decision for you.â He steps back into the shadows. This time, the snow does not part for him; it simply swallows his outline until he is indistinguishable from the night.
You stand there a moment longer, listening. You wait until you cannot feel him anymore. Not the way civilians mean it when they say that. You wait until the air stops folding in on itself. Until the faint distortion of concealed cursed energy thins into nothing. Until the snow falls in a clean, uninterrupted pattern across rooftops and parked cars.
Alone.
You walk.
One step. Then another.
Your heartbeat is steady. Your breathing is measured. Anyone watching would see a girl returning home with a bag of junk food and poor sleep hygiene.
You make it to the corner.
You make it halfway down the next block.
Then you stop.
The laughter slips out of you before you realize itâs happening.
It starts small. A breath that shakes on the exhale. Then another. Then something brittle and bright splits open in your chest and spills out through your teeth.
âOf course,â you mutter to the empty street. âOf course.â
Your grandmother uses your parents as leverage when you hesitate during training, during rituals, during anything. A soft reminder of what you could loose. A gentle observation about how fragile non-sorcerers are. How accidents happen. How curses slip through cracks in poorly maintained barriers.
And now the higher-ups do the same.
Different shark. Same teeth.
You press the heel of your palm against your forehead and laugh again, louder this time, the sound bouncing strangely off snow and concrete.
Why.
Why are they all so obsessed with the same strategy?
Is this in the handbook? Chapter one: If prodigy resists, threaten civilians she loves. Very innovative. Applause all around.
Your breathing starts to fray at the edges.
You picture the apartment door. The cheap metal lock. The way it sticks slightly in humid weather. You picture your mother humming off-key while washing dishes. Your father falling asleep in front of the television with the volume too loud.
You picture a curse slipping under the door like smoke.
Your stomach twists so violently you have to brace a hand against a streetlight.
You are not scared of curses.
You are scared of being late.
You drag in a breath that burns your throat. The cold air feels too sharp, too thin.
Think.
Okay.
Options.
You could ask your grandmother.
She hates the Jujutsu Society. She would not allow them to âdisplayâ you like an heirloom in their institution. She would take offense at the audacity alone.
Yes.
Wonderful.
You can march back to the estate and inform her that the higher-ups are threatening your parents. That they are using them as bait.
And then what?
She will smile.
She will say, how unfortunate.
And then she will tighten her grip.
Youâre simply placing your parents in a sharkâs wide and inviting mouth to avoid anotherâs.
You start laughing again, except it doesnât sound like laughter anymore. Itâs too sharp. Too loud for the empty street.
âBrilliant,â you whisper to yourself. âAbsolutely brilliant. Avoid one predator by volunteering for another. Thatâs strategy. Thatâs growth.â
Your thoughts begin to spiral, fast and disjointed, colliding into one another without mercy.
If you join Jujutsu Tech, you are under their supervision. Your parents become collateral to ensure obedience.
If you refuse, they prove a point. A cursed spirit. A warning shot.
If you tell your grandmother, she reinforces surveillance. Maybe relocates your parents âfor safety.â Safety meaning isolation. Meaning a gilded cage they did not ask for.
You slide down the side of the streetlight until you are crouching in the snow, convenience store bag crumpling beneath your grip. The cold seeps instantly through your tights, but you barely register it.
Why canât they leave them out of it?
Use me.
Use my power. Use my body. Use my name.
Why them?
Your vision blurs, not from tears at first but from the sheer pressure of too many calculations firing at once.
You have spent years perfecting control. Perfecting composure. Perfecting the art of looking unbothered while something inside you quietly rots.
And now both sides have reached into the same soft place.
It feels deliberate. Surgical.
You press your hands into your hair, fingers tangling in it, tugging hard enough to ground yourself in the sensation. âTheyâre not pieces,â you hiss under your breath. âTheyâre not bargaining chips. Theyâre not leverage.â
Your voice cracks on the last word.
The snow keeps falling. It doesnât care.
You start pacing in a tight, frantic circle on the sidewalk, boots slipping slightly on packed ice.
Okay.
Think worse.
Worst-case scenario.
A curse enters the apartment.
You feel it.
You sprint.
But what if youâre in training? What if youâre in your grandparentâs estate? What if they time it precisely when you are occupied, when your attention is stretched thin by design?
Your lungs feel too small.
What if they hurt them just enough? Not kill. Just injure. Just maim. Just demonstrate.
Your stomach lurches.
You double over and gag, though there is nothing in you to throw up.
This is ridiculous.
You are supposed to be the terrifying one.
You are supposed to be the prodigy. The heir. The weapon.
And yet the simplest pressure point reduces you to thisâhalf-collapsed in snow at midnight, shaking over the vulnerability of two ordinary people who never asked to be connected to any of this.
