My head-canon is that doting husband!Kento Nanami isn’t as soft-spoken and wise with his wife as he was back when they dated. Now, he’s quick to make a comeback when needed. Which happens to be quite often. Picture this:
Kento's sharp tongue is a result of dealing with his 'cocky and catastrophic' co-workers all day and night. (His words.) He’s armed not only with a sword but also with a collection of blunt, yet somehow witty retorts. It’s all part of his personality. And the constant patter of rain on his leather brogues didn’t exactly lift his spirits either. He was more than ready to see the clock strike 6:30 on his shiny silver watch.
He drags himself home, utterly exhausted. His eyes are half-closed and puffy, his lips cold. Despite his fatigue, he greets his wife with a tender and loving kiss, though it’s clearly accompanied by a silent message of, ‘I’m dead tired, but I’m doing this so you won’t get mad at me.’
"You need to invest in a better lip balm, Nanami."
"Oh, is that so?" Kento probes his lip with genuine curiosity. They might be a bit chapped, but is it worth the joke? Not necessarily. He’s familiar with her sarcastic streak; it can get a bit old, but he usually lets it slide.
"Yeah, it scratched my lip a little," she replies, her tone laced with mirth.
He fires back, "I suppose I do... but you need to invest in a comb." His deadpan delivery signals the start of their roast battle. Her aversion to combs is evident in the wild, tumbleweed-like mess at the back of her head. It’s a sorry excuse for a ponytail. She insists that hair wash days are only once a month, leaving her locks to form their own chaotic masterpiece.
"Oh, we’re starting this now, huh?" His wife pumps her tiny fists in the air, initiating a playful fight. A playful fight usually means he just stands there, hovering as she tries to provoke him. To no avail, of course.
Rule one of the husband/wife roast battle: Never lie.
"You need…" She struggles to come up with something since Kento is just too goddamn perfect on the surface. "A cookbook! Yeah, that’s right!" She shoots back with a triumphant grin.
"My cooking is immaculate. If it were that bad, why do you hover around the kitchen waiting for seconds, hmm? Care to explain, my love?"
He’s good. Damn it.
"…I’m tired of bread!" Her voice, though frail, is filled with fire. She crosses her arms, standing her ground.
Kento’s rare, toothy grin widens as he counters, “You adore my bread! How about you invest in some respect before I invest in a cookbook?”
She narrows her eyes, a mischievous glint forming. "Respect? Sure, right after you learn to pick up your socks from the living room. Or did you think the 'floor monster' would get them?"
He throws his head back, almost hilariously hitting the edge of the chair. He knows he’s met his match. "Touché. I’ll get on that… right after I bake some bread. White or pumpernickel?"
"You know I love your pumpernickel. What a bitch," she mutters, relenting with a frown on her face.
"I heard that, honey," he says in a low, affectionate voice.
"Good!"
And thus ended their roast battle. You can bet Kento had their house smelling like warm bread and butter.
She’ll get him next time, right?
Probably not.
You see that? He's already thinking of more comebacks. How she keeps her shoes strewn all around? Check. How she clogged the shower drain a total of 15 times in the past two weeks? Check. Don't even get him started on her cooking. Oh god, someone call 911. Food poisoning for you, you, and yes, you too!
(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Jujutsu Kaisen reacts to you 'letting it rip' in your sleep ♥
Tags: Some language, otherwise, nothing but the fluffiest of fluff.
Kento Nanami- Listens to the long, drawn out sound. Pretends to be annoyed, looking back at you in the bedroom. Tries to get a few words of his report done. Gets distracted and eventually loses it. Throws his head back and cackles like a mad man. He only shows this side of him around you. "Oh, my love! The smell is putrid!"
Satoru Gojo- His eyes twinkle as he hears the magnificent, angelic sound coming from your buttocks. Laughs and giggles in babygirl. "Ahh Kawaii~~!" Records it on his phone so he listens to it every time he goes to the Adam and Eve store.
"Yeah, that's my spouse, they're the love of my life, really. Even better in the bathroom if you know what I mean. Wink wink. Geto's gonna get mad. That's his thing!" He boasts about your bathroom endeavors to the cashier. Yes, he actually voices 'wink wink'.
Suguru Geto- Stares at you silently, then gives you that famous head tilt and giggle. You melt.
"Oops! Someone needs a muzzle on that thing!" He meant it playfully but then sees your soul fly out of your body. "Ah- Baby! I- didn't mean to-!"
Sukuna- Scowls at you and rolls his eyes. "Stuff a sock in it, goddammit. Or do you want me to do it for you? The repulsive stench of lactose intolerance pains me. In mortal terms, you smell like shit."
Toji- Eats a raw fish.
Toji headcannon is a fucking weirdo.
If you couldn’t tell, I love Animal Crossing and Nanami (too much) a totally healthy amount. MC dressed up as him for an occasion. Nanami literally is Raymond and you can’t convince me otherwise.
Synopsis: You long for a change in your life, Nanami providing it in the most mysterious of ways. An angsty, short Kento Nanami x reader. A little !papamin and mamamin!reader with a twist!
Word count: 2681
Animated divider & Please support by: @cafekitsune
Circular silicone plates holding broccoli and corn remained untouched on the table, neglected and chilled. Yet the pizza rolls and applesauce you paired with it were gone as quickly as you called out dinner time. How could one not appreciate the taste of broccoli? You questioned yourself while you wiped an intrusive bead of sweat from your brow. Temper tantrums reverberated throughout the house, their intensity seemingly unending.
The nocturnal hours unfurled amidst a whirlwind of little stubbed toes, a result of unmet reprimands. Each collision elicited a sharp cry. Nights felt bleak and parched. Your body squirmed and turned as it adapted to the imminent change in climate.
You paced back and forth in the kitchen. Each uneven step solicited a sharp pain in the back of your heart. The room seemed to close in around you. Sounds around you remained amplified and distorted, making it difficult to separate your thoughts from the overwhelming noise. Your mind had tangled in a false sense of perception.
No, I am not alone. I have a husband. He is in the next room over.
You repeated the thought until you were left breathless as if doing so could somehow pull you away from the suffocating grip of reality.
Bedtime. When you retired for the night in the guest room down the hall after a brisk decision to reside in different rooms. The initial intention was not to bother your husband while he worked. You were insistent about the change when he started his job, but you soon came to regret your decision as the bed grew infinitely eerie without him.
There was no need to dress up for bed anymore, except for someone who seemed like they cared. The laundry basket in the corner of your room sat dormant filled with unused silk pajamas. On top, were old t-shirts that carried muck and scum accumulated by weeks spent at home. No need to spend an hour on makeup or doing your hair. No tickets to a fancy restaurant or a basketball game. There was no one to go with. Except there was – but he was in the next room over.
You slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, desperate for a distraction and a glass of water to soothe the hoarseness of your throat. A shadowy figure laced with remembrance loomed over you like an owl perched on a pedestal. Fourteen hours, and he was finally here with you, sitting on the couch with a book in his hands.
“Ken!” you cried out in relief, padding your way toward him.
You wanted to smile, hug him, and kiss him senselessly to make up for all the time lost. But the weary expression on his face made you hesitate. The slight jolt of his actions as he turned the page, the scratching of his fingernails against the hardcover. Three coffee mugs laid out in front of him and to your dismay, every one of them was empty. It was well past eleven pm. So, this was what had been causing his sleepless nights?
“Are you okay? You look pale,” your voice brittle with worry as you spoke. “Have you been taking your medication or eating well?"
You took his frigid hand in yours, attempting to create friction against his rough palms to warm him up. A silent but breathtaking gentle squeeze of your hand and an acknowledging nod provided all of the reassurance you needed. But the moment had been a fleeting one as you felt the chill of your husband’s hand slipping out of your grasp.
He adjusted the reading lamp that was clasped onto the page. A soft cast of orange glow pronounced his baby-pink lips and sharp jawline. Kento glanced up briefly, his expression ruminating on a sense of hitting a new low.
“I’m alright. Do not worry about me, love,” he muttered, dismissively. All the caution you felt for him depleted, the sentiment replaced with hopelessness and frustration. "You have enough on your hands as is..."
“Look, Ken, all I’m trying to say is that I miss you, okay?” You try to start the dreaded conversation, light and simple. “The kids do too. I think your job might be taking a toll on you. Can’t you rest?” you pleaded. Your husband’s thoughts were redirected toward the illicit tapping of your foot on the ground which served as a testament to his patience. You observed as his gaze shifted away, his jaw tightening as he braced himself against the sofa.
You never remembered when he'd end his meetings early to take the girls to the park. You never recalled the time you caught food poisoning and were rushed to the hospital, cutting it off during a sales pitch. How he'd let your middle child doodle on a piece of his paper because drawing was her passion- Even though that paper was the most important one on the table, now filled with unicorns and rainbows. You only wanted to believe what you wanted to believe. And that was your downfall.
