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Chapter Text

ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴠɪɪ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒊 ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘

❝𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔❞

It was so strange; everything she used to tell herself was up in smoke now. She was begging. Fucking begging. Mikazuki felt like porcelain, pieces of her slowly cracking, the immaculate white shattering into a million pieces while the golden blood she’d been cursed with filled the crevices. Beautiful, but also broken.

“I’ll be good!” Mikazuki promised, her face pale and weary. “I promise I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you want!” She was babbling nonsense now; between the blood-loss and the agony, there wasn’t a shred of sanity left in her mind. “I’ll be a better daughter, the heiress you wanted. I’ll be good, I will love you like I should.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Dad, I love you. Please.”

And like a delicate porcelain doll, Kinzoku Mikazuki cracked.

𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐄

ONLY ᴡᴇᴅɴᴇꜱᴅᴀʏ

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑

I do not own Jujutsu Kaisen nor any of its cannon characters. That honour belongs to the amazing Gege Akutami. That being said, any original characters are of my own creation, same goes for the plot and overall storyline which is extremely canon-divergent, so beware. 

Chapter Text

𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇  

𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 ↬ you are here

𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

Chapter Text

Unholy rituals and sacrifices (Chapter 1)
Grief, dealing with the death of a loved one (chapter 2)
Child abandonment (chapter 3)
Men being angry for no reason (chapter 7 & 8)
Sexual content (chapters 15 & 16, chapters 31, 33)
Trauma & dealing with it (the whole series)
Mention of alcoholism (chapters 19 & 20)
Mention of suicidal ideation & self-sacrifice (chapter 21)
Very graphic descriptions of torture (chapters 22 to 24)
Kenjaku being a manipulative bitch (chapters 25 to 27)
Graphic descriptions of injuries (chapter 26)
Graphic descriptions of gore & blood (chapter 26)
Explicit sexual content between underage characters (chapters 28 to 30)
Dubious consent (chapter 31)

Chapter Text

APHRODITE - SAM SHORT, HARMONY
CROSS MY HEART I HOPE U DIE - MEG SMITH, CHANDLER LEIGHTON
BEFORE I MET YOU - FLASCH, LITTLE TRAUMA
CRAWL - MARGO
MIDAS - ARI HICKS
BITE - ELLISE
NO TIME TO DIE - BILLIE EILISH
FIRE ON FIRE - SAM SMITH
FRIENDS - CHASE ATLANTIC
MY BLOOD - ELLIE GOULDING
LOSE YOU TO LOVE ME - SELENA GOMEZ
EVERYTHING I WANTED - BILLIE EILISH
LILITH - HALSEY, SUGA
I'LL BE GOOD - JAYMES YOUNG
POWER - ISAK DANIELSON
PARALYZED - NF
MOONDUST - JAYMES YOUNG
EASY TO BE US - ALDER
CRYING U OUT - CULTURE CODE, DANI POPPITT
GOLDEN THRONE - THE TECH THIEVES

Chapter Text

TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO, March 23rd 1989 –

THE LAST TIME RYOMEN SUKUNA WAS SEALED WAS SHORTLY AFTER HIS BELOVED , and that had been centuries ago. Asahi cocked his head to the side again, tongue darting out slightly before he began to recite the words.

“Blood of the Conjurer. Heart of the Victim. Tears of Sorrow. Whispers of the Departed…”

Léa’s eyes grew wide, understanding slowly setting in as she began to recognise the list.

“No.” She said simply, shaking her head more vehemently now. “You couldn’t possibly have…” The woman paused, taken aback by the words. “I know the ingredients of that forbidden spell by heart. What could you possibly gain by attempting such a thing? Bringing someone back from the dead?” There was an edge to her voice now, something intangible, incomprehensible. “There’s a reason us sorcerers never thread there!”

The Magistrate was very strict about these things. If anyone found out Asahi had attempted to… the Jujutsu Society would burn him alive, just as they had done their ancestors during the witch trials. There was a reason these things were forbidden, why the books had been burnt, their words forgotten. Some Jujutsu spells were closer to curses than to righteousness, and this was one of those. Bringing someone back from the dead was the stuff of Gods; The Maker, The Architect, The Widow… not of men like him; mortals.

Just his attempt at such a thing was considered to be sacrilegious.

“You wanted Sukuna handled, did you not? So that’s what I did.” The Kinzoku announced, wholly unbothered by the whole thing. “I made a binding vow with him.”

Léa Dubois’ blood ran cold at the admission.

“Asahi… what have you done?”

The question lingered in the air for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a couple of seconds. Asahi watched her, carefully assessing her reaction before his shoulders finally sagged, his posture relaxing sightly. It was odd for him to lower his guard, especially with her around, yet he couldn’t bring himself to keep his Eternity up a second longer when his talk with Sukuna had taken everything he had in him.

“The only thing I could think of to appease him.” Asahi answered simply, yet nothing in his tone made it casual. “I promised I would protect the vessel of his beloved so that she shall be reborn in this new era.” Something flashed in his golden eyes, like this admission pained him greatly. “I promised I would give him my own flesh and blood so Kogane could be returned.”

Kinzoku Kogane. The Sinner. The Mother. The Witch. Known by many names and hated by many others. Yet loved by only one. As far as anyone was concerned, curses didn’t have feelings; curses weren’t supposed to love. And yet, it seemed someone forgot to give Sukuna the memo. No one in this world had loved more fiercely and more truly than Ryomen Sukuna.

Well, maybe someone. And look how that ended? Léa couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of it.

“This spell has never worked.” The woman spoke through gritted teeth as she recalled the history lessons she’d been taught. “There hasn’t been a successful casting of it since it was created. Why would Sukuna have believed you?”

No sorcerer had ever casted the spell properly, not even after gathering every single ingredient, not even after performing the necessary sacrifice. And yet, why didn’t Léa doubt if anyone were able to do it properly, it would be him? Fucking Kinzoku Asahi – perfect in every sense, even the biblical one.

“Because I showed him.” Asahi said slowly. “I took my pregnant wife up to him and let him feel the life of his beloved.”

“What you’ve done… this will have consequences.” Léa sidestepped the desk, walking over to Asahi with sure yet slow steps. “You have doomed us all.” She whispered, awestruck by the force of her own words and knowing there was nothing but truth in them.

Sukuna was a curse. He was cruel, he was madness and he delighted in the pain of others. But he was a curse. Kogane, on the other hand… Oh, Kogane. She was wrath. She was fury. She was the wings steeped in gold, she was the song of chaos, she was the trumped of the end. She was divine, and rapture, and everything holly, and yet, she’d chosen hell instead. The reason why Kogane was so dangerous, why her power was so brutal… she’d seen heaven, and then turned her back on it. Before Kinzoku Kogane became a curse, she was a sorceress. The sorceress.

“If there’s anyone more dangerous that Ryomen Sukuna, that is his lover; his beloved, the Queen of Sin herself – Kinzoku Kogane.” Léa droned on, hoping her words would finally register and maybe then Asahi would understand the gravity of what he’d done. “And you’ve just given her a mortal vessel.” The woman stepped back, mouth agape. “What have you done.”

Asahi’s expression never changed. Either because he was completely disinterested, caring very little about what his ancestor may do, or because he finally saw a side of Léa he never thought he would. She was afraid. Truly, utterly and completely terrified.

“Hopefully, ensure our mutual destruction.” Asahi spoke evenly as he leaned in, whispering against her ear. “With this, I am buying my freedom from you.” He said quietly, breath ghosting against Léa’s ear. “Léa Dubois, you and your Magistrate will never hold any power over me and my family ever again.”

Léa looked up at him, her big brown eyes colliding with his perfect sunset ones.

“You would risk the entirety of the Jujutsu Society – of the world – just to buy your family some semblance of safety?” She asked, incredulous.

Asahi didn’t move an inch, simply smiling.

“From this moment on, you might be the Head of The Magistrate,” He began, the threat lingering in his words. “but I assure you, Léa Dubois, I am the King of Sorcerers.” The Kinzoku cocked his head to the side, eyes glowing with mirth. “Move against me and my family and I will unleash the wrath of Kinzoku Kogane on you and your own.” 

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI STOOD IN FRONT OF THE COLD SLAB OF GRANITE, her brother’s name scribbled in perfect kanji across the stone, the symbol of the Kinzoku clan branded right underneath. The sorceress was cold to the touch, her fingers numb and wrinkled as the rain tapped away, the small droplets hitting the roof of the greenhouse and creating a cacophony of noises. It smelled like rain, in here. The scent of fresh grass and wet mud mixed with the quiet perfume of the flowers planted under the cloak of the greenhouse.

It had been a while since Mikazuki stepped into the bounds of the greenhouse. It was a small glass building tucked away behind the Kogane manor, right between the cemetery and a couple of meters away from the chapel. The atmosphere was peaceful, almost as if the lies of the Kinzoku could not quite penetrate through the thick insulating glass. The sorceress looked up, her golden gaze sweeping over the glass structure as she witnessed the rain fall, the droplets crashing against the roof before they glided down the big window panels.

This was the only place where she felt alive. Safe. Everything else in that house – all over the Kinzoku Estate, really – was poisoned by the past. There wasn’t a single room, a single space that hadn’t been tainted by her family’s cruelty. Sometimes, Mikazuki wished the memories could go away, that they could be washed away by the rain, and she could be born anew in a different world as a different person. But the Gods never granted her the mercy, so she came her instead. The greenhouse was safe and, judging by the large snares climbing up the metal scaffolding along with the wilderness that crept in through the cracks, no one had been down there in a long while.

This place used to be one of Keisuke’s favourites. He would sit by the windowsill, a book in his hands while Mikazuki rested her head in his lap. They could sit there for hours – or as long as they could evade their governess, who refused to even step foot inside of that room just so she wouldn’t ruin her shoes. Sometimes, Kei would read for her; he liked to read her stories of faraway lands, lost little girls, pirates and whatever else he could find to help them evade the cruel reality of their lives. Mikazuki would sit there, close her eyes while her brother spoke, and daydream of being somewhere else.

These were some of her most precious memories, safely tucked away within the confines of the greenhouse, right where everything her heart longed for used to be. Mikazuki ran her hand through the flowers, their unkempt state not really registering as she felt the petals under her fingers. Hydrangeas – they were everywhere, all colours and shapes, bustling with life despite the fact no one had tented to them in years.

At first, when they were still young enough to be spared from gruelling training sessions and tireless hours of lessons, Hide would pick the both of them up, one twin in each hip while she worked. It was one of the only things that used to bring her peace; this beautiful garden full of life and greenery that reminded her of the large estate her own family used to own. Hide would work quietly for hours, repotting plants, mixing fertilizers and teaching everything she could about gardening to her children. Mikazuki loved it, she loved watching her mom stared at a bundle of hydrangeas and smile. She loved when she placed her large hands over that of her daughter, guiding her through every step.

Eventually, though, the lessons stopped. And maybe that’s when Hide stopped being a mother, too.

The memories blurred in Mikazuki’s mind, the reminder of the time her mother had truly behaved like a parent quickly turning sour as a single tear rolled down her cheek. The sorceress pressed her lips into a tight thin line, swatting the tear away with her fingers before crouching down in front of the grave.

According to family tradition, Keisuke should have been buried either in the family mausoleum or on the large cemetery stretched a couple of acres bordering the Hokkaido National Forest. Instead, though, he’d chosen this place; by the plants he loved and under a sky full of stars that glowed each night over the see-through glass of the roof. Mikazuki inhaled deeply, breath shaking with each exhale as she let the tip of her fingers trace along the ridges of the stone.

Kinzoku E. Keisuke

Heir of the Kinzoku Clan

Second Son of Kinzoku Asahi & Hide

Beloved son and brave soldier

The words felt like slap to the face, yet Mikazuki fought the urge to desecrate them, opting to retreat her hand back into her pocket instead. Keisuke had been the heir, but that hadn’t always been the case; before he ever came along to this world, another Kinzoku child owned that title. Kazuo’s life had been brief, but he’d been the firstborn and Asahi’s golden child. After he passed away, the title of heir defaulted to Keisuke, who was only a couple of hours old at the time. It wasn’t his burden to bear – shouldn’t have been, not when he never asked for it, not when he didn’t want it – but he took it on regardless.

Mikazuki missed him. She missed him as much as the sun missed the moon, like he was a fundamental part of her herself which had been taken away. But Keisuke was dead, now, and a part of Mikazuki had gone with him. We were supposed to be together until the end. The sorceress thought, a pang of guilt and pain lurching in her heart as she observed the hydrangeas that crawled over the side of the tombstone, the beautiful combination of blue, white and pink ensnaring around his name as if forever linked.

“I’m sorry, Kei.” Mikazuki began to speak slowly; her voice raspy and cold as hot clouds of condensation escaped her lips with each breath. “We were supposed to be together until the end, but I left you long before you left me. I wish I could go back in time and change this, make things right. But I… I don’t know how to do that.” Another tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a trail of salt and sorrow which turned cold with the glacial wind. “I don’t know how to exist in a world in which you don’t. I don’t know how to breathe without you. Live without you.” Her lower lip quivered, tears now freely streaming down her cheeks as her breaths became brash and shallow.

Gods, I miss you so fucking much. The sorceress thought as she collapsed on top of the grave, knees digging into the fresh mood that lined the floor, Keisuke’s tombstone directly in her line of sight. Mikazuki hung her head low, hand blindly reaching out until she gripped the edges of the stone, the granite feeling hard and cold under her palm.

“You were my equal and now, I’m incomplete.” She mumbled, unable to look up as a sob wracked through her body.

Equals. People liked to throw that word around, pretending they knew what it meant. But they didn’t. The Magistrate used to call Satoru her equal, but that was a title that never belonged to him. Gojo was the strongest sorcerer of his generation and, although his power mirrored hers, he would never be her equal. Mikazuki only had one equal, and he was dead.

Keisuke was her equal. He was her other half, the missing piece of her soul. They belonged together, long before they were even born. They shared a womb, they shared a crib, they shared a soul. Keisuke was the other side of the coin. He was the missing link.

He was dead.

Mikazuki’s tears pooled at her feet, the gold in her veins pouring out from the cracked veins in her arms and cradling her, almost as if trying to pick up the pieces of its broken host. The liquid gold hovered around her, the magic spilling from the constant stream of Everlasting while the sorceress remained rooted to the spot. Mikazuki inhaled through her sobs, her hand still gripping the edge of the tombstone as her nails scraped against the surface.

“I promised myself I would never be like this again.” Mikazuki resumed, her voice still shaking even as a familiar coldness began to spread through her body, turning her heart to ice. “I promised I would never be weak like this, that I wouldn’t let them get away with what they did.” The woman brushed her hand against her cheek, swatting the tears away before she inhaled deeply, the coldness spreading through her chest like poison. “They’re the reason why you’re dead and I…” She let out quietly, golden gaze now settling on the unmoving headstone with Keisuke’s name scrobbled on it. “I’m done playing nice. I promised I would make them pay, and that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

Mikazuki slowly rose from the ground, her gold supporting her and hovering around her in large chunks which levitated in the air. The sorceress looked down at the grave one last time, her expression ice cold, the stillness in her sunset gaze chilling to the bone. Another tear threatened to fall, but Mikazuki quickly extinguished any sign of weakness, allowing the malleable form of Everlasting to pluck it from her eye with such carefulness even the sorceress was surprised.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, but I’m ready now.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her fingers, slowly dragging them across the granite headstone before retreating back once again. “I’ll kill them all, you just watch. I’ll make you proud.”

I’ll make myself proud. Mikazuki didn’t say, that particular version of herself still trapped behind gold bars, her childhood self gazing back with fear in her eyes. Keisuke deserved someone to fight for him. As did young Mikazuki, the one that never made it off that abandoned light factory ten years ago. They deserved justice, and, for them, Mikazuki was willing to become vengeance. Keisuke was dead and buried, but so was she. It was time to avenge her corpse. 

Chapter Text

THE REST OF THE WEEK PASSED QUICKLY AND, by the time Mikazuki returned to the hospital to meet with her sister, the sorceress had already made up her mind. The Kinzoku had been thinking long and hard about things, and although the decision she’d made pained her, Mikazuki knew this was the only way to move forward. Time was moving too fast for her to catch up and, between meetings with The Magistrate, long overdue reports, missions and training sessions, Mikazuki found herself drowning under a pile of never-ending work.

Of course, Mikazuki was no fool, which is why she’d realized early on that, despite the fact everything kept pilling on top of her, this was all part of her father’s punishment. As if brutalizing his own daughter wasn’t enough – for Gods’ sake, Niko was still in the hospital, bedbound and with two useless legs. And it was all Mikazuki’s fault. But apparently, that wasn’t enough for the Head of the Kinzoku clan. No, on top of that, he was set on tormenting his other daughter, lest she get any ideas to challenge him again.

But Mikazuki wasn’t ready to give up, not after she’d stood in front of her brother’s grave, making another promise, one she wasn’t willing to break. The sorceress had made plenty of promises since her return, but none of them quite like this. This one burned, a raging fire igniting inside of her, pulling at her Cursed Energy and dancing of the edge of chaos. She had to do this, there was no other way. No matter the cost.

Even if said cost was her own children.

Mikazuki swallowed, holding her chin up as she clutched the piece of paper tightly in her fist. She didn’t have time to overthink, the choice had already been made and her friends overseas were waiting to hear from her again. Making these arrangements hadn’t been easy; Mikazuki had pulled a bunch of favours from her time as an exiled sorceress in Argentina, many of which she’d hoped she would never need to cash. But she had to do this, for everyone’s sake.

The Kinzoku heiress pushed the door open, the hinges creaking loudly as she stepped into the hospital room. After the first couple of nights, Niko had been moved from the VIP room to one of the regular ones a couple floors down. The eldest Kinzoku didn’t care, the view was better from here and she got a full flatscreen TV for herself since the bed set beside hers was permanently empty. Mikazuki inhaled deeply, half expecting to encounter a sleeping Niko or to see her gossiping with Shoko during one of her breaks.

Instead, as soon as the door opened and the inside of the room was revealed, the sorceress’ breath got caught in her throat. Niko shuffled uncomfortably, trying to straighten herself and pull away from the child like she’d been burned. Mikazuki did her best not to react, keeping her gaze cold and swallowing past the lump I her throat as she watched her two children snuggle closer to their mom.

Toshinori was sitting in the chair with a brand-new Nintendo Switch in his hands, the loud music playing from the speakers as his focus was completely captures by the game. Ren, always the sweetest of the two, was sitting by her mother’s side, Niko’s hand ruffling her hair in a loving gesture as they cuddled.

This should have hurt. It should have hurt more than anything in the world. Instead, Mikazuki couldn’t help but feel relieved. Relived because this proved she made the right choice. Relieved because she was right for giving them away. Relieved because Niko was the mother they deserved. Relieved because when she entered the room, not even a flicker of recognition washed over the twins.

“Hi.” Mikazuki greeted, her voice dry and rough as she was unable to take her eyes off from her children.

“Hi.” Niko echoed, clearing her throat before she turned to her kids.

She looked exhausted, not that Mikazuki could blame her, especially after the last procedure she’d had to fix the kneecap on her right leg. Most of her wounds had healed pretty fast, but the broken legs would be a big problem. Niko would probably never walk right again. The grey-haired sorceress inhaled sharply, the sound loud enough to startle the kids out of their stupor. Niko forced a smile, caressing her daughter’s cheek before she leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“My friend and I need to have a talk, why don’t you go find Shoko? Ask her to show you the cool MRI machine, why don’t you?” Niko asked, her tone gentle before she nodded towards Toshinori, who was still engrossed on his game. “Take your brother with you.”

My friend. Not my sister. Not my family.

Ren did as she was told, hopping down the hospital bed and tugging on her brother’s sleeve before the two disappeared out of the room. Mikazuki let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, tears welling in her eyes. Niko’s smile softened, a swell of pity rising in her chest at the sight of her broken sister.

“She’s a good girl.” Mikazuki commented, her tone clipped as she did her best to keep her composure.

Niko nodded slowly, patting the empty space beside her bed. The sorceress obliged wordlessly, plopping down next to her older sister and taking the exact same space her daughter had been occupying just seconds ago. The sheets were warm, Ren’s scent inundating her nostrils as it continued to linger in the air. Mikazuki gathered the pillow in her hands, inhaling deeply.

Fuck. I forgot what she smelled like. My little girl. The sorceress stifled a sob, quickly putting the pillow aside as she tried to regain her bearings. She didn’t get to call her that; Ren was never hers, especially not now that she’d seen just how motherly Niko was towards her. Not that expected anything else, after all, unlike her, she was her mother. The older Kinzoku looked away, gaze falling on the hallway her daughter had just disappeared down.

“She’s very kind and mature for her age.” Niko began slowly, hoping her tone didn’t betray the feelings currently running through her mind. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”

Mikazuki shook her head, wiping away the unshed tears still gathered in her eyes.

“It’s okay. I made my choice a while ago and I don’t regret it.”

Chapter Text

IT WASN’T A LIE, yet it still didn’t erase the pain currently squeezing her heart. The weight of it eventually faded away, leaving the two sisters in an amicable yet still heart-breaking silence. Mikazuki sighed, brushing a hand through her curls as her golden eyes took in the room. This one was slightly less nicer than the first, but it was definitely a lot more kid-friendly and the space and it had its own annexed bathroom.

The sorceress gaze fell upon a paper cup that sat at the edge of the table, a mark of red lipstick lining the edge. Mikazuki narrowed her eyes – she’d recognise that shade anywhere. Burgundy red, a shade darker than Léa’s but lighter than Shoko’s. There was only one person they both knew who used it and, the realization made a shiver run up her spine. The grey-haired sorceress inhaled sharply, turning to stare at her sister only to find Niko was already looking her way.

“You didn’t tell me mom stopped by.” Mikazuki said, the accusation in her tone barely veiled.

Niko shrugged, squirming under her sister’s gaze.

“I didn’t think I needed to; it doesn’t change anything.” The ex-sorceress paused, eyes slanted as she looked at her younger sister, something indecipherable dancing in the soft golden hues of her gaze. “Also… Mom? Is that what we’re calling her, now?” She asked, a certain edge to her voice.

Mikazuki opened her mouth, ready to refute whatever argument Niko was trying to make. But no sound would leave her lips and, soon, the sorceress realized it was because her sister was right. Calling Hide a mother was a stretch and a disservice to real mothers. She’d been a mom, once, not for long, back when she looked at Keisuke and Mikazuki and saw her children instead of soldiers to be used by The Magistrate. Niko clutched the sheets in her fists, her expression bordering anger as she looked at Mikazuki, pleading.

“Please, tell me that the reason I got my kneecaps blown isn't because you've grown too familiar with any of them.” She begged.

Them. She said it like a curse, like they were two sides of a waging war. There was this side; the side of Mikazuki and Niko and everyone who had ever been hurt by The Magistrate and their family. And then there was theirs. On one side of the line stood Mikazuki, the whole world resting upon her shoulders. On the other, the Kinzoku. What neither of them could comprehend at the time, though, was that there were no sides.

“You know I would never. I just…” Mikazuki brushed the hair out of her face, a frustrated huff escaping her lips. “I’m trying to make sense of things, that is all.”

Niko sighed, clutching her sister’s arm and squeezing the scarred skin with enough roughness to leave a mark.

“I’m just making sure we’re still on the same boat.” The bedridden woman spoke quietly, anger disappearing from the taut lines of her face. “You’re the one who convinced me to embark on this journey of yours. You can't give up now, not after everything they've done.” She gave her arm one last squeeze. “Who Hide is as guilty as he is, do not let yourself be fooled by her gentle façade.”

“I know, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Mikazuki shook her head, gently pushing her sister’s hand away as she pulled out a paper from the pocket of her jacket. Niko leaned it, looking curiously at it as her brows knitted in confusion. The paper was folded halfway, whatever was scribbled inside hidden from view, yet from the way Mikazuki’s demeanour changed, Niko felt the excitement and curiosity evaporate. Instead, a new wave of dread settled at the pit of her stomach.

“What’s that?” Niko asked, trying to keep her tone level.

Mikazuki ignored the question, inhaling deeply through her nose and crumbling the paper slightly.

“I want to do this.” The sorceress began, her voice calm and collected despite the crumbled piece of paper that still held the weight of the world in her hand. “I promised I would, and I don’t intend on breaking that promise, but I… I can’t do this.”

Niko opened her mouth, yet whatever words were about to break free died in her tongue and turned to ashes upon being faced by Mikazuki’s torture expression. She could see it in her eyes; it wasn’t fear what clung to her pores, but an entire new feeling that she could see in the reflexion of her golden orbs. Asahi hadn’t spoken a single word to her since their last encounter through the video call, but Mikazuki knew it was only a matter of time before he attacked Niko again.

"I can't do this. Not while you're here.” The sorceress repeated, this time louder and with far more conviction that before. “I promised I would make them pay, but I can't do that if I have to constantly look over my shoulder."

Mikazuki opened her fist and Niko looked down. The older Kinzoku inhaled deeply, taking the piece of paper and smoothing it out until the words were legible enough. As soon as she read the words, Niko’s entire world tilted on its axis.

Four plane tickets to Argentina. One for her. One for James. And two for the twins.

“If we leave... you might never see them again.” Niko mumbled, her voice shaking, as did her hands.

Mikazuki swallowed past the lump on her throat.

“And that's the greatest gift I can give them.” She retorted, her tone calm despite the unshed tears twinkling in her eyes. “I should have never met them anyway. This way, they'll grow up far away and safe. Eventually, they'll forget all about me.”

Niko crumbled the paper in her hands, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she finally made up the courage to meet her sister’s stare.

“Is that what you want?"

“It's what they need. What they deserve.” Mikazuki answered without missing a beat. “I've never been a mother to them, so, please... let me be their mom just once. Let me give them away. Permanently.”

For all of our sakes. 

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI STOOD OUTSIDE OF GOJO SATORU’S HOME, hands fiddling nervously before she finally built up the courage to ring the doorbell. The sound echoed in the night, a gust of wind wilding across her hair. The sorceress waited for a bit, allowing that anxious feeling to swell and settle at the pit of her stomach. She felt completely out of place, like a silly little girl waiting at her crush’s home even when this scenario was far from that.

Gods, Satoru had been the one who invited her. Apparently, ten years weren’t enough time for him to get a driver’s licence, meaning Mikazuki was the designated driver for their little escapade. And yet, she was still the one currently drowning in anxiety, standing outside of his house in the hot summer night. She was such an idiot.

The Kinzoku felt silly doing this, like, somehow, she was intruding into Gojo’s personal life by showing up at his – Keisuke’s – house even when he was the one who told her to pick him up at eleven. For a moment, she hesitated, a part of the sorceress feeling like she needed to call this whole thing off and walk out before things got too out of hand. As a matter of fact, she was about to do exactly that; turn around and forget this whole thing even happened, when the door cracked open, bright light spilling outside as a young figure stood at the doorstep.

It wasn’t Satoru who stood on the other side. It wasn’t Fushiguro Megumi, either. Instead, Mikazuki stood face to face with a round-faced teenager, about fifteen-years-old. Tsumiki. Her mind supplied immediately while she stood there, unsure on what to do. The girl looked bored, her pretty brown eyes looking Mikazuki up and down and assessing the woman as she leaned on the door, her stare judgemental.

The Kinzoku didn’t like being judged by others, then again, this wasn’t just anyone – she was Gojo’s kid, and as such, a part of the sorceress couldn’t help but seek her approval. For a brief moment, Mikazuki was happy she’d gone for something a bit more conservative than what she usually wore to the club. Tonight, she’d traded her short skirts and skin-tight dresses for a simple get-up, a plain white satin dress that left her back exposed with two tiny silver chains crossed over her tattoo.

The fabric was soft and lightweight, hugging her curves and bunching up around her thighs before falling loosely to the ground. Satoru hadn’t been specific about the dress code, so Mikazuki picked the first thing she saw in her clothes, more focused on how it would like when the dress came off rather than when it was on. After all, that was the whole goal of their arrangement, was it not? To find someone so she could get off?

“You must be Mikazuki-san.” The girl cut in; her tone unamused.

Tsumiki was polite, but there was something not dissimilar to disapproval in her tone. Although Mikazuki guessed that had more to do with her relationship with Satoru rather than her outfit. After all, from the brief interactions she’d glimpsed between the two, it seemed Gojo was that typical girl dad, at least when it came to her. Tsumiki eyed her warily, arms crossed over her chest.

“Satoru is still in the shower; he probably won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.” She stepped aside, her tone cold. “Come in.” Despite her words, there was nothing inviting about the gesture.

Still, Mikazuki did as she was told, trying to get rid of the insecurity still lingering in her bones. Tsumiki wasn’t a particular hard person to read, yet the special-grade couldn’t help but feel unease around the girl, a sense of discomfort taking over her as she passed her and entered the home. As soon as the Kinzoku was inside the house, Tsumiki closed the door, locking it behind the woman before turning towards the stairs.

“Satoru!” She called loudly, that teenage glib to her words. “Your girlfriend’s here!”

Girlfriend. Hadn’t Satoru told them anything? Or did he just expect the kids to draw their own conclusions? Mikazuki bit her lower lip, both horrified and slightly amused at the assumption. Then again, what else was fifteen-year-old Tsumiki supposed to think? Before she even got a chance of correcting the girl, the brunette was plopping back down on the sofa, rejoining her space by her brother’s side. The two seemed to be playing some kind of videogame, bickering in hushed whispers about battle strategies.

Mikazuki waited, unsure on what to do. This was her second time standing in the entryway of Gojo’s home and, although the first time she’d felt right at home, this was different. Both of the kids were there, just doing their thing while she stood in the middle of the hall, coat bunched up in her hands.

The sorceress was nervous and completely out of her depth – she didn’t know how to deal with kids, let alone teenagers whom she’d met just now. Fushiguro Megumi seemed to notice her presence then, setting his controller aside before twisting his neck in a weird angle to greet her.

“Mikazuki-san.” He said softly, not overtly hyped to see her but not as bothered as his sister had been when she answered the door.

“Megumi-kun.” She greeted in return, nodding towards the boy as the tension eased off her shoulders. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Has your wound healed completely yet?” The Kinzoku asked softly, bundling her coat and leaving it on top the entryway cabinet before walking towards the sofa with short unsure steps.

She remembered the head injury to be quite nasty the last time she saw him. The gash hadn’t been particularly long nor thick at the back of his head, but those kinds of wounds could easily get out control, especially when not handled properly. Not that Mikazuki believed Satoru hadn’t been watching over the boy – she never really had any doubts about that, not after watching him rush to his side when he swayed during their argument in the kitchen. It was endearing, the way Gojo cared so much about him.

“Almost.” Megumi confessed pointing to the back of his head. “It’ll probably take another couple of days before it closes completely, but overall, it’s been going well.” He paused, a dark blush staining his cheeks. “Thank you for taking care of me. And for the stew.”

Mikazuki relaxed a bit upon hearing his words, shoulders slumping forwards while a small smile played on her lips. It had been a long time since she last cooked for anyone, so having Megumi thank her for it made the woman warm up with both embarrassment and pride. The sorceress tilted her head to the side, leaning her hip against the back of the sofa while she settled her golden eyes on the boy.

“Satoru told me you liked it.” She hummed, cheeks painted a bright shade of crimson. “I could cook you another one sometime.” 

Chapter Text

THE KINZOKU’S EXPRESSION CHANGED SLIGHTLY, a certain sense of unease settling over her bones as she silently wondered if maybe she’d overstepped through that imaginary line drawn in the sand. Other than making his displeasure known, Gojo hadn’t set any real boundaries for her. Mikazuki wasn’t even sure when she’d get to see the kids again or if she would at all. They were good kids – both Megumi and Tsumiki, in their own way. Maybe cooking for them was a bit too much, though.

“Or,” She began with a nervous chuckle. “if you don’t mind the work, I could teach you how to make some.”

This time, it was Tsumiki who looked up, pausing the screen of the TV to stare at Mikazuki with huge eyes. It was odd, the way the girl was clearly related to Megumi yet was still physically different. Fushiguro’s eyes were a dark shade of blue, a mix of cobalt and deep ocean. Meanwhile, Tsumiki’s eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, like the deep forests of the Amazons.

“That would be great, actually.” The fifteen-year-old commented enthusiastically. “I looked online for recipes but they didn’t seem to match what you made. It tasted… spicier, I think.” The girl shrugged.

“I only got the leftovers though, since my brother ate most of it.” Tsumiki turned towards the younger Fushiguro, shoving his shoulder a tad bit harder than necessary. “Inconsiderate ass.”

Megumi shoved her back, not missing a single beat and not really caring when the game controller fell from his lap.

“Hey! Satoru ate some of it, too!”

Tsumiki rolled her eyes, unconvinced.

“Recipes for traditional regional dishes are hard to come by.” Mikazuki cut in, lips curled in an amused smile. “If you have a piece of paper I can write down the instructions for you, if you wish.” She looked at Tsumiki curiously, golden eyes expectant. “Do you cook often?”

Tsumiki set her controller aside, pushing herself of the sofa and walking towards the kitchen. She stood in front of the fridge, ripping one of the post it stuck to the door and picking up a pen from a nearby glass. The girl handed the sorceress the supplies, leaning against the kitchen counter and stomping her elbows onto the granite countertop. Mikazuki nodded absentmindedly, sitting down in one of the empty seats as she began to scribble away on the small piece of yellow paper.

“Only when I have to.” Tsumiki answered lightly, a wistful tone in her voice. “I’m more into baking, I think. Pastries and whatnot.”

“Oh.”

Mikazuki looked up, taking in the girl in front of her. Baking. It suited her, she was soft and sweet like that – not with the Kinzoku, particularly, but the sorceress didn’t need to interact much with the girl to know she was probably a sweet little thing, if only a little bit sharp around the edges. It did remind her of herself, back when she was fifteen. That was a long time ago, though. Mikazuki shook her head, pen gliding across the paper as she continued to write down the instructions.

“I’m sure Satoru appreciates the effort. He’s always had a sweet-tooth.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at her, slowly taking in the piece of information. Of course, this wasn’t news to Tsumiki, but it was certainly interesting to know that Mikazuki knew such a tiny detail about Satoru.

“That he does.” Tsumiki waited for a moment, eyeing Mikazuki curiously as she leaned against the counter of the kitchen, elbows splayed at either side of her. “The two of you know each other rather well. How long have you known him for?”

She was trying to be casual about it, but even as the words rolled of her tongue, Tsumiki realised her intentions had come as subtlety as Megumi’s stupid sea urchin haircut. Usually, the older Fushiguro didn’t care much for Satoru’s personal life – probably because it wasn’t any of her business, but also because he didn’t really have one. Gojo only ever hang out with the same people, all of whom she was familiar with. Until Kinzoku Mikazuki, that is. She was different, in a way. Tsumiki could tell, and it bugged her to no end.

So, yes, she was prying. Sue her for trying to know more about the man who had come and whisked her and her brother away almost ten years ago now. The Gojo heir wasn’t prone to sharing, meaning this was the only way for her to get some answers. Real ones, not whatever bullshit conversation Megumi had with Satoru the day before.

Mikazuki paused, thinking about it as she capped the pen back and handed Tsumiki the sticky note with all the information. It was mostly a bunch of unintelligible scribbles, and it occurred only then to the girl that she hadn’t even realised her guest was left-handed until then.

“Well, I’ve known of Satoru since the moment he was born,” She began, her tone soft yet certain. “but I only met him when we were fourteen.”

That’s when her father had arranged the engagement between her and the Gojo heir, not that the sorceress was about to divulge that particular part of the puzzle. She didn’t know where Satoru stood on sharing things with the kids, but she was pretty sure telling them about their failed engagement wasn’t part of his plans.

Mikazuki shrugged, trying not to make a big deal of it even when Tsumiki looked up at her with wide eyes, a sense of amazement in her auburn irises.

“Back in school we were classmates, so we worked together a lot.”

The fifteen-year-old leaned forward even further, allowing her curiosity to get the best of her. She had so many questions, so many secrets she wanted the woman to spill. Tsumiki and Megumi knew very little about Gojo’s life before he became their guardian. And even then, during the first couple of years, it seemed he was determined to keep them at arm’s length. Things were different now, though, and Satoru wasn’t as worried with hiding them as he had been before, probably knowing it was inevitable for the Jujutsu Society to eventually become interested in Megumi due to his Zenin heritage.

“School… you mean Jujutsu Tech, right?” Tsumiki cocked her head to the side, licking her lips. “Are you a sorcerer like Satoru?”

Mikazuki smiled softly again.

“Yes. It runs in my blood.” The cursed blood of her ancestors, the sins of those that came before her. “I believe you met my twin brother, Keisuke.”

Keisuke. She saw recognition flash through the girl’s expression, multiple emotions flickering on her pale face as the smile dropped. Satoru hadn’t said much about whatever relationship Kei had developed with the kids, but watching the expression of utter and sheer destruction on Tsumiki’s face at the reminder was somehow good enough. For a moment, Mikazuki remained still, wondering how involved Kei was in all of this. He had a room here, with his things – his clothes, his scent, his residuals all over the place.

“Oh.” Tsumiki let out, surprised. “Yeah, he–” She swallowed, surprised by the grief that settled heavily on her tongue “I’m sorry. For your loss.”

Kinzoku Keisuke died almost five months ago, yet the wound was still fresh. It was fresh in Mikazuki’s soul, bleeding out like the endless spiral of a black hole. It was fresh in Gojo’s eyes, the heaviness that lingered in them during the rare moments he forsook his blindfold. And it was fresh in Tsumiki, whose face fell upon saying the words.

“It’s–”

Mikazuki stopped herself, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. It’s okay? Her brain supplied, no amount of sarcasm missed there. No, it’s not. Nothing was okay about Keisuke’s death. Nothing was okay about having lost her twin.

“That’s very kind of you, Tsumiki-san.” She settled on, the smile on her face fake and not reassuring at all despite her best efforts. 

Chapter Text

THE TWO STOOD THERE FOR A MOMENT, with Tsumiki still leaning against the counter and watching the sorceress while Mikazuki sat, twirling a strand of grey hair with her finger. The fifteen-year-old girl opened her mouth, as if to say something, yet she quickly clamped it shut again, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. She felt small and inexperienced and although Mikazuki had no malice in her words, she still felt like she was being treated condescendingly.

Tsumiki opened her mouth as if to say something but she stopped herself. Mikazuki stared at her, encouragingly.

“I…” Tsumiki began, the blush turning redder and redder by the second while Mikazuki stared at her encouragingly. “I wanted to go to his funeral, but Satoru warned us it wouldn’t be proper.”

Oh. This broke her heart a little. Of course, Satoru wasn’t wrong. In fact, his decision might have saved the kids from what could have been a horrible experience. The Kinzoku weren’t known for being kind to strangers, especially those related to the Zenin Clan. Gods knew what her father would have done if the kids were in attendance. Knowing him, he might have tortured them just to prove a point – Kinzoku Asahi was crazy like that. And cruel.

“And he was right. It wasn’t much of a funeral anyway.” The sorceress sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness. “Jujutsu people tend to treat these things like a party. I don’t think anyone who cared about my brother truly enjoyed a single second of that night.”

Jujutsu people. Not my people. Not our people. Mikazuki hadn’t been part of the Jujutsu community long before she stood in that damned room, fifty-nine witnesses willing to punish her for something she hadn’t done. Tsumiki stared at her, seeing her in a different light for the first time since she first greeted her at the door. There was something familiar in the sorrow she saw glowing in her golden eyes, although she couldn’t quite place it at the moment.

“Is it hard, being a sorceress?”

Tsumiki didn’t know why she was asking such a thing – after all, she’d lived the answer. At the tender age of fifteen-year-old, she didn’t have enough fingers to count the amount of times Gojo had come and gone, disappearing for days – even weeks – for missions that wrecked him, both physically and emotionally. And yet, she knew that, no matter what, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was beautiful, idealistic, but it was also stupid.

Unlike Satoru, who seemed to believe blindly in what he did, Mikazuki had a different approach. She wasn’t blinded by the good, she wasn’t oblivious to the tragedy, the pain, the blood… she simply existed within all of it. She carried it, on her back, on the scars Tsumiki could glimpse – both the one on her left leg and the one on her chest.

“Incredibly so.” Mikazuki answered honestly.

Tsumiki cocked her head to the side. Somehow, she’d been expecting a lie. Or maybe some joke and overexaggerated reaction to change the topic; after all, it’s what Satoru did whenever she asked. Mikazuki’s honesty was both refreshing and frightening at the same time. Sensing the girl’s train of thought, the sorceress deflated slightly, tucking the strand of hair behind her ear.

“But it’s also fun. And noble. Just ask your–” Mikazuki paused, trying to find the right word.

What was Gojo Satoru to her? A parent? Guardian? Father? None of those felt right, yet at the same time they all did. Tsumiki averted her eyes for a fraction of a moment, pulling on a rubber band she had around her wrist.

“Satoru doesn’t really ever talk about that business.” She confessed quietly; voice small. “At least not with me.” She looked at Megumi longingly.

Right, because he was the gifted one. The one with cursed energy. The one capable of seeing curses and sensing their energy. Meanwhile, Tsumiki was the mortal one. Oh, how familiar this felt. The heir and the spare. A tale as old as time, one Mikazuki herself had lived – and defied.

Having been born a whole seventeen minutes after her brother, Mikazuki had spent her entire life cowering under his shadow. She used to hate every single second of it. Now, though? What she wouldn’t give to feel the warmth of said shadow one last time. The sorceress sobered up quickly, casting her dark thoughts aside while she dedicated the girl a true smile.

“Well, if you have any questions, I’m sure I can do my best to answer them.” She understood now, why Kei was so protective of Tsumiki. “I’ve been out of town for a while, but Jujutsu society rarely changes that much.”

Ten years was very little time when compared against centuries of tradition. At the end of the day, The Magistrate and everything that surrounded it was much older than any of them, and as such, it was the institution that ruled over everything in their world. Tsumiki hesitated for a second, almost as if she truly did want to ask whatever questions fleetingly passed through her head.

Then, the air changed, the shift subtle enough to make Mikazuki’s skin crawl as she felt the electric presence of Gojo Satoru. The girl shook her head, grabbing the post-it with the recipe from the table. She too had noticed the sorcerer’s sudden appearance, quickly stifling whatever thoughts of curiosity bustled through that head of hers.

“Thank you, but I’m good.” She waved the post-it, a sad smile on her face. “Thank you for the recipe. And the…” The fifteen-year-old flailed her arms incomprehensively. “…conversation.”

Mikazuki noticed the shift immediately, turning around to watch as Satoru slowly descended down the steps. The man looked calm, his expression unreadable, yet his folded arms over his chest and the tranquillity in his blue eyes felt like an oncoming storm. The sorcerer had taken a while to get ready, but he’d clearly made good use of those twenty minutes. It was odd, seeing him in anything other than the Jujutsu Tech uniform. It suited him – as did anything he chose to wear, really.

Tonight, he made a rather dashing stranger. He wasn’t wearing anything outside of the ordinary; just a black dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark slacks. His hair was up in its usual spikes, a headband not unlike his blindfold holding it all up while he wore a pair of sunglasses with thick obsidian glass. Mikazuki’s gaze flickered to his hands; fingers covered in a series of rings that made them look longer and slender. Satoru looked breathtaking tonight, not that the sorceress would ever admit it. Truth to be told, she did understand what others saw in him. He looked… ravishing.

Gojo’s eyes lit up with mirth upon feeling Mikazuki’s stare, yet instead of delighting in her attention, he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He nodded his head towards the child, a half-smile playing on his soft lips.

“Tsumiki.” Satoru turned to look at the special-grade, a mix between anger and lust in his eyes. “Mikazuki.”

A shiver ran up her spine when he said her name. Why does he need to say it like that? Mikazuki shook her head, pushing herself off the chair and moving out of the kitchen while Satoru finally came down the stairs. While the want in his eyes had faded, she could still feel the anger lingering. The sorceress tore her gaze away from the man, fidgeting with one of her rings to keep her mind occupied and away from his slender fingers. Had Satoru always had such big, nice hands?

“Right.” Mikazuki cut in, knowing this was going to devolve into an argument sooner or later. “I believe it is time for us to take our leave.”

Satoru licked his lips, the gesture not lost to the sorceress as her breath got caught in her lungs. The man smiled, keenly aware of her attention on him and eating up every second of it. It seemed he wasn’t the only one of the two currently attracted to the other. Tonight was going to be fun.

“Yes. I believe it is.” Satoru said in a snappy tone before he looked over to Tsumiki. “I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up for me, yeah?” His tone changed, suddenly becoming soft as his gaze settled on the kids.

The girl rolled her eyes, a huff leaving her lips.

“Don’t worry.” Tsumiki went in for a half hug, arm circling Satoru’s waist since he was much taller than her. Gojo met her halfway, turning off his Infinity so he could delight in her warmth. “One more game and then it’s popcorn and a Pirates of the Caribbean marathon.”

Satoru smiled warmly at her, the gesture catching Mikazuki completely off guard. In all her years working with the man, the sorceress had never seen him smile like that for anyone. It was both endearing and heartbreaking, knowing just how much he cared for these kids. Once she took down The Magistrate, they’d be okay, though. She would make sure of it.

If only she could say the same about Gojo.

“Oh, so it’s Pirates’ then. Is this about Megumi’s crush on Keira Knightley or yours?” Satoru asked, amused.

Tsumiki laughed.

“Pffft, it’s Keira Knightley.” She said matter-of-factly. “Anyone who doesn’t have a crush on that woman is either blind or sexually repressed. I am neither, so…” The fifteen-year-old smiled, stepping back to the sofa to be with her brother. 

Chapter Text

THE DOOR TO THE TOYOTA MIRAI SMASHED SHUT, a heavy silence settling between the sorcerers. Kinzoku Mikazuki stood still, her back laid against the uncomfortable leather of her seat while she waited. The grey-haired woman wasn’t sure what she was waiting for; just that whatever she’d seen flicker in Satoru’s expression did not bode well for her.

The sorcerer hadn’t said a single word since they stepped out of the house, and although the trip to the car was short, it still felt like a chasm of unsaid secrets had opened between them. It was always like this, with them two. So many things left unsaid that resurfaced at the worst possible times. She should have gotten used to it by now, but somehow, it still made her skin crawl with uncertainty and unease.

Mikazuki could feel Satoru’s heavy eyes on her, the way his breath seemed to come out hot and ragged. There was anger in him, yet not the kind of explosive myriad of emotions she was used to. Instead, it was the quiet sort of anger. This one frightened her most, though. This one felt dangerous, like something terribly obscure lingering in the dark edges of her mind, waiting. She felt agonizingly close to being prey.

Technically, the Kinzoku hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she still felt oddly guilty about it. There was something about the way Gojo had looked at her when she was talking with Tsumiki that sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t exactly judgement that she’d seen in him, but something darker, as if she’d confirmed something in his mind. Maybe she had. Unable to bear the awkward silence, Mikazuki let out a drowned sigh, turning to face the man with a culpable expression on her face.

“I’m sorry for overstepping.” She blurted out, words tumbling out of her lips. “Are you mad at me?”

There was a pause during which he seemed to deliberate his answer. The lines on his face softened, anger slowly dissipating from him as a calmer, quieter expression appeared. He was still angry – she could see it on his tense shoulders – but most of it was gone now. The leather creaked as he looked at her, a half-smile playing on his plump lips.

“I’m not sure. I’m still deciding.” Satoru cocked his head to the side, amused by his own words.

And maybe Mikazuki would have called him out of it if a part of her didn’t feel like he was right. Tsumiki was his girl, after all. A daughter on its own right. Who was she to decide anything about her? No one. She was no one. It hit her then how much she’d missed over the course of ten years, how many experiences had passed her by. Despite everything she liked to pretend, Gojo Satoru was not the same man – the same boy – she’d left behind.

But this wasn’t about her, or him, so she chose to press her lips into a thin line and faked a smile. She would not argue about this here, not when they were still parked down the alley, the distant glow of Satoru’s home filtering through the tinted windows. Mikazuki arched her back, forcing her smile just a little bit wider while her eyes turned sharp and cat-like.

“Well, you can take it out on me tonight;” She began, trying her best not to be passive-aggressive and appear genuine instead. “choose someone really ugly for me to sleep with.”

Satoru let out a sincere laugh, the sound reverberating out of his throat and echoing in the car. It was the truest laugh she’d ever heard come out of his lips, the tone of it nearly stealing the breath of her lungs as she felt her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. Mikazuki was taken aback by the truthfulness of it, yet she quickly recovered and hid her smile and reddened face behind her hand.

“I’m not that cruel, Mikazuki.”

And it’s the way he said her name. The way he rolled his tongue in his mouth to enunciate every syllable; her name spilling from his lips as naturally as if he had never stopped saying it in the first place. The sorceress closed her eyes, momentarily wished she was somewhere – anywhere – else. It was so easy to get caught up in his charm, even when she knew better. Her desperation clouded her judgement and, before Mikazuki could stop herself, she was back to the topic that had caused this whole mess in the first place.

“I just don’t think sheltering her from everything is–” Satoru’s ocean eyes pierced her soul like a damn hammer drill, the intensity of his gaze enough to render her completely silent in less than a second. “I’m overstepping again, aren’t I?” Mikazuki asked, the soft smile that grazed her painted lips honest for the first time that night. “Sorry.” She mouthed after a while.

There was that silence again, the one that prickled at the back of her mind like the embers of a fire crackling in the darkness. It bothered her, and maybe Mikazuki should have just let it go and shut up like Satoru’s gaze commanded, but she was never one for taking the prudent road. The grey-haired sorceress paused, tongue tracing the edge of her lips as she debated with herself whether to bury the hatched or figuratively jam it into Gojo’s head. Her hand hovered over the steering wheel, her delicate yet somewhat fragile nails scraping against the pale leather.

“I do mean it, though.” The Kinzoku eventually let out, her voice small but filled with an infinite amount of will. “I was that girl; the sheltered, clueless pretty girl. And it nearly got me killed.” Her breath hitched at the last part, a flicker of something glowing in her golden eyes before being consumed by the quiet sunset hues of her irises.

There was something about the way she said it – almost choking on the word, like it physically pained Mikazuki to say it. Like there was no nearly in there at all.

Satoru didn’t say anything, wanting to drop the conversation but also mulling over her words. He wanted to be petty and call her out on the intrusiveness of her words, yet his speech got caught in his throat as the sorcerer realised, she might be right – as it often happened with Kinzoku Mikazuki. It annoyed him greatly; partly because it was none other than Mikazuki, but also because in those brief moments she spent with Tsumiki, she was somehow able to read her so clearly.

Sometimes, even he struggled with the teenager. But not Mikazuki. No, she saw herself reflected in those eyes, saw herself lost at the mercy of a world that never truly wanted her. Yet she persevered. To what end? He wondered. And the possible answer to that question haunted him almost as much as the possibility that he too, might be right. About her. About her plans and her goals.

But he could not bring himself to open that door, thread that water. He was scared, paralyzed even, to look beyond. In the end, he guessed he always knew. He just wished he didn’t. And maybe that made him blind. Him – the honoured one, the sorcerer with the Six Eyes. Blind to the events unfolding right under his nose.

Then again, he’d always been blind when it came to the Kinzoku.

Satoru exhaled slowly through his nose, a heavy weight settling in his chest as these thoughts continued to spiral in his mind. Sensing the subtle change in mood, Mikazuki’s heel pushed down on the gas pedal, has manicured hand slowly moving the wheel as she moved out of the parking and into the streets of Tokyo. Her driving was deficient, yet the sorceress didn’t seem to mind as the car racketed over the speedbumps, the signs on the side of the road barely visible in the night.

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years, and you still can’t drive.” Gojo heard her mumble, recognizing the cheeky expression on her face without even having to look at her. “How the hell did you manage to survive with two kids?”

The Gojo heir could have easily told her. He could have told her about the long afternoons he spent sitting on a bench, two kids at his sides and completely overwhelmed by the gravity of his own choices. He could have told her about the first time he and Megumi got into a real fight, the words ‘you’re not my dad’ flung at him like a cursed technique. He could have told her about the time he sat in a crowd of overzealous mothers watching Tsumiki’s recital because she did not have a one.

There were so many things Gojo Satoru could have said, but he swallowed them all, adjusting the lapels of his shirt and fiddling with the air conditioning instead.

“Sometimes I ask myself that exact question.” The special-grade answered truthfully, a little too much honesty in his everblues. “Although, you’re one to talk. You didn’t know how to drive when you left either.”

When you left. Never when they made you. It still stung, even now. Still, Mikazuki gripped the steering wheel tighter, putting on a fake smile as she turned to beam at him. He saw the sorrow in it, though, but there was nothing genuine he could say about it. Nothing that would make it better.

“It’s a basic skill.” The Kinzoku babbled on, eyes on the road as they cruised through the busy streets of Tokyo, zooming past the highway and into the Roppongi area. “I have no idea why it’s not required of sorcerers. I am convinced it would solve at least half of our issues.”

Satoru quirked a brow, a curved smile on his lips.

“Half?” He asked, amused. “Someone’s feeling optimistic.”

Mikazuki rolled her eyes, swerving to avoid hitting the curb.

“I have to when I know you’re doing the picking tonight.” The whole affair was ridiculous, but the sorceress didn’t feel like being serious for once. “Thankfully you have better taste than you did back in 07.”

The words stuck to her tongue, a bitter taste filling her mouth. She would not qualify the Gojo heir as having any taste for the matter, he was the kind of man who fucked anything that moved, so his standards were pretty much on the ground. Not that she could blame him, she too had gone through a slut phase. Actually, maybe she was still in it.

“I’ll have you know, I don’t just jump on whatever’s walking my way.” Satoru tried, his tone as convincing as what was expected of a man who looked like that.

The Kinzoku rolled her eyes again, a huff escaping her lips.

“Says the guy who fucked Kaede.”

There was a reproach somewhere in there, and maybe a little bit of disbelief. Because, seriously… Kaede? Mikazuki wasn’t even sure she’d do her if she was the only other living person on earth, let alone when there were a bunch of other presentable ladies around – preferably some that didn’t smell like bleach. Luck and genetics had done Kaede dirty, especially with that cursed technique of hers.

“It was a moment of weakness.” Satoru explained flatly. “Or pity. Not sure which.”

Another smile grazed Mikazuki’s lips, the tint of her gloss glowing under the streetlight as they passed by.

“Yeah, well… let’s hope you pick someone better for me.” The woman huffed again, faking a concerned frown. “Unlike you, I happen to have standards.” She paused, finger on her lower lip. “Except for that time I liked you; that was a mistake.”

“Liked?” Gojo asked with a cheeky tone. “Past time?”

“Yes, and I’m not even convinced it was real, so shup up before I crash against a tree just so I don’t have to hear you gloat about it.” 

Chapter Text

THE SLEEK BLACK TOYOTA MIRAI GLIDED TO A SMOOTH STOP IN FRONT OF THE OPULENT HIGH-RISE HOTEL, its polished exterior reflecting the dazzling lights of Tokyo's ritziest district. The surrounding area was a breathtaking blend of modern architecture and neon brilliance, with upscale boutiques and gourmet restaurants lining the immaculate streets. The warm summer night was alive with a gentle breeze that carried the faint scent of jasmine from the meticulously manicured gardens nearby. Above, the night sky was a canvas of deep indigo, dotted with stars that seemed to bow in deference to the city’s artificial glow.

Gojo Satoru stepped out first, adjusting his tailored suit with a casual elegance. The heat of the summer night seemed to have no effect on him as he moved to the other side, opening the door for Mikazuki, who emerged hesitantly, her eyes widening as she took in their surroundings.

“Wow,” The Kinzoku mumbled under her breath, her voice tinged with disbelief as she held her arms close despite the simmering summer heat. “And here I thought The Magistrate was running on a budget.” Mikazuki gazed up at the towering hotel, its glass façade shimmering like a beacon of luxury against the night sky. “I mean, this shit must cost a fortune…”

She looked around, absorbing the opulence that defined this area of Tokyo. The sidewalks were polished marble, and the lampposts were adorned with elegant lanterns casting a soft, inviting glow. The air was filled with the distant hum of the city, a symphony of laughter and clinking glasses from nearby rooftop bars, mingling with the occasional whir of a luxury car cruising by. This was so not her life, at least not for the past ten years. It made her skin buzz with excitement, yet a tinge of anxiety lingered in her bones nonetheless.

Gojo laughed softly, slinging an arm around her shoulders in a familiar gesture.

“Welcome to the perks of being a foreign sorcerer in Tokyo,” He said, steering her towards the grand entrance. “The Magistrate likes to make a good impression.”

Mikazuki glanced up at him, a mixture of awe and uncertainty in her golden eyes. She’d known The Magistrate liked to spend her father’s fortune, but the sorceress had never realised to which extent. This whole place – the entire part of the city, not just the hotel – was so far out of her imagination it felt like stepping into an entire different world. One which she no longer belonged to. A bitter taste filled her mouth, but Mikazuki ignored it, the sound of her heels clacking against the marbled floors filling the silence instead.

But even as they stepped inside, the grandeur of the lobby unfolding before them, she couldn’t deny a small thrill of excitement. As they stepped inside, the lobby of the hotel unfolded like a scene from a dream of opulence. The floors were an expanse of polished marble, interspersed with intricate mosaics, while towering columns lined with gold accents rose towards the high, vaulted ceilings. A grand chandelier, dripping with crystals, cast a warm, inviting glow over the space, reflecting off the mirrored walls and creating an atmosphere of understated elegance. It reminded Mikazuki of Kin House, minus the insane amounts of gold everywhere, of course.

Every detail spoke of luxury: the soft hum of classical music, the discreet yet attentive bellboys ready to cater to every need, and the valet parking service that ensured guests' cars were whisked away with precision. A concierge desk, manned by staff in immaculate uniforms, provided 24-hour service, promising to fulfil any request, no matter how extravagant.

Beyond the lobby, glimpses of the hotel's amenities could be seen through archways and glass doors. An indoor heated pool, lined with plush lounge chairs and surrounded by tropical plants, offered a serene escape. A state-of-the-art fitness centre, open round the clock, was equipped with the latest in exercise technology. Exclusive boutiques and gourmet restaurants dotted the lower levels, catering to the refined tastes of the elite.

Despite the intimidating luxury, Gojo's relaxed demeanour made it all seem just a bit more accessible. As they were handed their keys by a deferential receptionist, Gojo turned to Mikazuki with a reassuring smile.

“You'll fit right in,” He said. “Just follow my lead.”

It was the rooftop that held their destination. Gojo and Mikazuki made their way to a private elevator, accessible only with a special keycard, which whisked them to the top floor. As they stepped inside the private elevator, the doors closing with a soft chime, Mikazuki let out a snort as the words slipped from her mouth.

“Oh, I do not doubt The Magistrate’s obsession with money. I’m just surprised, is all.”

Gojo chuckled, leaning casually against the mirrored wall of the elevator.

“In that case, prepare to be dazzled, angel,” He hummed, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’re about to join the elite of the elite.”

The elevator ascended smoothly, the numbers lighting up in rapid succession. Mikazuki glanced at Gojo, a mixture of amusement and anticipation playing across her features. She couldn't help but notice how handsome and polished he looked, his tailored suit accentuating his lean frame, his hair impeccably styled. More than that, she was struck by how at ease he seemed, as if this world of luxury was where he truly belonged. He was definitely in his element. It reminded her how things used to be before her exile, even when she’d never quite felt as home as he did in their world. The disconnect between the two only seemed to grow louder and louder as they continued to ascend.

“The elite of the elite, huh?” Mikazuki said after a while, raising an eyebrow. “You make it sound like we're about to enter a different world.”

Satoru adjusted the lapels of his suit, Mikazuki’s golden eyes following the movement as she licked her lips. His hands were so big and smooth, so different to hers which were calloused and roughed from years of woodworking.

They were so different, worlds apart. Satoru was so… clean. In contrast, Mikazuki felt out of place, acutely aware of how different she had become after years of solitude. A decade spent as a survivor had hardened her, making her feel inadequate in this opulent setting. She saw herself as damaged, unfit for the refined elegance that surrounded her. The polished mirrors reflected not just their images, but the vast gulf between her past and the present moment.

The sorcerer noticed the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she held herself as if she might shatter in this world of glass and gold. He wanted to comfort her, to bridge the gap, but he stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“In a way, we are.” Gojo replied, straightening as the elevator slowed to a stop. "Welcome to the top." 

Chapter Text

WITH A SOFT DING, the doors slid open, revealing the exclusive rooftop club bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting. The rooftop club was a sanctuary of exclusivity, reserved solely for the workers of The Magistrate. A sleek bar, stocked with top-shelf liquors and manned by expert mixologists, stretched along one side. Plush seating areas, furnished with luxurious fabrics and contemporary designs, offered a perfect blend of comfort and style. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline, the city lights twinkling like a sea of stars.

As they stepped out, the Kinzoku couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at the adventure unfolding before her. She felt like a child walking into a whole new world. Gojo Satoru guided the woman to a corner table, his demeanour still effortlessly composed as his hand held her waist, careful not to touch the exposed skin. They’d forgone the steps a long time ago, but the danger of The Omen was still there. Always would, now that there was nothing tying them together anymore.

“Here we are,” The sorcerer announced, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “Our little slice of heaven in the heart of Tokyo.”

Gojo guided Mikazuki to one of the plush corner tables, its position offering a panoramic view of Tokyo's glittering skyline. The city's lights stretched out like a sea of stars, the distant hum of activity blending into the soft, ambient music that filled the air. It was almost like a dream, the view similar to the one she had on her first night back in Japan.

Kinzoku Mikazuki settled into her seat; her senses overwhelmed by the sheer luxury surrounding her. The club was unlike anything she had ever experienced. The sleek bar gleamed under soft lighting, while patrons, dressed in the height of fashion, mingled with an effortless grace that made her feel like an interloper in this world of privilege. She wasn’t used to these kinds of places anymore, and it made her skin prickle with nervousness.

She struggled to form sentences, her marvel at the view and the vibe of the place leaving her almost speechless. The opulence, the understated elegance, the seamless service—all of it was a stark contrast to the gritty, down-to-earth clubs she usually frequented. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, the sensation a mix of excitement and a nagging sense of not belonging.

Satoru, ever the epitome of composure, noticed her reaction but chose to let her absorb the atmosphere in her own time. He leaned back in his chair, watching her with a mix of amusement and something softer, more understanding.

“Quite the place, isn't it?” He remarked, his voice a soothing counterpoint to her racing thoughts.

Mikazuki nodded, finally finding her voice.

“It's... incredible.” She admitted, her eyes still wide as they roamed the room. “I've never seen anything like this. Not even before…” She trailed off, knowing there was no need to say the words.

“You'll get used to it.” Gojo said with a reassuring smile before the sorceress could finish the thought. “Just take it all in. You're here now, and you belong just as much as anyone else.”

Mikazuki huffed, half amused and half-incredulous. It felt like a bold-faced lie, but she didn’t sense any mockery coming from him. Mikazuki continued to marvel at the luxurious surroundings, a flicker of annoyance tugged at her thoughts. She glanced at Gojo, effortlessly composed and nonchalant, as if this world of opulence was as natural to him as breathing. It irked her how easily he seemed to move on from the past, a past that hadn’t left him scarred and cast away for a crime he didn’t commit.

He wasn’t the one who had been forced into solitude for ten years, surviving on sheer willpower and resilience. The disparity between their experiences gnawed at her, though she kept her feelings locked away behind a polite facade. Mikazuki took a deep breath, her eyes momentarily distant as she struggled with her inner turmoil. Trying to mask her unease with a smile, she replied.

“I doubt the families of the thirty-seven sorcerers I killed agree with you, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, instantly shattering the refined, carefree atmosphere of the rooftop club. Gojo's relaxed demeanour faltered, his expression tightening as an uncomfortable silence settled between them. The distant murmur of conversation and clinking glasses felt jarringly out of place now, the weight of the Kinzoku’s past casting a long shadow over the elegant surroundings.

Satoru’s expression tightened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. With a light shrug, he attempted to play off the heavy atmosphere.

“You’ve been pardoned. There’s no need to wallow in it.” He commented, his tone casual yet firm. “That whole thing is in the past.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, but the attempt at nonchalance only deepened the chasm between them, the weight of her past not so easily dismissed. Mikazuki's demeanour shifted, her expression turning cold as she looked at Gojo with her piercing golden eyes. In that moment, something indecipherable glowed within them, a flicker of emotion that sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine.

It reminded him of her father, the notorious sorcerer whose memory loomed over them like a dark cloud. He possessed the same stormy golden gaze, filled with deep-seated hatred and disdain for the world—a gaze that Mikazuki seemed to inherit, whether she realized it or not. It was a resemblance Gojo kept to himself, knowing it was a comparison she would loathe.

“Is it?” She asked, her voice laced with a hint of challenge, as if she were daring him to contradict her.

It was a familiar stance for her, as if looking for a fight was the only way she ever felt at home.

Gojo felt the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them like a heavy fog. He resisted the urge to rise to her challenge, knowing it would only escalate the situation further. Instead, he shook his head, refusing to engage in the verbal sparring she seemed to crave.

“Let’s not do this right now.” Gojo commanded, his tone a lot stricter than Mikazuki was used to.

It was a sharp departure from his usual easy-going demeanour, a reminder of his authority that brooked no argument.

As if his words were final, Satoru quickly went on to order the first round of drinks, effectively changing the subject. Mikazuki deflated; her rebellious spirit momentarily subdued as she watched him take charge. She decided not to poke the bear for the rest of the night, though the tension lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Satoru wasn’t a huge fan of alcohol, but he liked to indulge whenever the situation called for it. Tonight was definitely one of those nights. As he placed their drink orders with the bartender, his thoughts drifted to the unexpected turn of events. He couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed him to volunteer himself for this task. Anyone else, and he would have had no second thoughts, but this was Kinzoku Mikazuki. For God’s sake, she’d been his fiancée not that long ago! And yet, here he was, resigned to playing matchmaker for her for the evening.

Gojo Satoru knew why he was doing this, why he subjected himself to this particular form of torment. It wasn't just about finding Mikazuki a suitable match for the night; it was about asserting control, about proving to himself that he still held power over her, even if it was in the most twisted and morally questionable of ways.

If he could not be the one to be intimate with her, then he would ensure that someone else would. It was a perverse logic, rooted in his own sense of wounded pride and lingering desire. He knew it was wrong, morally reprehensible even, but the bitterness of being unable to touch her and the ache of unfulfilled longing clouded his judgment.

Chapter Text

AS HE WATCHED MIKAZUKI FROM ACROSS THE BAR, her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the club lights, he couldn't shake the feeling of possessiveness that gripped him. It was a toxic cocktail of jealousy and desire, fuelling his determination to see her with someone else, even as it tore him apart inside.

The bartender returned with their drinks: a Midnight Mule for Mikazuki and a Tokyo Blossom for Gojo. The Midnight Mule, served in a frosty copper mug, blended premium vodka with spicy ginger beer and fresh lime juice, garnished with a sprig of mint and a blackberry. The Tokyo Blossom, delicate and fragrant, mixed gin with sake, elderflower liqueur, and cherry blossom syrup, served in an elegant coupe glass with a floating cherry blossom petal.

They sat at the table in silence for a while, the whole situation rather uncomfortable despite the vibrant energy around them. The rooftop was still very much alive with people despite the late hour. The ambient lighting cast a warm, inviting glow over the space, highlighting the sleek, modern decor. Groups of elegantly dressed patrons mingled and laughed, their conversations blending into a pleasant hum. A DJ played a smooth, upbeat track that encouraged dancing, and the clinking of glasses punctuated the lively atmosphere.

Mikazuki traced the rim of her glass with her finger, her gaze lingering on the dance floor. There was a certain hunger in her eyes, a longing for companionship and the connection she had been denied for so long. The sight of couples dancing and friends chatting only heightened her sense of isolation, making the opulence around her feel even more alien.

Gojo, sensing her unease but unsure how to bridge the gap between them, finally broke the silence.

“Well,” He began, his tone betraying his own uncertainty. “I suppose introductions are in order.”

Mikazuki tore her gaze away from the dance floor and met his eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“I suppose so,” She replied, a hint of mischief in her voice. “But don’t forget I get to pick someone for you, too.”

The idea hung in the air between them, both a challenge and a way to break the ice. Gojo took a sip of his Tokyo Blossom, the sweet and floral notes mingling on his palate, as he considered her words. The night was young, and despite the discomfort, there was a chance to find some semblance of normalcy, even in this luxurious and foreign environment.

He leaned back in his chair, trying to adopt a more relaxed posture.

“Fair enough.” He said with a small grin. “Let's see who catches our eye first.”

The tension between them eased slightly, the lively ambience of the rooftop bar offering a distraction from their tangled emotions. For a moment, they allowed themselves to be part of the world around them, even if they still felt like outsiders looking in.

The Kinzoku scanned the crowd, taking in the faces of the people present. As Satoru had said, this was certainly the elite of the elite. Not a single person was bad-looking; everyone was well-dressed, well-groomed, and generally speaking, attractive. Was Léa running a super model agency in secret? The diversity of the crowd was striking—people from all over the world mingled together, their conversations a mix of languages and accents. All of them were sorcerers or high-ranking members of The Magistrate, their auras brimming with power and confidence. It took a moment for Mikazuki to take it all in, the taste of her drink lingering on her lips as she surveyed her choices.

“What is this place, anyway?” She asked, trying to keep the conversation light while she hunted for her rebound.

It was only sex, anyway.

“Technically, it’s just another hotel.” Satoru explained, he too scanning the crowd while he took a sip of his Tokyo Blossom. “Really, it’s where The Magistrate likes to keep its foreign sorcerers. HQ isn’t very accommodating, and the Kinzoku School is all the way in Hokkaido, so this is the second-best place to stay if you’ve come a long way.”

The sorceress’ gaze wandered to the dance floor, where a striking couple moved together effortlessly. The woman, with her flowing red hair and shimmering gold dress, laughed as her partner, a tall man with dark, tousled hair and a sharp suit, spun her around. Their movements were fluid and carefree, unburdened by the weight of appearances or judgment. Nearby, a group of friends—two women and a man, all equally stylish—danced with abandon, their laughter and playful shouts mingling with the music. They seemed to inhabit a world free from the constraints of expectations, their joy unfiltered and genuine.

Mikazuki felt a pang of jealousy, a longing for the same kind of freedom. She wished she could let go of her past, her fears, and the rigid control she maintained over herself. To dance like that, without a care, seemed like a distant dream. Her finger traced the rim of her glass again, the cool touch of the glass a stark contrast to the warmth of her yearning.

She watched them, envying their liberation, their ability to lose themselves in the moment. It was a stark reminder of the walls she had built around herself, walls that even here, among the elite of the elite, she couldn't seem to break down. The woman pursed her lips, turning to eye her companion.

“You seem well-versed. How often do you come here?” She asked, genuinely curious about his familiarity with the place.

“If you’re asking how often I take someone home, no more than once a month.” Satoru Gojo explained, amused by her lack of sense of propriety and her openness to discussing these things. “It used to be more, but with the kids… well, it’s not ideal.”

Mikazuki chuckled, shaking her head.

“The great Satoru Gojo, slowed down by children. Who would’ve thought?”

The grey-haired woman’s thoughts drifted as she watched the carefree dancers. She imagined what it would be like to balance their high-stakes missions, fighting curses, and exorcising creatures, while also being a parent. The idea seemed almost impossible to her—how could one protect their child while facing such constant danger? Yet, in her eyes, Satoru managed to do it effortlessly.

He might not consider himself a parent in the traditional sense, but to Mikazuki, he embodied everything a father ought to be. He was protective, caring, and somehow managed to shield his wards from the darkness they constantly battled. It was a role she envied, especially since she couldn't be with her own children for their safety. The thought of her children, distant and untouchable, gnawed at her, filling her with a mixture of admiration for Satoru and a deep, aching sadness for her own situation.

Gojo grinned, leaning back in his chair.

“Even the strongest sorcerer has his hands full sometimes. But seriously, this place is convenient. It’s luxurious, secure, and a good way to network without stepping foot in HQ.”

Mikazuki laughed.

“Let me guess; Léa doesn’t step foot here.”

Her gaze hardened as her thoughts turned to Léa, the leader of The Magistrate. Mikazuki's feelings towards Léa were a volatile mix of resentment and suspicion. She firmly believed that Léa was the reason for her exile ten years ago. Although she had returned and now worked for The Magistrate, the bitterness lingered. Mikazuki's lineage granted her significant influence, making her and Léa equals in power, but the personal animosity remained a thorn in her side.

Léa’s calculated leadership and the way she maneuvered through the intricacies of their world only intensified Mikazuki’s dislike. She saw Léa as a manipulator, someone who had orchestrated her downfall to eliminate a rival. The years of solitude and forced separation from her children had left deep scars, and in her mind, Léa was the architect of that suffering.

The vibrant, carefree scene around her clashed with the turmoil in her heart. She envied the dancers' freedom and Satoru’s effortless parenting, but her resentment towards Léa kept her from fully embracing the present. The rooftop's opulence and the distant hum of conversation only emphasized her inner conflict, a reminder of the complex web of power and betrayal that defined her life.

Chapter Text

MIKAZUKI SIGHED, HER FINGER TRACING THE RIM OF HER GLASS AGAIN. She wondered if she would ever be able to let go of the past, to find a way to coexist with Léa without the undercurrent of hostility. Not that ever allowing that French cunt to live was part of her plans. For now, though, she remained vigilant, ever aware of the delicate balance of power and the fragile peace that held her world together. One wrong move and her whole plan could come undone. One mistake, and she’d be right where she started; in those damned handcuffs, watching the power she grew inside of her being stifled once again.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in her mood.

“This isn’t really her scene.”

Which part of it, she wondered? The drinks, the nightlife, the people or the peace that seemed to envelop it all? It seemed almost impossible to imagine that so many foreign sorcerers would get along so well, but in here, everything seemed possible.

“Of course not.” Mikazuki said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “She’s probably too busy pulling strings from her ivory tower, making sure everything and everyone falls into place according to her grand design.”

Satoru let out a sigh, taking a sip of his Tokyo Blossom. It burned as it went down his throat, but he ignored the sting, focusing back on the beautiful woman in front of him. It was so easy to get lost in those sunset-coloured eyes of hers, but even now, with the chill in the air and the calm around them, he remained vigilant around her, careful. Satoru would like to believe it was his usual state of hypervigilance as a special-grade, but his mind knew better. It was Mikazuki; she put him on edge, in more ways than one.

“You really don’t trust her, do you?”

Mikazuki’s golden eyes flashed with anger. By now, it should be clear she did not in fact trust Madame Dubois nor any of the higher-ups related to The Magistrate and its forces.

“Why should I? She’s the reason I was exiled, the reason I had to leave everything behind.” The sorceress swallowed hard, lips smacking together. “Every time I look at her, I see the person who took away a decade of my life.”

She took everything. Mikazuki didn’t say. Satoru didn’t respond immediately, knowing that anything he said would likely fall on deaf ears. He understood her bitterness, even if he didn’t share it. He watched her trace the rim of her glass, her expression a mixture of hurt and defiance.

“I know it’s hard.” He said softly, finally breaking the silence. “But holding onto that anger isn’t going to change the past.”

Mikazuki’s gaze softened slightly, but the anger didn’t entirely fade.

“Maybe not.” She conceded. “But it’s all I have to keep me going sometimes.”

They sat in silence again, the noise of the rooftop bar a distant hum compared to the storm of emotions within Mikazuki. She wondered if she would ever be able to let go of the past, to find a way to coexist with Léa without the undercurrent of hostility. For now, though, she remained vigilant, ever aware of the delicate balance of power and the fragile peace that held her world together.

The Kinzoku looked back at the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the dancers as she finally focused on finding someone to spend the night with. Her break-up with Yashiro was still fresh in her mind, the ache in her soul and heart palpable, but Satoru was right; she needed to move on. She needed to get it out of her system and focus on her work, not whatever her heart desired. Hearts were stupid, anyway.

As she scanned the dance floor, her eyes fell on a striking figure—a tall, lean man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He moved with a confident grace, his body fluid and effortless as he danced to the beat of the music. Mikazuki felt a flutter in her chest as she watched him, the memory of Yashiro fading momentarily as desire stirred within her. She imagined the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, and for a moment, the ache in her heart eased.

But then her gaze shifted, and she saw her—a woman with long, flowing hair and curves that seemed to defy gravity. She moved with a sensual rhythm, her hips swaying in time with the music as she danced with abandon. Mikazuki felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched her, the intensity of her desire igniting like a flame. She imagined the softness of her skin, the taste of her lips, and for a moment, she forgot all about Yashiro and the pain he had caused.

For a brief moment, Mikazuki allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy of being with either of them, of losing herself in their touch and forgetting the world outside. But then reality crashed down on her like a wave, and she remembered why she was here—to forget, to move on, to focus on her work. With a sigh, she tore her gaze away from the dancers and took a sip of her drink, the bitterness of the alcohol matching the bitterness in her heart.

Hearts were stupid, she reminded herself. And tonight, she couldn't afford to be stupid. She needed to be strong, to be focused, to be the powerful sorceress that she was. With that thought in mind, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to look away from the dancers, turning her attention back to the conversation at hand. But deep down, she couldn't shake the longing in her heart, the desire for something more, something she couldn't quite name.

“So, anyone interesting?” Satoru asked, raising his glass.

Mikazuki hummed, somewhat uninterested by the whole thing and fearing another heartbreak.

“The redhead.” She mumbled under her breath, her gaze drifting lazily across the dance floor. “I like her. Although…” Her eyes wandered to the other side of the room, where a raven-haired woman was dancing alone, a drink in her hand while her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm. “I also like her. She looks…” Mikazuki licked her lips, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words.

The woman's hair was a rich, deep shade of black, cascading down her back in soft waves that caught the light and shimmered with every movement. Her skin was smooth and flawless, kissed by the warm glow of the ambient lighting, and her eyes sparkled with an inner fire that drew Mikazuki in like a moth to a flame. She moved with a sensual grace, her body fluid and sinuous as she danced to the pulsating beat of the music.

Mikazuki couldn't tear her gaze away as she watched the woman, captivated by the way she seemed to lose herself in the music, her movements both sensual and elegant. There was a raw, primal energy about her, a magnetic pull that left Mikazuki feeling breathless and strangely exhilarated.

“She looks…” Mikazuki's voice trailed off again, her mind struggling to find the right words to describe the woman's allure. “…good.” Delicious. She finally managed, the simple word falling far short of capturing the intensity of her attraction.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips as he followed Mikazuki's gaze.

“She does indeed.” He agreed, his tone tinged with amusement.

Mikazuki tore her gaze away from the woman reluctantly, forcing herself to focus on the conversation at hand. But deep down, she couldn't shake the image of the raven-haired dancer from her mind, her presence lingering like a tantalizing promise of something more.

“You do know you’re drooling, right?” Satoru teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he delighted in watching his friend enjoy herself.

Mikazuki's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of her lips. She playfully nudged him on the shoulder.

“Shut up!” she retorted, her tone light and teasing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman. I’m rusty.”

Satoru chuckled, the sound rich and warm as he leaned back in his chair.

“Rusty, huh?” Satoru laughed. “Well, lucky for you, practice makes perfect and I just know you’ll pick it back up quickly.” He quipped, his tone light and teasing.

Mikazuki rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her gaze as she looked at him. Despite everything they had been through, their banter remained unchanged, a comforting constant in the ever-shifting landscape of their lives. They had weathered storms together, faced challenges and triumphs side by side, and through it all, their friendship had remained steadfast and unwavering.

“You’re insufferable.” She said, but there was a hint of affection in her voice as she spoke.

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, his tone light and playful.

Maybe I did, a long time ago. Maybe I didn’t. It’s hard to remember if any of it was ever real. Mikazuki laughed, the sound bright and genuine as she shook her head.

“Unfortunately.” She teased, but there was warmth in her words, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between them over the years.

Chapter Text

DESPITE EVERYTHING THEY HAD GONE THROUGH, the heartaches and the hardships, they understood each other like no one else could. They shared a history, a connection that ran deeper than words, and in moments like these, as they teased and bantered, they found solace in each other's company. It was a rare and precious gift, one they both cherished deeply, and as they sat together on the rooftop, watching the world unfold before them, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, as friends.

“Then let’s fix that, shall we?” Gojo got up, offering his hand, a playful glint in his eyes.

Mikazuki looked up at him incredulously, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She knew she shouldn't indulge in Satoru's idea of picking her a match—it was reckless, it was foolish, and it was bound to end in disaster. But a small part of her, buried beneath layers of logic and reason, longed for a taste of spontaneity, a break from the weight of her responsibilities.

“You said it yourself, didn’t you? You’re rusty. So… let’s fix it,” Satoru continued, his smile teasing yet genuine.

Mikazuki stared at his hand, her heart pounding in her chest. Confusion and overwhelm clouded her thoughts as she wrestled with her inner turmoil. A part of her—the rational part—screamed at her to refuse, to walk away from this reckless game before it was too late. But another part—the part that craved excitement and escape—whispered temptations in her ear, urging her to take a chance, to let go of her inhibitions and simply enjoy the moment.

And so, despite the warning bells ringing in her mind, despite the knowledge that this was a bad idea from the start, the Kinzoku found herself reaching out and taking Satoru's hand. It was a small gesture, a simple act of surrender, but in that moment, it felt like the first step towards something unknown and thrilling.

With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, Mikazuki rose from her chair, allowing Satoru to tug her towards the dance floor. As they moved together, the music pulsing around them and the lights casting swirling patterns across the floor, Mikazuki pushed aside her doubts and allowed herself to get lost in the rhythm of the night. It was a fleeting moment of freedom, a brief respite from the weight of her burdens, and for that, she was grateful.

Dancing together would have been blasphemous enough, even in a room full of strangers. Mikazuki and Satoru were all too aware of the consequences of their incompatible magic intertwining. It was a well-known fact, not just among their fellow sorcerers but globally, that their powers clashed in a way that could cause catastrophic results if they were to come into direct contact.

As they moved onto the dance floor, Mikazuki couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the distance that remained between them. Their inability to touch each other was a constant reminder of the barriers that stood between them, both physical and metaphysical. But she pushed the feeling aside, determined to make the most of the moment.

Instead of dancing in the traditional sense, Satoru held her waist firmly, his touch gentle yet deliberate. He made sure to keep his distance, mindful of the potential danger that lurked in their proximity. But even without the physical connection, there was an undeniable chemistry between them, a silent understanding that transcended words.

As the music swelled and the lights danced across the floor, Satoru spun Mikazuki around, guiding her with effortless grace. His movements were fluid and confident, his eyes never leaving hers as he led her across the dance floor. It was a strange and surreal experience, dancing with him yet never touching, but Mikazuki found herself swept up in the moment nonetheless.

With each step, each twirl, Mikazuki felt herself letting go of the worries and burdens that had weighed her down. In Satoru's arms, she felt free, alive, as if nothing else mattered but the music and the rhythm of their dance. It was a fleeting taste of something forbidden, something dangerous, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

And as they danced, Satoru made sure to spin Mikazuki around so she could get a good view of the woman who had caught her attention. He knew how much she longed for companionship, for connection, and even though they couldn't touch, he wanted her to feel seen and understood. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their bond and the lengths Satoru would go to make Mikazuki happy, even if it meant keeping their distance.

“See her?” Satoru half-whispered, his voice muffled by the music, as he guided Mikazuki around the dance floor.

Mikazuki's gaze was fixed on the woman who had caught her attention, her features illuminated by the soft glow of the lights.

“Of all the women in the room, you had to go and pick her.”

“So?” Mikazuki replied, her voice barely audible over the music, her attention completely captured by the woman's figure.

Gojo sighed inwardly, his conflicting emotions swirling beneath the surface. Part of him cared because Mikazuki was his best friend's sister, a connection that ran deep and carried a sense of responsibility. Another part cared because they had once been engaged, their relationship filled with memories both bitter and sweet. But perhaps most of all, a part of him cared simply because she was Kinzoku Mikazuki —fiery, independent, and utterly captivating.

“Right. Introductions.” He said, swaying them a little, their steps completely off-beat. “That gorgeous Greek goddess is none other than Léa’s niece.”

“So?” Mikazuki challenged; her tone defiant. “I’m going to fuck her, not trade state secrets.”

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle at her audacity, admiring her fearless spirit even as he wrestled with his own conflicting feelings.

“You never cease to amaze me.” He said, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Satoru released Mikazuki, watching as she stumbled slightly towards the woman who had captured her attention. Despite his reservations and the tangled web of emotions between them, he couldn't deny the genuine affection he felt for her. And as he watched her go, a part of him hoped that she would find the happiness and fulfilment she so desperately sought, even if it meant navigating the complexities of their shared past.

“Good luck, angel.” 

Chapter Text

GOJO SATORU LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR, the cool night air of the rooftop bar doing little to ease the flush on his cheeks. The second Tokyo Blossom he was nursing didn't help either, the alcohol adding to the summer heat that clung to his skin even at this hour. He ran a hand through his white hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and sighed.

Mikazuki had already left with her chosen companion for the night, her departure a swift, silent affair. He had watched her go, a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in his chest as she walked away with someone else. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. He knew they both needed this—an outlet, a release—but knowing didn't make it easier.

The rooftop bar was a vision of luxury, its opulence softened by the warm, ambient glow of lanterns and the distant hum of the city's nightlife. Gojo glanced around, his eyes flicking over the other patrons without really seeing them. The view of the city skyline stretched endlessly, a sea of lights beneath the twinkling stars above.

“Another one, Gojo-sama?” The bartender's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Gojo looked down at his nearly empty glass, the last remnants of the Tokyo Blossom melting into a pinkish swirl at the bottom.

“Yeah,” He replied, offering a faint smile. “Why not?”

As he waited for his drink, his thoughts drifted back to the Kinzoku. They had been through so much together—friends, then almost more, now something undefined and fraught with tension. The memory of her laugh, the way she moved, her voice—it all circled in his mind, refusing to settle. He couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking of him, too. Was she finding solace in someone else's arms, or was she as restless as he felt now? The idea gnawed at him, a bitter undercurrent to his otherwise smooth demeanour.

The bartender returned with his drink, and Gojo took a slow sip, savouring the blend of floral and citrus. He set the glass down and tapped his fingers against the table, a rhythm that mirrored the restless beat of his heart.

If Mikazuki could find a way to let off steam, so could he. The thought emerged unbidden, but once it was there, it settled in with a sense of inevitability. Maybe it was the summer heat, or the alcohol, or just the pent-up frustration of wanting something he couldn't have—but he knew he couldn't stay here, lost in his thoughts and drowning in what-ifs.

With a decisive motion, he stood up, adjusting the blindfold that had slipped slightly in the humidity. He scanned the room, his gaze sharpening as he assessed the other patrons with renewed interest. If Mikazuki was out there seeking her own form of relief, then he would do the same. It was only fair, after all.

As he made his way through the crowd, Gojo's thoughts were still on Kinzoku Mikazuki. But tonight, he would find someone to distract him, someone to make him forget—if only for a little while—the complicated dance he and Mikazuki seemed forever trapped in.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d find some clarity along the way.

Gojo Satoru’s gaze swept over the crowd, a sea of faces bathed in the golden light of the rooftop bar. He sipped his Tokyo Blossom, the sweet and tangy flavours grounding him as he took in the scene. The patrons here were undeniably attractive, each one exuding a kind of effortless elegance that matched the opulent surroundings. Even the staff moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly.

He ran a hand over his blindfold, adjusting it out of habit, and straightened his posture. Despite his usual confidence, a flicker of self-consciousness crept in. He hadn’t put much effort into his appearance tonight—his priority had been Mikazuki. Now, standing alone amid the throng of beautifully dressed individuals, he felt a rare twinge of doubt.

Everyone seemed polished to perfection, from the glimmering jewellery and tailored suits to the perfectly styled hair and flawless makeup. Gojo glanced down at his own attire—a simple black shirt and dark pants. It wasn’t that he looked bad, far from it, but he wasn’t dressed to impress. He felt a pang of regret for not giving his appearance more thought.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the self-conscious thoughts aside. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. Confidence was his second skin, and he wasn’t about to let a little thing like this shake him. He let his eyes wander over the crowd again, trying to pick out someone who might catch his interest.

A tall man with striking features leaned against the bar, chatting animatedly with the bartender. A woman with long, flowing hair and a dazzling smile laughed with her friends near the edge of the rooftop, the city lights framing her like a halo. Everywhere he looked, there were possibilities, but none of them felt quite right.

It had been a very long time since he had been with a man. The last time had ended badly for both of them—so badly that Gojo couldn’t even bring himself to think of the man's name. The memory of that failed relationship, the pain and the fallout, had kept him away from anyone of the same gender ever since. He sighed, the weight of the past mingling with the present uncertainty. Maybe tonight was a chance to finally let go and move on.

He downed the rest of his drink, the alcohol warming him from the inside out. The buzz of energy in the bar matched the restless pulse he felt under his skin. He wanted to find someone, needed to, but he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. A distraction, definitely. Something, or someone, to take his mind off Mikazuki.

Gojo finally made up his mind, mentally making a list of everything he wanted to find that night. He wanted someone young—young, but not as young as his current fiancée, who in his eyes was nothing but a child. Someone filled with life, someone who didn’t care about the world outside of the dance floor.

His gaze swept the room with renewed purpose, finally landing on a woman dancing sensually near the centre of the crowd. She had a drink in each hand, her skin a rich tan and her dark curls framing her curves in a way that commanded attention. She was clearly foreign, her dark skin a stark contrast against the pale crowd of Tokyo. Despite the clear differences, something about her reminded him of Mikazuki. Maybe it was the boldness of her movements, the way she danced as if no one was watching, or maybe it was the carefree sway of her hips.

Gojo licked his lips, his decision solidifying. He pushed himself away from the bar and moved through the crowd, his eyes never leaving the dancing woman. As he approached, he could see the energy radiating off her, a magnetic aura that drew him in.

She noticed him before he reached her, her dark eyes locking onto his with a playful challenge. A smile curved her lips as she slowed her dance, tilting her head slightly in invitation.

Gojo stopped in front of her, his tall frame towering slightly as he leaned in.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, his voice low and smooth.

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Depends. Can you keep up?”

A grin spread across Gojo's face.

“Why don't you find out?”

She handed him one of her drinks, her fingers brushing his briefly. The contact was electrifying, a spark that shot through him and settled in his chest. They began to dance, their bodies moving in sync with the music, a rhythm that seemed to pulse through the air between them.

For a moment, Gojo allowed himself to get lost in the sensation, the music, and the company of this vibrant stranger. She was everything he had been looking for—young, alive, and carefree. Yet, even as he danced, a part of him couldn't shake the thought of Mikazuki. The memory of her laugh, the fire in her eyes, the tension that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface between them.

But tonight, Gojo was determined to let go. To lose himself in the moment and find some semblance of peace, even if it was fleeting. As they danced, he pushed away the lingering thoughts of Mikazuki and focused on the woman before him. Tonight was about forgetting, about finding release, and he was ready to embrace it fully.

Chapter Text

IT TOOK LESS THAN TWENTY MINUTES FOR THEIR DANCE TO TURN INTO SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY, and in the next five, Gojo Satoru and the woman whose name he never bothered to learn were already stumbling through the empty corridors of the hotel. Gojo could kid himself all he wanted and pretend this hadn't been his intention since the start, but his own body betrayed him as the woman pushed him against the wall. Her hand roamed across his torso, quickly undoing his buttons, fingers sliding under his shirt to meet the hot skin underneath.

He didn't mind the manhandling; in fact, he welcomed it. His right hand buried itself in her curls while his other one clutched her waist, making sure they remained pressed together. The kisses were hot and open-mouthed, a battle of wills rather than a romantic encounter. She sucked in his lower lip, her tongue exploring his mouth with hunger. His fingers dug into her hips, tearing the fabric of her pretty red dress in the process.

Their movements were frantic, desperate. The alcohol buzzed in his veins, but it was the need to forget, to lose himself in this stranger, that drove him. Her hands were everywhere, mapping out the planes of his chest, tracing the lines of muscle with a fervour that matched his own. She was aggressive, unapologetically so, and it was exactly what he needed.

As they stumbled through the corridor, Gojo managed to guide them toward one of the vacant rooms. They crashed through the door, barely managing to keep their balance. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as they moved. She pushed him onto the bed, climbing on top of him with a predatory grace. He let out a breathless laugh, the sound mingling with the rapid beating of his heart.

His hands slid up her thighs, feeling the smooth expanse of her skin. She ground against him, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. Her lips found his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. It was raw, primal, and exactly what he needed to drive away the thoughts of Mikazuki that lingered at the edges of his mind.

For a moment, he let himself get lost in the sensation, in the feel of her body against his, in the heat that radiated between them. She was a distraction, a means to an end, and he was more than willing to take what she offered. His fingers dug into her hips, tearing more of the dress as they moved together in a frenzied rhythm.

Their breaths were ragged, mingling in the heated air of the room. She arched against him, her head thrown back, eyes closed in a moment of abandon. Gojo took advantage of the exposed skin, trailing kisses down her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat and the faint hint of perfume. It was intoxicating, a temporary escape from the tangled mess of his emotions.

As the fabric of her dress tore under his hands, revealing the lacy fabric of her underwear, the sorcerer couldn't help but pause. His gaze trailed over her exposed form, taking in the curves of her body, the fullness of her chest, and the beautiful stretch marks that ran over her hips. She was a vision, raw and unapologetic in her beauty.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to Mikazuki. He had seen her naked plenty of times, had memorized the curve of her waist, the slope of her breasts, the delicate arch of her neck. But where Mikazuki was lean and toned, this woman was soft and voluptuous. Where this woman’s skin was unmarred and smooth, the Kinzoku bore the marks of life—a testament to the beauty of imperfection.

Her dark hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast against the pale sheets of the bed. Gojo's eyes lingered on the beginning of a tattoo peeking out from beneath her hair, tracing the delicate lines with a sense of reverence. It reminded him of the tattoos he had seen on Mikazuki's body, the intricate designs that adorned her skin like a canvas.

Specifically, he thought of the Spanish quote that curled along her spine, a reminder of a past he could only glimpse in fragments. He thought of the scars that crisscrossed her skin, each one a story unto itself, most of them foreign to him.

But here, with this woman, he felt a different kind of connection. It was raw and primal, fuelled by desire and need. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip, the warmth of her skin searing into his touch.

She met his gaze with a hunger that mirrored his own, her eyes dark with desire. In that moment, there was no room for comparison, no room for anything but the two of them, tangled together in a passion that threatened to consume them both. And for now, that was enough.

The room was filled with a symphony of sounds—the heavy rhythm of their breaths mingling with the soft rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed frame beneath them as it rocked with their movements. Each whispered gasp, each stifled moan, added to the crescendo of pleasure that filled the air.

Their bodies moved together in a primal dance, a symphony of desire and need. The woman's nails dug into Gojo's skin, leaving faint crescent marks in their wake. He responded in kind, his fingers leaving trails of fire along her curves as they explored every inch of each other's skin.

The bed rocked with their passion, the rhythmic motion adding an urgency to their movements. It was a dance of ecstasy, a union of two souls seeking solace in each other's arms. Their breaths mingled in the heated air, a chorus of desire that echoed off the walls of the dimly lit room.

For a moment, there was nothing else but the two of them, lost in the throes of passion. The world outside faded away, leaving only the sensation of skin on skin, the taste of sweat and desire lingering on their lips.

And as they moved together, their bodies a symphony of motion and sound, Gojo couldn't help but lose himself in the moment. For now, there was only this—the heat of her body against his, the rhythm of their breaths as they danced together in the darkness. And in that moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI GROANED SOFTLY AS SHE STIRRED, her senses assaulted by the aftermath of a night she couldn't fully remember. She squinted against the slivers of morning sunlight slicing through the shades, illuminating the unfamiliar room in a soft, hazy glow. The pounding in her head was relentless, a steady reminder of the alcohol that had flowed a little too freely the previous night.

She rubbed her temples, wincing as the motion only seemed to exacerbate her headache. A dull ache settled in her muscles, and when she lifted a hand to her tousled grey, lifeless hair, she found it tangled and wild. Gods, everything hurt. With a deep breath, the sorceress tried to piece together the fragmented memories from the previous night.

Music. The thump of the bassline reverberating through her body on the rooftop. Laughter, bright and carefree. She remembered Gojo Satoru's grinning face, his whiteish hair reflecting the lights as they danced. They had been drinking—what, exactly? She couldn't recall. The details blurred and overlapped, a tapestry of colour and sound with no clear edges, just music and alcohol.

Mikazuki's eyes drifted down to her own body, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks as she realized she was naked, the sheets haphazardly covering her lower half. Her dress lay discarded on the floor, a crumpled heap of fabric with no memory of its real shape. She tugged the blanket up, covering herself just a little bit better, the motion gentle so as not to disturb the other occupant of the bed.

Right. The bed. There was someone on that bed.

Memories started to coalesce, sharpening into focus. After dancing with Satoru, there had been another face, a good-looking woman with a dazzling smile and eyes that seemed to see right through her. Familiar eyes, yet somehow lacking everything terrible that Mikazuki had associated with them. The two had talked, danced, and one thing led to another...

Mikazuki yawned, the action both calming and grounding. She turned her head slowly to the other side of the bed. The woman lay beside her, sound asleep and snoring softly, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She, too, was stark naked beneath the covers. For a moment, the sorceress just watched her, a sense of surreal detachment settling in. It wasn't the first time she had woken up in a stranger's bed, but it was always disorienting, the gap between night and morning filled with fuzzy recollections and half-remembered sensations.

With a sigh, she carefully slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman. The cool air against her skin made her shiver as she reached for her dress, pulling it over her head and smoothing it down. She needed to clear her head, find some coffee, and maybe figure out what to do with her life now.

A quick glance around the room offered little in the way of answers. It was stylish but impersonal, as luxurious as the rest of the accommodations had been since her arrival. The Kinzoku padded to the window and peeked through the shades. The city stretched out below, its streets already bustling with the early morning rush.

As she turned back to the room, her eyes fell once more on the woman in the bed. A smile tugged at Mikazuki’s lips despite the headache. She remembered now—flashes of laughter, heated kisses, whispered words exchanged in the dark.

The sorceress took a deep breath, feeling the familiar pull of curiosity. She could leave, slip out and vanish into the morning like a wraith, or she could stay a while longer, maybe get to know this woman whose name she still couldn't recall, maybe ask some questions that would certainly land her in trouble with the woman’s niece. Ah yes, she did remember that part after all.

The decision could wait a few more minutes, Mikazuki thought tiredly. For now, she needed water, aspirin, and perhaps a bit of breakfast. The Kinzoku silently promised herself she’d handle whatever came next with the same boldness she always did. After all, mornings like this were just another part of the game, as Satoru liked to call it.

Mikazuki took a deep breath and began to explore the room, her senses heightened by the unfamiliar opulence surrounding her. The thick, luxurious rug felt soft and decadent beneath her feet, each step sinking slightly into the intricate patterns of gold and crimson. She ran her fingers along the smooth, cool surface of a marble-topped coffee table, feeling the delicate veining under her fingertips.

The room smelled faintly of fresh lilies, their subtle fragrance mingling with the crisp scent of expensive cleaning products. It was a stark contrast to the more modest, lived-in spaces she was accustomed to. As she moved, the light from the grand chandelier above caught her eye, its crystal pendants scattering rainbows across the room. The chandelier's intricate design was almost mesmerizing, each facet reflecting the morning sunlight in dazzling patterns.

As Mikazuki moved through the luxurious room, her thoughts became a tumultuous mix of emotions. Part of her felt a deep pang of guilt; she knew she should have been honest about her identity before things escalated last night. The woman deserved to know who she was inviting into her bed. But another part of her revelled in the thrill of the night, a rare moment where she had allowed herself to let go and simply enjoy the evening without the weight of her responsibilities.

Yet, beneath the surface of her enjoyment, there was confusion gnawing at her. She couldn't shake the feeling that her motives were tainted. Had she really been drawn to this stranger purely by chance, or was it the uncanny resemblance to Léa Dubois that had pulled her in? The realization hit her hard, making her stomach churn. The woman she had spent the night with was Léa's niece. She remembered Gojo Satoru's warning, his concern evident in his eyes. He had cautioned her to back away, to avoid the potential complications.

But the idea of sleeping with Léa's niece had been too enticing, a twisted challenge that Mikazuki couldn't resist. The thought of infuriating Léa, of gaining some measure of petty revenge, had spurred her on. Now, in the harsh light of morning, that decision felt like a low move, one she wasn't proud of.

The Kinzoku’s gaze travelled to the velvet chaise lounge, its deep green fabric a striking contrast against the dark mahogany legs. She brushed her hand over the plush upholstery, marvelling at its softness. The walls were adorned with hand-painted wallpaper, each brushstroke a testament to meticulous craftsmanship. She traced the delicate patterns, feeling the slight texture under her fingers.

The room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional soft snore from the woman still sleeping in the bed. The silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the room itself were holding its breath. The air was cool and crisp, maintained at a perfect temperature that added to the room's sterile perfection.

As she moved towards the window, Mikazuki peeked through the shades, the bustling city below a stark contrast to the serene, almost frozen opulence of the room. The distant sounds of traffic and city life were muffled, barely penetrating the thick glass.

Everything about the space felt alien to her. She had once been familiar with such luxury, but those days felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the extravagance seemed almost surreal, a reminder of a world she no longer belonged to. The plush comforts, the delicate details, the sheer expense of it all—it was a world apart from the simpler, more practical surroundings she had grown used to.

Mikazuki sighed, a mix of awe and discomfort settling over her. This room, with all its beauty and refinement, was a fleeting encounter, a brief interlude in her otherwise grounded reality. She took one last look around, trying to memorize the sensations—the softness underfoot, the cool marble, the fragrant air, the dazzling light—before turning her thoughts back to the present and the consequences of her actions.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI MOVED TOWARDS THE BATHROOM, the door to which was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight. The bathroom was a vision of modern luxury, with sleek, clean lines and a colour palette of whites and greys. The floor was a mosaic of tiny marble tiles, cool and smooth under her feet. A spacious glass shower occupied one corner, rain showerhead gleaming invitingly. To one side, a large bathtub sat, its curves graceful and inviting.

She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping under the warm cascade of water. As she lathered up, she felt the remnants of the previous night wash away, the steady stream soothing her aching muscles. After rinsing off, she found a fresh toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet and quickly brushed her teeth, relishing the minty freshness that chased away the last of her grogginess.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a thick, plush towel and moved to the large mirror that dominated one wall. Mikazuki stared at her reflection, taking in her golden eyes, which seemed brighter this morning, and her grey hair, which was now wet and slicked back. She hadn't felt this rested in a long time, the deep sleep from the night before leaving her feeling recharged and almost glowing. There was a vitality in her reflection that she hadn't seen in a while, and it made her smile, a small, satisfied curve of her lips.

Her moment of self-reflection was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing from the main room. She quickly dried off and wrapped the towel securely around herself before hurrying back to the bedroom. The phone continued to ring insistently as she reached for it, glancing at the caller ID.

It was her sister.

Mikazuki stood in the opulent room, the weight of her guilt and confusion heavy on her shoulders. As she wrapped the towel more securely around herself, her phone rang from the bedside table, its insistent vibration breaking the stillness. She glanced at it, the name Niko flashing on the screen, and a chill ran down her spine.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the memory of the last time her sister called flooding her mind. She could still hear the cruel voice of her father, pretending to be Niko, luring her into a trap. The helplessness she felt as she watched her sister being tortured, her screams echoing through the phone, was a memory she could never escape.

Her hand hovered over the phone, hesitation gripping her. What if it was him again? What if he had found a new way to torment them, to twist the knife deeper? The luxurious surroundings of the room felt like a mocking contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in her mind.

Mikazuki took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn't let fear control her, not now. Niko needed her, and if it really was her sister on the other end of the line, she couldn't afford to ignore the call. But the terror of hearing her father's voice again, of being forced to witness another horror, made her fingers tremble.

The phone continued to ring, each vibration feeling like a hammer to her chest. The sorceress closed her eyes, summoning every ounce of courage she had. This room, with its opulence and beauty, was a fleeting escape, but reality was calling, and she had to face it.

With a shaky breath, she reached out and picked up the phone, pressing the answer button.

“Hello?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, bracing herself for the worst.

“Mika? It's me, Niko. Are you okay?” Her sister's voice came through, filled with genuine concern.

Relief washed over her, so profound it almost brought her to her knees. Mikazuki let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her body sagging with the release of tension.

“Niko... I’m fine.” Mikazuki tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the sigh of relief still on her lips. “Just... give me a moment.”

As she spoke, the opulence of the room seemed to recede, its significance fading in the face of her relief. Her sister was safe, and for now, that was all that mattered. The challenges and consequences could wait a little longer. She would face them, as she always did, but for now, she allowed herself to feel the comfort of her sister's voice, grounding her in the reality she fought so hard to protect.

Mikazuki took a steadying breath and quietly moved back into the bathroom, her eyes flicking to the woman still asleep in the bed. She wanted to ensure she had privacy for this conversation and to avoid waking her unexpected companion. She gently closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against the cool marble counter, the solidity of it grounding her.

“Sometimes you worry me, you know that, right?” Niko’s voice echoed over the line.

“I am well aware of the effect I have on you, sis.” Mikazuki said, her voice soft but filled with relief. “But I’m okay.” She sighed, running a hand through her damp grey hair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

The Kinzoku groaned inwardly, her head pounding with the remnants of the previous night's indulgence. She fumbled for her phone, the light from the screen blinding her for a moment. Her heart sank as she saw the time. The sorceress ran a hand through her hair, fingers tangling in the mane of dead grey hair as she bit her lower lip.

“Do you not remember?” Niko tutted, clearly annoyed. “You’re supposed to pick me up from the hospital in…” There was some shuffling, and Mikazuki could hear her checking her watch. “…fifteen minutes.”

Mikazuki blinked; her mind foggy from the previous night’s escapades. She struggled to process Niko’s words, her brain still sluggish. Hospital? Pick up? What was Niko talking about? Suddenly, realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Her sister, her poor sister, was still in the hospital with two broken legs. Mikazuki’s heart sank, a wave of guilt washing over her. How could she have forgotten something so important? Niko was in this predicament because she had taken a punishment that was clearly meant for Mikazuki. And now, Niko needed her, and she had almost let her down.

“Shit. Fuck.” Mikazuki cursed under her breath. “I forgot.”

Guilt gnawed at her as she tried to piece together her scattered thoughts. She felt a pang of remorse for being so wrapped up in her own life and issues. The one-night stand, the chaos of her morning, the stress of her job – none of it seemed to matter compared to what Niko had done for her. Mikazuki’s cheeks burned with mild embarrassment and profound regret.

“Why does this not surprise me at all?” Niko's voice carried that familiar mix of exasperation and fondness only a sister could muster.

She had grown accustomed to Mikazuki's erratic behaviour over the years, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Niko had sacrificed so much for her sister—taking the punishment that should have been Mikazuki’s and ending up in the hospital with two broken legs—and it felt like Mikazuki didn’t fully grasp the extent of her sacrifice.

“Look, I’m… I’m getting dressed now,” The sorceress said as she scrambled to find the tattered remains of her dress from the chaotic mess on the floor. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” She glanced at her own watch, which confirmed her worst fears.

Mikazuki couldn’t even begin to understand how she had forgotten about such an important task. The alcohol from the previous night might have had something to do with that. She huffed, trying to pull herself together as best as she could. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and her skin glowed from the humidity. The activities of last night were still plastered all over her skin, with hickeys marking her collarbones and drawing a path down her chest, right over her scar and between her breasts before disappearing under the hotel towel.

“And I’m really hoping you have some clothes in your bag I can borrow.” She looked at her torn dress—one strap hanging by a thread, the hem frayed and split, and a large tear down the side.

It was barely more than rags now.

“Why? Do Gojo Satoru’s no longer fit or did the two of you break up already?” Niko’s sarcastic tone made Mikazuki wince.

Niko was still weary and upset about whatever was going on between her sister and Gojo Satoru, who she knew had been a womanizer and troublemaker for a long time. She was sure he would break her sister’s heart again.

“Not fucking funny, Niko.” Mikazuki grumbled, her cheeks flushing. “I told you, it’s not like that between us. I just…” She glanced towards the stranger still sleeping peacefully in the bed beside her.

Brief flashes of the previous night came to mind: the passion, the intense kisses, the shared laughter, and the undeniable connection.

“I spent the night with someone, and we got a bit carried away, so my dress isn’t really decent at the moment.”

“Fine. I have a pair of jeans and a shirt you can borrow.” Niko eventually conceded. “But you better not complain about my mommy-coded fashion.”

“It’s just until I make it back home. I have a mission this afternoon and loads of paperwork to get through.” Mikazuki hastily pulled her dress over her head, wincing as the fabric tore a little more.

“You better not be late. I have to pick up the kids from summer camp at noon.”

Niko’s twins, Toshinori and Ren, had been placed at a summer camp for their safety. Niko worried that their father might use them next for leverage against Mikazuki since they were all pawns in his sick game.

“Yeah, yeah. Promise. See you in twenty.” Mikazuki hung up, her mind racing.

She hurried to gather her belongings, strewn across the unfamiliar room. Her heart raced as she slipped on her shoes, every second ticking away mercilessly.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI WAITED FOR A BREATH, steadying her heartbeat while still clutching the phone in her hand. There was great turmoil in her a mind, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that threatened to spill from their cozy hole, like a wave surging towards the already cracked walls of a damn. Maybe that’s why she didn’t notice when her companion’s soft snores turned into slow breaths, whatever sleep the stranger from the previous night had gotten quickly leaving her as the ruckus Mikazuki had been making finally came to a halt.

“Trouble in paradise, love?”

Mikazuki was startled by the voice, putting the phone away before turning to gawk at the no longer sleeping form still laid on the bed. The woman smiled, strands of auburn hair framing her face while the gesture illuminated her whole expression. She wasn’t soft by any means, yet there was nothing particularly threatening about her either – a neutral sorceress in a sea of scavengers, all looking for an advantage, all craving for the greatest power the world had ever seen. This woman, whoever, didn’t want anything beyond her station of position. She was contempt with her place in the world, a fact that was visible within the quiet gleam of her pretty eyes.

“No need to stare at me like that, I wasn’t eavesdropping.” The woman said, her tone languid and tired before rolling over so she could sit up, blanket wrapped around her naked body. “But my words mean little to you, right?” She looked at Mikazuki, breath caught in her lungs while she waited for a response.

The Kinzoku swallowed, feeling like a deer in headlights, her mind and thoughts open to be read by this complete stranger. For a moment, she was reminded of Yashiro and the way he could so easily read her, but the thought faded just as quickly as it had come, a sense of unease settling in her bones instead.

“Tell me,” The woman interrupted, her tone harsh and biting. “did you know who I was when you picked me up at the club?”

This time, Mikazuki didn’t startle, steeling her gaze and matching the sorceress’ irate tone while keeping her voice sharp.

“Did you?” A question for a question, no answer in sight as the two women stared at one another, the silence between them hanging in the air.

It was easy to blame someone else for her troubles; Mikazuki had done so many times, now. Whatever guilt she felt earlier about sleeping with Lea’s sister was completely gone, evaporated into the air like it never existed in the first place. She’d imagined her to be soft, fragile – but this woman was neither. She could see herself reflected in her, like a mirror that didn’t quite match. The Kinzoku wasn’t delusional enough to pretend she’d made this sorceress do anything against her will, especially when, even in their position, she still looked at her with those hungry eyes.

“My aunt won’t shut up about you.” The woman began, no hint of embarrassment as the covers slid down her body, revealing her perfect pale skin covered in moles and sun marks. “And you… well, you’re hard to miss.” She gestured to the grey hair, to the scars littered across her body and the unmistakable golden glow of her stare.

Mikazuki crossed her arms, feeling observed. She’d spent half of her life being treated like a sample under a microscope, both by her clan and by The Magistrate, yet there was something about it that always made her skin crawl, no matter how many times it happened. It was like being under trial, judged by over fifty people – none of which truly knew her – all over again.

“The heiress to the Kinzoku Clan.”

The stranger popped her lips as she said her name, testing it out despite her atrocious Japanese pronunciation. She didn’t butcher it, though, probably because she was far too familiar with it to do so. After all, this was her, the object of her aunt’s obsession. She’d heard so much about this woman: so many tales of her cruelty, of all the horrible acts she had committed, both against the world of mortals and the institution of The Magistrate.

And yet, