Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

7^th February

His deep blue was lazily following the frozen cherry trees leaving his sight as the car moved forward on the highway. Even though the glass was tinted, concealing the true beauty of the winter scenery, his eyes had always been able to see behind frail appearances.

Unknowingly, Satoru started humming a song that wouldn’t leave his mind ever since he had heard it; it was something about the cherry blossoms scattering and falling down as someone left the town when graduation time came. The lyrics were too jumbled and no matter how hard he tried putting the words into the right order, none of them resembled the original; thus, he decided to keep singing the tune, at least to keep the melody vivid in his memory.

Satoru had searched for it all over the internet, writing key words, seeking artists with similar songs, to no avail. He even tried singing it to some of his friends, hoping that at least Suguru – the one with the richest musical culture (out of two of his closest friends), would give him some hints, but as soon as he started humming it, it came out as nothing distinctive. Not even one bit close to what was playing inside his head.  

Thereby, after many failed attempts, he asked for principal Yaga’s opinion, only to find out he only listened to trap and alternative rock. It came as no surprise given his overall tough appearance, but the fact that he didn’t realize Yaga’s obvious musical preferences sooner made Satoru feel stupid and hasty.

He sighed between the hums, resting his white strands against the cold window. The car was moving at an agonizingly slow speed, building up his annoyance in the process; and the fact that she was sitting next to him wouldn’t have been problematic, if her sweet scented perfume didn’t contribute to his dizziness and nausea.

It was that kind of sweetness that turned sour the more you chewed on it. A flavor devised to turn his stomach upside down, to make him rot from the inside.

When Satoru couldn’t take it anymore, he asked the driver to pull over at the next resting area. However, only after they passed by three gas stations did Satoru manage to get out of that smelly prison.

At first, he considered scolding their newest driver about his questionable driving skills and lack of focus in traffic; he couldn’t have been more than twenty, but age shouldn’t have been an excuse for the poor abilities demanded by the job he landed.

If he couldn’t properly do what was expected of him, why even bother working as a driver, get paid for the bare minimum and waste his and other people’s time?

Nonetheless, Satoru refrained from addressing the issue, too tired of constantly having to deal with someone who only flinched and avoided looking at him. The boy was clearly afraid of him, of his presence and status, of upsetting the strongest sorcerer and getting punished for the smallest error.

However, Satoru wasn’t as unfair and as heartless as the rumors depicted him. Was he a jerk? Definitely, the biggest one. Was he tactless? Most of the time. Would he fire someone for an unexpected brake? He wouldn’t even comment on it. He cared too little to bring it up.

As he stepped outside, a taste of clean air made him feel alive again and in that moment, it was everything he needed for a restart. In the meantime, the woman followed him outside the car, announcing she would be making a call that might take a while.

Satoru simply nodded, enjoying the way her hips moved in flattering leather pants, as she headed for a secluded area. Even the young driver seemed to lose himself in puberty’s urges, nervously tapping on the steering wheel, while enchanted by the sight in front of him.

“Yo, Musashi!” the white – haired sorcerer knocked on the glass, motioning for the driver to lower the window. ”Want something to drink?”

Being caught staring had turned the boy into an instant blushing mess. Shame and guilt painted his expression with bright colors, a perfect picture for an offender’s mugshot and the more Satoru’s all-knowingly smirk seemed to make fun of him, the more agitated he became, until he rashly uttered the first thing that came into his mind: “A coke....Please!”

“Yes, yes. Coming right up, lover boy!” Satoru laughed, as he turned around, only to be stopped by Musashi’s panicked words.

“Gojo-sama, please wait! Um...the money for...the beverage...”

Another laugh escaped Satoru’s lips as the driver was struggling to get out of the car, a hand hastily pushing the door whilst the other one was frantically searching inside the pockets of his elegant trousers. However, even after finding the wallet, most of the coins fell on the ground – along with the last ounce of dignity he had.

Feeling like the biggest loser alive, Musashi kneeled in shame, knowing that he might burst into tears if he were to see Gojo Satoru’s mocking expression. As he was struggling to pick a 5 yen coin up with trembling fingers, he felt a strong hand squeezing his shoulder, in a reassuring manner. The sudden squeeze made him turn around and witness a smile he didn’t expect, at least not directed at him and not from him.

Right there, at that moment, the strongest sorcerer alive was kneeling besides him, offering his help. He handed him – a mere mortal, a small man coming from the lowest branches of the Zenin Clan, a few wandering coins, while smiling in amusement at his antics. Somehow, Musashi’s heart squeezed both in shame and relief.

”You’re panicking too much for nothing.” Satoru deadpanned, as he adjusted his shades higher up on the bridge of his nose. “I was also gawking at her ass.”

“Eh?” Musashi’s eyes widened at the unexpected confession. His mouth parted without saying anything and he must’ve delivered a funny image, because the sorcerer laughed again at him, as he straightened his position.

The driver followed the movements almost like a robot. His stiffness, plainly reflected in his body language, revealed a certain despair – of wanting to mimic someone else, for fear his own actions might be wrong. For fear he might offend his idol.

Looking up to Gojo Satoru came naturally. Treating him with respect was a priority. The whole encounter felt like a blessing. It was as if Musashi had lived his whole life for this very moment. Perhaps everyone felt the same way, upon encountering a god, but how many had the chance to see him up close, to casually talk to him, to hear him laugh like Musashi did?

“Musashi.” He flinched at the way his old-fashioned name rolled on Satoru’s tongue. Foreign, but enchanting. ”Do something about that smell. The chick’s hot, but her perfume is making me puke.”

And he did lower the windows and left the driver’s door largely open, while scanning his surroundings for the woman’s presence. After all, neither he nor Satoru were meaning to make her feel bad because of an unfortunate choice in fragrances.

From an objective perspective, such as Musashi’s, the smell wasn’t as disturbing as Satoru made it out to be; indeed, she had poured a little too much and the small space provided by the car wasn’t working to her advantage.

From Satoru’s perspective, even the smell of gas and oil welcomed his nostrils as he stepped inside the small building; the premises were filled with more than fifteen people, number that already exceeded its storage capacity. Most of them were forming two lines in front of the bathroom stalls, a family of three and two teenage girls were inspecting different kinds of exposed cakes and cookies, while a couple was waiting for the cashier to prepare a flavored cappuccino for the tall, impatient lady.

Given that he hated public bathrooms, mostly due to hygienic reasons, Satoru headed for the nearest beverage refrigerator, retrieving a can of diet coke and two bottles of water for himself.

As he placed the beverages under his armpit, a few giggles attracted his attention; they were coming from two young ladies, who started to check him up – way too daring for his taste. Satoru passed by them nonchalantly, heading for the sweets area.

Gojo Satoru was a tall man, with a lean, yet muscular built; he was the very embodiment of a conventionally attractive man, mainly because of his facial features – perfectly placed on his face, in a manner that naturally emphasized his best qualities. Amongst his many beautiful traits, the azure eyes would always steal the spotlight whenever the shades didn’t hide them away.

But even while having his sunglasses on, anyone could discern his beauty. Even the cashier who kept glancing his way, waiting for the other customers to leave already, so she could talk to him. Even the mother of a little boy – who pointed his finger at him, calling Satoru “huge”. And even the bisexual man, who might have forgotten he was holding his girlfriend’s hand.

Ever since he was born, the snow-haired man was aware of his good looks. How could he not when every person, with whom he had interacted, had never failed to pamper him with compliments.

Had be become arrogant, knowing he held power over those who only trusted their eyes? Anyone would’ve become arrogant and self-centered, especially the “strongest sorcerer alive.”

“How may I help you, sir?” the chubby cashier showed her best smile, acting all cute and friendly, but all he could see were the black little creatures dancing near her elbow, feeding on the woman’s darkest emotions.

“Three chocolate croissants. I’d also like to pay for the drinks.” Satoru placed the bottles on the counter, crushing the miniature curses with his cursed energy.

“Would you like them heated up?” she asked, visibly relieved all of a sudden.

In return, he smiled, taking out his credit card. “You’ve just read my mind.”

Satoru finally left the gas station, with a phone number written on a napkin, but with no intention of ever calling her. She seemed too sweet and innocent for someone as unserious as him because he had never viewed himself as someone capable of dating, of loving someone unconditionally. Because he could never fulfill the role of a typical boyfriend. From time to time, Satoru would have his needs satisfied by women who approached him, but he never sought out a romantic relationship from either of them. He never even had one. Didn’t want one. Didn’t need one.

His fear of commitment must’ve started at the age of sixteen, when he lost his virginity to an older woman. The very few times they had sex, Satoru got to experience the raw pleasure offered by carnal desires and the responsibilities that came with the act of indulging. When he developed a strange fondness for her, the woman quickly pushed him away, as if she had sensed the absurdity of his emotions. As a last lesson, she reprimanded Satoru for bringing feelings into their sexual intercourse; they weren’t the protagonists of a soap opera, but animals, selfishly seeking a momentarily pleasure by exploiting each other’s weaknesses.

It was a game of deception and theft. The moment you get attached, you lose – and the strongest wasn’t allowed to lose. Ever.

Satoru sighed, crumbling the faulty napkin and tossing it in the nearest trash bin. The car was parked in the same spot, with its windows rolled up and the engine still running, keeping the warmth inside. The driver was still nervous, but visibly relieved to see him back and for the time being, no vicious smell was seizing the vehicle since she hadn’t returned yet.

Satoru handed Musashi the coke and a croissant, while munching on his own. Her share had been placed on her side of the car and the two bottles of water were lying on the backseat, drawing the line between personal space. The driver silently bowed his head, offering his gratitude as quietly as he could, for fear he might interrupt Satoru’s humming.

It didn’t last long before the woman returned and the car resumed its rigid route in tensed vibes; even though Musashi meant to reduce his stress level in the upcoming journey, Yoshinaga Kanon’s cold stares whenever he hastily pushed the brakes and Gojo Satoru’s impatient tapping, whenever he drove too slowly, were pressuring him to no end. The pressure had led him to committing more errors for the next two hours.

They would’ve reached their destination faster, if someone with more experience had driven instead of him. However Musashi couldn’t afford speeding up and thereby, risking his precious passengers’ lives. 

If something were to happen to Gojo Satoru while they were in the car, while he was driving, he would be held accountable for his misdeeds; forget not getting paid, Musashi hoped he would be allowed to live a few more years. Shivering once again at the thought, he started mumbling prayers, slowing down on speed.

Only someone as unlucky as him could have been picked as the strongest sorcerer’s driver on his first day of work. Even his colleagues (hired before him) sighed in relief after hearing Musashi’s name being called, he could tell by the way their eyes pitifully watched him when his boss nominated him.

Contrary to Musashi’s chaotic emotions, Satoru lost himself in a contemplative state for the rest of the road. The song filled his mind again like a curse. Like an addiction. An obsession. An everyday habit, a riddle he couldn’t solve. And because of that, he couldn’t move on without finding the solution. The pieces were there, scattered, telling the beginning of a cherry blossoms and a bridge – crossed by two people.

It was leaning towards a love song, something he didn’t necessarily enjoy listening to. If it ended up like one, he might be disappointed. His effort might not be worth the outcome.

However, he couldn’t stop. There was something different about it, something about the voice that made him be so hung up on it. His instincts told him so.

That it didn’t sing about romantic love between two individuals or about a couple breaking up. Those situations were too worldly. The feelings it evoked inside of him couldn’t have been that plain or boring. The soft voice was singing about another form of affection, perhaps about a lost love. A love painful enough to be converted inside a melody. Hummed in the middle of the night, with no living soul to witness the tale.

Satoru couldn’t help but regret his decision of letting her finish her concert, instead of interrupting and asking more about the song, its writer, its singer, its meaning.

She was inside the school, yet she vanished into winter’s thin air. It had been two weeks since he had heard the song; there were nights when he went to the cherry trees, wishing for something more than the wind’s ravishing blows or the squeaky snow’s symphony. Nonetheless, his wish remained just a wish. At that point, nothing seemed real.

There were times when she felt like a phantasm, an illusion caused by his Six Eyes or a deception created by his tired subconscious.

Either way, the cherry blossom fell, fluttering down as the car followed its destination.

Chapter Text

The moment he stopped the engine and the two passengers checked in at the hotel, the pressure between the three of them finally dissipated. Neither of them had too much luggage for a one night reservation, thereby Musashi didn’t have to worry about his arms falling off as he carried two rolling backpacks – Yoshinaga Kanon’s and his, while Satoru insisted on carrying his own stuff.

As soon as Gojo entered the cozy room, he started undressing; he placed his coat on a wood hanger in the closet, but threw his white shirt on the floor, kicking it with his toes. Then, he worked on the belt and unzipped his black jeans, casting them near the abandoned pile of clothes.

After a quick mental conclusion regarding his tiredness, he decided to skip dinner and go to sleep after a quick shower. Satoru shivered when droplets of warm water hit his tensed back, but the more he endured, the more his body got used to the temperature; he preferred baths that were neither too hot nor too cold, but that night, his exhausted muscles needed a warm feeling and the fragrance of roses.

Even the shampoo had a fresh and enchanting aroma, as if asking to be used on his soft strands, but Satoru decided against it. It would’ve been better to wash his hair after the mission was done, since he wasn’t in a hurry to go back to Tokyo after finishing it. In fact, he was secretly planning on trying the local dishes and visit the main shrine for his grandfather; there was also a very well-known lake he wanted to snap some picture of and hunting for souvenirs became part of his routine, because of Shoko’s complaints whenever he returned empty-handed.

He would check everything on his list, if he finished the mission before noon. He’d do it, all by himself if necessary, for a little free time – like a short trip for himself. He’d send Musashi and Yoshinaga back to Tokyo and request another car to pick him up at night. And a driver with more experience.

The white towel embraced his torso gently, as droplets of water were running down on his chest; while Satoru approached the large mirror, he couldn’t help but stare at his reflection in admiration. He turned around and flexed his back and biceps, visibly content with the way his muscles twitched at the effort. He was too tired to hit the gym that night, but waking up earlier and doing his routine, having a rich breakfast, enjoying his coffee…Everything felt like the beginning of a trip.

The excitement evoked another round of humming, while he searched for a new pair of boxer briefs. By now, he should’ve been used with packing and unpacking his luggage, but doing it too often became so tiring, to the point where he stopped caring about the clothes he brought or about their place inside the traveling bag. Or about randomly tossing them aside.

A loud knock interrupted his quest. Rather displeased with the unannounced company, Satoru thought of ignoring his visitor, until another two knocks followed the silence.

If he had to give meaning to his choice of opening the door, he knew that meaning was linked to his curiosity and to a sparking desire as his eyes feasted on dripping wet red hair, falling below her waist, burning black eyes, staring at his naked torso and the shape of generous curves, hidden under the hotel’s bathrobe. Probably the only piece of cloth she was wearing.

One glance was enough to notice Kanon’s intoxicated state and the birth of her nightly urges. Satoru said nothing, waiting for her to speak first, but the woman showed off two bottles of beer, dangling between her fingers, as if to emphasize her intentions. “Can I come in?”

“It’s late.”

“Help me finish those and then I’ll be on my way. After all, you’re not going to turn a beautiful woman down, are you?” she insisted with a playful twist of her tone, taking a step towards him, fingertips gently brushing just above his navel.

Satoru’s abs tensed at the touch he allowed, but he remained defiant and stubborn at her request. Undeterred, he met her gaze without a hint of hesitation or shyness, an obstinate smirk playing on his lips. And his eyes – an endless sea of blue, were sharp as they studied her face, her inviting cleavage and naked legs.

The traces of that sickening perfume were gone, replaced by a subtle hint of shampoo, mixed with a breath infused with alcohol.

Satoru left the door’s frame, allowing Kanon to come inside and she did not waste any time doing so, locking the door and boldly resuming her exploration. Feeling the heat of his skin warming her hand. Her eyes fluttering at their connection and her lips kissing his collarbones.

Her intentions were halted, for a second, by hands that pushed her away.

“Wanna do it?’ Kanon bluntly asked, her voice steady and confident, unperturbed by the amount of alcohol in her system.

However, Satoru couldn’t accept her invitation before ensuring her consent and self-awareness in that situation. “Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy, but I’m aware of my actions.” she smiled knowingly, wickedly, eyes trailing along the line of his left shoulder, up the side of his neck and to his jawline. In the meantime, her hand had been placed at the hem of the towel, toying with it. “Right now, I’m only asking for casual sex, no strings attached, but if you’re so keen on refusing me...”

Both of them knew Satoru wasn’t the type to refuse an invitation from a woman like her – one with an hourglass figure and pretty, round eyes, with a sharp tongue and witty comebacks. Someone who knew the arts of pleasuring a man and who reminded him of deception and theft. She was his type.

After their short intercourse, Kanon fell asleep on his bed, right beside him and it didn’t sit well with Satoru. It didn’t feel necessarily wrong, because regrets weren’t involved, just uncomfortable to share his intimacy with someone else. To have his Infinity down in his sleep. To lie himself bare in front of her.

He brushed her hand away from his chest, the one that was placed right above his imprinted mark; however, his gesture, as rough as it was, didn’t wake her up completely. Thereby, he had to shake her awake, while firmly encouraging her to get dressed and leave his room. At first, she protested, still hazy and confused when in a state of sleepiness, but in the end, Kanon left him in the darkness, as she closed the door behind her disheveled look, without exchanging useless words or lingering stares.

From that point on, Satoru couldn’t break free from the state of continuously falling between sleep and awareness, irritation filling his senses at every breath.

When morning came, he decided to have his breakfast served inside his room. The discomfort from the other day seemed to have dissolved into a forgotten dream, as soon as the first rays of sun caressed his face with the light of a promising new day; and the slight awkwardness had been quickly washed away by a cold splash of water, prickling his skin.

The only thing that remained unchanged was the suffocating smell of perfume.

“Gojo – sama, we’ve arrived. This is as close as I could get by car.” Musashi’s words marked the beginning of the mission: exorcising a curse that was said to live inside an abandoned mental institution.

Satoru nodded at him, ignoring the paleness enveloping the driver’s face, as he glanced at the building. The intensity of its cursed energy must’ve been too much to handle for someone as weak as Musashi.

“I’ll put up a veil.”

 “Isn’t that your job, driver?” Kanon scoffed at him, plainly mean and rough around the edges, for no apparent reason. She was lacing her high heels snow boots and she looked beautiful while doing it, but her cold tone made Musashi forget about her beauty.”You can’t even do the basics. I wonder how they hired you.” She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes to make a point. “Just keep an eye on the veil and report to Yaga-san if anything feels off.”

“Yes, ma’am!” his voice cracked as he hastily answered. Rather ashamed and embarrassed for being scolded in front of Gojo, Musashi lowered his gaze when Kanon passed by him and entered the black veil.

Satoru followed her without meddling in the previous conversation. And just like that, Musashi had lost his chance of asking what could go wrong with the veil and what casualties he should report.

“There are a lot of weak ones.” Kanon pointed out, as her steps grew steadier the more she walked ahead, swinging her braided tail back and forth like a pendulum. “The big one is probably feeding on them.”

“Heh. I’ll be counting on you to get rid of the lower ones.”

Before she even got time to react, Satoru had already teleported away and Kanon couldn’t help but stare in bewilderment at the empty spot in front of her. As if his feet had never crushed the snow under the weight of his boots. As if the lingering breath didn’t belong to a human being.

She could feel his energy at the top of the building, clashing with an impure one – a terrifying one that made her skin crawl and her guts twist in disgust.

The woman started running towards the front door and kicked it down when she found it locked. She reached for her gun, carefully listening to the noises around her and just as careful, she counted her steps. The floor was filled with half eaten corpses, some of them looking freshly killed, while others were in a state of decay, attracting the famished rats.

While she did her best to avoid stepping on detached body parts, she still flinched whenever insects and rodents swarmed around the floor, unbothered by her presence. Upon hearing a louder sound – of something crawling, two bullets, charged with her cursed energy, made their way towards the darkest corner, landing on their target. As she turned her flashlight on, a baby shaped creature was rotting away, while silently whimpering. Her target. One of the lower curses, exorcised without mercy.

Kanon continued her quest of clearing the ground floor; it didn’t take much of her time, since everything inside that hospital seemed empty, engulfed in sadness and misery. The woman climbed the stairs and took care of five more weak curses residing on the first floor. As she was heading for the rooftop, a sudden thought crossed her mind: the building should’ve been full of curses and yet, she didn’t find more than ten, after inspecting five floors.

The moment she opened the door to the rooftop, everything made sense.

There was a giant ball of redness glowing inside Satoru’s right hand; it was a blinding light. An addictive one. Extremely beautiful. It felt like an eternity, and yet, that eternity only manifested for three seconds, before it reached its target and turned it into dust.

Kanon didn’t even have the time to identify the curse, because her eyes were already filled with a strange redness, dancing on her retina; she didn’t even manage to feel the power of her enemy, since everything had been overwhelmed by sheer, pure strength.

The veil disappeared and the light made its way between cracks of hope.

Gojo Satoru was glancing at the sun hiding itself behind the clouds, too ashamed to show itself in his presence. Shadows were playing on his face, but he didn’t seem to mind their game. Small drops of snow were falling down on his shoulders, but he could hold the entire world and nothing would fall.

She knew he was aware of her presence, yet he didn’t acknowledge it.

He didn’t have to, because she also didn’t want to be acknowledged by him or exposed in front of him. Why? Simply because in that moment she was scared of him, but still amazed, she was confused and intrigued, but also terribly frustrated by the difference in their strength. Kanon had always been terrified of being weak and insignificant, that’s why she worked harder than anyone else to have her strength acknowledged, but now, she felt worthless when standing next to him. As if her hard work didn’t matter when compared to natural talent.

She was everything  from above, but also someone he decided to protect by killing every curse inside the building. Since he was the strongest and she was only a burden.

Why was she even there? Her presence didn’t make a difference. No one’s presence could ever make, if Gojo Satoru was involved. Was it a threat? A reminder? A warning? To remember fear, to be wary of betraying the Council. To play by the rules and never against them. One wrong step and she could be melted by the heat of his Red. One wrong word and those blue eyes would hunt her down, without mercy.

Kanon felt a cold shiver. It most certainly wasn’t the wind’s fault. She gulped down the knot inside her throat, but her mouth remained dry and somehow empty.

The power of the strongest was overwhelming. And daunting.

However, just as Gojo Satoru was the strongest weapon alive, he was still just a weapon.

      ***

“All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it? - I don't know.”

― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

ABOUT GOJO SATORU

Chapter Text

7^th February

She was unconscious, bare feet touching the freezing ground and bleeding in contact with scattered ice, as her body was mercilessly dragged towards the shrine. At first, she didn’t seem to weight much, but the road from the front entrance to their final destination was a long one and the snow kept piling up, slowing him down.

He could’ve easily carried her in his arms or lean her body on his side, instead of treating her like a bag of trash or instead of mocking her. However, it was easier to humiliate and punish her for her decision of turning against him for the second time, by stepping outside the barrier; it was natural to strip her of her rights as a human being, because that was the price for betrayal -  his price. For that, the man made sure she would pay it fully.

Even now, as his breaths were becoming ragged, he couldn’t control the boiling rage rapidly ascending from his insides; it was overwhelming and mind-controlling. He pushed her body away and started kicking her in the stomach with such brutality that the girl woke up throwing up her guts. Even with nothing left to spew out, the man didn’t cease his hits, targeting her legs – so she couldn’t run away again, her arms – so she couldn’t use them to open doors, her belly – because wicked women shouldn’t be allowed to give birth to traitorous offspring, and lastly her face – so she couldn’t seduce men with her beauty anymore.

Then, the girl threw up blood and he stopped, in spite of his need to keep hitting her until she passed out cold again. The fact that she didn’t fight back strangely excited him, in a way that justified his actions and reasoning, in a way that made him feel like a hero punishing the wrong doer.

That was until Yaga Masamichi ordered him to get away from the girl.

The principal checked her vitals, as if he was some kind of murderer, while the loyal vice principal stood behind the man’s back, ready to strike him down if he didn’t concede.

Upon checking on her condition, Yaga couldn’t help but let out a gasp of terror as red marks were covering her freezing body. He was certain she didn’t plan on escaping while only wearing a thorn sweater and a pair of pants and the mere image of him undressing her for his amusement, made Yaga angrier that he let on. Mostly out of pity and consideration, he took his coat off and wrapped it around her trembling body, surprised that it still had the power to react to the coldness. Perhaps, she was overly sensitive to external contact.

Either way, he had to get her treated. Preferably, away from him.

With the utmost care, the principal placed his arms under her knees and lifted her up. He sensed her dim gasp as her body struggled against his hold, desperate to run away from him, from there and from everything.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man had the audacity to ask, visibly offended by Yaga’s interference, although the principal didn’t spare a glance at the perpetrator. ”She’s my prisoner. Mine!”

8^th February

Shuntaro Ieiri’s eyes widened when Yaga entered the infirmary holding a half-dead girl in his arms. If he felt tired earlier, every hint of fatigue left his body as soon as he started cutting her clothes, revealing more bruises than untouched skin.

The girl had a few broken bones, the left shoulder appeared dislocated and she had a concussion. Both of her cheeks were swollen, as her lips were chapped from the coldness; the skin around her right eye was bruised, but judging from its color it had reached the last stages of healing. The same could be told about other bruises and injuries, scattered all over her body.

Yaga didn’t mention anything about the circumstances surrounding the patient and Shuntaro didn’t pry too much, just enough so he could do his job properly. The abuser’s identity was none of his business and the background details were meaningless to him; what mattered was saving a life.

The doctor focused on producing negative energy around his fingers, as he brushed them over her wounds, pressing them on the life-threatening ones. Then, he multiplied his negative energy with his patient’s, producing positive energy – used on healing the physical injuries.

Due to the increased number and severity of the wounds, the treatment administration lasted more than two hours; some of them even required special attention and intense care, thus the amount of time spent on the healing process. And all this time, Yaga waited outside, pacing around the hallway. There were wrinkles overwhelming his forehead, his mouth tight, looking as if it was refraining itself from cursing, while his eyes were looking somewhere far away – plotting to murder the one who had done more damage than a curse could ever do.

No wonder the principal’s face instantly lit up upon hearing the door opening, though a part of him was silently expecting the worse to happen. There was a hint of blame scattered inside his black eyes and a tension that strained his muscles – almost leading Yaga to an explosion of pent-up frustration.

“For now, she’s out of danger.” Shuntaro quickly announced, to avoid extending the principal’s suffering any longer. “But she needs proper treatment and I want to personally monitor her. Is that alright?”

Yaga sighed a sigh of relief, hunching his body as his hands went to rest on his knees. He didn’t have enough strength to stand, much less to answer, but he made an effort to collect himself in front of the doctor. “If anything, I’m asking you to do that. And don’t let anyone come in. Anyone but me.”

“Yaga – san, who is she?”

“Someone I want to protect.”

Shuntaro sighed, slightly annoyed with the half-baked answer he received. It might’ve also been the tiredness making him grumpy. “I usually treat sorcerers wounded in battle by curses, that’s why I want to know if now I have to take care of a patient beaten up by a man.”

“It’s not her fault she had been born in the wrong family. I’m sure you can understand that feeling all too well.”

Yaga left the infirmary, but his words still echoed inside the hallway, like a warning.

9^th February

“Her vitals are within normal ranges. Most of her wounds have been healed, but there are no signs of her waking up.”

“The impact must’ve been greater than I anticipated. I’ll check up on her later.”

Runa Masuda nodded as Shuntaro looked over her written report. Sensing her uneasiness, he stopped reading and shifted his gaze on her. “What is it?”

“The man from yesterday, Murata Kondo came again ... he was rather loud and aggressive… he said he’d take her back no matter what. I had to form a barrier to prevent him from coming inside.”

In spite of his assistant’s concerning testimony, doctor Ieiri didn’t show any emotion or change in his behavior, after listening to it. He simply advised her not to leave the infirmary by herself and wait for the escort Yaga had promised to send their way.

The woman nodded in acknowledgement as her eyes were lingering on the new intriguing patient and her mysterious circumstances that got her admitted to the infirmary, as a VIP, two days ago. She came in shambles, barely breathing, holding herself together by a thread. She was covered in blood and bruises, both old and fresh, carving her skin, as if someone scribbled on her body on purpose, as if their intention was to leave a personal stamp on her.

Even the imprinted mark – two crescent moons backing each other whilst being connected in the middle by a straight line – was crossed by a deep horizontal line, making Runa wonder who intended to renounce her place in the Kamo Clan.

When she asked doctor Ieiri for more intel on her, he simply dismissed her with a hand motion. ”It’s better if we don’t know too much.”

However, she couldn’t help but be curious. That particular trait encouraged her to pursue a career in the medical framework; she studied faithfully and passed her exams with flying colors and for the last two years she had been working under Doctor Ieiri Shuntaro, at Jujutsu High’s infirmary. That was a dream come true and a privilege to have the best user of reversal cursed technique as a mentor.

With his guidance, Runa understood her duties better – to not only treat wounds as if she was solving a math problem, but to help her patients carry their burden and pain, relief and agony, with empathy and responsibility. Sometimes to help them search for a reason behind certain actions and other times to seek retribution for them.

There were also times when she abandoned common sense and succumbed to rage, especially after seeing a petite and fragile body beaten with brutality, with her fingers crushed and her legs stomped upon, with her stomach painted in bruises and her neck strangled until she passed out and with her hair cut short and uneven.

A scumbag like Kondo Murata shouldn’t have been allowed to even touch her. While he was owned by one of the lowest branches of the Kamo Clan, the patient was a sorcerer belonging to the first branch of one of the Three Great Clans, her imprinted mark spoke loudly of her origins. The difference between their ranks was obvious and unchanging, and yet, he seemed to hold the power over a strange girl from the Kamo branch.

11^th February

Whenever his phone rang, Yaga couldn’t help but flinch, afraid of looking at the caller’s identity and of seeing certain names appearing on the screen. There were times when he let it ring until the battery died and other times when he answered faster than ever; however, most of the times he prayed Shuntaro would deliver the good news he expected.

Though, when Runa called…

“Yaga – san, the Council has just summoned doctor Ieiri.”

The principal felt dizzy at the premise, as if someone had struck him from behind and left him to bleed on the side of the road. He had anticipated the possibility of this outcome ever since he meddled with another Clan’s affairs, but he didn’t expect the Council to act before she regained consciousness.

“Masuda, don’t let anyone approach her until I get there.”

By the time Yaga had reached the infirmary, the girl woke up. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, with her feet dangling and with her hands encircling her waist in reassurance – a shell of a human. She was a moving ghost with flesh and bones, a cursed mirage of a former human. Upon noticing his figure, her goldish eyes flickered in recognition – a small flame quickly extinguished by the sourness of his expression.

“I’m sorry for what happened.” Yaga kneeled in front of her, taking his sunglasses off for proper eye contact. “Please trust me one more time to protect you.”

The girl nodded immediately and almost mechanically, but said nothing in return. She seemed out of it, too tired to think on her own and too weak to argue about her choices. It was easier to follow Yaga’s instructions: to hide her face with her coat’s hood, to stay by his side and to avoid making eye contact with other people. Once again, he promised her safety – provided by a place, far away from their reach and from his influence. He also vouched for trustworthy guards and at last, for her freedom.

The girl couldn’t do anything else but listen to the promises she had heard before. Back then and even now, she had no other choice but to cling onto Yaga’s words.

When they arrived in front of a building – some sort of old shrine, a well-known voice yelled at them to stop and to give up on hiding her away, because he would always find her. Because she was his, by right.

In response to his demands, the girl grabbed Yaga’s coat, squeezing the material between her weak hands. She was visibly shaking, itching to put some sort of distance between her and Murata Kondo and desperate enough to ask for someone’s help. Anyone’s.

“The Council has decided. She is to be returned to her Clan.”

The principal felt her grasp tightening around him, as if begging for another alternative.  

“I did not take part in that decision. And from what I know, you’re neither part of the Council nor their representative, so know your place, boy.”

“Are you perhaps ignoring me, Yaga?” a tall man spoke in a glacial voice, cutting in before Murata lashed out at the principal. He appeared calmer and more polite than the former, but the rage behind his eyes betrayed his true nature, in spite of his efforts.

“Zarugo, you heard me. I was not informed of any changes in our previous terms, therefore I could not agree with what had been decided in my absence.”

The Zarugo man brushed a blonde strand behind his ear, visibly irritated with the way Yaga was trying to handle the matter. Although the decision to take her back to the Kamo household wasn’t official yet, he still planned on getting her before the final vote. At least, before the principal did.

 “We shall decide what to do with her in five days’ time. In the meantime, I’d say our establishment provides more comfort than this shabby shrine.”

“It’s okay.” The man whispered to the girl, as she covered her mouth to stifle the whimpers. ”While she’ll be staying here, she is not to be disturbed by anyone.”

The principal’s eyes were fixed on Murata’s angry face as he spoke the warning that didn’t go unnoticed by Zarugo. However, instead of backing his ally up, the latter glared at the younger man, as if telling him to stay put and let him handle the rest.

“On one condition, though. She is to wear shackles around her feet and wrists.”

Upon hearing the preposterous conditions, Yaga clenched his fists in anger; but as much as he wanted to put the whole blame on the men in front of him, a part of him knew he also had a contribution to the current situation. He should have reached out for the Gojo’s help sooner, instead of trying to solve everything by himself. He should’ve talked to her more and listened to her worries; getting to know her better should’ve been more of a priority. Maybe if he did, she wouldn’t have run away while knowing so little about the barriers around the school. If she trusted him enough…now she wouldn’t be agreeing with the confinement. She wouldn’t accept this kind of treatment just because it excluded Murata’s presence.

She didn’t deserve to be shackled and locked up in another prison, while monsters like Zarugo and Murata were free to wander around. Most certainly, she didn’t deserve living a life controlled and dictated by other people, especially when those people didn’t take her needs and wishes into consideration, when they would exploit her talents without regard of her mental health, as long as she served their interests.

Yaga was a faulty adult, living selfishly and still failing to learn from his past mistakes. He was an inexperienced grown-up, always held back by political games he couldn’t outsmart; now, he was a witness to doors closing behind a girl who desired nothing more than to regain her former life, away from the sorcery world, from Zarugo Ayato’s schemes, and from Kondo Murata’s tricky eyes.

Later that day, Shuntaro found Yaga sitting in front of the shrine, smoking a cigarette. There they stood in silence, the wind blowing away the unspoken words and the smoke, while the twilight’s red light was creating a blanket of sparkling blood around them.

“Shuntaro, I think I’m getting old.” Yaga sniffed, as tears were running down his cheeks. “This old age must’ve made me sensitive.”

The younger man took the cigarette from the principal, putting it out in the snow. His stares were sympathetic, but also brutal. “You’ve always been sensitive.”

In that moment, regret and blame were futile.

Chapter Text

13^th February

The rice returned to the bowl as the chopsticks didn’t have enough strength to keep the grains steady between wooden claws; she picked them up again, less determined to hold them still until they had reached her mouth, only to fail once again, as if she hadn’t been using chopsticks her whole life.

And it wasn’t because some sort of malfunction, but more likely Shoko Ieiri’s fatigue keeping her from eating a decent meal.

In the first part of the day, she had classes until noon; right after, she helped around the infirmary until 8pm. Usually, after 8pm she had her free, personal time – spent however she liked, with whomever she preferred. Shoko valued that part of the evening, the feeling of relieving stress after a hard day of work and studying, the need to disconnect from those daily chores. She could be simply lazing around and she would feel more than content.

However lately, sleeping more than 3 hours proved to be difficult when occasional kicks in the door startled her in the middle of her watch, along with the sound of metal clanking on the ground and her late night weeps.

All of it came back gradually during the day, like a hammer hitting the same nail and still failing to penetrate the wall, like a roulette that wouldn’t stop spinning. It was similar to a flickering light bulb that refused to go out. At some point, the sounds mingled together, as if multiple needles forced their way inside her brain.

Unfortunately, none of those needles provided the answers she wanted. Neither did Yaga before he left without much of an explanation; he only asked her for a personal favor – to guard Tengen’s old accommodation. Or rather, the person imprisoned there.

The instructions were clear: do not let anyone but doctor Ieiri inside and outside.

A part of Shoko was loyal to Yaga. The other part was urging her to do something about the prisoner, anything, without counting on Yaga’s immediate return.

There was also the third option: talking about her concerns with the two male species she refused to publicly call friends, especially in the moments when they let themselves guided by hormones and primary instincts. Those moments often occurred when other women were involved – be it with their presence or simply as a main topic of their discussions.

Today’s conversation focused on the first year college students – flaunting their short skirts in the cafeteria, as a trap for the hungry predators taking the human shape of their upperclassmen. Even the strongest of them had fallen for it knowingly, too easily, too hastily and too loudly for someone who had been on edge for the past few days.

Shoko’s face must’ve been an open book – written with words of annoyance and brimming with dormant anger as pages were being flipped, because Suguru had the audacity to ask: “Rough night?”

“Sure.”

A very displeasing one, caused by the encounter with a man who did not know the meaning of rejection. He tried hitting on her the previous day with the lamest pick-up line – something about her dazzling beauty lighting up the night. When complimenting her didn’t seem to work, the man approached her, getting a little too close for Shoko’s liking and a little bit too touchy for a first late introduction. Needless to say, the girl turned him down bluntly, warning him about personal space and the consequences of trespassing it, only to have her hair pulled back by a strong grip.

In the suddenness of the moment, Shoko reached for his hand still tangled in her strands, both for keeping her balance and for releasing herself from pain. Try as she might, his strength surpassed her efforts and it felt like it increased the more she struggled to get away from that mischievous smile, twitching at the corners with subdued anger and from the two blue orbs filled with lust for dominance.

His breath was a boiling blade of a knife, when forced against the skin of her neck, almost cutting through it with its proximity, while his words – threats and insults meant to degrade and humiliate Shoko, were loud and clear, almost as if they weren’t directed only at her.

 Nevertheless, as soon as it came, everything faded instantly, when he pulled away harshly. Shoko stumbled, hitting her back against the door – her only support, expecting an extension of his previous actions and getting nothing in return.

The black-haired man was satisfied with himself for the moment. Now he was calm and strangely content with the way things had progressed. Shoko was a trial, an unexpected challenge he decided to take on, in spite of his odds of losing when gambling without much interest. The real challenge and the one that mattered the most to him was the one locked behind the doors. 

That realization worried Shoko.

“When is Yaga – sensei coming back? Do any of you know?”

“Dunno.” Satoru shrugged his shoulders, visibly uninterested. There was a brief moment of silence – when only the sound of munching and swallowing the food could be heard, before the deep voice spoke again, more invested in his own questions than in seriously answering Shoko’s. ”But aren’t you kinda cranky today? Are you on your period or something.”

“You do know it’s rude to point your chopsticks at someone and call them cranky?” Suguru placed his hands on said chopsticks, lowering them towards the plate placed in front of Satoru. “She must be tired from all the work she has to do.” He continued, looking rather apologetic as he patted Shoko’s head, motherly.

The white-haired sorcerer let out a whistle, adjusting his glasses as he watched the girl through their lenses. In truth, Satoru wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Shoko’s work at the infirmary, but Geto’s involvement in the topic indirectly forced him to feign curiosity. “What kind of work are you doing?”

However, not only was he exposed as a liar, but he also got smacked in the side by Suguru for forgetting important stuff. “She’s guarding that imprisoned girl. Shoko told us in the chat group a week ago.”

“Ah. She did?” Satoru pretended to think about those particular messages, but it was plain obvious he didn’t read them, so there was nothing to remember. No sooner had Suguru caught on his acting skills, than Satoru activated his infinity barrier, preventing the black-haired man from hitting him again. “Come on, Suguru.” He pleaded dramatically. “I was in the car most of the time. Do you know how bad that new kid is at driving? I felt like throwing up whenever I dared to look down, I swear.”

In spite of the truthful, yet theatrical confession, Suguru shook his head, refusing to support his friend’s antics. “Yeah, yeah. And yet you still got time to send us pictures of random cats.” He pointed out accusingly, but Satoru exaggerated a gasp, utterly offended by the heinous allegations directed at him.

“So you did see them and chose not to react to any of them.”

Suguru sighed, rubbing his forehead as to push away the insults that were threatening to come out, whereas Shoko simply ignored Satoru, for fear she might get a headache if she were to listen to his ramblings.

After some back and forth bickering between the two, Geto turned to Shoko, willing to offer his assistance, in whatever way he could. He started by asking questions, to assess the situation first and only after a proper understanding of it, to find a solution for Shoko’s problems and answers to his personal curiosities. Keeping prisoners inside the Jujutsu High was unheard of and choosing students as guards even more peculiar – especially someone who wasn’t fit for combat. Perhaps the circumstances had restricted the principal’s choices, pressuring him to give up on offensive skill in exchange for a trustworthy ally.

Everything seemed rushed and yet, very secretive; everything revolved around the identity of the imprisoned girl. “Do you know her name, at least? We could do a background check before Yaga-sensei comes back.”

“I know nothing.” Shoko admitted with regret and the statement itself weighed on her conscience. Usually, she kept her nose out of other people’s business, mostly because she didn’t want to cause problems for her brother, but turning into someone indifferent to another girl’s pain was unbecoming of her.

 “I can find out more if you’re that curious.” Satoru stated, matter-of-factly, suddenly generous and indulgent.

Just as Gojo was about to trade his information network, two daring young ladies interrupted him, asking to sit at their table. Obviously, two gentlemen like Satoru and Suguru wouldn’t happen to turn their offer down and Shoko wouldn’t dare to get in their way of flirting. Reading the mood was her forte, especially after being given the side eye.

The girl excused herself and headed towards the discarding area, her plate still half filled with rice and corn miso; as she distanced herself, she noticed the perfect curls that escaped on the blonde girl’s back, her plump cherry lips and the overly pushed up cleavage. The other girl, though not as beautiful as the former, had straight hair and flashy red painted nails with some kind of sophisticated design of a flower on each finger.

Shoko sighed to herself, wondering if those girls’ efforts were worth the shallow words of admiration they received from men. At the end of the day, were they satisfied with their achievements? Did they do enough for an ounce of contentment?

Once again, she thought of the prisoner girl. What color were her eyes? What about her hair? Was it short as hers or was it as long as the pretty girl’s from the cafeteria? Did she manage to brush her hair every day? Was she taller than her or petite? Would she have liked to have red painted nails? What about her clothes? Did she change into different outfits even though no one could see her? Could she even change with those shackles around her legs? Did she care about her looks? Was she shy or an extrovert? Did she have friends? Family? Would she get along with someone as bratty as Satoru or with someone as stiff as Suguru?

She wanted to ask everything at once and she planned on doing it that night.

When her watch began, the man with black hair was there. He barely noticed her presence, too focused on leaning on the door, his left ear pressed against the hardened wood, trying to hear what was going on inside. For a second, Shoko thought she saw a grin of satisfaction and smugness when the shackles clinked in the silence.

Something was definitely off about him, but Shoko couldn’t quite put her finger on it; her senses told her he was dangerous, someone who shouldn’t be guarding her.

“It’s time for you to go.” She found herself saying rather authoritatively.

Even though Murata had heard her, he didn’t acknowledge her presence or her way of addressing him. Instead, he placed his palm on the door, a look of sorrow crossing his expression, as if he was making an unbreakable promise, a silent warning and an unspoken agreement with terms and conditions set by one party. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Shoko wasn’t aware of how much time had passed since the man uttered those words, but at some point she found herself staring at her trembling hands. She was sitting on a chair, but she couldn’t remember when she sat down or if the breeze that slapped her cheeks had been there from the beginning. She was terrified – that much was clear. She was shocked and confused and sorting her feelings out turned out to be complicated.

Strangely, that was the only impulse Shoko needed to start a conversation.

“That man’s gone. It’s only me now.” She stated, more to reassure herself of that reality and without expecting some kind of answer from the other girl.

At first, there was indeed silence. The clicks of her lighter (stubbornly refusing on lighting the cigarette up) were the only ones racing with the wind’s crude strokes, in regards of noise.  Then, Shoko heard the shackles carefully approaching the entrance. The girl must’ve been in the farthest corner of the room because more than a minute passed before her presence became noticeable. At least, she wasn’t crying, but there was a certain fumbling coming from the other side of the door; and no signs of her attempting to talk. Perhaps she didn’t trust a stranger like Shoko or maybe she was afraid of being tricked by her.

“I’m Shoko.” she muttered, half-tired, half-dejected and still shaken up.

“Shoko – san, how old are you?”

A meek voice, rough around the edges, cracking under the pressure of her own sounds managed to spell words instead of weeps for the first time in a week. She seemed awfully dispirited and tormented by her fate, but a hint of innocence still resounded inside that void. It was another voice – a cry of help, small and fragile, on the verge of being blown away by her lack of courage and by her choice of giving up.

Shoko had to restrain herself from crying, at least until she managed to offer a proper answer. “I’m turning 24 this May.”

Another clink of metal was scratching the floor. The smoke was rising up in the cold air. Two girls disconnected from each other’s reality were still reaching out to one another in the strangest way. “In those 24 years of life, have you ever killed someone?”

One girl had been robbed of the innocence of understanding the value of her own life.

The other struggled to answer.

***  

“I thought, “I want to die. I want to die more than ever before. There’s no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it’s sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame.” – Osamu Dazai, No longer human

   ABOUT KAMO ….

Chapter Text

“Shoko – san, in those 24 years, have you ever killed someone?”

The sincerity behind the question had taken Shoko aback. Although exorcising curses was tolerable, killing a human being was admissible as long as that individual had been deemed perilous and disposable by the Council.

However, even in those conditions, the burden of taking a life was something Shoko wouldn’t want to experience, not when her cursed technique had given her a different purpose: saving sorcerers.

“Never…” She mumbled half-confused, half-intrigued by the intentions lying behind that inquiry, but her curiosities weren’t meant to be answered, while the conversation was far from reaching a conclusion. The heavy shackles straining away from the door marked the end of any further discussions and the silence that followed had brought forward discomfort and guilt, on one side and disappointment and despair, on the other side.

Until Shoko decided to make a choice that could lead to a change. Meddling into someone else’s affairs was unlike her, but trying to reach out to the imprisoned girl felt right and worth the risk. At first, she started by introducing herself once again and disclosing personal details about her life, her friends, her hobbies and her expectations for the future was liberating, like a monologue she didn’t know she needed to ground herself in the moment.

Then, Shoko talked about what she had experienced with Murata, both on the previous and current night, she commented on his violent actions and condemned his behavior. She even called him names, hoping that, by doing so, the other girl might understand her position regarding the matter: Shoko was on her side.

“Are you alright?” the words seeped out into the air like a softly exhaled breath and the concern they carried turned Shoko emotional. She almost stuttered when speaking again, but she quickly regained composure upon hearing the girl approaching the door.

“I’m fine, but what about you? Did he do something to you?“

A moment of hesitation lingered between the two, before the muffled voice spoke with uncertainty, for fear she might come out as patronizing. “You shouldn’t be coming here. He’s too dangerous, he’s…. not even Yaga – san could stand against them.”

“Hmm.” a low hum, ripe with meaning and full of thoughtfulness buzzed at the bottom of her throat. ”How about I try to keep him away?”

Silence overtook them both, once more.

“….can you really do it?”

 Could she? Shoko wasn’t sure she had that kind of power or influence, but even against all odds, she would still try. “I’ll talk to a friend of mine, ask him if he could guard you instead. He’s damn strong, he’ll keep that man away from you.” She would type on her phone, with her fingers numb with coldness and her warm breaths fogging both the screen and the name of the receiver, and she would definitely smile upon receiving the confirmation from Suguru.

    16^th February

As she was being dragged inside the trial room, the only question that crossed her mind was how long?

How long until she broke down for good? For how long did she have to put up with being hurt and in pain? Her legs ached with each forced step she had to take as he was pulling her body towards her sentence and her shackled wrists, bruised with reddish scars, had to succumb to the brute force that kept wrenching them forward.

Half-way through, she felt the dizziness overtaking her body, her knees going weak, her vision becoming blurry and just like that, she instantly fell down in front of the many pairs of watching eyes.

The sudden movement pulled Murata back, making him lose balance and almost embarrassing himself. Thinking she might’ve done it on purpose, the man forcefully grabbed her arm and dragged her in the middle of the room, barely refraining himself from insulting her or from hitting her, at least once more.

As soon as his fingers had dug inside her skin, she bit her lower lip, to force down any sound that might come out and enrage Murata even more. That choice proved to be futile, because he pushed her on the floor with the same disgust and brutality she was used to.

“Kneel!” Murata grunted through his teeth, visibly annoyed by her slowness.

Finding the force to stand on her knees, to push herself up through the sheer force of weak arms, while her body was balancing from left to right, meant an impossible effort she didn’t think she was capable of making it anymore. Nonetheless, the girl clenched her teeth, trying to keep her tears at bay, as she held her head high up, looking into each pair of eyes.

In front of her were six men sitting at a crescent shaped table placed higher than the floor by at least 80 inches.

The first man sitting on left side of it was at least 60 years old, with mid—length gray hair slicked back to reach just behind his neck and eyes so small she couldn’t figure out their color; his eyebrows were bushy and unkempt, contrary to his slim moustache that covered half of his upper lip, its length reaching the cheekbones. He was wearing a simple green kimono, tied in the middle with a grey thick sash, while a black haori was hanging on his broad shoulders, as a distinguished accessory, meant to provide hints about his wealth.  

The girl blinked twice, trying to read the words written on the name plate placed in front of the man: Naobito Zenin, a name she wanted to remember.

Next to the head of the Zenin Clan a younger man was standing, who appeared to be in his late forties; contrary to his clan leader’s friendly appearance, he was wearing a solemn expression, as he studied the girls’ presence through the dirty lenses of his thick framed glasses. His hair was dark and short, combed to the left, a trick meant to hide the beginning of baldness.

Setsuga Aoi was wearing a fancy green suit that emphasized his slim figure, a white shirt and a black tie, neatly tied around his neck. It was an outfit that ultimately betrayed his attempt at impressing the other representatives, by matching with Naobito Zenin.

At that point, the girl would rather analyze Setsuga’s choice of clothes than look to her right at them. Earlier, she managed to catch a glimpse of piercing grey eyes belonging to Kamo Sasaki – her grandfather and the current leader of the clan, and it was enough to feel his hatred for her. She didn’t need further confirmation, therefore she briefly set her sight on Zarugo Ayato from the second branch, on his lilac fan with white lace gently held by his delicate fingers and on his choice of wearing a white kimono at a trial foreshadowing her funeral.

What a sight to remember before her death : grim expressions, mocking her, insulting her, pushing her over the edge. The faces of her executioners, as they were sending her to Hell would not be forgotten, while her rage would become a curse to haunt them in the world of the living. In that process, she was certain she would turn into a vengeful spirit herself.

In order to complete her afterlife mission, the girl had to memorize two more faces: of the men sitting in the center. The middle aged man had an overall stiffness around his features, almost childish, in contrast to the elegance provided by his attire: a blue yukata, with hems embodying a painting of white clouds and an azure haori, made of silk that hung on the back of his chair. His name was Yuuga Mamoru, someone who might lose his eyebrows if he were to continue scratching at them.

Next to the latter a young man with snowy locks and circular black glasses was sitting. What made him different from the rest was not only his age, but also the way he was dressed: with a white loose T-shirt and expensive sneakers cheekily coming from underneath the table, as if he wasn’t taking the Council’s meeting seriously. The air of confidence surrounding him emphasized that feeling and it was both refreshing and frightening : that someone held that much power over the clans, but still decided to allow unfairness and prejudice.

In front of him was neither a name plate nor another object that could point to his allegiance. He was just there and that seemed to be enough.

After she had finished her visual analysis, the girl sighed in contempt. She had memorized each of their names and their faces, the way they looked at her and treated her, the way they moved and even the way they dressed; she wanted to remember everything, from their voices, to the smell of authority that filled the room, from the injustice she was facing to their cordial loathing.

So the image of her butchers would never leave the flames of revenge.

Last, but not least, she had to curse the man who had been torturing her for the past two years, whose face was too familiar inside her mind, whose voice and smell impregnated her deepest cells, to the point where she felt violated by whatever represented Murata’s presence in her life. She didn’t look at him, because she didn’t have to; she could remember every single detail about him without even trying, his presence was that deeply rooted inside her senses.

“Yaga, I assume you are here to vouch for her?” Zarugo stated, barely holding his sneers back and the grin hidden behind the fan. “If I am not getting ahead of myself, I suggest you stop this absurdity. Associating yourself with the likes of her might affect your image and I dare not say…your position. God forbid we lose someone as distinguished as you! It is truly unacceptable!”

“I appreciate your concern, Zarugo-san. However, my decision will not change, even if I lose my standing. After all, I have no particular loyalty to that position.” Yaga’s reply came as cold and as respectful as he intended to, a combination fated to get on some people’s nerves and a taunting remark that was condemned to receive critiques.

Zarugo was the first one to react, a little too defensively, a little too crass for his good reputation. He took it personally, it was obvious from the cruel tone he used when dismantling the principal’s statement, as if his own opinion was better and hearing a different one was just plain annoying. “Big words for someone who had been treated as a fool! Remind me of how exactly you have been rewarded for your kind help...”

“She’s just a chil-“

“A child?” Zarugo snapped, utterly scandalized by Yaga’s audacity when making excuses for someone unworthy of that effort. “A child who tricked the guard into unlocking the door, invited him inside, while pretending to seduce him only to smash his head with a flowerpot? A child who ran into the woods, knowing there weren’t any patrols at that time? Would a child really act like that?”

A loud whistle stopped Zarugo’s heated presentation, shifting everybody’s focus on its source. Acting as if he didn’t expect to receive that kind of reaction, the snow-haired man shrugged his shoulders, while Yuuga slightly bowed on the other’s behalf, excusing the interruption.

After discreetly eyeing the one who had made fun of his seriousness, Zarugo continued his speech, although its message had lost its credibility the moment he repeated his previous ideas. The battle had already been lost because of a damn whistle, therefore the man decided to end his monologue with another allegedly shocking reveal: ”Above everything else, she attempted to murder Murata of the Kondo family! This is unforgivable.”

The word ‘unforgivable’ echoed threefold inside her head and each time it hurt more, because it was a lie that could’ve become true, depending on who was hearing it. She didn’t care about the others, but the principal…

 She wanted to shake her head in denial, hoping that at least Yaga would believe her, but would he trust her that easily? He was already in a delicate spot and expressing his thoughts in front of the Council came with a high price.

“What proof do you have?” she thought she heard Yaga ask, but his voice was starting to fade away from her consciousness.

“The man himself.”

“Wouldn’t that be his word against hers?” the principal retorted, trying to make a valid point, but every effort was futile. No one was truly interested in what he had to say; the Zenin’s and Setsuga’s were taking part only because their presence was required by the rules, but they were on the Kamo’s side. The Yuuga’s were usually neutral, while the Gojo’s almost never attended those meetings, thus their vote was also considered neutral.

Even though the six of them were supposed to discuss matters involving sorcerers in the most equitable, just and reasonable manner, there had always been an unspoken arrangement that each Clan’s affair was to be handled by said Clan, without external meddling from the others. So much for fairness and justice…

Since the girl belonged to the Kamo Clan, only the Kamo’s were fit to solve their own problem. Everything else was a diplomatic approach for the viewers, a show meant to ridicule the subjects of the trial, if they ever expected to be judged without prejudice.

“The word of a decent man values more than the vile lies this traitor has to offer.”Zarugo concluded, his words putting an end to further discussions.

“This girl has no sense of her powers.” It was the first time her grandfather spoke and his voice didn’t leave room for negotiations or for sympathy. “She has inherited our blood technique, but she is clueless when it comes to using it. She needs proper training, offered by her Clan members. Here, she is just wasting away.”

“I agree.” Naobito Zenin nodded and the girl’s knees gave away.

“I also agree.” Setsuga Aoi joined the voting and her vision went black.

It was a given that Kamo Sasaki and Zarugo Ayato were pursuing their own interest, whereas Yuuga Mamoru decided to maintain his neutrality. The snow-haired man’s vote was obvious enough, so there was no need for him to verbalize it.

Her fate had been decided and she couldn’t accept this kind of outcome that easily, because it felt like she agreed with their false sense of entitlement.  She couldn’t allow her last moments to be wasted on their win, so she retrieved the razor blade hidden inside a fake pocket placed at the left side of her jeans, keeping it between her fingers; then, she slowly placed her arms down, the blade mere inches away from her right wrist.

