summary: Your first day at Jujutsu High along with fellow first years Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. A very simple one, but important all the same.
content ♡.°୭ - Zenin!Reader, Reader has a sad home life, introductions, stakes of jujutsu sorcery established, budding friendship, the first years are special, wc of 4.1k
March 2005
The school itself, hidden within the forested mountains on the outskirts of Tokyo, was very imposing when you walked up to it with your luggage. The car you’d arrived in pulled off almost as soon as you’d began making your trek up the foothill of Mount Mushiro, a long set of brick stairs that rested almost naturally within the mountain. Now you stepped through the first torii gate’s threshold, the architecture old and clearly mixed with reinforced, cursed energy laden structures. This was, as it stood, your first real taste of freedom beyond the traditionalist ways of your clan. No Naoya, no performing conservatism for the more “stuck in their old ways” Zenin. Just you and whatever Jujutsu High had to offer.
That, in some ways, was more intimidating than what you were used to at home. This was brand new, unexplored territory that you had no real framework for yet; not compared to the rigid, routined structure of growing up at the Zenin estate. Your every day was pre planned and worked on a schedule, you had to endure interactions you didn’t like, you had to exude perfection you allegedly didn’t have. A school environment wouldn’t differ all that much if you had to guess, but only time would tell.
You followed the cobblestone path further inside until you reached an assistant manger who stood outside of the main building. He greeted you professionally with a bow before informing you that he would be showing you to your dorm quarters, to get you settled in before orientation. You bowed back in gratitude and followed behind him promptly, wordlessly, as he lead you to the dorm building around back. The structure, once you saw it, was built in the same traditional style as the rest of the property, but felt relatively small for a dorm building; it was only one story high.
“This is small for a building that’s housing everyone on campus…” you commented, the assistant manager grunting in acknowledgement.
“I suppose under more normal circumstances it would be. But, of course, this school doesn’t see a very high volume of students.” he explained. Only a handful of new recruits joined every year, and as an unfortunate consequence of their line of work many students would lose their lives before being able to graduate. This left many dorms either abandoned and needing to be cleared out, or empty for years before being assigned to someone.
At least in your case, you received a dorm that’d been left vacant by a student who graduated years before your arrival. It was very spacious, with a big closet and comfortable looking futon in the corner of the room. There was a large window on the adjacent wall that had its curtains drawn open, letting the natural morning light filter in brightly through the glass. An empty desk with cubbies and drawers sat beneath it, with was a decently sized trash bin placed neatly on side of it; already with a trash liner in place. You even had your own bathroom. The room looked spotless and smelled fresh, almost as if it’d been deep cleaned in preparation for your.
You were told by the assistant manager to take whatever time you needed to get your things put away, and then meet with your instructor on the first floor classroom of the main building. With that you were left alone in the privacy of what you would call home for the next four years.
You unpacked with the brisk pace and quicks hands used to fill the suitcase to begin with, not that your luggage had been anything but minimal. Zenin traditionally didn’t believe in excess, moreover you’d been told you would be provided with whatever you needed throughout your time here. You’d mostly packed night clothes, some day outfits, as well as hygiene and beauty products.
As you continued your mind drifted to earlier that morning, your final exchange with your mother before one of the lesser clan members drove you here. She’d wanted to give you final instructions as she’d seen you off, your father chose to remain inside all together.
“Remember your posture and what you represent. The Zenin name matters more than anything you do there.”
“I know,” you’d replied with, it was the whole reason the clan elders approved your enrollment.
“And whatever happens, do not let them see you struggle.” your mother said before giving you a light hug, one that you had returned.
Don’t let them see you struggle, not don’t struggle. Not everything will be okay or you’ll do well, just don’t let them see it at all. Even beyond the walls of the family compound everything was about appearances, and performing the image of self assurance.
This would be a long four years, hopefully the longest of your life.
You sat in a small classroom with three other students—two boys and a girl—as your instructor stood in front of you all behind a desk. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a silence that surely intimidated anyone who didn’t know any better. He had a goatee and hair that was cut low to his head, with neat lines shaved into the sides. His arms were folded over his chest as his eyes swept over all of you.
He’d only been the first year teacher for the past few years now, but this was the first time he’d had any student from one of the three major clans. Not just one, but two of you. He, however, felt as though he were a fair man worth his position. Family hierarchies were nonexistent within the walls of this school, or at the very least his classroom. You would be treated like any other students he’s had under his wing, just as the other two beside you.
To demonstrate as such, he would begin orientation the same as he always did: with an introductory exercise. There would be no stakes, only a practical way to break the ice and get to know each other. He wasn’t going to be looking for polished speeches or declarations, instead he’d use this to evaluate: how comfortable you were speaking, whether you were hiding behind a persona, your motivation for becoming a sorcerer, and whether you understand the responsibility of this job.
He turned around, the first movement he’d made since you all sat down, and picked up a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard. “We’ll start simple,” he said, writing the word introduction before turning back around.
“You’re going to be spending the next few years together. You’ll trust each other with your lives.” he said, surveyed the room for your reactions. There weren’t any worth speaking of, so he continued. “So don’t waste anyone’s time.”
There was a beat of silence, the only sound heard being the drum of a white haired boys fingers as he slouched in his desk. The teacher continued.
“You’ll tell us your name, where you’re from, your curse technique, why you came to Jujutsu High, one like and one dislike, and a goal you have.” he explained, then paused. When no one spoke up he continued to speak.
“I’ll start,” he rested a hand against his chest. “My name is Yaga Masamichi, and I’ll be operating as your first year instructor. My curse technique allows me to create autonomous curse corpses. I became a sorcerer because someone has to help prepare the next generation. I like people who take responsibility, and I dislike excuses.” he expressed honestly.
You had a deadpanned expression. “He didn’t even say where he was from…” you thought to yourself. An omission of information that seemed intentional, but ultimately wasn’t even worth calling out.
“My goal is a simple one,” Masamichi continued, “To graduate all four of you, alive.”
The room grew quieter than it already had been, the finger drumming had even stopped. That communicated something that didn’t need to be spelled out: this isn’t regular school and I won’t be treating it as if it were.
Feeling as though he had everyone’s full intention, he said: “Now that you’re more familiar with me, who would like to go next?”
Before anyone could answer, the white haired boy volunteered immediately. He swung his chair around when he stood up, his legs on either side as he rested his hands on top of it. “Gojo Satoru, Tokyo. Inherited technique, Limitless.” He grinned, letting his shades as pitch black as a starless night slide down his nose. It revealed piercing, bright blue eyes that glittered like an afternoon ocean front.
“I’m here because I’m already the strongest,” Your teacher sighed, but you were unsurprised. His reputation as an egomaniac exceeded him.
You, just like everyone else in the jujutsu world, knew of the Gojo baby miraculously born with their inherited technique and famed Six Eyes. A first in a few hundred years, a birth so incredibly special that he was the only active sorcerer currently in the Gojo clan. A real one man show, that was sure to give anyone a big head.
“I like sweets, I hate boring people…goal?” He tapped his chin in thought, then grinned again. “Become the strongest sorcerer in history,” He mulled over that answer, then quickly waved his hand. “Wait—stronger than history!” he revised.
Masamichi’s first impression of Satoru: Ridiculously overconfident, the kind that bordered on blatant arrogance whether justified or not. This was a boy who clearly needed to learn humility.
“Alright, please remain standing. Who’s next?”
The other male in your class rose from his seat and stood properly beside his desk, with his hands neatly behind his back. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m from Tokyo. My cursed technique allows me to absorb and command cursed spirits.”
That caught Masamichi’s attention. A technique powerful and rare, intriguing.
“I enrolled because I think sorcerers have a responsibility to protect others,” His answer carried the quality of someone proud. You could hear how much his self-imposed purpose meant to him. “I enjoy calligraphy, and I dislike unnecessary cruelty. My goal…” he trailed, thinking carefully about what he wanted for his future.
“My goal, is to become someone that others can always rely on.” he decided on.
Your teacher nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the answer he heard. Suguru, from his assessment, was very composed and thoughtful. A boy who carried himself with a wisdom well beyond the years of someone only fifteen.
“Thank you, Geto. Next?”
The girl beside you sighed lightly as she stood up. “Guess it’s my turn,” she muttered as she stretched a little. Her words made you realize that you all were moving in descending order from where Satoru sat.
“Ieri Shoko, Tokyo, Reversed Cursed Technique.” she started, much to everyone’s surprise. All of you blinked, even Satoru, and she noticed. “Eh…yeah, that’s basically it.” she trailed. Masamichi waited with a raised brow before Shoko realized her error and course corrected.
“I’m here because I’m good at healing, and someone has to patch all the idiots up when they inevitably hurt themselves.” she dryly quipped. “I love sleeping…I hate written work…my goal…?” she trailed in thought as she counted on her fingers.
“…To avoid dying.” There was dead silence among you as she finished, then she added to it with a nonchalant shrug. “Seems practical,”
You and Suguru cracked smiles while Satoru laughed. Your teacher could only sigh. Shoko appeared to be an exceptionally gifted girl, if her technique itself were anything to go off of. The caveat was she appeared to be detached, and used humor to avoid sincerity.
He nodded and turned his head to you, however, you hadn’t moved until he verbalized it was your turn. That gave him the impression you were someone who naturally followed directions.
“My name is Zenin {♥︎}, I’m from Tokyo and my innate technique is Hypergravity.” The surname alone caught everyone’s attention, especially Satoru. “I came to Jujutsu High because I want to be a real sorcerer, not just someone with a title. I want what I do here to actually be mine.”
Masamichi’s attention alone was pulled in by that reveal. You wanted to attend the school not to simply “save others” or “get stronger” but…to gain a purpose?
“I like too many things to just pick one, I dislike…being told what my future should be.” You thought carefully about what your goal was. “And my goal…is to become someone no one can make decisions for.” Complete silence fluttered across the room as you were done. Not awkward, but respectful.
He’d taught enough students in his years to understand when someone was answering two questions at once. On the surface you were introducing yourself, beneath that was some type of struggle that brought you here. You were fighting a force that wasn’t currently in this room, and he nodded his head in understanding.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all, I hope these next few years are good to you.” he said with sincerity, then gave you all permission to be seated as he turned around to erase the blackboard.
You all sat back down promptly, but Satoru didn’t turn his chair back around. Instead he plopped down and rested his arms on the head of his seat. He leaned forward to look at you three seats down.
“So, gravity huh?” he asked, a playful air to his voice. “Think you could pin me to the ground?”
“Probably,” you answered without missing a beat. Suguru chuckled, Shoko smirked, Masamichi pinched the bridge of his nose without looking at either of you.
“Class hasn’t officially begun yet, and you’re already trying to pick a fight.” he said, exasperated.
“She started it!” Satoru was quick to argue, pointing an accusatory finger your way.
You scoffed, “I answered a question you asked.”
“A likely story,” he countered, causing the other two to laugh while you lightly glared from your seat.
While Masamichi continued writing the next agenda on the board, this brief exchange gave him one reassurance: despite your wildly different personalities, you responded to each other. There was chemistry, curiosity, and just enough friction that would surely push you all to grow. You’d likely be exhausting to deal with, but you’d equally as likely change each other’s lives.
“If you’re done with your merriment, there is more we have to discuss today.” he said once he was finally done writing everything on the board. He sat the chalk down and stepped off to the side so as to not be in the way.
On the board were nine bullet points, a set of rules he referred to as the Memorandum Regarding Sorcerer Duties. Or simply put the Jujutsu Regulations. They were the laws of jujutsu society that must be upheld to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers at all times.
“In the world of jujutsu the protection of non-sorcerers is of the utmost importance.” Masamichi explained. “As such, the practice of jujutsu and contact with curses demands compliance with many regulations. If a jujutsu sorcerer violates these regulations, immediate action is taken at the discretion of the higher-ups.”
The three major families (the Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo clans), as the representatives of jujutsu sorcerers, created these laws in collaboration with Jujutsu Headquarters. They were to be always followed as written, and first year students needed to learn what they were before any real lessons could begin. He read them aloud.
1. Missions: A sorcerer's primary mission is to prevent harm to humanity caused by jujutsu, cursed spirits, and cursed objects in order to preserve the peace and safety of regular society.
“No mission is worth civilian casualties if they can be prevented.” he lectured. “You aren’t just weapons, you’re weapons with judgment. Use that judgement wisely, because the smallest misstep can be catastrophic.”
2. Jujutsu Headquarters: The division of the Japanese government that is the highest governing body of sorcerers. The Chief Executive of Jujutsu Headquarters is the Jujutsu Inspector General, and is appointed by the Prime Minister through recommendations made by the three families.
“Jujutsu Headquarters are the big men in charge of establishing and enforcing the laws that we abide by, as well as regulating the activities of sorcerers.” He pointed at rule 2 on the board. “Can any of you tell me what that means?”
“That the missions appointed to us are coming from them?” you asked, to which he nodded.
“Yes, but more importantly: it’s a sorcerer’s job to report any and all curse-related incidents through proper channels.” he elaborated. “In your kids’ case, you’d report directly to the Principle of this school.”
He went on to explain that failing to do so and acting independently can create confusion. Multiple sorcerers can be dispatched to the same location, failing to pass on important information to the proper chain of command can lead to people losing their lives; sorcerer or otherwise.
Satoru, of course, raised his hand. “What if it’s a situation where I’ve already handled it?”
“Then you’ll quickly be reminded that even you have to answer to someone.” Masamichi replied without missing a beat. “You aren’t freelancers. Unless a non-sorcerer’s life is in immediate danger, you get clearance first.”
Satoru grinned, unbothered, but you briefly notice that he doesn’t actually push back further.
3. The Jujutsu High Schools: Operate campuses in Tokyo and Kyoto for the education, guidance, and supervision of young sorcerers.
“These schools were created to be a guarded sanctuary for budding sorcerers to learn their craft and gain field experience.” Away from the eyes of non-sorcerers. Hence both locations being away from the general public and built to resemble a Buddhist temples.
4. Sorcerer Rank: It’s the duty of the Jujutsu Inspector General to assign sorcerers ranks from Special Grade, Grade 1, Semi-Grade 1, Grade 2, Semi-Grade 2, Grade 3, and Grade 4.
“Can you all tell me what ranks you’ve started with?” Masamichi questioned.
Satoru and Suguru answered that they were both Grade 1, unsurprising given their respective techniques as well as other quirks.
“Yeah, so…” Shoko trailed, rubbing the back of her head. “I’m not exactly training to be a field combatant, so I wasn’t formally given one.” she confessed, then shrugged. “But if I had to guess, they’d give me Grade 3.”
“I’m Grade 2,” you answered last. Little did you know the Zenin clan pulled strings so you couldn’t get anything higher.
“Part of a high ranking sorcerer’s job is to give guidance to their lower ranking counterparts while out on missions.” your teacher explained. “But you kids won’t be sent on anything too dangerous to start with, just enough to get your feet wet.”
5. Discipline: Sorcerers who disobey commands or fail to obey the provisions of this memorandum may be sentenced to one of 7 punishments.
Public execution, secret execution, designation as curse user, sealing, confinement, suspension, confiscation of property.
“There’s a punishment that fits every wrong doing you can think of. Follow orders as they’re given to you and follow jujutsu law to the letter.” He was mostly looking at Satoru.
6. Retirement: Sorcerers may retire upon receiving approval from the Jujutsu Inspector General. Retired sorcerers no longer have a rank.
“Retired sorcerers are forbidden from using any manner of jujutsu under most circumstances. However, exceptions can be made for these sorcerers to perform duties as necessary according to the following section.”
7. Handling of Threats: Defined as cursed spirits, cursed objects, and curse users.
“As stated before, all threats must be reported through the proper channels.” Masamichi reminded. “Based on that report the threat is given a Grade, from there the appropriate sorcerers are assembled and dispatched to pacify said threat.”
Despite procedure described in the preceding rule, retired sorcerers may respond to the respective danger if imminent enough.
8. Sensitive Information: Sorcerers shall not reveal the existence of jujutsu, cursed spirits, or cursed objects to non-sorcerers.
He explained this type of information reaching the public would most likely cause widespread panic and worsen the issue of curse outbreaks. This all remains secret for good reason.
9. Protection of Non-Sorcerers: Sorcerers must never harm non-sorcerers through the use of jujutsu, cursed spirits, or cursed objects. Furthermore, they must endeavor never to harm a non-sorcerer by overlooking a threat.
“But, we aren’t Gods.” Masamichi educated them. “Even we as sorcerers have limitations. There will be cases where we can’t save everyone, and in such a case we have to move accordingly.”
“What does moving accordingly include?” Suguru curiously asked.
“Preservation of your life,” he answered. “Sorcerers are the ones who eliminate curses. Without us, they’d be free to run rampant and endanger everyone else.” As such you’d do well to prioritize yourself and those you could save.
“I’ll give you an example,” He nodded towards Shoko. “Any mission that you were to go on with Ieri, it’d be imperative that she remain unharmed.”
“Because of her cursed technique,” you added, to which he nodded.
“Precisely, without her you and any human around could be seriously harmed and end up dead.” Masamichi explained. “You’d save more lives, including your own, by making sure to preserve Ieri’s.”
“So in short, I’m the most important in the room.” Shoko said with a smile.
“More like it’s up to us to use our better judgment to make the correct call.” Suguru sighed. “Just as Yaga-sensei mentioned earlier.”
“Good to know at least some of you are paying attention.” your teacher stated while rubbing his temple. “Now that we’ve gone over the regulations our system is built on, I’ll leave you with this: sorcery is a job of continued sacrifice.”
It was a line of work that offered no breaks. You would miss birthdays, you’d lose school mates, the people you save may never learn what your names were.
“So if personal recognition is what you’re looking for, then leave now.” He waited a few seconds, silence enveloping the room as none of you moved, then nodded his head in approval.
“Learn these rules well, you’ll become acquainted with them during your tenure here.” he instructed, to which you all opened your notebooks and began jotting them down.
When you all reached the point where you stopped writing, he’d walked up behind each of you to observe what you wrote.
Satoru had written the first two rules and half the third, and mindlessly twirled his pen in hand.
Suguru had written every rule down neatly.
Shoko wrote in nearly illegible handwriting with many abbreviations, likely only understood by her.
You jotted down all the regulations as dictated, but with a note written beneath the list. Rules should protect people (if they stop, should they still be followed?)
It wasn’t an outright call of rebellion, you were questioning responsibly. That was the distinction, and it was an important one for a future sorcerer.
After standing back behind his desk, he thanked you all for your cooperation. Then he expressed class was over for the rest of the day, leaving the group of you stunned.
“We’ve only been in class for an hour.” you highlighted.
“Yes, that’s how long orientation is.” Masamichi said.
“So…that’s it?” Satoru questioned suspiciously. Was this a test?
“That’s it,”
“No homework?”
“…No,”
“No training?”
“…Tomorrow,”
Satoru grinned, “Well then…” He clapped his hands once. “Who wants to explore the campus?”
Suguru had planned on exploring the campus anyway. He’d wanted to know all the important buildings and where to find them, especially since he was going to be living here.
“Seems sensible,” Was what he landed on almost immediately.
Shoko gave a disinterested shrug. “I was going to find somewhere to smoke.”
“You can smoke later,” Satoru challenged.
“…I can do it now.”
“Or…you could not.”
Shoko sighed, conceding to exploring the school grounds with the guys. Not because she particularly wanted to socialize with either of them, but because she didn’t see the harm in not committing to no.
You were going to walk the grounds alone during your break, you enjoyed having the space to yourself to think. However, you did recognize something important. These three were essentially your new teammates, people who you were going to need to trust with your life.
Building a rapport with them now was what made the most sense, so you said: “I guess that’s fine.” Not enthusiastic, not reluctant, just practical.
“We meet back here same time tomorrow for your first lesson,” Masamichi dismissed again, already headed for the door. “Use the time you have today wisely.”
With that, the four of you were left alone as you lingered in the classroom longer than strictly necessary. First impressions (whether good or bad) tempered by the reality of what you’ve actually committed to, an intentional way of planting the seeds of camaraderie. One that was effective given you all being in no rush to separate from each other as you filed out, bickering about where to go first.
Not me borrowing from Naruto lol! I felt like it would be a good excuse to get them all acquainted, not like they’d need it.
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જ⁀➴ i’m fine with writing hypothetical “what-if” scenarios for my au, most likely would be written with a combination of headcanons and dialogue sequences.
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For the sake of my sanity I am not going to try and write my au in order. Instead, I’m going to write out different timeline moments/scenes and plug them where they belong chronologically. I can fill in any gaps that appear this way too, lol it’s for the best.
──── ♡ An archive of scenarios taking place between 2005 and 2018 (+ beyond), that mostly center a Zenin!Reader. Betrothed to the future head of her clan, Naoya, she begins Tokyo Jujutsu High in the spring of 2005 as a first year with the main trio: Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. There, she forms lifelong bonds, finds true love, and breaks herself from the shackles of her family before helping raise a future generation of Jujutsu sorcerers.
Zenin ♥︎ meets Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Iori Shoko in March of 2005 as a first year under the guidance of Yaga Masamichi. All young prodigies in their respective technique, they develop friendship amongst each other initially as a result of proximity. Satoru a friendly/obnoxious clan rival, Suguru a brother she never had, Shoko her closest friend/confidant. Bonds that will become important to her as her years at the institution pass, despite the looming marriage that means her permanent loss of freedom—one she ultimately confides in Shoko about.
After the Star Plasma incident of summer 2006 a shift is felt among them. Shoko throws herself into her medical studies, Satoru is taken away to train his newly awakened power, Suguru is sent on more missions alone to compensate Satoru’s absence. ♥︎ is left to her own devices while her curriculum continues as normal; feeling the weight of duty that awaits her post-graduation pressing down on her shoulders, without the distraction of her year long friends. Until, Satoru pops back up unceremoniously to offer her an out two months before year’s end: go through with the arrangement to Naoya or enter a new one with him? Impractical on the surface, leaving one arranged marriage for another, but still holding the quality of one thing she holds dear: the freedom to choose. She doesn’t answer straight away—and certainly not without condition—but the answer ultimately is yes and they wed by Febuary 2007, to the fury of both families.
By December 1, 2007 they birth a son, Gojo Shizuo: unprecedented inheritor of the Six Eyes and Hypergravity technique, heir to the Gojo clan.
By July 10, 2010 they birth a daughter, Gojo Satomi: born with the innate technique of Soul Manipulation (nicknamed Soul Marionette).
♥︎ is a Grade 1 sorcerer who becomes the second year teacher at Jujutsu Technological High School near the mid 2010s. She not only helps students hone their skills and techniques, she helps to shape them into individuals who understand humanity—as well as the importance of autonomy and choosing what’s right.
────
Cursed Technique: Hypergravity — A gravity manipulation technique that allows control of gravitational pull within a 10 meter radius of the user, as well as whatever object is being held/has been touched. Can control their own sense of gravity at their discretion, meaning user can otherwise be unaffected by surrounding changes in gravitational force (whether self inflicted or not).
Cursed Technique Reversal is Zerogravity, which uses the same perimeters as standard. Only it takes gravity away from user and any outside objects/people until intentionally released.
Domain Expansion: Celestial Cage — Resembles a vast celestial prison, with faintly glowing, grid-like “bars” of light crisscrossing the area. The bars are semi-transparent and appear to form an intricate, ever-shifting lattice of gravitational energy. The “floor” is a fractured mosaic of starlight, giving the subtle impression of standing on fragile ground. Floating debris and shards of light spiral chaotically, reinforcing the sense of being trapped within a cosmic labyrinth.
Effects and Mechanics of this domain include trapping everyone inside with an inescapable, ever changing gravitational field, though anyone the user allows can move freely. User can create intense gravitational “hotspots” that act as invisible cages within the domain. These hotspots compress gravity into smaller zones, pinning individuals or objects in place. Conversely, gravity can be taken away to disorient or isolate targets. The bars of the cage act as a barrier, repelling anyone who attempts to escape. These same lattice bars can be used for a finishing move called Collapsing Cage. User collapses the entire domain inward, using the grid-like lattice to crush their enemies with immense gravitational force. This creates the feeling of the “cage” closing in, both physically and symbolically.
genuinely I could write a 1,000 page novel about this concept I have, but a collection of individual writings will have to do instead. I’m fine with accepting requests that center around this au. I also do have a taglist I’m building, so if you’d like to be included just ask!
summary: The backstory to Zenin!Reader prior to enrolling at Tokyo Jujutsu High and meeting the S trio, a glimpse into her beginnings.
content ♡.°୭ - fem!reader, reader with established curse technique, light angst, Zenin clan, clan politics, misogyny, talks of arranged marriage, Reader and Naoya are like non-immediate cousins, no use of “y/n” because Reader’s name is stylized with “♥︎”, wc of 6.4k
September 1989
The faint cries of an infant echoed through the halls of the Zenin estate as the night surrendered to the first blush of dawn. Outside, the late summer air was cool, carrying with it the earthy scent of an earlier rain. The sky was a muted canvas of soft pinks and blues, as though the world itself held its breath in reverence to the new life making its entrance.
In one of the estate’s private wings, a young woman lie on a futon, her breath uneven but her expression calm despite the labor she had endured. Beads of sweat glistened across her forehead, and her typically flawless hair was now loose and disheveled, framing her face in dark strands. She looked down at the newborn cradled in her arms, her eyes softening as she took in every detail. The tiny fingers curling reflexively inward, the delicate rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, the first hints of hair still damp against her head.
“She’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Her much older husband stood nearby, his arms crossed and his face unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of pride as they rested on his wife and child. He had remained stoic throughout the birth, as expected of a Zenin patriarch, but now he stepped closer, kneeling beside his wife to get a better look at his newborn daughter.
“She’s small,” he said, his tone neutral, though his hand reached out to gently brush the baby’s cheek nonetheless.
She shot him a tired but pointed look. “She’s strong,” she corrected, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. “I felt it.”
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting back to the baby. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, “I could feel her cursed energy even before she was born. It’s potent, more than I expected.”
The baby stirred in her arms, letting out a soft cry that made her mother’s heart ache with a protective fierceness she hadn’t anticipated. She held her closer, her lips softly brushing against the baby’s forehead. “{♥︎},” she murmured. “That will be her name.”
Her husband considered the name for a moment before giving a slight nod. “It suits her.”
The midwife, who had been quietly tending to the room, stepped forward. “Would you like me to take her for a moment, Mito-san?”
“No,” Mito said firmly, pulling her daughter closer. “She stays with me.”
The midwife bowed and retreated without another word, sensing the intensity of the bond already forming between mother and child.
Her husband wordlessly lingered over the pair for a few more minutes, taking in the sight of his completed family before stiffly rising to his feet with a grunt. He casually clasped his hands behind his back before he spoke.
“You were in labor for ten hours, you need to regain your strength.” He turned to make his leave, but continued to speak. “I will have one of the servants prepare you a meal, expect it shortly.” With that, he exited the room.
With the sound of the shutting shoji screen door, the mother and child were now left alone. Releasing a sigh, Mito brought up her fingers to gently stroke her baby’s cheek. “Your father may not show it, but he loves you very dearly.” she assured her daughter, despite her not comprehending yet.
The infant’s tiny hand reached out, her fingers curling around Mito’s thumb with a surprising grip. The gesture brought a genuine smile to her mother’s lips that caused her eyes to squint. A rare softness breaking through her usually composed demeanor.
“You will serve the clan well,” Mito said softly, her voice filled with both determination and love. “But you will also know kindness. I will make sure of it.”
Outside, the morning sun climbed higher, bathing the estate in golden light. Within the walls that housed the Zenin Clan, a new life had begun—a life that would one day carry the weight of tradition, duty, and perhaps something more. For now, though, the newborn slept soundly in her mother’s arms, unaware of the expectations that would one day shape her destiny.
.
The Zenin clan: A prestigious, traditional family of sorcerers. Highly respected in the Jujutsu world as a powerful force, they are the second of the three top clans in all of Japan.
If asked who they were to an outsider, this likely would be the instinctive answer given. However, the alternative perspectives ring much different.
If asked to a Zenin, they are a clan of honor. A force to be reconned with, an entity to be feared. A clan filled with only the greatest sorcerers and techniques to ever walk the Earth, something to behold in both awe and envy. The top sorcerer family in all the land.
If asked to you, they were a family of stuck up snobs who didn’t know how to smile. A clan that took itself far too seriously.
October 1995
You sat on the edge of a soft cushion in your room, your legs swinging nervously above the polished hardwood floor. The late morning sun filtered through the delicate shoji screens, casting golden patterns across the room that gave it a calming ambiance. The smell of cherry blossoms still lingered faintly in the air from the rigorous bath you had just been given. It left your skin feeling just as soft as the day you entered this world, just as intended.
Your mother knelt behind you, tending to your hair with nothing short of practiced precision. Mito’s hands were gentle but firm, her touch deliberate as she worked through each section and removed any lingering knots.
“Hold still, {♥︎},” Mito said, her voice calm but also leaving no room for argument.
You tried your best to sit still, but your small fingers fidgeted with the hem of your kimono. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Today wasn’t a normal day, it was “special”. You and your parents were being summoned by the Clan Head for (from your perspective) an impromptu meeting. Your mother had explained the meeting in vague terms, using words such as important and tradition, but no matter how much you asked, you never felt like you were getting a straight enough answer.
“Why do I have to go?” you finally asked. Your eyes glancing up at your mother’s reflection in the mirror before you.
Mito paused for a moment, her hand hovering mid-air before resuming its careful work. “Because this is a necessary step,” she said, her tone measured. “Our clan values tradition, and today you will show them that you belong.”
“Belong where?” you pressed, furrowing your little brows.
“In their future,” Mito said softly, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror.
There she was, being vague again.
The weight of those words made your stomach tighten. What was that supposed to mean? “I don’t want to,” you mumbled, looking down.
Mito set the comb aside and turned you to face her directly. “Listen to me, {♥︎},” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “This is not about what you want. It is about duty, about ensuring your place in this world. Do you understand?”
You nodded reluctantly, though you weren’t sure you truly did understand.
Satisfied, Mito reached for a silk ribbon, pale lavender to complement your light blue kimono. She tied it neatly around the base of your hair, forming a simple but elegant bow.
“You look beautiful,” Mito complimented dreamily, smoothing the fabric of your kimono.
You glanced at your reflection again. Your kimono was exquisite, the delicate crane motif embroidered in silver thread glinting faintly in the sunlight. Your hair was immaculate, the ribbon adding a touch of softness to your already youthful appearance. But you still felt so out of place, like a doll dressed up for display.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” you asked quietly.
Mito’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the strict façade she often wore melted away. She placed her hands on your shoulders and smiled. “What matters is that you are proud of who you are,” she said. “And today, you will show them your worthiness, not just your beauty.”
You nodded, the words giving you a small sense of reassurance.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment. Your father Ozai’s voice came from the hallway. “It’s time,”
Mito rose gracefully, extending a hand to you. “Come, {♥︎}. Walk with your back straight and your head high.” she firmly instructed.
You hesitated for just a moment before taking your mother’s hand. Together, you walked out of the room, the sound of your soft footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.
As you all approached the main hall, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You tightened your grip on your mother’s hand, drawing strength from her calm presence. Whatever awaited you on the other side of the doors, you would face it.
But as your father slid the doors open, revealing the imposing figures of Naobito Zenin as well as his wife and his son, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something you truly didn’t grasp.
”I must thank you for summoning us, Naobito-sama. It is truly an honor.” Ozai stated, bowing at ninety degrees. Mito mirrored her husband, and you quickly followed suit.
Naobito grunted in acknowledgment, and with a nod of his head he spoke. “Punctual, you’re right on time. Sit,” He directed his hand at the opposite side of the large, rectangular low sitting table the three were sat at. Dark wood, and they each had a hot cup of tea sitting in front of them. Or, at least, his wife and son did. His cup lacked the steam theirs produced, which led you to believe his must’ve grown cold.
With a dainty hand on your back, you were guided to the table by your mother and the three of you sat down as instructed. You sat down seiza just as your mother instructed you to; the only proper way for a young lady. The room was imposing, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the clan’s storied history, and the air smelled faintly of incense. You were only six, but even at your young age, you understood the importance this moment must have held.
Your parents sat on either side of you. Your father sat across from Naobito and wore his usual unreadable expression, while your mother radiated an air of quiet elegance with her hands resting lightly in her lap.
Naobito’s calculated eyes zeroed in on you and, despite the discomfort that shivered through your skin, you didn’t flinch. Beside him, the boy fidgeted in his seat. His dark hair was neatly combed and his expensive silk haori was spotless, but his restless energy betrayed his discomfort. He was smaller than you, with sharp eyes that darted around the room like a trapped animal.
“Good posture,” Naobito remarked from his seat. His tone was approving, though his smile was thin and cold. “At least the girl knows how to sit properly.”
He waved a hand, and immediately two servant women who were stood off to the side quickly prepared to serve you the same tea. One swiftly served you empty cups, while the other filled them from an oriental teapot.
Naobito’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to the boy. “Naoya, sit up straight.”
The boy immediately stopped fidgeting, sitting up with exaggerated stiffness. He shot you a glare, as if silently blaming you for his father’s scolding.
“She’s too quiet,” Naoya muttered under his breath.
“She knows how to be respectful,” Mito said, her tone light but firm.
Naoya made a face but said nothing else.
You dared a glance at your parents. Your father sat silently to your left, his expression unreadable as always, while your mother sat to your right, her hands folded primly in her lap. The tension in the room was suffocating.
Naobito leaned forward, his piercing gaze settling once again on you. “This is your daughter, Ozai? Mito? She’s small for her age.”