You wipe at your face roughly, unsure when you started crying. âThey donât even like each other,â you mutter hysterically. âGrandmother hates the higher-ups. The higher-ups hate clans like ours. But the moment it comes to controlâsuddenly everyone shares the same playbook.â Your laughter fractures again, bordering on something feral.
Maybe you should disappear.
Thereâs a thought.
Leave the estate. Leave Kyoto. Leave the country. Take your parents somewhere remote. Somewhere with no cursed infrastructure. Somewhere quiet.
Except curses are born from humans.
And humans are everywhere.
Your batshit crazy grandmother would probably drag you back to your fate once she finds you and punishes you.
You don't wanna live a life on the run.
You sink back down into the snow, this time fully sitting, uncaring of the cold soaking through your coat. Your fingers dig into the powder until they ache.
You cannot outpace the system.
You cannot overpower both factions at once.
Not yet.
The realization settles heavily, suffocating but clarifying.
They are circling you because you are valuable.
Because you are strong.
Because you are useful.
And because they know the only way to steer you is through the people you refuse to let them touch.
Your breathing gradually evens out, though your chest still feels scraped raw from the inside.
You tilt your head back and stare at the sky. Snowflakes land against your lashes and melt instantly.
âFine,â you whisper hoarsely.
If they insist on playing this game, then you will play it better.
You will not choose a shark.
You will build your own ocean.
But firstâ
You push yourself to your feet unsteadily, brushing snow from your coat with numb fingers.
First you need to make sure the apartment is still intact.
You pick up the crumpled convenience store bag, clutch it to your chest like something absurdly precious, and start walking again.
This time, you do not pretend to be ordinary.
-
a/n: cmere bby yn, lemme kwiss u and gwive u a hwuggg (totally wasn't the one who wrote ynâs fate).
Side Character | JJK x Reader
35
You are getting bored.
Not the dramatic, poetic kind of boredom that inspires rebellion. Just the slow, suffocating kind that settles into your bones and makes time feel viscous.
Six months into your first year of high school and you have attended perhaps just a few laughable days of it.
An all-girls private academy in Yokohama, prestigious enough to silence questions before they form. The type of institution that prides itself on tradition and discretion. The faculty learned quickly that absences attached to your surname were not to be investigated. Tuition arrived punctually. Donations arrived generously. Inquiries did not.
If you were any normal girl right now, you would be in your dorm in YokohamaâŠprobably studying. But here you areâŠ.in Kyoto.
Your grandmother had been almost indulgent after your improvements.
Proud, even.
Your awakening, as they insist on calling it, elevated the clanâs standing overnight. Your control over your cursed technique improved with a frightening efficiency that pleased her deeply. She spoke of legacy and inevitability with the softness of someone discussing spring blossoms.
In exchange, she allowed you to skip classes. âYou do not need mundane education,â she had said. âYour future is elsewhere.â Plus she did mention you only need the prestige the school gives if it was stated you âgraduatedâ there.
Elsewhere meaning here.
Elsewhere meaning the estate.
True to her disdain for the Jujutsu Society, she never considered enrolling you in Jujutsu Tech. She would sooner burn ancestral scrolls than hand you over to that institution.
So you remain here.
Improving. Training. Performing like her doll.
And currently, sitting very still while a painter attempts to immortalize your face in oils as though the 20th century has not already invented the camera.
You stare at him blankly.
The studio chamber has been arranged to impress. Silk screens positioned to filter the afternoon light into something flattering. Incense curling in deliberate, aesthetic spirals. Gold-thread banners draped behind you like a halo.
The jƫnihitoe is suffocating.
Layer upon layer of silk rests on your shoulders, pressing you into the carved wooden chair they insist on calling a throne. October air seeps in through the lattice windows, cool and crisp, but the fabric traps your heat until your skin feels faintly damp beneath the collar.
You had requested a fan and refreshments ten minutes ago. Apparently, that was an unreasonable demand.
You shift slightly, the movement small enough not to disturb the painterâs precious composition. He makes a distressed sound anyway. âMy lady, if you could maintain the postureââ
You lean back deliberately.
If they insist on archaic portraiture, they can deal with the consequences.
The carved wood presses into your spine as you recline. The sleeves of your outer layer spill like green water over the armrests. You lift one massive sleeve and drape it over your face, blocking the light.
The painter sputters.
You ignore him.
If you must sit here as a symbol, you may as well nap.
Sleep has not been kind to. Not since that. Not since the blood dried beneath your nails and refused to leave, no matter how many times you told your mind it was gone.
Your breathing slows. For a moment, you almost drift. Thenâ
âMy lady,â a servant announces from the entrance, voice carefully measured. âYour refreshments have arrived.â
You hum beneath your sleeve. Footsteps. The soft clink of porcelain. The predictable rhythm of service. Then something fractures that rhythm. It is not loud. Not a spike.
Just⊠wrong.
Your awareness snaps taut. You lower the sleeve slowly. Two presences. Strong. Foreign.
You should have sensed them from the outer gates. Normally, you feel disturbances long before they cross your territory. Your control extends like a net, woven into the estateâs barriers and embedded talismans. You feel shifts in pressure like a change in wind. But you havenât been sleeping properly. Not for a year. Your senses fray at the edges when you grow tired. Plus with your grandmother requiring you to suppress your cursed energy, you've become a lot more exhausted than usual. Awareness dips without permission.
Stillâ
With these two closer, they are impossible to ignore.
One is vast. Sharp. Expansive in a way that feels almost arrogant. It does not try to hide itself; it merely tolerates containment.
The other is deep and controlled, smooth like still water that knows exactly how deep it runs.
Neither belongs here.
If these were actual enemies, you would've been dead by now.Â
Your stomach tightens before your mind finishes the calculation. âSeize them,â you say, voice cool and immediate.
The painter startles violently. Green-clad attendants move without hesitation, hands already forming seals to trigger the binding talismans embedded in the threshold.
You rise just enough to see beyond your sleeves.
White samue.
Worn incorrectly.
One standing too casually for someone infiltrating a cult. The other composed but unmistakably out of place.
And thenâ
You see their faces.
Satoru Gojo looks mildly offended at being targeted.
Suguru GetoâSuguruâs expression fractures. Recognition hits him in visible stages. Confusion first. Then disbelief. Then something that looks dangerously close to hurt.
He had expected a stranger.
A volatile sorcerer heir described in vague reports.
He had not expected you.
For a heartbeat, he forgets to breathe.
You look nothing like the child in his memories.Â
You are draped in ceremonial silk, layered in green like a living banner of the clan. Your posture is effortless authority. The air around you bendsâsubtly, deliberatelyâanchored to your presence. The suppression Satoru mentioned is real; your cursed energy is folded inward so tightly it hums rather than roars.
But Suguru can feel it now.
Now that he is close.
It is not absence.
It is restraint.
His mind scrambles to reconcile images: the girl who scolded him for stepping on antsâŠ..and the clan heir who died and returned stronger.
You straighten fully, silk settling into place with practiced grace. âStand down,â you say.
The attendants freeze mid-incantation.
The binding talismans dim.
Satoru tilts his head, sunglasses glinting under lantern light. âWell,â he says lightly, âthatâs not very welcoming.â
You stare at him.
Satoru looks exactly like the anime describes himâtall, sharp, but carrying the same infuriating ease.
Suguru stands beside him, composed on the surface, but his widened eyes betray him. He hasnât masked the shock quickly enough.
He thought you were a non-sorcerer.
He thought you had left for a normal school.
He thoughtâ
âI want everyone out except these two.â you say.
âBut Y/N-samaââ
You clicked your tongue in annoyance. âOut.â
The single word lands heavier than shouting ever could. Doors slide shut reluctantly. Incense lingers in the sudden quiet. The painter gathers his supplies with trembling hands and disappears, oil paint and unfinished reverence trailing behind him.
Silence settles.
For a long moment, no one speaks.
Suguru studies you openly now.
The silk. The throne-like chair. The banners behind you. The faint distortion in the air that anchors the entire estateâs barrier system to your presence.
âYouâŠâ he begins, then stops. When he first arrived here, he had already made a game plan on how to look for you in Kyoto. Sure he doesnât have your contact but surely his mom has contacts with your mom. He had imagined this reunion differently. On a street in Kyoto, perhaps. Outside a school gate. Something ordinary.
He'd even imagine scolding you for not texting back or not updating him about your lifeâanything that tells him his childhood friend is still alive.
Not here.
Not like this.
Satoru, of course, breaks the tension first. âSo,â he says, shoving his hands into his sleeves, grin widening, âyou two know each other?â
Suguruâs gaze flickers to him briefly, then back to you. âYou didnât tell me,â he says quietly. It isnât accusation. It isnât anger. Itâs disbelief. âYouâreâ?â
You meet his eyes evenly. âI donât think I am inclined to tell you anything, Geto-san.â you reply.
Suguru inhales slowly, recalibrating. âYouâre the clan heir,â he says, as if saying it aloud might make it less surreal.
âAnd you two are trespassing,â you return. âBoth of you may be minors, but I am sure my grandmother won't hold back from holding you two accountable.â
âSo you two DO know each other. Great, it makes convincing her easy!â Satoru snorts. âGood,â Satoru replies easily. âSaves time.â He paused a bit before speaking again. âIn case you don't know me, the nameâs Satoru Gojo, though I doubt you've ever heard that name.â
âConvince what?â Your gaze shifts to him briefly, ignoring his cockiness.