For a moment, the girl felt the strength leaving her body and the air dissipating from her lungs. Even her heart almost stopped for fear she might fail and end up returning to that household, to a life she despised, surrounded by people who only knew how to exploit her.

In a moment of despair, the sounds turned into a hazy mess, mingling together and breaking apart until everything became deafening, so deafening that she couldn’t hear the final vote. Momentarily losing her hearing had led to a few seconds of distraction, a gap that prevented her from noticing the blonde silhouette’s vile intentions when approaching her.

However, when the metal slipped against her wrist, the spell broke and her strength returned, right before Zarugo managed to grab her. The girl pushed the blade deeper, already accustomed with the amount of blood she needed to create a weapon: a deformed arrow, just as she envisioned it, a sharp object still unsure of which direction it should follow, which target should feel its fury first.

The moment she launched her weapon towards her grandfather was the moment the arrow disintegrated in a pool of blood, as if an external force canceled its route. She tried again, but the liquid wouldn’t bend to her will, wouldn’t solidify into her reason for revenge; it was splashed on the floor, seeping through the cracks, like a mark of her feeble existence.

She returned to being weak and powerless at once. The roles had been reversed in a matter of seconds and she became the object of their collective ire, especially Kamo Sasaki’s, who yelled his order, forgetting everything he had planned with her cursed technique in a fit of rage.

Zenin Naobito instantly reacted to the free pass he had been given, a chance to get rid of the boredom that usually summarized the Council’s meetings, while Setsuga and Zarugo followed him, close enough to show their support, but respectfully far away as not to steal the spotlight from the older man.

The girl had nothing left to do but wait for her killers to come at her already. She was tired and utterly frustrated while thinking she could’ve died with more self-respect and dignity, instead of turning into a scared, little girl covered in her own cursed blood.

Just like a frightened child, she closed her eyes; they were hurting so much. She grabbed her wrist, holding it close to her chest; the open wound was burning her skin. She held her breath; the smell of her last moments was moldy and old. For her, Death wore a mask made out of the faces of three powerful men who hated what she represented.

Therefore, she waited, counting the last seconds of her existence and anticipating the impact (would they make it quick or a long, difficult passing?), for the consequences of their wrath and unfairness and ultimately, for the liberation she desired.

Yet, nothing happened.

No one had seen him move, no one had felt his presence dissipating and surely, everyone present noticed he had changed places when he stood in front of her. His middle and index fingers were crossed in a hand sign that made the three sorcerers stop dead in their tracks, and his glasses were hanging on top of his head, revealing celestial orbs filled with annoyance.

The girl gasped in surprise upon taking in his presence. Was he her savior? No, on the contrary, he was her executioner and she gladly accepted him as such, in a heartbeat. It was in the way he looked at her: with nothing but indifference, a blue haze devoid of any ill intent. It was his duty to get rid of worthless people like her and strangely, she was willing to accept this compromise, if it was him who killed her.

If it was him, she could go out peacefully, with his beautiful eyes as the last image she could remember. The close view on his amused smirk playing on his lips, as he squatted in front of her, was also strengthening her resolve that this man, who was willing to face her head on, was suitable for ending her life.

Although he did not.

If he did, she wouldn’t have been able to wake up to wonder whether Hell’s walls had always been painted white and she wouldn’t be still experiencing vivid nightmares or the feeling of barely escaping from them, with her body succumbed to numbness and cold sweat.

She kept drifting like that, back and forth, caught between dreams and reality, until voices started filling her room, chasing the loneliness away.

Firstly, she recognized Yaga’s presence, always awkwardly sitting next to her bed, carrying around the smell of fresh camellias he brought to her. Then, Shoko’s daily visits had become part of the girl’s morning routine and the source of her joy as she got to know her; if Suguru happened to join her, the greater the joy and the gratitude. Both of them were thoughtful and kind, always bringing oranges and sweets to share, always recommending books to read to pass time and never crossing the line of personal space.

However, when he entered the room, everything felt more tensed and stiffer.

This time, he was wearing a different pair of black shades, with rectangular shaped frames and steamy lens; he was taller than she remembered, at least by 30 inches compared to her height and the choice of wearing a grey fit turtleneck sweater and black jeans only emphasized that fact. 

“Yo, troublemaker.” he casually greeted her, while sitting backwards on the chair, his long hands hanging loose on the backrest, all lanky and charming like a cat.

His nonchalance caught her off guard. Feeling compelled to give an answer, she uttered a formal greeting, but she wasn’t sure what to expect from him, except some sort of punishment. After all, he was a member of the Council.

 “That was quite a scene you caused out there.” He suddenly snickered, his glasses slipping lower on the bridge of his nose. “Those geezers’ panicked looks was something you don’t see every day. I had a blast, really.”

She expected the worst, since the worst case scenarios had been following her ever since she got to know the world of sorcery, but a laugh and some sort of praise was truly unexpected. Therefore, she couldn’t help but doubt him, keeping her guard up in case she was being tested.

 “You’re giving me quite the glare, miss.” He let out another snicker, greatly humored by her reaction. “You wouldn’t like me as your enemy.”

The warning lacing his tone was not matching the soft shake of his head and the crinkle to the corner of his eyes as he watched her hesitance, her apprehension, the way she clenched her fists around the blanket, her blinking as she gnawed at the bottom of her lip. She was wary of him, but her amber eyes still faced his blue with bravery and expectancy.

“What’s your name?”

“Mayui.” She mumbled, swallowing a shaky breath.

“Just Mayui?”

The girl nodded, obviously confused about this stranger’s sudden interest in her name, but said stranger only grinned, pleased with her answer. “Then I’m just Satoru.”

***

“The more I think of it, the less I understand. All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it?— I don’t know.” – Osamu Dazai, No longer human  

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI AND GOJO SATORU

Chapter Text

     17^th February

Whenever he had to come back, Satoru was reminded of emptiness. Ironically, the Gojo Household was filled with memories of a lifetime and yet, it always felt distant, because it wasn’t something close to a home, but a sturdy building with servants always ready to tend to their young master’s needs, rather mechanically.

It was definitely not Satoru’s intimate shelter or his place of comfort.

“Welcome back! Your mother has requested your immediate presence, Gojo –sama!”one of the oldest servants deeply bowed, offering to escort him to his mother’s office.

Satoru thought he had clicked his tongue quite discreetly, but as soon as the grey – haired man’s eyes darted towards his expression, he knew he had been caught red-handed. He shrugged it off quickly and nonchalantly, but the scouting looks he kept receiving, as he was strolling down the hallway, made him as uncomfortable as ever.

“If I may ask, for how long are you intending to delight us with your company, Gojo – sama?”

Satoru wished he could’ve offered the most sarcastic and insolent answer, but given the circumstances, he submitted to formalities. Just like that, he was forced to become someone he was not, but someone they expected him to be: a coward he despised at the end of the day.

He was an imposter in his own life. An imposter who feigned ignorance at the overly polite and almost flattering interactions, even though they had always been nagging him, and an impostor who accepted the fake smiles worn in his presence with benevolence. He had dealt with women trying to get on his good side because of his social position and envious men deeming his accomplishment as a lucky draw from birth.  

Satoru was aware of every inappropriate glare thrown at him whenever they thought he wasn’t looking, of every disdainful attitude, hidden behind a façade of politeness, of every word meant to sweeten him up out of fear and selfishness. However, he couldn’t address the issue, couldn’t deal with it with sarcasm, irony and mockery, because the recipe for a good leader didn’t include those particular traits as ingredients.

There were times when the man lost himself in the heat of the moment, forgetting he was supposed to conceal his personality; but that burning slap certainly reminded him of his faults, of how he still wasn’t living up to the standards.

He saw it coming, he released his infinity knowing she would get offended if her hand stopped mid-air and thereby fail to educate her grown –up child. Her parental discipline left a red mark of shame and Satoru had to resist the urge to grab at his cheek and caress it.

“What have you done, Satoru?’ she asked, but it was more of an exaggeration meant to make him feel bad and he knew better than to answer. Her question was rhetorical, hanging in the air without expecting a certain reply, because she knew exactly what had happened, but she didn’t understand why things had to follow that specific route, uncharacteristic for the Gojo’s.

The woman in question was leaning on the edge of her desk, staring her son down, not actually waiting for his excuses, but more bent on reprimanding him for acting out. She was as stoic as ever, with metallic, grey eyes squinted at him, with her long hair tied up in a perfect bun at the base of her neck, no wild strands daring to disturb her neat image, unlike her son’s antics.

“What do you think of my new kimono?” she pointed to her somber clothes painted in a scarlet sunset scattered over the black canvas. ”It’s a present from Kamo Sasaki, along with a marriage proposal.”

Her words managed to catch Satoru off guard, but he quickly masked his surprise, in order to inquire indifferently: “They expect me to marry Kamo Yui?”

“Who is that?” the woman sat down on her chair, signaling Satoru to make himself comfortable on the armchair placed in front of the desk. He remained standing, indicating he didn’t plan on chatting longer than necessary. “They proposed an engagement between you and Kamo Akari as compensation for you “hasty and disrespectful actions towards Kamo’s internal affairs.”

Gojo Yukina didn’t have to voice out her disapproval, since it was plastered all over her face. The mentioned girl was Kamo Sasaki’s third son’s daughter, who didn’t inherit the clan’s blood technique, all the more reason to oppose the marriage prospect. In normal circumstances, she would’ve considered the proposal rather disrespectful towards them, but this time she could turn a blind eye to it, by taking all aspects into consideration.   

The woman was always calculated, always placing her duty above her personal feelings, somehow able to think objectively even regarding the most sensitive matters. Although appreciated and valued within the Clan, that cold personality of hers only made her estranged from her sole child.

If Satoru were to think back on his childhood memories with his mother, he could only remember a mechanical voice teaching him how to become worthy of the Gojo legacy. The only hints of pride she had ever shown occurred when someone mentioned how blessed she had been to be able to give birth to a user of both the Limitless and the Six Eyes. When it came to accomplishing small things like acing a test or coming first in a running contest, she acted as if it was natural for a Gojo like him to come close to perfection.

Even now, he was expected to enter a marriage of convenience contracted for political reasons, without having the possibility of opposing it or at least, choose his partner.

“You promised I would get married when I turn thirty.” his words sounded childish when uttered as a plea, but he couldn’t care less. “I still have 7 years left.”

“You can still get engaged until then, but not to Kamo Akari. There are better candidates for you.” Gojo Yukina calmly replied to her son’s temperamental words, deliberately letting the silence seize the room, before she continued. “Since you decided to interfere with something troublesome, you’ll take responsibility and handle the situation appropriately. On that note, avoid other problematic proposals or similar suggestions.”

Satoru could do that. He could take responsibility or at least, try doing that. Attending the Council’s debates and deciding someone’s future was a burden he wasn’t used to. Five days ago he happened to sit at that table only because his father was in the States and the urgency of that meeting demanded every Clan’s main and second branch representatives’ presence. Before that said meeting, Yuuga didn’t bother filling him in, he simply advised him to give a neutral vote and let the Kamo’s handle their own problems as if he was talking to a child, who should observe and take notes of his surroundings.

In Yuuga’s eyes, Satoru was indeed a child who should be mindful and respectful towards his elders, an inexperienced child who should keep his mouth shut and learn from them. From Satoru’s perspective however…he didn’t want to make an effort for worthless people, even at the cost of embarrassing his mother with his poor manners.

“May I leave?”

Yukina nodded her head slowly, turning her attention to some files lying on her desk.

“Tell Yaga not to come by anymore. From now on, he’ll take the Kamo matter to you.”

When Satoru closed the door, the old servant was waiting to be ordered around. Upon noticing no such demands were required from him, he politely suggested preparing the room for the young master, only to be turned down instantly and rather harshly. Satoru passed by him, casually announcing he would be seeing his grandfather, without needing an escort on his tail.

Twelve years ago, Gojo Satoshi was the “president” and the “Gojo representative”, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Unable to continue performing his duties to the utmost, he retired and passed his duties to his son, Gojo Hekima. After fighting the disease for years, the moment he thought he gained ground, he relapsed and ever since then, he had been struggling to get by the day.

One of the few things that could get Satoru emotional was seeing his grandfather bedridden. That boney hand lying on top of his chest lacked the strength it once had when his nephew up was being picked up and that wrinkled neck, barely breathing was concealing the powerful voice he used to call him outside to play together. His grandfather used to be lively, not confined to a health monitoring system, he used to smile all the time, instead of sleeping through most of his days.

“Is that you, Toru?” his voice was faint, almost inexistent, but his fading blue was actively seeking out his presence. “My, how handsome you are, my child.” his gaze wavered ever so slightly, but in the middle of that cloudy blue, a spark of recognition flickered inside his orbs. He freed one of his trembling hands from its confined state and caressed Satoru’s swollen cheek, lightly and softly, as if a ghost blew air on his face. “In whose presence did you turn your infinity off?’

Satoru blinked, a split second of sheepishness overcoming him, before he quickly returned to his usual cheerfulness. “Mother’s.”

“Once in a while, you should take a break from using your infinity. Your eyes are tired.” The man withdrew his hand and reached out for a glass of water; his voice was becoming hoarse and it took him a great amount of strength to form an entire phrase.

Satoru nodded at him, but said nothing in return. He’d rather help his grandfather with drinking small sips of water, instead of indulging him and have that kind of conversation. After all, they had already gone all over it through Gojo Satoshi’s stories about former Six Eyes and Limitless users as themselves. Those stories always pictured them as fearless heroes fighting for peace, surrounded by devoted friends and family, bravely carrying out their duties.

Later, Satoru realized his grandfather’s words were meant to be understood backwards: that his fate as the honored one was a path of loneliness.

Out of the one hundred seeds, he was that one seed that managed to survive under the frozen ground; he grew up quickly and steadily, but the endless drizzle prevented his branches from growing leaves and flowers. He remained an empty tree trunk, with naked twigs trying to reach the skies, in spite of the heavy snow’s weight pushing him down.

Ever since that seed sprouted he was surrounded by a sea of frozen white, a merciless land that engulfed the small plants growing around him, until only the howling became his guiding sound. His branches were hurting from continuously attempting to seek higher constellations, but he couldn’t afford to lower them to rest. His roots chained him to the solid ground, reminding him of an inescapable fate.

He was bound to carry his curse of solitude thorough the seasons.

Gojo Satoshi, a Limitless user himself, understood Satoru’s burdens better than anyone, as well as his choice of not talking about them. However, as his grandfather it was painful to stand by and watch his nephew go down on the same path of numb loneliness.

“Before being the strongest sorcerer, you are also a kind human being, Toru. So let that kindness define you.”

Chapter Text

  18^th February

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two lives. Should anyone present know of any reason that this unity should not happen, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The looks he had received from the three men were not as amused as he found his joke out to be; if Yuuga Mamoru was present, he would’ve surely apologized on his behalf.

However, only Zarugo Ayato’s reproaching eyes were watching him intently, as a hawk waiting for his adversary to make a mistake; on his right, instead of Kamo Sasaki’s presence, (who was absent due to medical reasons), his second son – Kamo Daisuke was speaking on behalf of his clan. Yaga Masamichi was the fourth presence in the room, representing the accused one’s best interests. He was as bored of Satoru’s antics as the other two.

The meeting was not the kind that required all the six Council members’ involvement, but a smaller assembly meant to openly discuss each involved party’s point of view regarding the Kamo girl matter.

“Sooo, it has been decided that Kamo Mayui will stay at Tokyo School of Sorcerers under principal Yaga’s guidance. Now, I want to establish certain rules regarding her situation. I’ve thought of some myself, but if you wish to add, modify or eliminate a rule, feel free to tell.”

Kamo Daisuke’s hand darted at once, his golden strands dancing from left to right as his head nodded twice. “Before we start, I want to make my request clear. Kamo Mayui will study at a school for non-sorcerers.”

“Wh-, I mean, could we hear your reasons?”

The blonde man seemed pleased with all the attention he was receiving. Perhaps that self-centered personality of his had given him the courage to talk to a Gojo that shamelessly. “Excuse my rudeness, but how can you hold negotiations without fundamental information? That girl-“

“I’m more aware of your daughter’s situation than you, as her father, are.” Satoru’s demeanor was still playful, but even if his eyebrows were turned upwards, even if his lips were forming a pleasant smile, his words were menacing, almost threatening. “I know you want to focus on her curse technique. So I can’t think of a better place for her training than this school.”

In spite of Satoru’s irritating way of speaking towards Kamo Daisuke, the latter didn’t show any signs of being troubled by it.

“Even though our cursed blood technique indisputably runs through her veins, that girl didn’t earn her right to be a sorcerer of the Kamo Clan. I assume it might take some time before she can be accepted as one of our own, but even in spite of her shameless behavior over the past two years, we are still willing to offer forgiveness. Nonetheless, that forgiveness it is something she must earn, something she has to prove through her actions, while we patiently supervise her progress.”

There was a silent pause that naturally settled between the four men. Yaga couldn’t seem to find the words to counterattack Daisuke’s comment and instead resumed to clenching his fists under the table, whilst Satoru couldn’t hide his disgust towards a man who treated his own daughter like the very cause of his mischief.

Nevertheless, he had to continue the negotiations more detached.

“So you don’t want to pay for her school’s fees.”

“She used to go to a non – sorcerers school. I simply assumed it would be easier for her to fit in that kind of environment. Also, it is not that we do not have the money, we simply do not wish to spend them on a project.” Daisuke concluded, urging Satoru to continue while raising his white thin eyebrows at him.

A project meant a long term gamble with its odds of either winning at 100% or losing at 0%. The Kamo’s were usually very calculated, they didn’t take risks, only opportunities and they would analyze a problem thoroughly before giving it a certain resolve. Those traits made them out to be the most fearsome gamblers.

However, Satoru suspected they were actually betting on reaching that 0%.

“What if principal Yaga pays for her fees?” he offered, without much expectation.

“That would offend us greatly.”

“What about a monthly allowance? Surely this is reasonable.”

“8.000 yen a month.” Daisuke conceded, after debating the matter with his treasurer Zarugo Ayato.

“That’s less than a newborn’s allowance.” Yaga interfered, rather annoyed with the way the Kamo’s were handling the negotiations. In fact, the whole assembly made him feel like a customer trying to drop the price of a caged animal owned by stingy sellers.

“10.000.”

Satoru sighed, incredulously. This Kamo Daisuke was deliberately trying to get on his nerves, to stir him up and use a thoughtless, momentarily reaction to his advantage. Too bad those petty tricks didn’t work on the honored one.

“Principal Yaga will compensate with another 5.000, as part of his responsibilities.”

The man in question nodded, intending to give her more than that.

“As soon as her classes are over, she is to return to Jujutsu High at 6PM sharp. Outside, she must be accompanied at all times and if she were to cause any casualties, we are not responsible for the outcome or any consequences.”

“What about her days off?”

Upon hearing his question, Kamo Daisuke smiled knowingly. “I would rather you do not interrupt me while I am still speaking, Gojo-sama.” The man paused, waiting for his taunting remarks to cause a display of fury and thereby undermine Satoru’s authority; however, the greater the expectations, the more disappointed he became when the white-haired man showed no reaction or any hints of wanting to apologize.

“She is to be accompanied constantly by someone you deem appropriate. We expect a report of her every exit and whereabouts. Kondo Murata will be in charge of supervising her. He will also be in charge of her training sessions and keeping track of her monthly growth. Should we not be satisfied with the results, I propose we hold another meeting in order to modify those rules.”

Satoru clicked his tongue at that man’s name. “I do not doubt Kondo Murata’s loyalty to the Kamo Clan, but as far as I’m concerned, he is a merely 3^rd grade sorcerer, lacking experience on the battlefield, possessing weak cursed energy and definitely not a blood technique. He seems rather underqualified to train your daughter.”

Furthermore, he was too emotionally invested to manage the situation.

The negotiations kept on going for another hour. In the end, they settled for another training master for Mayui, as long as Kondo Murata attended every session. She was also not to take part in any missions or events regarding exorcising cursed spirits, without the Kamo’s approval.

After Kamo Daisuke and Zarugo Ayato left the room, Satoru could finally stretch his long arms above his head, until his back cracked. “Explain those to her. I’m fucking tired right now.” he pointed to the files containing the written rules, side –eyeing Yaga.

“I’m proud of you, Satoru.” Yaga’s words were meant to encourage his student. Even though Satoru was stronger than him and braver when dealing with to the Council’s preposterous requests, the principal often forgot he was still young and in need of moral support. “I’m glad you didn’t turn a blind eye to someone in need. I want you to become that kind of leader.”

However, the words and the pat he offered were deliberately ignored by Satoru, who wasn’t in the mood for discussions. He simply needed some time alone.

By the time he decided to leave the room, the sun had already set. The air was filled with the smell of late winter and the falling snowflakes tainted his cheeks with their melted shapes; he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, allowing the coldness to enter his body from within, but not even then did he find a sense of tranquility.

“Shoko, got any plans for tonight?” He waited for a negative reply on the other line, before speaking again: “Let’s meet for a drink. I’ll ask Ayame and you can ask Suguru. That rascal never comes when I invite him.”

The very image of his black – haired friend rolling his eyes at a drinking invitation brought a smile to Satoru’s lips and picturing Suguru’s awkwardness when being unable to turn Shoko’s request down, made him sigh endearingly.

As he was walking towards Shoko’s dorm, a stray message gave Satoru a reason to smile.

9:43PM From Suguru: It was your idea to go out drinking, wasn’t it

**

• The Council consists of six members: as main branches: Gojo, Kamo and Zenin, as second branches:Yuuga, Zarugo and Setsuga.
• The Council assembles once per month in order to discuss important matters regarding certain sorcerers.
• When deciding, each member has to vote; the second branches are to vote accordingly to the belonging main branch’s vote.
• The vote of the majority wins.
• Gojo’s vote is decisive and the most important, it can overthrow the majority’s vote.
• Usually, if the matters concern a certain Clan, the other Clans shall vote according to that Clan’s vote.
• The Gojo’s and Yuuga’s vote are usually neutral.
• The monthly gathering does not require every Clan’s presence; it is satisfactory if a main Clan is represented by the second branches.
• It is mandatory that two out of three main Clans be present on the monthly gatherings.
• Usually, the Gojo’s do not take part in the monthly gatherings and are represented by the Yuuga’s.
• It is mandatory that the second branches take part in the monthly gathering.
• The main branches have to record the main events that take place.
• As an exception, the main Clans can summon another meeting, based on its urgency that has to take place in the next five days.
• An urgent meeting requires all six members’ presence.
• The decision is made in the same manner described previously.
• The meeting takes place at the Tokyo School of Sorcerers.

***

“At twenty-nine, life no longer held any brightness for him, but Voltaire supplied him with man-made wings.

Spreading these man-made wings, he soared with ease into the sky. The higher he flew, the farther below him sank the joys and sorrows of a life bathed in the light of the intellect. Dropping ironies and smiles upon the shabby towns below, he climbed through the open sky, straight for the sun--as if he had forgotten about that ancient Greek who plunged to his death in the ocean when his man-made wings were singed by the sun."― Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, The life of a stupid man   

       ABOUT GOJO SATORU

Chapter Text

19^th February

 Even in that state of numbness, Shoko was still aware it was past lunch time; she pulled the blanket over her head, seeking shelter from the merciless rays of light, but the awful smell coming from her mouth forced her eyes open. As soon as she tried shifting her sleeping position, from standing on her left side to lying on her back, an enormous amount of pressure found its way between her eyebrows, rising all the way up to her forehead. She groaned from the sharp pain quickly conquering her head, finding small relief in the way her hands were pushing against her temples, in small circling movements.

Her voice, although rather quiet, seemed to have disturbed the familiar presence propped on her right side of the bed. His long black hair was untied, disheveled and spread all over his own pillow and on the girl’s left shoulder, while his muscular upper body was naked, half of it hidden by her old grey blanket. As her eyes traveled over the rare image of Suguru’s unguarded spirit, she noticed his right arm placed above her abdomen and only then did she perceive the heaviness coming from that particular spot.

Nevertheless, she didn’t push it away. Instead, she focused on soothing her headache, while trying to ignore the disgusting feeling forming inside her stomach. From that sensation, Shoko could clearly remember having thrown up the night before at the base of a tree, how Ayame joined her on the ground, pushing her fingers down her throat and how Suguru had to pat them on the back. In the meantime, Satoru only laughed at their awful state.

She sighed in defeat as more minutes passed by and the pain didn’t give signs of subduing. When she reached for her phone, Suguru instantly opened his eyes. He retrieved his hand and stretched both of them above his head, feeling tingles in the right one; he took deep breaths, smelling the scent of alcohol emanating from their bodies, mixed with a faint aroma of cigarettes. It was lingering on the white sheets like a second invisible coat, silently narrating the last night’s events.

“Morning!” he said matter-of-factly, as he sat up, resting his back against the headboard.

“Morning…give me some painkillers from the white box. They’re in the first drawer, on your side.”

Suguru slightly nodded, leaving the bed to bring a glass of water and said painkillers, handing them to Shoko. As she gulped them down, he pointed to the bathroom and Shoko nodded in agreement, instructing him on using the white towels placed on the lower shelf.

As Suguru was washing away the last night’s remnants, Shoko rolled around in her bed reminiscing their outing: Ayame standing up and resting her hands on her back, Shoko’s lack of balance that contributed to both of them leaning forward, Ayame bumping her forehead in the tree’s hardened trunk, Suguru comforting Ayame as she was bailing her eyes out. Satoru leaving the group an hour later, even though the gathering was his idea.

Even when dealing with her migraine, Shoko could easily recall the snow-haired man’s actions from the previous night: he kept switching from being the loudest in the room to complete silence, chugging down the beer he obviously hated and pretending to have fun with them. Until he couldn’t suppress the disappointment he must’ve felt upon realizing the futility of their going out and left.

It wasn’t his first time acting like that. By now, both Shoko and Suguru were aware of his habit of suggesting a drinking outing whenever he felt off, but neither addressed it directly. If Gojo didn’t want to share his problems, she wouldn’t complicate her existence by trying to figure out someone as ambiguous as Satoru, at least not willingly.

Shoko grabbed her pack of cigarettes and the lighter, dragging her small form towards the recently opened window. She chose one cigarette and let it dangle at the corner of her mouth, before lighting it up. The shower was still running, a relaxing sound on the background and she thought of the man inside, how easily he came to her in spite of stumbling on his own feet, offering his arm to support her weight as he escorted her to her room.

Suguru ended up spending the night, but it wasn’t his first time and thereby, nothing was unusual about it.

“I need to borrow your hairbrush.” He brushed his fingers through his long strands, to emphasize his point. There was a hint of blush creeping up on his cheeks, from the steam formed inside the bathroom, but apart from that, he seemed unperturbed and overall tired. “My hair keeps getting tangled for some reason.”  

Days with Suguru were relaxing.

He would always take the initiative of brewing coffee and preparing an improvised brunch with whatever leftovers he found inside the fridge. They would share it at the kitchen table, their eyes still a little bleary, mind still getting used to the dim lights, soft smiles exchanged and a coziness she wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Suguru always gave off a warm silence Shoko had learned to appreciate, as if he was bargaining for more time shared in intimacy before going outside in the real world. Sometimes, when she caught him gazing out the window (his bangs swaying gently along with the head movement), with parted lips, murmuring something about the weather, he seemed overwhelmed by a strange sadness.

If he noticed her staring for a moment longer, Geto would smile with his eyes just barely crinkled, in an attempted reassurance, while Shoko would choose to believe him.

Either way, a day that started with Suguru was a good day, even if at the end of it, he would leave after a quick smoke to the next appointed mission. Even if Shoko was left behind to wash the dishes and sleep in for the rest of the day, next to the pillow that hosted Geto hours before.

The following day, she was feeling better and in the mood of drinking her morning coffee while chatting with someone well-informed about the Kamo girl subject. That certain someone happened to spend most of his time while engulfed in the smell of pills and cleaning substances, mostly chlorine, a mixture of smells she also liked.

She knocked on his door, but didn’t wait for a confirmation to come inside, because in Shuntaro’s office Shoko acted as she pleased, almost to spite him. She spotted him sitting at his desk, squinting his eyes at some medical files and sipping from his favorite mug he received on his twenty-ninth birthday from Shoko; judging from its smell, the mug was filled with the expensive kind of coffee he got hooked on three years ago.

Shuntaro didn’t raise his eyes from the files and didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way, carrying himself as usual. In exchange, Shoko didn’t say a word to him and instead took a seat on the uncomfortable couch, unlocking her phone to scroll on TikTok with her volume set to the maximum.

At first, doctor Ieiri tried his best to ignore the noises and the cause of their occurrence in his office, but after his third time reading the same paragraph and still not understanding it, he decided on taking some notes. As he grabbed a pen more hastily than he intended to, he glanced at his guest for a second, only to find her staring back at him with an unbothered expression.

“Where is Mayui?” she asked matter-of-factly, ignoring the elephant in the room.

Shuntaro had to take a deep breath and count to ten before he could answer a question he didn’t want to hear, at least not if it came from Shoko. Even though he was aware of his anger issues and tendencies of micromanaging other people, he couldn’t stop himself from providing instructions and corrections when his little sister was wrong. Overseeing her life had been a task he had been doing for 20 years and he would keep on getting involved in her choices, even if his input hadn’t been requested – because he knew better than her.

 “You should mind your own business.” He deadpanned, his tone coming out harsh and categorical, but utterly childish to Shoko. Therefore, she rolled her eyes at his unsolicited advice and kept on pushing with her inquiry.

“Has she been discharged already?”

Once again, instead of answering, Shuntaro carefully placed his pen inside the wooden pen holder and the files in their assigned folders. Everything around him had to be in perfect order for a peaceful state of mind he couldn’t maintain for much longer because of Shoko’s stubbornness.

“Fine. I’ll find out on my own if you’re so unwilling to share.”

A deeply exasperated sigh had marked the abandonment of forged tranquility at the expense of an authoritative attitude. “Just listen to me.”

If only his overprotectiveness didn’t feel as restricting for Shoko, who was on the receiving end, maybe they would’ve understood each other’s intentions better. If only he knew how to communicate better and how to express his feelings properly, maybe he wouldn’t be confronted by his sister for his lack of trust in her decisions. “Why are you being like this?”

However, from Shuntaro’s perspective, Shoko was in the wrong for not listening to him. He had always cared for her with loyalty and dedication, therefore her questioning his methods was both frustrating and offensive. It felt like she doubted his affection for her and his capacity of making the right decisions for her sake, when she couldn’t tell right from wrong.

 It felt like she was deliberately distancing herself from him, discarding his teachings and instead getting influenced by vices and toxic people she surrounding herself with.

“You’re too clueless, Shoko.” He dismissed her with a brief hand-motion, as if there was nothing left to discuss. "From now on, just stay away from that girl.”

Keeping her composure in that kind of situation was something Shoko deemed beneficial to their damaged relationship, but the ire boiling inside her chest managed to surpass her ability of controlling her reproaches. “Are you really asking me to stay away from someone who’s clearly being abused?” she shook her head in disbelief, staring him down. He couldn’t have forgotten their family situation now that he wasn’t dealing with it anymore. “As a doctor, how can you ignore someone who needs help?”

“Don’t pull that card on me, Shoko!” Shuntaro yelled, feeling the need to stand up and slam his hands on the desk, as if those actions were enough to make her obedient. ”I helped her at Yaga’s request, but I can’t get myself involved any longer. I’m a doctor for sorcerers working for this school, so make an effort to understand my position!”

As if to mirror his actions, Shoko also got up, annoyed by the way he was trying to assert his dominance over their conversation, and bent over the desk. She didn’t use sheer strength to make herself heard like her brother did, but she tapped her nails on the furniture, to attract his attention, all while criticizing his decisions.

“Are you happy with yourself? With this kind of lifestyle?”

After her reproach had sunken in, the glint inside Shuntaro’s eyes lighting the path of his brotherly love, had been replaced by fury and resentment, hence his cruel comeback after having his feelings hurt and misunderstood.

“What about you, huh?” Shuntaro sounded miserable when sprouting ill-intended insults, but he couldn’t stop himself even at the cost of Shoko’s discomfort and pain. Because he had been unjustly hurt and his self-protecting mechanism would equally hurt the responsible party, to protect his ego. “Drinking until you pass out, spending your nights with men...how are you better than me? How are you better than mom?”

At the very mention of her mother, Shoko’s knees almost betrayed her trust of being able to stand up on her own. She instantly leaned over the desk and supported her weight against it, as if the floor was going to turn into a hollow pit, guiding her to the doors of a past she didn’t want to remember : negligence, irresponsibility, loneliness. 

Shoko’s hand must’ve moved on its own because everything that was perfectly placed on the top of the desk was suddenly thrown away, files scattered on the carpet, pencils lost under the furniture, the mug shattered in pieces.

“Don’t bring her up!” her vice quivered, half-pleading, half-angered by her brother’s choice of weapon used against her. “I’m not like her!”

At that point, they couldn’t stand looking at each other, for different, yet similar reasons: both felt wronged and treated unfairly by the other, but neither made an effort to solve their issues. If Shoko had tried before to talk it out with him and expose her perspective calmly and sincerely, she couldn’t bring herself to attempt endlessly when her brother didn’t listen to her. Talking with Shuntaro was futile, energy-consuming and damaging for their relationship, because he wouldn’t take into consideration an opinion he had deemed from the start as childish.

Perhaps, the main issue resided in Shuntaro’s inability of viewing his sister as an young adult, who could make her own decisions and own up to their consequences without his involvement. He had gotten so used to her clinging onto him for everything, that he became unable to move on from the image of dependable Shoko always sharing her experiences with her only remaining family, always looking up to her big brother.

He had sacrificed his entire youth to raise her properly and it still wasn’t enough. No matter his efforts, she still turned to alcohol too quickly, too easily, as if she didn’t have two opposite examples to choose from and henceforth, guide her life on. The moment he had realized Shoko was condemned to follow their mother’s path, their link had been brutally severed and never the same, because Shuntaro couldn’t forgive the Shoko who had given up too easily and himself, for allowing it to happen.

They had too many things to say, and yet, silence was the only guest, besides the one who had entered the office. The petite girl had been brought inside by the heated exchange and now she found herself in the middle of a staring contest. Already used to their dynamics, Runa started gathering the scattered files, without personally getting involved by voicing out her opinion. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have the time to clearly assess the situation, because Shoko was more determined to end the argument in her favor.

“Give me the spare key to my room.”

“I can’t do that.”

Shoko’s eyebrows twitched, but she had long reached her limits, so instead of acting more haphazardly, she simply extended her palm, emphasizing her point. “Whatever you do, it won’t stop me from drinking. So give it to me, now.”

When Shuntaro turned around and left the room, Shoko cursed under her breath. If he was going to behave immaturely, she could only ignore him until he apologized. However, before they could reach that stage, her brother had to realize his mistakes, repent for them and seek forgiveness. In short, he had a long way until then and she didn’t mind waiting.

Shuntaro had always been short – tempered and their fights were nothing out of the ordinary, the usual bickering between siblings. Lately though, every argument revolved around her drinking habit and her bearing some resemblance to their mother, which eventually turned into a show of playing the victim and blaming the culprit. At the end of every fight, they only grew apart from being unable to communicate with each other; additionally, Shuntaro hardened his controlling tendencies, while Shoko felt constricted to be her own person.

There were times when she seemed to have exchanged her blood connection to Shuntaro for the role of a patient he needed to fix.

“Do you want some tea to calm down?” Runa’s intentions had been well-intended, but she happened to be the wrong person at the wrong time. As an obvious Shuntaro supporter (a subjective choice linked to the romantic feelings she had for him), her attempt at comforting Shoko came off rather forced and awkward.

Her recommendation had been turned down with distant politeness, though that didn’t stop her from suggesting instead a cup of coffee. Her feigned obliviousness finally caught Shoko’s attention and made the latter more interested in what Runa had to offer: she was slightly shorter than Shoko, but curvier, her hair was longer, shoulder – length, silkier and prettier. She had thin lips, over lined with a subtle nude lipstick that made them bigger, and prominent cheekbones, enlightened with a pink highlighter; her nose was too big for her oval face, but it must’ve seemed so because she had lost a lot of weight lately and her features turned sharper.

Somehow, looking at her made Shoko angrier. If this woman planned on changing her brother’s entire life with a nice personality and a slim waist, then she couldn’t be any wrong. If a lovely smile was enough to cure his stubbornness, she would’ve searched for one years ago, when they needed it the most.

“Where is Mayui?”

“Outside.” She deadpanned, stingy with her answer. It might’ve been Shoko’s unimpressed raised eyebrow and assertive stare that convinced Runa to share more details. “She’s accompanied by Yaga, but Shoko, you – “

“Save it.”

She didn’t need another advice or one more unsolicited opinion.

All she needed was to start her day with Suguru by her side.

***

“I soon came to understand that drink, tobacco and prostitutes were all great means if dissipating (even for a few moments) my dread for human beings. I came even to feel that if I had to sell every last possession to obtain these means of escape, it would be well worth it.”

― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

ABOUT SHOKO IEIRI

Chapter Text

Life was interwoven with threads of good and bad moments. The weight of either side didn’t necessarily reflect a person’s way of living, henceforth bad moments weren’t always the result of poor choices. Some moments might have been predestined to happen that way, despite one’s struggles to change the course of fate; it might even signify that, from that moment onward, life would follow the same pattern.

Mayui had spent 17 years oblivious to the world of sorcerers and her connection to it. She considered herself a non – sorcerer and lived an ordinary life, until that nightmare that began two years ago. In truth, she belonged to a prestigious clan of sorcerers who had adopted her against her will.

After that the good moments disappeared as she was condemned to a caged life. The newfound family’s policy was different from the kindness and forgiveness she was used to; the Kamo’s only preached violence and abuse, treating family members as tools forged with cruelty and indifference. Mayui was no exception.

In the time she had spent at that household, something withered inside of her, whether it was her trust in people or her compassion towards sorcerers. Nevertheless, it was obvious she had been robbed of something vital to a properly functioning human being.

When things got especially harder, Mayui often wondered if her suffering was punishment inflicted by the gods of the sorcerers, penance for her obliviousness towards her true nature. However, looking back on her roots, she might’ve been cursed right from birth or, way before she was even born. After all, she was her father’s gravest sin.

For the past two years she had been living two lives: the life of Fumi Mayui, the non – sorcerer whose future ended two years ago (the part she didn’t want to forsake) and the life of Kamo Mayui, the sorcerer who inherited a cursed blood technique, born two years ago, but shackled to her bloodline.

In this new life of Kamo Mayui even small, normal interactions were exhausting and outstretched. Talking to Yaga filled her with guilt for the forced smile and pitying eyes he had to display, while Runa’s awkwardness during her blood transfusions made the procedure harder to endure. When doctor Ieiri was present, the awkwardness turned to blatant ignorance because of his reproaching coldness and formal indifference when treating his patient.

He wasn’t the only one though. The sorcerers from Jujutsu High, students and teachers alike, were reserved around the newcomer, and instead of trying to get to know her better, they branded Mayui as an anomaly they would rather avoid. If only they stopped at this. Instead, they went as far as spreading malicious rumors about her past, laughing and whispering behind her back and overall, treating her as if she shouldn’t be on the same level as them.

However, Mayui would have never considered herself worthy of their acknowledgment, especially when she didn’t want to be one of them. She wanted to tell them she didn’t want this life of hers, because she hated every part of it: having to appear unaffected by their mocking jokes and venomous gossip, all while being emotionally drained by the constant hateful criticism.

However, she could be blamed for never refuting the rumors about her. Offering her soul on a plate was undoubtedly terrifying, after years of isolation and even if some people like Shoko and Suguru deserved a proper explanation of the events surrounding her, Mayui was held back by Murata’s words which fed on her insecurities and amplified her fears.

Those words continued to fuel her social anxiety, like an incessantly ringing bell with a deafening tune. They consumed her like a disease, like a drug that left her hollow and numb. When treatment wasn’t available, she retreated in her solitary safe place : her own pitch-black vast ocean of unprocessed emotions.

21^th February

 Mayui was too engrossed in the book she had borrowed from Suguru to notice the loud voices echoing through the hallway; at first, the noise only passed by as background commotion, but as she lowered the book and listened more intently, the words took shape : clear enough for her to recognize the owner of each voice.

When a particular tone approached the door, her body instantly reacted to it. Her pulse quickened, her palms started sweating and her mind went blank at first. Her instincts were telling her to run away, to hide her presence as if it never existed, to do anything as long as she reacted to that looming danger.

Mayui was too late. When he barged inside, she was still lying in bed almost paralyzed from shock, eyes fixed on the unwelcome figure of Murata Kondo who wasn’t supposed to be in the same room as her, because Yaga had promised her otherwise.

He stepped forward and offered her a bouquet of red roses, but Mayui felt like throwing up. She desperately shook her head, begging him to stay away – an obvious rejection he ignored. Furthermore, Murata carefully and lovingly placed the flowers on the blonde’s lap, encouraging her to smell them and be thankful for his gesture, but Mayui shoved the bouquet away as if it were poisoned.

His response was immediate. In a split second, he grabbed a fistful of Mayui’s hair and forced her face down into the sheets with sheer strength. If the girl had had the willpower, she would’ve tried to either push herself up or scratch the hand that pinned her down, instead of succumbing to him entirely.

 “Do you think you’ve found yourself a protector of some sort? Even with Gojo Satoru’s influence or Yaga’s position, you’ll never escape the Kamo’s.” Murata sneered, biting her ear hard enough to draw blood. ”Stop being a dumb bitch and come back to me.”

Mayui answered his threats with a silent defiance, so he yanked harder on her hair, obtaining a concealed wince from her. Seeing no crack in her resolve, Murata dragged her off the bed and onto the floor and kicked her in the stomach with brutality for a whole minute. After he released his pent-up anger with violence, the man spat near her crouched figure, as a final act of humiliation.

 “Dream of me, love.”

Later that day, Yaga found Mayui lying on the floor in stillness. She was facing the door, her gaze distant and blurry from the tears rolling down her cheeks; her exposed ear was red and bloody around the mark of a bite, while her arms were wrapped around her stomach, pressing against the lingering pain.

The principal didn’t know how to react upon witnessing Mayui’s condition. What words was he supposed to say to someone he failed to protect multiple times? What else could he have done to prevent another incident like this from happening? His indecisiveness only reflected his poor ways of handling matters properly.

Should he involve Satoru and add a rule that forbade Murata from getting close to her, everything would become more complicated and without results. The Kamo’s would never admit that one of their subordinates had been abusing a girl from the main branch, because that would’ve exposed their consent regarding that matter.

“Please throw out those flowers. I don’t want to see them.”          

Out of all the things she could’ve said, Mayui surprised Yaga with her choice of words.

The principal complied. After getting rid of the roses, she acted as if nothing had happened, as if those flowers had never existed and she hadn’t been found passed out on the floor. Instead, they discussed trivial thing: the room assignment and a date to go shopping for new clothes and to get her hair cut.

Perhaps not talking about what happened was the right choice. Perhaps Mayui was tired of hearing excuses and empty promises, while talking about the future seemed overwhelming and hopeless – the dullness in her gems told him as much.

However, Yaga refused on giving up on Mayui, even if her faith in him had decreased significantly. Though he didn’t know from where to start building that trust, he was willing to do anything to make her happy; therefore he bought her clothes and her new school’s uniform, he took her to a fancy salon to style the uneven cut into a shoulder length bob, longer in the front and shorter in the back, watching her smile at the final result.

He showed her to her room, hunting for a rare expression when he handed Mayui his small surprise: a white half-Siamese cat with blue eyes. She wearily took her new companion in her arms, afraid it might start fretting, but the cat snuggled up to her chest like he knew her.

“Thank you, Yaga – san.” she said quietly, a rare softness in her voice. “I’m happy.”

2^nd of March

As of late, sorcerer Haibara Yu had been accompanying Mayui to and from school every day on the Council’s orders. Though he never voiced out his complaints about his bodyguard duties, he had a way of keeping her at a certain distance, with short polite greetings and rare small talk about the weather changes. Similar to Haibara, Mayui also refrained from engaging in conversations that exceeded their current arrangement.

As a result, the mood around them was mostly defined by mutual silence, sometimes accompanied by Haibara’s nodding to the beat of the music in his headphones and other times by his humming to a hip-hop track. Overall, he was comfortable to be around because he simply didn’t seem to care enough to ask her personal questions.

That first impression changed one day when he asked Mayui a question that had been occupying his mind: “Is it true you’re a bastard?”

The inquiry was straightforward, yet not malicious. It was casual, but nevertheless unexpected. Suddenly becoming the main focus, even in a one-on-one interaction, caused Mayui’s face to flush as his words sank in. In that moment, she could only struggle to form a response that wouldn’t come out jumbled or out of track. “I-I suppose I am…an illegitimate child, if that’s what you mean…” she managed at last. “Though I wasn’t always aware of that!”

The boy nodded at her, only half-pleased with the answer and more confused about her manner of talking and phrasing her ideas. He hadn’t expected her to be so shy, but then again, Haibara had never talked to her before, so he couldn’t have known how harmless Mayui was.

Naturally, his gaze darted to her, but the girl was looking down and away, obviously avoiding direct eye contact. “Did I offend you?” he frowned, his expression resembling something close to concern, though not quite that deep; it was just the right thing to say in that situation. Nonetheless, Mayui took the bait – becoming genuinely concerned about causing a misunderstanding between them, but before she could explain herself, Haibara was already bowing to her. “Sorry, I’m often told I come across as rude, but….I only called you a bastard because that’s the term they use in Game of Thrones.”

“No, wait, Haibara-san!”

Mayui was overwhelmed thoroughly and completely. So she began to panic, anxiously looking around in case someone from Jujutsu High spotted them and misinterpreted the situation. She crouched down in front of him, her almost sitting- posture placing her at the lower level she deserved; it could even pass by as some sort of punishment for her perceived misbehavior. “You weren’t rude!” she insisted. “And I don’t mind the terminology. Besides…”she faltered slightly, but still noticeable for Haibara to catch. “You can talk to me however you like. There’s no need for formalities around me…”

Haibara said nothing in return. He straightened up and offered Mayui a hand to help her stand, which she hesitantly took. She was still on high alert for possible witnesses ready to testify against the boy’s innocence.

“You can call me Yu.” He offered, more talkative than usual. “I’m younger than you, as a matter of fact.”

Mayui nodded, intently listening to him, but Haibara took it as a sign to keep on talking about him, oblivious to the stress his sudden friendliness was causing her.

“I’m in my last year of high school and I know I should be studying for exams, but I really don’t like to. So I accepted this job because they’re letting me off the hook for all the studying.” He grinned as he went on. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer out there, but apparently my restraining technique is needed when it comes to you. So I’d rather walk you to school and laze around for the rest of the day, instead of going on missions or study for my exams.”

When Yu got to an exciting part of his late self-introduction, he mischievously snickered, as if couldn’t contain the amusement he evoked after putting together his mastermind plan. He also kept toying with a loose button of his black blazer unbuttoned all the way down to reveal a plain white shirt. It was purely a fashion choice he’d likely regret later, after he caught a cold.

Yu Haibara was tall, but his body figure was thin and fragile, threatening to break at every whiff of wind; his hair was a muddy dark and kept short, but it reflected lighter nuances of melted chocolate under the sun’s cold rays.

He was younger and freer than Mayui. Compared to her singular path, he had countless possibilities and the privilege of choosing his best option.

“Have you ever lost control of your technique?” Yu kept on asking.

Even though there were times when it acted against her will of ending her life, healing the wounds she inflicted on herself, there wasn’t a moment when Mayui felt overwhelmed by this strange technique. The rumors about her going out of control were spread around by the Kamo’s. It was a manipulation method used by those who were scared of something they hadn’t been able to subdue and make it theirs. Her blood acted on its own, either as a shield or as a weapon for attack, but always in accordance to Mayui’s will and solely for her protection.

Therefore, her answer held nothing close to the hesitancy she had expressed before. “Never.”

Chapter Text

3^rd of March

Mayui had always wanted a cat, but her mother’s allergies didn’t allow the sought out outcome. At the age of five though, she didn’t understand the implications and treated her mother’s condition as if it were a common cold. Because of that, she grew up hoping that one day her mother would get better.

As time had passed by, Mayui started noticing her demands only saddened her mother, instead of solidifying her unrealistic wish. At the age of twelve, it was hard to accept how her source of happiness could become someone else’s reason of distress.

Back then, she had everything she needed and she didn’t even know.

Things were different now. She was 19, alone, far from her mother and in need of a comforting companion like Toki – a three months old friendly kitten.

He was the warmth she needed in an unfamiliar environment, the soul she wanted to nurture as she anxiously searched for the invisible thread connecting them. Almost like a confirmation to Mayui’s affection, Toki got attached to her pretty quickly. He never scratched her, even after she scolded him for peeing anywhere else but in the litter box and he never refused a hug or a good scratching under the chin. He would always curl in her lap, as Mayui talked about her day, while at night, he would sleep in her arms, nuzzling her chin with his wet nose, to reassure her of his presence.

During the nights when sleep was considered a luxury, Toki would switch from comforting his girl by snuggling close to her erratic heart to hissing at the intruder from behind the door.

The night of  March the 3^rd marked the third time he startled Mayui with a loud bang in the solid frame of the windows. This time however, the man didn’t stop there. He lingered at the door, knocking and whispering threats against the wood, attempting to come inside and stopping right before he destroyed the knob. He did it to taunt her, to make sure she didn’t forget about him, to have her mind full of only him.

That night his voice sounded like a curse seeping through the wood, tormenting the listener.

Perhaps a genuine curse would’ve been easier to exorcise than Murata’s obsessive behavior towards her, and it would’ve been less scary and less energy draining than his stalking. His little games had already caused her enough problems: her neighbors complained about the noise and her teachers reprimanded her for skipping classes and sleeping in the infirmary.

The stress piled up layer by layer, day by day, until one of them snapped.

Murata was the one who couldn’t control himself anymore. As a result, he punished Mayui in broad daylight for her inappropriate attitude. Slapping her hard across the face was bearable; she had lost count to how many hits she had to withstand from him, but his choice of doing it in front of Yu stung more than the slap itself.

The use of that much force felt personal, so personal that it moved Mayui’s face to her right side, strands of hair flying across her teary eyes and trembling lips. At least she wasn’t facing Yu, knowing the pity and regret she would see there would contribute to her overwhelming embarrassment.

In order to avoid conflict, as unfair as it might have been, she knew she had to act as if nothing had happened, that she deserved to be slapped by Murata. Therefore, Mayui quickly wiped away the trail of redness pouring over her chin, all while trying to cool down her boiling blood. As she raised her arm for that purpose, she pressed it against the lower part of her face and let it linger there for a tad more, to conceal the sarcastic smile usurping her lips.

Murata must’ve been truly enraged to forget how to control his brute force against someone who had attempted to kill him before. Usually, he was more careful with his physical punishments and very cautious not to spill any of Mayui’s blood, but now even that fear had been swallowed by a fit of anger.

“If only you weren’t so stubborn, we would be so happy, love.” The man leaned in and Mayui had to use her whole strength to stay glued to that spot, to control her flinching when he touched her swollen cheek and not to turn her face away in disgust when Murata tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have to do this.” He whispered mockingly. “You’re too stupid to understand otherwise.”

Mayui felt indeed stupid. She was stupid for standing there and stupid for letting him touch her after what he had done. She had fallen low enough to allow the same hand that slapped her moments ago to caress her with gentleness. It was a cruel contrast to the force of the slap moments before.

“Excuse me, sir!” Yu’s high pitched voice startled Mayui out of her daze, as his warm hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from Murata. The man’s hand remained hanging midair, shocked by a feeble child’s audacity. “We’re in a hurry, so we’ll leave now.” Yu said firmly, dragging Mayui down the hall, as she abandoned her body to the boy’s gentle guidance.

She knew Murata hadn’t been following them since they had left Jujutsu High, but she couldn’t help but turn her head around to make sure he wasn’t there, waiting to drag her back. When Yu finally stopped, her eyes remained glued to the ground, unable to face him.

In that moment, one word from him would’ve been enough to make her crumble, after every effort of containing her tears.

However, Yu grabbed her hands and shook them gently, his whole body jumping along with the movement. “Was it wrong of me to drag you out of there? I mean, I was kind of rude to that guy, but you looked uncomfortable so I-“

“Yu.” her voice quivered, strained and grateful, as she squeezed his hands. ”Thank you…for what you did f-for me, but don’t do it again. I…it was my fault, so I, I deserved it…”

Yu let go of Mayui’s hands a bit too harshly and way too obvious with his feelings. His quick rejection was hurtful, but he was also hurt and frustrated.

“You deserved it?” he repeated, his voice sharp. For a moment, he wanted to lash out, to demand why she would brush off his help, why she would disregard his efforts, after he had taken her side.

Not just anyone would’ve sacrificed their reputation for a girl with that kind of background, but he did it anyways, out of the goodness of his heart. However, Mayui selfishly pushed him away and trampled over his kindness.

Whatever issues she might’ve had, he decided she was not worth the trouble. So he swallowed his anger and muttered a ‘whatever’ before walking ahead.

Rumors about Kamo Mayui’s personal preferences had been spreading around the Tokyo School of Sorcerers: some said she enjoyed getting slapped by men in public, others claimed to have witnessed such scenes. Such totally unbiased rumors could only contribute to her reputation of a woman of loose morals, who many avoided and belittled occasionally.

Haibara Yu had no choice but to keep on getting involved with her on their daily walks to and from school. The mood around them had been defined by mutual silence, but the unbearable, suffocating type.

The boy tried to cancel the noises with the blasting music coming from his headphones, while Mayui pretended she was unaffected by another rejection.

The gods of the sorcerers must have truly despised her to curse Mayui with such profound loneliness.

11^th April– 3 and a half hour after the Zombie Curse took over Tokyo East High School

Mayui kept dragging her bleeding foot along the hallway, finding support on the nearest wall; her less dominant hand was leaving dirty red trails on that clean white canvas, sometimes in the shape of her palm, when she used too much pressure upon leaning on that spot, other times in the shape of severed fingers, when she barely touched the walls.

She had to keep moving forward, although she would’ve rather went in the opposite direction or as a matter of fact, in any other direction that didn’t include facing the curses.

As much as Mayui wanted to feign bravery, she was painfully aware she was deliberately slowing down and taking her breaks too often and way longer than she was supposed to.

She was scared. Her whole body was trembling, her muscles strained and screaming from the inflicted pain. She was tensed, her jerky breaths carefully concealed behind her hand. She wanted to cry and ask for help, but she refrained from doing so. After all, she didn’t want to be noticed before she had fully accepted her decision.

However, there was no such thing as preparing oneself for a terrifying and agonizing death such as the one that awaited her.

The concept of death was all too familiar to Mayui because not a single day had passed by without her thinking about it and considering this option. In a world where her life wasn’t hers anymore, where foreign standards were aggressively pushed onto her regardless of her own desires, the thought of killing herself became that sole choice that belonged to her.

As she tried going through with that idea, Mayui always selected the most painless methods, too sick of the physical abuse she had to endure at the Kamo Household.

This time however she couldn’t afford being picky when options were limited.

After another short break Mayui pushed herself up, careful not to apply too much pressure on the wounded leg. Visualizing her dying scene should’ve been easier, but the closer she got to it, the more afraid she was. It certainly didn’t feel as relieving as she assumed.

***

“To break free from this vexatious and awful never-ending cycle, this flood of outrageous thoughts, and to long for nothing more than simply to sleep--how clean, how pure, the mere thought of it is exhilarating.” ― Osamu Dazai, Schoolgirl

  ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

4^th of March

It hadn’t even been a month since the Council had laid out the rules dictating how Mayui was supposed to live her life, and now she was being summoned for yet another trial.

This time, however, her executioners were fewer than before.

At the forefront stood Setsuga Aoi, representing the Zenin Clan in his usual green attire. His sharp eyes watched her with reproach, his posture rigid with disapproval. He was likely scoffing on the inside at the sight before him: a girl who was no longer shackled, humiliated or broken.

Beside him, Zarugo Ayato seemed to share the sentiment. His gaze flickered over Mayui’s appearance, scrutinizing every detail: the absence of bruises, the even cut of her hair, the clean clothes free of bloodstains. She no longer looked like a beaten-down outcast and something about that unsettled him.