“She is,” Ozai replied calmly, his tone betraying no hint of offense. “But, she’s sharp. She’s manifested a strong technique, and already showing promise in controlling cursed energy.”
“And obedient,” Mito added with a serene smile. “She knows her place, you’d never have to worry about a thing with this one.” she said proudly.
Naobito grunted in approval. “Good. She’ll need to be disciplined if she’s going to be a good wife.”
The words hit you like a blow, though you kept your expression carefully neutral. You had no idea what Naobito meant (or at least hoped your growing suspicion was wrong), but the heavy silence that followed made your stomach twist.
That silence was suddenly broken by a high pitched voice filled with outrage. “Wife?” Naoya piped up, his confusion quickly giving way to indignation. “Her?!”
“Yes, her,” Naobito said sharply. “You’ll be betrothed when you’re older. This is important if you’re to succeed me one day. You’ll learn to appreciate it in time.”
“But she’s boring!” Naoya whined, pointing at you like you weren’t sitting right there. “She hasn’t even said anything!”
Your cheeks burned, growing frustrated, but you didn’t look up. Your mother’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder, a silent warning for you to keep your composure.
“Better she be quiet and observant than loud and foolish,” Mito said, her voice smooth as silk.
Naoya glared at her, then at you, clearly trying to come up with a retort but finding none. Instead, he turned to his father. “Why can’t I marry someone…cooler?”
Naobito’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Because I said you’ll marry her. She’s exactly what you need: a disciplined girl with a powerful cursed technique. As for now, you’d do well to learn from her.”
The boy, clearly not liking that answer, slapped the table. The vibrations caused ripples to flow their filled tea cups. “What is she supposed to—“
“Silence, Naoya!” Naobito snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I refuse to repeat myself, you’ll do as you’re told. Both of you will.”
Your gaze flickered toward Naoya. His face was twisted into a scowl, his small hands balled into fists. He looked like he wanted to argue, but even at five years old he knew better than to challenge his father. So he remained silent, just as he was ordered to do.
On your end, your stomach churned. You wanted to speak up, to say something—anything—but you couldn’t. Not under the weight of Naobito’s gaze, not with your parents sitting so still beside you.
“You may speak, {♥︎}.” her father said suddenly, his voice calm but firm.
You hesitated, unsure of what to say. Your mother’s hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, a subtle reminder to choose your words carefully.
“I…I’ll do what’s expected of me,” Is what you finally decided on, your voice steady despite the knot growing in your chest.
Naobito’s thin smile returned, “Good. A proper Zenin woman knows her role. You’ll serve this family well, girl.” Naoya muttered something about you being boring and weak, but Naobito simply chose to ignore him this time.
You nodded, though the words felt like chains wrapping around you. Your heart sank. You were too young to fully understand what marriage even meant, but you knew enough to feel the weight of it—a bond you had no choice in, a future decided for you before you could even grasp it.
The meeting concluded shortly after, but the weight of the arrangement lingered. As you followed your parents out of the hall, you felt Naoya’s glare on your back, sharp and accusing.
Outside, Mito knelt before you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You did well, my dear.” she praised softly.
You looked up at your mother, searching for some hint of reassurance in her expression. “Do I really have to marry him…?”
Mito’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “This is the way of the clan,” she said just as gently. “You’ll understand one day.” She hoped that would put it to rest, but little did she realize that was the issue.
You didn’t think you would ever understand.
Your legs felt heavy, as if every step carried the weight of the entire meeting. Your father walked ahead, his posture rigid, while your mother held your hand, the grip firm but comforting. The silence between you all was deafening until you reached the secluded path leading back to your quarters. There, Mito stopped and knelt beside you, resting a hand atop your head
Feeling your unease, she reassured: “You’re going to be perfect once you grow up,” Her voice was soft, but purposeful.
You looked up at her, your shimmering with unspoken questions. “I don’t think I wanna do that…” your voice held a hit of disbelief, that didn’t go unnoticed by your parents.
Ozai, who had been silent up until now, turned back to face you. His sharp features remained unreadable, but his tone was steady. “That is what has been decided, independent of what you want.”
“But he doesn’t like me,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. You remembered the way Naoya had looked at you—like you were some sort of burden, something he didn’t want to be tied to.
Mito’s expression softened, and she placed both hands on your small shoulders. “That does not matter, {♥︎}. What matters is that you conducted yourself with the grace and dignity of a proper Zenin maiden. The clan values strength, and today you showed them that you are more than capable of fulfilling your role.”
“But why does it have to be me?” you asked, your voice rising slightly. “Why do I have to marry someone I don’t even know?”
“Because it is your duty,” Ozai interjected firmly, his gaze cold but not cruel. “Our family is powerful, and that power must be maintained. Naobito sees your potential, your cursed technique. This arrangement will secure your place and strengthen the clan.”
Your small fists clenched at your sides. “I don’t care about any of that! I don’t want to marry him!”
Mito’s grip on your shoulders tightened ever so slightly, grounding you. “Enough,” she said, her voice calm but still commanding. “I know this is difficult to understand now, but this is the way of the world we live in. You are strong, child. Stronger than you realize. And strength means doing what is necessary, even when it is not what you want.”
Your lips trembled, but you hurriedly bit down on the urge to cry. Crying would only prove Naoya right, that you were boring and weak. You refused to give him—or anyone for that matter—the satisfaction.
Your mother seemed to sense the storm brewing within you and pulled you into a gentle embrace. “You are my daughter,” Mito murmured, her voice softening. “And you will rise above this, just as I did. Trust me, {♥︎}. You have a path to walk, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
You hesitated before burying your face in her mother’s shoulder, taking in the faint scent of jasmine. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel small, to lean on the warmth of your mother’s presence.
Ozai stood silently a few steps away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You did well today. You have the strength of a true Zenin, remember that.”
You pulled back from your mother’s embrace and looked up at your father. His words, though brief, carried a weight that settled heavily in your chest.
“Come,” Mito said, taking your hand once more. “You have had a long day. Let us get you some rest.”
As you continued to walk back to your quarters, your mind churned with thoughts you didn’t know how to process. You thought about Naoya’s scowl, his words, and the way his father had spoken as if you were nothing more than a piece on a chessboard. As if you hadn’t even been in the room, as if you hadn’t been sitting on the other side of the same table.
Like you were less than a person.
As you reached your quarters, Mito knelt once more to help you remove your outer kimono. “You were very brave today,” she said softly. “I am proud of you.”
You looked at your mother, searching her face for any hint of regret or doubt. But Mito’s gaze was steady, her smile gentle.
“Rest now,” your mother said, brushing a hand over your hair. “Tomorrow, we will start preparing you for what lies ahead.”
You nodded quietly, though your mind was far from quiet. As you lie down that night, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, you resolved that if you were to be tied to this fate, you would not let it break you.
July 2000
The Zenin training grounds were empty save for you and Naoya. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone floor, and the air was heavy with the scent of dust and sweat.
You gripped your bō tightly, your knuckles straining as you watched Naoya pace in front of you like a predator circling its prey. At ten years old, he was shorter than you but already carried himself with the cocky arrogance of someone who believed themselves otherworldly.
“Come on, {♥︎},” he taunted, spinning his wooden sword lazily in his hand. “You’re not scared, are you? Or are you going to back out like a good little housewife?”
Your jaw tightened. Five years of being betrothed to Naoya had taught you one thing: he would never miss an opportunity to remind you of the cage you were trapped in.
“I’m not scared,” you said coolly, raising your bō. “I just don’t want to waste my time beating you again.”
Naoya froze mid-step, his smirk vanishing. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” you replied, letting your bō rest against your shoulder. “Last time we sparred, you were on the ground crying before I even broke a sweat.”
Naoya’s face turned red, and he gripped his sword tighter. “That was a fluke!” he snapped, “You got lucky!”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” you scoffed, your voice steady. “You’re reckless, and you rely too much on brute strength. That’s why you lost.”
Naoya’s temper snapped. With a shout, he charged at you, his wooden sword swinging wildly.
You were ready. You stepped to the side, using your bō to deflect his strike. The impact reverberated through your arms, but you didn’t let it slow you down. Pivoting on your heel, you brought the bō around in a wide arc, aiming for his legs.
Naoya jumped back just in time, his expression twisting into a scowl. “Stop running away!” he shouted, lunging at you again.
“I’m not running,” you said calmly, ducking under his swing. You jabbed the end of your bō at his side, forcing him to retreat. “I’m outsmarting you.”
Naoya growled in frustration, attacking with renewed vigor. His strikes were faster now, more precise, but your training and instincts kept you one step ahead. You danced around him, your movements light and controlled, each strike of your bō carefully placed to keep him off balance.
Finally, Naoya overextended. You saw your opening and took it, sweeping his legs out from under him with a quick strike to his shins. He hit the ground hard, his sword clattering out of his hand.
Before he could recover, you planted the end of your bō onto his chest, pinning him to the ground.
“Yield,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind.
Naoya glared up at you, his face a mix of anger and humiliation. For a moment you thought he might argue, but then he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. “I yield…”
You stepped back, lowering your bō. You offered him a hand, but he simply slapped it away, pushing himself to his feet on his own with a scowl.
“You’re such a show-off,” he muttered, brushing the dust off his clothes.
“And you’re a sore loser,” you shot back, though there was no malice in your tone.
Naoya opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Not bad, girl.” Naobito said, stepping into the training grounds. A bottle of sake swished in his hand with his strides, and his sharp eyes appraised you with the same cold, calculation that you had come to expect. “You’re improving.”
“Thank you, Naobito-sama,” you said, bowing her head respectfully.
Naobito turned to Naoya, his expression darkening. “And you,” he said sharply. “You’re gettin’ sloppy. Letting a girl beat you? Pathetic.”
Naoya’s fists clenched at his sides, his head bowing under the weight of his father’s disapproval. You felt a pang of sympathy for him, though it was fleeting and you didn’t dare show it.
“Again,” Naobito commanded, before taking a swig of his alcohol. “And this time, don’t embarrass yourself.”
Naoya’s eyes flicked to you, and they burned with renewed determination. “Fine,” he said, grabbing his sword. “Let’s go again.”
You sighed, lifting your bō into position. As much as you disliked these constant sparring matches, you knew better than to argue with Naobito.
The clan made it clear what your position in this family was: to be married to the future Clan Head and provide him strong heirs. Nothing more, nothing less. However, they still had appearances to keep up, so a small detour was to be made.
The Zenin naturally prided themselves on the idea of producing the greatest sorcerers in the Jujutsu world, as it reflected well on them as a whole. With your inherited technique being that of Hypergravity, much deliberation was made on what the next decade or so of your life would consist of. That was what directly led to the decision of eventually enrolling you into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, or simply Tokyo Jujutsu High. Though, this had been far from an on the spot decision. The deliberation had been filled, more or less, with mixed responses.
Some of the far more conservative members of the clan argued that your education would prove to be ultimately useless, and that all of your focus should remain solely on fulfilling your familial duties. Others were quick to point out that enrollment at the school, with a technique such as yours (that had their name attached, no less), would serve as further evidence of their status and natural superiority. Despite you being female (and thus, your technique “wasted” on you), your attendance would reflect well on the Zenin name. So, a middle ground had been formed.
Begrudgingly, you would be allowed to attend Jujutsu Tech for high school on the condition you hone your skills to their impossible standard. You had to show nothing but the absolute best while enrolled in order to maintain the clan’s reputation, and ultimately return to serve their interests following graduation. Though, during enrollment your clan duties were to still hold precedence over your schooling—as these were naturally the long term plans set in place for you.
This had resulted in your meticulous, grueling training from age six up to now. You practically had to train herself to exhaustion everyday with no complaints, and no visible disgust. You even remembered, fresh as ever, the day your father showed you the disciplinary pit for the very first time.
A room filled with cursed spirits grade 2 and below, locked away behind a large, heavy door. They were a variety of grotesque shapes and sizes. Some lacked actual eyes in their misshaped heads, while others appeared to have far more than what was deemed necessary. Their teeth protruded from their faces and saliva pooled from their mouths at the sight of you, the pit looked like that of a petri dish swarmed with bacteria.
You remembered clutching your father’s haori and trembling in crippling fear as many swiped up at you both from their location down below. They were far enough down to not pose a real threat from your position, but still close enough to genuinely worry you at the time. One had arms that appeared so long, you was utterly convinced it would snatch you straight off of where you stood.
“This is the Disciplinary Pit,” you remembered Ozai telling you, not even a hint of comfort in his voice despite the terror clearly radiating off of you. “It is where the children who disappoint us go, to be taught a proper lesson.”
He had glanced down at you. But, all he would’ve seen was you looking down at that pit to hell with wide, teary eyes. “You are no exception, you will do as you are told and show the clan the results they desire. Otherwise, you will be thrown down here with no hesitation.”
At the time, you remembered being in complete disbelief at the prospect of actually being thrown down there with those beasts. You were especially crushed that your father—while not exactly known for warmth—seemed okay with you being thrown in that pit should the need ever arise. However, looking back on it with proper hindsight, it seemed right up the clan’s alley. When it came to perfection and grooming their young into powerful sorcerers, the Zenin Clan truly knew no bounds.
The worst part was you did genuinely aspire to be a sorcerer, but not in the temporary/governing way the clan wished to impose it on you.
Even worse that, you had no real say in the matter as always.
Febuary 2005
The Zenin estate loomed like a fortress against the morning sky, its high walls casting long shadows over the narrow cobblestone paths. You sat cross-legged in the garden, the coolness of the dewy grass pressing against your fingertips. The faint chirping of birds barely masked the hum of activity beyond the hedges: servants rushing, relatives arguing, your parents’ voices cutting sharp and clear over the rest.
“You have to show results, {♥︎}.” your father had said the night before, his tone low but insistent. “No one respects a failure in this family.”
Failure. You traced the word into the dirt, your brows furrowing. That was all you ever seemed to be to them—a weight they couldn’t shake, an investment that hadn’t yielded the correct returns. No matter how hard you trained, how many hours you spent refining your cursed technique, the whispers in the halls always remained the same. That you’re too soft. Too slow. Too kind.
Kindness had no place in the Zenin Clan.
A soft rustle broke your thoughts. You glanced up to find your cousin Naoya standing a few feet away, his smirk already firmly in place.
“Daydreaming again?” he sneered, crossing his arms. “You’ll never make it into Jujutsu Tech if you keep playing around like this.”
You metaphorically bit your tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Naoya’s presence was a constant thorn in your side, but his words carried an irritating truth. Today was the last day of your training evaluation. If you failed to impress the elders, they wouldn’t just revoke your entry into Jujutsu Tech—they’d write you off completely.
“Get lost, Naoya,” you sighed, standing up and brushing dirt from your hands.
“Make me,”
Your eyes narrowed, and the familiar tug of your cursed energy thrummed beneath your skin. The weight around you shifted ever so slightly, the gravity in the air bending to your will. For a brief moment, Naoya’s smirk faltered as his feet left the ground, his body floating awkwardly above the grass.
“Put me down, now!”
You let the energy snap, and Naoya dropped unceremoniously onto his back with a grunt. You couldn’t help the small, satisfied smirk that tugged at your lips.
“Better get used to that feeling,” you said as she walked past him. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fly.”
The walk to the training grounds was shorter than you expected, but your heart pounded with every step. Your parents were already waiting, along with several elders seated in a neat row. Your mother’s sharp gaze caught yours immediately.
“Don’t disappoint us, {♥︎}.” your mother said, her voice like a blade.
You nodded, stepping into the center of the field after retrieving a wooden bō from one of the weapon cabinets. Stood in the center of the training grounds with the wooden bō staff in your hands, its polished surface gleaming faintly, the familiar weight grounded you as you faced the elders’ cold, expectant stares.
You closed your own eyes, took a deep breath, and let the world around you fade.
This was your moment. If you failed here, there would be no second chances.
Your father stood off to the side, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. Your mother, however, watched with a smile that never reached her eyes.
“Your cursed technique is a tool,” you recounted your father telling you countless times. “But a weapon like that won’t save you in close combat. Your hands, your body—your bō—they’ll do the real work.”
“Begin,” one of the elders barked, breaking your thoughts.
Your grip on the bō tightened as three cursed energy-enhanced training dolls lumbered onto the field. Their jointed limbs moved with unnatural speed, their hollow eyes locked onto you.
The first doll lunged, its claws aimed straight for your chest. You sidestepped, your body light as air as you shifted your gravitational pull to avoid its attack. Spinning on your heel, you let the momentum carry your bō in a sweeping arc. The weapon struck the doll’s side with a satisfying crack, sending it sprawling.
The second doll attacked before you could recover. You planted the end of the bō into the ground, using it as leverage to vault over the doll’s swinging claws. Midair, you reversed your gravity back, pulling yourself sharply downward and slamming the bō onto its head with crushing force. The impact reverberated through your arms, and the doll collapsed to its knees.
“Not bad,” one of the elders muttered, though his tone lacked any real praise.
“Good control,” a separate of them muttered.
“Still too slow,” another countered.
The third doll came at you from behind. You spun your bō behind you without looking, the weapon’s length catching the doll across its midsection and sending it stumbling. Before it could recover, you thrust the staff forward, forcing it back with a series of quick, controlled strikes.
When all three dolls regrouped, you shifted tactics. You planted the bō in the ground and let your cursed energy ripple outward. Gravity twisted around you, pulling the dolls to their knees as the ground beneath them seemed to grow impossibly heavy.
With a sharp tug, you reversed the pull, sending the dolls careening into the air. They twisted helplessly, their limbs flailing as they floated above you. You gripped the bō tightly, leaping upward as your gravity reversal carried you toward them. Your movements were fluid, the bō an extension of your body as you struck each doll midair with precise, devastating blows.
The dolls crashed to the ground in a heap, motionless.
You landed lightly on your feet, spinning the bō in your hands before resting it against your shoulder. Your breathing was labored, but you kept your expression neutral as you turned toward the elders.
“Decent,” one of them said, though his tone was dismissive. “But you rely too heavily on your cursed technique to create openings. Your movements lack precision.”
“She hesitated before finishing the second doll,” another added. “Hesitation will get you killed.”
Your jaw tightened. You had dispatched all three of your opponents efficiently, yet their words left you feeling as if you’d failed. You had won, hadn’t you? Why did it always feel like that wasn’t enough?
“{♥︎},” your father said, silencing the murmurs. He approached you, his gaze stern. “You have made progress, but progress is not enough. The world beyond this estate will not forgive your mistakes.”
Your mother stepped forward then, her voice soft but no less cutting. “Do better, {♥︎}. You carry the weight of this family’s reputation.”
You lowered your gaze, gripping the bō until it made your hand ache. You wanted to argue, to say that you had done well, but you knew it would be useless. In the Zenin Clan, success wasn’t measured by personal triumphs—it was measured by the absence of criticism.
“Dismissed,” you father said curtly.
You bowed stiffly and turned to leave, your bō still resting against your shoulder.
Later that evening, you sat in your room, staring at the bō propped against the wall. Your shoulder ached from the impact of your strikes, and the bandage on your arm itched beneath your shirt. On your desk lay the open acceptance letter from Tokyo Jujutsu High.
You’d done what they asked. You’d trained until your palms were red and raw, mastered your cursed technique the best your age allowed, and perfected your bōjutsu skills. Yet no matter how much you accomplished, it was never enough.
A knock on the door pulled you from you thoughts.
“Enter,” you said.
The door opened, and Naoya leaned against the frame, his smirk already in place. “Heard you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself today,” he said, “Guess that’s progress.”
“Go away, Naoya,” you muttered, turning back to your desk.
He ignored you, stepping into the room. “You know, Jujutsu Tech isn’t going to coddle you like this place does. If you mess up out there, they won’t care about your family name—or your fancy tricks.”
“I’ll be fine,” you said sharply, refusing to look at him.
“Sure you will,” Naoya said with a laugh. He started to leave but paused in the doorway. “Just don’t embarrass the clan, alright? I’d hate to see you come crawling back here like some wounded animal.” he sarcastically mocked, feeling as if he made his mark prior to exiting.
The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly. You turned your gaze back to the bō. It was a reminder of your training, your strength, and the burden of the Zenin name.
For the first time in your life, you were leaving the estate, stepping into a world where your name meant nothing.
This was your chance to prove you were more than just a tool for your family.
But freedom, you realized, would come with its own weight of expectations.