Suguru watches you carefully. The suppression. The control. The way the entire room feels oriented around you. He feels something else too.
Distance.
Not physical.
Something quieter.
âYouâre⊠You feel like someone else,â he says finally, as though confirming it for himself.
âHah?â You tilt your head slightly. âWhat did you think I was?â
He doesnât answer that. Because the truth is embarrassingly simple. He thought you were safe. He thought you were ordinary. Heâhe doesnât know who is standing in front of him right now. He thought Kyoto had taken you somewhere softer.Â
Instead, it forged you into this.
And standing here now, in silk and incense and curated devotion, you look less like someone who needs rescuing and more like the axis the entire clan spins around.
Satoru glances between the two of you, amused and curious. âWell,â he says brightly, âthis just got interesting.â
Suguru is the first to move.
You can see the exact moment he forces himself to recalibrate. The shock folds inward. The disbelief smooths out. His spine straightensânot in submission to you, but in resolve.
Fine.
If this is who you are now, he will meet you where you stand.
He steps forward, just slightly. Enough to take the lead.
Satoru watches him with interest, then leans against a pillar like this is a mildly entertaining stage play.
âWe didnât come here to trespass for fun,â Suguru says, voice steady again. Principled. Grounded. The Suguru you remember. âWe came because you shouldnât be here.â
âWhat do you mean by that?â Your brow lifts faintly. âThis is my calnâs property.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â
Of course it isnât.
He folds his hands loosely into his sleeves. Composed. Measured. He looks almost like a monk delivering a sermon. âYou're a strong sorcerer,â he continues. âStrong enough that even Satoru noticed your suppression from outside the estate.â
Satoru makes a face. âI always notice things.â
Suguru ignores him. âWith that kind of power,â he says, eyes steady on yours, âyou have a responsibility.â
Satoru audibly gags. âOh my god, uncle Ben?â he mutters. âHeâs doing it.â
Suguru doesnât even blink. âPower exists to protect people who donât have it. Thatâs what being a sorcerer means. You should enroll in Jujutsu Tech. You should come with us.â
There it is.
The pitch.
Not politics. Not prestige.
Duty.
âYou donât belong locked inside a clan compound,â Suguru continues. âYou should be out there. Exorcising curses. Saving people. Thatâs what your strength is for.â
You stare at him. For a long second, you say nothing. Thenâ âIâm not interested.â Flat. Immediate.
Suguruâs jaw tightens. âYou didnât even consider it.â
âI donât need to. In fact, I am offended that you are asking me to risk my life for something so insignificant.â
Satoru whistles under his breath. âOuch.â
âInsignificant? Y/n they are people.â Suguru steps closer. Not aggressive. But insistent. âYou canât just sit here while people die.â
âAnd you can?â you reply evenly.
His eyes flash. âWell, thatâs exactly why I donât.â
You tilt your head slightly. âBecause you think youâre responsible for them.â
âYes.â
The answer is immediate. Absolute. It almost makes you laugh knowing damn well how this fiasco end up for him. âAnd what happens,â you ask calmly, âwhen you get tired?â
âHuh?â He frowns. âI wonât get tired doing what is right.â
âThatâs naive.â
Satoru, to his credit, stays quiet now. Heâs watching the shift. Watching the current under the surface.
âWhat happens,â you continue, silk whispering as you step down from the raised platform, âwhen you realize that the weak youâre protecting are the reason curses exist in the first place?â
Suguruâs expression hardens.
You donât stop. Might as well make him doubt his choice. âCursed spirits are born from their fear. Their hatred. Their resentment. Their grief. The accumulation of it. Endless. Leaking into the world like rot.â Your gaze sharpens. âYou exorcise one, and ten more will form. From them.â
âThey canât control that,â Suguru replies firmly. âThey shouldn't be blamed for thatââ
âYouâre mistaken, I am not playing the blaming game. I am just saying the reason why I donât care if they die because of it. They die because it is their own doing. Sure, they donât know what they are doing but ignorance doesnât change the fact that they caused it.â you counter. The room feels smaller now. âWhat if,â you press, âthe person you save today becomes the reason someone else suffers tomorrow? What if the one you protect grows up and hurts someone weaker than them? What then, Geto-san?â
His jaw clenches. âThat doesnât mean they deserve to die.â
âThat isnât what I asked.â
Silence.
Your eyes do not waver. âIf the source of the poison keeps producing more poison, how long do you keep treating symptoms before you question the source? I refuse to be a hero. Are you suggesting my life is worth less than their therefore i should risk it to protect them? Itâs not them who would bury me when I die protecting themâinfact they would have zero idea someone out there is risking their own lives protecting them from themselves. Itâs my parents who will bury me if I die.âÂ
There it is.
The crack in your worldview.Â
Suguru sees it.
Satoru sees it too.
âSomeday you would bury your own peers too, Geto-san.â You continued. âMaybe your own mom would bury you too.â
Suguruâs voice drops, quieter now. âThatâs not like you.â
You almost flinch.
He steps closer again. Close enough that the incense between you feels suffocating. âY/n, what happened?â he asks. Not accusatory. Not argumentative. Just⊠searching. âYou werenât like this.â
Your fingers tighten slightly within your sleeves.
âTalk to me.â He lowers his voice further. âPleaseâ
The words hit somewhere you donât want them to.
For a momentâjust a momentâyou feel it.
Everything else is so unfamiliar, your current life, your parents, your own body, everyone else surrounding you. Everything and everyone is so unfamiliar except Suguru Geto.
Conflict.
Memory.
You used to be a girl who cried because a puppy was abandoned. A girl who can't bear to look at someone, especially one so young, suffering. The girl who relies on her parents when she has problems.
That girl feels distant now. Like someone you read about.
You swallow it down.
âOh please, stop the drama.â Your expression smooths. âThat version of me,â you say quietly, âwas ignorant.â
Suguruâs brows draw together. âIgnorant of what?â
You donât answer.
Because if you do, you will have to talk about blood.
About waking up stronger than you were the night before.
About realizing strength isolates more than it saves.
About how much you feel like a stranger trapped in this body.
About how much you need someone to pull you out in this filthy polluted river.
About how much you need to be saved from this fate.
About how you fear for your own parentsâ safety just because suddenly you're âimportantâ.
Instead, you step back.
The distance returns. âYou two should leave,â you say. âBefore my grandmother gets here.â
Suguruâs eyes widened slightly. âY/nââ
âNow.â Your tone is not raised. It doesnât need to be. The air shifts subtly in response to your will. Not threatening. Just undeniable. The estate itself aligning behind you. âUnless you want to spend your night behind cells? If so, be my guess.â
Satoru straightens from the pillar, expression unreadable for once.
Suguru doesnât move at first. He studies you. Searching for something. Anything. âYouâre still you.â he says quietly. âRight?â
It isnât a question.
Itâs a plea.
Your gaze flickersâjust for a fraction of a second.
Then it stills.
âPlease leave.â you repeat. âMy grandmother isn't exactly someone so lenient to crimes.â
The doors slide open behind them without anyone touching them.
An invitation.
Or an expulsion.
Satoru rests a hand briefly on Suguruâs shoulder. Not mocking this time. Just grounding.
âWeâll be back,â Satoru says lightly, but his eyes are sharp. Assessing. Calculating. âWell not us maybe, but someone else would try to recruit you. Those old geezers wonât let go of you.â
Is that a threat?
Suguru lets himself be guided toward the exit, but his gaze never leaves you. Something changed. He knows it.
The doors slide shut.
The incense continues to curl upward as if nothing happened.
You remain standing in the center of the room long after their presence fades beyond the barrier.
Your hands tremble once.
Just once.
Then you still them.
-
a/n: to summarize this chapter it's basicallyâ
Suguru: âY/n please, look at me! This isn't you! Look at me!â
Satoru: *that one meme of a wolf with arguing parents*
Side Character | JJK x Reader
34
Sneaking into a cult had never appeared anywhere on Suguruâs list of things he hoped to accomplish before dying.
It had, apparently, been penciled enthusiastically into Satoruâs.
The entire train ride to Kyoto had been a contradiction. Satoru complained the whole wayâabout the humidity, about the traditional architecture, about the audacity of clans who still thought sliding doors were practicalâloud enough that their assigned manager looked moments away from either leaping off the car or praying for divine intervention. And yet, the moment the estate walls came into view, something in Satoru shifted.
Annoyance remained. But it was threaded with excitement.
Now, crouched near the outer hedges of the Tsumikage estate, Satoru looked far too pleased for someone who had spent the last two hours threatening to boycott the mission.
Suguru took a moment to absorb the scenery despite himself.
The mansion rose beyond the walls in layered roofs and dark wood polished to a muted sheen. Lanterns lined the stone path in careful intervals, their paper panes glowing softly in the late afternoon light. The air smelled faintly of incense and trimmed pine. Even from this distance, Suguru could sense residual cursed energy embedded into the foundationâold, deliberate, like something cultivated rather than merely accumulated.
It was beautiful.
In a way that felt curated.
In a way that made the back of his neck prickle.
He was still taking it in when something soft and white hit him square in the chest.
Suguru looked down.
A white samue.
He raised his gaze slowly to Satoru, who was already peeling off his uniform jacket with zero hesitation.
âWeâre lucky, loser,â Satoru said brightly, as if they were discussing festival tickets instead of infiltrating a clan compound. âMost people here are non-sorcerers.â
He shrugged out of his jacket and stuffed it carelessly into a shrub that absolutely did not deserve to be involved in this operation. His tie followed, crumpled and abandoned without ceremony.
âAnd I doubt the actual sorcerer members are hanging around the entrance,â Satoru continued, slipping into the white samue with theatrical disdain. âTheyâre probably off doing whatever culty nonsense they schedule on weekends.â
He paused to tug at the sleeves, frowning. âUgh. Itâs so plain. No personality. Not even a trim. Who designs these?â
âCan you be less obvious?â Suguru said evenly, already changing into his own set with far more restraint.
Satoru blinked at him. âIâm being subtle.â
âYou just said âculty nonsenseâ at full volume.â
âNo oneâs around.â
As if summoned by spite, a pair of distant voices drifted from somewhere beyond the hedges.
Suguru shot him a look.
Satoru lowered his voice by exactly two degrees. âFine. Iâll whisper my insults.â
Suguru adjusted the collar of the samue and tied the sash properly. The fabric was coarse compared to his uniform, simple and unadorned. Designed for uniformity. For blending.
For sheep.
He couldnât help but think of the report classifications. Non-sorcerers making up the majority. White-clad members filling the estate grounds.
From what theyâd gathered, the true sorcerers of the clanâthe ones with actual abilityâwere few and insulated. Which meant if they moved carefully, they could observe before being noticed.
Satoru, meanwhile, rolled his shoulders experimentally and grinned.
âYouâre enjoying this,â Suguru said, not accusingâjust stating.
âOf course I am,â Satoru replied, as if the answer were obvious. âYou think I get to sneak into creepy sorcerer compounds every weekend? This is premium entertainment.â
âYou spent the entire ride saying you hated Kyoto.â
âI do hate Kyoto,â Satoru said immediately. âItâs pretentious. All old money and older grudges. And this clan?â His grin sharpened. âTheyâre freaky.â
He tapped the side of his head. âVault full of curses. Ritual awakenings. Grandma Death Glare running the place. Itâs like someone took a horror story and made it bureaucratic.â
Suguru studied the estate again.
Beautiful. Ordered. Quiet.
Too quiet.
âYouâre sure sheâs here?â he asked.
Satoruâs expression shiftedânot entirely serious, but focused. âOh, sheâs here,â he said. âIâd recognize that cursed energy anywhere.â
There was no exaggeration in his voice now. Just certainty. Suguru adjusted his sleeves once more, steadying himself.
They were here to recruit, not provoke. To assess, not antagonize. Yaga had made that clear.
Beside him, Satoru bounced lightly on his heels like someone about to break into a restricted section of a museum. âAlright,â Satoru said, flashing a grin that looked dangerously close to trouble. âLetâs go join the sheep.â
Suguru exhaled slowly.
Sneaking into a cult was not on his list.
But walking in beside Satoru Gojo, pretending to be harmless, was somehow worse.
The main mansion was worse up close.
From beyond the outer walls it had seemed merely grand. Standing beside it now, it felt disorienting. Corridors branched in symmetrical perfection, polished wood reflecting lantern light in warm amber streaks. The building curved and extended in layered wings that looked identical from every angle, as if designed to make outsiders lose their sense of direction and quietly accept it.
Suguru was fairly certain they had already passed the same stone basin twice.
âRelax,â Satoru said, walking ahead like he owned the estate. âItâs intentional. The architecture loops in on itself. Keeps guests where theyâre supposed to be.â
âYou sound familiar with it,â Suguru noted.
âI told you. Iâve been here before.â He had. Just once but it was long enough to memorize the layout. Long enough to recognize exits.
Instead of entering through the main hall, Satoru veered toward a side corridor and slipped through a narrow passage that curved behind the central structure. Suguru followed, suppressing the uncomfortable realization that Satoruâs casual confidence in hostile territory should not be this reassuring.
The mansion eventually opened into something even more excessive.
Behind the grand residence stretched the true heart of the clanâthe cult grounds.
If the mansion was aristocratic restraint, this was theatrical devotion.
An expansive courtyard unfolded beneath hanging lanterns arranged in deliberate constellations. Green-lacquered pillars framed a massive ceremonial hall whose doors stood open, revealing silk banners embroidered with gold thread and symbols Suguru didnât immediately recognize. Incense smoke drifted in pale ribbons through the air, sweet and heavy enough to coat the tongue. Stone pathways cut clean geometric lines through manicured gravel gardens, leading toward smaller shrine-like structures that gleamed with polished brass and lacquered wood.
It was extravagant in a way that bordered on operatic.
And it was full.
White-clad members moved in slow, orderly patterns, their samue identical to the ones Satoru had tossed at him. They bowed as they passed one another. Murmured greetings. The air carried a low, collective humâchanting from within the ceremonial hall, steady and rhythmic.
Suguru let his senses extend cautiously.
He felt cursed energyâyesâbut it was scattered and faint. Traces embedded in the architecture. Talismans hidden beneath floorboards. Protective barriers woven delicately into the beams.
He did not feel her.
Not the way Satoru had described.
He frowned slightly.
Beside him, Satoru clicked his tongue. âSee?â he muttered, leaning in closer under the guise of adjusting his sleeve. âDirty trick.â
Suguru kept his gaze forward. âWhat is?â
âSheâs suppressing her cursed energy.â
Suguru glanced at him. âYouâre certain?â
Satoruâs grin returned, sharp and knowing. âSuguru. Iâve seen her. That kind of cursed energy doesnât just vanish. It doesnât get quiet because it feels like it.â
They passed beneath a string of lanterns that cast warm light across the courtyard. From the outside, they were indistinguishable from every other white-clad initiate drifting between the structures.
âSheâs folding it inward,â Satoru continued, voice low but animated. âCompressing it. Tucking it under layers. Itâs smart. Annoying. But smart.â
âThat would explain why I canât sense her,â Suguru said thoughtfully.
âExactly. Youâre not crazy.â
âI didnât think I was.â
âI was starting to.â
Suguru resisted the urge to elbow him.
Satoru scanned the grounds with open curiosity, his posture deceptively loose. Anyone watching would assume he was another bored youth dragged into ritual participation. Only the slight tilt of his head gave him awayâSix Eyes working quietly behind tinted lenses. âAnd she seems stronger.â Satoru added, almost conversationally.
Suguruâs attention sharpened. âStronger than when you first saw her?â
âWay stronger.â
The answer came without hesitation.
âWhen I saw her in the vault, it was⊠explosive,â Satoru said, searching for the right word. âUnstable. Like something cracked open and flooded everything. Raw power, no polish.â
His smile shifted into something more intrigued.
âNow itâs different. I canât feel it directly, but I can see the distortion. The barriers here? Theyâre anchored around her. Just what are they feeding her?â (Totally not the elderly! HSHSHS)
Suguru let that sink in.
The courtyard shimmered faintly under the lantern light, but now that Satoru mentioned it, Suguru could detect the subtle reinforcement patternsâthreads of cursed energy woven outward from a central point deeper within the compound.
âSheâs refined it,â Satoru went on. âCondensed it. Whatever happened in that vault? That wasnât the peak.â
Suguru studied the ceremonial hall, where chanting swelled and receded like a controlled tide.
âYou sound impressed,â he observed.
âI am,â Satoru admitted easily. âItâs rare.â
Rare did not impress Satoru lightly.
A group of white-robed members passed them, bowing in polite acknowledgment. Suguru returned the gesture with practiced grace. Satoru offered something that resembled a nod but lacked the humility.
âSo the clan heir is playing quiet,â Suguru murmured.
âYeah,â Satoru said. âAnd itâs annoying.â
âBecause?â
âBecause suppression like that isnât just technique,â Satoru replied. âIt means control. And if sheâs this controlled alreadyâŠâ
He didnât finish the sentence.
He didnât need to.
The implication hung between them: if she was this strong while hiding it, what would she look like unleashed? That certainly would make those power hungry old geezers want her more.
The chanting from the hall rose slightly, deeper voices layering beneath the higher ones. The sound vibrated faintly through the stone beneath their feet.
Suguruâs gaze drifted across the extravaganceâthe gold-thread banners, the polished wood gleaming under lantern light, the disciplined choreography of white garments moving in harmony.
It was beautiful.
It was unsettling.
And somewhere at the center of it all stood a girl powerful enough to anchor the entire structure while pretending she wasnât there.
Satoruâs grin widened as he slipped his hands into his sleeves. âCâmon,â he murmured. âLetâs go meet our future classmate.â
The closer they moved toward the ceremonial hall, the thicker the incense became.
Inside, the extravagance sharpened into something almost suffocating. The templeâs interior was a cathedral of lacquered wood and gold leaf, lanterns suspended from carved beams like captive constellations. Silk banners cascaded from the rafters in layered greens and deep crimsons, embroidered with crests and archaic script. The polished floor reflected everything in softened amber, so that even the white-clad members seemed doubledâreal and mirrored.
The chanting they had heard outside echoed here, resonant and controlled. Rows of kneeling figures bowed in unison before a raised dais at the far end of the hall.
Suguruâs eyes adjusted quickly.
And thenâ
âYou two.â
The voice cut through the ambient murmur like a blade.
A middle-aged woman stood to the side of the hall, her posture rigid, arms folded into her sleeves. Unlike the sea of white around them, she wore a green haori layered over her robesâthe color marking authority within the clanâs internal hierarchy.
Satoru blinked.
Suguru bowed immediately.
Satoru followed half a second later, noticeably less sincere. âYes?â Satoru said, tone hovering dangerously close to casual.
The womanâs eyes narrowed. âWhere have you been?â
Suguru opened his mouth, but she continued without waiting for an answer.
âThe western corridor lanterns were left unattended. The gravel path near the templeâs inner garden is uneven. And you are late to assist in the ceremonial preparations.â
Satoruâs eyebrows climbed higher with each accusation. He leaned slightly toward Suguru and muttered, âDo I look like I manage gravel?â
Suguru elbowed him subtly.
The womanâs gaze sharpened further. âWhat was that?â
âApologies,â Suguru said smoothly, bowing again. âWe were reassigned earlier and must have misunderstood our duties.â
Satoru tilted his head, studying her openly.
It was only now that it registered.
She wasnât old.
Not elderly. Not frail. Not one of the ancient, wrinkle-lined RĆkyĆ« figures he had expected to dominate this place. She looked to be in her forties, perhaps. Severe. Controlled. But undeniably younger than the brittle elders he associated with clan authority.
He scanned the hall again.
No elderly figures in green.
Not one.
That was new.
Usually, in these fossilized clan structures, the green haori signifying authority hung off the shoulders of people who looked like they would crumble if you sneezed too hard near them.
But right now?
Nothing.
Interesting.
The woman continued her reprimand, voice measured but edged with irritation. She listed minor infractions with clinical precisionâlateness, inattentiveness, lack of decorumâas if they were long-standing disappointments rather than two strangers who had slipped in less than ten minutes ago.
Satoruâs patience thinned visibly.
He shifted his weight, jaw tightening.
Suguru could practically feel the moment Satoru decided he was over it.
âAre you finished?â Satoru asked lightly, a smile tugging at his mouth that did not reach his eyes.
Suguru resisted the urge to physically restrain him.
The womanâs gaze hardened, but before she could escalate, a distant voice called her name from the upper level balcony.
She exhaled through her nose.
âVery well,â she said sharply. âIf you insist on being useless elsewhere, then make yourselves useful where you are needed.â
Satoru blinked.
âYou will attend to the young mistress,â she continued.
Suguruâs spine straightened almost imperceptibly.
Satoruâs irritation paused mid-bloom.
âThe painter has arrived to complete her portrait,â the woman said. âSince she must remain still. No one was assigned to fan her yet, and she has grown impatient.â
Satoru stared at her. ââŠFan her.â
âYes.â
âWith a fan.â
The womanâs eyes flicked over him as if he had just revealed a disappointing level of intelligence. âObviously.â
Suguru leaned closer and whispered, barely audible, âWhat a baby.â
Satoruâs mouth twitched.
The woman pointed toward a staircase that curved along the inner wall, leading to a private balcony chamber overlooking the hall. âDo not speak unless spoken to. Do not make eye contact unless permitted. And do not test her patience.â
Satoruâs grin returned, slow and sharp. âOh,â he murmured, âI wouldnât dream of it.â
Suguru shot him a look that translated clearly to please behave.
The woman turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd of green-clad attendants, leaving them momentarily unobserved.
Satoru let out a low whistle. âWell,â he said under his breath, âthat was easy.â
Suguru glanced toward the staircase.
Their mission had just accelerated.
They had come to locate the clan heir discreetly. To observe. To assess.
Instead, they were being escorted directly to her.
Satoru adjusted his sleeves, expression brightening in a way that suggested he was far too entertained by this development. âGuess we donât have to wander around awkwardly anymore,â he said. âVIP access.â
âYou were getting impatient,â Suguru noted.
âI was getting bored,â Satoru corrected.
They began ascending the staircase, the chanting below fading into a steady undercurrent. From above, Suguru could feel it nowânot a direct presence, not something loud or overwhelming, but a subtle pressure. Like standing near deep water.
Suppressed.
Folded inward.
But there.
Satoruâs grin sharpened.
âTold you,â he murmured. âSheâs hiding it.â
Suguru exhaled quietly as they reached the landing.
Fan the clan heir.
The absurdity of it nearly made him laugh.
Instead, he straightened his posture and prepared himself to meet a spoiled aristocrat irritated by insufficient airflow.
Neither yet understood just how wrong that assumption would be.