At the center of it all stood Yuuga Mamoru, representing the Gojo Clan. From time to time, the weary man would cast a glance at Mayui, a flicker of something like regret in his eyes. He seemed more reasonable than the others, more human, but even that did little to ease the weight pressing down on her chest.   

When Yaga and Murata entered the room and shut the door behind them, Zarugo Ayato wasted no time in proclaiming himself the formal leader of the meeting. With Kamo Sasaki absent, allegedly due to persistent health issues, Zarugo seized the opportunity with unrestrained confidence. He declared the start of their unofficial assembly with such pride and ardor that one might think he had always been vying for this position.

“And where is Gojo Satoru-sama?” Zarugo’s gaze slid toward Yuuga, his voice cold, commanding, almost offended by the snow-haired man's absence.

At the inquiry, Yuuga almost flinched. He had expected this, yet a small part of him had still hoped they would let it slide just this once. Instead of fumbling for excuses or stumbling over his words, Yuuga simply told the truth. His tone wasn’t one of evasion, nor did it attempt to justify Satoru’s indifference toward the matter. Instead, it carried the weight of  quiet acknowledgment of responsibility, despite knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

Mayui sighed at the scene before her.

Every exchange felt stiff and theatrical. Every word, no matter how diplomatic or respectful, dripped with distrust and hidden meanings. The tension in the air coiled tighter with every passing second, only adding to her unease.

“We all understand how busy someone like Gojo-sama can be.” Zarugo said, nodding sagely as if he had ever been in Satoru’s position himself. “But he made a commitment, and we expect him to keep his word. Otherwise, I fear what kind of leader he will become.”

“We are not here to discuss Gojo-sama’s overloaded schedule, of which you are all very well aware.” Yuuga’s tone was measured but firm, his posture unwavering despite the tension in the room. “Given the short notice of this meeting and the absence of the other Clan leaders, I respectfully ask all of you to excuse my master’s absence."

A brief silence followed, thick with unspoken judgments.

“Let’s proceed with this meeting.” Setsuga adjusted the frame of his newly acquired glasses, his voice cool and detached. “From what I’ve read, you’re not adapting well to our conditions, Miss Kamo.”

Upon hearing her name and sensing the entire focus shifting on her, Mayui tensed. Was she supposed to say something to defend herself or was it enough to stand there and endure their scrutiny in silence? She chose the latter option. Her opinion never mattered to them, so expressing it now might cost her the last remnants of her fragile freedom.

“You’re not focused on your training, you lack motivation.” Setsuga continued, his tone crisp, unwavering. “As you are now, you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

When it came to her training sessions, Mayui gave everything she had. She was naturally athletic, her body built for movement and endurance, but genetics alone meant nothing against someone as ruthlessly skilled as Yoshinaga Kanon.

And yet, Mayui’s hatred for Kanon made it impossible to improve.

If only the redhead hadn’t found them then, none of this would be happening.

Every time she saw Kanon’s unbothered face, something inside her burned with rage. Every time she noticed her freshly painted nails, she remembered how she had once clutched those hands, pleading and begging for her not to bring them back. Every time she caught sight of her braided hair, she was reminded of blood and confinement.

The resentment ran so deep it clouded everything else. Mayui couldn’t focus on learning martial techniques from her. She didn’t want to learn. She just wanted to hit her and it didn’t matter how, where, or when she just needed to land a single, solid punch. Maybe then, she’d feel something other than rage. 

Then, there was Murata. His presence during every session only made things worse. His lingering stares sent an unsettling chill through her, making it impossible to concentrate. Sometimes, he feigned benevolence, stepping in under the guise of correcting her stance, with his hands brushing against her arms, her waist, her back.

She despised it. She despised him.

More than anything, she despised the powerlessness that came with it all.

 “We are not expecting anything great from you, but the least you could do is try not to bring shame to your Clan.” Zarugo's words dripped with disgust, his gaze as cold and contemptuous as if he were fighting the urge to spit on something foul.

“At the same time, it has not been long since she started. I am confident she just needs more time to get accustomed to her new routine.” Yuuga intervened, his voice gentle yet firm.

However, Zarugo’s sneer deepened. “She had all the time in the world.”

She had all the time and yet, here she was: still fumbling with the razor between her fingers. Her mind raced, torn between thoughts of escape and the haunting question: Was this the right moment to cut her wrist and end it all?

It felt like there was never a wrong time, only the lingering doubt in the back of her mind caused by Yaga’s presence. She didn’t want to die, not like this, not while he was there. Not when he was always present, always ready to defend her cause, even when she felt like there was no cause left to fight for.   

“We expect some sort of evolution the next time we meet. And tell Gojo – sama to take this more seriously.”

Zarugo’s spiteful words were aimed directly at Yuuga, his tone eager to provoke a reaction; he was well aware that Yuuga’s carefully constructed diplomatic shell would only crack when his master was unfairly attacked.

However, no one could’ve anticipated Mayui being the one to rebel.

“...Gojo – sama is not responsible for my failures. I alone am at fault for everything that has been recorded in those notes.”

Her words were firm, resolute. She wasn’t looking for pity, nor was she attempting to excuse herself. She took full responsibility for her mistakes and for the weight of everything that had gone wrong.

For a brief moment, the room fell silent. Setsuga and Zarugo, who usually couldn’t bring themselves to look directly at her, were taken aback by her unyielding defiance. Their eyes snapped to her, startled by the petite girl who had dared to speak up with a strange defensiveness that caught them off guard.

Mayui didn’t find satisfaction in their shock, though. In fact, she barely even registered them, her eyes fixed on the distant wall behind Yuuga’s back.

Then it happened. Murata grabbed her hair and yanked it back, only to shove her to the ground, her forehead glued to the unforgiving floor.

As humiliating as it was, Mayui was glad she couldn’t see the pity Yuuga’s eyes; even Yaga’s angry, yet resigned expression was too much to handle in that moment.

“Apologies!” Murata also bowed deeply, his hand still tangled in Mayui’s hair. ”She’s so stupid that she easily forgets her place. I’ll make sure to remind her.”

The venom in his words was unmistakable as he kept forcing her head to the ground, the pressure almost unbearable. The pain only stopped when Zarugo dismissed them; Murata fiercely let go of Mayui’s hair, but before she could even move, his fingers dug into her arm. As Murata pulled her out of the room like an object, Mayui thought she saw Yaga’s face for a brief, fleeting second; his expression twisted with desperate concern, his eyes following her, unable to reach her in time.

He couldn’t leave. The Council still had matters to discuss with him, and Mayui was nothing more than an afterthought, a casualty in their cold, calculated world.     

“What was that, love? Since when are you allowed to talk back and on top of that about Gojo Satoru?” His words dripped with sarcasm as he leaned in closer, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Were you trying to be heroic? For another man?” Without waiting for a response, he snatched her cheeks between his forefingers, pressing down hard enough that Mayui could feel the sharp pain radiating through her skin. “Back there you just looked stupid…you know why?” His voice dropped, cold and cruel. “Because you humiliated the great Gojo Satoru by trying to defend him. You! You who are nothing!”

He released her cheeks with a rough push, stepping back just to laugh at her, the sound almost mocking in its cruelty. Mayui flinched at the sound of his sarcastic giggles, each one echoing in the empty courtyard. Murata wasn’t just laughing at her actions; he was laughing at her inability to fight back, at her weakness, at her stupidity.

“If you were actually seeking my attention by talking about another man, then I suppose I forgive you.”

The condescension in his tone made it clear that even his forgiveness was a privilege she didn’t deserve.

Mayui’s heart raced in her chest, but her mouth stayed shut, unable to form words that would make any difference.

When Yaga finally emerged, he found Mayui sitting on a bench, her head turned to the right, her gaze lost in the distance. Murata had already gone back inside the trial room, likely reporting to Zarugo about his methods of punishment.

Yaga approached her slowly. He could tell she was putting on a brave face, pretending once again that nothing had happened. In that moment, all he wanted was to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance, but he knew those actions would be meaningless to her. She needed more than words, more than empty promises.

“I’ll walk you back.” His voice was hesitant, laced with a concern he could barely disguise.

Mayui nodded, struggling slightly as she rose to her feet. For a moment, her balance faltered, but she quickly regained her equilibrium before Yaga could make a move to catch her. She waved her hand as if to reassure him, but the pale sheen to her skin and the tremble in her lips betrayed her feeble condition.

As they walked in silence, there were fleeting moments of tranquility where she almost felt as though she could speak to Yaga about her fears, her uncertainties, her doubts. She wanted to trust him, to get the kind of honest answers only he could give.  

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t even know why I...” Mayui hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yaga glanced at her, his expression calm but attentive. “What are you regretting exactly?”

Mayui hummed softly, trying to gather her thoughts, to shape them into words that wouldn’t betray the weight of her emotions. “…I fear that I…I might’ve made things worse for him.”

Yaga let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t think that speaking up for someone else’s sake is something blameworthy. If anything, I’m thankful you stood up for Satoru. People don’t usually do that for him.” His voice was measured, careful, as if afraid she might take them as scolding instead of reassurance.

It was strange. Though he had always been aware of how others perceived him: serious, strict, and intimidating, he had never cared enough to change, until now. Until this moment, where he found himself worrying about how Mayui might take his words, hoping she wouldn’t mistake his sincerity for discipline.

She didn’t. She exhaled slowly, gripping her own wrist as if grounding herself.

“I’m the one who’s thankful…” her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. ”If, if it weren’t for his involvement…” Mayui stopped the moment she felt her voice trembling, fearing the tears would come out the moment she admitted to that truth.

I would’ve been dragged back to that house.

Yaga didn’t press her to continue. Instead, he simply walked beside her, offering quiet understanding in the only way he knew how: by staying close to her.

“Today, were you counting on Satoru’s attendance?”

Mayui stiffened. Her eyes widened, the surprise evident before she could mask it. As if she had been caught doing something forbidden, she quickly turned her head away, her gaze darting to the side. Strands of her hair fell over her face, but it wasn’t enough to hide the heat rising to her cheeks.

The realization made her stomach churn with shame. Someone like her had no right to count on someone as important as Gojo Satoru. She shouldn’t have even entertained the thought that he might come, that he might stand up for her and shift the tides in her favor.

People like her were everywhere, weren’t they? Latching onto powerful figures, hoping to use their influence for personal gain. Gojo must’ve met countless others who tried to mooch off his status, who saw him not as a person but as a solution to their problems. It must’ve been suffocating for him. Disgusting, even.  

Yaga exhaled through his nose before speaking again. “Lately, he’s been overwhelmed with overseas missions and cleaning up after everyone’s mess.” His words were calm but firm, as if trying to break through whatever self-loathing thoughts she was drowning in. “You saw how the Council works. They always give him the most dangerous, most exhausting assignments. And recently, there have been an awful lot of them.”

Mayui glanced at him, sensing there was more to it.

“My guess?” Yaga continued. “They’re deliberately keeping him busy—busy enough that he doesn’t have time to attend these short-notice meetings regarding you.”

A cold weight settled in Mayui’s chest.

“Even today’s meeting was only announced two hours after Satoru had already been sent to South Korea.”

Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her sleeve.

So… it wasn’t just bad timing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared to show up.

It was that they hadn’t wanted him there.

Chapter Text

Later that day, Mayui finally allowed herself to collapse into the bath. For half an hour, she scrubbed furiously, desperate to rid herself of the lingering scent of the day’s events: the stench of humiliation, of unwanted hands, of unspoken words that clung to her like a second skin.

Doctor Ieiri’s reversed technique always erased the evidence, healing every bruise and cut until her skin looked untouched. Though it never truly erased them. The wounds still lived beneath the surface, deeper than any technique could reach.

Even in her dreams, those hidden wounds surfaced, spreading across her body in deep shades of black and blue, staining her skin with the undeniable mark of a victim.

Worse than that, worse than being a victim, was being Murata’s victim.

At some point, during that evening, the lines between dream and reality blurred.

The knocks on her door started softly, rhythmic, almost patient, but as they grew louder, more insistent, Mayui’s heart pounded against her ribs. Then...silence. A silence so thick it swallowed the air from her lungs.

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t find Toki, couldn’t hear him hissing at the door, couldn’t feel his presence at all.

She strained her eyes against the darkness, trying to make sense of the shifting shadows until one of them moved. His frame was all too familiar: poisonous, dangerous and approaching her. Terror rooted her in place, her senses frozen in pure dread. His steps echoed in the suffocating stillness, deliberate, unhurried. She could feel the walls closing in, trapping her in this moment, forcing her to relive the nightmare over and over again.

Don’t come any closer! Don’t touch me!

This time, she screamed. And then, her blood answered.

A dozen crimson whips lashed out, swirling violently around her in a primal, untamed force of survival. They struck everything in their path, ripping through wood and stone, creating a whirlwind of destruction that tore through the room like a beast unleashed.

Nothing could reach her. Nothing could touch her.

The storm raged for minutes, consuming everything, until a single sound cut through the chaos: a soft, familiar meowl.

Mayui gasped. As if responding to the voice of reason, the blood storm collapsed. The solid crimson tendrils wavered, then lost form, dissolving into droplets that rained down on her like a scarlet downpour.

She sat there, trembling, drenched in her own power.

Only then did Toki approach. He was hesitant at first, his small frame tense with caution. As he drew closer, sensing no more danger, he leaped into her arms with no regard of his pure white fur getting stained with the remnants of her fear.

Murata was nowhere to be found. The door remained locked, untouched. The air was thick with the sharp scent of iron, sticky and clinging to her skin, yet it carried none of his sour stench.

A shaky sigh left her lips.

It was a dream, just a nightmare, but even knowing that, the trembling wouldn’t stop. Even knowing she was safe or, at least, far from him, her body refused to believe it.

“Mayui, it’s me—Shoko!” A quiet voice came from the window, soft yet urgent. Through the shattered glass, only a waving hand was visible. “….Can I come in?”

Mayui coughed, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through her chest. The taste of iron lingered in her mouth as she wiped away the blood staining her lips. “Come in.” she rasped, her voice hoarse and uneven.

A moment later, Shoko climbed inside, but the second her gaze landed on Mayui, her expression froze: shock and disbelief flickering across her face.

The room was in ruins: furniture lay in splintered pieces, curtains hung in tattered shreds and the windows were shattered, jagged glass glinting in the dim light. Blood was everywhere, coating the wreckage like an eerie painting of violence.

The worst sight of all wasn’t the destruction. It was Mayui herself.

She stood in the midst of it all, drenched in her own blood, arms curled protectively around a trembling white cat, his once-pristine fur stained crimson.

Instead of asking what had happened, Shoko simply draped her jacket over Mayui’s shoulders. The warmth of the fabric was grounding, but the moment Shoko’s hand gently reached to pat her head, something inside Mayui broke.

A sob tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained, followed by another and then another. She clung to Shoko as if she might disappear, wailing into her shoulder, her entire body wracked with violent tremors.

In return, Shoko held her, patient and unwavering, her embrace firm yet gentle. She didn’t hush her, didn’t tell her to stop. She just let her cry.

After a while, she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “You can’t stay here. Let’s go to my place and get you cleaned up.” She tightened her hold slightly, pushing Mayui’s head deeper into her shoulder, offering her warmth, offering her a place away from all of this.

From the moment they left her room to the moment she stepped into Shoko’s bathtub, Mayui could barely recall the details of what had happened in between. There were fragments:Shoko’s voice, laced with concern, as she explained the situation to Yaga over the phone, her reflection in the mirror revealing a stranger, her own hands washing Toki as she silently cried.

When Mayui finally stepped out of the bathroom, she hesitated for a long moment before speaking up. The weight of her words felt too heavy, but she gathered every bit of courage she had left.

“Is it really okay for me to be here?” she asked wearily, her voice tinted with fragility. The question hung in the air, filled with uncertainty. She was ashamed of what Shoko had witnessed in her room and feared what she might think of her now.

“Sure. You can stay as long as you want.” Shoko shrugged, unfazed, as she pulled the lighter from her pocket. “You don’t mind me smoking, do you.” She pointed to the cigarette already hanging loosely at the corner of her mouth.

Mayui shook her head.

Shoko lit the cigarette and took a long drag, the room filling with the scent of smoke as the silence stretched on.

With each passing minute, Mayui wrestled with the thoughts pressing in on her. She wanted to say something and anything, but words escaped her. The only solace she found was in rubbing Toki’s wet fur with a towel, the soft motion of drying him offering a fleeting distraction. However, the knot of guilt in her chest grew heavier. She felt like she couldn’t even thank Shoko properly, couldn’t express how much she appreciated the care, the safety she was offered.

It was Shoko who finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry for what happened. I think it was my fault.”

Mayui quickly shook her head, instinctively denying the blame, but the sincerity in Shoko’s gaze made her pause and listen.

“Runa told me you hadn’t taken your anemia pills and asked me to bring them to you.” Shoko explained, exhaling softly before continuing. “I knocked a few times, but you didn’t answer, so I figured I’d just leave them by the door.” She hesitated, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. “But then I heard something. Faint noises at first, and then... the windows shattered.” Her voice remained neutral, but there was something careful beneath it, as if she were trying not to press too hard. “I’m not a fighter, so I couldn’t just barge in. If I got caught up in it, I wouldn’t have been able to help you at all. So I waited.” She flicked her lighter absentmindedly, the tiny flame briefly illuminating her face. “I waited for you to calm down.”     

Mayui nodded in understanding, feeling her throat tighten. She wanted to speak, to explain about Murata, about the dream, about the storm that had taken over her, but the thought of reliving it only deepened her silence. She couldn’t bring herself to reveal that part of her just yet. That hateful, ugly part of her would only scare Shoko away and right then, she didn’t want to be alone. She wouldn’t have been able to handle the loneliness.

Toki, feeling the shift in her emotions, wriggled free from her tight grip, letting out a dissatisfied growl. Mayui closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could have been braver.

If only she was braver.

***

“I had no choice but to pray for his death. Typically enough, the one thing that never occurred to me was to kill him. During the course of my life I have wished innumerable times that I might meet with a violent death, but I have never once desired to kill anybody. I thought that in killing a dreaded adversary I might actually be bringing him happiness.”― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

6^th March

For the past few days, Mayui had been staying with Shoko, while Yaga worked on restoring her damaged room and securing a new one for her. The issue wasn’t the lack of available rooms, it was the fact that he had to justify the change to the Council and while doing so, he couldn’t omit the details that led them here.

The Council finding out was unavoidable, but Mayui knew how they operated, how they picked apart every detail, twisting the truth into whatever narrative best suited their control.

Still, the days passed normally. For the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High, Mayui had slept peacefully, waking up feeling truly rested and free from her nightmares. This whole time, Shoko’s presence was a quiet comfort, offering understanding without prying into matters Mayui wasn’t ready to discuss and that made all the difference.

At noon, Suguru paid them a visit, casually strolling in with three bentos in hand. She could only assume Shoko had told him about the incident the other night, otherwise, there was no way he would be so nonchalant about finding her there.

“Do you like reading?”

Mayui paused, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected question, only to quickly realize that this was his way of offering comfort. He also didn’t press and didn’t interrogate her, it was just an easy conversation, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

“You two boomers should really watch some TV series.” Shoko remarked, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as she leaned back comfortably. It was her usual after-meal routine, the cigarette resting between her fingers as naturally as if it belonged there.

Suguru, never one to miss out, extended his hand expectantly. Without hesitation, Shoko plucked a cigarette from her own pack and handed it over, though not without a pointed look.

“You know…” she sighed, lighting it for him. “For someone who smokes as much as you do, you sure have a habit of never buying your own.”

Suguru only smirked in response, taking a long drag without a hint of guilt.

On the other hand, Mayui sat quietly nearby, stealing occasional glances but still keeping her distance. She didn’t want to seem nosy or intrusive, yet something about their easy camaraderie, the way they bantered without hesitation, the familiarity in their movements,stirred something complicated inside her chest.

She had seen friendships before, of course, but this felt different. It was natural, unshaken, the kind of connection that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

At some point, Suguru made his way over to the couch and casually settled beside her, while Shoko, now rummaging through the cabinets, tossed a comment over her shoulder. “I’m making popcorn. Pick something to watch.”

“What TV series is the most popular among teenagers?” Suguru asked blankly, his fingers idly working through the strands of his loose black hair. Some fell effortlessly over his back, while a few stray ones slipped over his shoulder, framing his relaxed posture.

Mayui shrugged, feeling a bit out of the loop. Not wanting to seem impolite by simply gesturing, she added: “I don’t really know. I haven’t watched anything lately…”

Suguru nodded in understanding, then, without a word, he stood up. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans, retrieving his phone before settling back down beside her. Then, he unlocked the device, tilting the screen slightly in her direction – wordlessly inviting her to look.

However, Mayui hesitated, her gaze flickering toward him in question.

“We should ask an expert.” he clarified. “After all, all he does is sleep and binge Netflix.”

She barely had time to process his words before Suguru tapped on the first name in his chat list. Realizing what he was doing, Mayui instinctively shifted away, turning her head slightly in the opposite direction, as she didn’t want to accidentally invade his privacy.

However, Suguru motioned for her to come closer, his tone impossibly casual. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s ask Satoru together. So what do you say?”

“An intriguing plot would be nice.” she offered, careful to keep her response neutral. It was the safest answer, one that didn’t risk steering the choice toward something she alone would enjoy.

Suguru hummed in agreement. “Without too much romance.” he added. “I can’t stand the awkward flirting or those painfully cringey moments where characters are forced to admit their feelings.”

Mayui let out a small chuckle. “Agreed.”

“Also,” Suguru continued, glancing at her, as if seeking approval. “Something with less action, so we can actually focus on character development.”

Taking Mayui’s thumbs-up as confirmation, Suguru quickly typed out another requirement in the message box before pausing, waiting to see if she had anything else to add.

“I’d rather it’s not horror… if that’s okay.”

“’Course!” Suguru answered absentmindedly, already adjusting the message to include her request. “Aaand sent!” He hit the send button with a flourish before leaning back with a sigh. “Now, let’s hope he’s not asleep…”

However, Suguru’s phone instantly chimed with a reply. Satoru had responded quickly, providing them with a list of three TV shows that matched their preferences. Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist adding a remark about Suguru finally embracing modern entertainment like a normal person of his age.

After watching the trailers, they ultimately settled on a thriller, because, as Suguru put it. “Zombie apocalypse themes never disappoint.”

***

Shoko had barely taken a sip of her coffee when the sharp knocks on the door shattered the morning’s quiet. She sighed, already feeling a headache forming. With a groggy grumble, she trudged toward the door, pausing only to glance over her shoulder at Mayui.

“Bathroom. Now.” she ordered, her voice low but firm.

Mayui didn’t argue. Without a word, she slipped away, disappearing behind the bathroom door just as Shoko reached the entrance.

With one hand gripping her steaming cup of coffee she swung open the entrance door, fixing her most unamused glare at the two visitors before her. The first figure that came in sight was Murata’s, with his usual sickening smile and drowsy eyes holding a certain unsettling glint. Then, Shoko’s gaze flicked past him to the person standing a few steps behind. Haibaea Yu was looking deeply uncomfortable and stiff, as if he didn’t want to be there.

“Good morning, Miss Ieiri!” Murata greeted with exaggerated politeness, the kind that made Shoko’s skin crawl.

So in response, she rolled her eyes. “It was until you knocked on my door. I have nothing to say to you. Goodbye.” Shoko made a move to shut the door in his face, to make a point, but Murata was faster; his foot wedged itself between the frame and the door, stopping it from closing. His grin didn’t waver, not when he leaned in slightly, scanning the room, looking for something, looking for someone and not when Shoko pressed the door harder against his polished shoe.

“Move your foot, bastard.”

“Now, now, no need for hostility. We’re only here for her.” Murata, chuckled as if amused by her attempts. “The Council’s orders.”

Shoko let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling her eyes as if this was just another inconvenience on an already bad morning. The mention of the Council and their so-called authority didn’t faze her one bit, as Murata had expected when he made use of them.

“You’d better take that foot back or I’ll smash it. Last warning.”

A muscle in Murata’s jaw twitched, his polite mask beginning to slip upon facing Shoko’s stubbornness. However, before he could speak and thereby let that mask slip completely, Yu interrupted him, finally finding his voice.

“Shoko-san, please do as we ask.”

Though it was a mistake. The moment the words left his mouth, the glare he received from Shoko made him visibly shrink. Regret flashed across Yu’s face, because even if unintentionally, he had aligned himself with Murata the moment he spoke on his behalf.

Murata, on the other hand, was done waiting and negotiating. With a sharp, forceful shove, he pushed his way forward, his shoulder colliding with Shoko’s to force her back. The sudden movement caused her to stumble, her grip on the coffee cup slipping and lastly creating a domino effect: now, the hot liquid splashed down, staining the wooden floor, but more than that, it soaked into Murata’s crisp white shirt and expensive navy suit.

Looking at the disaster he himself had caused, Murata did what he knew best : blaming others for his mistakes. “Listen, bitch… I’m not gonna ask the likes of you twice. Give me—”

“I’m here.” Mayui’s voice, though dry and strained, easily cut through Murata’s threats.

She stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Shoko’s shoulder, like a silent reassurance that she would handle this. As if to prove how much she was against the idea, Shoko’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to face the blonde, but before she could say anything, Murata surged forward. In his haste, he bumped into Shoko’s back, nearly losing his balance. Once again, his frustration boiled over and without a second thought, he grabbed her arm, yanking her out of the way with enough force to make her fall on the ground.

“Enchain her, Haibara!” he barked, voice dripping with anger and something dangerously close to disgust. His eyes quickly found Mayui, glaring at her as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience, something to be subdued and disposed of.

However, Murata had underestimated her, underestimated her body moving on instinct, her elbow snapping forward, driving into his stomach.

The sharp force of the impact made him stagger backward, his breath hitching as pain flared through his core. That was the moment when the last bit of his composed expression shattered into something close to disblief, as if the idea of her fighting back had never even crossed his mind.

Mayui, equally stunned, stared at her trembling hands as if they weren’t her own. The rebellion, the defiance, they felt foreign, but also… right. Her heart pounded erratically against her ribs, but for the first time in a long time, she felt something other than helplessness.

However, the moment was fleeting.

A sudden force seized her wrists, an unnatural weight snapping them together. A strange, glowing blue energy swirled around her limbs, forming shackles that burned cold against her skin. Her breath hitched as she turned, only to see Yu drawing intricate symbols in the air.

With a final motion, he pointed a single finger upward and then, a collar materialized around her neck, fitting snugly like a noose ready to tighten at a moment’s notice. The chains extended downward, binding to the handcuffs around her wrists, then further down, connecting to an extra-thick set of cuffs around her ankles.

At that point, her resistance was futile.

So Mayui let herself be dragged away by Murata, her body moving numbly as the weight of the restraints settled around her like a new cage. Yu trailed behind them, his presence quieter but no less pressing; unlike Murata, he didn’t yank at her or try to assert his dominance, but instead, he walked with his hands tucked into his uniform sleeves, gaze fixed on the ground as if refusing to look at her.

Behind that pitiful sight, Shoko remained in the doorway, fingers curled tightly around the handle of the door. The coffee she had spilled moments ago still stained the floor, a dark, bitter reminder of how quickly the morning had spiraled into chaos.

The road to Mayui’s trial was nothing but a slow, humiliating march through campus with all eyes on her. The distance to the chamber was short, but the weight of the stares, the hushed whispers and the barely concealed smirks made it feel endless; each step forward felt heavier, each clink of her restraints a cruel reminder of her position. She was no longer just an outsider, but a spectacle.

By the time they stepped through the grand doors of the trial room, Mayui barely had time to brace herself before Murata’s hand struck her face. The jeweled ring on his finger cut into the corner of her mouth, leaving behind a thin, stinging wound that welled with warm blood.

However, that slap represented more than a form of punishment; it was a deliberate performance for their audience – who wasn’t late with a mix of reactions. Some flinched in discomfort (Yuuga and Yu), others giggled, entertained by the display.

When Murata withdrew his hand as if he had merely swatted away a nuisance, two members of the Council nodded at him. The silent approval only seemed to fuel Murata’s arrogance : his lips curled in a sneer, and his eyes searched her face for any sign of defiance that would give him an excuse to strike her again.

This time, the Council had three present members, all from the second-branches and all ready to preside over Mayui’s fate with of casual indifference. Zarugo, always the first to speak, always the one who enjoyed this the most, leaned forward slightly, his voice thick with poorly concealed satisfaction.

“I believe there is no need for further discussion regarding you.” He pointed out, too overjoyed by the announcement to fully contain it. “Despite the numerous chances we have given, you remain incapable of controlling what you truly are. We all knew from the beginning that this institution was never suitable for an inexperienced blood technique user. Before you begin your counterarguments, Yuuga-san—” his gaze shifted to the only person in the room who might dare to oppose him. “—I remind you of our agreement.”

Mayui followed Zarugo’s gaze toward Yuuga, one of the few who had spoken in her defense before. The man didn’t react, but it seemed like he had a lot to say.

“This girl was to be closely supervised to prevent potential casualties. We should consider ourselves fortunate that her outburst resulted in nothing more than a destroyed room. However, we must also be forward-thinking enough to consider the alternative....what if next time, her lack of control costs the lives of the very students we are sworn to protect?”

Yuuga took a calm breath before responding. “Zarugo-san, if I may clarify mine and Gojo-sama’s stance—our agreement stipulated close supervision only when Miss Kamo was outside school premises. Monitoring her within her personal quarters would constitute a violation of her right to privacy.”

Zarugo’s smug smirk widened, but before he could answer, a new voice cut through the tense air: Setsuga Aoi’s, whose presence alone was enough to make the room stiffen. Unlike Zarugo, who masked his cruelty with eloquence, Setsuga’s icy efficiency made his disdain all the more brutal.

“Yuuga-san, I have two concerns.” His deep voice carried an unmistakable indignation, as he lifted one finger. “One: You have broken the neutrality of your position.” Then, a second finger. “Two: Gojo-sama is never present to express his opinion.”

The words struck like well-aimed daggers, each syllable carrying an implicit challenge. The Council thrived on bureaucracy, on carefully constructed hierarchies and Setsuga had just reminded everyone that Yuuga, for all his efforts, was speaking for someone who wasn’t even there.

A chilling silence settled over the chamber and in that silence, Mayui understood something: this was never a trial. It was an execution. A decision had already been made. The Council wasn’t here to listen; they were here to condemn.

In the face of shameless accusations Yuuga’s face burned with rage, but it wasn’t the reckless kind that lashed out without thought. His anger was composed, born not out of personal insult but from the sheer unfairness of how Satoru Gojo was treated in his absence.

However, Yuuga knew his place; his silence was noted and Zarugo took it as his cue to continue. With an affected cough, he straightened his notes, eager to dive back into his well-rehearsed speech.

“As I was saying,” he continued, voice rich with self-importance. “We are not responsible for the damage already caused. However, the Kamo household has extended an offer to take her back into their care, where she will receive the proper training and discipline she so clearly lacks. Therefore—“

The words barely registered in Mayui’s ears. Her golden eyes locked onto Zarugo, watching his lips move, but the sound faded into a hollow ringing in her head.

No.

She turned to Setsuga, who gave a curt nod. Yuuga, as expected, immediately protested, his voice cutting through the Council chamber with firm opposition. But none of it mattered—not when Murata’s fingers tightened around her arm.

It was real. They were sending her back.

No. No.

Her breath hitched. Her stomach dropped. Every part of her body screamed in defiance, and before she could think, she fell to her knees, shaking her head violently.

No. No. No.

Murata’s grip tightened in response, his fingers digging into her flesh like iron chains. His jaw clenched, blue eyes narrowing in displeasure. Her behavior, her resistance, her inability to simply submit when ordered...it all made him angry. He had always despised the way she embarrassed him, how she refused to show the Council the respect they deserved.

She never learned, she never submitted.

So, like always, he would remind her. Without hesitation, he yanked her up by her hair, her cry of pain barely fazing him.

The Council remained passive, complicit in their silence. Only Yuuga reacted, standing up from his sit, but a warning glance from Setsuga kept him in check.

Encouraged by their reactions, Murata continued disciplining Mayui, by dragging her struggling body across the hard floor, ignoring the way her knees scraped against the stone.

She should be grateful, he thought. She wanted his attention, didn’t she?

His grip slid from her hair to her wrist, fingers pressing against the delicate pulse beneath. It beat frantically. He loved that, he loved her tear-stained eyes, her trembling lips, her looking up at him. She was beautiful like this : weak, small, subdued, his.

Before Murata could savor the moment more, a foreign hand clamped around his wrist with immovable force. In an instant, his arm was twisted behind his back and a sharp, unnatural crack rang through the chamber.           

Murata’s mind barely registered what had happened before the pain finally caught up with him—searing, unbearable pain that shot through his entire limb. He screamed in terror, as he stared at his entire left arm hanging limply at his side, twisted unnaturally.

The shock of Murata’s body being torn apart by sheer force quickly gave way to seething rage. His chest heaved as he knelt on the ground, his right hand clutching his useless, broken arm, terrified it might completely detach if he didn’t hold it steady. His first instinct was to lash out at whoever dared to lay a hand on him, but when he snapped his head up, preparing a string of curses, his words died in his throat.

Because staring down at him were icy blue eyes, filled with absolute fury.

Gojo Satoru.

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. And yet, here he was: his breath uneven, his white hair damp and clinging to his forehead, evidence of how much he had rushed to get here. Murata’s stomach twisted at the sight because if Gojo was angry enough to push his body to the limit, then someone was about to pay and that someone might have been him.

Though that was only a small part that fueled his anger. What truly sent him over the edge wasn’t just Gojo’s presence; it was what he had done: he had freed her. The chains that once bound Mayui were now nothing but shattered remnants and worst of all, Gojo was standing in front of her, shielding her.

Murata staggered to his feet, blinded by pure rage, his instincts overriding his reason as he charged toward them, ready to—

In an instant, his body was airborne. Gojo didn’t even lift a hand. A mere flick of his cursed energy sent Murata crashing against the farthest wall, his body slamming into the stone so hard it cracked on impact. A pained groan escaped Murata’s lips as he crumpled to the ground, completely motionless.

“Seems like I’m late to the party.”

Satoru’s grin was nothing short of devilish as he turned his attention toward the true instigators of this circus: Zarugo’s self-satisfied smirk vanished, his confidence replaced with irritation and even Setsuga, the ever-composed, was uncharacteristically stiff.

If this had been any other situation, Gojo might have enjoyed dragging this out just to see how uncomfortable he could make them. But today? Today, he wasn’t in the mood for games.

Zarugo forced a smile, though the way he rubbed his hands together betrayed his nervousness. “You always manage to surpass our expectations, Gojo-sama.” he began, his voice as smooth as silk. “Finishing your mission in South Korea earlier than anticipated and even making time to join us, despite the meeting having already concluded.”

“We’ve already reached a decision regarding her.” Setsuga added, stepping forward to stand beside Zarugo, as if facing Gojo together would somehow make the pressure more bearable.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable beneath his sunglasses.

They had no idea how much he had sacrificed to get here in time: he had rushed his mission, pushed his body beyond its limits, teleported across impossible distances all because the second Yuuga told him about the meeting, he knew exactly what these bastards were planning to do.

“But now I’m here.” Gojo deadpanned, his smile widening. “So I’d like to review this matter once more.”

Zarugo’s forced politeness faltered.

“I apologize, Gojo-sama, but nothing you say can change the decision.” His words came out meek, as if he already knew it was a lie. He quickly cleared his throat and continued. “She violated the terms of our agreement, so it is only natu—“

“I trust you conducted a thorough investigation.” The interruption was smooth, almost casual, but the undertone was anything but.

Zarugo and Setsuga stiffened. Satoru’s voice was light, almost playful, but the subtle bite in his words made the air tense. And then the real question came.

“Did you ask her what happened?”

Zarugo’s lips parted slightly, his mind struggling to comprehend the absurdity of the question,  while Setsuga’s usual indifference cracked, his nostrils flaring slightly as he let out an audible sound of annoyance.

Their expressions said it all. They hadn’t even considered it.

“Since you didn’t, I’d like to talk to her. Alone. For ten minutes.”

Satoru’s voice was light-hearted, almost playful, but there was no room for negotiation. He turned away from the two dumbstruck men, their faces twisted in a mixture of outrage and hesitation, and placed a firm yet casual hand on Mayui’s back, guiding her toward the exit.

The weight of everything that had happened that day only truly settled in once Mayui sat down on the bench. She retraced the events in her mind, piecing together the chaotic blur of her morning: dragged from Shoko’s room, enchained by Yu, slapped, again and again, by Murata, condemned to return to the Kamo household. And when all hope was lost...

Satoru had arrived.

Like a guiding light, he had stepped through the hellish doors of that council room, as if he were a god descending to pass judgment. He had broken Murata’s arm without hesitation, shattered her shackles like they were nothing and humiliated the very people who had tried to decide her fate.

Mayui turned her head slightly to the left, where Satoru now sat beside her, sprawled across the tiny bench as if he owned the entire thing. His long legs took up more space than necessary, forcing her to shrink herself to the opposite side in an attempt to give him more room, though she tried to make it look casual.

His face, however, was not as composed as his posture. His expression was marred by irritation, his lips pressed together in a subtle frown. “Maaan, I hate those jerks.”

His confession was blunt, unfiltered and filled with so much genuine frustration that Mayui almost forgot who she was talking to; and even though she agreed with him completely, she kept those thoughts to herself, choosing instead to wait for his inevitable questioning.

Except, that wasn’t what happened. Instead of interrogating her, Satoru fumbled with a small paper bag, grumbling under his breath about the meeting while blatantly ignoring the calls from Yuuga.

At one point, he had the audacity to turn his phone off completely, slipping it into his pocket with zero remorse.

When he finally did speak to her, she was not at all prepared for his question.

“Chocolate or lemon and basil?”

“…Huh?” The sound left her lips before she could stop it. As soon as she realized her mistake, Mayui clamped a hand over her mouth, Murata’s past scoldings echoing in her mind like a relentless curse. She should’ve been more careful about the way she spoke to someone as important as Gojo Satoru, even if he didn’t seem to care.

“Which one do you want?” He simply repeated himself, this time opening a box filled with glazed donuts.

Mayui hesitated. The whole situation was… puzzling, but as he continued nudging the box toward her, she finally gave in and chose the lemon and basil one.

“Good choice!” Satoru nodded, satisfied. “That’s one of their best.”

As he happily munched on a chocolate donut, his tense energy from earlier melted away. The irritation from the meeting seemed to dissipate as he launched into a casual rant about how he had stumbled upon a small bakery in South Korea that made the best donuts he had ever had.

“It’s a local family business.” Satoru mused between bites. “Too bad they don’t have one in Japan.”

“They’re really good!” Mayui admitted after taking a bite of her own, listening intently as he continued his sweets-hunting saga.

Satoru was a natural storyteller. His animated expressions, the way his voice shifted in tone to emphasize certain moments made it easy to listen. She didn’t have to force herself to stay engaged or strain her mind to keep up. She could just… be present. For the next ten minutes, she allowed herself to be ordinary, unaware that, in those same ten minutes, her presence had allowed Gojo to do something he hadn’t done in two weeks: he let down his Infinity.

When the time was almost up, Satoru stretched lazily, raising his arms above his silver strands with an exaggerated yawn.

“We should go. I bet Yuuga is losing his mind right now.” He snickered lightly, utterly unbothered by the chaos he had no doubt caused.

Mayui mirrored his actions, though without his cheerfulness. She just dragged her feet toward the inevitable, to the place where she did not belong.

The short moment they had shared, the warmth of his casual company, the absurdity of discussing donuts, the ease of simply being made her heart sting unexpectedly. Then, like an avalanche, everything else came crashing down: a collection of moments, so brief and so fragile, that they almost didn’t seem real.

Her nails dug into her palms, deep enough to hurt, but she barely noticed. As undeserving as she believed herself to be of kindness, the gratitude she felt toward the people she had met was slowly, painfully, mixing with frustration. Frustration at how easily these moments could be taken from her and frustration at how much she hated herself for wanting more of them.

Because in the end, Kamo Mayui should know her place. She should bow her head and disappear into the ugliest darkness.        

“Ah, I forgot!” Satoru’s voice snapped her from her thoughts, effortlessly breaking through the storm inside her mind. “Because I so kindly shared my donuts with you, you need to answer two questions.”

She forced herself to nod, lowering her gaze. Kamo Mayui should listen to his requests, as preposterous as they might be.

“Did you lose control over your cursed technique and destroy the room?”

She nodded again, sincerely, her face turning red with shame. If only she were stronger... If only she were a better sorcerer. If only she could have controlled her own power.

Murata hadn’t destroyed the room. Her father hadn’t. The council members hadn’t. She had and she hadn’t even had the decency to admit to her mistakes.

It was as if everything her mother had ever taught her had vanished along with her. Had she strayed too far from who she was supposed to be? Had she become a disregardful Kamo?

“Do you wish to return to the Kamo’s?”

Mayui’s mind stopped. For a moment, she could not comprehend the meaning behind his words. Why was he asking her that? It was obvious, wasn’t it? It was already decided.

And yet…There was no mockery or amusement in his voice.

Mayui hesitantly raised her head, locking eyes with him and searching for the easy arrogance, the smirk that said he was simply toying with her, only to find none of that. Instead, she saw a seriousness so piercing it almost made her cry.

For the first time in two years, someone was asking for her opinion.

For the first time in two years, someone was taking her feelings into consideration. She was not a pawn, not as a liability, not as a burden. She was a person worthy of being heard, a person worthy of deciding for herself.

Overwhelmed, Mayui wrapped her arms around her shoulders, holding herself together as best as she could. Her voice was trapped in her throat, her body was trembling. She shook her head fiercely and with more determination than she had ever felt in her life, she forced the word past her lips.

“Never.”

At some point, she became so caught up in her emotions that she didn’t even notice Satoru’s tall figure towering over her. If others might have found him intimidating, Mayui could only feel protected and when he smiled that understanding smile, she might have shed a few stray tears.

Because of Satoru’s support, entering the trial room didn’t feel as suffocating as before, even with Zarugo’s and Setsuga’s faces twisted in impatience and indignation, even with Yuuga’s momentary relief turning into a severe, scolding look aimed directly at Satoru. The latter, of course, chose to avoid all judging stares, lazily glancing around the room as if the tension had nothing to do with him.

“In two days’ time, you shall witness Kamo Mayui’s ability to control her technique.” Satoru’s bold declaration rang through the room, casual yet undeniably absolute.

Mayui’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Zarugo, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction.

“What are you playing at, Gojo Satoru?!”

One second, Gojo was standing in front of him.  The next, he was whispering into his ear cold, threatening and uncomfortably close.

“You forgot the SAMA.”

Zarugo stiffened. A sharp, chilling pressure settled between his shoulder blades; it might have been related to Gojo’s index finger barely touching him, yet heavy enough to send a violent shiver down his spine.

“And of course, I’m playing the main character. The ally of justice.”

If Gojo Satoru were to play a role, there was no doubt he would be the protagonist of the story. He would be the one who swoops in at the last second, the one who crushes others with overwhelming strength. He would be the one who stands above all.

As Mayui watched him closely, taking in his tormenting actions and flashy, almost cruel grins, she couldn’t help but think that the role of a villain might suit him better.

***

“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive”- Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

“This whole time she’ll be under my personal supervision. So there you have it.”

With that wild proclamation that changed the entire course of Mayui’s life, Satoru turned on his heel and left the crime scene, happily humming a strange melody. He even slid his hands into his pockets with enviable ease, as he brushed past Murata’s battered body without sparing a single glance toward the fallen figure.

While Zarugo stood stiffly, his body still trembling from the shock of Gojo’s interference, Setsuga was committed to giving a full report about the current situation, if someone from the Zenin household would finally pick up the phone. On the other hand, Yuuga politely bowed his head, before excusing himself to follow his master’s whims, despite his obvious disagreement with Satoru’s way of handling political matters.

As he muttered under his breath about Gojo’s conceited personality and the way his patronizing tone seemed to invite more marriage proposals than respect from other sorcerers, a part of Satoru could almost agree with Yuuga.

However, his more arrogant side couldn’t tolerate Yuuga’s constant nagging, especially not now when he was far too tired to move and far too hungry to bother with a conversation. Torn between the two, he was about to cover his ears in an act of childish defiance when—

He felt something pulling at the hem of his shirt.

As Satoru glanced down, he found the girl standing there, breathing heavily. One of her hands was pressed against her chest, her chest rising and falling in an attempt to regain her composure, while the other hand trembled slightly as it held onto his shirt.

If Mayui were to make a list of all the unbelievable things she had done that day, most of them would be tied to Satoru Gojo. After he had casually claimed responsibility for her actions over the next two days, he simply left, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just made that proclamation, like those words had never been spoken at all and Mayui had imagined them.

When Yuuga stopped to advise her to leave the trial room and seek shelter at Yaga’s, she felt stupid for getting her hopes up. She should have known better—the world of sorcerers ran on selfishness and everyone acted out of self-interest. It was simply her mistake for trying to assign morality to anyone.

It was her mistake, too, that she couldn’t hold back the frustration building inside her. One minute, Gojo Satoru waltzed in and postponed her dispatch, and the next, he made an unfounded, bold claim about her ability to control the blood technique, only to walk away without offering any explanations. She was so consumed by that frustration that she didn’t even realize when she started running after him or when her hands moved on their own, grabbing at his clothes in a desperate attempt to stop him from getting any further away.

Upon feeling his questioning gaze on her, she quickly let go, as if the fabric itself had burned her skin; but now that she had caught his attention, Mayui found herself at a loss for words. Even though she was in no position to demand explanations, she couldn’t shake the strange, new feeling he had ignited in her: the hope of change she couldn’t afford to let go of it. After all, it was either chasing this chance at change or spending the rest of her life as a slave to her blood.

However, she never could have predicted the words that spilled from her mouth, shameless and unbidden, pouring out so quickly that she didn’t even have time to process their meaning.

“You’re unbelievably selfish.” Mayui slapped a hand over her rambling mouth, but not fast enough to silence herself. Yuuga’s attempt to stifle his laughter certainly didn’t help, only making her feel more flustered and tense.

Now, with her teeth clenched, eyes shut, and head bowed low to the ground she braced herself for the inevitable slap, though a slap didn’t come or any other physical punishment. Rather than facing an aggressive man, the slightly annoyed pouting Satoru came out of nowhere. She could tell by the furrow of his eyebrows that he felt wrongly accused, though it was clear that his frustration was more likely being fueled by Yuuga’s incessant laughter.

Sensing that she might have made him uncomfortable, Mayui lowered her head even further, apologetically.

“I’m sorry if I got ahead of myself and assumed things, but I’m genuinely confused so I’d like you to explain whatever happened earlier.” Mayui proclaimed, her fingers interlocked behind her back, her upper body leaning slightly forward. Then, as a sudden thought crossed her mind, she added meekly, unaware of the storm of reactions she was about to stir. “Please, Satoru – sama!”

“Hey…”Satoru rubbed his eyes incredulously, getting unnecessarily embarrassed by Mayui’s boldness. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not!” she quickly denied, her messy hair becoming even more disheveled as she lifted her head.

“You should talk things out.” Yuuga tapped her shoulder lightly. “How about buying her a meal?” he suggested with a smile that was too innocent to be entirely sincere.

Mayui, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in Yuuga’s behavior, missed the chance to decline the offer; for the nth time that day, she wondered if all sorcerers had this strange duality inside them. She also wondered where the dependable man, eager to defend his master’s honor, had gone and who this playful, childish replacement was, eagerly picking at Satoru’s weak spots with such carefree amusement.

If Yuuga had ever given the impression of being a reasonable, understanding kind of man, those qualities often vanished in the face of petty revenge. The tiniest joke or remark could set him off and that side of his clashed terribly with his role as Satoru’s more grounded ally.

So, strangely enough when they were together, they were a volatile duo—each exploiting the other’s nerves without hesitation – like they did now.

“Only if you’re paying for it.” the silver-haired man cheekily retorted, wiggling Yuuga’s now-stolen wallet between his slender fingers. “You still have the same PIN code? 5678? Chose it to be less obvious than 1234.” He whispered loudly to Mayui, while covering his mouth with exaggerated secrecy, though his theatrics only made him more obvious.

Whilst the blonde didn’t know how to react, torn between laughing along with Satoru and ignoring his antics as not to offend the older man, by the time she had decided, Gojo was already softly pushing her from behind towards the main gates.

“Let’s go, Yui!” Satoru urged. “Don’t mind him.”

When Mayui turned around to look at Yuuga, she was once again met with a gentle smile and a nod, both offered by a man who appeared relieved by something she couldn’t decipher. In return, she quickly bowed her head, as she struggled to keep up with Satoru’s quick pace.

The moment she stepped outside the gates, something in Mayui’s chest stirred. It wasn’t pain, nor discomfort, but a pressure that made it hard for her to breathe, as if the air was being blocked somewhere between her ribs by an unknown force. It wouldn’t come out, not until she loudly gasped upon witnessing Satoru throwing himself in front of a car.

Then, the pressure dissipated, quickly replaced by a mixture of bewilderment and uneasiness as she watched him: walking toward a car attempting to park and stepping aside just in time to narrowly avoid the car. Only when it was almost too late did Satoru knock twice on the hood.

That was when the driver slammed on the brakes. The was when the car screeched to a halt, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the parking space.

The driver lowered his window, his pale face a ghostly contrast to Satoru’s shamelessly amused expression. The boy, looking younger than Mayui, stared at him with wide, shocked brown eyes and a small mouth that failed to form any words. His feeble stature, coupled with his light skin tone, made him seem almost sickly next to his ebony hair, which was tied back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.

As Mayui took deep breaths, her heart gradually began to calm down, and with it, the courage to approach the car slowly returned. Though the vehicle had been moving at a painfully slow pace, as if it resisted its driver’s will to park, the risk of a collision was higher than it seemed, given the driver’s evident lack of experience. The fact that Satoru had simply walked in front of the car, completely unconcerned with his own safety, made Mayui feel restless and anxious. It even made her question her decision.

Maybe it would’ve been better to politely decline the meal and follow Yuuga’s suggestion to head to Yaga’s.

Shyly, she took small steps and stopped at a considerable distance from the two, wanting to avoid seeming nosy or too eager to join their conversation. Still, she could clearly hear the young boy apologizing to Satoru for his actions, his voice trembling as if he were the most sinful creature ever to walk the earth.

On the other hand, Satoru didn’t react with malice to the boy’s exaggerated excuses. He simply smiled in an understanding manner, as if he weren’t the one responsible for what could’ve been a terrible accident.

“You should always watch your surroundings when parking, Musashi. If anyone else had been in my place, things might’ve turned out really ugly.” Satoru nodded sagely, as if pleased with the advice he was giving. “Anyways, turn the car around and let’s go.”

Despite Musashi’s incredulous look, Satoru brushed it off as if it never existed and reached for the backseat door, opening it. Mayui, still curious whether such a tall person could even fit inside a car, watched him closely and to her surprise, the silver-haired man didn’t take a step toward the backseat; instead, he patiently waited for her to get inside first, before following her around to the other side of the car.

In that moment, Mayui realized she had lost her chance to decline.

As for Musashi…it took him a few more minutes to fully process what was happening to him: he had woken up early that morning to pick up Haibara Ayame from her household and the road back had been anything but peaceful. As soon as she got into the car, she asked if he noticed anything different about her; and instead of risking offense by admitting he didn’t, he took a wild guess and complimented her pink nails, betting on that detail as the change.

Unfortunately, Musashi was a poor gambler, while his answer only served to offend and enrage Ayame further. Because of what she called his “lack of fundamental skill most men need to acquire otherwise they’ll never get laid,” he was subjected to two solid hours of rambling.

He was anything but interested in her recent shopping escapades and even less concerned with her current obsession with some shimmer highlighter. By the time she began ranting about the infamous new girl on campus, he missed a crucial right turn and ended up stuck in the very traffic jam he had tried so desperately to avoid—costing them another 40 minutes, all filled with Ayame’s ceaseless chatter.

Eventually, he caved to her demands to park near the main gates, pulling into a spot reserved for the Council members not out of his own volition, but because Ayame insisted. Then she had the audacity to make him haul her massive, overpacked luggage, all while pretending to be too fragile to lift a finger.

And yet, he did everything she asked, unreasonable as it all was. He didn’t complain, always maintaining the utmost respect toward those he saw as his superiors. Still, the pressure of potentially being scolded by an actual VIP for occupying their reserved spot had him sweating. By the time he finally turned on the engine and eased the car out of the parking space, his legs were so weak with relief, they nearly gave out beneath him.

If Musashi had the sheer audacity to think his unlucky day would be over after finally managing to park the car, then the sudden flash of silver light shattered that preposterous wishful thinking. In the blink of an eye, he found himself once again wrapped around Gojo’s finger, reduced to playing chauffeur at the man’s whim.

Maybe that was the fundamental difference between a lowly mundane like him and a superior being like Satoru Gojo: one moved through the world with unapologetic entitlement, acting however he pleased, while the other was expected to comply without question.    

Musashi slammed the brake a bit harder than necessary at the traffic light, feigning a need to adjust the rearview mirror. In truth, he was sneaking a glance at the quiet passenger in the backseat. Satoru had casually introduced her earlier, but everyone on campus, including Musashi, knew who she was: the ill-famed Kamo Mayui.

Still, what truly piqued his curiosity wasn’t her reputation, nor her composed demeanor...it was the nature of her connection with someone like Gojo Satoru. How did a girl so entangled in controversy end up sharing a car ride, let alone a meal, with someone who seemed almost untouchable?

Musashi had to admit he was mildly intrigued by their circumstances. Driven by a half-baked theory he once read in a psychology journal, he took a discreet sniff, trying to catch any trace of her scent, only to be met with nothing unusual. Perhaps her body odor was simply compatible with Gojo’s, and that strange compatibility had sparked his interest. He remembered how the white-haired sorcerer once voiced his distaste for Kanon Yoshinaga’s perfume (a scent Musashi secretly liked) so he had gone down a rabbit hole of reading articles on olfactory chemistry and interpersonal attraction.

That train of thought led him back to Kanon and the less-than-warm welcome she gave him when they first met. Could it be that Gojo had a soft spot for cold women? The possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. Still, even if Mayui and Kanon shared that trait, they were nothing alike beyond the surface. Mayui seemed more fragile, less theatrical in her aloofness, more decent.

If he were to choose between the two…     

An angry horn blared from behind, snapping Musashi out of his ridiculous daydream. The pressure of being the first car in line and failing to notice the green light in time made him clench the wheel, agitated. He stomped the gas pedal, launching the car forward, only to abruptly slow down again after spotting a police vehicle ahead. The sudden acceleration and deceleration sent the car rocking, forcing the passengers to brace themselves by pressing their hands against the front seats for stability.

No one said a word, but the silence in the car was heavier than any reprimand. It clung to the air, thick with tension and discomfort, and somehow made Musashi’s already questionable driving grow even more erratic as they approached their destination.

At first, Mayui thought she could endure it. If she focused on her breathing and kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, she might just be able to hold off the nausea caused by the jerky movements. But whether it was due to her lack of sleep, the absence of any real food in her system, or simply her overall anemic state, the queasiness soon escalated into something uncontrollable.     

She felt the wave of sickness rise from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat, thick and urgent. Her hand shot to her mouth as she desperately tried to contain it, the acidic burn causing her eyes to well up with tears. Her belly clenched painfully, contracting around the nausea, but she focused all her energy on not letting it spill not on herself, not on the seat, not in front of them.

So consumed was she by the battle within her own body that she didn’t notice the car had stopped until she heard the soft click of the door unlocking. That sound alone was enough to break her fragile hold. She flung the door open and stumbled out, barely reaching the rear wheel before doubling over and vomiting violently onto the pavement.      

If throwing up felt like an eternity, the moment that followed felt like time itself had chosen to abandon her in her most shameful state. Mayui stayed crouched by the rear wheel, strands of saliva still clinging stubbornly to her mouth, and nothing but the sleeves of her sweatshirt to wipe them away. She didn’t dare glance at the car, silently praying none of her mess had made it onto the vehicle.

“Here, Yui. Take this.” Satoru’s voice came apologetic, as he extended a bottle of water and a small packet of tissues toward her.

Mayui slowly turned just enough to reach for them, her body still half-turned away, her face shielded behind her arm in a quiet attempt to hide what was left of her pride. She nodded, murmuring a barely audible thanks before unscrewing the cap and rinsing her mouth, then dabbing her lips and chin with the tissues to erase what remained of the incident.