“I’m sorry, but you know there’s no such thing as breaks in this field. I can’t. There’s a mountain of logistics that go beyond a simple feeling of tiredness. Financial stability is never guaranteed, many hours of mulling over a resignation letter, I’d have to find myself a replacement employee, train them, then supervise them,” his voice rose like boulders crashing against the shore. “I can’t pack up my office and leave with a snap of my finger,” This only deepened the frown on your face and made the normality of ‘proper’ eye contact even more complicated.
His defensiveness was palpable, an edge in his tone that seared through the space between you. Yet, you chose to let it slide, knowing something deeper resided within. As if it were a means to convince himself that he wasn’t struggling like he wasn’t working himself like a starving canine working on a farm. Was this just part of his character, a counterbalance to the 'calm and collected' persona he wore like a thick coat of armor?
“It’s not an option I have on the ready. Not a trigger I can activate with the push of a button.” His irritation gave way to a more controlled demeanor, though the tension in the room lingered.
“And love, how can we survive if I quit?” His voice softened, becoming almost hesitant as he spoke. He looked down, tracing a pattern on the counter with his finger. “You don’t have a job and haven’t worked in years.”
As he continued, the weight of his words felt like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, like a spectator in a drama you couldn’t escape, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of his words.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You walked away, pretending to busy yourself by cleaning the mess off the floor. The grip on the broom was tight; you were afraid to let go. Terrified of losing your footing as you thought about your premature acquiescence.
Weekends once were a lovely respite. However, as the fifth day of the week commenced, the sixth and seventh days began, marking a recurring peak in Kento's work responsibilities. Countless, careless, clueless clientele, rampaging with their never-ending supply of wealth and power. He didn’t know who he was saving people for. The backlog of projects resulted in diminished family time and even less time for personal endeavors.
He remained locked in his study down the hall.
At last, the girls had bathed and tucked themselves into bed. The eldest had been blessed with privacy of her own while the other two sulked with their puffy and pouty lips. You sat down on the old wooden rocking chair across from them. It was once a spot where you’d nurse them when they were younger. Where you’d tirelessly read and digest parenting blogs like it was your morning coffee. Your exhausted tone had expertly been replaced by a soft one. Wishing your three little angels nothing but peace, happiness, and exemption from hardships. At least from– the knowledge of your own.
You leaned the chair forward, forcing a smile to appear upon the layers of dwindling hope within. The sight of your children rubbing their eyes with small, tender fists of love served as a balm that healed your weary soul.
"Would you like to pick out tonight’s bedtime story? Eldest’s privilege," you asked, hoping to connect with the nine-year-old. She always seemed so disconnected from you, her peers, and especially her sisters. She rarely spoke to you as is. Though a three-year difference in theory hadn’t seemed like much, her mind and body had already started to evolve. In mood, and recently the beginning of buying bras for more than just you.
“Can you read this for me, baby?” You point a finger toward the last sentence of the page as the girls shimmy around your calming presence.
“And following that day, Tiana and Prince Naveen lived happily ever after.” You let out a sigh as the story came to an end.
“Momma, where’s Dad?”
The unsuspected question made your heart swell with guilt. Where is Kento? You mustered up a response, taking your gaze off of your twirling fingers.
“He's working now, sweetheart. You know, in the next room over.”
An unexpected realization of the dismissiveness in your tone struck you. How you had reacted as if 14-hour shifts a day were normal— though you remember that in your household, they were. The girls finally took their rest as you quietly exited the room without a trace.
--- Morning. ---
The sun had barely risen when you shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and yearning for your first cup of coffee. The house was silent, the calm before the storm of another bustling day. You opened the fridge, the cold air hitting your face as you reached for the milk. That's when you saw it—a small note, neatly folded and tucked into a bag of Kento's favorite snacks.
Curiosity piqued, you took the note and unfolded it. His handwriting was unmistakable, strong and steady, yet with a touch of warmth that made your heart flutter.
Good morning, my love.
I know things have been tough lately, and I've been distant. Work has been overwhelming, and I haven't been the partner you deserve. But I want you to know that I see you, and I miss you every single day.
I left this note here because I know you always reach for my snacks. It’s a little reminder that even in the busiest moments, you’re on my mind. Let’s make time for each other tonight. I promise I’ll be home early, and we can have dinner together, just the two of us. Maybe we can even dance in the kitchen again, like old times?
I love you more than words can say.
Yours always, Kento
A smile spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. You tucked the note back into the bag, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Tonight would be different. Tonight, you would reconnect, even if just for a little while.
You stood behind him in the study, he’d let you enter on special occasions. There were no smiles, no dancing, no time for reminiscing. Your hand squeezed and kneaded your husband’s tight shoulders as you read the E-mail he’d been staring at along with him in your mind.
Esteemed workers,
I regret to inform you, that our higher-ups have made it clear. Due to the lack of materials for everyone, and the shortage of students attending Tokyo Jujutsu High throughout the school year, you have been selected as the first wave to undergo a prolonged unpaid absence, active until further notice. Each of you will mailed a one-time payment of this month’s salary. Following that, compensation will not be provided. Resignation letters must be sent to the front office if desired.
You knew, that Jujutsu Sorcery was never meant to be a full-time job, he knew it as well. Too goddamn well. Yet, the option was either he stay a Salaryman or return to sorcery. The lesser of two evils? You’re starting to think there’s no such thing. Yet, you had to be optimistic, you had to bring his spirits back up. Wasn't that your job? Something you've been neglectful about. But you are unable to avoid Kento’s shaking body.
“Hey, we’re alright, okay? We’ve still got money in the bank,” this was your attempt at convincing him? “You’re smart, you can get another job. Maybe be a baker like you always wanted, huh?”
“Bakers don’t put food on the table… I can’t,” he mumbled beneath the comfort of his palms over his mouth.
“Well… they put bread on the table, don’t they?” you couldn’t get past the irony despite the numbing situation, your eyes crinkled in amusement as you composed yourself.
Your joke wasn’t lost on him– thank god, that could’ve gone way worse. He giggled himself, though he caught his actions and cleared his throat.
“You never get serious, do you?”, it sounded like he was annoyed, but you heard the rare fondness of his tone.
“Never,” you graciously agreed.
--- One week after the other. ---
Your interactions with Kento had become limited to small fleeting touches while he searched for jobs hiring in the winter quarter. A brush of the arm while walking by or a brief accidental hand on your thigh. The most unwavering difference was your showers, your mind circled back to the way life used to be. Once a playful, unruly excuse you’d use to be together. Now, a reality. How he’d pin you against the cool confines of marble tile to merge his body with yours. No– no more thinking that way. You reprimanded yourself as you washed the dirt and grime off yourself while the man you married turned away from your direction.
His stance was uncomfortable, his shoulders hunched and his face a mask, unable to show emotion. His trademark soft blonde hair was streaked with black and light gray at the roots. You remembered how you used to joke about his future silver hair, calling him a silver fox in jest. You never thought the time would come before you. It had been months since you last saw his natural hair coloring, he always had touched it up, even having you assist him sometimes back in the day. The sight of his demeanor so changed made your heartache.
She heard Kento's breath quake and quicken, the soft splashes against his feet and the tile. Was he turning around? An arm reached forward, gently taking the worn washcloth from her hand, hoisting the duty all upon himself.
“Thank you,” you whispered in the lightest voice you could. It came out squeaky and awkward.
“You’re welcome,” his voice still shaky but less reserved.
What is he doing? Why is he waiting until now? Is this some way of buttering me up? A long-winded apology?
“How did we end up like this?” you faced him, unlike many other days.
“Do you feel it too? Is it just me?”
A soft exhale escaped Kento’s lips, accepting the situation for what it was. “I never listened to you.”
“Kento–,” you tried to interject, but he continued.
“I was so caught up in work and-- you’ve seen my hair right? I mean, it looks awful.”
You saw something shimmer in his eyes, a light that had been long gone. The corners of his mouth formed a half of a smile, one that was forced, but quietly prominent. Your smile shortly followed, yet this one was genuine and sincere.
“That’s right, but you know what?”
“What, love?”
“I think you’re cute, Kento, silver looks good on you,” you just randomly blurted out as his hands cupped the small of your back. It was uncalled for. You heard a small snort escaping the man’s nose. He used to do that whenever you’d mention things out of the blue.
“Thank you. You’re special to me.”
“You’re special to me too, Ken.”
Ah, how you’ve failed your mission once again.
Author's note #2
MC is holding onto the crumbs of nostalgia, it's why I never pushed 'your' confrontation with Kento too far. 'You' settle for what you have. Someone that makes you feel seen but only when he's close to you. And no, Kento still hasn't figured out the job situation yet. I don't see Kento as being like an amazing husband with no flaws whatsoever. Instead, I think he might become hyperfixated on things and neglect others without knowing. Or, he's aware but afraid to explain himself to MC head-on. He's human and everyone has their difficulties. He's not exempt from them just because he's some hot anime guy iykwim.
Can you believe I've never been in a relationship before? 🙃😂😅💀 ha.ha. haha.
Please note that I’m a new writer and I’m trying to build a habit of writing. I do not expect any of these to be masterpieces and neither should you. Despite my cheerfulness, this is an awfully nerve-wracking experience. I don’t know how you writers do it, truthfully. Thank you! Please read though. Maybe you can be a part of my journey?
Divider by @cafekitsune
Father Nanami. Kento Nanami ~ !Papamin. You and your family embark on a vacation to Denmark to spend time with Kento’s Father. Grandpa Soren is a peculiar man to say the least. Your daughter has some words… and a new creation to show.
Behind The Fic - Father Nanami. A look at my writing process.
A Thousand Degrees (Might undergo some reworking. Series discontinued til further notice. Better to write more than get stumped on a single project.)
You’re transported into the world of the 19th century. Kento Nanami is a generational blacksmith. His swords and armory are all hand-crafted. In the quiet, these sacred skills persisted, anticipating every moment, counting down its return to the world.
Behind The Fic - A Thousand Degrees. I do recognize this was written in first person. I wasn’t aware this was commonly looked down upon!
The Next Room Over. You take a front row seat as Kento’s personality unfolds in front of you while he’s under stress. Avoidance? Dismissiveness? Spite? Oh yeah, there’s all of that and more.
Drabble, drabble, drabble!
Sheer comedy gold right here. I can’t even give a description. It’s a head-cannon. Let’s just leave it at that.
Drabble number two! Oh lord, help me.
When does it end?!? Never.
He’s a fighter – In choice of words, that is. Kento Nanami and his wife get into some shenanigans. No, not what you’re thinking. It involves sharp words, defeat, and bread. The deadly combination.
Jujutsu Kaisen characters & Industrial revolution (AU) Pt.1 – Nanami Kento POV, the hopeless blacksmith. A multi part series.
I fear the time has come when my work has become rendered useless by the people, and I am unappreciated simply because I am 'less' than a machine. Yes, I may produce 'less,' but what I 'lost,' people used to gain in value and sentimentality.
The Industrial Revolution, lasting around 80 years, significantly reduced the demand for hand-made goods and services such as tailoring, irrigation, and sword-making, which happens to be Nanami's specialty. (Check your history and economics textbooks, kids.) During this period, most blacksmiths were deemed ‘redundant,’ as replacing items when broken became more reasonable and cheaper than repairing them. Yet in the quiet, these sacred skills persisted, anticipating every moment, counting down its return to the world.
I fear the silence has enraptured me, drenching my soul to the thousandth degree.
My eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of tools strewn around the mountain of unfinished projects. The decline of clients sapped my motivation and the acrid flames from the crucibles dusted my nostrils in a haze of ash. I walked towards the chair at the other side of the room that had served me well all these years, its wooden frame as worn as my spirit. Stuck in this monotony of life. I traced my fingers over the well-worn instruments, their familiarity a stark contrast to the world of chaos beyond these four walls that I’ve surrounded myself in. I wonder how long I can hold on.
The clang of metal on metal, the hiss of steam, and the heat of the forge used to be the heartbeat. Now, a deafening silence enraptured the place like a heavy cloak, broken only by the distant humming of automated machinery. As times change, I struggle with doubts, even within myself, questioning the longevity of my lifestyle. If I wish to retire, I must adapt to the times and conform to the ebb and flow of humanity.
I have found something to busy myself with, assisting the locals in their financial decisions, though my own, in turn, have been questionable. As I watched them, their careful budgeting and pragmatic choices struck me. Each decision they made, each penny saved and spent wisely, seemed to carry a weight of survival that I could only admire from afar. Farmers transition to tractors, coachmen to bus drivers, caterpillars to butterflies. Am I falling behind?
As I attempted to clear my weary head, I observed the jasmine I planted long ago had found the courage to bravely spread its vines, tangling itself in the depths of the rusty metal trellis perched against the bricked wall. Meanwhile, my osmanthus and chrysanthemum have taken their final drops of water, signaling the end of my tea supply. Even my possessions seem to be slipping away.
Laughs and giggles echo regularly from the speakeasy across the street, where actors, actresses, singers and dancers gather, filling the bar with a reservoir of talent. A reminder of how I used to live, on a hunt for fame and popularity. I had succeeded once, too. The crackling timbre of gravel against tires revealed a car, sleek and shiny, its engine purring like a contented predator. I expected it to pass by like all the others, yet its passengers bearing gold and medallions happened to be seeking a temporary escape. I don’t like to admit it, however, I used to be like that once.
I still remember when I received my first paycheck. I got cocky, lazy, unknowing of the repercussions that lied beyond the surface. Blinded by the allure of fame. How my father’s blacksmithing passion burned in the ashes right before my eyes, how he disappeared from the face of the earth, not remembering the name of his own son.
The door swung open, and a polished shoe touched the pavement with deliberate grace. Slowly, he emerged, straightening to his full height, his tailored suit catching the light just right. His eyes, hidden behind dark circular sunglasses, stood tall as if he owned the world—or was about to. His pearly white locks swayed with the gentle gusts of wind. His peculiar outfit left no room for misinterpretation, reminding me of a secret society member, those in the Edo period from way back when. Three consecutive knocks interrupted my pensive train of thought. Clearly, the man hadn’t seen the ‘closed’ sign on the door. I silently screw myself for only writing the text in Danish.
“I am closed, go home, Gojo.”
I knew him, mostly as the piercing icy blue eyed man who had been loitering around the shop for three days in a row now. I half expected him to add to the collection of the ‘no swords, no shields’ signs that were attached on the notice post by hammer and nail. Ever since the mass blacksmith boycott, he found an opportunity to speak out against the ‘old school’ way of fighting, promoting ‘Jujutsu Sorcery’ as an alternative. I had considered it once, learning how to harness this ability to visualize cursed spirits that I was entrusted with, but I try to ignore them as best as possible due to bad experiences on the field in my younger years.
The Jujutsu corporate world holds far too much ambiguity as we were blind to laboring in pyramid schemes. Just stooges to a bigger picture. Much to my dismay, the green glasses I wear are not only for blacksmithing but also for avoiding eye contact with dehumanized figures of various colors, shapes and sizes. They also irritatingly slide down my nose bridge.
"Sir Nanami! I'd love to have your expertise back in the wondrous field of Jujutsu training. I've got- I mean, I have acquired three new recruits who would benefit from your mentoring."
Despite our history, his tone carried a forced formality. It was a sound that echoed from a child's mouth—squeaky and awkward—from behind the door.
"M-Mister Nanami?" The voice stuttered. I heard Gojo's quiet instructions to the kid, coaching him on what to do next. An eager student, I mused to myself. "Look at this!" His fists glowed with luminescent streaks of black and blue, untamed cursed energy. I couldn't deny it was the start of something unique. This pink haired, pure spirited boy that Gojo had brought in... he was unlike the others.
“Gojo, you don’t understand. I have a life here. Depleting or not, it’s my duty to remain.”
I argued, coming up with every reason to deny his offer. Though he seemed to know that I have no sufficient meaning to stay here.
“Nanami, I-” Gojo interjected.
Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated through the shop as Yuji’s cursed energy surged uncontrollably, knocking over a shelf of tools. My senses heightened immediately, recognizing the distinct energy signature. This was not just an accident. The outside air grew heavy with a palpable tension, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. I glanced at Gojo, who was already on alert, his playful demeanor replaced by a serious intensity.
“What did you do, kid?” I asked Yuji, my voice calm but edged with urgency.
“I-I don’t know!” Yuji stammered, eyes wide with panic. “I think I might have accidentally triggered something…”
Before he could finish, the ground beneath us rumbled, and a low, menacing growl echoed from outside. A wave of cursed energy, darker and more malevolent than anything I had felt in years, washed over us.
“Get ready,” Gojo muttered, his eyes flickering with anticipation. “It’s here.”
Reflexes honed from years of experience kicked in. I grabbed my blunt sword, its blade wrapped in bandages. In a fluid motion, I positioned myself in front of Yuji and Gojo, my protectiveness kicking in instinctively. No matter the level of skill the two had, I will always put myself at the forefront.
"Sorcery never goes away from your body," I thought, the weight of the moment grounding me. "It's your prerogative to use it in times of need or hide it away. And for the first time in years, I have chosen the former."
The door shuddered under a heavy blow, and I braced myself. The silence before the storm had ended.
And this is merely the beginning.
👏End of Part one 👏
Goodness, that was a wild ride, I'm almost sad to be leaving y'all on a cliffhanger like this! Hope my second ever fan fiction was enjoyable.
Thank you to my beta readers: Panda and JuwelPK! Part two coming soon. Coming from the POV of Yuji Itadori.