After that, the car resumed its route at a slower, more cautious pace.

Chapter Text

Silence settled in once more, but each of the three passengers perceived it in their own way.

Musashi swung between waves of panic and guilt over Mayui’s condition, and moments of forced calm where he focused entirely on driving as properly as possible, determined not to repeat his earlier mistakes. What grounded him most was the fact that Satoru hadn’t scolded him, he hadn’t even raised his voice. Instead, the sorcerer had calmly and maturely instructed him to pull over the moment Mayui showed signs of distress.

As for Mayui, the initial shame of emptying her stomach in front of two near-strangers had been overwhelming, but once it was over, she finally allowed herself to relax. Her eyes fluttered shut, and in the lull that followed, she became aware of a quiet humming from beside her.

It was Satoru. Off-key and entirely unrefined, his deep humming didn’t follow any discernible tune, yet somehow it didn’t need to. There was something oddly soothing in the way his voice filled the space between them: raw, unpolished, and unexpectedly gentle. It stirred within her a vague sense of nostalgia, as though brushing up against memories she'd buried long ago, too distant to name but too familiar to ignore. What caught her off guard most was the contrast - how such softness could exist within someone like him.

The unexpected seemed to follow Gojo Satoru even in his restaurant choices. Contrary to what Mayui had imagined (a flashy, trendy spot buzzing with energy) he led them to a quiet, family-style eatery tucked away at the end of several winding, narrow streets. It was clearly unpopular, at least judging by the handful of patrons scattered across the tables: mostly elderly couples and a family with two noisy children. Yet, the atmosphere was cozy, calm, and oddly comforting. It was exactly what she needed.

Satoru, unfazed and seemingly familiar with the place, made a beeline for the most secluded table in the corner, well away from the hum of conversation near the entrance. He moved with the ease of someone who had been there more than a few times before, and Mayui quickly began to suspect this wasn’t just a random pick.

That suspicion was confirmed when the waitress arrived, offering a single menu directly to Mayui without so much as a glance in her direction. All her attention was fixed on Satoru.

“I haven’t seen you around in ages, and now you show up with a cute little lady to butter me up, mister Jogo?” The middle-aged woman placed her hands on her ample hips, eyeing him with a mixture of teasing and thinly veiled curiosity.

Instead of showing any trace of guilt or awkwardness, Satoru merely grinned, the corners of his celestial blue eyes tilting upward behind his circular shades. “You missed me that much, Anko-san?”

“Of course I did. You’re my favorite customer.” she huffed, pretending to be insulted by the obviousness of it. “You eat well and leave the most generous tip. How could I not miss you?”

“So I’m favored because I’m rich.” he replied dryly, though amusement clearly laced his voice. There was a boyish charm to the way he spoke with her and for a moment, he looked more at ease than Mayui had seen him all day. Yet, the more he smiled, the more something felt… off, distant. As if that smile was a mask he had worn so many times, it had fused to his skin. Anko, oblivious to the subtle walls behind his easy charm, laughed along.

“And handsome.” she added with a wink in Mayui’s direction. “Lucky for you, I’m married.”

She pulled a notepad and pen from her pocket, turning her gaze back to Satoru. “The usual for you, I suppose.” He nodded without hesitation, as if it was a practiced ritual. Then she turned to Mayui, her smile softening. “And for the little Miss?”

Taken aback by the suddenness of the question, Mayui’s eyes widened, her cheeks blooming red with embarrassment. She had been pretending to browse the menu, but in reality, she was too caught up listening to the back-and-forth between Satoru and Anko.

Flustered, she blurted out the first thing her eyes landed on: the dish written in the biggest, boldest font. “A bowl of ramen, please.”

“Add another yakisoba” Satoru chimed in before the waitress could turn away, his tone casual yet sharp with intent. He leaned in slightly, tilting his head left, then right, as if searching for something in her eyes. “Do you like takoyaki?”

“I do, b-but-“

“And the best takoyaki you have, Anko-san.” he cut in again, sealing the order with a confident grin.

Anko chuckled, already scribbling. “Comin’ right up.”

After the woman left them alone, Mayui found herself quietly looking at the man seated across from her—this so-called mister Jogo who, surprisingly, had a taste for quiet, traditional restaurants.  This man who –

“You’re gonna burn a hole into my face.” Satoru pointed out, clearly amused. He was no stranger to being stared at, but Mayui’s gaze wasn’t like the flirtatious ones he typically received, nor did it carry the weight of expectation or awe. Her deep, glowing golden eyes radiated something else entirely. Honest, unfiltered curiosity.

“I’m sorry…I was just wondering whether Musashi will be joining us.” She bashfully admitted, though her words carried only half of her thoughts.

 “He won’t.” Satoru replied flatly, as if the answer had been self-evident all along. “He panics over every little thing and gets waay too agitated around me. I can’t enjoy my food like that.”

Undoubtedly, Musashi’s stress was more than evident whenever Satoru was around. His normally steady voice would turn high-pitched, his eyes darting in every direction at an alarming pace, and his movements became clumsy, almost foolish. Although it was painful to watch him struggle, Mayui couldn’t help but empathize with him. She understood his discomfort and his awkwardness in dealing with sorcerers and her heart went out to him. Her solidarity made her want to cheer him on, to help him navigate the difficult path of fitting into a world that seemed so alien to him.

When Musashi had frantically apologized for making her nauseous, Mayui had treated him with gentle patience, offering a kind smile and quietly trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible. She had no doubt that he, too, was grappling with his own insecurities.

But she had to admit, she agreed with Satoru on this one. Having Musashi around would’ve only added to her discomfort. It would’ve been harder to talk openly about her circumstances with someone so visibly nervous in their presence.        

“Plus, it’s better if we keep this between us.” Satoru added, as if he had read her thoughts. He paused, his fingers expertly pulling at the chopsticks to mix his ramen, humming softly as the food arrived. “It’s just my personal advice—take it or leave it—but… you shouldn’t easily trust just anyone who shows you the smallest amount of kindness.”

Listening to Satoru’s words, made Mayui feel small, almost pathetic. His intentions were obviously well-intended, far from sounding malicious or fault-finding, but they also reflected her behavior toward the people belonging to the world of sorcerers. Mayui was a beggar for attention and affection; if she were to receive the smallest amount of what she sought, she would put her entire trust into that giver’s cause and die for them willingly.

She sighed, feeling too ashamed to look into the celestial blue knowing she would become disappointed if those eyes were to reflect her petty existence. And despite every thought that overwhelmed her, she needed to clear something up, something that had been nagging at her since their conversation began: “Are you saying I shouldn’t be trusting you either?”

Satoru didn’t seem phased by the question. His gaze remained steady as he calmly blew on the hot noodles balanced between his chopsticks.

“I’m reminding you I’m one of those sorcerers you seem to despise.” he replied, his tone casual yet edged with something more serious beneath. “And that I got involved with you only because I have my own reasons. Let’s say we have a business like relationship, nothing personal, nothing deeper.”

Whereas Mayui had never let herself get ahead of the situation or assumed that they were anything beyond what they were, Satoru’s bluntness still managed to embarrass her. His words felt like a stark reminder of the boundaries he was setting, and though he probably meant them as a warning to prevent any future misunderstandings, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being misjudged. Did he really think she was trying to get closer to him in some intimate way? The thought made her uncomfortable.

Then again, she had to make her own intentions clear, to herself and to him.          

“I trust you, though…” Mayui said softly, lifting her head slightly to meet his gaze for a few seconds, before looking down at her food. “And whether you like or not, I’ll keep on trusting you on my own…. and you can keep getting involved as you please… w-while sticking to your personal reasons.”

It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for Satoru to remain speechless, but even when he did, he managed to perfectly control his expressions, not even blinking or raising his eyebrows at her words. “Deal.” Then, as if he had moved past the topic entirely, he returned to his mischievous grin. “So what do you know about cursed energy?”

“Nothing?” Mayui sincerely inquired, finally feeling like she could taste her own ramen. “I’ve heard those words before, but I don’t know what they mean.”

“They haven’t taught you anything?”

She shook her head, tapping the boiled egg with the tip of the chopsticks. “They considered me a waste of time and money. And I wasn’t too thrilled about learning either.”

Her mindset hadn’t changed; she hated everything related to the world of sorcerers, including that cursed part of herself. If Mayui could have decided for herself, she would’ve rejected her blood inheritance and any ties to the Kamo family.

“They must’ve been curious about your blood technique, at least.” Satoru continued. “After all, you’re their greatest asset for the last decade.”

She didn’t feel like an asset. She wasn’t treated as a precious acquisition or even as a human being, but more like a political weapon that needed polishing and adjustments. The fact that she started seeing herself that way was even worse; for Mayui, who had lost her purpose to live, filling the emptiness with their words of persuasion had become easier than struggling to preserve her own sense of self.

“They used some methods…um, I’m not sure how to describe it in your terms…” she fumbled with her hands, unsure of how to continue, but Satoru’s subtle nodding encouraged her to explain as she could. ”Um… the technique’s activation occurred when its user was placed in dangerous situations...something like that?”

It was a well-known fact that the two clans, Zenin and Kamo, trained their young sorcerers by throwing them into a pit full of curses, forcing them to survive for countless days without food or water, solely relying on their raw power. This method was as risky as it was effective, because not many survived the hellish arena, resulting in a numerical loss. However, those who came out alive were considered the most promising individuals, worthy of becoming their houses’ symbols of power and endurance.

“Did it work?”

“…it did, but now I can’t use it as I wish. Consciously.”  

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, refraining from probing into how exactly Mayui had survived the pit, but his curiosity about the situation was  piqued. “What about that guy Kondo?”

Mayui froze, her throat tightening around the piece of beef she had been chewing absentmindedly. Her discomfort was palpable and if Satoru noticed the shift in her demeanor, he made no immediate comment. Instead, he pushed forward. “For a clan that values strict hierarchy, they’re giving him too much power and responsibility. Does he have some kind of unique technique that they need?”

“…I-I don’t know.” Mayui’s response was quiet, betraying her unease. Her fingers tightened around the chopsticks, and her gaze fell to the table, unwilling to meet his eyes.

However Satoru didn’t back down even as he sensed the tension building inside her. He tilted his head slightly, watching her closely, but still not quite pushing her past her limits.

“Has he been appointed to watch you from the beginning?”

Mayui clutched her chest, her breath catching. Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, she struggled to get enough air. “…yes.”

At first Murata Kondo was only kind and gentle, pretending to be the ally she needed. However, at some point he seemed to have run out of patience; when he tried to kiss her and Mayui rejected him, he turned aggressive and violent.

Satoru's gaze softened, though his expression remained unreadable. He took in her answer, not rushing to reply but instead letting the silence stretch between them. He could see the weight lifting off her, the burden of her dark thoughts finally given voice.

“How much you do hate him?”

Mayui’s response came without hesitation, her voice too steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside her. “Enough to wish for his death.”

Then, the pressure pushing against her ribs dissipated, allowing the oxygen to freely circulate through her entire body, now released of the burden of her unspeakable desires.

***

“Victims. Victims of a transitional period of morality. That is what we both certainly are.” ― Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI and GOJO SATORU

Chapter Text

When the door opened, revealing kind outstretched arms, Mayui remained frozen in the warmest embrace she had received in what felt like the longest time. So, she allowed herself to wrap her own arms around Shoko’s frame, gently grasping the back of her T-shirt, while her face remained buried deep inside the chestnut-haired one’s chest. Even so, her trembling body, struggling to remain grounded and composed didn’t go unnoticed by Shoko; and because she noticed it, she caressed Mayui’s back with steady, reassuring strokes.

However, when Shoko’s eyes landed on another figure standing at the doorstep, frowning deeply at them, she scowled.

“I told you to bring her back before 8 PM.”

“It’s not my fault Musashi’s a shitty slow driver.” Satoru replied with an exasperated eye roll. Despite his attempts to nap on the way back, he had been jolted awake every time Musashi turned sharply or slowed down unexpectedly; moreover, when that happened, he found himself checking on Mayui, only to find her sleeping soundly.

“You should’ve chosen a different driver then!” Shoko snapped, still gently comforting Mayui. ”I was worried because of your stupid choices.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes at her, ready to fire back with own indignation, before he stopped. What made him pause? Perhaps it was Mayui’s vulnerable state or Shoko’s protective side he had never seen before. He wasn’t entirely sure. Either way, he bit back his comeback, suddenly feeling like acting considerate.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for training, Yui.” he added quietly before turning to leave.

It was then when Mayui slipped away from the hug, thinking she had to properly face Satoru when expressing her gratitude, only to find him already gone by the time she managed to move. The sudden motion made her stumble, as the adrenaline rush left her trembling and vulnerable. Suddenly, her mind was foggy, her eyes stinging and blurred, but her heart pounded wildly in her chest, reminding her she was still alive, still there.

However, the thought of a change made space for the uneasiness and anxiety that came with it, because as Mayui kept yearning for a place of freedom, Murata’s shadow, always present in the back of her mind, twisted that hope into some unthinkable abnormality.

The blonde had thought most of her resentment would fade after watching him humiliated by Satoru, but that satisfaction only lingered in the latter’s presence; once he vanished, that brief sense of liberation dissolved into despair and fear that Murata would return, seeking revenge against his favorite victim. She had two days under Satoru’s protection and yet, all she could think about was whether she should keep struggling to survive after the final verdict or end it all before they had another chance to break her.

As Mayui lingered in those dangerous thoughts, the hand she used to brush her teeth grew heavier with each movement, while the other braced against the sink, trying to keep her body upright. She had lost a significant amount of blood, and food or sleep alone couldn’t replenish it; even the transfusions she received at times weren’t enough to make her feel functional again.

In those moments, the blonde couldn’t help but think of herself as the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz—abandoned in a forest, left to rust in heavy rain, and forced to keep moving only with the help of an oil can. The only difference between them was their will to change: while the Tin Man had been foolish enough to go searching for a heart, Mayui would have rather stayed in the forest and rusted away.

If Shoko noticed her swollen, red eyes and staggering figure, she chose not to ask what Mayui had been doing in the bathroom for the past two hours. Instead, she gestured for her to come closer and gently patted her half-damp hair as the blonde wearily approached the window.

The older girl lit a cigarette, pondering the best way to address the elephant in the room.

 “Today…” Shoko began, but stopped as soon as she felt Mayui tense under her hand. The way she stiffened, clearly anticipating uncomfortable questions, made it clear she wasn’t ready to open up just yet. “I hope Gojo wasn’t mean to you.” She concluded instead.

Mayui quickly shook her head, meeting those caffeine-colored eyes with a touch of embarrassment for having jumped to conclusions. “He wasn’t mean at all. Just a little blunt, but… I-I didn’t mind.”

“I see.” Shoko nodded, exhaling smoke she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. “When are you meeting for training? I was thinking of joining you two.”

“I don’t really know…Satoru said he’ll be sleeping till noon and text you the hour and the place for-“

Mayui’s explanation was cut short by Shoko’s loud sigh and her abrupt motion of stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. Then, without a word, she moved to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, already three-quarters gone. She didn’t bother with a glass.

“Keep this a secret from my brother.” Shoko took a sip straight from the bottle, closing her eyes as the alcohol slid down her throat, only to erupt in a burning sensation deep in her chest. “He hates it when I drink. Says I remind him of our alcoholic mother.”

Mayui’s eyes widened slightly at the confession, though she simply nodded in response. It was unusual to see the composed Shoko opening up like that, although for the latter it was almost liberating to be drinking and talking to a friend after a day clouded by anxiety. She was usually the calm and collected one, the one everyone turned to when things got tense, the one who always managed to keep it together. However, under certain circumstances, even she unraveled, her usual composure slipping into agitation and unrest.

Shoko had suffered from panic attacks ever since she was little, whenever her father left for a mission, without being able to promise he’d return safely; her mother might’ve felt the same. Perhaps, the constant torment of losing her husband to faceless monsters drove her to seek comfort in alcohol; or, perhaps she enjoyed drinking her problems away, escaping into an alternate universe where she could pretend to be happy, even if that meant ignoring her children’s needs in the real world.

When Shoko’s father died in the Great War, she was sixteen. That was the night when she stole one of her mother’s bottles and drank from it and that was the same night Shoko thought she had glimpsed the world her mother used to disappear into, but it wasn’t as bright or inviting as she had imagined. No, Shoko’s version was a place of darkness and flickering lightning, a ruined castle perched on the edge of an endless chasm filled with boiling oil and screaming hands, always ready to pull down anyone who stepped too close.

That sensation, of standing at the edge of a perilous scission was as terrifying as it was exhilarating; and somewhere inside, Shoko loved the power she held over her own consciousness and choices. She wasn’t weak like her mother, a mere resident of that realm, she was the creator and the ruler of a space that reflected her inner self.

From that day on, she kept stealing drinks, pushing herself to the brink just to explore her limits, but always pulling back before she went too far. Shoko truly believed she was doing better than her mother ever had and that belief alone convinced her she was living a well-balanced life, one she could maintain for a long time.

Until two years ago, when Shuntaro caught her drinking with Suguru, things had been manageable. From that moment on however… he became the most persistent and annoying obstacle in her way of living, because the issue wasn’t about underage drinking. It was something else entirely.

Shoko knew and because she knew, she tried to keep her distance after that, protecting her brother from the truth in her own way—without giving up on her chosen path. However, Shuntaro became obsessed with drawing parallels between Shoko and their mother and that obsession slowly tore their relationship apart, to the point where they’d argue the moment they laid eyes on each other, without even needing a reason. Because the reason was always there, unspoken and raw, fueling frustration and despair.

If Shuntaro felt entitled to save his sister from making the biggest mistake of her life, Shoko felt just as entitled to live by her own ideals, always ready to face the consequences of her choices.

Most adults, she noticed, were like Shuntaro. They tried so hard to appear mature and dependable, yet refused to consider any beliefs that weren’t their own, especially when those beliefs belonged to someone they deemed too young, too emotional, or too damaged to understand the bigger picture. Maybe that was why she started opening up to Mayui about what drinking truly meant to her because she saw in the girl something more dependable than what she had come to expect from so-called adults.

Mayui was younger, but the way she carried herself made her seem at least five years older: she was quiet, but always observant, she was considerate of other people’s reactions and feelings and she would allow just anyone to trample over her if they spoke their opinion louder. However, no matter how weak and fearful she might appear, her golden eyes never wavered when confronting dreary situations.

And so, as Shoko silently reflected on the younger girl’s convictions, she couldn’t help but feel that someone as deeply kind as Mayui might just be capable of accepting someone like her: a flawed alcoholic walking the uncertain path of becoming a doctor.

She might’ve acted a little sly in bringing up her family situation, subtly seeking acknowledgment from Mayui, but it was only to reaffirm her own purpose. Shoko wasn’t someone who lacked friends, whether casual or close, but sometimes, she found herself feeling a quiet envy toward the bond shared by Gojo and Geto. She had been their closest and longest-standing female friend, and yet, their connection was something different. It was something special. It felt almost poetic, like something lifted from the pages of a novel, while she was merely a presence—breathing, existing, but somehow always outside that sacred bond.

It was obvious they stood on equal footing, viewing each other as two halves of a whole, the strongest duo. Their relationship balanced strengths and flaws so effortlessly, so naturally, that it seemed to defy the ordinary. They were like winter and spring, sun and moon, day and night—complete opposites that couldn’t exist without one another. Each carried light and darkness, following the other in an eternal rhythm, a dance of mutual survival.

Was she seeking something similar with Mayui?

Shoko couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed her mind once or twice. Still, she was painfully aware that a bond like that couldn’t be created on a whim. It was rare. It had to grow on its own. So all she could do was hope that her instincts weren’t simply a projection of a hidden desire to find her soulmate in Mayui.         

Sweet Mayui who started crying the moment she mentioned her father’s death, compassionate Mayui who wouldn’t let go of Shoko’s hands, gently caressing her knuckles, the kind Mayui who patiently listened to her story without interrupting once. She listened and nodded, trying her hardest not to disturb Shoko’s confession with her crying muffled noises.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” Mayui clenched the older girl’s hands once, twice, thrice, like a mantra of good-fortune, her heart filled with sadness and understanding.

If Mayui had been an animal in a past life, Shoko would’ve bet on her being an abandoned puppy  kept in a shelter for years before finally being adopted by a loving family. If she thought she remembered how to interact properly with people, she would’ve been mistaken; now, as she was slowly learning the unspoken rules of survival in her new home, puppy-Mayui couldn’t help but wag her tail at anyone who showed her even the slightest hint of affection. It was endearing... and yet, worrisome.

“You can ask me anything you want to know. A sorcerer’s life isn’t much of a secret anyway.” Shoko shrugged, laughing it off as to encourage the blonde to have more confidence when talking to her.

However, Mayui couldn’t bring herself to laugh at someone else’s experiences, no matter how it was presented or by whom. “I… I still don’t really understand how this world of sorcerers works,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I think… your feelings, at the very least, should be kept private. Whether you're a sorcerer or just a normal person.” she stopped, afraid she had come off as meddlesome or presumptuous, but when Shoko gave her a gentle nod of reassurance, she continued. “The more I find out, the harder it is to accept how sorcerers are raised… like cogs in some old, rusted machine. Wasn’t the war supposed to change things for the better?”

Shoko hummed quietly, unsure how to respond.

The truth was, she didn’t have an answer. She had never really questioned the way she was brought up—the values, the systems, the structure that all sorcerers were expected to accept. Compared to the chaos outside, it had always seemed… efficient. More structured than the systems created by non-sorcerers.

Her future had been decided before she was born, shaped by her family's legacy of doctors, while inheriting the Ieiri Clan’s special cursed technique had simply secured her place in that system. For someone as generally unbothered as Shoko, having her path laid out in advance felt more like a blessing than a prison. Moreover, she loved her technique not because of the power it gave her over life and death, but because it didn't require her to kill. It allowed her to avoid the combat training she loathed, giving her space to focus on who Shoko Ieiri was, and how to live a life within the framework she’d been given.

“I’m sorry! Did I offend you?” Mayui interrupted Shoko’s train of thoughts, her expression full of guilt, like the abandoned puppy Shoko imagined her to be.

“No, of course not! I was thinking about what you said…about my feelings.” She paused, a flicker of surprise passing through her expression.

“Um, right now, I can’t open up to you as you did in front of me.” Mayui admitted, her voice low. “But I am very grateful and somehow I feel unworthy of your time and patience, but at the same time-“

Shoko let out a soft, amused laugh and gently patted Mayui on the head, stopping her rambling in its tracks. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” She said warmly. “I didn’t share all that because I expected you to do the same. I just… felt like talking.” She stuck out her tongue playfully, then added with sincerity. “If you ever feel ready to share your burdens with me, I’ll be here and even if you never do, I’ll still be here to support you.”

Chapter Text

7^th of March

They had been waiting for Satoru’s arrival for over half an hour, with no sign of him answering his phone or the string of texts Shoko had been sending at five-minute intervals.

After what felt like an hour of putting up with his whims and Shoko’s relentless attempts to persuade Mayui to leave the training grounds—the long-awaited Gojo Satoru finally made his appearance.

Shoko’s nagging was expected, but just as easily ignored, because Satoru walked in, pulling off his hoodie and beginning his stretching routine as if he hadn’t just kept everyone waiting.

“Have you warmed up?” Satoru casually asked as he stretched his left arm over his head, eyeing Mayui with a hint of curiosity.

“That’s all she’s been doing since someone decided to show up late.” Shoko snapped, clearly unimpressed by his nonchalance and making no effort to hide her irritation at how lightly he treated important matters, especially at critical times like this.

In contrast to Shoko’s sharp tone, Mayui remained eager to begin training rather than complain. She wasn’t in a position to be picky or demanding, if anything, she was simply grateful for the opportunity. So, as a show of that gratitude, she immediately joined Satoru in his warm-up routine the moment he signaled her over, much to Shoko’s dismay.

“You don’t have to be so forgiving.” Shoko grumbled, though her tone softened as she glanced toward Mayui’s quiet enthusiasm. She nodded gently, a small gesture of reassurance that the blonde could go ahead without worrying about seeming like she was taking sides.

As Mayui stood in front of Satoru, she remained mindful of maintaining a respectful distance. She mirrored his movements, stretching her left arm across her chest and holding it in place with her opposite hand.; after a few moments, she switched to her right arm, just as Satoru returned to his left.

With each subtle turn of his head, his trademark circular shades slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose and each time they dipped, a glimpse of the oceanic gems was revealed. It was in those moments that Mayui couldn’t help but notice a glint in his eyes: curiosity, maybe or hesitation. Whatever it was, it hinted at a distracted mind.

Because of her own curiosity, Mayui kept staring, while mimicking his motions: leaning forward and back with her arms outstretched, torn between wondering if she was imagining things or if Satoru really was bothered by something.

Maybe he was bothered by the whole situation; after all, she was a waste of their time. A part of her wanted to apologize because of that or maybe even give up, but even that felt selfish, like discarding the one chance she had been given just because of her own insecurity.

“You know…” Satoru began, his voice softer than usual, as though choosing his words more carefully than he was used to. “I wasn’t late on purpose. I didn’t hear my alarm ringing.”

Mayui blinked, then nodded as she registered something unexpected in his tone: an honesty that didn’t quite qualify as an apology, but rather sounded like an explanation born from his own frustration. It was as if he wasn’t trying to excuse himself, but simply wanted to correct a misinterpretation that hadn’t even been voiced aloud.

“Um…you must’ve been tired.” she replied gently and he stopped rotating his arms for a split second, caught off guard by the quiet weight of her observation. Her words, simple and unassuming as they were, hit somewhere deeper than expected. It wasn’t pity or concern that made him pause. It was the startling accuracy.

For a brief moment, Satoru felt a swirl of emotions he didn’t have time to untangle: something nostalgic, something almost wistful. Whatever it was, it pulled the corners of his lips upward into a boyish smirk.

“Just start already, Gojo!” Shoko’s voice echoed through the gym, sharp and clear.

However, Satoru didn’t acknowledge her right away, too busy pushing his arms upward and clasping his hands behind his back to intensify the stretch. As carefree as he appeared, Gojo Satoru moved with purpose, his workouts and training followed a strict routine he rarely strayed from.

Since childhood, he had learned to respect and almost revere his body—one of his most powerful tools for harnessing cursed energy. The better he understood its natural reactions, its boundaries, its preferences, the more control he had over the energy it housed; and the more he tested its limits, the closer he came to fully grasping the extent of his power and the potential still waiting beyond it.

In comparison, Mayui felt like a newborn baby, forced to take her first steps on a swaying bridge that was Gojo Satoru. He had effortlessly adopted a stance that signaled his intent to attack, but Mayui had forgotten how to properly breathe, her mind filled with a loop of anxious thoughts disguised as a curse:“You have to react or you’re done for.”

When Satoru shifted his weight onto his left foot, slightly positioned behind him, Mayui bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering, but even that tiny motion stole the air from her lungs.

Then, she reached into her back pocket, fingers searching for the razor blade hidden there. The moment the metal touched her skin, she grazed the tips of her index finger and thumb, drawing just enough blood to summon her technique. It was then when Satoru’s instructions echoed in her memory. She didn’t need to spill much: “Be economical. Every drop counts.”

Mayui hissed softly as the blade pierced the first layer of skin, leaving behind two shallow cuts now quickly filling with warm blood. Now, all she had to do was close her eyes and focus on summoning her technique, summon the scent of scorched iron and the sound of flesh tearing; the sheer panic of survival twisted with the bitter disappointment of having survived. She remembered the pit of curses, the gazes of her would-be killers, the punishments delivered by her father, the hands of her abuser, the countless times she had tried to end her own life.

Each memory surged forward, binding death and life together into a desperate convergence. It was from that junction, that space between agony and endurance, that her blood technique could be born.

And yet, when she opened her eyes and found Satoru standing close, his hand raised with a finger pointed like a gun aimed at her, the sensation she had worked so hard to summon fled from her body in an instant. A shudder passed through her, leaving her exposed and defenseless.

“I’m sorry! Let me try again!” she blurted, bowing quickly, her voice tinged with panic. She pleaded for another chance, while Satoru stared at her, genuinely bewildered, caught off guard in a way few things could manage.

He had been so sure, so certain he had evaluated the situation right. Her cursed technique, combined with her determination, should have made her react if he attempted a surprise attack. But to find her standing there, completely vulnerable in the face of even a mock threat? That shook him a little.

The second time, he tried to ease her into it; he announced his move before throwing a punch, deliberately slowing down, giving her every chance to react. He stopped just before his fist could reach her.

Then, he went for a third attempt. This time, he didn’t hold back the pressure. He radiated the presence of the strongest, the aura that had sent curses scattering and sorcerers stumbling over themselves, an oppressive, suffocating weight of power meant to provoke instinct.

Still, nothing.

And on the other side, Mayui’s apologies were growing more desperate, her words tangled with frustration, her voice sounding shrill and pitiful to her own ears. She hated the sound of herself like this weak, useless, grasping for something she couldn’t even name. All she could do was apologize for wasting Satoru’s time.

After several failed attempts, the training session ended with no progress and no breakthrough.

If Mayui had once dared to dream that she might discover something miraculous within herself, maybe some hidden potential, some long-lost piece of her technique, those hopes dissolved after two hours of standing paralyzed in front of someone like Gojo Satoru.

Nothing changed the next day either.

“It is what it is. Don’t sweat it.”

“Tomorrow is going to be better.”

Later that night, Mayui made up her mind: tomorrow, she would kill herself. She would do it in front of the Council and end her part in this tragicomedy that had dragged on far too long. She had no home to return to..

And so, she was left with only one option.

***

“Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes. That's the kind of world we live in. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won't make time stand still.”― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI and IEIRI SHOKO

Chapter Text

9^th of March

When Yaga was the one who knocked on the door, it didn’t come as a surprise, but what did strike Mayui as peculiar was the fact that he wasn’t accompanied by Haibara. Still, she had to remind herself that she was currently under Satoru’s protection—an unusual privilege that offered her the temporary status of a proper human being – no chains, no humiliation, no need to be dragged in front of the Council by force.

As Yaga settled down on the sofa, Shoko made no effort to hide her tired expression. She barely managed to drag herself out of bed, her bare feet sliding across the floor as her hunched body gravitated towards the window like a bee lured by nectar; in this case, cigarettes. Upon noticing Yaga’s judging glance, she gestured lazily toward the espresso machine, wordlessly telling him to make his own morning coffee if he wanted one.

For the time being, Shoko focused entirely on smoking her first cigarette of the day; maybe after that, she’d ask the principal about the contents of the bag he was holding, or about the dark circles under his eyes and whether they were caused by the same thing as hers.

However, witnessing Yaga’s expression change when Mayui approached him answered her unspoken question. The stoic look that usually painted his face shifted to one of concern and regret, a subtle but undeniable emphasis on the gravity of the situation. After blinking twice in mild disbelief, Shoko sighed, fished out another cigarette, and lit it, suddenly feeling like she’d need the extra courage.

“They want you to wear specific clothes.” Yaga stated bluntly, handing Mayui the paper bag with no attempt to soften the delivery. There was no elegant way to explain it anyway.

As obedient as ever, Mayui simply nodded, took the bag, and went to the bathroom without a word. She didn’t ask any questions or voice any complaints; she just followed another instruction, completing another task like it meant nothing, like she no longer had the strength to fight anything.

“What’s with those clothes?” Shoko asked once Mayui disappeared behind the door, clearly unsettled by the implication behind the request.

She noticed the way Yaga’s brow twitched beneath his shades, and how quickly he turned away, pretending to search the top shelf for coffee beans. Instead, he grabbed two ceramic mugs, placing them on the table as if that was his intention all along.

“They’re Kamo clan traditional garments. Similar to curse tools.” he explained flatly, as though reciting a textbook passage. “Supposedly dating back to the Heian Era. A blood-user sorcerer wore them in battle against Ryoumen Sukuna. Managed to injure him, too—something believed impossible at the time. She became a legendary figure within the clan.”

“So they’re quite proud of her, huh?” Shoko remarked, stepping closer to help him with the machine and pointing at the buttons he seemed to be purposefully ignoring. “Which makes me wonder...why dress Mayui in something so symbolic, when they haven’t even acknowledged her as one of their own? It can’t just be because she inherited the technique.”

“It’s exactly because of that.” Yaga replied, his voice calm but heavy. “They’re trying to make her feel included. Like she’s finally being accepted back into the family.”

Shoko hummed in thought, finally feeling alert enough to walk to the fridge. She sniffed at a bottle of milk, deemed it safe, and poured a dash into her coffee.

“Or,” she said quietly, stirring slowly, “to remind her she’s not allowed to escape them.”

“Either way, I hope things go our way this time.”

“Excuse me for the wait!” Mayui’s clear voice cut through the air, causing the other two to halt their conversation, partly out of consideration, but also for another reason entirely: her sudden appearance left them speechless.

She stood before them dressed in a traditional white robe, which might have looked plain if not for the red lining tracing the edges of the collar. A crimson hakama draped over it, marked with a single red band at the left gusset, cinched tightly at the waist by a feminine corset that subtly emphasized her slim figure. At the center of her collar, tied with a red piece of cloth, hung a funerary bell once used in the Heian Era to ward off curses, now a decorative relic that chimed softly with each movement.

However, what caught the most attention was the red fingerless gauntlet on her right arm; made of a silky, breathable fabric, it clung comfortably to her skin, a striking contrast to the rest of her otherwise ceremonial outfit.

To complete the ensemble, Yaga had offered her a pair of black, lace-up boots that rose over her knees, with modest heels, that didn’t hinder her steps. Instead, the added height lent her an unspoken steadiness, while the modern touch of the boots offered a quiet defiance to the ancient costume, because even hidden beneath the robe’s hemline, the boots only revealed themselves when she walked, like an element of surprise, a symbol of her silent rebellion.

“Um…I’m not sure what to do with this ribbon.” Mayui approached them cautiously, her tone softer now, weighed down by the sudden self-awareness that came with wearing something so elaborate.

“It’s for tying up your hair.” Yaga declared, though his eyes betrayed a distant look, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

Shoko, more grounded in the present, noticed the flicker of hesitation in Mayui’s expression—the same reluctance that always appeared when she overanalyzed herself through her own harsh lens. Sensing it, Shoko stepped in, deciding to lend a hand in restoring even a fragment of the younger girl’s confidence.

“Do you want me to help?” she asked gently and when Mayui nodded, Shoko motioned for her to sit on the chair in front of her. “You look beautiful, Mayui. And strong.” Shoko said softly from behind as she quickly finished her work, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

The red ribbon, now tied around Mayui’s short ponytail, didn’t look nearly as long as it had when she first held it. Her strands weren’t as short and uneven as they were when Murata had hacked them off, but they were still a far cry from the long, flowing hair she once cherished. That very attachment, however, had led to its violent removal.

Almost like an afterthought, Mayui nodded in gratitude, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her left hand, while her right reached up to squeeze Shoko’s in return just a little, but enough.

When she eventually said goodbye, her voice carried more sorrow than she intended. Shoko noticed, but chose not to mention it. Instead, she blamed it on the nerves, on the uneasiness of the day ahead, refusing to acknowledge the way it felt a little too much like a final farewell.

Every time Mayui was summoned to the trial room, she walked the same path and usually not by her own choice. Taking those steps without being dragged, without shackles or cuffs, was a new sensation she found herself not disliking. In fact, walking freely beside her guardian who neither yelled at her for being slow nor struck her for looking around without permission, meant more than any outside observer could possibly understand.

For Mayui, it was the embodiment of freedom. Ironically, it was a freedom she had only come to know in what she believed were the final moments of her life. However, rather than agonize over the uncertain possibility of a future where she might be truly free, she chose instead to savor the present hungrily and gratefully.

By the time she reached the doors of the trial room, exhaustion had already settled in her bones mostly from the suffocating pressure of the whispering onlookers. Luckily, the cool spring breeze met her cheeks with motherly gentleness, calming her nerves and tugging lightly at the longer strands of her bangs. As she tucked one behind her ear, her gaze caught sight of him.

Satoru.

He stood a short distance away with his arms crossed, watching her. She half- expected a sarcastic remark, maybe a teasing jab at her ceremonial costume, or a comment about how he clearly hadn’t gotten the dress-code memo. After all, Shoko had even applied makeup on her and it only amplified her self-consciousness. In truth, Mayui almost looked forward to his inevitable joke, hoping it might give her permission to laugh at herself, to feel just a little more normal.

But the comment never came.

Instead, she was met with a stare: brief, unreadable, and somehow distant. At first, she thought he was about to say something; his lips parted slightly, but the motion was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure if it had truly happened or if she had imagined it.

Then she saw his eyes flick toward Yaga—sharp, questioning, maybe even accusing, before the principal gave a small, defeated shrug and turned to head inside alone.

“I’m going ahead first.” Yaga said simply.

Mayui nodded at his words, standing at least five feet away from Satoru’s figure, quietly waiting for him to follow Yaga inside. However, completely unexpected, the white-haired man turned on his heels and closed the distance between them, extending his palm in her direction.

“Give it to me.” he said, each word slow, deliberate, heavy with meaning.

Caught off guard by the vagueness of the request, Mayui responded instinctively, barely brushing the inside of his hand with the tips of her fingers like a fleeting high-five, nothing more.

Satoru’s orbs widened slightly behind his signature oval glasses, the brief touch startling him more than he let on. The simple innocence of her gesture and the fact that his Infinity was down, allowing her skin to actually touch his, momentarily threw him off.

“That’s funny, but you know what I mean.” he said lightly. ”Give me the razor blade you always carry around.”

Mayui froze, an avalanche of emotion crashing through her. First came the shock of how easily he had seen through her, then came the fear, draining the color from her face, leaving her ghostly pale like a spirit robbed of the final act that gave it purpose. Wordlessly, she reached for the gauntlet wrapped around her palm, the place where she kept the one object she believed she still had control over. Her fingers trembled as she unfastened the fabric and slowly revealed the hidden blade.

With her thoughts blank and her heart sinking under the weight of quiet despair, she handed over her only weapon, the one she had relied on more than anything else.

Shortly after, she might’ve followed Satoru inside, but Mayui couldn’t quite remember how she ended up standing in front of the Council, this time represented by each Clan.

As she blinked and took in every expression, her gaze lingered on the spot where Kamo Daisuke stood with pride, clearly confident in his orchestrated success. Even though his catlike eyes were curved into a smile that exuded an air of ease, Mayui knew better that his elegant composure was nothing more than a mask, crafted to distract from the disgust he harbored toward her.

So focused was she on her father, she didn’t notice the way the entire chamber had fallen silent the moment she stepped in, nor did she catch the flicker of rage that flashed in Daisuke’s half-lidded eyes. It was an emotion that betrayed his decision to reclaim her, whether alive or not.

 “Gojo – sama, please have a seat!” Zarugo offered with exaggerated politeness, clearly proud of retaining his ceremonial role despite the higher clans in attendance. Still, there was an awkwardness to his tone, unsure of how to redirect the attention that clung to Mayui.

“I’d rather observe from here.” Satoru replied, gesturing toward the spot he had chosen—twelve feet behind Mayui and at least twenty feet from the Council. From there, he had a clear view of every face and every intention in the room. ”I’d hate to blink and miss this performance.”

No one objected or more accurately, no one dared to. Arguing with a Gojo was pointless. Even Yuuga lowered his head in quiet deference, despite his usual disapproval of his master’s insolent attitude toward the Council.

But that day, Satoru wasn’t quite himself. To cope with the unfamiliar stirrings of frustration and unease, he slipped into a familiar mask of flippancy that didn’t suit the severity of the moment, but perfectly matched his famously arrogant personality.

“I need a volunteer for this presentation.” Gojo announced, sarcasm wrapped in laughter. “How about the third wheel sorcerer from over there?” He nodded toward Murata, smirking as he encouraged him to step forward and join the show.

If there was one thing about Satoru that everyone could unanimously agree on, it would’ve been the alluring tone he used so effortlessly. It wasn’t just the depth of his voice: low and guttural, yet faintly honeyed and silvery, it was the way he spoke. The deliberate phrasing, the calculated emphasis on certain syllables, as if coaxing his listeners into a velvet-lined snare, only to trap them in a prison of sugarcoated threats.

Chapter Text

In that specific moment, Murata, proudly stationed at the Council’s right shuddered with fear. Though he stood tall, hands clasped behind his back and chest puffed forward with practiced confidence, the intensity of a few well-placed words and the piercing glare of those cold, glacial eyes nearly drove him to his knees. His breath caught mid-throat, and when he finally inhaled, he wheezed uncontrollably, the sound betraying his panic. For a moment, he blacked out, forgot who he was, forgot the prestige of being a loyal servant to the Kamo household. All he could feel was the fragility of life in the presence of a far more dangerous force.

In that brief void of identity, Murata was no longer a sorcerer of stature. He was nothing more than a hunted, broken creature. A sacrifice, thrown into the arena by his masters, offered to a new puppeteer who played by no known rules. And across from him stood the woman he loved to despise, and despised to love.

As a last resort, Murata turned to his master, silently pleading for a reprieve not because the order was wrong. Heavens no! But because what Gojo Satoru proposed was insane, disrespectful even.

In his heart, Murata viewed Satoru as a spoiled brat who had simply gotten lucky at birth. If only fate had dealt him a better hand, if only he had been born into the right clan, he would’ve taken Gojo’s place and performed even better. He would’ve earned the respect he always believed he deserved. He would’ve married Mayui without resistance, without scandal. He wouldn’t have wasted his potential in frivolity; he would’ve surpassed Gojo Satoru.

But Kamo Daisuke’s stern, cutting glare dismantled any traces of rebellion. A single nod pointed Murata toward the center of the room, and with it, stripped him of the false sense of power he clung to. Swallowing his pride, Murata stepped forward, determined to move without revealing the tremors beneath his skin. If he was to feel humiliation, he’d mask it with rage.

And rage needed a direction, so he set his sights on Mayui.

It was her fault, he decided. She was charming Gojo Satoru, twisting him around her finger just as she had done with Murata. Cunning and manipulative, she always resorted to cheap, womanly tactics to get her way. She was always playing the victim, fishing for sympathy, smiling sweetly, flaunting glimpses of skin just enough to stir interest. The same tricks she used on him for the past two years, she was now using on Gojo Satoru: seduce, use, discard.

And as the resentment toward Gojo Satoru grew, so did a strange, bitter kinship—one formed out of pity because he too was falling prey to Kamo Mayui’s charms.

As Murata found his assigned position, he rested his right hand atop his left, squeezing it hard as a means of channeling his fury into a single point: contain it, focus it, keep it from erupting. He had to remain composed in front of the Council, to resist the primal urge clawing its way to the surface. However, the longer Murata stared at Mayui, the more difficult it became to hold himself back, especially when he noticed her trembling in front of him.

At the very least, she hadn’t forgotten him.

As for Mayui, she couldn’t imagine living out the rest of her days without sensing remnants of Murata embedded in them. Even the smallest, most mundane things echoed with his presence: she couldn’t open a bag of chips without remembering him slapping her across the face for chewing too loudly and calling her fat with disdain. She’d stand in front of a mirror, dress in hand, only to remember why she avoided sleeveless clothes...anything that revealed skin felt like an invitation for him to touch her. Peace was now a luxury she no longer knew, not while changing, not while bathing, not even in sleep. She was always checking windows, locks, curtains, always bracing, always fearing those lingering, lustful eyes.

Even now, surrounded by eight men, she could still feel his stare, always lecherous, possessive, scorching, cutting through the crowd and landing on her like a brand. A twisted cocktail of rage and desire burned behind it, as if he still believed she belonged to him.

“Now I’m going to ask Miss Kamo to kindly approach me.” Satoru’s singsong tone snapped her out of the hollow trance, guiding her away from Murata’s suffocating presence and back to him. His words were slow, laced with sarcasm, but more than that, they felt distant, like something imagined in a dream, just barely tethered to reality. Still, she obeyed, body moving on its own, limbs feeling less like lead the more she focused on Satoru.

Mayui had to blink several times before her vision adjusted to the new shade of blue: dazzling, cerulean eyes like a tranquil sea, so different from the grey ones that dragged her into violent storms.

“I’m going to use this razor blade to open a cut on her hand.” Satoru announced, brandishing the object like a magician presenting his next trick. His other hand extended toward her, palm open and waiting. Without a word, Mayui placed her hand in his, and he took it gently, guiding it into place.

He held the blade parallel to her lifeline, then slowly, delicately pressed the sharp edge into her skin.

She sucked in a breath as the cold metal pierced her palm, the sting immediate and raw. She nearly whimpered, catching the sound in her throat.

“It hasn’t been long since I first saw that glare, am I right?”

Despite the pain written across her face, Satoru met her gaze with a grin, one full of knowing mischief.

Mayui frowned at him, her voice hardly above a whisper. “That’s because you called me Miss Kamo.”

“We need to put up a little show for our beloved audience.” he replied, still in character, leaning in ever so slightly, just until he reached the edges of her personal space. Then he paused, his expression shifting subtly. For the first time that day, his eyes softened with true recognition, and his voice dropped low, meant only for her ears. “Otherwise… they might just not believe us.”

“It sounds more like payback for the other day.” She raised a brow at him, still partly sulking over his childish behavior. Yet, even as she tried to hold on to her irritation, another part of her trembled because Satoru was still holding her hand with the utmost care. Even when he feigned innocence at her accusation pretending to be wounded by the outrageous claim, he didn’t let go for a second. His grip remained tender, respectful, unwavering.

Then, after examining the wound and deeming the amount of blood sufficient, Satoru placed his hand over Mayui’s. There was no more space left between them, no barriers, no Infinity. It was just a pool of red spreading between their palms, soaking into their skin.

The sudden gesture made her gasp, her breath catching in her throat. At first, she assumed it was a joke or a theatrical move meant to lighten the mood, but when she looked up, expecting his usual confident smirk, she found something else entirely. His expression was serious. There was trust in those eyes: quiet, resolute trust.

Her eyelashes fluttered in disbelief.

He squeezed her hand again, gently, like a reminder. And if not for his words from days prior echoing in her mind, Mayui might have misunderstood, might’ve mistaken his actions as reassurance and comfort.

However, Satoru had been clear: everything between them was a matter of convenience, mutual benefit. Her success was simply a step toward his goals. There was nothing deeper behind those brilliant, endless eyes, no concern, no affection. It was only the unshakable sense of responsibility worn by someone born to shoulder power and command fear.

He was someone burdened by empathy.

“Yui, right now you have to go wild.” Satoru said softly, squeezing her hand with more firmness. ”Let yourself loose and dive into the darkness.”

She nodded hazily, shutting her eyes as she let the weight of his words sink into her bones. However, they weren’t just words, they were permission to surrender to the darkest parts of herself, to act without shame or restraint and to give in, fully and completely.

That darkness was vast: a bottomless pit, an eternal free fall, but Mayui wasn’t a stranger to it. She had wandered its twisting corridors before. She knew its warped, shifting forms and though it should have terrified her, the familiarity of it, its echoing stillness, its promise of numbness offered comfort.

The realization scared her: that she could find solace in the dark, that the person she was now, she barely recognized. That fear was what birthed her helplessness, usually breaking her into sobs and screams, but in time, the helplessness had turned quiet, hollow and pushed her into hiding.

Then Satoru came along and he walked straight into that guarded darkness, tearing through the seals she had so carefully placed to cage the monsters within. He even smiled at them encouragingly, as if he welcomed their presence, as if he understood them, as he forgave them like a god of the Underworld, freeing the souls of the damned, not to save them, but to give them purpose in chaos.

Mayui was just another ghost now, wandering, hoping for catharsis at the gates of Hell.

However, before she could let go, she needed to ask, one last time: “What if I can’t come back?”

In that moment, she never imagined a death god’s voice could sound so sweet, so tempting when offering damnation.

“Just follow my voice and I’ll pull you out.”

Mayui closed her golden eyes and slipped into the darkness.

Inside, she simply let herself be guided by the dripping redness spilling across the black matter. There was no hesitation in her steps; her movements were fluid, natural. In her hand, the blade molded effortlessly into the shape of a small scythe light, balanced, and familiar.

She didn’t falter as she took her first step. On the contrary, she lunged forward into the void, cleaving through the shadows that dared to block her path.

When she finally paused to catch her breath, she looked back only to find a winding trail of blood carving a vivid path behind her.

Then, Mayui opened her eyes, now gleaming with rose-gold light.

***

“The world, after all, was still a place of bottomless horror. It was by no means a place of childlike simplicity where everything could be settled by a simple then-and-there decision.”

― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

The power flowing inside her wasn’t enough to make Mayui move upon being embraced by Murata; if she hadn’t already been drained of the tears she had cried earlier, she would’ve erupted into another outburst. At this point, she should just stop fighting back and accept him as an unavoidable part of her life at the Kamo household, as her future rapist husband to whom she would eventually be forced to subdue her will.

Having reached an agreement with herself, Mayui lowered the hand holding the scythe, feeling her body grow numb to the point where she could no longer support her own weight; her knees gave out, her upper body bending forward and pressing against Murata’s chest when he caught her in his arms, forbidding her from falling on the ground.

As he savored the sensation of her chest pressing against his, the man gripped her arms, his fingers digging through the white robe with enough strength to triumph over the shallow armor of her clothes, reaching her skin. Mayui shuddered at the sensation, her instincts screaming at her to distance herself from the danger. Even the blood trembling in her fingers boiled at the pressure of having to hold back from slashing him.

“You cannot escape from me, love.” He whispered gently, drunk on the image of having her under his control; then, he reached for her, letting his lecherous fingers trail down to the base of her ponytail. With a sudden movement, he untied the ribbon, letting it fall to the ground, while his hand worked its way up to the crown of her head, caressing her strands with far too much force.

When he pressed a light kiss to the top of Mayui’s head, something inside her snapped completely. Her face went pale with distress and humiliation, and her brain stopped functioning, as it tried to process the sensation of Murata’s touch. When the only conclusion she could come to was one of pure disgust, she gripped the scythe’s snath.

Mayui took a deep breath, but not to calm herself down, but to prepare to fight back.

“Murata.” She called him with a toneless voice. To him it sounded rather appealing and almost sweet. “Get your hands off me.”

Before Murata could gather his wits, Mayui had already drawn her head back and slammed it forward, headbutting him square in the nose. The impact stunned him, blood gushing from his nostrils as he stumbled backward, clutching his face. The hug was instantly abandoned.

It was as if Murata’s mind couldn’t keep up with the speed at which the situation drastically shifted. The dizziness that clouded him surely couldn’t have been her doing—she was weak and scared, unable to stand up for herself. She was pitiable and obedient, broken at the very sight of him – he made sure of that.

And yet, the girl standing in front of him looked nothing like what he thought she was.

Mayui’s reddish eyes, resembling the ashes of a lost summer, were slowly starting to become bloodshot with anger, fixed on Murata with loathing and hostility. In fact, the whole room seemed to shiver as it bore witness to a turning point in Mayui’s life – the moment of change that she had created for herself.  

As the blood dripped from the fresh cut, it followed its own will, gathering inside the small weapon to create a larger scythe, worthy of a grim reaper. Needless to say, Mayui swished the object, now an extension of her hand, in Murata’s direction, although she managed to inflict minor damage. Currently, the front of his white shirt was slashed, along with the first layer of skin across his hairy chest—a shallow trail of blood marking it, but not enough to quench her thirst for revenge.

Still, the suddenness of her swing caught Murata off guard – he tripped while trying to turn around and landed on the ground, now sitting on his butt. He waved his hands in front of his face, asking Mayui for a timeout, at least until he could get back on his feet, but the girl gave no sign of hearing him.

Instead, she marched forward as Murata frantically crawled backwards, scrambling to put distance between them.

Mayui swung her scythe, this time with more strength and focus, determined to land the hit, but Murata avoided it in the nick of time, earning another scratch – this one across his face. As he was squirming relentlessly against a fate that Mayui had decided for him, the girl took a deep breath, considering her next move. Now that her mind had been cleared from the fog of uncertainty, she could clearly see the course of her actions; when she raised the weapon, her limbs were as light as a feather, while her mind was focused on cutting the string of life attached to Murata’s neck. It was there – shining brightly, as if begging her to slash it in half.

“Mayui, stop!”

And she did, holding the scythe raised high above her head. In that instant, the blood reverted to its liquid state, falling onto her like red rain; droplets trickled down her face like an ominous painting before sinking into the fine fabric of her white robe, before forming a puddle at her legs.

As if awoken from a trance, Mayui’s eyes slowly regained their goldish hue. She blinked, her lashes weighed down by the sticky red, and stepped back. Murata was still crouched on the floor, groveling, shaking—afraid of her.

Under those circumstances, she didn’t look at the Council, not when the air smelled of tension and rising anger; she neither searched for Yaga’s comfort nor for Satoru’s opinion. Instead, she simply remained rooted in place, shrinking inward, wishing she could slip through the cracks in the floor.

And yet—something burned inside her: a strange, unfamiliar power flickered beneath her skin, curling at the edges of her lips into a forbidden smile. Bloody and barely contained, it hid beneath the disheveled curtain of her hair.

The only sound that revived the mortuary silence was Satoru ironic claps and his sarcastic way of pointing things out. “Just like that, gentlemen, you had your performance. I trust the conclusion is obvious, especially for brilliant minds like yours.”

The reactions to Satoru’s impertinent behavior were as unwelcome as expected: every representative was staring him down with anger and frustration, mostly for being treated like fools by two bratty teenagers and most certainly for playing right into Gojo’s hands. Despite the murderous gazes each member openly wore, except for Yuuga who was visibly struggling to suppress the smile creeping onto his face, only Kamo Daisuke chose to speak up:

“The play was certainly… interesting, however are we going to turn a blind eye to the disaster she had caused previously?”

Satoru smiled wickedly, having fully expected the matter to come up sooner or later. “If we’re going to talk about that,” he said smoothly, “shouldn’t we also discuss the parties involved?” he added a smirk, deliberately turning his attention to Murata, who had returned to his original place, thoroughly humbled and metaphorically tucked between his own legs.

When no one answered him, the white – haired man knew he had won this round. However, as much as he enjoyed watching Naobito Zenin’s reddened face, Setsuga Aoi’s jerky movements as he wiped his fogged glasses, and Zarugo Ayato’s stirred expression as he leaned in to whisper something in Kamo Daisuke’s ear, Satoru still expected some kind of opposition—especially from his most formidable adversary: the current Kamo representative.

And his expectations were exceeded.

“As insurance for her alleged self-control, I believe she should be accompanied by Haibara even inside the school. At least until we are fully convinced of her abilities.”

At that, Satoru pushed his glasses further up his nose, mostly to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes behind the shades. “Haibara is also a student. Surely you understand he cannot escort her at all times.”

“Then she should limit her outings.” Kamo Daisuke replied evenly. “So as not to inconvenience Haibara.”

His tone was neutral, but laced with amusement, and he held Satoru’s shaded gaze with surgical precision—hunting for the slightest misstep in wording that he could later twist against him.

“Should we hold this experiment for two months.” Gojo declared, unperturbed by the way his question sounded more like a statement. Of course, the slight slip in tone didn’t escape Yuuga’s sharp ear—but Satoru was already planning to skip over that detail when he inevitably got scolded later for reacting “inappropriately” in front of people who hardly deserved his respect.

“One month.” Daisuke countered immediately.

“Excuse my intervention.” Yaga cut in, more aggressively than he intended, stepping beside Mayui. He placed a steadying hand on her trembling shoulder—a quiet moment of reassurance.

Zarugo, however, reacted immediately, almost instinctively, snapping: “Principal Yaga, with all due respect—”

But Daisuke’s hand rose, palm open, halting the blonde before he could finish.

It was a subtle move, but an effective one. Daisuke’s greatest weapon had always been his masked cunning—his ability to hide behind layers of exaggerated political correctness, to let others expose their own lack of composure while he remained infuriatingly poised. In that specific moment, Zarugo had unwittingly stepped into the role Daisuke had laid for him: the “bad guy” who wouldn’t let Yaga speak, despite him being Mayui’s provider and legal guardian.

“Yaga-san, tell us your insights.” Kamo amiably invited the principal to express his opinions, clearly proud of his own pleasantry.

“I believe Satoru, myself, and other students besides Haibara can accompany Mayui inside the school.” Yaga began. “Even if we do not possess the same restrictive cursed technique as Haibara, most of the students are undoubtedly more powerful than her. For greater efficiency, we could come up with a list of strong sorcerers capable of escorting her… or even create a schedule that varies depending on everyone’s availability.”

Mayui found herself nodding in agreement, though she barely listened to Yaga’s words. She tried her best to focus on the ongoing debate, but the only thing keeping her grounded in that moment was the principal’s steady hand on her shoulder.

However, even amid her fading consciousness—worsened by the dizziness overtaking her—she clearly heard Kamo Daisuke’s firm disapproval.

“As I have stated on previous occasions,” he said coldly, “this girl has not earned the right to be called a sorcerer. Therefore, I do not consider her involvement with other promising sorcerers to be beneficial to them.”

Under different circumstances, Yaga would have outright rejected such a shallow argument—one that only revealed Daisuke’s desire to isolate Mayui from the outside world. But upon further reflection, he realized his own proposal might only serve to alienate her further.

Yaga knew all too well how Mayui’s reputation had been wrongfully tarnished—based not on truth, but on baseless rumors, likely spread by Murata. He also knew that, aside from Suguru, Shoko, and—hopefully—Satoru, most sorcerers would find the arrangement either inconvenient or problematic. If an escort was mandatory, she’d be resented for it; if voluntary, few would be willing to sacrifice their time for someone they barely knew, let alone someone with her history.

Watching her now—barely managing to stay upright beneath his protective gaze—Yaga squeezed her shoulder, a silent promise of his continued presence. When he felt the strength beginning to leave her legs, he instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing her to lean into him for support. And despite Mayui’s condition being painfully obvious, the Council representatives continued to feign ignorance, dragging the conversation on longer than necessary—likely by design.

Visibly concerned about her blood loss, Yaga exchanged a glance with Satoru—his expression grave, Satoru’s already vexed. The silent message was clear: Do something.

Understanding the unspoken plea, Satoru stepped forward until he reached the crescent-shaped table. He leaned both hands on the polished wood, letting the weight of his body sink into the gesture, his gaze locked with Kamo Daisuke’s—cold and unflinching. “If Yaga - sensei, Ieiri Shoko, Geto Suguru and I volunteer to take turns accompanying her, would that be satisfying?” Satoru proposed, his voice laced with fatigue, although the habitual irony never left the undertones of his speech.

And whether Kamo Daisuke recognized it or not, he responded with the same practiced grace he always wore—like a friend kindly listening to another’s concerns… all while never intending to take them seriously.

“Ieiri is out, being a non-combatant sorcerer, while you, Gojo –sama and Geto Suguru are special grades sorcerers, who surely have more important business to attend to than babysitting some girl. I believe Haibara and Yaga will suffice for the one-month experiment.”

“And yet,” Satoru replied smoothly, “if I, Gojo Satoru, wish to have breakfast with Kamo Mayui, am I not allowed to do so unless either Haibara or Yaga is present? Are you underestimating my power—or perhaps, is it my judgment that you are failing to take into consideration?”

To say that the trial room froze would be an understatement.

Satoru’s murderous intent filled every corner, swallowing the space in a suffocating silence. It was more than stillness—it was a moment suspended in time, where even breathing felt like a death sentence. No one dared to blink, speak, or move; only a few brave souls managed a faint nod in response.

Even Yuuga, who didn’t agree with Satoru’s confrontational methods and generally preferred a more diplomatic approach, decided to let it slide this time. There were rare moments where a direct display of power was necessary—especially when the Council so openly regarded Satoru as too young and too impulsive to be the future leader of the jujutsu world. So, seeing his master wield that power, not for himself but in defense of someone else, made it… forgivable.

The same sentiment stirred in Yaga, though in his case it brought a flicker of emotion to his usually stern face. To him, this wasn’t just Satoru being protective—it was proof of growth. The Gojo Satoru from two months ago, the one who dismissed people simply for being weaker, would never have done this, but this version—still rough around the edges—was learning. Even if the reasons behind his actions were still somewhat self-centered, Yaga could forgive that, because what mattered was that Satoru had begun to see the people he was supposed to protect, not just the threats around them.

Mayui, meanwhile, sat quietly, overwhelmed by emotions she couldn’t quite name. Shame gnawed at her for putting Satoru in such a difficult position, but it was outweighed by a strange sense of gratitude—gratitude that someone was willing to stand up for her so publicly. At the same time, a part of her wished he wouldn’t go this far, wouldn’t risk so much for someone like her. Surely his reasons were personal—strategic, maybe—and whatever they were, they had to be more important than her.

However, watching Satoru’s haughty expression as he turned away from the Council, lessened her worries and strengthened her trust in him.

“Then it’s settled.” Gojo declared brightly, his tone cheerful—almost too cheerful for someone who had just threatened the most powerful people in the room.

Chapter Text

17^th March

There were times when things returned to normal as if nothing had happened—when an event that once seemed significant enough to cause a major shift in someone’s life turned out to be nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Those moments could make anyone question their own sanity, tricking them into boldly assuming that the past had only been the remnants of a nightmare and that reality wasn’t as disappointing as it had first appeared.

For Mayui, things didn’t seem to have changed much, despite everything that had happened just days ago. She had been assigned to a new room and the separation from Shoko was harder than she’d expected—even though, geographically speaking, their rooms were now closer than before.

As for Haibara, he always wore a scowling expression whenever they walked to school together. Mayui didn’t ask about it, knowing all too well what caused it; in fact, she tried her hardest not to wander around Jujutsu High, just to avoid inconveniencing him. She even went as far as skipping breakfast every morning so he wouldn’t have to be seen eating with her and limited herself to just one meal a day—at her mundane high school.

Mayui had also resumed her training sessions with Yoshinaga Kanon, though they were still under the supervision of Murata’s inescapable presence—and, to Haibara’s clear displeasure, with him watching too.

If there was one thing that remained unchanged, it was Murata’s violent behavior toward her. The day after the trial, he acted as if he wanted to ignore her and if she didn’t know any better, Mayui could’ve sworn she saw him flinch when she passed by him. However, the next day he reverted to his usual self—slapping her so hard across the face that she thought she might faint.

At first, Mayui accepted the punishment without a sound. She even tried to imagine that it wasn’t her enduring the abuse, but another version of herself—a Mayui who was braver, calmer, a Mayui who could endure a beating and smile afterward, as if offering understanding. That was how she had survived until now, but those times were gone.

This version of Mayui was someone who could no longer stand to be touched by Murata. Therefore, the moment he laid a hand on her, her blood boiled, while her eyes burned with a deathly red. She pushed him away, threatening to harm him if he ever touched her again with impure intentions, while Murata, disturbed by the shift in her behavior, began to keep his distance—wary of her sudden defiance.

It was hard for him to comprehend the nature of her reactions or the meaning behind her words. That disbelief almost made him approach her again, but when he attempted to embrace her, Mayui stabbed him in the hand with a blade made of her own blood.

The shock came before the pain and it came fast—faster than the blood that now poured from his palm, trailing along the length of his arm and dripping steadily onto the floor.

Even Haibara remained frozen in place, unsure of his next move; he had been instructed to subdue Mayui if she ever lost control—but in this situation, she was clearly in full command of her blood technique. Under those circumstances, he feigned ignorance, even as Murata shouted at him to restrain her, and even more so when the older man demanded a doctor. Similarly, Kanon left the training grounds as if nothing unusual had occurred—though some witnesses could’ve sworn they saw her smirking devilishly as she closed the door behind her.

That same night, Shoko visited Mayui’s room, both concerned and intrigued by the rumors she had heard throughout the day. When Mayui confirmed that she had, in fact, been the one to wound Murata, Shoko’s expression shifted from surprise to something warm and proud. She even hugged Mayui tightly against her chest, babbling words of encouragement and reassurance, telling her she had done the right thing.

Additionally, Shoko promised to visit more often, despite being busy preparing for her medical license. When she suggested that they start having breakfast together again, Mayui had to awkwardly turn her down, uneasily explaining the newest terms and conditions of her daily living situation. It came as no surprise when Shoko grew offended by the Council’s dismissive assessment of her abilities—not because she considered herself a fighter, but because she couldn’t ease Mayui’s burden simply by being around.

Still, something as trivial as an unplanned visit was enough to help Mayui forget her daytime troubles and fully enjoy the moment. When Suguru eventually began joining Shoko on these frequent rendezvous, she couldn’t have been happier—or more grateful.

Suguru was someone Mayui didn’t know as well as Shoko, but from the beginning, he had made her feel accepted without expecting anything in return for that acknowledgment. He was clearly aware of her situation and up to date on the latest developments, but he had never tried to pry into her personal life or imply anything under the guise of concern. Those qualities made him a pleasant conversational partner—someone she could relax around, at least to some extent.

And as Suguru and Shoko tried to cheer her up—without being too obvious or unnatural about it—they eventually cracked open a few beers and shamelessly started trash-talking every Council member, spilling the juiciest gossip they had. In the meantime, Mayui would either nod quietly or gasp in disbelief when the stories turned hotter than expected.

After more than a week of living under this fragile new routine, Yaga knocked on her door on the morning of the seventh day, wearing an apologetic expression. Nevertheless, Mayui greeted him with a gentle smile and invited him inside her room, relieved to see him for the first time since the trial.

“I’m sorry, I have been away for far too long.” he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued—more than it usually was, even in moments weighed by guilt.

As far as Mayui was concerned, the principal had no reason to apologize to her, given how his absence was most likely due to her latest actions. So, she simply shook her head, as if brushing off the very idea of being upset, and joined him on the couch—careful not to sit on Toki’s tail.

“Thank you for coming to see me.” Mayui smiled, but it was obvious, from the way she fumbled with her fingers to the way her eyes seemed to wonder in places, that she wanted to tell him something, but just hadn’t figured out how.

She inhaled—and barely exhaled—the oxygen she thought she desperately needed before gathering the courage to speak her mind. When she finally managed to raise her head and meet Yaga’s bare eyes, she relaxed upon discovering patience and understanding in his gaze.

“I was wondering whether…” she paused, rethinking the choice of her next words, her right hand hung in the air, as if forgotten mid-gesture. “…you’d be free in the next few days…whenever it’s convenient for you and um…if it’s not a bother...”

“What do you have in mind?” Yaga asked gently. ”I’ll make time for you.”

“I’ve been invited to Suguru-san’s birthday party…um, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to go, but I really want to buy him a present...more like a thank you gift for his kindness.” She glanced up to gauge his reaction, continuing when he hummed encouragingly. “And I would like to be accompanied by you.”

In that moment, something stung in Yaga’s chest and it wasn’t Mayui’s uncertainty, nor her hopeful gaze waiting for a response—it was the sharp, sudden regret that he would never have this kind of moment with his own daughter. The pang of loss was followed by guilt—guilt for experiencing such emotions with someone else, for enjoying this fragile sense of connection as though it were easily replaceable.

The grief of a father who had lost his child overtook him, and in his longing, he momentarily projected that absence onto Mayui—who now looked as small and vulnerable as a newborn in his eyes.

However, Mayui was not his daughter – she was a disoriented teenager in need of guidance, not a substitute for someone else. What she needed in that moment wasn’t another parental figure seeking solace in her presence—but someone who would guide her without projecting, protect her without possession.

So Yaga let go of his selfish impulse before it could hurt them both.

“I’d like that as well. As it happens, I also wanted to take you somewhere.”

For that reason alone, after their shopping session, Yaga brought her to Showa Kinen Park.

Mayui’s eyes widened with bliss as the principal encouraged her to walk through the field of fully bloomed nanohana flowers, their golden petals shimmering beneath the afternoon sun. In return, Yaga simply smiled at her childish wonder, following behind her with one hand in his pocket and the other carrying a few paper bags—watching her with quiet, affectionate amusement.

When they reached the far side of the park—where plum trees painted the sky and earth in a vibrant canvas of rose pink—they settled beneath the shadow of an isolated tree, seated on a blanket of fallen petals.

Though the park bustled with families enjoying picnics and laughter, the spot where she and Yaga sat felt untouched by all of it. It was its own quiet world.

“Thank you for bringing me here. It’s a delightful view.” Mayui said softly, glancing at the principal out of the corner of her eye—only to find his expression filled with overwhelming emotion, teetering on the edge of spilling over.

Seeing such unexpected vulnerability from someone she had always viewed as sturdy and unbreakable startled her. Because of that, she quickly turned her head back toward the flower field, feeling as though she had glimpsed something she wasn’t meant to see.

Minutes passed.

The silence stretched—thick, unbearable, suffocating. What had first felt like an invitation into a breathtaking scene now seemed stolen, as if she were trespassing in a memory too sacred to share. Wanting to be considerate, she slowly stood and stepped toward the blooming field, intending to give Yaga the space it looked like he needed, but his words halted her—anchored her in place like invisible weights around her ankles.

“This place was my daughter’s favorite.” His voice was quivering, almost cracking as he uttered his thoughts. ”I used to come here often with her and my wife, before they passed away.”

He let the words sink in for a few seconds, before he continued, knowing too well that if he paused for too long, Mayui would collapse under the weight of not knowing how to respond. “I couldn’t bring myself to come here for so many years,” Yaga continued. ”but meeting you made me want to change that. For me and for them.” He stepped toward her, his hands gently coming to rest on her tense shoulders. “And for you. For helping me regain that courage to change, you have my gratitude.”

More than being crushed by the weight of his confession, Mayui was overwhelmed by the fiery wave of emotion she felt toward this man. Shock hit first—at the loss he had endured—followed quickly by a quiet, aching sympathy.

She could feel the hollow space he had spoken of, the echo of a life that once was; she could also feel that, as he shared that piece of his past, something inside him seemed to ease. Yaga was no longer tethered so tightly to his grief—drawn instead into a moment of unexpected healing. That newfound peace dissolved the stiffness in Mayui’s frame, melting her walls away and turning her into a quiet mess of emotion. She tried to hold it in—sloppily, stubbornly—she really did and still failed to do so.

The blonde placed her hands over his larger ones on her shoulders, mimicking the reassuring squeeze Satoru gave her to soothe her nerves. However, after Yaga openly expressed his gratitude, tears clung to her lashes and rolled down her cheeks, as her voice remained stuck in her throat, cracked and breathless. Mayui couldn’t bring herself to argue with the principal’s kindness—even if she believed she was undeserving of his praise, especially when she had caused him nothing but trouble and yet… he saw something in her worth helping.

Just as she saw in him the symbol of guidance she had always longed for.

The proof was in the way he wrapped his arms around her small, trembling form—gently, protectively—his hands drawing soothing circles along her back as she quietly cried into his chest.

“You’re making this old man emotional.” Yaga murmured with a half-laugh, voice thick, eyes rimmed red, but in truth, he was grateful to be able to look out at the sea of yellow flowers and imagine his daughter running toward him through the gold, without breaking down.

***

“To early spring

Yes! Flowers will bloom again.

Birds will then sing as always,

and people will smile at one another in the spring.”― Michizo Tachihara, Of Dawn, Of Dusk: The Poetry of Tachihara Michizo

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI and YAGA MASAMICHI

Chapter Text

29^th March

Mayui was glaring at the perfectly wrapped gift she had prepared for Suguru, as if it were the very source of her current misfortune. Ever since being invited to his birthday party she had been mentally spiraling through every possible scenario—each development branching into a dozen outcomes. Thus, if she were to attend, she kept obsessing over every single detail: how she should greet the other guests, how to interact without seeming out of place, how to sit and eat properly so as not to bother anyone.

However, the more she tried to picture herself blending in, the more obvious it became just how different she was from the average sorcerer.

Somehow, skipping the party seemed far more appropriate for someone like her. That way, she wouldn’t have to endure the curious, subtly judgmental stares she knew were coming—or worse, waste all her energy pretending she was fine for the sake of not ruining the atmosphere.    Then there was the crowd. The sheer number of people Suguru was likely to have over made her head spin just thinking about it—an overcrowded room full of powerful sorcerers, all gathered in one place. It was overwhelming before it even began. 

As Mayui ran through yet another set of imagined scenarios in her head, she only seemed to find more reasons not to go. The only solid argument in favor of attending was the fear of offending Suguru—who had gone out of his way to invite her personally—and the dread of disappointing Shoko, who hadn’t stopped talking about how excited she was for them to go together.

That fear—of ruining two of the only genuine connections she had managed to build over the past year—was made worse by the shame of not being able to just say no.      

And yet, the overthinking voice in her mind always found a counter: what if Suguru wouldn’t even notice her absence? From the moment he had casually mentioned the party, she couldn’t help but wonder if the invitation had been extended purely out of politeness—or worse, because Shoko had insisted.

Mayui let out a deep, frustrated sigh, annoyed at her own inability to feel secure in her decisions. She hadn’t even given a clear answer—just promised to think about it and get back to them, which she never actually did and maybe that silence had been interpreted as a yes.

Which was exactly why she now stood in the middle of her room, half-dressed and glaring at the three pieces of clothing thrown across her bed, scowling as if one of them was supposed to magically make her feel like she belonged.

At the moment, she was wearing a pair of high waisted flared jeans, their length just centimeters from touching the ground and her favorite simple black bra. All that was missing was the top, but none of the three choices made her feel comfortable: there was a baggy oversized hoodie that looked more like a loose dress on her, a black lacy short-sleeved blouse that left her arms far too exposed – along with some of the lingering old scars and a black long- sleeved turtleneck sweater, that made her chest appear too large when viewed from the side.

The feeling of Toki’s head rubbing against her leg startled Mayui out of her heavy overthinking. She knelt on the carpet, scratching the kitten under the chin while letting out a series of exasperated sighs. On the other hand, as soon as he felt even the slightest ounce of affection, Toki surrendered completely to the finger delivering heavenly sensations, mewling in the process.

“I should just stay with you, don’t you think?” she chuckled dryly to herself, naively searching for a spark in his half-closed eyes—or at least some kind of approving sound that might validate her decision.

In a flurry of clumsy movements, she reached for the turtleneck sweater and rushed to get her arms through the sleeves, politely asking the person behind the door to wait a few minutes. After putting it on, she ran her fingers through her usually messy curls, trying to tame them but failing miserably, all while frantically searching for the lint roller.

Upon finally finding it hidden under the bed, Mayui made her way to the door, struggling to remove Toki’s visible hairs from the black fabric of her sweater.

Although Mayui was certain her cheeks were red and her face entirely flushed, she still placed her hand on the door handle and let it rest there, without any real intention of pressing it down to open the door. In the heat of the moment, she might not have realized the consequences of accepting the invitation—consequences that now stood in the form of Haibara Yuu, escorting her to the party.

She didn’t know whether he was a friend of Suguru’s or just an acquaintance close enough to be invited to the celebration, but if he wasn’t either of those, didn’t that mean Haibara had only received an invitation because she needed to be escorted by him at all times? If that was indeed the case, it only added another brick to the wall between them, along with the pressure of never being able to tear it down.

However, since someone like her was invited, it did make it more plausible for Haibara to be included as well. Realizing she had acted a bit conceited, Mayui nearly swore under her breath as she unlocked the door—twice—before finally gathering the courage to press the handle and pull it toward her. As she slowly, uncertainly opened the door, she was surprised to find herself facing two waiting silhouettes.

She must’ve looked dumb, staring at Shoko in disbelief with wide eyes, ready to pop out of their sockets, while sheepishly searching for Haibara’s reaction.

 “Are you going to give Suguru that roller?” the older girl joked, pointing at the object of interest still obliviously clutched in Mayui’s hand. The latter blushed at Shoko’s observation, shyly tucking a wild strand behind her ear while letting out an ironic chuckle.

However, the moment she raised her free hand to her hair, she let go of the door, which smacked against its frame. The unexpected movement created just enough space for Toki to sneak out of the room, hastily weaving his way between human legs. But as soon as the cat left the perimeter of his home, Haibara was quick to catch the offender, snatching him up with care and curiosity.

“Aren’t you a feisty one?” Yuu snickered, caressing Toki’s head, slightly amused by the sudden change in the feline’s expression—from glaring at being caught to closing his eyes in delight as he received attention.. “Is it alright if I play with him?”

If one word could best describe Mayui’s reaction, it was surprise—the surprise of suddenly interacting with Haibara on his own free will. That realization made her stumble over her words and answer with a monotonous “yes,” all while avoiding eye contact with him in an attempt to hide the gratitude visible on her face.

On the other hand, if Shoko had noticed Mayui’s relief at seeing her in front of the door, or the slightly embarrassed glances she was occasionally throwing at Haibara, she pretended none of their awkward exchanges existed and focused on her primary goal. After all, her personal mission was to drag Mayui to the celebration, fully aware that the latter’s social anxiety might force her to choose the safety of her room instead.

Although the blonde hadn’t given a certain answer—not even when Shoko had brought up the subject multiple times in hopes of persuading her into a positive outcome—the chestnut-haired girl had to resort to more cunning methods, because she knew Mayui would actually agree to come if she personally went to get her.

And even if that was sly of her, as Suguru had half-jokingly pointed out, Shoko brushed off his comment, claiming that she understood Mayui well enough to know when she needed a little push to move forward. She even justified her choice as a friendly favor, made with full awareness of Mayui’s state of mind. If she saw that Mayui was genuinely uncomfortable, she wouldn’t have even brought up the party, but seeing her dressed up—more than usual—was all the confirmation Shoko needed to feel at ease with her decision.

“Are you ready to go?”

Mayui nodded, asking for another minute to retrieve the present from the pile of clothes lying on top of it. As she dug it out, the girl caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and paused to analyze her outfit once again: the jeans emphasized her skinny legs, while the blouse appeared to be strangling her neck in an unsightly manner; on closer inspection, some strands of her hair were starting to stick up, despite her earlier efforts to straighten it and achieve an acceptable look.

Once again, Mayui was hit by a wave of uncertainty, wavering in her decision and seeking comfort and reassurance from others. Hesitantly, she called out to Shoko and, just as reluctantly, asked if she looked appropriate for the party.

 “Don’t worry, you’re really cute.” Shoko pinched Mayui’s cheeks affectionately, then pointed to her own outfit to back up her words. “I’m not too flashy myself since it’s more of a chill gathering than a party, per se. What’s important is to feel comfortable and at ease, right?”

Mayui nodded again, swallowing the lump forming in her throat that kept her from asking more questions about the party and its guests.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally headed to Shoko’s room, where the celebration was taking place.

“At first, Ayame planned a surprise party for Suguru and booked a fancy location outside the school. She invited a lot of people, some of them didn’t even know Suguru…” Shoko explained, even though no one had asked. “It wasn’t the kind of party Suguru would enjoy, so I spoiled the surprise for him…Ah, don’t tell Ayame about this.” She turned to Haibara, who was walking a few feet behind them, visibly unbothered by the topic.

“I won’t. I’m well acquainted with her pushy way of handling things.” he replied, shrugging as he scoffed at the reminder of his distant relative’s bratty behavior.

“Right, right. So Suguru settled on a small gathering with just a few friends so Ayame would drop the whole thing. And apparently, my room is the best place to host a party since they can smoke and drink as they please.”

As the trio stepped into said room, Shoko deliberately raised her voice so Suguru could hear her. The relaxed figure turned toward them with a smile, walking over to greet them.

“You forgot to mention how lazy you get after drinking and how much you hate moving around in that state, Shoko.” Suguru pointed out with a laugh, then invited Haibara and Mayui inside, since Shoko had already made herself comfortable on the couch.

Yuu followed soon after, sitting on the opposite side of the couch and scrolling through his phone for a playlist that would suit the start of the party. Only Mayui remained by the entrance, stressing over the right moment to offer her gift, her brows furrowing in thought.

“Thank you for coming, Mayui.”

“Um…t-thank you for inviting me!” she stuttered, slightly overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving from the tall, handsome man. She began shifting her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of where to look to avoid making direct eye contact. Then she remembered the whole reason she was talking to Suguru in the first place and gasped, handing him the gift with timid movements. ”…and happy birthday!”

As Geto smiled, small creases formed at the corners of his almond-shaped eyes, revealing his sincere gratitude.

In the meantime, since the other guests had yet to arrive, Suguru had already started unwrapping his presents, his mood visibly lifting as he discovered how thoughtfully each gift had been chosen. He was grateful for the earplugs Shoko had given him—he needed a new pair for his usual morning jogs—and for the backpack he received from both Haibara and Nanami, even though the latter couldn’t join them. However, the biggest surprise came when he unwrapped a black hoodie imprinted with the Deftones’ split skull logo from Mayui. He didn’t remember ever mentioning his music taste, but realizing that she had gone out of her way to find out about his favorite band made Suguru feel even more appreciated.

An hour passed, and the atmosphere remained laid-back. They kicked off the night with a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity, but eventually switched to Exploding Kittens—definitely not because Shoko wanted a game that involved winners and losers just so she could claim herself a personal servant. Naturally, she won the game and, with it, the right to boss Haibara around for the next half hour, which mostly involved making him pour her drinks the moment her glass was empty.

At some point, while Suguru and Shoko were enjoying a cigarette break by the window and Mayui was awkwardly playing Mario Kart with Haibara, the door swung open, revealing Satoru standing tall in the doorway with a girl clinging intimately to his arm.

At the mere sight of him, Mayui instinctively sucked in a deep breath, wondering if his tired expression was that noticeable—or if he just looked that way because they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

However, crossing paths felt like Mayui was overstepping some unspoken boundaries—like she was intruding into his personal life without consent. Since he didn’t spare her so much as a glance, she assumed her presence was inconvenient for Satoru, just as she had expected.

And beyond his obvious indifference toward her, there was the fact that he had arrived escorted by a truly stunning woman. She was tall, with the figure of a model—slim, elegant, and poised; her long hair, most likely dyed a deep brown, flowed well past her hips. Emerald-green doe eyes were emphasized by heavy eyeliner and black eyeshadow swept beneath the lower lids and her full, glossy lips were painted a bold red. Upon closer inspection, her pale skin enhanced her best features—from the defined shape of her nose to her sharp, high cheekbones. Even the deep neckline of her red mini dress was strategically accentuated with expertly applied makeup that created the illusion of a fuller chest.

Judging by the way she clung to the white-haired man, all pouty and attached, coupled with the way she glared daggers at Mayui the moment their eyes met, it wasn’t hard to assume they were dating. Naturally, Mayui figured Satoru had told his girlfriend about the nuisance she’d been—a troublesome stranger from the past—hence the fiery stares and thinly veiled contempt the woman kept directing at her. So, she made a mental note not to interact with Satoru—better yet, not even to look in his direction.

Chapter Text

 “Yo!” Gojo greeted casually, completely unfazed by the weight of the woman pressing against his arm. As he strolled into the living room, he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, chatting with Suguru as if she wasn’t latched to him like a stylish leech.

“You’re late, Satoru!”  Geto nagged.

“I came as soon as I could, stupid.” He rolled his eyes, handing over the gift with a smug smirk.”Not my fault they keep sending me all the way to fucking China. After a 5 hour flight I need a drink.”

“Haibara, get the man a drink! Honey whiskey, three ice cubes.” Shoko called from the couch, her raspy voice cutting through the noise. She winked as Haibara hunched his shoulders in resignation, muttering under his breath about how unfairly he was being treated.

 As the boy handed Satoru the drink—earning a raised brow in response—Haibara used the moment to quietly vent to his upperclassman, as if hoping Gojo might save him from the shackles of a lost bet. Even if he could, Satoru would probably just use that power to claim Haibara as his own servant. So, instead, Gojo chose not to comment on Shoko’s antics and casually switched the subject after glancing around the room.

He sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch, nodding faintly to Skrillex’s Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites playing in the background. “Where’s Nanamin?”

“Away on a mission.” Suguru explained.

“It’s better without him.” Ayame chimed in, loud and confident. “His moody stares always make me uncomfortable.”

All eyes turned to her. It was then when she finally unlatched herself from Satoru’s arm and stepped toward Suguru, offering the gift she had so meticulously prepared: an expensive cologne, which she proudly claimed to have spent a small fortune on—but insisted it was nothing if it meant pleasing Suguru.

From the way the raven-haired man offered a dry smile, it became clear how uncomfortable he was when dealing with this type of pushy woman. It was probably the first time Mayui had seen Suguru act so defensively toward someone so desperately vying for his attention—and certainly the first time she had witnessed someone’s girlfriend openly flirting with another guy, insistently touching his biceps like it was hers by right.

“Gojo, I take it you brought us souvenirs.” Shoko said flatly, abandoning her smoking post to sit beside Mayui. “Ayame, let’s see what we got.”

Ayame obediently followed the suggestion, deliberately choosing the seat right between Shoko and Mayui, shamelessly staring the latter down as if she were a bug spoiling her view. In return, Mayui did feel like the lowest form of life, waiting to be squashed under Ayame’s designer heels. More than just feeling like an intruder, though, she found herself increasingly mortified at the thought of putting Satoru in a position where it looked like he’d forgotten about her—giving everyone souvenirs except her.

Knowing full well she was at risk of turning red from the shame and drawing even more attention to her exclusion, Mayui quietly excused herself and slipped into the bathroom, staying just long enough for the souvenir handout to be over. In the five to seven minutes she spent inside, she memorized the shape of every object in the room—from the brands of Shoko’s skincare products neatly displayed by the mirror to the number and color of each towel stacked in the corner.

Eventually, she decided it was time to return, walking as slowly as possible to stall for more time.

As she passed by the kitchen on her way back to the living room, Mayui overheard two female voices—one louder, sharper than the other—arguing about her being there. Although she felt grateful that Shoko had stood up for her, she couldn’t tune out the harsh things Ayame was saying, things that, in truth, probably echoed what most people thought of her.

Those words became her silent cue to leave the party as discreetly as possible—no confrontations, no final stabs—just a quiet exit before the brunette could see her lip trembling and the tears collecting at the bottom of her lashes, stubbornly refusing to fall.

Mayui gently pinched her cheeks, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an effort to calm herself, to appear unaffected by the venom of a stranger. Then she turned the corner toward the living room—and nearly collided with Satoru.

They stopped right at the edge of what would be considered personal space—so close they could feel the shared breath between them, yet not quite crossing that final sliver of distance.

 “Ah, Yui.” He nodded, directly acknowledging her presence for the first time that night with a piercing glance from his naked cerulean eyes, inquisitively sizing her up.

Once again, Mayui inhaled raspily, taking a few steps back, trying to hide her face behind her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, hoping the tears might dry out on their own before he noticed their trails—but him closing the distance between them didn’t help her case. Even her voice got lost somewhere in her throat, unable to find its way out and prove—through its steadiness—that nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What’s up?” Satoru insisted, his voice sweetly alluring, almost convincing enough to make anyone confess their sins to a forgiving god. That very temptation, as resilient and as corruptible as it advertised itself to be, was somehow repelled by Mayui’s own will—not out of pride, but from the simple desire to avoid showing him yet another embarrassing side of herself. So she brushed it off as something as minor as getting an eyelash stuck in her eye.

“Let me see. I may be able to get it out.”

“It’s okay, don’t mind me.” She turned her back to him quickly, pretending to work on removing the imaginary eyelash while wiping away the remnants of her tears. However, Satoru was not someone easily deceived—especially not by a lie spoken without conviction and void of even the intention to mislead. He decided to play along with her story, in his own teasing way; that meant moving in sync with her every attempt to avoid him, making sure they ended up facing each other again and again—much to Mayui’s dismay, who had no real means of escaping his towering figure or the contagious snicker trailing behind him.

 “Satoruu, you’re making fun of me.”

“Noo! I could never!” he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the playfulness in his voice and the knowing lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth completely betrayed his words.

By the time they stopped circling each other, Mayui realized her eyes were no longer swimming in tears. Instead, they were too entranced by the man in front of her to recall the weight of anything else.

“Here, show me your hands.” Satoru said gently.

Mayui hesitated but obeyed, glancing behind to make sure no one saw them talking. When she felt the weight of something small placed into her palms, she immediately shifted her attention to the small, cutely wrapped souvenir Satoru had given her.

Her shock wasn’t just reflected in the way she kept looking between the gift and his amused expression, trying to confirm what had just happened—it was also visible in the flicker of her golden eyes, caught between disbelief and quiet gratitude.

“Thank you.” she said softly, barely trusting herself to speak louder, afraid her emotions might spill over without warning. There was no doubt her heart was racing, a flush creeping up her face—but every bit of appreciation she held for this man instantly shattered at the sound of a single, interruptive voice that could only belong to one woman.

Ayame stood with her arms crossed just beneath her chest, deliberately accentuating the size of her breasts—but Mayui saw through the sex appeal and focused instead on the raised eyebrow demanding answers and the scowl that ruled over her pretty face.

“Huh? What’s this? When did the two of you get so chummy with each other?” Ayame inquired louder than Mayui had anticipated, her accusatory finger pointing straight at the girl, who was now visibly panicking—as if she were Satoru’s mistress and had just been caught in the act.

Desperate to clear things up, Mayui jumped in with the truth, but nothing seemed to go in her favor—especially since everything that made up Gojo Satoru decided, in that very moment, to make her life harder, and possibly on purpose.

“We didn’t.” Mayui rushed to explain.

“Since I’ve bought her a meal.” Satoru added nonchalantly.

Mayui’s head snapped toward him, her pleading eyes wide with disbelief, but all she received in return was a feigned look of innocence clearly designed to stir the pot.

“Why are you pretending nothing happened between us?” Satoru teased, batting his eyelashes dramatically and clutching at his chest like a wounded romantic. ”I’m hurt.”

While he was reveling in her flustered reaction—her struggle to undo the chaos he was clearly enjoying—Mayui couldn’t ignore Ayame’s seething presence. The woman’s glare alone felt powerful enough to erase Mayui from existence.

 Desperate, the blonde tried again to explain herself, stumbling over her words, her voice barely functioning under the pressure of both Ayame’s jealousy and Shoko’s curious, yet clearly entertained, gaze as she joined in from the sidelines like an amused spectator.

“Because nothing happened.” Mayui insisted.

“It didn’t seem like that then~.” Satoru hummed, clearly having the time of his life.

“Satoruu!” Mayui groaned in frustration, tucking her hair behind her ears—only for it to fall back into her face again. “You didn’t even pay with your own money…”

That jab finally wiped the grin off Satoru’s face, his expression shifting into something that vaguely resembled a light scowl—lowered further by a subtle, boyish pout.

“…I did. That sly Yuuga changed his code.”

“Wait a second!” Ayame suddenly snapped, interrupting their light-hearted back-and-forth, clearly annoyed and overwhelmed by a surge of jealousy. Her words came out uncensored, powered by irritation and wounded pride. “What the fuck are you talking about? You two had a meal or…? No, screw that! I don’t even care right now. Gojo-senpai, let’s have a drink together!”

Despite the obvious demand, Satoru only hummed in response and, to Ayame’s dismay, walked in the opposite direction without so much as glancing back at her. His indifferent rejection earned a loud, dramatic complaint from the girl—followed by the sharp clicking of her heels as she stormed off.

Only after Ayame disappeared from view did Mayui finally let out a long, trembling sigh—surprised by how long she’d been holding her breath. As the tension slowly left her muscles, she became aware of the small object still clutched in her hand.

Opening her palm, she frowned slightly at the sight: the package was now slightly crumpled, and the ribbon had nearly come undone.

“What’s that?” Shoko tilted her head so her one visible eye could get a better look at the object in question.

“A souvenir from Satoru.”

The chestnut-haired girl threw another conspicuous glance at the gift before straightening up, cracking her back in the process. “That’s uncharacteristically thoughtful of him.” she remarked, pushing aside the dozens of questions she clearly wanted to ask. Instead, she turned her attention to the real elephant in the room. “Don’t mind Ayame. She’s currently sulking because Suguru’s not giving her any attention. Whatever, let’s go back.”

However, Mayui’s confused expression made Shoko pause, staying put to explain further.

“She’s been madly obsessed with Suguru ever since she first laid eyes on him. I kinda pity the man, honestly. He’s way too nice to reject her properly—and I say ‘properly’ because she needs an aggressive no. Otherwise, she just won’t cope. She’s the delulu type.”

Mayui blinked twice, just to make sure she’d understood correctly, and cautiously replied, still unsure how far she was allowed to dig into any of this. “I thought she was Satoru’s girlfriend.”

“Although physically she might come close to his type, their awful personalities would clash so badly it’d be a disaster.” Shoko shook her head, visibly cringing at the mere thought. “That would be the worst combo, I’m telling you. If you want proof of how chaotic Ayame is, just know she spent over an hour waiting for Gojo to show up—pestering him the entire time for updates—just so she could make a grand entrance clinging to him like her life depended on it. And what makes it worse for her? Suguru doesn’t care who she hangs out with or who Satoru fucks.”

“That’s…problematic.” Mayui said carefully, picking the most neutral word she could find, nervous about making any bold statements as an outsider. No matter how tangled this mess was, she still didn’t feel entitled to pass judgment based on a chaotic first impression.

Shoko could see right through her restraint. Without warning, she looped her arms around Mayui’s neck in a lazy, comforting back hug, letting her head rest against the crook of Mayui’s neck—too dizzy to hold it up properly.

“You’re too nice to people, Mayui. Someday, that kindness is gonna come back and curse you.”

***

“I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature.” ― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

By the time Shoko and Mayui returned to the living room, the party had already become a drinking competition fueled by a forgotten game of truth or dare. As the two joined the group—the older girl more excitedly than the other, who awkwardly claimed a faraway spot, almost in the corner of the room—the atmosphere turned livelier, accompanied by laughter and music.

At some point, Ayame stood up and started dancing lasciviously, raising the already short material of her dress dangerously close to revealing her underwear—if only she were wearing any. After a few more glasses, the girl in question began wobbling rather than dancing, tripping over her high heels and spilling wine all over Satoru’s white T-shirt as she fell hard to her knees, slightly scratching them in the process.

“Shit, Ayame. I just bought it.” Satoru complained, staring incredulously at the red stains spreading across the expensive fabric. He set his own glass aside and angrily stood up, making his way to the bathroom and leaving the girl sprawled on the floor, her head spinning from dizziness.

However, the fact that Ayame was slightly drunk didn’t excuse her selfishness, which normally wouldn’t allow her to apologize for being in the wrong. Truthfully, even if she were wide awake, she wouldn’t have taken the blame for her mistakes. Instead of expressing regret, Ayame preferred to play the victim and exaggerate her situation to its utmost gravity.

“What about me? I hurt myself, senpai!!!” she yelled after Satoru’s figure, grabbing at her red knees and caressing them with fake tears and pouting lips.

The only problem with her theatrical scene was, in fact, its repetitiveness in front of the same audience, who were all too familiar with her dramatic tendencies. Only Mayui was caught off guard—firstly by Ayame’s loud complaints about Satoru’s cold attitude, when hers was even worse, and then by the intensity of her emotions and the crescendo of her act, which reached a peak when she threw one of her shoes at Haibara. Due to her lack of coordination, worsened by the excessive alcohol, Ayame’s precious heel didn’t seem to land where she had intended. Still, that single action earned an angry response from Yu.

“You’re embarrassing.” he said curtly and resumed playing on his phone, while Ayame’s face turned even redder upon processing the meaning behind Yu’s comment.

Mayui thought it must’ve been the redness of the dress reflecting on her skin, combined with the diffuse light in the room, that made Ayame look more aggressive and flustered than she actually was. Even so, no one could deny the wildness sparkling in her empty eyes or the frustration plastered all over her face as she realized no one in the room was paying attention to her outburst—not even the newcomer was showing any interest, much less offering her womanly solidarity to a damsel in distress.

All Ayame wanted in that moment was to coordinate her legs well enough to get up and join Shoko by the window, knowing that she might be the only one willing to listen to her complaints. As soon as the brunette gathered her strength in her right heel and pushed her body upward, relying solely on that particularly unreliable part, she felt her ankle give out under the mere pressure of her own weight. Once again, she fell forward, her arms instinctively extending—elbows slightly bent, hands ready to protect her head from hitting the floor.

However, that very fall brought her closer to Suguru’s resting figure.

She peered at him from beneath her lashes, silently crawling toward her long-term crush. Wrapping an arm around his neck, she brought her whole body closer to his warmth, but before she could do anything else, Satoru pushed her away from Suguru, making space for himself between them.      

It was obvious his actions would be met with baseless reproaches and smacking palms—Ayame’s futile attempt to reclaim her hard-earned and well-deserved place, though each strike was effortlessly rejected by Satoru’s Infinity.

On the other hand, Suguru said nothing. He merely resumed drinking, as if the entire scene didn’t involve him in any way, slightly squinting whenever Ayame’s voice hit high notes.

“Those senpais are nuts.” Haibara suddenly exhaled, half amused, half confused by everyone’s way of interacting. At first, Mayui thought he was talking to himself, but as she felt his gaze settle on her, she turned her head and exchanged a brief look with him.

Then, she found herself nodding—awkwardly, both in movement and response.

It wasn’t just the people in the room who were acting strange; every sorcerer she had met so far had behaved in odd and unpredictable ways, living in the present as if there were no tomorrows, speaking selfishly to others while remaining fiercely true to their own beliefs.

Everyone had their own circumstances, as Shoko had pointed out a few days earlier, and the pressure that came with those circumstances—and with their status—was so overwhelming for most of them that they had to develop some sort of coping mechanism. That, perhaps, was why so many of them seemed to have a few screws loose.

Compared to them, Mayui felt estranged from the duty of a sorcerer and the consequences that came with it. She was an outsider, seeing them as beings stronger than the average person—but if asked what made them so powerful, she wouldn’t have a proper answer.

Despite living in that world—albeit forcefully—she knew nothing about their studies at the school, what it meant to be assigned a mission, or what kind of technique each of them possessed. Perhaps she was afraid to find out more, choosing instead to turn a blind eye to what was unfolding before her, rather than face the reality that she was, in fact, just like them—only more inexperienced.

“Geto-senpai, should we play Alias?” Haibara asked hopefully, clearly bored with the way things were going.

Nonetheless, Suguru didn’t react at first, keeping his eyes closed and his arms folded against his chest. The reply came shortly after, his voice weak and defeated—though slightly light-hearted and innocent, mostly due to his alcohol consumption.

“Sure, why not.”

By 3AM, everyone was pretty much drunk and spacing out, except for Mayui and Yu, who were still underage and obviously not allowed to consume alcohol. That didn’t stop Shoko, however, from trying to lure them into giving it a taste, winking knowingly in Mayui’s direction.       

“So Mayui’s underage…” Suguru muttered absent-mindedly, tugging at his earlobe while his large frame lay sprawled on the floor, completely drained of energy. “I thought you were…like…22 or something.”

At his words, Satoru loudly snorted, as if he’d never heard anything more ridiculous in his life.

“Are you hearing yourself, Suguru?” he had to point out the absurdity of his friend’s words sticking out his tongue in mockery.

This time, however, the satiric tone of Satoru’s voice wasn’t taken as just another expression of his ego. Instead, it sparked that familiar competitive streak that fueled their rival-friend dynamic.

“Huh? Then how old do you think she was, huh?” Suguru sat up straighter against the couch, squinting to get a better look at him.

“Seventeen.” Satoru replied smugly, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “How can she be in high school if she were 21, Su-gu-ru?”

The black-haired man tugged at his collar, suddenly feeling hot from the effort it took to reason with Satoru’s stubbornness. “Maybe she was held back. No matter how you look at her, she’s clearly not 17!”

“While 22 is an overstatement!”

“Before you make Mayui more uncomfortable, why don’t you ask her?” Shoko interjected with a raised eyebrow.

At her suggestion, the duo stopped bickering and turned their attention toward a now-blushing Mayui, who was intently staring at her fingers, trying her best to pretend she wasn’t part of the conversation. As Shoko’s comment brought even more attention her way, Mayui began plucking at her cuticles, avoiding both Satoru’s inquisitive glances and Suguru’s disoriented gaze—all of it directed at her.     

“Um…I’m almost 20 years old.” she said softly, still not lifting her head for fear of blushing even more. Despite her embarrassment at being the center of attention, she felt it necessary to clear up the misunderstanding and, hopefully, end the conversation. “I-I…didn’t…couldn’t go to school for almost three years, that is why now…I’ve returned to finish my studies…”

Ayame’s instinctive response was to snort in mocking contempt, but her malice was quickly drowned out by Satoru’s and Suguru’s overlapping declarations of ‘I see’ and ‘I was closer than you’, which actually made Mayui chuckle quietly at their childishness.

The rest of the night continued with them pairing off randomly into three teams, each consisting of two players: Suguru and Ayame as Team Purple, Satoru and Shoko as Team Blue, and Haibara and Mayui as Team Red. There were a few direct complaints about the team assignments and even more protests regarding where certain players—like Satoru—chose to sit, especially since he was too close to the game board.

After a long debate, they agreed on seating arrangements: Satoru, Haibara, and Ayame would sit on one side of the table, while on the opposite side sat Mayui, Suguru, and Shoko—a setup designed to separate teammates and limit their tendency to cheat as much as possible.  

“Keep your eyes on him, Mayui. He’s a cheater through and through.” Suguru whispered into her ear, covering his mouth so the subject of his remark wouldn’t be able to read his lips. When Mayui nodded in response, the black-haired man pointed two fingers to his eyes, then toward Satoru, provocatively.     

In reply to Suguru’s challenge, the white-haired man smirked smugly, letting out a low chuckle as he reached for the frame of his glasses and slid them lower on his nose.

“Are you so afraid of losing that you’re already scouting around for allies, Suguru?”

“Revealing your tricks to a new player is called good manners, Satoru.” Suguru scoffed, slightly offended by the remark—though truthfully, he was more irritated by his bad luck in being paired with Ayame, of all people.

Despite their loud, prideful declarations and their open accusations of each other’s integrity, the truth was that everyone—except Team Red—was cheating.

At first, Mayui was too focused on understanding the rules and figuring out how to play properly to notice that no one was actually describing the words they were supposed to; instead, they were selecting the easier ones. Too caught up in the struggle of giving clear explanations to Haibara and anxious about making a fool of herself, she didn’t see Suguru nonchalantly pre-reading his cards, or Ayame carefully selecting only the easiest to explain.

Eventually, she did catch Satoru fiddling with his blue pawn, subtly moving it forward on the board. They shared a brief, knowing glance—he smiled at her, sly yet charming—and that look alone stopped Mayui from calling him out in front of everyone.

On the other hand, once Haibara caught wind of his upperclassmen’s crafty tactics, he became more invested in watching their hands and card movements than in listening to Mayui’s clear and well-thought-out clues. Even during his own turns, he kept glancing around, determined to catch someone in the act, but his investigative efforts only distracted him, causing their team to lose valuable points.

Those mistakes cost Team Red their early advantage, allowing Team Blue to take the lead. Faced with the pressure of losing, Haibara made a difficult decision: he chose to cheat.

Unfortunately, he was caught red-handed and penalized on the spot.

In the end, Satoru and Shoko won first place and earned the right to decide the punishments for the losers, followed by Team Red—Haibara and Mayui—and finally Team Purple: Suguru and Ayame, who had clearly been out of sync even when trying to explain simple words to one another.

“Now, what should I make you do~!” Satoru beamed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he looked at the two losing teams trying to avoid his gaze. From the start, he had already planned dares tailored to each participant, but before he could gloat further, Shoko gave him a hard pinch on his right side, making him jump with a sharp yelp. Whether it was the alcohol dulling his senses or the overuse of his Infinity in the past few days nearly frying his brain, he had clearly let his guard down.

“Who said you could decide on your own, Gojo?” Shoko pointed out matter-of-factly, hugging Mayui from behind and rubbing her nose against the other’s shoulder.

Satoru approached the duo cautiously, peering at them from beneath his dark shades with prying eyes and endless curiosity. As he plopped his muscular frame behind Mayui, he leaned closer, brushing past her and unintentionally grazing a few frizzy strands of her hair.

There, he whispered wicked ideas to Shoko, earning approving nods and hums from her. Meanwhile, Mayui had no choice but to listen in on their concerning plans—though one part of her tried hard not to eavesdrop, the other was overwhelmed by the pressure of Satoru’s close presence.

Adding to her discomfort, which Shoko either didn’t notice or simply didn’t mind, were Ayame’s silent death stares—hanging heavily in the air between them—two existences unable to coexist. The more Mayui engaged with the rest, the sharper became the stabs of Ayame’s glares, coupled with hushed curses slipping through red-painted lips. The more Mayui looked away, trying to convince herself she imagined the hatred etched into Ayame’s face, the stronger and more intense the girl’s displeasure grew.

Reflecting on her first encounters with Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru, Mayui couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have met them at just the right moments. Had someone other than Shoko been assigned to guard her, they might not have spoken to her, much less helped her in the way Ieiri Shoko did. Had Suguru not been such a loyal friend, no one would have dared stand up to Murata for the sake of a stranger like her, without even knowing her background. And had Satoru not been that kind, any other Gojo representative might have sided with the Council, and she would’ve long since been returned to the Kamo household.

Being surrounded by such compassionate and decent people had made Mayui forget that most sorcerers were actually reluctant to interact with her for reasons she could only guess at. Ayame was no different from the rest who hated Mayui indiscriminately and fervently. No, it was clear she was uncomfortable being in the same room as someone she had so often belittled and trashed behind their back, and that discomfort had turned into open hostility toward someone she saw as beneath her.

Contrary to her own expectations, Mayui instinctively placed her hand on Shoko’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude. If Ayame had been the one sent by Yaga that night of February 13^th, Mayui couldn’t help but wonder how differently that meeting would’ve turned out.

In response to this small sign of affection, Shoko leaned in closer, her body pressing gently against Mayui’s, a smile of genuine bliss curling her lips—a smile whose meaning remained a mystery even to Satoru’s questioning gaze.     

Fully aware that Shoko might not answer the unspoken question, he brushed it off as something unrelated to him and turned his attention back to finalizing the details of their plan. Once they agreed on the last dare, both he and Shoko turned to face the rest of the group, their faces lit up with twisted, mischievous grins that spelled nothing but trouble.

Chapter Text

The first dare was addressed to Suguru: he had to call Principal Yaga and inform him that he had gotten a girl pregnant. While initially reluctant, the more Suguru spoke, the more invested he became in his storytelling—quickly devolving into a disoriented teenager unsure whether he was mature enough to raise a child or should simply deny being the father. No one could tell if Yaga believed him or not; his responses were short, consisting mostly of hums and vague mumbles. The conversation ended abruptly with a vague promise to “settle the matter tomorrow” followed by a string of beeps.

When Ayame’s turn came, the room's enthusiasm dipped slightly. She was dared to remain silent for the next half hour; Satoru even added a five-minute penalty for each time she broke the silence—on top of the already agonizing thirty minutes.

Next was Haibara, who had tried to flee by pretending to go to the bathroom, but little did he know—when dealing with the great trio (as Suguru had eagerly joined Satoru and Shoko after completing his own dare)—there was no such thing as escape. Poor Haibara had to answer two deeply personal questions with complete sincerity: whether he had a current crush and whether he was still a virgin. He denied both, cheeks flushed and voice an octave higher than usual.

Additionally—since he had been caught cheating, as Satoru smugly reminded everyone—Haibara was dared to call Nanami and confess his feelings for him.

Though he protested loudly to his upperclassmen, he picked up his phone far too eagerly and dialed Nanami’s number, only to discover it was turned off.

“Should we make him dance instead? There’s this new trend…”  Suguru mused aloud, freeing his hair from the confines of its tie.

“That’s boooring! Let’s force a secret out of him!” Satoru countered immediately.

But Shoko dismissed the idea with a wave. “What could he possibly know that’s interesting? Isn’t it better if he confesses to Nanami face-to-face tomorrow?”

The trio agreed immediately, despite Haibara’s slouched shoulders and nervous laughter, silently pleading with clasped hands to be spared another dare.

The group, however, had shifted their attention to the final sacrificial lamb—Mayui—who was watching them with hopeful eyes and shaky breathing. At some point, she began nibbling on her lower lip, her mind racing through the many possibilities they might have prepared for her.

Mayui could only hope to carry out the dare to the best of her ability—so long as it didn’t involve late-night phone calls or humiliating dance moves. If it involved sharing secrets, she wasn’t planning to hold anything back—not if the three of them were asking.

“After a veeery long debate, we have reached a conclusion regarding your dare, Mayui.” Shoko announced, her words echoing warmly in Mayui’s ear, carrying the faint scent of alcohol. Instead of releasing the blonde from her embrace, Shoko girl simply shifted positions, now leaning comfortably on the blonde’s right side, arms still draped around her neck like a koala. “Sooo, I dare you-“ she tapped Mayui’s cheek twice with her index finger, drawing out the suspense. “…to take a picture with me.”

In response to the unexpected twist, Mayui exhaled the breath she’d been holding and turned to meet Shoko’s unbothered yet smiling expression—an expression that immediately put her at ease. There was no mockery in Shoko’s eyes, no hidden joke behind her words. She genuinely wanted to capture a memory of their happiness, a tangible piece of their bond after almost two months since their first meeting.

Alongside the bubbling warmth that rose in her chest—undeniably happiness—there came an overwhelming wave of gratitude and quiet excitement, making her eyes glossier as they met Shoko’s kind gaze. After a small, encouraging nod to affirm her sincerity, Shoko gently brushed away the ghost of tears gathering in the corners of Mayui’s eyes, then gestured towards Suguru, who had been unofficially appointed as the designated photographer.

Before that, the blissful intensity of the moment lifted Mayui so high she couldn’t help herself—her eyes instinctively searched for Satoru’s reaction. So now, as she was peeking from behind Suguru’s figure, the girl found the pair of eyes that held infinity already watching her.

He didn’t speak. A brief stillness washed over his features, his gaze narrowing on her with an expression more serious than the playful atmosphere seemed to warrant. Then, without changing his solemn expression, Satoru mouthed quiet words of sincerity: “Good for you.”

To that, Mayui beamed—softly, gratefully.

After a few more photos, Suguru joined them, handing the camera duties over to Satoru, much to the latter’s dismay at being assigned such a trivial task. Then Haibara came bounding over, asking for a picture with his favorite upperclassman, which triggered an impromptu session of group shots and individual photos.

Thankfully, Ayame had fallen asleep shortly after Haibara’s failed prank call, sparing them her usual complaints or icy remarks; and in exchange for his ruined T-shirt, Satoru exacted petty revenge on Ayame by drawing a crude penis on her sleeping, unsuspecting face with a waterproof black marker. Surprisingly, no one protested—in fact, several of them encouraged the act with far too much enthusiasm.

As dawn drew near, even Haibara had finally fallen asleep on the couch, leaving Mayui with no choice but to wait for him to wake up. Shoko and Suguru were outside, enjoying their usual smoking break, while Satoru lay sprawled on an armchair that was far too small for his large frame, but decent enough to provide a few minutes of rest.

“What’s up?” Suguru drawled, tilting his head to the side with a lopsided grin as he noticed Mayui approaching them with uncertain steps.

“I was thinking of taking my leave, but…Yu’s not showing any signs of waking up. Is it ok-, I mean…would I be a bother if I stayed here until he wakes up…or something?” Her words trailed off, along with her eyes, which dropped to the floor in embarrassment.

After listening, Shoko and Suguru exchanged knowing glances before Shoko offered her a gentle reassurance: “Your presence here is never an issue, but it might take a while for him to wake up and you look tired.” She paused to take one final drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly before continuing, her gaze now drifting to the slouched figure in the armchair. “If you really want to go, we could either wake Haibara up or make use of the spare.”

“Will Hell freeze over if you ask for favors a little more nicely, Shoko?” the so-called “spare” interjected, half-playfully, as he ran a large hand down his face, careful not to smudge his glasses. After a few more seconds of lying still, Satoru stretched his arms above his head and stood up from his uncomfortable seat and with his hands shoved casually into his pockets, he headed toward the group. Thanks to his long strides, he reached the window before Mayui even had a chance to politely decline the options offered to her.

“You should have volunteered if you were listening.” Shoko shot back calmly. “After that flaunty speech you gave in front of the Council, I took you for a man of your word…” Her tone hinted at amusement, and the twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed the chuckle she was trying to suppress.

Watching Satoru’s expression shift into something unexpectedly human—almost disconcerted—Shoko sensed she had stumbled upon one of his rare weak points and so, she pressed on, determined to see where it might lead.

“How did it go again…maybe something like: If I, Gojo Satoru – “

“Wish to have breakfast with Kamo Mayui-“ Suguru eagerly joined in the teasing, backing Shoko with enthusiasm. His timing was perfect, and the coordinated attack only added to the satisfaction of seeing Satoru visibly clench his jaw, the sharp lines of his face more defined, his lips pressing downward into a restrained scowl.

Satoru’s azure eyes instinctively locked onto Mayui’s startled form, seeking some sort of explanation, but she was already shaking her head and hands in frantic denial, silently pleading innocence in the face of the duo’s antics.

“-am I not allowed to do so unless either Haibara or Yaga is present?” the two finished in sync, snickering like co-conspirators who had just unearthed the juiciest secret—much to Satoru’s chagrin.

Gojo’s first impulse was to fire back with something sarcastic and shut down the conversation, but instead, he simply nodded toward Mayui and gestured for her to follow him outside, pointedly ignoring the mockery. The decision was met with loud groans of disapproval from the pair, who clearly weren't finished with their fun.

So, they trailed after Satoru and Mayui keeping up their game – now loudly whispering the infamous lines they had clearly memorized for this very moment. Their relentless teasing only spurred Satoru to pick up the pace, forcing Mayui to jog slightly in order to keep up.

“Are you underestimating my power or perhaps-“

“-is it my judgement that you are failing to take into consideration?”

“You’re so manly, Gojo! I almost fell in love with you!” Shoko mocked him playfully.

“Satoru!” Mayui called out, almost out of breath.

Her voice made him slow his pace, though he didn’t stop completely. Instead, he turned his head toward her with painful slowness, offering a look of quiet disappointment—one that carried resignation more than anger.

“I didn’t say anything! I could never – “ Mayui began, her voice faltering as the memory of the trial room flooded her mind. That place, and everything it represented, could never be spoken of—not even to herself, while the thought of Satoru believing she would mock or betray him was more than she could bear. “You have every right not to trust me… but I could— I could never talk about what’s happening there, so…”

“I know.” he answered, his voice quieter now, though still tinged with a hint of annoyance. “It was Yuuga. He leaked the information to ruin my reputation.”

A surge of courage must have overtaken Mayui in that moment, because the next words tumbled out before she could stop them; and as soon as they did, a wave of heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks.

“I think you were really cool back there!” she confessed, every syllable heavy with emotion and bolstered by the tingling feeling of nervous honesty. “It might not mean much coming from me, but—”

“Mayui!”

The moment was broken—sliced clean through—by Shoko’s ragged voice calling out from behind. Her chance to see Satoru’s reaction was gone, interrupted too soon.

Everything that followed then passed Mayui by like a distant echo, as if she were merely a bystander rather than part of the scene. Still, she caught something odd: a glance from Suguru. His eyes flicked toward Satoru, serious and unreadable, only to morph into a strained smile when they met Mayui’s questioning gaze. Even Shoko’s sudden decision to sleep over in her room seemed out of context. Mayui didn’t mind the company, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

She had a strong hunch that asking would get her nowhere—whatever was going on, they weren’t going to tell her. So, she stayed quiet.

“Let’s meet again.” Suguru said truthfully, leaving no room for doubt in his words.

Mayui’s first instinct was to look at him like he had said something ridiculous, but after a few blinks of realization, she managed a proper reply to someone who was smiling so kindly at her.

“Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course, we’re friends after all, aren’t we?”

A small laugh escaped Mayui before she started to nod passionately, completely thankful and thoroughly overjoyed. “…I’d like that.”

***

“One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.” —Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

After bidding farewell to the idiotic duo and making herself comfortable on the bed, Shoko waited for Mayui to ask about her unplanned decision to crash at her place. So, they washed up and brushed their teeth, fed Toki and played with him, but even after getting under the sheets, the expected question never came.

Judging by Mayui’s serene expression, it didn’t seem like she had any intention of bringing it up, even if the question had surely crossed her mind. Therefore, instead of letting it go, Shoko decided to address it herself, despite Mayui’s obvious desire to avoid the topic.

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?” Shoko inquired, turning from facing the wall to lying on her right side, propping her head up with one hand for support.

In contrast, her partner of conversation lay flat on her stomach, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over the smooth material of the blanket that covered most of her body. Upon understanding the intent behind Shoko’s words, Mayui shook her head, a forced smile of reassurance touching her lips, though her eyes remained fixed on the movements of her own hand, seemingly afraid to meet the piercing gaze from her right side.

In that moment, Shoko couldn’t tell whether it was the tiredness or the alcohol dulling her senses to the point where she couldn’t maintain her usual composure; either way, the combination had worn her patience thin, leaving her slightly annoyed with Mayui’s passive attitude.

“I think I know why you’d rather not talk about some things…” Shoko began, as her words echoed through the room—too assertive for her liking. Yet, instead of stopping, she softened her tone to one meant only for the two of them. “…and that’s fine. I want to respect your decision, but I also need you to respect my choice of speaking up about something that might make you uncomfortable —while trusting that my only intention is to protect you. Is that okay?”

If Mayui’s eyes seemed to have lost their flicker, staring into nothingness, the moment she heard the tremble in Shoko’s voice, she found the strength to sit up, facing the other’s sincerity with feigned confidence and genuine acceptance.

“Do you know what cursed energy residuals are?” Shoko asked, mirroring Mayui’s position as they sat facing each other, calm yet expectant. When she received a nod in response, she continued, carefully weighing her words, concerned about their timing and the potential impact if not properly explained. “That guy’s….” she paused, drawing in a deep breath to avoid muttering his cursed name, her eyes fixed on Mayui’s reaction. The younger girl’s expression was tense, yet determined—rigid but composed and it gave Shoko enough encouragement to keep going, even while acknowledging the risk of a negative outcome. “We noticed his residuals near your room, so I feared....”

“He visited me again.” Mayui finished the sentence Shoko hadn’t dared to complete. Just like Shoko, she hadn’t found the courage to fully voice the thought, hoping that by not saying it out loud, it might not be real.

Without realizing it, they were both in the same boat, caught in the middle of an approaching storm. They were aware of the looming disaster, yet powerless to stop it. They had no life vests to cling to in the dark, freezing ocean—only each other’s support to help them survive the crashing waves and piercing wind. In that moment, heartfelt words and human connection seemed more life-saving than any floating scrap of wood.

Clasping Mayui’s hands and gently enclosing the smaller ones within her own brought a small, noticeable shift in the girl’s mood. Sensing that, Shoko continued holding on, exchanging silent looks of understanding. Even the nervous fidgeting beneath the blanket stilled and the biting of her inner cheeks gave way to a dry, uneasy swallow—a mix of blood and saliva.

What remained at the bottom of that emotional well was only sadness and raw, pent-up frustration. That sadness came from the realization that no matter how Mayui chose to live her life, she always seemed to end up back at the same place, that no matter how far she ran from Murata, every path she took somehow led back to him. It felt like he had become the axis around which her existence spun—every attempt to escape only pulling her back to the same center.

At times, Mayui had naively believed that she could break free from him, but he always found a way to remind her that she belonged to him.

Even his residuals were more than just traces of energy—they were a warning. To Mayui, they were a reminder that whatever freedom she thought she had earned was merely a privilege he allowed her to have, but from Murata’s perspective, the remnants he left behind were akin to a love letter, whispering: Forget me not.

However, all she wanted was to forget him—and everything that had followed since they met. Meanwhile, he wished for nothing more than her return to the Kamo household.

Even after months apart, Murata could still vividly remember the first time he saw Mayui. At the time, he hadn’t realized it was love at first sight, but something inside him had shifted—an intense, unfamiliar thrill that later revealed itself as the beginning of his obsession.

Kondo Murata was the only child born into the Kondo clan, a family that had been reduced to one of the lowest-ranking branches affiliated with the Kamo bloodline. Like every sorcerer from a subordinate family, he was raised to learn and uphold the values, traditions, and history of his ancestors—everything according to the teachings and recognition of the Kamo clan.

He was born at the end of the war, burdened with a frail constitution inherited from his weak mother. He knew almost nothing about her, nor could he recall any memories. The only significant detail came from his father, who never hesitated to brand her as shameless—for dying bedridden, rather than offering her life to the Great War. Although Murata didn’t remember much about the war or its immediate consequences, he gradually came to understand its impact as he grew older, despite lacking any real interest in politics.

What he did remember—vividly and painfully—were the beatings his father gave him, meant to “make a man out of him.”

For a child who had only just learned to walk, Murata’s impressionable mind came to associate pain with love, strength, and discipline. He believed it was something he had to endure to grow stronger and that belief became a lifelong goal, accompanied by an obsessive determination not to become weak or worthless like the mother he was taught to scorn. He couldn’t afford to be a disappointment—not as a son, not as a sorcerer. He had to at least reach the heights his father had once climbed and, ideally, surpass them.

When Murata turned eight, tradition demanded he be presented to the head of the Kamo clan. He remembered that moment clearly—how Kamo Sasaki barely glanced at him before motioning for his father to throw him into the pit of curses.

Most feared that place, a training ground that had quickly become a graveyard for inexperienced sorcerers, but Murata considered himself different—superior to the cowardly children who shared his rank. He was eager to fight, to prove his worth.

What he found instead was a brutal reality that left him half-dead.

Several days later, the pit’s keepers discovered him barely conscious, surrounded by a thin veil of cursed energy that somehow kept the remaining curses at bay. With both sides devastated by the war, the sorcerer population could not afford further losses, thus, only low-grade curses were left in the pit—weak enough for a hardworking or innately talented child to survive, but still lethal to the average or unworthy.

Murata perhaps didn’t quite belong in either category. At least, that was what Kamo Sasaki seemed to conclude when he looked upon the scrawny boy a second time, though there had been a glint in Murata’s cloudy eyes—one that spoke of an unbreakable will to survive and to prove himself, despite his weak body.

That glint earned him a half-hearted acceptance from the clan elder and a place within the Kamo household for both him and his father. Looking back on the moment he was found alive, Murata saw it as a defining blessing—one that marked the true beginning of his life at age eight.

In hindsight, life at the Kamo household proved invaluable to his growth. As a sorcerer, he learned everything there was to learn from the clan’s most esteemed mentors and as a growing boy, he discovered his own charm—and how to use it to his advantage, particularly with the women around him.

But it wasn’t until Murata turned twenty-five that he experienced the next major shift in his life, a shift he neither expected nor sought—yet one that completely upended his world.

That change had a name: Mayui.

It was a well-known fact that, seventeen years ago, a non-sorcerer woman had seduced one of the three descendants of Kamo Sasaki, become pregnant with his child, and fled the household. Some, brave enough to whisper about the incident, believed the woman must have received help from within—a theory thoroughly investigated by Kamo representatives, only for the trail to go cold. Even setting harsh examples among the servants failed to yield any confessions.

Rumors even suggested that the non-sorcerer could only have escaped with outside help, especially considering the veil that shrouded the Kamo household—an enchantment visible only to sorcerers. Kamo spies pursued that possibility for years, but to no avail. With political tensions still high between the Three Great Clans following the war—and particularly after the redistribution of the secondary branches—the Kamo clan chose not to explore the possibility of interference from the Gojo or Zenin families.

Instead, they pursued other potential leads: the idea that a curse user, either working alone or as part of an organized network specializing in hiding people for a price, might have aided the woman. But these, too, remained nothing more than unproven allegations. The possibility that a rogue, mutant sorcerer—one who had escaped extermination—could have assisted her wasn’t dismissed, but it also never advanced beyond mere speculation.

The investigation stretched on for seventeen years, during which substantial resources were poured into the search—money, time, manpower—all in an effort to locate the missing child.

The urgency was justified: Kamo Yoruichi, the eldest son, had died young without leaving a legitimate heir. The second son, Kamo Daisuke, was deemed incompetent and unfit to inherit the clan's leadership, particularly after his only child had vanished. The third son, Kamo Jiren, had two daughters—neither of whom inherited the clan’s treasured blood technique.

With their direct line weakening, the clan leader had no choice but to contract an independent group of three individuals and gamble everything on the unknown offspring—a long-lost nephew who might yet restore the bloodline’s glory.

Beyond the slim hope that the child had inherited the Kamo's unique technique, there lingered a more terrifying prospect: that someone else might have already discovered and exploited it—stripping the Kamo clan of its rightful claim.

That a mere war slave, taken into the Kamo household under the pretense of goodwill, had come so close to unraveling a sacred lineage was almost too outrageous to believe. But as time passed, disbelief gave way to outrage, focused on the shame brought by a son’s failure.     

Then—finally—the long-sought descendant was brought before Kamo Sasaki and the latter’s disappointment deepened immeasurably. Not only was the supposed nephew actually a niece, but she was also nothing more than a high school girl, born and raised as a non-sorcerer. She had no knowledge of cursed techniques—nor of what that even meant—and no awareness of the sorcerer world or her birthright within it.

She was nothing. She was useless.    

All those years spent searching for her were ultimately deemed futile, as the clan’s hopes for the future were shattered by the mere presence of a stupid girl. The disappointment quickly turned to disgust, and from there, it didn’t take long to fester into hatred and disinterest. The main topic lost its purpose, and with it, the patience to uncover whatever potential she might have held.

Just as he had done with Murata, Kamo Sasaki needed only a single glance to dismiss her entire existence—deeming her worthless, born of a mistake, a breathing disgrace staining a long and storied history of achievement and glory. That girl was nothing more than the unfortunate result of his idiotic son’s inability to control himself and ejaculating inside a meritless woman.

Although the clan leader had given up on his niece, Kamo Daisuke still had to earn his place as the next successor and atone for his past mistakes. Considering Murata’s reputation and Mayui’s age, he devised a plan: Murata would pose as a friend, acting as an observer within the unknown world she now inhabited. To Murata however, there was no greater honor than being entrusted with such a task by a Kamo.

So, when he met Mayui, he truly believed he had hit the jackpot.

Chapter Text

She was standing alone in a garden filled with red spider lilies, humming a sad song of separation. She was petite, but upon studying her entire form, he concluded that—despite her small frame—she was curvy in all the right places. Even her face had an artistic beauty to it, with glowing amber eyes entranced by the sight of a flower far too ugly for his taste, and a perfectly designed mouth, highlighted by a high, defined upper lip—almost begging him to commit a sin.

Beyond her naturally rosy cheeks, kissed by the sun, and the thin, exposed neck that seemed to scream for his strong hands to wrap around it, what fascinated him most was the length of her wavy, honey-blonde hair. It cascaded down her back in full waves, with a few teasing strands draped lewdly across her collarbones, trailing all the way to her waist. Aside from the overall visual effect—molding the image of a breathtaking being—there was something else awakening inside Murata. Something primal. Something akin to intense lust.

Instead of smiling and introducing himself, all he truly wanted was to place his hand at the back of her head, to run his fingers through her hair and yank her whole body backward—just to expose that savory neck. Rather than learning about her likes and dislikes, he’d rather have smelled her, licked her skin, explored every inch of her body, and ended the experience by tearing that revealing dress off her.

She was the kind of woman who stirred him to unknown extremes—and he was more than willing to experiment with how far he could take his fantasies. For that purpose, Murata needed to play the part of a patient, friendly impostor. After all, girls like her were the type to swoon over charming, romantic older men.

That night, he masturbated thinking of her.

In the early days of their interactions, she was hesitant—uneasy in conversation, guarded when it came to sharing anything about her life in the mundane world. Yet, she was also curious, clearly intrigued by the unfamiliar environment she’d been forced into. Some days, she smiled wistfully as she reminisced about her mother, other days, she would break down completely, crying and demanding her old life back.

Over the three months Murata had spent watching her, he arrived at a single conclusion: he preferred her crying over smiling. There was something intoxicating about her glossy, tear-filled eyes and her beautifully stained face. Rather than bringing a smile to those perverse, moist lips, he found more satisfaction in making her miserable—more anxious, more broken—just to see how far she could be pushed.

To him, Mayui was an enigma. At times, she appeared to be the very embodiment of a goddess—serene, innocent, untouchable. At others, she looked at him from beneath her long lashes like a demoness ready to devour him. Everything she did, from the way she tucked rebellious strands of hair behind her ear while leaning in like she wanted to share a secret, to the way she said her goodbyes in a soft, lingering voice that made him want to stay longer—it all felt calculated. As if she was playing a game only she knew the rules to.

Perhaps the thrill came from the fact that, among all the women he had met, Mayui was the first normal girl he had encountered. That singularity made her exotic. Unique. A must-have. And as his obsession with her deepened, so did his overconfidence—nurtured by the delusion that Mayui enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed hers. After all, for the past few months, he had been her only source of support in a cold, unfamiliar world. So, when he leaned in to feel her juicy lips against his own, it felt only natural—a logical next step in their relationship.

Instead of the texture of her lips, his mouth met the softness of her cheek. Murata chalked it up to a miscalculation—wrong angle, wrong distance—so he tried again, more determined this time, only to watch Mayui stand up and step away, flustered.

For a few seconds, his mind went blank. He couldn’t comprehend how a worthless woman like her could reject him. What gave her the right to trample on his generosity—on his decision to even look her way? If it weren’t for him, no other man would’ve dared to touch garbage like her. If it weren’t for his compassion and restraint, he wouldn’t have bothered listening to her boring complaints and ceaseless, irritating stories.

But he was different and she was either blind or utterly stupid not to see the high-quality man standing right in front of her.

In that moment of anger, Murata stood up, grabbed her forcefully by the hands, and dragged her body against his with brute strength and wild, erratic movements—all while struggling to keep her steady in his arms. For an alpha male like him, consent was a term invented by a religious group of weak women, afraid of losing their virginity because of the momentary pain of penetration. To Murata, it didn’t exist—not as a word in a respectable vocabulary, nor as a conduct he was expected to follow when interacting with women. If he wanted someone, there was no such thing as rejection—or the need for verbalized approval.

Men like him preyed on whoever they chose.

However, Mayui wasn’t a servant who had lost her family and been forced into slavery within the Kamo household, nor was she a girl from a secondary branch looking for entertainment or ways to annoy her overprotective father. She didn’t look at Murata with even a shred of admiration or respect. She only stared at him blankly, unable to conceal the fear rising within her, before gathering the courage to kick him between the legs with all her strength.

Though she lacked the power to bring him to his knees, the suddenness of her action forced him to release her, his hands now gripping the wounded area instead of her arms. He crouched in pain, grumbling, cursing through clenched teeth—while Mayui, instead of running away, bent down to check on his condition.

Yet if she hadn’t worried about him—if, in the process of leaning down, her hair hadn’t brushed against his cheek—Murata might not have redirected his attention toward her. He might not have grabbed the strands that flowed down her torso, dragging her to the ground with that single, violent motion. And he might not have so easily given in to his rage, slapping her hard across both cheeks with such brutality that her head was forced in the direction of each hit.

Her once-rosy cheeks were now painted in deep red by his own hands. Her plump lips, swollen and glistening, were wet with tears brought forth solely by his fury. She lay on the ground, her hair stuck to the dampness of her face, one hand cradling the stinging skin as she cried silently over what had just occurred.

Murata, meanwhile, experienced two contrasting reactions in quick succession.

At first, he was breathing heavily, his appearance ravaged and wild. His pale, ashen-blue eyes were alight with a primitive fury and raw dominance. His pupils were dilated, driven by the humiliation of perceived rejection. The thick veins of his flushed neck stood out, trailing up toward his angular face. He clenched his jaw tightly, staring down at her with a strange satisfaction—one born from a twisted desire for control over something fragile that dared to resist.

The girl beneath him was a challenge unlike any he had encountered before. And throughout the time he had spent getting to know her, Murata felt he had received nothing in return—only a haunting sense of suspension, like he had been left to fall freely without end. That empty feeling, that absence of gratitude after his so-called efforts, demanded a reward and he had been determined to take it.

But then, in that cold, quiet moment of self-awareness, reality crept in.      

Murata realized that the crying girl before him wasn’t just emotionally significant to him—she was valuable to the Clan. And with that thought, a wave of horror crashed over him like a bucket of ice water. In an instant, his expression shifted from feral satisfaction to paralyzed dismay. His clenched fists slowly relaxed, arms falling limp at his sides, like mechanical parts of a dead machine. His feet, suddenly unsure of how to step forward, stumbled back instead—before he turned around and fled the scene entirely.

It didn’t take him long to report the incident to Kamo Daisuke, carefully framing the story to highlight Mayui’s uncontrollable and unpredictable behavior. According to him, she had grown aggressive—dangerous even—and, in the interest of self-defense, he had been forced to restrain her.

Despite Murata’s quiet expectation of backlash for his excessive conduct—whether in the form of reprimand or outright violence—Kamo Daisuke’s expression didn’t shift. From the beginning of Murata’s account to the end, the man’s face remained unchanged.

At some point, Murata felt as though his words had become nothing more than background noise—shamelessly and annoyingly intruding upon the next leader’s inner thoughts. Even so, that didn’t stop him from presenting the facts until the bitter end, with a performance of fake sincerity so convincing, it almost deceived himself into believing the distorted version of reality he recited.

The moment Murata finally stopped talking marked the beginning of a silence louder than any of his previous words. Beyond the swarm of hypotheses flooding his brain, it was the deafening stillness—the kind a guilty man must endure while awaiting his verdict—that proved hardest to endure.

When Kamo Daisuke’s round, almond-shaped eyes stopped staring off into the distance and instead settled on Murata’s tense figure, the weight of their gaze hit like a jolt of electricity. The dark amber hue, just a shade deeper than his daughter’s, cast a heavy shadow across Murata’s strained blue—an inquisitive silence so intense, it threatened to draw a confession out of him.

“Treat her as you see fit.”

Those six words—approval wrapped in ambiguity—became the path Murata followed for the next two years. Before he began to see himself as a saint assigned to a sacred mission, he first viewed himself as a man of honor and trust, worthy of the task he had been given.

That sense of self-worth was confirmed once again by an incident he hadn’t planned—one that, nonetheless, led to yet another favorable outcome for him. As usual, things got out of hand whenever he got angry at Mayui; she didn’t need to do anything specific to earn his rage. A glance interpreted as defiant—or the absence of one entirely—was enough to warrant punishment. When she didn’t react to him or his words, she was met with his fists. A fake smile? Purely offensive to a man of his caliber.

The moment Murata fully lost control and punched her in the face marked the beginning of Mayui’s pure hatred toward him—while, for Murata, it marked the beginning of his ascension within the clan.

If he were to recall the reason for his outburst, he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly—not on a mental map already filled with red dots representing his countless acts of violence against her. But to him, the motive wasn’t relevant. What mattered was the justice of his actions. If he was furious, then surely, she had done something to deserve it.

If Mayui were asked about the reason, however, she could recite their conversation word for word—like a haunting story carved into her memory, impossible to forget.

No one in her place could forget the sudden rush of something sticky filling her mouth, the metallic taste of blood flooding her tongue, the impact of a fist crashing into her cheek, almost causing her to bite through her tongue, or the numbing pain that spread through the right side of her face. Conversely, Murata would never forget the way blood pooled instantly in her mouth, dripping from the corner of her moist lips—its crimson glow enhanced by the sunlight.

The tear-filled shimmer in her golden eyes—the way pain flickered there—was the missing piece his soul had been waiting for. It was the spark that made his body react with instinctive, irrepressible desire. The bulge in his pants grew at an alarming rate, threatening to release at the mere sight of his muse.

Murata dropped to his knees before her, his fingers clumsily searching for a quicker way to touch her face. When they finally settled at the back of her head, he applied just enough pressure to keep her steady, to hold her in place—ready for his kiss.

He closed his eyes, confident in the natural progression of the moment. Having her so close, smelling of blood, tears, and honey, made his body tremble like that of a shy virgin seduced by an angel. He was sure he had released some precum already, and the thought of his lips finally touching hers left him breathless.

Perhaps having her touch his length—feeling it twitch between her soft hands—might prove his manhood. After all, she was just a teenage girl, and like every teenage girl, surely she craved affection and longed for a grand demonstration of love. The feelings pulsing through him had to be enough to make her understand their situation. They had to be enough to make her stop pretending to resist.

What Murata didn’t expect was to be whipped across the chest by two blood-soaked tentacles erupting from Mayui. The force was raw—primal. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and sent him sprawling to the ground, his back hitting the hard earth as his body gasped for oxygen.

That day, Murata’s once-clear sky was painted red—marked by two crimson flags dancing above him, symbolic banners of both his humiliation and his victory.

From that moment forward, he was seen as one of the most dedicated sorcerers in the Kamo Clan. The one who had not only helped recover their lost pride but also ensured the continuity of a bloodline stretching back thousands of years—all under the strict guidance and endorsement of Kamo Daisuke.

“Kondo Murata, it was the best choice to place my trust in you.” the next leader concluded, taking a sip of his sake. His nose scrunched the moment his taste buds failed to recognize the familiar sweetness of exotic tea—but the celebration called for something stronger, shared with the man whose name he hadn’t known until just a few minutes ago.

“Your words flatter me, Kamo – sama.” Murata replied swiftly, bowing his head with practiced grace. He only reached for his cup of alcohol after Daisuke gave a subtle nod, granting him permission.

The recognition—and the attention that accompanied his new position—not only fueled the ever-growing fire of Murata’s ego, but also expanded the bounds of his greed. He knew better than to act petty or vocalize his desires. Kamo Daisuke was a clever man—a strategist capable of paving his path with corpses, and skilled at knowing the precise timing for every move.

And rewarding loyal subordinates was part of that timing.

 “A man of such great value as yourself should be granted a reward worthy of his eminence.” Alluring words, part of the larger game. And since Murata craved them desperately, Kamo Daisuke was more than willing to offer him empty praises. “I can give you nearly everything you’ve dreamed of since coming here. However, I believe in your potential—and in what you can still accomplish. Therefore, rather than settling for momentary satisfaction... are you interested in winning the ultimate prize?”

Murata nodded, mesmerized by the honeyed calm of the voice that promised him not just the sky—but the space beyond it. To him, Kamo Daisuke was something close to a god: his savior, the man who had given him purpose... and the one responsible for birthing his current obsession. The resemblance between father and daughter was strong enough to blur lines in Murata’s mind—strong enough that he often found himself fantasizing about Mayui while staring directly into Kamo Daisuke’s eyes.

“I want you to do anything you can to draw her power out. Absolutely anything is allowed, without repercussions. You have my word.”

“ I understand.” Murata said, bowing once more—but this time, it wasn’t out of respect for his superior. It was to hide the smirk that had begun creeping up his face.

“In exchange, you will marry her when she turns 20.”

They raised their cups and drank the sake in the light of their newly founded promise.

***

“Dreams come from the past, not from the future. Dreams shouldn't control you--you should control them. ”― Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman: 24 Stories  

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

The sight of her blood dripping from her veins, like a subtle river flowing in a single stream, only to split into smaller streams as soon as the liquid reached the palm, was strangely entrancing for Mayui; it was the first time she had seen her own blood’s scarlet color painting the paleness of her skin, with a hint of pain carried by its fast trajectory, and that realization frightened her.

She was going to die by her own unexperienced slash, while the stickiness of the liquid, stuck to both sides of her legs, vaguely reminded her of the lack of strength in her arms that ultimately prevented them from changing position. The only sensations she could feel at that moment were the stinging, extinguished pain around her wrists, where multiple cuts intersected like cars stuck in a traffic jam, and the pulse erupting from the newly acquired mark.

While Mayui didn’t wish for one, her opinion didn’t seem to matter to those who had forcefully grabbed her by her weak arms, despite her futile requests to be released, and dragged her in front of the Clan leader like a walking piece of meat thrown into the lions’ den.

It must have been a realization that happened too late, but it was something she never came to forget while living with the Kamo’s—namely, the harsh reality that her thoughts and opinions never mattered. Thus, voicing them was not only in vain but to her own detriment. Struggling against a decision that had already been made by the highest-ranking person was condemnable, and the consequences that came with that opposition earned a punishment worthy of such culpable behavior.

The executioner of those violent treatments was always the same person, in whom she had naively placed her trust for the past three months. Thinking back on their many interactions, she actually felt as stupid as he had started calling her, for taking his feigned kindness as a must-have trait every individual possessed. If Mayui hadn’t understood until then the place where she had been brought and its new rules, now—when she was forced to kneel in front of Kamo Sasaki, while her arms were being restricted by two men—it became clear how those relatives of hers were not family.

When two other servants grabbed her legs and spread them apart, Mayui almost bit her tongue—if her mouth hadn’t been covered by a gauzed bandage that prevented her from materializing her first instinct. She continued her attempts at fighting back and freeing herself, only to be overwhelmed by the vast feeling of helplessness in the face of her inability to attain that freedom; and what contributed the most to reaching the peak of that feeling was seeing the faces of the many people who didn’t lift a finger to help her.

The men who were holding her down wore blank expressions, as if Mayui were an animal and their only job was to subdue her—an expression that was also present on her alleged father’s face, along with a dismissal of their bond. The lack of a proper conversation between them and the absence of his figure in her life were obvious from the very start. Kamo Daisuke didn’t see her as his daughter, despite being forced by political circumstances to recognize her accordingly—just as Mayui refused to accept a person like him as her father.

That choice—of dismissing Kamo Daisuke as her parental representative—wasn’t a hasty decision based on anger or retribution. It was a hard-earned conclusion, reached after long internal debate and silent analysis. Everything she and her mother had endured over the past seventeen years was poured into that decision. It underscored the hardships of a single woman forced to raise her child after being abandoned by her lover.

Even though her mother never spoke about the circumstances that had led them to survive on their own in the vast, indifferent world, Mayui had always sensed that they were running from someone—hiding, always hiding; and despite the vagueness of her early memories, she clearly remembered the constant relocations, the way they moved before she had even the smallest chance to settle in.

It was undoubtedly true that her mother had been running from the Kamo’s—a realization that only tormented Mayui more. After all, she had been the one who asked her mother to stay in the isolated town of Okinawa until she graduated high school. If only she had assessed the situation more carefully, she wouldn’t now be facing her father—his most trusted servant, the very embodiment of her fears, approaching her with a device that resembled a gun.

When Murata crouched down to her level, she could feel his breath against her ear as he pressed the tip of the machinery against her skin. If she could, she would’ve screamed at the burning impact on her right thigh—an agony that spread through her body instantly—but the only reaction she was allowed was the silent shedding of tears born of helplessness and injustice.

Apparently, as Kamo Sasaki explained, she should have considered herself lucky to bear the mark of the Kamo Clan on her skin. Somewhere in his grandiose speech, her alleged grandfather remarked that Mayui hadn’t earned the right to carry such a prestigious sign—but that they were kind enough to offer her a chance, since she possessed a blood technique.

In any case, Mayui didn’t care about their traditions or their rigid regulations. She shouldn’t have been a part of a world that demanded sorcerers be branded like animals to earn their place in society—just as she shouldn’t have possessed a power that turned blood into weapons. She was a normal human being, unrelated to any of the three great families of sorcerers, known for having exterminated the most non-sorcerers during the war.

Yet, the two crescent moons—refusing to look at each other—now etched deeply into her skin, stood as proof of her unwanted allegiance to the Kamo Clan. She hated every bit of it.

That was the main reason why, as soon as she was dragged back to her room, she took a knife and carved at the mark—an act of rebellion, rejecting the life that had been forced upon her. Then, in a moment of hopeless clarity, Mayui used the same knife to cut her wrists, wishing for a slow yet certain death.  

But that kind of hopeful death didn’t come and the same outcome followed in her later attempts: disappointment, and a growing sense of entrapment. Although Mayui didn’t yet know the fundamentals of her technique, she was aware that it activated whenever she was in danger—whether it was an external threat like Murata trying to break into her room, or a life-threatening situation of her own making.

The sensation itself felt strange—like an innate curse controlling her body without her acknowledgment, one that tampered with her former self, twisting it, forcefully turning her into something else. The worst part of losing control over her own sense of self was her inability to die.

There was no purpose to her life anymore, and no beloved people left to mourn her extinction. She was living for the sake of other people’s futures, like a bandage applied to a festering, improperly closed wound.

Mayui hated having to live constantly on guard; it was exhausting—physically and mentally. Ironically, at the same time, she couldn’t afford to relax, especially when it came to Murata. Once, in the middle of the day, she had fallen asleep while wearing a dress that left her legs far too exposed for Murata to resist – so he began tickling them, waking Mayui in the process. She hadn’t had the time or means to react—he grabbed her hair and smashed her face against the floor twice to knock her out. In the midst of the fuzziness clouding her mind and the blurriness fogging her sight, she heard him moaning—touching himself in front of her.

That act of self-gratification not only sharpened her senses in horrified awareness but nearly made her vomit from the sheer disgust. Though Murata didn’t make a move toward her, far too absorbed in the pleasure delivered by his own hand, Mayui could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

Being aware of someone’s obsession with you—and the consequences that came with it—was horrifying enough, but witnessing Murata releasing himself in front of her, was an experience no words could truly describe.

Even if the act lasted only a few minutes, for Mayui it felt like years of damnation—an eternity of humiliation—at the end of which she felt a grim relief for being a witness, not a direct participant.

From that day on, she stopped wearing dresses and skirts, switching to long-sleeved clothing under which she could hide razor blades and knives. She became sensitive to external touch, reacting instinctively whenever Doctor Ieiri lifted her sleeves to perform medical procedures. While Mayui couldn’t care less about the doctor’s well-intentioned actions, Murata was always overcome with fury whenever he witnessed another man touching what he saw as his property. The very fact that Doctor Ieiri was fixing her—healing what Murata had broken, despite his ongoing efforts to mold Mayui to his taste—infuriated him.

The black-haired man made sure to be present whenever the Kamo Clan’s young doctor visited Mayui for her regular checkups and treatments. Every time, he could barely endure the sight of skin-to-skin contact. That discomfort always evolved into rage—glaring eyes, whispered threats, even slaps to her cheeks—each one meant to remind Mayui of her rightful place and, equally, to display his dominance in front of a perceived rival.

However, to Mayui, every gesture from Murata felt like another shameful act she had caused. And beyond the embarrassment, she carried a guilt that lodged itself in her throat, preventing her from offering even a whispered apology in front of a stranger.

From that stranger’s perspective, Mayui was just a patient—a girl whose technique he was already familiar with, having monitored both Kamo Sasaki’s and Kamo Daisuke’s health and cursed blood. As a simple doctor assigned to a newly established branch after the war, Shuntaro Ieiri didn’t necessarily feel any allegiance to the main clan—nor did he feel the need to involve himself in others’ affairs. He had a sister to think about, and getting on anyone’s bad side wasn’t part of his plan. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to witness the suffering of an abused girl who might’ve been younger than Shoko.

However, treating someone as wild and volatile as Kamo Mayui proved to be far more difficult than Shuntaro Ieiri had anticipated, and the situation showed no signs of improving. After a full week of visiting her daily—his efforts to treat her wounds and administer blood transfusions proving futile—he finally brought the matter to Kamo Daisuke on the seventh day.

Their conversation was mostly one-sided, with Shuntaro doing the talking while Daisuke listened in silence. He treated the doctor politely, offering tea and cookies, pretending to be invested in the matter by maintaining steady eye contact—all the while wearing a neutral, unreadable expression.

When Shuntaro cautiously proposed that his meetings with Mayui be conducted in private, subtly implying Murata’s exclusion, he was especially careful with his words, choosing them precisely to avoid any implication of personal or inappropriate intentions. To his surprise, Daisuke agreed easily—almost too easily—stating that if it contributed to better control over her technique, then he welcomed the change.

If improvement meant providing her with proper medical care and shielding her, even slightly, from Murata’s abuse, then Shuntaro would offer his services without interfering with the clan's internal politics. Helping Mayui in the process became an unspoken goal.

“If you keep using your technique without giving your body any rest” Doctor Ieiri said as he laid out his equipment to administer fluids and vitamins. “you might just fry your brain.”

Mayui hadn’t spoken a single word since their first meeting. Her silence, her distrust—it was justified and he knew better than to try dismantling that wall with hollow reassurances. So, for her sake, he kept speaking in a calm, professional tone, as if there were nothing personal between them—just a routine interaction between a doctor and his patient.

“He won’t be coming today.” Shuntaro said, slipping on his plastic gloves with practiced ease, his voice calm but firm—almost as if he held control over her entire reality in that single sentence. “Or any time soon, as long as I’m your doctor.”

At his words, Shuntaro noticed—just at the edge of his vision—a slight shift in Mayui’s demeanor. Maybe it was a glint of hope, maybe a fragile breath of relief or a brief mental liberation – that still didn’t allow her to fully lower her guard. It was only natural. After being deceived so many times, anyone affiliated with the Kamo’s was a threat in her eyes, but even so, that distant expression she wore hinted at something deeper than fear.

There was something else—something intentional—in the way she carried herself. He could tell just by analyzing the pattern of her injuries. Still, Shuntaro stuck to his decision: stay out of it, treat the symptoms, avoid the deeper rot. It wasn’t his place to interfere.

And yet, something shifted.

Mayui did lower her guard—just a little—after realizing Murata’s presence was no longer required during her checkups. She didn’t plan to trust the doctor, but she did try to extract a favor.

She knelt before him, trembling, eyes lowered, and her voice—hoarse from disuse—cracked when she finally spoke.      

“Will you…please kill me, doctor?” Her words were fractured, as if spoken through shards of glass lodged in her throat, but the sincerity—the raw, agonizing pain—rang unmistakably clear, even within that choked voice. “I’ve tried so many t-times, but this curse of mine…” she swallowed hard ”it won’t let me die, so…I’m begging you…p-please…”

As Shuntaro watched the girl wailing, he couldn’t help but bite his lower lip and pretend he neither heard nor saw anything. While Mayui bowed deeply before him, pressing her forehead against the ground—tears spilling freely as her entire body trembled from the intensity of her emotions—the doctor remained in character until the very end.

“Do you know your blood type?” he finally managed to ask, in a voice that betrayed none of the pity he felt for this mistreated soul. His expression remained blank—detached—like someone dealing with an object, not a human being.

Upon recognizing that look, something inside Mayui screamed one final time before going completely still. Her soul, overused and worn thin, finally gave up.

Though she understood his position—and the consequences he might face for helping her in the way she begged—disappointment drowned what little part of her still hoped. She raised her head, wiped the tears from her face as if they had never existed, and gave a slight bow of her upper body. This time, it was an apology—for demanding something so revolting from a stranger.

And then, silently, she allowed him to treat her.

Nearly a month passed since she first met her doctor, and though Mayui began feeling better physically, the medication and blood transfusions did little to compensate for her sleep deprivation and accumulated fatigue. As for her technique, no significant change occurred – her blood still only reacted to Murata’s presence. That alone made the current path useless to Kamo Daisuke, who required a weapon capable of controlling her cursed blood at will.

So, he made a decision: he threw Mayui into the notorious Pit of Curses.

Chapter Text

The Pit wasn’t a hole with no exit—it was a vast room built into the lowest level of the Kamo estate, designed as a training ground. Inside were numerous doors, each concealing a different type of curse for different kinds of training.

The main entrance was secured with a highly complex locking system, reinforced by a veil of cursed energy cast by the strongest Kamo sorcerer—Kamo Daisuke himself. Surveillance cameras lined the ceiling, which ordinarily wouldn’t function under the veil’s magnetic interference, but these were operated through a shikigami, controlled remotely by a secondary-branch sorcerer.

Through those lenses, Kamo Daisuke and Kamo Sasaki observed Mayui during her five-day confinement in the room. And her behavior did not disappoint—in exactly the way they had expected.

Since they couldn’t risk losing their asset to weak curses, they assigned a sorcerer to guard the main door at all times and ensured she was constantly monitored. Knowing that suicide was the most likely form of death she might attempt, the Kamo’s launched a continuous onslaught of curses at her—keeping her busy with exorcising them, never allowing more than a brief moment of rest. The strategy left her too physically drained to plan an escape… or to think at all.

Their fear of losing Mayui was further emphasized by their decision to provide her with small amounts of food and water—a privilege other sorcerers didn’t receive when thrown into the Pit. Still, all their efforts were only half-rewarded, resulting in Mayui resembling a broken machine they didn’t know how to fix. Even though she had acquired the ability to defend herself from almost any threat—not just from Murata—she still couldn’t consciously call upon her blood technique.

And so, the Kamo’s isolated Mayui from everyone except Murata and subjected her to countless scenarios—each designed to test her reflexes, sharpen her senses, and ultimately force the development of her technique.

After nearly two years of enduring a hellish existence—defined by relentless physical punishment, the erosion of her identity, and treatment unworthy of a human being—something resembling an escape brought Mayui to the Tokyo School of Sorcerers. Later, she learned that a man named Yaga Masamichi, the school’s principal, had done the impossible by getting her there—though he never acknowledged it directly.

Perhaps he didn’t see it as a grand achievement, but to Mayui, it meant everything. Even the two short weeks she spent there felt like a gift—a fragment of freedom she had long since relinquished. However, with that freedom came confusion. She didn’t know what to do with it, how to act, or who she was outside of captivity. The excitement of possibility was almost overwhelming.

Then she saw Murata again—on school grounds and her punishment for fleeing the Kamo’s struck her like hot iron. It came in the form of his fists, his slaps, his boots—each blow delivered with wild, unrestrained force. Between curses and breathless oaths, he promised she would return to the household. Return to him.

It was only after that brutal encounter that Mayui finally decided to run.

The decision didn’t come naturally. It wasn’t impulsive or born from adrenaline—it was reached over days of quiet deliberation, as she weighed the meaning of her life and whether staying in that world held any value. In the end, she chose her own fate—and its end—somewhere far away from the world of sorcerers.

She feigned illness, pretending to suffer from a headache so that the man guarding her for the past three days would let his guard down. When he opened the door, assuming she needed a glass of water and a pill, Mayui seized the moment. She bolted—out of the building and straight into the woods, never once looking back.

She was terrified of the dark and of what might be lurking inside it; even so, to her, the woods were the perfect hiding place—or perhaps even her final resting place, if she was lucky.         As she ran, wild branches scraped the skin on her cheeks and neck, while her wool sweater snagged on thorny bushes, disrupting her movement—almost dragging her backward with every step forward. She stumbled and fell to the ground more than once.

Even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness, those small accidents sent waves of panic through her, stealing her breath.

Mayui placed a hand over her chest, desperate to find a rhythm that might allow air into her lungs, but the more she inhaled, the more it suffocated her. Her throat burned, and the familiar taste of iron filled her mouth as she raced against her own fate. Yet, despite everything, Mayui hadn’t felt this alive in years. The thrill of darting between trees offered something she hadn’t had in a long time: hope.

Until—looking over her shoulder for too long—she didn’t notice the branch hanging just ahead. The moment she turned her head forward, her forehead collided with the hard wood.

The blow, while not as strong as it could’ve been, was enough to make her stumble and trip over her own feet, ultimately sending her crashing to the frozen ground. Cold winter air surged into her lungs as she lay there, dazed, her wide eyes fixed on the moonlight pouring over her trembling body. The silver glow illuminated the steam of her breath rising into the glacial night, like soft trails of spirit dancing into the sky.

In that fleeting moment, she imagined herself taking the shape of her own breath—rising, weightless, up to the moon and stars, longing for extinction among the constellations.

The image brought back a passage she once read in a book. It wasn’t uncommon, she remembered, for massive stars to burn through their nuclear fuel and collapse, their deaths marked by cataclysmic explosions. Some even became black holes, devouring weaker constellations in their wake.

Mayui admired the violence of that process, but she could never imagine herself as a massive star—or even an average one. No, she saw herself as one of the tiniest stars, burning so slowly that it might forget why it was extinguishing at all.

That thought led her to a memory: her first night at the Tokyo school. The first taste of freedom. The quiet permission to walk the grounds unguarded, unwatched, untouched. And yet, even then, so conditioned by years of surveillance and fear, she hadn’t strayed far from her room.

But she remembered the frozen pond—how empty it had looked in winter, stripped of the vibrant orange koi that once filled it with life. Drawn by that memory, she had wandered toward it, not expecting anything, simply wanting to see with her own eyes the stillness of January.

Yet, as she neared the pond, her attention shifted to the large cherry tree standing beside it. She placed a hand on its aged trunk, and naturally, instinctively, leaned her cheek against the bark. It was cold and damp, smelling of frozen wood and quiet decay.

And then, she remembered her mother—and the cherry blossom song she used to sing.

“The cherry blossoms fell, fluttering down…” she muttered in a trembling, cracking voice. Her lips quivered, barely able to part from the cold that had numbed them, while a few stray tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, disappearing into the golden waves. “Embracing every bit…of my fluttering love..”

“Here you are, my love.”

Those words didn’t just wake her from her reverie—they marked the beginning of yet another punishment, one of the worst she had ever endured. That night ended with Murata cutting her hair, claiming it should no longer be used to seduce men. Apparently, a new version of the story was circulating—one in which Mayui had seduced the guard, convinced him to unlock the door, and then hit him over the head with a flowerpot. There was little doubt Murata had fabricated the tale to discredit her in front of the Council—and, more critically, in front of the principal.

However, Yaga Masamichi was made of something different than the other adults she had encountered in her life. He was awkward in his kindness, but he was kind nonetheless. He accepted her, forgave her—even after her escape put him in an unfavorable position. If she’d ever had the chance to choose a father, Mayui would have chosen Yaga.

And like him, the people she met at the Tokyo School of Sorcerers were unlike the monsters in human skin that filled the Kamo household.

Shoko’s warm hands were nothing like Murata’s. They were steady and gentle, always smelling of cigarettes and soap, always present when Mayui needed reassurance and safety.  

“If I were to see those residuals… will it help me in any way?” she asked softly, fiddling with Shoko’s fingers, her wide eyes betraying the fear of a hopeful answer, even though she knew the chances were high.

She remembered what Satoru had said over lunch—his theories about Murata’s cursed technique, how it might have been the cause behind her losing control over her blood during the dream. The key evidence, he said, was the residuals Murata had left at the scene. That alone had been enough to convince her of the importance of understanding, even before Shoko had offered a response.

If she could learn to detect residuals—specifically Murata’s—the chances of her gaining the tools to protect herself from his mind manipulation would rise significantly.

When Satoru delivered the news, promising to investigate Murata’s technique further—its effects, and how to counter it—Mayui couldn’t hide the full-body relief that surged through her. Even before he confirmed she hadn’t descended into the first stage of madness, his words had eased the guilt she’d been carrying. That loss of control… it had never happened before, no matter how intense her emotions were.

She was still the same Mayui she had learned to live with—a Mayui who wasn’t dangerous, but rather a weak-willed girl, allowing a man like Murata to toy with her mind and soul. Even if, from an objective point of view, he was nothing more than a third-rate sorcerer—unable to perform the bare minimum of concealing his own residuals and a coward when it came to handling his emotions and self-control—Murata still embodied her greatest fears, clothed in the shallow shell of a man.      

“I believe so.” Shoko’s gaze softened at her inquiry, a flicker of pride surfacing in her eyes at Mayui’s efforts to move in what she believed was the right direction. “It’s better to rely on your own eyes around here.”

Mayui nodded, understanding the underlying message. “Could you teach me?”

“Ah.” Shoko paused, slightly caught off guard by the request.

The sudden shift in her demeanor startled Mayui, throwing her into a spiral of overthinking—wondering if she had overstepped a line; but just as quickly, Shoko shook off the trance-like moment and returned with her usual bluntness.

 “I’m not good at explaining shit about cursed energy. Geto and Gojo are the experts there, so you should talk to one of them. I’d definitely recommend Geto, though. He’s calmer, more responsible, and way better at explaining things. Plus, he’s usually less busy than Gojo.”

Mayui found herself nodding in half-agreement, still unsure of what she truly wanted. The favor felt like too much to ask of Suguru, and the thought of approaching Satoru with it was inconceivable. Even if the dark-haired sorcerer openly called her his friend, she didn’t want to abuse that fragile bond and as for the snow-haired one—despite clearly drawing a line between their business-like relationship—he had always helped her anyway.

She couldn’t ask for more from either of them.

Rather than voicing those conflicting thoughts, Mayui offered a strained smile and a vague reply to end the conversation.

 “I’ll think about it.”

That morning, she had plenty of time to think—about many things.

The excitement from earlier still lingered inside her, like a cold compress on a burning wound—numbing but unrelenting, keeping her wide awake. That, and the gnawing fear of losing control and hurting Shoko in the process. She couldn’t risk falling asleep—not while she knew Murata was likely lurking outside her door, and certainly not while Shoko lay sleeping peacefully beside her, Toki curled under one arm.

After pressing a gentle kiss to her cat’s damp nose, Mayui carefully slipped out from the warmth of the blankets and tiptoed into the living room. She sat cautiously on the couch, reluctant to get too comfortable in case it tempted her into sleep, but the moment she curled around a long-forgotten pillow, thirst struck her.

Unable to sit still, she drifted into the kitchen. There, hunger hit her too—alongside a gentle, grounding desire to cook a light breakfast for Shoko, knowing the latter might not wake up until noon. Still, Mayui welcomed the distraction. She needed something to occupy her thoughts, especially after discovering Satoru’s gift—“found” near the microwave, deliberately forgotten there in a way only he could manage.  

The thought of opening it in Shoko’s presence made her heart flutter with overwhelming shyness and a barely contained enthusiasm—emotions she wasn’t used to feeling. Receiving a souvenir from someone she admired stirred something deeper. Yaga often bought her things, but it never felt the same.

Satoru hadn’t been compelled by duty or circumstance to get her anything. That unfamiliar, unspoken motivation only gave rise to far too many questions. The one that persisted, even as her thoughts gradually untangled, was: Why a liquid lipstick?

What had gone through his mind while choosing it?

Maybe he just grabbed the first item he saw.

Did he picture her wearing the soft pink shade, or had a saleswoman recommended it?

Surely, he hadn’t paid much attention to the color.

Was he used to buying makeup for women? He must have been, since even Ayame received something similar.

In the end, Mayui concluded that he had probably bought both souvenirs at once—hers and Ayame’s—on a whim.

The fact that she was trying so hard to interpret the meaning behind a simple gift only revealed her own hidden desire to redefine the nature of their pre-established relationship. That realization was enough for her to make a quiet decision: she wouldn’t wear the lipstick. That way, she wouldn’t cross any unspoken boundaries.

Besides, the color was too beautiful for someone like her—too delicate for a face she saw as broken, too feminine for a person who had long since let go of her femininity.

If Murata were to see her lips painted with a shade chosen by another man, he would surely mock her—call her foolish, unsightly, laughable. A lovely gift like that didn’t suit her. She knew that. She felt the absurdity of even entertaining the thought of trying it on.

The best decision, she told herself, was to wipe it off and hide it somewhere out of sight.

After all, it was a gift without meaning. Probably something meant for Ayame, and when Satoru noticed Mayui at the party, he handed it to her just to avoid leaving her out. Most likely, it had been Shoko’s suggestion, and he had simply gone along with it.

She sighed, glancing out the window. The first rays of dawn were beginning to pierce through the night sky with quiet confidence—rays that promised change, movement, hope.

But unlike the sun’s steady resolve, Mayui remained what she had always been: a dying star, devoured by the light of a new day.

In the end, all she could ever be was dust—drifting aimlessly through a vast galaxy, never interfering with any other celestial body.

***  

“No matter where I go, I still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as I'll come to defining myself.”― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

30^th March

Some say that the more you reject something, the greater the possibility of it happening when you least expect it. The intensity of someone’s thoughts could strangely send different kinds of energy into the universe—so strong that they start creating either a longed-for path or the very one you feared. Small, seemingly insignificant actions build up over time, leading either to a direction you thought you’d given up on or towards something you secretly wished for.

For Mayui, the two conflicting choices manifested before her at once as she swung the door open with urgency, searching for the journeyer cat that had escaped through the window. Only two minutes had passed since she opened it to air the living room, thinking that Toki was still asleep beside Shoko, but then she’d seen a flash of white slip behind the curtains and vanish.

The panic that struck her at the thought of losing him was stronger than the need to abide by any rules. Without hesitation, Mayui burst through the door, hoping that her beloved companion hadn’t run too far.

As she turned to her right, her eyes landed on a sight that both eased her worry—and stirred something deeper: Satoru was standing there, holding Toki in his arms. His long fingers played with the cat’s small claws as they threatened to scratch him, yet his eyes were fixed on the squirming creature, completely taken by it.

Maybe it was the first time Mayui had seen Satoru look so genuinely happy interacting with another soul. There was a flicker in his half-visible eyes, a glimmer of childlike joy and innocence that left her speechless; that, and the shock of seeing him here—especially after she had just decided, hours earlier, not to get involved with him anymore.

Uncertain how to react, Mayui remained frozen in place, unable to recall how she used to behave around Satoru. She didn’t want to appear too friendly and risk making him uncomfortable, but she also didn’t want to seem pitiful or desperate. For the past two years, she had drowned in self-pity, becoming disgusted with herself for clinging to cheap melodrama in an attempt to plead her case. In that moment, all Mayui wished for was to be shattered into pieces and carried off by the wind—anything to avoid facing her emotions with him standing right there.

“Hi!” Satoru tilted his head to the side, his cerulean eyes finally landing on her breathless figure—surprised, perhaps, by how her presence had blended so naturally into the scene that he almost hadn’t noticed her at all.

In return, Mayui only replied with a stiff, polite line—too flustered to meet his gaze.

Satoru, however, brushed off her odd demeanor as something unimportant. So instead of commenting on it, he nuzzled his nose against the cat’s small forehead, clearly enjoying the softness of its fur; but just as he bent down to set the creature down—Mayui’s panicked voice halted his hands mid-air.

“Please don’t let him go!” she cried, rushing over and falling to her knees without a second thought, not caring that her pajama pants were getting dirty. She stretched out her arms for the cat, terrified he might drop it by accident. “Geez, you’re always like this!” Mayui scolded softly, though her hands, gently scratching under the chin and behind the ears, betrayed her fondness.

In that brief, frantic moment, she forgot all about Satoru –still standing in front of her, still holding the cat; and while her sudden cry had surprised him, he smoothly shifted into a different role—one of the betrayed victim.

“Yui.” Satoru’s low voice instantly caught her attention, deceiving her drops of gold into facing the trial of the infinite blue. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a cat?”

If Mayui had to use words to describe the unpredictability and surprise that came with the inquiry, she wouldn’t have had enough of them—none sufficient to capture the depth of her inability to respond right away. She blinked twice, lost in her thoughts. Judging from the seriousness of his expression—his furrowed brows and slightly pouting lips, almost resembling a scowl—it didn’t seem like Satoru was completely making fun of her.

Still, that realization didn’t help her find the right answer to his impossible question. So, she resorted to doing what she knew best.      

“I’m sorry…I didn’t…know you liked cats.”

Upon hearing her sincere apology, Satoru had to hold back a laugh at Mayui’s seriousness, his mouth barely managing to contain the smile that threatened to spill across his handsome face.

“I suppose I can forgive you.” He trailed off rather upset, deciding to look down instead of facing Mayui, for fear he might drop off his role if he were to see her unjustly guilty expression. “On two conditions.”

He raised his eyes just in time to catch how her expression lit up, how her eyes sparkled at the sound of his offer. Then, just as quickly, she looked down at Toki, who seemed just as intrigued by the exchange—perhaps even siding with Satoru in this playful charade.

“You have to let me play with it.” he said, raising a single finger while still holding the cat. He checked her reaction with the corner of his eye—Mayui nodded eagerly. “And I want pictures of it. Lots of them, regularly.”

The girl agreed without a second thought, still confused by their dialogue and the topic that had brought it forth. Then, she noticed Satoru’s small smile stretching into a boyish laugh that matched his theatrics. She chuckled along with him as he handed her the cat, rather proud of his natural sense of humor, which wasn’t often so sincerely appreciated by his audience.

“Actually, that’s the reason I came by in the first place. To get your number.” Satoru added, while standing up from his former crouched position, cracking his back. “I’m going away on another mission for the next two weeks and if anything happens, I figured it’d be quicker if you could contact me directly.”

Mayui found herself nodding once again at his proposal, a tint of guilt slowly creeping into her mind like poison ivy—intoxicating her ability to openly accept help from someone without feeling unworthy of it. Then, she shook her head, instinctively holding more tightly onto the cat’s restless body.

“I see. I don’t have a phone though.”

Despite usually having perfect control over his expressions, Satoru blinked both curious and skeptical. “What do you mean? Didn’t Yaga buy you one?”

“No, but that’s because I don’t need one.” she quickly explained, not wanting to put the principal in a difficult position—all while struggling to endure the claws sinking deep into her right deltoid. She tried to pull Toki back into her arms, but the perpetrator made things difficult by escaping her grasp and leaping onto her shoulder. Then, the cat began chewing on her hair and poking her cheek as if demanding her full attention—attention she would have gladly given if she weren’t already engaged in conversation with Satoru.

At this point, the snow-haired man was trying to hold back a smile that hovered somewhere between amused and thrilled. There was something about the harmlessness and simplicity of the situation that only deepened his already lingering confusion. However, instead of walking away from the unknown, Satoru stepped forward, grabbed the mischievous cat, and placed it on his own shoulder—offering it higher ground.

“Now you do.” he said with a childish grin, as the feline began exploring its newly acquired perch by sniffing Satoru’s white strands, which matched its fur. ”I know Yaga doesn’t understand the concept of technology, but to buy a cat…no offense…” He looked over at Mayui, expectantly, then turned to glance at the at now circling his shoulders as if trying to reach his left side.

“Toki.” she replied without hesitation.

“Toki.” Satoru echoed with a hint of mirth upon saying the name, as he affectionately caressed the cat’s head.”- instead of a phone…the scale of importance doesn’t seem all that balanced. So get one.”

He ended his remark on a more serious note, though he hadn’t meant to belittle Toki’s existence or blame Mayui for a gap that could easily be filled. Just as he was about to correct himself—worried he had come across as too demanding or strict—her response caught him off guard.

“Yes, Satoru – sama!” Mayui saluted with exaggerated military precision—her right hand raised sharply above her eye, while her left arm stayed rigidly at her side. In contrast to the formal gesture, she was grinning bashfully. The way her teeth showed made her eyes crinkle, and her cheeks were flushed a vivid red—though the soft brush of the wind may have had a hand in that, too.

“So Miss Kamo does know how to joke.” Satoru chortled, placing the cat atop her already tousled hair and laughing harder when she let out a small protest.

In that moment, he thought Mayui looked her best when smiling wholeheartedly.

So, when her soft voice called out to him, it only reinforced his conviction.           

“Satoru! Take care of yourself!”

He raised a hand in a wave without looking back, but he was grateful for her thoughtfulness.

“See ya soon!”

Chapter Text

2^nd April

Like a warm breeze in mid-spring, foretelling the end of winter’s whimsical cold spells, Mayui’s training sessions took on a pleasant change when Yoshinaga Kanon was dispatched overseas for a two-week mission. Instead of assigning her a new instructor—whose different teaching style might confuse Mayui more than help her—the Council decided it was the perfect opportunity for her to focus on self-training.

“…. honing her newly acquired skills through mental vision.” the principal sighed, delivering the Council’s decision word for word, as if reciting something distasteful.

Yaga was on his way to the indoor gymnasium when he spotted Shoko, Mayui, and Haibara gathered near the koi pond. Lately, he had noticed subtle but welcome changes in Mayui’s behavior—more smiles, more willingness to engage with others. Despite her circumstances, she no longer seemed to feel as much like a prisoner as she once had. She had found her voice, and people who accepted both her flaws and her talents—friends who stood up for her when she didn’t dare to stand up for herself.

“That’s bullshit!” Shoko declared, flicking her cigarette to the ground and grinding it under her heel with unnecessary force. Her public outrage made Mayui gasp in panic, her eyes darting around for curious passersby who might be eavesdropping. Shoko, however, continued her rant without missing a beat, reaching over to pat Mayui on the head in reassurance, while her sharp gaze alternated between Haibara and Yaga, as if both men were complicit in the Council’s scheming.

 “They’ll use every little inconvenience to cut down your chances at the next trial.” she muttered darkly.

“Mayui’s results weren’t promising from the start.” Yaga said flatly. “I guess they want to use Kondo’s and Yoshinaga’s reports against her—prove that, with or without proper training, there’s no progress.” The principal concluded, answering the buzzing ancient-model phone that loudly rang inside his pocket. Without further addition, he signaled it was time to leave and headed back to his office. As Mayui watched his side profile distancing from them, she couldn’t help but notice the way he narrowed his eyes at the device, unsure of which button he should press to end the call. His clumsiness made the girl chuckle, remembering Satoru’s statement about Yaga’s ceaseless fight against technology.

“Mayui, did you hear me?” Shoko’s disappointed voice made its way to Mayui’s reverie, cracking it open to reality; the blonde shook her head, admitting to being caught red-handed, but her friend’s ire wasn’t directed toward her spacing out, but toward someone she considered untrustworthy. “We can’t have those conversations in this one’s presence.”

Mayui’s eyes followed Shoko’s scrutinizing gaze toward Yu, who leaned against the bridge’s railing, back turned to the pond, face averted. His ears were flushed, tips hidden beneath the longer strands of hair he had left uncut, but Mayui blamed the redness on the weather’s unpredictable changes.

In spite of being a direct participant in their strange exchange, Mayui could still not understand what could have caused those accusations, especially when they seemed to get along just fine at Suguru’s birthday party. Thus, she couldn’t support Shoko’s allegations before asking her reasons and circumstances behind them; in addition, having Haibara around made it easier since she could find out his side of the story and perhaps reach an agreement.

“Sweet, innocent Mayui…” Shoko trailed off, feeling the need to hug the gullible soul and shelter it forever from the mean world. “Have you forgotten the dreadful treachery committed by Haibara? When he knocked on my door only to shackle you and bring you in front of the Council?”

That particular memory wasn’t a pleasant one to recall, especially when it involved another individual she wanted to forget; but even if Haibara did take part in her momentary confinement, she couldn’t bring herself to blame him. Compared to Murata, the boy didn’t take any pleasure in tormenting her. It was obvious from the regretful stares he kept throwing her way during the whole walk of shame and ultimately proved by his frequently asked questions about the grip around her wrists and ankles—if they were comfortable, or if they were too tight against her skin.

Mayui never hated or disliked Yu in any way; he was sincere and kind, although being young and spoiled might have played a part in his tendency to be swept away by others’ opinions. However, at the end of the day, he was still maturing, and she accepted him despite their misunderstandings.

How could she not, when she had spent most of her time with him?

They didn’t always have the most fruitful conversations, but still, she had grown accustomed to his comforting presence. Mayui cared for Yu to the point where she was willing to let him think the worst of her, without offering meaningless self-explanations, if that protected his reputation among other sorcerers. She was aware of her social position and the unfavorable implications that guaranteed bad rumors about anyone involved with her, especially a man.

“You sound like Satoru.” the blonde girl chuckled, as Shoko’s frown deepened and her hands stretched Mayui’s cheeks, applying just enough force to make the other squeal and try to wriggle free.

“Which part reminded you of that rascal?”

Upon freeing herself, Mayui caressed her puffed cheeks, still smiling at Shoko’s way of showing affection. “The dramatic way of narrating.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You must’ve been bitten by Gojo-senpai or something.” Yu mischievously chimed in, acting as if the conversation didn’t concern him, though he was clearly waiting for a chance at revenge if luck smiled upon him that day.

However, when his target of vengeance actually stared him down, the idea didn’t seem as bright as before, and Haibara began to retreat, concerned for his own safety. Shoko, usually calm and collected, became a force no one desired to confront in this state—especially since she had the power to chop you up and put you back together all the same.

“Come back here, Haibara! I’ll teach you how to respect your elders!” Shoko proclaimed, lowering her body just enough to reach the half-smoked cigarette she had thrown on the ground in a moment of uncontrollable frustration. (Though, she should probably work on that habit of wasting cigars as a stress relief.) She barely straightened, holding onto her lower back and sighing deeply as she readjusted her stance. “I think I’m becoming more like Yaga-sensei.”

“Both Satoru and Yaga-san are wonderful role models.”

Mayui’s innocent statement, uttered in a moment of sincerity, reflected her subjective opinion of both individuals after interacting with them in similar, yet different, circumstances. She could never have guessed its lasting effects or the variety of reactions it might elicit when spoken aloud. However, it was the first thing Shoko told Suguru in private, before the three of them, plus Haibara, met at the outside training grounds for meditation.

It was the 7^th of April when Suguru finally managed to find some free time for himself after returning from another tiring mission; he had been gone for more than a week and needed a peaceful day to recharge his energy. The sunny day allowed him to fulfill his promise of helping Mayui understand the meaning behind cursed energy before actually teaching her how to see residuals. However, he would have never expected the lesson to become a full course for three students.

Whereas Yu’s presence was mandatory, he visibly enjoyed learning from his favorite upperclassman and spending more time with him, while Shoko obviously joined the group with ulterior motives. She was never one to believe in yoga or meditation, while understanding cursed energy came naturally to her, as did its use.

When she pointed out Mayui’s best joke regarding Satoru being a role model, Suguru didn’t know how to react at first. It felt like he didn’t have all the necessary information to fully understand the context, but Shoko neither added more to the story nor appeared to neglect other details. Thus, he was left wondering if his worries regarding Mayui were starting to take shape, though they might differ from the ones nurtured by Shoko.

Satoru was his other half; Geto could proudly claim he knew Satoru better than Satoru knew himself.

After so many years spent with the same people, it wasn’t hard to notice the latest change in the décor and what that change had offered to each of them. From Suguru’s point of view—which he himself deemed accurate and rather objective—Satoru was strangely comfortable in Mayui’s presence. He had only seen them once in the same room, and he could tell Satoru felt at ease with her. Though others didn’t pay it any mind, that shift was perceived in subtle actions, such as Satoru interacting more with the group, drinking because he enjoyed himself, and easily giving in to requests, although he usually hated being patronized.

Suguru was certain Satoru himself didn’t realize the small, easily overlooked changes in his behavior. If he did, he ignored them and played along while feigning foolishness – that was Satoru’s usual way of coping with emotions he had a hard time understanding, so he would rather not even try. And, unlike other girls, Kamo Mayui wasn’t one to forcefully make her way into places he disliked exposing—thus the coziness provided by the simplicity of their connection.

He couldn’t blame him. Mayui was pleasant, both in her calculated and shy presence. She respected people’s boundaries and their choices not to talk about certain things. She was kind and forgiving, genuinely accepting Satoru as a man before labeling him as the strongest, just like everyone had done his entire life. The main reason lay in the fact that, until recently, Mayui didn’t belong to their world, so she didn’t react to Satoru as people usually did—with either fear, fake respect, or ulterior motives. She didn’t view him as a sorcerer, but as a human being with dreams and emotions of his own.

If his opinion could ever be regarded as shallow, Suguru remembered that Mayui’s blood didn’t register Satoru as a threat. Whereas she most probably wouldn’t have reacted to either him or Shoko, something was different when it came to Gojo.

He was special to Mayui, and Suguru could only hope romantic feelings weren’t involved. It would have broken his heart to see the little blonde having an unrequited love when she deserved all the happiness in a world that had only offered her sadness and sorrow thus far.

“Can you believe that, Suguru?” Shoko’s tone was somewhere between a rhetorical inquiry and a statement she wasn’t prepared to accept yet.

If Geto managed to understand the way someone as complicated as Satoru functioned, he could also claim to be close enough to Shoko to anticipate her reactions and overall opinion. Thus, instead of leaving her question hanging, he went with the flow of entertaining the discussion, since he also had his doubts.

“I actually can. Satoru has helped Mayui with her situation, hasn’t he? That’s why I’m not surprised she holds him in such high regard.”

“When you put it like that…” she paused, scratching her forehead in frustration as she admitted to her concerns. “I know Gojo has his good points, as unbelievable as it is, it’s just that… Gojo should stay Gojo.” Shoko concluded, handing her last half-smoked cigarette to Suguru after blowing a long puff full of worry.

The brunette gladly accepted sharing the last smoke with Shoko, along with their troubles regarding their common friend.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

In the distance, two silhouettes were approaching the training grounds. The wind of April carried their happy chatter all the way to the duo who had just finished the cigarette.

9^th April

The following meditation sessions were held mostly between Suguru and Mayui, since Haibara neither had the patience nor the interest in staying still and reflecting on his life and future aspirations. He was someone who lived in the present, sometimes driven by optimistic thoughts and other times influenced by foolish ideas, but still not one who ever considered exploring his inner self.

Mayui neither seemed interested in deepening her usual overthinking, but she lacked the courage to tell Suguru how meditation made her face problems she didn’t have the power to solve in that moment. Thus, she was having a rather hard time trying to focus on trivial aspects of her life instead of actually meditating. However, her fretting behavior didn’t go unnoticed by the brunette, who chose not to comment on it. On the first day, he wasn’t necessarily disturbed by her way of deflecting her attention away from the spiritual path, but by the time they had their third session, an unsettling feeling had nestled in his stomach.

At first, he tried ignoring it, labeling it as him being cranky that morning, but the more she glanced at him, the ball of uneasiness started growing in size, diverting his attention from his own meditation. Suguru tried accommodating Mayui’s behavior—he really tried to be compassionate and understanding toward her and her situation—but sometimes it felt like he had to make an extra effort when having a conversation with her. Sometimes, he assumed he had to walk on thin ice around Mayui, cautious not to break it, because even a crack in that frail layer could lead to its final, destructive shattering.

Additionally, he had to add more layers carefully and patiently until the ice became more solid, more guarded from its own ruin. Although Suguru was trying to befriend her willingly, sometimes he felt overwhelmed and helpless. He had to pay extra attention when choosing his words and he had to look out for her state of comfort, either concerned about their close proximity or about her being left out of a conversation. He didn’t experience this restlessness with either Satoru or Shoko; with them, everything was natural and comfortable.

If Satoru were to stare at him silently—which was rare—Suguru would have come out and blatantly asked if he had something to say. However, when it came to Mayui, he didn’t know if the best approach was to openly inquire about a certain matter or to wait until she was ready to talk about it. Either way, the awkwardness heavily weighed on the gymnasium air.

“Perhaps, is there something you’d like to ask me?” Suguru exhaled, opening his left eye to give her a swift side look before closing it again. His mouth was dry, and he knew his words came out throatier and more bitter than intended.

He heard her body shifting, probably turning around to face him properly, but he wasn’t sure if he could respond to her sincerity in the same way. That April day was rainy, and it didn’t sit well with his mood.

“Um…I was wondering if you went somewhere to pierce your ears or if…you did it by yourself?” Mayui’s voice was clear and light, but it always carried agitation in what she expressed. “If that is alright of me to ask.”

Suguru remembered piercing his ears on a whim at seventeen. He had seen a model in a magazine, liked his style, and decided to borrow it in his teenage pursuit of finding an identity. Although his parents were initially against this new change, they had learned to accept it in time as a part of their son, who had overcome his rebellious phase and still remained loyal to himself.

A childish smile easily painted his lips at the thought, as his right hand unconsciously played with one of his earrings. The ball of discomfort deflated as if it had never resided in his stomach, and he opened his eyes joyfully.

“I went to a tattoo and piercing salon in Shibuya. It’s a nice place with well-mannered people, the atmosphere is relaxing and comfortable.” He nodded to himself, reminiscing about one of his dearest places on earth. “It’s a really wholesome experience.”

“I see. That sounds really great.” Mayui paused for a second, taking in Suguru’s light expression as a sign to keep talking. ”I’m considering getting my ears pierced in the future…My mom gave me this choice, b-but right now, I don’t think it would suit me…so I’d thought of asking you…about it.”

“When you’re ready, tell me and I’ll take you there.” Suguru replied, his eyes closing again, but this time the corners of his oval-shaped orbs were smiling as he effortlessly added another layer to the ice.

Chapter Text

11^th April – Five hours before the Zombie Curse took over Tokyo East High School

The few hours Mayui spent at a normal high school made her feel at peace. At first, it represented a space where she could return to her former, ordinary self, even if only for a short while; but lately, she had begun to notice a few changes within the present Mayui—someone far from being a non-sorcerer, and no longer the same person she was two years ago.

She wasn’t even the same Mayui from two months ago, or from the day before yesterday, or even from an hour ago. She was gradually coming to terms with her new life, and that acceptance was helping her more when interacting with others.

Compared to Jujutsu High, where she had struggled to fit in, Tokyo East High School felt like an escape into the past. Here, she could feel comfortable and at ease being whoever she wanted to be, because no one held expectations of her. She was just a new transfer student—a role she had been playing all her life, one she knew by heart. She understood the right way to approach classmates without making things awkward or tense.

The fact that Yaga had enrolled her under her mother’s name added to that sense of familiarity—sometimes to the point where it became unbearable to hear it without being pulled back into the past. At other times, Mayui found herself unable to respond properly when called by it, as if the name no longer truly belonged to her. The name Fumi was just another fragment of Mayui, one of the last ties connecting her to her mother—ultimately and violently stripped away, until the sound itself felt alien. That was the main reason Mayui allowed herself one selfish request when introducing herself: she asked her classmates to call her by her surname, hoping it might also ease the tension between them.

Still, she was aware that most of her classmates might avoid interacting with her, given the age gap. The uncomfortable questions about her being held back would likely hinder any future connections, but Mayui hadn’t held expectations from the beginning. She neither put effort into making friends nor tried to forcefully approach anyone beyond the mandatory interactions.

Thus, it must have been Mayui’s natural charm that drew people to her without her even trying, because one day she suddenly realized she had formed new bonds with most of her classmates—particularly with the girl sitting in front of her desk, Yuka.

“I thank my almighty legs for not making me late!” the tall, black-haired girl huffed between ragged breaths as she dropped her entire weight against Mayui’s right side, silently demanding her full attention.

Mayui indulged her without hesitation, fanning her with a few sheets of paper to cool down the track-and-field star.

 “You did well.” she praised gently, earning a grateful side hug.

“My only regret is missing the chance to see your cute boyfriend today!”

Used to Yuka’s sly remarks about Yu’s constant presence, Mayui let out a dry chuckle but didn’t pursue the topic further. Since she couldn’t offer a truthful explanation about her escort, she simply went along with the teasing and allowed the dating allegations to stand.

“Though I never would’ve guessed you were into younger boys.”

The comment, though harmless and without ill intent, made Mayui uncomfortable. Any love-related subject left her with an inexplicable lump in her throat and a strong urge to run away, so she always tried to avoid it while keeping things light for others.

Unfortunately, Yuka had a habit of insisting whenever she didn’t get the reaction she wanted. “Honestly, I think older, more mature guys would suit you better.”

But talking about Yu inevitably meant talking about the despised sorcerers—the ones blamed for stealing countless innocent lives during the Great War. Though it was rarely spoken outright and never officially declared, most non-sorcerers harbored resentment toward them, condemning their power and the dominance they held over ordinary people. Sorcerers were feared and hated as a whole.

Yet after meeting the trio, Mayui had come to believe they were only misunderstood. The towering walls separating the two sides kept them from seeing one another clearly: non-sorcerers were too fixated on the walls’ height to even imagine building a door through them, while sorcerers only added more concrete layers, too afraid of being seen as vulnerable—or human.

In the meanwhile, the contrasting individual named Mayui was trapped between stone walls, caught in the impossible decision of choosing a side and crossing over once and for all.
For now, she remained neutral, though she couldn’t help but wonder how much time she had left before being dragged out of her cage and forced to declare her loyalty.

“I guess we don’t choose who to love.”

Three and a half hours before the Zombie Curse took over Tokyo East High school

During history class, Mayui felt the entire classroom spinning around her. She tried the breathing exercises Suguru had once taught her, but the haziness refused to leave her senses. Only when her fingers began trembling uncontrollably did she stop resisting the symptoms and ask permission to go to the infirmary. Since Mayui was known for being anemic, the teacher allowed her absence, and Yuka quickly volunteered to escort her to the nurse.

What Mayui didn’t know was that the school nurse—though a non-sorcerer—had been hired by the Kamo clan to monitor her health outside of Jujutsu High. Seeing Mayui barely able to stand, Nurse Hasegawa hurried to lay her down on an empty bed, administering vitamins and minerals before instructing her to rest as much as possible.           

“I skipped lunch today.” Mayui murmured, attempting to explain the cause of her near-fainting. Unsure if she had been heard, she kept speaking in a strange moment of weakness, as though she were living her final moments on Earth and wanted her death to carry the meaning she gave it, rather than the clinical one a stranger might assign. “I also skipped breakfast…and dinner the other day..”

A warm hand patted her forehead twice, wordlessly assuring her that she had been heard and her condition understood.

As Mayui closed her eyes, she thought about how much she hated being fussed over, how much she despised causing a scene in class. She felt responsible for worrying Yaga and Shoko, guilty and foolish for fainting simply because she had agreed to run an errand for a teacher during her only chance to eat that day.

Eventually, Mayui drifted into sleep, but her awakening was brutal and agonizing. At first, incoherent sounds from reality bled into her dreams, twisting them into visions of bloodied monsters ready to tear into her legs. Her ragged, breathless gasps—unclear even to herself whether they belonged to dream or reality—grew so ravaged and uncontrolled that a violent stab pierced her ribcage, jolting her out of the dreamlike haze and back into a cruel, unfamiliar reality.     

As her brain failed to comprehend the shapes and figures in the room around her, it shut down for a few seconds, retreating into itself to recall the meaning behind a sharp sting in her vein. Then, as her vision slowly adjusted, her gaze shifted from the empty ceiling to a grumbling, humanoid creature clawing at her from over the bed.

Mayui’s whole body jolted as she hit the cold floor, the sudden impact ripping the needle from her vein in a sharp, painful tug. She hissed, still disoriented, still struggling to process her surroundings—or why a pair of arms had hooked under her armpits, trying to drag her away from the monstrous figure.

“Mayui, wake up already!” Yuka’s distressed voice cut through the haze. Despite her trembling arms, she refused to abandon her friend, grounding Mayui’s drifting consciousness back into reality. Mayui braced her heels against the floor and pushed upward with all her strength as Yuka pulled from behind. They stumbled awkwardly to their feet; the brunette still clung tightly to her, refusing to let go, even as she lost her own balance when the blonde crashed into her.

What followed happened so quickly that Mayui’s memories blurred into fragments—her experience as a direct participant too vague to describe with precision, too incomplete to fill in the missing gaps. Instead of trying to understand the chaos erupting before her bloodshot eyes, she focused on the simple task of staying upright as the crowd surged around her.

It was as if Hell itself had broken loose, demons roaming freely through the school. Every living soul acted on instinct alone, driven only by the desperate will to survive—even if that meant shoving classmates aside, trampling over fallen bodies without sparing a glance at their twisted expressions, abandoning friends as though they were strangers, or even sacrificing others if it bought them another chance at life.

The hallways, usually wide enough for the many packs of students, were now suffocatingly narrow against the erratic masses of terrified teenagers, each struggling to push their way to the front. The most desperate leapt from the second and third floors, only to fall prey to the creatures lurking outside.

Though she didn’t fully understand the situation or its cause, Mayui shared the same fear and distress as the other survivors. Yet her uneasiness remained tempered by a logical, steadier control—enough to let her think more clearly instead of succumbing to blind panic.

Her grip tightened firmly around Yuka’s hand, refusing to let go for fear they might be separated. The two were swept along with the tide of frantic students, inching closer to the stairs. Screams echoed all around them, drowning out the guttural grumbling of the creatures, as survivors turned violent against one another in their desperate bids to escape.

If the end of the world could be captured in a single moving image, that moment would have marked the beginning of Jihad.

The closer they drew to the stairs, the smaller the space seemed to become, unable to contain the sheer agitation. Tension boiled over. Students lashed out, throwing punches as if their own survival outweighed the lives of those beside them. Others, emboldened by the spreading violence, shoved people down the stairs and trampled over them, their screams fading into futility. Everything was selfish. Everything was chaos. It was a living Hell.

For Mayui, the true Hell began the instant she was separated from Yuka. Their hands had been clasped tightly—until, in less than a second, the brunette was swept forward with the surge of bodies while Mayui was left stranded, unable to move. She cried out for Yuka, desperately, endlessly, but her voice was swallowed by the frenzy. She was alone now—shoved and pulled from every direction by taller bodies, her bare feet crushed beneath the stampede, her sides bruised, her head struck by stray elbows. Sweat, fear, and suffocating heat pressed against her from all sides, dizzying her, leaving her gasping for air.

At some point, she remembered being shoved against a wall and crushed against it. Mayui tried to fight back, but her small frame was no match for the strength of the taller men around her. Helpless, she stayed pinned to the wall, squirming her way through the press of bodies—until she tripped over a figure lying on the ground and fell to her knees in the middle of a pool of shattered glass, likely from a broken classroom window nearby.

Mayui winced as the shards tore through the thin fabric of her black leggings, piercing her skin in a dozen tiny burns. The pain was sharp and searing, but she knew she had to move before the stampede swallowed her whole.

She braced her hand against the nearest wall, but another violent shove knocked her off balance. She crashed to her side, a larger shard driving deep into her left thigh. A muffled scream escaped her lips before she hissed out a curse under her breath. The burn radiated through her leg, forcing her to glance down to make sure it was still attached. The wound was deep—etched just above her knee like a sideways river, leaking a thick, sticky red that streamed down her leg. Soon after, numbness set in, making it nearly impossible to stand. With gritted teeth, she crawled forward on one leg until she reached the safety of an empty classroom.

Summoning the last of her strength, she slammed the door shut and slumped against it. Her back slid down until she was curled on the floor, knees pulled tightly to her chest despite the throbbing pain that screamed with every small movement. She hiccupped softly, pressing her hands over her ears, burying her chin into her chest. The wire of tension inside her finally snapped, and she could no longer bear the sound of her kin being slaughtered.

Everything was wrong—horribly, viscerally wrong—to witness so closely, to breathe in without consent. The chaos outside was twisted and merciless, suffocating in its stench and the endless chorus of screams. Just moments ago, life had been painfully, boringly normal and then, in an instant, some malignant curse had torn through that mediocrity, corrupting reality at its very core, birthing monsters out of the living.

One hour after the Zombie Curse took over Tokyo East High school-

If an hour ago the hallways had been brimming with the raw despair of clinging to life, now they resembled a silent graveyard. And as one of its unwilling residents, Mayui’s small chamber resounded only with her faint whimpers of hopelessness. Her body lay still, pressed against the coffin that momentarily assured her safety, while her heart pounded restlessly, strangled by the nails hammered into her knees.

The deafening silence felt like an extension of punishment itself—building up the expectation of something about to happen, only to collapse into nothing at the peak of tension. Unable to endure another harrowing minute, Mayui ripped away the black fabric barely holding together the remains of her leggings from knee to calf. The cloth, stiff with dried blood and rank with its iron stench, disgusted her so much she tore off the entire piece covering her left leg, careful not to leave herself entirely barefoot.

She forced herself upright, avoiding pressure on her wounded leg and relying instead on her arms for strength. Yet the simple act of moving, after lying so long in stillness, reopened her wound. Blood gushed again, pumping freely like a broken valve unaware of its own leak.

A guttural wheeze slipped from her lips as her fists clenched tight, nails biting deep enough into her palms to draw blood. She had to move somewhere, anywhere, but a single glance at her condition told her escape outside was futile. At least Yuka should have made it—an athlete born and raised, fast enough to outrun any creature that crossed her path.

Even through the haze of exhaustion, Mayui clearly remembered the attackers’ zombie-like appearance. She had seen enough dystopian apocalypse films to recall the basics: their sluggish movements, their slow reactions. Survival was possible—if only one could master fear and outwit the brainless.

However, Mayui was neither courageous nor brilliant. Her body had never been strong, her willpower always brittle. What she did possess, in rare flashes, was a cold clarity that let her choose the most rational option in the moment.

And in that moment, she chose the simplest path: to die at the rotten hands of a zombie. Struggling, fighting, running—it all led to the same end. And after all this time, Mayui was simply tired of trying to live a life she no longer wanted.

She opened the classroom door and stepped into the lifeless hallway. She drew in a quiet, shaky breath of courage, though even that small sound echoed far too loudly in the empty dark.

Night had already fallen, confusing her sense of time. How long had she been curled inside that room for the sun to vanish completely? She had no phone, no clock, no tether to reality—and no way to reach anyone outside. She should have listened to Satoru and asked Yaga for a phone, but back then, the thought of requesting more than she had already been given had felt outrageous. Now, it only felt childish and stupid.

The occasional flicker of the ceiling lights made her flinch each time, the quarter-second of darkness taunting her with the possibility of a monster appearing when the glow returned. Every nerve in her body stayed tense as she crept forward, slow and deliberate, ears straining toward the low grumbles growing louder near the end of the hallway.

It was then that realization hardened her choice: this was the perfect moment to end her life. No interference, no cursed blood, no one left to meddle with her decision. Just her, her wound, and the army of the dead waiting ahead.

She pressed a trembling hand to her throbbing thigh, wincing as the pain coiled upward and downward like a constricting serpent sinking its fangs into her flesh. Blood trailed down to her ankle, each drop marking her steps, but Mayui felt drunk—on adrenaline, on fear, on the twisted exhilaration of walking willingly toward death.

At last, she was going to succeed in dying.

                          ***

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

― George Orwell, 1984

Chapter Text

Even if the she-zombie had spotted Mayui, her missing lower limbs made it harder for her to advance forward using only her hands. The shock that came with the first sight of the creature slowly dissipated and turned into the adrenaline she needed in order to pass by it and move to the next corridor. If something resembling a sense of duty towards her schoolmates triggered inside Mayui the courage to spare a glance at the horrible-looking she-zombie, the moment her eyes landed on it, she vomited on the floor.

The skin’s degradation, which had once belonged to a young girl, had advanced to the point where, on some body parts such as her face and neck, it had reached the flesh, leaving those spots filled with nothing but black, rotten meat. On other parts it had reached past most of the flesh, all the way to the broken, scratched bones. Blood dripping from the corners of its carved mouth and the trail it left behind completed the final image of a painting depicted straight from a horror movie.

That girl could’ve easily been someone she had once met, but now Mayui couldn’t even properly glance at the moving corpse, let alone recognize her. It took her a great amount of courage to step forward, with one hand supporting her body against the wall, as she had done until then, and the other strongly holding the newly acquired weapon.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway, Mayui found herself at a crossroad; she could either head left or right, but both sides were filled with growling, grumbling, and munching sounds that limited her two options to none.

She pressed her back against the wall and crouched down, unable to handle the throbbing pain emanating from her leg. She slapped a hand against her mouth to stifle the effortless hiss that was sure to escape from her lips the moment she lay down on the ground. At least the improvised sword (though better used as a cane to support her weight) was still by her side, faithfully protecting her and offering the assurance she desperately desired.

Mayui must have rested there for quite a while, judging from the way her back was starting to hurt and from the way her limbs had turned numb and jelly-like. Given that the sun had already set and her only source of light was the flickering bulbs threatening to go out at any second, the girl had lost her sense of time. Instead of being trapped there for mere hours, it felt like she had been a prisoner inside the school for at least three days. Undoubtedly, that was not the case, but the current circumstances might lead to that outcome if she didn’t decide quickly on her next move.

Her chances of survival lay in the arrival of possible saviors, but even if they were already at the scene, dealing with zombies and carving a path to rescue the remaining survivors, Mayui’s gut told her she might just be the last one standing. No one would actually take the risk of entering the apocalypse for a single person, especially when that person happened to be someone as insignificant as her. And even if someone did, willingly or unwillingly, come for her, she didn’t think her soul could bear the weight of that person’s life.

In spite of the fuzziness clouding her mind, Mayui could still access the “zombie-apocalypse cinematography drawer” that reminded her how containing the spread of the virus was more vital than saving trapped people.

Mayui was the kind of person who could understand and accept that logic; from the very beginning, she was never one to desperately cling to her life, but rather a madwoman chasing death. Thus, if other lives could be saved at the cost of her own, then that thought alone carried salvation and comfort to her dying soul. She could actually extinguish with meaning.

Then, in the heat of the moment, when adrenaline pumped through her veins, filling her with a strange conviction and a buried power of resolution, Mayui decided to contribute to exterminating the zombies. Even if her contribution didn’t make a difference in numbers, the fact that she could bring down a few creatures, while her sword obeyed her will and her imagination—splitting into multiple veins that penetrated the zombies’ brains fast enough to take them by surprise and render them unable to fight back—was satisfying enough for an injured victim who lacked trust in her own abilities.       

As Mayui almost cleared out the right wing of the hallway without making hasty movements that could have added more damage to her wounded leg, she naturally attracted the attention of the left wing. She must have turned around too quickly, because her vision began blacking out, while her head spun with pain and haziness. After her eyes adjusted to the new environment, Mayui had to blink multiple times, as though her body had developed a coping mechanism to keep her from believing that the massacre displayed at her feet had been caused by her.

Blood was spilled everywhere, and strangely, none of it belonged to her, but to the mutilated corpses and smashed heads of her victims covering the entire hallway. Upon looking at her hands, Mayui realized that the sword had reached its limit, vanishing but leaving behind traces of its short yet meaningful existence by painting her palms and the undersides of her nails in cruel redness. Nevertheless, if Mayui was expected to be horrified by her own actions, she instead found a moment of lucidity, where the extent of her abilities began taking a clearer shape.

All she needed to control her blood was just a little imagination, and the technique would act accordingly. The present circumstances, which foretold the certainty of her death were the perfect setting that allowed Mayui to experiment with her technique freely and unsupervised, quietly and without pressure. Even she was surprised at her own excitement, probably fueled by adrenaline, but that unrecognizable Mayui was thrilling and fascinating. 

That Mayui created a bow and arrow out of her blood and tried shooting a bloody arrow into a zombie’s skull. On her first attempt, the arrow lost its solid form before it reached its target, but the second and third struck the chest and the leg of the creature lying next to her initial aim. Mayui made a mental note to focus on the stability of her weapons even after releasing them; then, she pondered the chances of being able to manipulate their direction, sharpness, and speed.

Although she was visibly tired from blood loss, Mayui kept shooting arrows to test her theories, without regard for the safety of her own health. When her suspicions were confirmed, she felt proud of achieving what her clan had desired most, followed by the impossibility of them ever making use of it.

Mayui wanted to shout out to her father and grandfather to witness the power that had slipped away from them on the very day she was supposed to stand trial before the Council. She spun around twice, drunk on the thought of making the most important sorcerers wait for her arrival, only to be startled by the sound of approaching footsteps.           

Caught off guard, she fumbled to create a short arrow, which she fired into the blackness of the hallway, unsure of the target’s position. When the echo returned with a sound that resembled the disintegration of her blood, fear rushed back into her veins, awakening her from that blissful trance.

She stepped back, trying to focus on creating a larger arrow, although her blood was visibly becoming thinner and at risk of being unusable. She drew it back on the improvised bow and waited, her elbow extended, for the creature to step into the light. The anticipation made her fingers tremble slightly, while each attempt to swallow became drier than the last as she tried to calm herself. Mayui still had enough time to kill more zombies, and she had to do her very best until her last breath, ignoring her current condition.

The closer the steps came, the clearer it became that it was not a zombie approaching her, but a person. His breathing was steady, not accompanied by growls or grumbles, and his walking pace was calculated and controlled, with a hint of rushed elegance. Despite that conclusion, Mayui still couldn’t relax until she discovered the individual’s identity and intentions.

Another minute must have passed before a tall, blond-haired man came into view. He was wearing a simple black uniform affiliated with the Tokyo School of Sorcerers, which made him look slimmer than he actually was, while his right hand carried some sort of weapon wrapped in bandage cloth stained with black blood.

Upon making eye contact, the man halted, though he gave no sign of dropping his weapon or surrendering under the threat of her arrow. On the other hand, neither did Mayui show any inclination to capitulate, despite facing a sorcerer. She remained faithful to her arrow and the significance it held. She stood steady in her position, confident in her decision to speak up and confront the stranger.

“State your name and purpose here.”

The blond quirked his left eyebrow, though Mayui wasn’t sure he hadn’t raised both, given that most of the right side of his face was covered by long, straight bangs that stopped just under his cheekbone.

“Nanami Kento. Third-year, Tokyo Jujutsu High.” he calmly replied, his expression remaining aloof and stoic as he introduced himself to a random girl pointing an arrow at him. “Are you Kamo Mayui?”

Mayui narrowed her scarlet eyes at him, threateningly taking a step in his direction without changing her posture.

 “You didn’t mention your purpose, Nanami Kento-san.” she deadpanned, finding enough strength in her voice to keep it steady and serious, even though she knew it came out loud with a slight tremble beneath it.

She couldn’t afford to trust anyone, especially someone sent by Jujutsu High. After all, the Council might have dispatched him just to bring her back for her trial, and she would have rather jumped out of the window than returned to face their judging stares.

Contrary to her fiery welcome, Nanami didn’t lose his composure. In reality, he rarely got angry and when he did, it was the result of certain people pestering him to the point of crossing his boundaries. One of those individuals was Gojo Satoru, who had casually called him on his free day to demand an outrageous favor. When Nanami refused, the request slowly turned into sentimental blackmail and bribery. By the end of their phone conversation, Nanami realized he had been tricked into accepting the task of saving the notorious Kamo Mayui behind the higher-ups’ backs, with Gojo’s empty, half-truthful promise of protecting him if things went downhill.

Upon actually meeting the so-called damsel in distress, Nanami reevaluated her victim status. Although she hadn’t confirmed her identity, the description matched her image perfectly, even if her first impression seemed like a typical exaggeration from Gojo.

“She’s like a wary little dog barking at strangers who try to approach her. It’s better to earn her trust before you get closer or she might just bite you.”

Nanami sighed, rubbing his exposed brow as if to ward off an oncoming headache. “I came here to find you- “he wanted to add on one of my upperclassman’s whims, but instead stuck to: – “at Gojo-san’s demand.”

The impact of the name was so unexpected, and so great, that it made Mayui lower her bow, letting her arrow drop and point toward the ground. Her eyes returned to their golden brightness, flickering with anticipation and gratitude, or so Nanami deciphered.

“Are you friends with Satoru?”

The innocence behind her voice and the expectations laced within it only added pressure to Nanami’s answer. Despite not fully comprehending the sudden change in her demeanor, shifting from icy threats to hopeful eyes, he still felt compelled to tell the truth in a vague manner that did not match his usual personality.

“He’s my upperclassman.” he said flatly. Then, with a small clearing of his throat, he redirected. “We should go before we run into other sorcerers. I am not here on official business. Can you walk on that leg?”

At that point, Mayui set her weapon on the ground to her left. Sitting with her legs stretched out in a painful position, she allowed Nanami to examine her wound without touching it.

“I can drag it around, but I’ll only slow you down.” she admitted shyly, suddenly ashamed of the way she presented herself in front of the blond. “Anyway… do you know what is happening here?”

“A curse user has taken over this school.” Nanami stated, removing his blazer and placing it gently over Mayui’s shoulders. While she hadn’t expected him to answer, the blond kept his eyes fixed on her injured leg, trying to understand the meaning behind the absence of blood in the wound. “His cursed technique is viral, attacks the body from within. Reversal is impossible. Were you bitten?”

Although Nanami gave her a visual inspection, the possibility of hidden marks under her clothes could not be ignored. The sleeves of her white shirt, though dirtied by dust and flecked with small spots of blood, were neither torn nor cut. The same was true of the rest of her outfit: the white and red plaid knee-length skirt appeared intact, while the black leggings beneath were missing most of the material covering her injured left leg. Since the wound was just above the knee, everything below it was exposed down to the ankle, where part of the cloth had rolled down. Her other leg showed only a large hole around the knee and a few scratches along the thigh, so nothing serious.

As an additional measure to properly assess the situation, he had to ask her directly, all the while keeping in mind the possibility she might lie.

Nevertheless, Mayui obediently shook her head, holding her breath to stifle the hiss that threatened to escape her throat when Nanami poured disinfectant on her open wound.

 “Is it contagious?” she asked.

The blond man knitted his brows as he tore apart one of his sleeves, fashioning it into an improvised bandage. He wrapped it around Mayui’s injured leg to keep it steady and safe from further infection.

 “There are a few virus carriers spreading the curse through biting and scratching. The rest are brainlessly eating whatever comes their way.”

“At this point, it’s like a zombie apocalypse.” Mayui concluded, accepting the helping hand Nanami offered to help her stand. “But why here? Has the curse user been caught yet?”

“I doubt it. According to Gojo-san, the higher-ups only sent sorcerers ranked below the mission’s level. A veil has been summoned to keep the curses from escaping the school grounds, but it’s been almost six hours. Nothing has changed.” Nanami stopped his train of thought just as he was about to voice his conclusion.

He crouched down with his back facing Mayui, waiting for her to hop on.

When he didn’t feel her weight, he assumed she hadn’t understood the meaning behind his action, so he looked over his shoulder expectantly. Upon glancing back, he found Mayui slowly distancing herself from him, barely dragging along her injured leg. The blazer had already fallen to the ground at her ankles, yet she made no move to stop it from slipping off her shoulders or to retrieve it.

“I know you said you’re here for me, but…I will only hold you back. You seem like a decent, kind man, so I don’t want you to die here because of someone like me.” Mayui confessed, avoiding looking anywhere but into Nanami’s eyes. “Just announce my death…or something and I…I can promise you it won’t be a lie…”

It was the second time in a matter of minutes that Nanami pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to subdue the sharp pain of his usual headaches. The fact that Mayui was stubbornly making things difficult only added to its intensity. But he didn’t act on that pain or the irritation that followed. He could act mature and reliable, especially for someone who wanted to take the blame for something they hadn’t wanted to happen but which was sadly and unavoidably caused by their existence.

“I don’t know the details about you or the full extent of the situation.” His tone was steady, clipped, almost businesslike. “Gojo-san doesn’t usually make sense when he talks, and he’s spouting lies most of the time.” Nanami sighed at the thought of Gojo and how complicated he was. “But it’s against my principles to let someone die on me. You’re also a decent human being who deserves to live.”

Rather than trying to contradict him, Mayui remained unmoving, almost willing herself not to tense at the words ringing inside her ears, but Nanami could see her white knuckles twitching a little, like she was clenching them; she was openly frowning, tearing apart the meaning of each word as if overthinking could convince her of their reality.

Rather than trying to contradict him, Mayui remained unmoving, almost willing herself not to tense at the words ringing in her ears. However, Nanami could see her openly frowning, tearing apart the meaning of each word as if overthinking could convince her of their reality.

“Do I look like I sweeten things up just for the sake of it?”

Chapter Text

The blonde checked his wristwatch, while tapping his left foot impatiently, eager to leave the place where they had lingered for far too long. He didn’t intend on going overtime, just as he would’ve preferred to escape the school without meeting other sorcerers. Ironically, his colleagues were the biggest obstacle he had to avoid in order to keep Kamo Mayui alive. After all, most of them had been dispatched to hunt her down.

“I’m sorry for complicating things.” Mayui slightly bowed her head to Nanami, then slowly lifted it again, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she held back tears of guilt and self-disappointment. Once she made sure nothing would spill, she managed to meet the blonde’s eyes with quiet determination. “I’m ready to go.” she whispered, wrapping his blazer around her torso.

Then, Mayui wearily let her weight rest against Nanami’s back, her hands gripping his shoulders, partly to steady herself, partly to make her presence less of a burden. Nanami, on the other hand, held his wrapped weapon in his right hand, the blade angled forward, while his left arm came around to secure Mayui’s weight, his hand settling near his wrist.

“Nanami-san, allow me to watch your back.” she said bashfully, her tone tinged with both courage and embarrassment at the thought of protecting someone like him.

Without a word, Nanami crouched slightly so she could reach her bow and arrows, the sudden motion drawing a startled squeak from the girl. Once they straightened again, she swallowed hard, embarrassed by her reaction, even though the blonde said nothing.

After a few steps, Nanami’s voice finally  broke the silence.

“Understood. I’ll rely on you for rear coverage.”

If Mayui could name the hollow ache inside her chest, she would’ve called it disbelief at the strange excitement one could feel in an apocalyptic scenario. However, it wasn’t the chaos that stirred her; it was the trust offered by her new companion.

 “Did you do this?” Nanami asked suddenly, as he weaved between the fallen corpses that littered the corridor.

Mayui shyly admitted, a part of her afraid of his opinion regarding her most recent slaughter, whilst another was prepared to earn judgement, criticism and undermining, because, in the end, she wouldn’t have changed anything she had done. Perhaps this was her long – awaited starting line, that marked a beginning where Mayui could finally start accepting her sorcerer half; she couldn’t deny the sense of freedom she got when understanding and releasing her technique, the flow of power circulating through her veins or the high adrenaline gifting her the phantom of having control over her life.

“Since my leg didn’t stop bleeding, I used the blood to make weapons. It felt like a waste not to do so.”

“Your cursed energy must be immense to keep you conscious despite the blood loss.” Nanami observed. “That’s my assumption. Impressive, nonetheless.” he added, as he turned right into another hallway after checking for zombies lurking in the dark.

After a few more steps, Nanami halted upon hearing Mayui’s gasp. He looked around, instincts on high alert as he expected zombies, but her next inquiry eased his tension.

“Do you know if Yu’s here?”

“Haibara? He was sent on a mission this afternoon.” the man deadpanned as he blew away the bangs escaping from behind his ear. “And don’t react like that unless you notice curses or sorcerers.”

Mayui nodded and apologized for her thoughtless reaction, but didn’t take his stern words as an ill-intended scolding.

“We need to reach the courtyard. Do you know the fastest route there?”

“I can only think of the emergency exit…” Mayui quickly responded, recalling the evacuation drill they had a week ago. “…we take the stairs on the left wing and reach the back of the building.”

Only after Nanami agreed with her idea, counting on Mayui as their guide around the school premises, did they change direction, walking ahead and turning left at the next intersection. As before, he double-checked their new route for potential threats, though it was hard for the grumbling sounds to go unheard, given how their very breaths echoed loudly inside the empty hallway.         

The only problem with turning left was the complete lack of light, so Nanami motioned for Mayui to reach into the right pocket of his pants to retrieve his phone and turn on the flashlight. She did as instructed, holding the device over his shoulder as Nanami advanced slowly forward, her grip tightening the closer they got to the end of the hallway.

Perhaps she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until a low growl made her flinch and exhale sharply.  

Nanami immediately adopted an offensive stance, leaning forward and aiming his weapon toward the approaching sounds, while his other hand steadied Mayui. Meanwhile, the girl used the loose ribbon hanging around her neck to tie the phone beneath her wrist, ensuring her hand could both hold her weapon and keep the light steady. Before positioning the single arrow she had left between the strings, she took a moment to create smaller ones, formed from the blood dripping out of a freshly self-inflicted cut on her palm.

Nanami moved forward carefully, less concerned about the cursed zombies themselves and more about the noise their fight might cause and who that noise might attract.

The first zombie to stumble into their field of vision, weaving clumsily from left to right, was immediately shot down by one of Mayui’s arrows. Nanami didn’t slow even as she fired three more, each flash of red piercing straight through a forehead.

“We’re going to turn right, walk a few more meters and take the stairs down.”

Nanami nodded, faithfully following her directions while Mayui took down another two cursed walkers. Upon turning right, both exhaled in relief, the hallway ahead seemed empty, but when they opened the door leading to the stairwell, a wild creature crashed into them. The sudden impact and unexpected force sent both sprawling to the floor: Mayui fell hard, her wounded leg taking the brunt, while Nanami was shoved backward and dragged down at the same time.

The collision with the cold floor ripped a stifled scream from Mayui. Her entire leg went numb as she clutched it, pounding her fist against the muscle to restore sensation.

Amid the chaos, she failed to notice the phone slip loose from her makeshift knot, now lying face-down with its flashlight glaring at the floor.

Nanami, meanwhile, was pinned beneath a zombie who kept snapping and gnashing inches from his face. He managed to hold it back by pressing his weapon against its throat, but the unfavorable position shortened the distance between them and strained his muscles as he fought to push the monster off.

The noise must’ve attracted four more zombies lurking nearby, their shadows jostling and overlapping as each fought to reach its prey first. The moment Mayui heard their unmistakable groans, she rolled onto her other side, struggling to reach the phone and flip it upright.

In the fall, she had lost both her bow and arrows, and without a proper source of light, she risked facing a zombie before she could create another weapon. Worse still, she couldn’t pinpoint Nanami’s position or whether he was safe. His grunts, tangled with the guttural snarls of the undead, only deepened her panic and the desperation clawing at her chest.

With one final kick of her good foot, Mayui barely brushed the phone with her fingertips, only to push it farther away. She bit her lip, took a breath, and used her elbows to drag herself forward through the dust and blood-streaked floor. At last, her trembling hand closed around the device. She turned it toward the sound of Nanami’s struggle, only to find him in a perilous state.

“Finish. Them. First.” the blonde hissed through clenched teeth, barely holding his ground as his gaze flicked toward the four silhouettes swaying closer to Mayui.

She nodded frantically, her eyes darting in search of her bow. Upon spotting it, she pushed her right foot forward, shifting her weight onto her bent knee to rise and move. The shadows followed, mere steps behind, while she stumbled along on one leg. At the end of her path, she threw herself to the ground, grabbed her bow, nocked the two remaining arrows, and fired, each crimson shot striking dead center in the leading zombies’ skulls. Without hesitation, she sliced her palm open again, conjuring two more arrows and launching them into the foreheads of the final pair just as they reached for her.

The moment begged for rest, but there was no time because Nanami was still in danger. Mayui sprinted toward him, looping her bow around the zombie’s neck and pulling with all her strength. The string bit into the decaying flesh, not deep enough to decapitate, but enough to drag the creature off Nanami and…to crash its weight on her instead.

It lasted only seconds before its head rolled across the floor and the body went limp. In those seconds, however, she was drowned in the stench of rot and blood.

“Are you alright?” Nanami asked quietly, kicking the corpse aside before helping her up and guiding her away.

“Nanami-san.” Mayui tugged weakly on his shirt, her voice strained and hollow enough to make him turn to face her. As his eyes adjusted to the faint light, he saw her disheartened expression and her right hand clutching her left forearm.  When she uncovered that area, Nanami was surprised to see scratches on her skin.

His reaction must have said everything, because she immediately stepped back, as if his very touch burned her. However, given their recent ordeal, Nanami knew what she was thinking; thus, he spoke first, giving her no chance to protest.

“We can’t know for sure if it was a carrier.” he said evenly, tearing off his remaining sleeve and wrapping it around her arm. “but worst-case scenario the transformation happens within thirty minutes.” He tied the makeshift bandage tight. “We’ll be out of here before you turn.”

Though he avoided saying I promise, fearing the words might become a binding vow and later a curse for them both, his tone carried the same weight: a quiet assurance that he would do everything in his power to save her from this apocalypse.

Chapter Text

“What if I turn sooner? It might vary on the person…” Mayui mumbled, still in shock. If she wished for a meaningful death, the possibility of becoming a man-eating zombie didn’t strike her as meaningful at all. Perhaps convincing Nanami to end her life while she was still human could put her mind at ease more than dying as a mindless curse.

“You won’t. I’ll get you to the Ieiri siblings as you are now. They’ll know how to treat you.”

If Mayui’s view of the world hadn’t become so altered, she might have interpreted Nanami’s words as a plea for her to allow herself to be saved by him. The meaning behind his desperate yet confident expression was, in reality, the heavy burden he carried after failing in his responsibility to protect a life. She didn’t want that for him: to live the rest of his life holding onto the savior’s guilt.

In his eyes, her life hadn’t been deemed worthless, while for Mayui, dying for Nanami would’ve given her both satisfaction and purpose, even if achieving them meant turning into a zombie.

However, wasn’t it possible that being saved by trash like her could also stain his reputation as a sorcerer? In that case, she had to accept his extended hand and climb onto his back again, intending to fight against the transformation for the sake of his future.

“At least tie my hands up or cover my mouth…I really don’t want anything to happen…” she tried to bargain, but the blonde was having none of her persuasion.

“Do I strike you as that inhumane?” Nanami huffed as he hurriedly descended the stairs, feeling more pressured by the inevitable flow of time. “If you feel something off, tell me.”

Just as Mayui was about to thank him, Nanami stopped in front of a door leading to the emergency stairs. He brought a finger to his lips, motioning for her to keep quiet as he slowly retreated from that area. It seemed they weren’t the only ones who had taken that route into consideration the stairwell was currently swarming with zombies.

“Should we exit through the canteen’s back door? It also leads to the back of the courtyard.”

Since the path to the canteen didn’t require a detour, but only descending to the ground floor and taking two lefts before reaching the door usually used by the cooking staff, they didn’t waste time getting there. Along the way, they stumbled across a few zombies, but none posed a real threat, not when Nanami was already working overtime; that meant his cursed energy had increased, granting him a significant boost in power.

When Nanami tried pushing the canteen’s barn doors, he was met with resistance from the other side. However, instead of worrying about the noise his weapon might make or the danger behind it, Nanami smashed his blunt sword straight through the middle where the two doors met, cutting not only through the wood but also through the metal bar that prevented access from their side.

The heavy iron bar hit the floor with a loud clang, rolling noisily until it struck a piece of furniture. The impact of that small action carried more weight in the cursed silence of the canteen, which was now ruled by zombies. On a quick count, there couldn’t have been more than ten of them - most of them former students, along with two adults: a man in a red sports outfit who resembled a gym teacher and an older woman wearing a torn hairnet, strands of thin hair slipping through the holes.

They must have locked themselves inside the canteen, betting their lives on tap water and the last food rations to last a few days until rescue.

However, one of them must have lied to the group about their health, resulting in the doom of them all. Since there were no signs of an external breach, that was the only logical conclusion someone as analytical as Nanami could reach, and something in Mayui’s sadness, reflected in her gleaming, wet eyes, seemed to confirm it.

He didn’t ask anything. Though it was hard to recognize someone who had undergone such a brutal and gruesome transformation, perhaps Mayui had associated the hairstyle or the way they wore their uniform with a classmate or an acquaintance.

Nanami set Mayui down, his back shielding her view.

“Hide under the table. I’ll be done quickly.”

She obeyed, watching as Nanami effortlessly slashed through every zombie that came his way. In spite of taking the lives of cursed souls, he moved with a certain elegance, each strike precise, almost reverent. There was a strange respect in the way he ended a life, as though acknowledging the weight of what had once been human.

It was Mayui’s first time seeing a proper sorcerer perform his exorcism duties, and she wasn’t disappointed. Though violent and stained by the grotesque reality of his work, his actions carried a sense of justice that gave meaning to the brutality. If salvation existed for the exorcised curses, Mayui wondered if it might look like the image unfolding before her eyes.

After Nanami finished, just as he’d promised, he returned to her without delay.

“Are you alright?” he asked, gallantly helping her out from under the table.

She nodded hazily, accepting what would be the last piggyback ride of the day. However, Mayui hadn’t realized it while sitting still, but now every small movement of her head made her dizzy. Her body temperature was rising rapidly, the fever placing a heavy burden on her.

The confusion brought on by the infection (or whatever curse had taken hold) clouded her thoughts to the point that Mayui didn’t even notice how her burning skin pressed against Nanami’s back like an unplugged heater left running overnight. The man, however, said nothing about her condition, focusing instead on the task ahead.

He began removing the metal chairs propped against the double doors that supposedly led to the courtyard. Silently, he pried the doors open just enough to fit his head through the gap, scanning the area outside. When his eyes caught sight of only two zombies fighting each other over a corpse—positioned far from the granite stone walls that enclosed the school—he turned back to Mayui.

“Hold on tight.” he instructed.

Mayui clung to him as he broke into a sprint toward the nearest fence.

Despite the splashing of Nanami’s shoes through the countless puddles scattered across the courtyard, the wind and the storm worked in their favor. The thunder concealed their steps, and the rain fell in heavy sheets, like a curtain of sound and shadow that wrapped them in momentary safety.

The cold droplets of water were more than welcome on Mayui’s burning skin. She tilted her head back, facing the sky, and smiled as the soothing rain dripped through her dirty strands, soaking her damaged uniform and the improvised bandages wrapped around her battle wounds. Her chapped lips hungrily drank in the sweetness offered by the sky, the liquid slipping down her throat and tricking her into believing in its healing properties.

It felt like a cleansing ritual, washing away the blood and filth of the past and replacing them with a drenched body now ready to embrace purification. It was what she needed, though she had never before considered its benefits.

Mayui was changing under the weather’s unfavorable conditions, despite their intensity and violence.

When she noticed the shift in the wind’s direction, she opened her eyes to see the concrete wall towering before them. Both of them stared at it, though for different reasons. Nanami suggested helping her climb over by lifting her onto his shoulders, then pushing her from behind as she steadied herself on the top edge. There, she barely managed to hold her balance until Nanami climbed over and caught her as she jumped, clumsily, eyes shut and breath held tight.

On her way down, a silent scream escaped her throat, tainted with anticipation and drenched in adrenaline, a sound that felt like a fresh start.

As soon as they crossed over, the sky began to change. The dark shades shifted into a clearer hue; the clouds still ruled overhead, casting heavy grey shadows patched with rebellious holes of light, but the night had turned into a blinding daylight within seconds.

Mayui blinked, assuming it was the fever playing tricks on her sight and sense of reality. Instead of questioning the phenomenon, she focused on reaching Nanami’s extended arms.

He caught her easily, though her uncoordinated body nearly made them both stumble on the wet grass. Even after escaping the school of zombies, Nanami’s worry didn’t fade. The possibility that the virus had already spread through her system weighed heavily on him. So, instead of resting, he slipped his hands beneath her knees as she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck for support. Then, he ran toward the school gate, toward the doctors’ camp.

From that position, Mayui was able to look back and see a black, oval curtain descending over the school like a translucent dome. It swallowed the entire building, filled with smoke that concealed everything inside.

“What’s that, Nanami-san?” Mayui asked, pointing at the black field like a child discovering something wondrous, her eyes wide with awe and fascination.

“That’s a curtain. The barrier keeping the curses inside.”

She hummed softly, not entirely satisfied with his answer but too dazed to ask more. The pressure in her ears stripped away her focus, turning Nanami’s strained breathing into distant background noise, and his voice into faint reverberations against his chest.

Mayui closed her eyes, resting her face against his shoulder, seeking the comfort and silence necessary for proper sleep. The rain beating down on her limp body and the wind’s harsh slashes were the only sensations anchoring her to reality until they finally reached the camp.

She felt the moment Nanami gently set her down, a pair of hands checking her pulse. She heard voices fretting around her, a needle pricking her veins, foreign blood invading her body.

Mayui sensed the abrupt demolition of her soul and the desperate attempt to reconstruct it.

The rain fell harder, battering her frame with a force that pressed her deeper into the mud. Then, cold, familiar hands reached for her through the chaos of battle, calling her name as she slipped further from consciousness.

“...Seventeen minutes.”

 “...Do—can’t die…”

 “Why… you…”

 “I… authority… Gojo…”

 “SAVE HER!”

The voices faded, and Mayui was alone again, adrift in her tainted darkness.

This time, the trail of red was no longer a path built on her past, but a vast lake filled with boiling blood above which her body floated. She didn’t bother to wonder whose blood it was; she could see the thin threads of crimson pulsing beneath her own skin, escaping through the tips of her fingers, rhythmically, purposefully.

What she did wonder was how long she had been trapped in that suspended state and how she could shatter the version of herself that remained stuck in the loop.

Mayui closed her eyes and let her body fall into the lake. Inside, she neither struggled nor swam toward the surface. She accepted the unidentified blood invading her veins instead of fighting it. Though terrifying, she embraced the change with quiet surrender, refusing to let it consume her completely. There was enough room within her for coexistence, for a fragile balance. Proof of that came in the light that pierced through the thick liquid, reaching all the way to the bottom where she had unknowingly hidden herself.

Its warm rays opened her eyes, and she realized she could see clearly through the vast redness. She breathed, truly breathed, oxygen filling her lungs, bubbles of air rising from her lips toward the surface.

That was when Mayui remembered she could swim. She extended her arms above her head, leaving behind the solitude that had marked her defeat, and kicked upward, guided by the light that promised to pull her out of her darkness.

She didn’t look back at the version of herself she left at the bottom of the lake. After all, she shed that skin with no intention of ever wearing it again.

When her head broke through the fine border between ruin and rebirth, she was blinded by the light of countless possibilities.

Mayui gasped once, then opened her eyes.

She was alive.

11th April– 4 hours after the Zombie Curse took over Tokyo East High School

 – Summary:

Three-quarters of the school’s residents, including students and teachers, were rescued. Those who had suffered minor injuries were transported to the nearest hospital, while the severely wounded were treated by the Ieiri siblings at the camp established outside the school.

Twenty survivors who had escaped were found with bite marks and were executed on the spot under Zarugo Ayato’s orders.

Two out of the five third-grade sorcerers officially dispatched inside the school returned to the camp barely alive. Neither survived longer than three hours.

Kamo Mayui was rescued by Nanami Kento, whose presence at the scene had been authorized by Gojo Satoru.

Witnesses claimed the curse user committed suicide after being bitten by one of his own creations. Upon his death, the zombie curses disappeared, as did the curtain created by Zarugo Ayato, which had been established to keep curses contained within the area.

The curse user’s motives behind the attack remain unknown.

Some speculate that he was working with one of the Three Great Clans, but these allegations remain unspoken and unproven.

The mission was rated First Grade or higher.

***

“The journey I'm taking is inside me. Just like blood travels down veins, what I'm seeing is my inner self and what seems threatening is just the echo of the fear in my heart.”

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore 

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

Recently, Mayui had grown interested in Haruki Murakami’s simple yet metaphorical writing style; at first glance, his books depicted stories from everyday life about love, friendship, family, and self-analysis, but what made the plot more attractive were the mythical symbols that naturally mingled together to create a relatable experience for readers.

Kafka on the Shore was the first book Mayui had read three months ago from this particular author, and it remained her favorite even after reading his entire body of work. She could call it his masterpiece, although other readers and critics altogether might not agree with her. However, those people might not have experienced the same journey as Mayui or even the same struggles as the fifteen-year-old protagonist Kafka Tamura, which made them unable to relate to the story on a deeper, personal level.

Those people didn’t have to go through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm that cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades, covering their hands with their own hot blood and the red blood of others. They didn’t know the despair of being unable to cover both ears and eyes from the pulverized bones swirling up to the sky, wildly seeking to bury them inside an unfamiliar place, lacking time, direction, or even the very concept of space.

More importantly, they didn’t understand the sheer confusion slipping through a consciousness that couldn’t comprehend how it had managed to survive all of that. Even when the storm seemed to be over, sometimes you couldn’t tell if it had really ended or if you had simply grown accustomed to it and its whims. However, the only fact that held certainty was the very meaning behind the storm: when you come out of it, you are no longer the person who walked in.

That was what the storm was all about: change.

Mayui gasped, jolting out of the bed as she struggled to breathe properly. The sudden movement dislodged one of the needles stuck inside her vein, and the blanket that had been covering her feverish body was thrown aside onto the floor, as if it wasn’t needed anymore. She grasped at her chest as if it hurt, panting loudly and hungrily, unable to control her body functions. Her vision was blurry, the images spinning around her and mixing together until all she could see was a giant mass of black. Although Mayui’s brain was sending her clear signals about what it needed to restore its system, the more she tried to breathe, the less oxygen she seemed able to absorb, while her heartbeat grew excessively loud and uncontrollable.

She wheezed as both hands pressed against her pounding chest, trying to soothe the panic, but her body seemed beyond repair like a broken mechanism hurting its host in a feeble attempt to cope. In that moment, a simple breath became poisonous, and blinking the pain away only brought forth more suffering. The ringing in her ears muffled the sounds around her and diminished her equilibrium, making her body sway like a broken pendulum searching for its time.

It was then that a pair of warm hands enveloped her shaky back, patting it slowly and rhythmically as if searching for the right tempo. At first, Mayui’s senses only registered the heat burning through her clothes and reaching the shivers covering her whole back in cold sweat, but as the cadenced movements kept rubbing their calmness into her, she unconsciously matched her breathing to them. The more she focused on the hands, the more her body relaxed, allowing oxygen to cleanse her system without hurting her from within. At some point, she found herself completely at ease, unbothered by her diminished hearing and temporary blindness.

In that moment, all that mattered were the soothing hands, slowly and carefully pulling her against a welcoming chest. While one hand rubbed circles on her back, the long fingers pressing with just the right amount of strength before resuming to barely caress the surface, the other hand patted the back of her head, gently running the same kind fingers through her wild strands of hair.

Mayui abandoned her habitual reticence about relying on other people, allowing herself to be vulnerable in the presence of a familiar scent. She pressed her forehead against his chest like a lost child seeking her father’s acceptance. She felt him respond by tightening his hold around her small frame, almost protectively, while she clenched the soft material of his garment in her fists, grounding herself in the moment.

He must have been saying something to her, judging from the soft vibrations resonating within his chest, but she couldn’t hear the beginning or the end of his sentences. Nonetheless, her heart could feel the sincerity behind his words and the assurance carried in each syllable, telling her everything was alright.

The clock was striking 9 AM when Mayui’s golden eyes were hit by the blinding light spilling from beneath the curtains. She let out a muffled, guttural groan as she tried to cover her exposed right shoulder, only to be met with resistance. She tugged at the blanket once more, adding more strength than before, but when nothing changed, she turned her head to the right, blinking slowly until her vision adjusted to the colors and shapes.

As soon as her eyes landed on dark hair attached to a body claiming one quarter of the bed, Mayui immediately recognized Haibara Yu. And despite the heavy fog shrouding her recent memories in a thick thread of oblivion, she naturally assumed his presence was part of his duty.

Mayui slowly raised her numb arm and pressed her thumb and forefinger against her temples in a failed attempt to subdue her upcoming headache. She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to recall how she had ended up in the infirmary once again.

She remembered being at school, skipping lunch because of some stupid errand her history teacher made her run, Yuka bringing her to the school nurse, and then… it all came back to her like furious waves crashing on eroded rocks: the zombies, her blood manipulation technique, Nanami coming to her rescue, their escape, and her being bitten.

She survived once again, but this time Mayui could tell that the gods worshipped by sorcerers were the ones who had altered her destiny mockingly, whimsically, even jokingly.

They must have made some kind of bet amongst themselves regarding her existence, and because of a silly method of killing time, she had to live a bit more just to see who would have the winning hand. Perhaps there was no difference between the gods of sorcerers and the ones created by non-sorcerers: they were cruel regardless of their worshippers, playing with destinies and tormenting human choices just for the fun of the game.

They cast the dice and watched their favorite players struggle past the obstacles; worst-case scenario: they died. Luckily, they had enough fodder to compensate for the losses; after all, gambling always involved taking risks.

“Mayui-chan, are you awake? Are you alright?” Haibara’s concerned tone reached past her momentary worries and into her consciousness, suddenly making her aware of her surroundings. She nodded slightly, her head tight and painful as she moved, but she found herself unable to meet his eyes for fear they might hold reproach or repugnance.

She shut her eyes and listened to Haibara stand up from his seat and rush away from the bed. She gathered her hands into fists as he hurried toward the door, opening it with a loud noise and calling out for Shoko’s assistance.

Only then did she feel the burning tears overflowing her eyes like a volcanic eruption, spilling her relief. Mayui attempted to get up, throwing the blanket aside and dragging her bare feet onto the floor. The cold ground pricked her soles with a thousand small needles that made her senses forget how to stand or walk properly, while her arms trembled uselessly at her sides.

None of that mattered when Shoko appeared out of breath in the doorway: neither the numbness in her limbs nor her haggard breathing, rapid heartbeat, or tear-drenched face held any significance.

Mayui stood up, shaking as she forced her body into small movements. She took one step toward her, afraid she would fall before reaching her friend, but Shoko was already lunging forward, wrapping her arms tightly around the blonde.

Mayui’s body relaxed in the hug, her shoulders dropping as the tension drained from her, while her knees gave out, unable to support her weight any longer, pulling Shoko down with her. Still, they remained wrapped around each other: Shoko sobbing with relief at seeing her alive, and Mayui weeping at the confusing realization that, for the first time, she was actually glad to be alive.

    18^th of April

After three more days of hospitalization, Mayui was officially discharged. Although her health had visibly improved, she still had daily check-ups to rule out potential side effects or remaining traces of the zombie virus, which might not have been completely neutralized by her blood. That was when she learned about one of her cursed technique’s quirks: the poisonous blood that had saved her after being bitten by a carrier. Her four-day unconscious state and the feverish episodes were only natural responses of her immune system as it fought off the foreign infiltrating body, according to Doctor Ieiri’s studies.        

“Since we were dealing with a deadly virus, your body had a hard time subduing it. Shoko and I only kept your main functions at normal parameters, helping your system focus solely on battling the unknown agent instead of dividing its tasks to restore other units.”   

“Is it normal for a blood manipulation user to have this ability?” Mayui asked Yaga during one of their usual walks, signaling him to take a break under the cherry tree’s shadow. Her leg hadn’t completely healed even after Doctor Ieiri’s interventions, and its slow recovery became noticeable after extended periods of use, strenuous activities, or even when she simply rested her weight on it.

The principal joined her on the fresh grass without a second thought, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his jacket and allowing the breeze to soothe his sweating neck.

“I guess I never told you much about cursed techniques…” he mumbled to himself, pondering for a moment whether he should address the matter without pressuring Mayui into listening.

The sight of this innocent girl, who found the strength to smile at him despite being tainted by the most horrid truths of this unfair world, made him swallow his words along with his attempt to keep his voice steady.

It felt like such a shame to discuss uncomfortable matters on such a lovely April day. He wanted to say something: an excuse to bury the subject, a compliment on her appearance, an apology for failing her, but he bit his lip instead. Yaga was a total failure when it came to talking about his feelings; although he tried his best to express them more, he always choked on a lump that prevented him from speaking up.

Under different circumstances, he would have given up on improving his communication skills, convinced that Mayui’s nature was understanding enough. However, Yaga had been watching over her for the past four months, and not even a blind man could deny her discernible growth. The proof lay in her wholehearted smile, offered freely to those worthy of seeing it.

If Mayui could overcome her fears, Yaga should double his efforts to express himself more often.

“No matter what happened there.” he stopped, sucking in a breath of courage before continuing and tugging at his beard. “I am proud of you for surviving that and coming back…I know this is not the best environment, but at least it has people waiting for you.”

In seconds, Mayui’s expression darkened, her eyes darting back and forth, unable to look at him while maintaining sincerity. After all, what was the proper way to tell Yaga she had actually wanted to die, but her blood wouldn’t let her?

“I…probably…I mean-“ She halted her nervous rambling, aware of her stuttering habit and afraid it might sound annoying. “If it weren’t for Nanami-san, I wouldn’t have escaped by myself…that’s for sure…then, again, Nanami-san wouldn’t have come if Satoru hadn’t intervened…and I couldn’t have fought off the virus without Shoko and Doctor Ieiri’s assistance…” Mayui released a bitter laugh, suddenly finding her own fingers smoothing down her oversized shirt far more interesting. “What I mean…um…how do I put it…”

She felt dumb, gesturing vaguely with her hands in a ceaseless search for words, growing frustrated with her own inability to communicate her feelings.

“Isn’t it fine to count on others when you’re in trouble?” Yaga bashfully mumbled, suddenly self-conscious about his own statement. He tugged at the collar sticking out from underneath his jacket, as though freeing his neck from the garment’s grip would resolve his blushing problem. “I guess being a human means sharing your burdens with your kind. It makes living easier.”

“Maybe you are right…” She could try to open up her heart, just a small crack allowing sunlight into that vast ocean of kindness. However…”…am I allowed to do that?”

Yaga’s lips immediately curved into an encouraging smile. “You don’t need anyone’s permission, Mayui.” He nodded. “I’ll cheer you on, whatever you choose to do.”

And she believed him. He was a man who had lost everything at once, so he understood better than anyone the loneliness of a stranded existence. Perhaps Yaga desired a second chance at living but felt too guilty and unworthy to chase it, too foolish to try obtaining it, too full of sins to take a step in that direction. Nonetheless, he deserved everything and more. All he had to do was forgive himself.

Mayui extended her arms tentatively, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes but accompanied by a shy, welcoming smile that spoke louder than words could. Yaga didn’t waste a second returning the hug they both needed yet never dared ask for. They remained embraced, their bodies swaying back and forth childishly.

When they finally broke apart, both were sniffling and smiling at each other, two souls silently understanding one another’s flaws, two individuals sheltering the other’s qualities until the remaining one decided to bring them forth to the world.

“I was meaning to ask for Nanami-san’s number.” Mayui was the first to break the silence, wiping away the last drops of tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. She let out a humorless chuckle as she searched her bag for the newly acquired phone Yaga had given her as a celebration gift after her discharge. He had even apologized for not taking her needs into consideration, blaming his lack of awareness on his old age.

“Do you also need Satoru’s?” the principal grumbled, remembering his student’s antics that never failed to get on his nerves. “That brat had the audacity to call me out for not being able to contact you. He should’ve thought of it sooner.”

Mayui laughed as Yaga explained how he trapped Satoru in a headlock for bluntly disrespecting his elder. She listened intently to the story and only then realized she hadn’t seen Satoru around for a month. She didn’t know whether he had returned from his overseas mission, and if he had, whether he had even stayed at the dorms like regular students. Moreover, Yaga mentioned her next trial would take place in five days, but he hadn’t been able to contact Satoru, thus his presence remained uncertain.

The element of surprise, however, lay in the Council’s decision to postpone her judgment by almost two weeks, encouraging Mayui to rest and gather her strength before presenting herself before them. It was peculiar and doubtful, very uncharacteristic of them. If the decision had been hers, Mayui would have avoided meeting them for eternity, yet she had no choice but to align her behavior with their demands.

“That’s alright.” She nodded to herself in reassurance, summoning enough courage for what she intended to do.  “I want to ask him myself.”

She wasn’t in any rush; after all, he had said they would see each other soon and time was relative.

20^th of April

A strange feeling accompanied his steps as he headed for the principal’s office. The oddity didn’t reside in the nature of the place he had been summoned to or in the identity of the one who had made the invitation, but most probably in the undisclosed reason behind the call.

Facing the wooden door, he knocked twice and confidently walked inside after a voice told him to, only to find Mayui already sitting on the couch, expectant. When her gaze settled on his figure, she stood up and bowed slightly in his direction, gesturing for him to join her at the table and share a cup of coffee.

Similarly, Nanami answered just as politely, finding a seat across from Mayui and sizing her up respectfully: she appeared healthier, judging from the pale rose coloring her cheeks and the roundness of her face that proved she had gained a normal weight. She looked less anemic. She also gave off a softer vibe compared to the threatening, ominous glares she had thrown at him during their first encounter, but her raw essence was still present in the way she treated him: with exaggerated gratitude and undeniable respect.

“You needn’t have gone out of your way to get me this.” the blonde deadpanned as he grabbed the flat handle of the fancy mug and blew into its content.

“I heard black coffee is your favorite, so…um, I wanted to treat you to something you like.” she inched forward, grabbing her own mug of vanilla-flavored cappuccino before giving it a taste, suddenly overwhelmed by Nanami’s silent stare. “I’m also a coffee lover, so this is a nice experience for me.” She pointed at herself laughingly, doing her best to create a less awkward mood, only to pale in a matter of seconds upon realizing how stupidly selfish she sounded. She snapped her mouth shut, but the cat was already out of the bag. And on top of that, she chose the path of rambling ceaselessly in an unfortunate attempt to fill the silence. “I mean! I didn’t do this for myself! But I don’t mind sharing this with you…what I want to say is that I’m comfortable with you, but if you’re not feeling at ease, we should wrap this up and-“

Nanami’s low chuckle abruptly halted Mayui’s babbling and finally made her look at him.. “What exactly are you saying? I didn’t understand any of that.”

In response, she lightly pouted, placing the mug on her knees so she wouldn’t keep leaning over the table. “I want to properly convey my gratitude to you, Nanami-san. If you-“

He cut her off before she could get carried away again. “There’s no need. You helped me as well, so we’re even.” He leaned back slightly, closing his eyes in quiet emphasis. “I don’t accept debts that aren’t real.”

Mayui hummed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She stared down into the dark liquid, replaying Nanami’s words in her mind as her way of assuring herself they were true. After convincing herself of their genuineness, her eyes flickered up to his, though her lips hesitated to confess anything.

Eventually, she chose to savor the feeling of being someone’s equal in a situation that had seemed disadvantageous from the very beginning, keeping that feeling close to her heart, aware of its rarity and preciousness.

“But why are we here?” Nanami couldn’t help but wonder why he had been summoned in the first place, despite their brief moment of exchanging gratitude. “I assumed something happened to be summoned here of all places.”

Mayui sighed, her expression turning sour and regretful, as if he had unlocked a memory she was trying to bury, one that resurfaced each time someone like Nanami asked about situations outside the realm of ordinary. Still, she managed an awkward smile, though her words trailed off and her eyes drifted toward the floor.

 “Because I have a bad reputation…and it might ruin your image if you were seen with me publicly.” She fidgeted with the mug, tracing invisible lines along its edges, bracing herself for the questions she knew would come. Instead of enduring the pressure behind each inquiry, she decided to explain before Nanami even formed one. “I thought Yaga-san’s office wouldn’t raise suspicion about your motives for coming here. Ah! But I promise I won’t talk to you outside or even dare to glance you way-“

“Mayui.” Nanami’s voice was calm but firm, stopping her downward spiral immediately. “I’m not sure where you’re getting this from, but if I see you, I’ll greet you.” He shrugged lightly. “Whether you respond or not is your choice. Mine won’t change.”

Once again, the honesty behind his words made Mayui nod in understanding, gripping the mug harder as its warmth seeped pleasantly into her skin. Even if she didn’t want to grow apart from Nanami, as it had happened with Haibara, she had to take more into consideration than just her selfishness.

As far as Nanami was concerned, he saw no reason to change his mind, even after hearing Mayui’s emotionally wrecked clarification. Despite being someone who usually followed rules thoroughly and respected elders, Nanami didn’t evaluate a person’s worth by status or origin, and more importantly, he didn’t judge someone based on malicious gossip.

Moreover, after seeing Mayui smile, Nanami was glad he made the effort to reassure her, unnecessary as it had first seemed. Seeing her smile made it worth it.

“You worry too much.”

Chapter Text

23th of April

Mayui was a coward when it came to facing her problems and dealing with their aftermaths, but she was exceptionally good at procrastination and even better at ignoring certain uncomfortable issues. She wasn’t proud of this part of herself and had tried changing it to some extent. However, what she had accomplished thus far was close to nothing.

Undoubtedly, some changes come with time and with sheer determination. Some alterations take longer, while others require more effort than expected, but Mayui simply wished Satoru had waited for her outside the trial chamber instead of meeting each other on opposite sides of the room: he at the table with four judges, and she stuck in the center, awaiting her sentence.

The Council was lacking one member: Zenin Naobito, who had stopped attending mandatory meetings as soon as he caught wind of Gojo’s attendance, which fulfilled the requirement of having two of the main families present at the monthly gatherings. The Kamo were represented by Kamo Sasaki, whose health had miraculously improved over the past few months.

 However, Mayui couldn’t have cared less about anyone’s presence or absence when her gaze was utterly stolen by Satoru’s pair of oceanic eyes. Although hidden behind the darkest shades she had ever seen him wear, the spark igniting atop the electric blue still broke through the barrier, flickering with interest as soon as they met Mayui’s whiskey-colored orbs.

She bit her lower lip to ground herself, yet she never once broke eye contact, not when Zarugo Ayato began the meeting with an overdramatic speech about her lack of interest in training and the unsatisfactory results that followed, and not when her grandfather commented on her “deficient” résumé.

Before presenting herself to them, Mayui had decided to face the Council with pride and confidence. She resolved to bury that feeling of inferiority that usually crept up her mind like poisonous vines on moldy walls, and she remained unshaken at their criticism and misogynistic attitude.

However, she could only maintain that attitude as long as her gaze remained fixed on Satoru. He was not merely an ally in a room full of denigrators dissecting her flaws. He was her oasis of comfort. Always tranquil, always peaceful like a sunny winter day, genuinely accepting and eternally kind despite her helplessness.

“Despite your lamentable performance, I heard you displayed some kind of control over your blood technique.” Kamo Sasaki mockingly laughed, his demeanor encouraging the lower branches to join in the cruel game of belittling Mayui with snarky side comments. “Show us, girl. It is about time you proved your worth to the Clan.”

Before she could react, Zarugo had already risen from his seat to retrieve a small penknife from his elegant jacket, which he then let fall to the floor. His mouth released a sarcastic “oops” as he nudged the penknife toward Mayui with the tip of his foot, nodding at her to pick it up.

The blonde obliged, slowly crouching to grab the weapon, mimicking disinterest and nonchalance. The penknife felt cold against her burning, sweaty palms, but strangely, its weight calmed her nerves with its nostalgic echo of an era she had abandoned. Mayui played with the blade against her skin before making a small yet deep cut across her palm. She held in the hiss threatening to escape by chewing the inside of her cheek, her expression remaining composed as drops of blood fell from her fist.

From the moment Mayui extended her left arm, revealing the proof of the cut, to the moment the blood detached from her skin, time slowed as if venerating the sacred anticipation. All eyes were on her every action: some hunting for mistakes that would work in their favor, others silently encouraging her to trust herself.

Three drops of blood descended from her hand, yet none reached the ground. Still mid-fall, the liquid shaped itself into three small, sharp arrows; their trajectory changed from the Council’s direction to Mayui’s right. Her fist unclenched, fingers pointing outward, adding speed to the projectiles, which struck an empty chair and disassembled it into fragments.

The suddenness of Mayui’s choice was reflected in the silence that overtook the room. Zarugo remained standing, as if he had forgotten where he belonged. Kamo Sasaki’s mouth hung slightly open. Setsuga’s eyebrows knitted together so tightly his forehead shrank and his glasses slipped down his oily nose, while Yuuga’s head snapped toward Satoru, the sharp motion cracking in the stillness, seeking an explanation from his reaction.

But the honored one kept his expression neutral.

 “Does she want to be praised for doing the bare minimum?” Kamo Sasaki quickly filled the silence with humiliation, attempting to cover up both his confusion and the chills Mayui’s burning gaze had given him. Though it was his first time witnessing the raw power of a full-fledged blood manipulation user, he refused to let her realize she held the strength to surpass their most talented sorcerers. It was only when her eyes shifted into a vengeful red that he finally understood his son’s comparison to the greatest symbol of their clan, Kamo Sagiri. Panic struck him; thus he feigned ignorance, throwing insult after insult to diminish her worth. “Do you hear me, stupid girl? As long as I am alive, you will never be acknowledged as a sorcerer! It is shameful enough you’ve taken our name-“

“Old man.” Satoru’s cold voice cut through the room like a guillotine, severing Kamo Sasaki’s rant. The old man seemed to notice only when his hands instinctively went to his own neck. Though expressionless, Satoru’s tone revealed more than his features did: controlled anger, manifesting as contempt and revulsion toward the lowlifes surrounding him. ”Did you forget your meds again? I’d hate to watch you drop dead in the middle of a meeting. Messy cleanup.”

The ironic undertones in Satoru’s voice made Kamo Sasaki’s eyes bulge. His fake politeness crumbled as he exploded. “Gojo…how dare you disrespect ME? That foul mouth of yours is a disgrace-“

In contrast to the aggressiveness of a man who had forgotten his place, Satoru remained unreadable, almost amused by the way the old man’s veins throbbed beneath wrinkled skin.

“I’m just showing concern. Someone of your age shouldn’t be getting this… worked up. Not great for the heart, you know?” He chuckled dryly, turning his head to face Sasaki directly rather than acknowledge Yuuga’s silent attempts to stop him.

“Gojo Satoru, why is it that you’re not as neutral as you’re supposed to be?”

Satoru faked a gasp, mockingly, then resumed glaring at Sasaki. “That’s your opinion And it’s wrong.”

Believing he had struck a nerve, Sasaki smirked as he gulped down water. “That’s everyone’s opinion, even your loyal advisor’s, but they’re too afraid to say it to your face.” He narrowed his sly eyes at Yuuga, satisfied when the man looked away. ”But I am older, I have seen more arrogant brats than I can count, so I can clearly tell you are not fit to be a leader.”

Just when Sasaki thought he had won, Satoru leaned closer, elbows on his knees, legs spread for balance. His sunglasses lowered enough to reveal a slice of crystal-clear blue—icy, confident.

“Mm. If they’re scared, that sounds like a ‘them’ problem.”

His blatant insolence earned dissatisfied murmurs from the representatives, their egos bruised by the disdain of a twenty-something “spoiled” prodigy. But Sasaki went pale. In Satoru’s eyes, he saw himself reflected as nothing more than a bothersome insect, something to crush underfoot. He instinctively pressed himself into his chair like a cornered animal, sweating and trembling before infinity.

When Yuuga placed a hand on Satoru’s shoulder, pleading for him to stop, he was met by a force that repelled him - the Infinity. It wasn’t unusual for Satoru to keep it active, but the intensity revealed his agitation.

 Yuuga’s heart sank at the rejection, but he hid it behind concern as he tried to mediate the situation. He didn’t know what exactly triggered Satoru’s loss of composure. Although Satoru knew he could never see eye to eye with the Council, he had chosen diplomacy as a way to slowly reshape the sorcery world. Clashing with the Kamo and Zenin families was inevitable. Even Yuuga understood a gentle approach could not sway such narrow minds. Still, provoking, threatening, and humiliating them left no room for negotiations, painting Satoru as immature, uncontrollable, a spoiled child playing with his inherited power.

But Satoru was not the villain they believed him to be. Yes, he was young and often reckless, but he was also responsible and considerate, burdened with expectations since birth. He never once complained about his duties or missions. He kept Infinity on at all times, yet never allowed himself to show fatigue, understanding his place better than anyone.

Satoru was capable of cold logic, but in one moment of indignation, his words grew sharper and more acidic than usual. Fortunately, Yuuga’s intervention brought him back to indifference. He turned, fully facing the room, slouched back in his chair with his legs propped on the table and fingers intertwined over his abdomen, unconcerned by the judging looks.

“Anyway, I’m done with this. Miss Kamo can control her technique. So I’m terminating the conditions. Congratulations. Meeting over.”

Though visibly displeased with Satoru’s arrogance, Kamo Sasaki couldn’t find grounds to argue, especially not while he was still trembling from facing the Six Eyes.

“…Very well. We shall continue monitoring her evolution,” the old man conceded after draining his glass. “However, she should not take this decision as encouragement to slack off in her training.”

Satoru resisted the urge to scoff but defaulted to what he did best: hiding his aggression behind a sarcastic smile.

“I do hope Miss Kamo’s evolution proceeds smoothly and naturally over time, without being influenced by life-threatening events.”

Yuuga declared the meeting adjourned before another argument could spark. He stood patiently near Satoru as the other three exited, never sparing a glance at Mayui, who bowed deeply from the side. She was so small, so quiet, that he almost forgot she had been there at all: witness, perpetrator, and victim of her own trial.

But Satoru hadn’t forgotten, not for a second. His focus was entirely, unmistakably on her, and his long legs carried him to her in an instant.

“Long time no see.” Satoru happily saluted, but his voice came out rather quiet and soft—a far cry from the intimidating version of himself who had overwhelmed the entire room just minutes ago.

He hunched a little, bringing himself lower to properly meet Mayui’s unbreakable gaze, which quickly shifted to the floor the moment he approached. He raised a brow questioningly, wondering where the earlier boldness had gone and why it was replaced by her usual shyness, but he soon realized that Mayui acting like her usual self was actually comforting.

Mayui, on the other hand, was so taken aback by Satoru’s full attention that she remained silent for several moments, trying to untangle her thoughts about him. When she finally felt prepared to answer, her lips parted without sound. After another short pause, her voice came out timid, breathy, and muffled.

“Have you been well?” she replied, believing she had delivered the smoothest and wittiest response she could manage, though if Satoru weren’t standing so close, he might have missed it entirely.

“Mhm. Just a little busy.” He confessed immediately, feeling his chest lighten as her honey-colored eyes flickered between his cerulean ones and the floor—holding both concern and understanding. The corner of his lips tugged upward as relief softened the tension in his shoulders, especially after hearing Mayui’s naively whispered solution to his problems.

“Spring break is just around the corner. I hope you’ll be able to relax then.”

In that moment, Satoru found her endearing: from the way her hands fidgeted behind her back, as if playing a secret game, to how intently she listened to each word he spoke, blinking twice before focusing on him with full attention. The fondness that bloomed in him had him leaning closer, narrowing the space between them, entering her personal space but not fully trespassing it—stopping just short, silently asking for permission with only his entrancing eyes.

Mayui’s eyes went round, bewitched by the freshness of his scent, a wild combination of mandarin and caramel with a hint of wood. She absentmindedly nodded, and Satoru took it as an opportunity to ruffle her hair, bringing her fluffy strands forward until they covered her entire face.

He even chuckled at her meek protests and at the way her hands hovered uselessly near her chest, ready to retaliate but too surprised to act, perhaps too entranced by his childish laugh to do anything else. Mayui would rather see Satoru like this: worry-free, joking, sincerely smiling, than stripped of his essence by strangers trying to mold him into their ideal.

“Good job on coming back alive.” Satoru ultimately conveyed, patting her head twice before smoothing down the wild curls sticking out in every direction. Then he retracted his hand to his side as if it had never moved.

Satoru stepped back, tilting his head to the left, expecting her to simply nod or laugh it off as if the ordeal hadn’t affected her.

Instead, Mayui planted her feet firmly, pushing her hair back from her face to look up at him with teary eyes darting between his. She tried her best to keep her expression calm, not wanting to appear too distressed, but her white knuckles gripping the hem of her blouse and her trembling lower lip gave her away.

After a few deep breaths, she collected herself. Satoru waited patiently, giving her all the time she needed before hearing her soft voice murmur a few sentences resembling gratitude toward him and Nanami.

“Apologies for the interruption.” Yuuga coughed as he wearily approached the duo, feeling as though he had walked in on something he wasn’t meant to witness. Nevertheless, he took his chance to pat Satoru’s back to get his attention and was surprised to find Infinity turned off. Instead of questioning it, Yuuga seized the rare opportunity and practically jumped onto the taller man, locking an arm around Satoru’s neck in a steady headlock and giving him a rough noogie, his knuckles pressing far harder than a playful gesture should. “Can I borrow him, Miss Mayui? He has caused enough trouble for today.”

“Stop bothering me, Yuuga!” the honored one tried shaking him off, but Yuuga was determined not to let him escape, not after the scene he had caused. Although Yuuga disliked nagging Satoru, there were times when he had to take on that uncomfortable role to prepare his master for the worst scenarios he always ended up experiencing.

Needless to say, Mayui didn’t offer much of a reaction to the two mature men bickering. She blinked, extended her palms in a confused “please go ahead” gesture, her silent permission deepening Satoru’s scowl while Yuuga gave her a thumbs up, pleased with her cooperation.

“Looking forward to doing business again with you in the future.” the older man called over his shoulder, while Satoru complained about him acting like a creep.

In the end, Gojo allowed himself to be dragged out of the room.

Mayui was left alone in a chamber that reflected a phantasmagoria of injustice and fears, this time without another promise of seeing Satoru again. That Yaga hadn’t attended her trial made the gathering feel lonelier; the warmth of his eyes hadn’t watched over her from the sidelines. Haibara had also been absent, leaving only a piercing silence accompanying her along the path where the chances of meeting Satoru again were disappointingly close to zero.

No matter how hard she tried to rationalize the empty sensation feasting on her reasoning, Mayui couldn’t find a long-term solution for her confusion. She considered herself independent, devoid of senseless attachments that raised her expectations of others. Every time she had offered chances, her fragile heart shattered into more pieces than she could gather. When she glued them back together, they fell apart faster than she could catch them, sinking into a vast ocean with no hope of retrieval.

When she built a thorny cage around what remained, it had been set ablaze by malicious sorcerers. By the time she extinguished the flames, her heart had already died from the burns and the smoke.

Given all those experiences, why had Mayui allowed her crisp heart to bask in a temporary moment of bliss, only for it to crumble into ashes at the realization that she was still as lonely as ever?

She bit her lower lip, rubbing her eyes in frustration as they wouldn’t stop tearing up over such a foolish reason. She pushed the doors open, entering a realm of light where four silhouettes waited for her. At first, Mayui assumed her mind was playing tricks on her, molding illusions from her solitude, but when the silhouettes spoke in familiar voices, she was convinced they were real.

By the time she jogged toward them, she was out of breath.

Shoko smiled at her, waving her cigarette as she motioned for Mayui to have faith and approach. Haibara offered her a sincere side hug that lasted longer than intended, but the relief he felt each time he saw Mayui alive since the Zombie Incident made him act purely on instinct. Guilt lingered there too.

She also noticed Nanami nodding at her encouragingly, while Yaga exhaled and tried calling someone who wasn’t answering. Then an alluring mischievous voice accompanied by a troublesome grin boomed in her chest like fireworks exploding in a starry sky.

“Let’s go out for lunch!” Satoru announced, draping an arm around Nanami’s unbothered shoulders.

Shoko snorted, blowing a concentrated stream of smoke in his direction and also into the poor blonde’s nostrils, making him the collateral victim. “Only if you’re paying!”

“Satoru, why are you ignoring my calls?” Yaga nagged, though Satoru skillfully ignored him, focused on keeping his arm around Nanami as the latter struggled to break free, with little success.

Haibara laughed at their banter, and Shoko shook her head at their childishness. Amid the organized chaos, Satoru turned toward the one person who wasn’t participating. 

“Yui, what do you wanna eat?” he tilted his head, waiting.

Mayui smiled, finally feeling at ease after emerging from the storm. Overwhelmed, she still managed to murmur her preference with surprising confidence.

“Something sweet.”

***

“A strange, terrific force unlike anything I've ever experienced is sprouting in my heart, taking root there, growing. Shut up behind my rib cage, my warm heart expands and contracts independent of my will--over and over.”― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

ABOUT KAMO MAYUI

Chapter Text

30^th of April

On a daily basis, Ayame was glad she had been born as a girl and for the implications that came with being on the feminine side. She had loved taking care of her appearance ever since she was young, convinced that her beauty was her most important asset and that she had to exploit it as much as possible. Thus, the girl dolled up whenever she had the chance, wearing the fanciest dresses her father had bought her and the latest trends in Paris, Prague, and New York as she grew up. She started using makeup when she was twelve and had had her hair dyed in the last ten years more often than she could count on her fingers, in her obsessive search for finding the appearance that flattered her the most.

If someone had the audacity to ask Ayame if she had ever had plastic surgery, she would instantly deny such revolting allegations. The truth was that she had undergone a few minor interventions. Twice a week she would go to the gym to work on her body shape, while once a month she would visit the skincare services of one of the highest-rated clinics in Tokyo, as well as the hair and nail salon that had recently recommended she try some natural hair extensions. There was also the spa center, which she visited three times a month.

Ayame was so obsessed with her outer look that she couldn’t afford to appear even a little shaggy or tired, not even in the comfort of her own home, whether at her residence or at the dorms of Jujutsu High. She was always on guard, afraid of being seen in a compromised state that might ruin her reputation as the most beautiful female sorcerer.

However, the one and only thing she had always hated about being a girl was having a period, especially since hers was heavy and always accompanied by abdominal-crushing pain, cravings that ruined her well-established eating schedule, and, from time to time, a headache that felt like someone was using a drilling machine on her brain. Despite her attempts to always be prepared for that time of the month, there were moments, like the present one, when her menstruation came earlier than expected, catching Ayame off guard in the middle of class.

She struggled to return to her room, and even taking off her clothes required more effort than ever, as every movement, whether small or more complex, caused intense cramps. Eventually, Ayame managed to regain her composure. Once she planted herself inside the tub, the pain finally dissipated, leaving behind traces of a literally bloody war of survival.

However, after checking her special assigned drawer, she realized she hadn’t replenished her stock of pads. Now she faced the terrible truth of having one last usable tampon while being unable to go out and buy more. It wasn’t often that the girl found herself in a dire situation caused by her own lack of attention to important details.

Ultimately, Ayame barely dragged her feet toward the bed, abandoning her body to the softness of the sheets, whose touch went unremarked in the face of a bigger problem: she was also out of her usual pain medication, and some lingering discomfort was still crawling its way back to her ovaries, poking at them tentatively before giving them a light, atrocious squeeze.

She clenched her right fist against the sheets, stifling a muffled scream inside the shredded foam pillow, feeling worse than an animal forced to experience the sensation of someone else’s ghosting hands fumbling with its insides. Her other hand was pressed firmly against her stomach, as if the harsh caressing might actually subdue the pain, yet in the end, it amounted to nothing.

In that moment, Ayame couldn’t help but think of herself as a piece of bacon thrown into a hot oil pan and left to shrink and curl into herself until someone decided she had had enough of the torture and scooped her out. As no one else could make that decision for her, Ayame had to reach out for aid from her trustworthy comrade, her dearest friend Shoko Ieiri, who had never turned her down in any situation.

The despair of the moment, overlapping with the hopeful phone call, could only become the greatest disappointment when Shoko announced she had been sent out on a mission after many months of skipping them. Nevertheless, the displeasure hadn’t yet taken a toll on Ayame when her chestnut-haired friend mentioned she would send someone over to take care of her needs.

She jolted out of bed, acting as if she hadn’t been suffering just seconds ago. She took another hot shower, washing away the sticky sensation of sweat from her body, scrubbing her white skin as if it had been covered in dry mud. Then, Ayame let her body soak in the scented bath bomb, though her eyebrows kept twitching from the uncomfortable sensation below her abdomen. After fifteen minutes, she barely managed to take a step without feeling another wave of strenuous menstrual pain. Even so, Ayame didn’t skip covering herself with the most expensive body cream she had just bought or spraying a little too much perfume on her cleavage. Lastly, she put on her soft pink cashmere pajamas and plopped herself onto the bed expectantly, but not before unlocking the door.

Her guest arrived five minutes later. The sound of the door opening and the click of boots as he untied the laces made her heart flip at the thought of Suguru entering her household to take care of her. Suddenly, having her period didn’t seem like such a bad experience, not when it reunited her with the love of her life, who apparently hadn’t come alone.

Judging from the softer, stifled voice, the second voice belonged to a girl. On closer inspection, even the masculine tone didn’t sound like Suguru’s; it was younger, higher-pitched, and annoyingly ringing compared to the fruity and smoky mixture fabricated by her crush’s vocal cords.

That realization signaled the beginning of her crumbling hope, which ultimately shattered to dust when Haibara’s figure appeared in the doorframe, staring her down rather indifferently. She immediately scoffed at him for having the audacity not to be Geto Suguru, throwing mean remarks at him for daring to show his face in her holy space, only because she had gotten excited on her own and then left to wallow in disappointment.

“It looks like you’re feeling better than I thought.” Haibara nodded at her, frowning at her pale figure that gave away her condition. He sighed, sitting on the edge of her mattress, mindful not to come too close for fear she might get overly sensitive and start cussing at him.

In truth, Haibara didn’t have to do anything specific to earn Ayame’s wrath. He merely had to exist and breathe near her, and it was enough to remind her of the agreement between their parents that would ultimately lead to their marriage. He didn’t hate it any less than she did, but at least Haibara could be mature about it and not take his rage out on the one person who held no blame in the scheme and had just as much to lose as he did.

“I would’ve felt even better if Geto-senpai was here instead of you.” she smugly added, covering herself with the blanket as if she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore without being disgusted by his very sight.

Already used to her spoiled behavior, Haibara rolled his eyes at the lump under the blanket as she stirred and fretted until her pretty head popped out. She squinted angrily at him, expecting an answer without actually asking a question, but Yu only stared back at her in bewilderment.

Only when a blonde head made her presence known inside the room did Ayame’s patience run thin and explode in the form of a pillow thrown at Haibara, while accusatory comments filled the air like daggers poisoned by her curses. Mayui visibly flinched at the unexpected fit of rage and decided to escape by announcing her intention to borrow the kitchen; she wasn’t certain if either of them had heard her statement, given the loud exchange of insults ruling over the place, but she didn’t waste any time waiting for an answer before heading straight to the stove.

In fact, Haibara did nod at Mayui, but even he wasn’t sure if she had noticed his subtle movement, given how preoccupied he was with blocking Ayame’s fists.

After she did a number on him and finally calmed down, Yu seized the opportunity and revengefully threw the pillow back at her, harder than he intended.

“Stop making such a fuss.” He stood up as Ayame aggressively grabbed the pillow, expecting a long game of endurance and patience, but she squeezed it in her arms instead of continuing the fight. Haibara wearily retook his former place, though further away from danger.

“What’s she doing here? “Ayame clenched her jaw as she whispered far too loudly, but Haibara resorted to rolling his eyes once again, tired of her antics.

He hadn’t even wanted to come, fully expecting this kind of drama to unfold, but Mayui had strongly convinced him after explaining the depth of menstrual pain most women experienced and the struggles that often followed. As far as Yu was concerned, if he had remained indifferent to an unfamiliar area and simply bet on Ayame’s ability to overcome any hardship, he wouldn’t be spending his afternoon talking to a wall about his and Mayui’s good intentions regarding her situation, or well…mostly Mayui’s, because his presence was a deed he reluctantly had to perform to get back on Shoko’s good side.

“We were having lunch when Shoko-san called me.” he kept his explanation short and to the point, intending to end the conversation there, but Ayame demanded more details that could justify Mayui’s unwanted presence in her home. “I didn’t know what kind of products to buy, so Mayui-chan offered to help. Even now she’s preparing some kind of tea that might help with your cramps, so you could be more grateful.”

When Yu noticed Mayui out of the corner of his eye, signaling for him to come over, he gladly did so without offering any explanations. He skipped all the way to the open-space kitchen, where the blonde was fidgeting as she waited. Her expression softened when she registered Haibara’s presence, and she might have let out a sigh of relief; her job there was done, which meant she could leave without needing to interact with Ayame again.

Nevertheless, she didn’t want to appear eager to leave, not wanting to insult Haibara with her behavior, but her impatience showed in the fast way she explained what she had been doing in the kitchen and in the subtle way her body kept inching toward the entrance as she rambled on about the tea. The boy chuckled at her nervousness, finding Mayui’s usual awkwardness funny and endearing in the way she tried to make it look natural, only to fail and turn even shyer and more self-conscious.

She was totally different from Ayame, who would have never done the same thing for her. Mayui was forgiving and kind to everyone equally, while the brunette couldn’t help but feel entitled to being taken care of, always rude, always taking for granted the things people went out of their way to do for her. Even as she pressed the hot pad to her stomach after taking the painkillers and drinking the tea, Ayame was unable to find the strength within herself to feel even an ounce of gratefulness toward Mayui.

If anyone else but Mayui had come, she would’ve been capable of expressing her gratitude. However, the very concept of owing a favor to someone she deemed lower than a non-sorcerer was utterly disgusting and worth getting angry over, at least from Ayame’s point of view.

“You should stop associating yourself with the likes of her, now that you have even less reason to.” Ayame oh-so-kindly shared some of her wisdom, expecting Haibara to agree with her as most people did when the “Kamo girl subject” came up, only to be left with an expression that highlighted both disappointment and disapproval at her ways of handling basic social situations.

“You should stop bad-mouthing people you feel inferior to.”

If only she had foreseen those insulting words coming out of Haibara’s mouth and brainwashed mind, Ayame would’ve acted on the spot and kicked him until he snapped out of the illusion that someone of her caliber could actually be jealous of Mayui. In fact, it merely added to her confusion about why the people closest to her were taking the side of a stranger instead of adhering to her rightful opinion.

She couldn’t understand Shoko’s fondness toward that girl when Ayame had been faithfully by her side all this time. Shoko rarely showed interest in others, and it wasn’t often that she made the first move in approaching someone—another reason why this newfound friendship felt peculiar.

As for Gojo, Ayame couldn’t help but think Mayui was trying to take advantage of her upperclassman’s social position and use it to the best of her abilities, while the snow-haired sorcerer was either testing her intentions or toying with her. Either way, there was no such thing as genuine closeness between two individuals so utterly different. Compared to a god like Gojo, that girl couldn’t even exist as the dirt on Gojo Satoru’s shoes, let alone dare assign herself any kind of role in his life.

If Ayame thought more carefully, she could even excuse Haibara’s disorientation as a flaw many inexperienced men possessed when dealing with a mediocre-looking woman, while Suguru inviting her to his birthday party might have simply been his way of showing consideration and kindness toward someone he pitied. She made a mental note to remind Mayui how Geto was indiscriminately well-mannered, thoughtful, polite, and selfless, and how those admirable qualities could turn into misfortune when not properly understood by opportunists who took Suguru’s gentleness for granted.

Lately she had been hearing unsettling opinions about Mayui’s looks and smiles, which suddenly seemed to outweigh her outrageous personal circumstances. People were quick to change their minds after seeing a pretty smile and fluttering eyelashes, as if their former correct judgment had never occurred and they had always believed in that pleasant appearance’s potential.

Part of the problem lay in the fact that both Shoko and Yu had started having breakfast at the cafeteria with Mayui, which made the blonde more approachable and more socially accepted than when she rarely left her room. Ayame could understand Shoko’s reasons and could even consider Yu’s intentions as excusable, given that he was a hormonal teenager. However, she blamed Mayui for not knowing her place and selfishly accepting others’ kindness without caring for their reputations.

Mayui hadn’t been officially accepted into the world of sorcerers, yet she managed to gain the approval of many important people, both important to Ayame and to their society.

It wasn’t fair for someone like her to have everything Ayame wished for, simply because she had been born into one of the most influential families. Mayui had been blessed with a strong ancient technique passed down through generations, which made her valuable and important despite her mixed origins; she had the chance of becoming the leader of her Clan and could marry whomever she desired, even another Clan leader.

Contrary to that, Ayame had been born with a weak cursed technique, with her sole chance of surviving in their world being to marry either someone of higher rank from another Clan (and bearing a child with greater chances of inheriting a strong technique) or someone from her own Clan to keep the lineage safe and continuous.

She couldn’t wed someone she loved, because it wasn’t her choice in the first place. The elders from the main family decided her husband based on the available options for someone from a secondary branch. They couldn’t risk offending a main family with a marriage proposal, but they also couldn’t accept just anyone out of desperation. Every option was chosen after careful consideration for the survival of their clan, without taking into account the wife-to-be’s feelings or acceptance.

Her period always made her more emotional and unstable, bringing forth deeply buried feelings she struggled to overcome daily. The warm pad pressed against her belly greatly subdued the pain, allowing her to fall asleep while dreaming her favorite dream: she was on a stranded island, wearing a long loose red dress, waiting at the shore for her husband, Suguru, to join her and watch the sunset together. She was embraced by the warmth of his muscular arms as he whispered nothing but promises of many tomorrows and sweet, alluring love confessions.

Chapter Text

6^th of May

The usual gatherings at Shoko’s didn’t feel as thrilling as they did before, and Ayame had two main reasons for not being up for karaoke night.

The first lay in the aftereffects of her latest mission, which had turned out to be her biggest failure, as she had barely survived on pure luck, while her partner, a female student four years younger, had died in the process, right before Ayame’s very bloodshot eyes. The mission was supposed to be an easy one, suitable for the lowest-ranked sorcerers; even the setting was a crowded area, inside a haunted building located in the center of Shinjuku, which needed to be demolished as soon as possible by a large corporation.

After the duo had exorcised a few curses, on their way back they stumbled upon a curse user, who killed Ayame’s partner on the spot by tightly encircling her neck with thorny whips belonging to fully bloomed red roses, until the thorns penetrated the skin and crushed the neck almost instantly. Ayame’s round eyes registered the moment her partner spilled a mixture of blood and flower petals, then the body falling limp on the floor, devoid of life and hope. But the shock of witnessing death, hers or someone else’s, hit Ayame so hard that she remained frozen, unable to process anything.

When she came to, she was lying on the floor near the cold corpse, while the sun threw violent rays of bloody orange through the dirty glass of a half-broken window. She didn’t remember when the curse user had vanished or whether he had said something to her, anything that might help her understand why she had been spared while another had been coldly murdered, as if her life meant nothing.

Every sorcerer but Gojo Satoru was disposable. She knew this early-learned lesson by heart, and it wasn’t the first time she had seen people die: her classmates, younger students she often met on the school grounds, older upperclassmen who were deemed strong yet never returned after missions, teachers and mentors altogether, everyone died battling curses. Perhaps that fate was shared by every sorcerer, and although death came differently for each, it never missed its chance to steal another breath, sooner or later.

If an outsider had listened to Ayame’s reason for feeling down (not grief over an acquaintance’s death, but the sheer realization that she could’ve been in her partner’s place, yet the grim reaper had merely brushed her shoulder as a warning instead of finishing her off) Ayame would’ve certainly earned critical opprobrium. Only then did she clearly understand the meaning of wanting to live, and the fear of dying while feeling incomplete and empty on the inside, meeting her end with too many regrets.

She took this experience as a second chance at a more fruitful and meaningful existence, and she wanted to share it with her friends, perhaps the only ones truly capable of understanding where she was coming from. However, their indifference created Ayame’s second reason for staying put all night, uncharacteristically isolated in a corner, watching each of her friends have fun talking to three new guests instead of caring for her and her tragic situation.

Most of her hope rested on Shoko’s unconditional support as a quiet listener, but everything went downhill when her best friend offered all her attention to a short-haired girl, with whom she openly flirted by the window between their exclusive smoking sessions.

Gojo seemed to be the only one interested in karaoke, singing his favorite songs while two girls cheered him on. In exchange, Satoru swung his hips and winked at them, generously providing luxurious fan service. From time to time, the snow-haired sorcerer disturbed Nanami, either pestering him to sing or to rate his skills, to which the blonde only scoffed and tried pushing him away, more focused on the messages he was receiving on his phone.

Until Gojo insisted he reveal who was keeping him so occupied, to which Nanami answered nonchalantly with a name that changed the entire course of the night, at least for Satoru, who raised his eyebrows in surprise and demanded more details from Kento’s stingy, dry response.

“I’m just helping her out with math.” he muttered, shielding the screen from Gojo’s intrusive, prying glances. “Ever since that incident she’s been having online courses and a lot of self-studying-“

“Is that why she missed karaoke night???” Gojo rudely interrupted, the alcohol diminishing the patience he needed to listen to the explanations he had asked for moments earlier. He lacked the calmness of a steady mind that required organized thoughts, so instead he began firing questions at Nanami without caring for the answers. “Does she have a phone? Since when? Is that her number?”

Nanami could only sigh, watching the man he should respect the most tower over him to access his phone and private conversation. It was a true test of patience dealing with this man, especially drunk.

 “Who else’s would it be?”

“Send her the video where I’m singing ‘Bring me to life’, Nanamin~!” Gojo pressed on, his grin widening as Nanami’s face dropped into a scowl. One hand hid the phone behind his back while the other tried to push away the honored one’s unshakeable body.

“I’m not sending her something like that! Do it yourself!”

The scowl, however, had not only seized Nanami’s expression but also Ayame’s, whose envy and rage boiled within the imaginary cauldron inside her ribcage, stirred by an evil witch who never stopped. How could she not let it spill over when she was sitting on the couch right in front of everyone, and their attention was on someone who wasn’t even there? Especially when that someone was Mayui, who had recently infiltrated their nightly gatherings like a thief visiting a house before stealing whatever she found precious.

Even so, the moment Ayame truly and definitively snapped was only after Suguru joined them. She didn’t feel like acting clingy, hoping he would come to her willingly after noticing her unusual, despairing state, something his kindness would never overlook. She waited patiently, adding more dramatic flair to her performance: sighing loudly, raising her voice when asking one of the girls to refill her glass because she was on the verge of utter despair. Yet all her efforts were ignored as background noise and it backfired when Suguru gave all his attention to an ashy-haired girl.

He let her feel his biceps, brush her fingers through his hair. He smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her waist, his large palm resting dangerously low on her hip—things he always rejected when Ayame initiated them. Now, he seemed eager to offer them to another girl. An uglier, fatter one.

Later that night, when everyone drunkenly sang Gorillaz’s “Feel Good Inc” in Shoko’s dark living room, lit only by a disco projector, Ayame spotted Suguru making out with that girl on the floor, hidden by the armchair.

The brunette couldn’t quite remember the moment she decided to close the distance between them, nor how her steps followed her will. She didn’t know whether she had yelled something incomprehensible or silently approached them. She definitely didn’t recall how her fingers found their way into the girl’s hair, gripping hard until she dragged her off Suguru.

The girl’s friend didn’t stay idle; she jumped to her rescue, grabbing Ayame by the hair with both hands, yanking her down until all three were lying on the floor, tangled together in a mess no one but Suguru dared approach to break apart.

Eventually, even Nanami wearily joined the fight, barely managing to scoop Ayame out of the pile and restrain her, though she scratched his exposed arms, biting and kicking anywhere she could land a blow in her beastly attempts to return to a battle she could not afford to lose.

On the other side, Suguru held onto the girl he had been kissing, who, unlike Ayame, actually listened to him. Her friend had also been pulled aside by Shoko and the girl she’d been talking to all night, kept safely away from Ayame’s bloody claws and venomous screams.

Meanwhile, Satoru recorded the entire scene, having his own type of fun.

From that night on, Ayame began coughing blood and red flower petals.

*** 

“I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once. ”
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

ABOUT HAIBARA AYAME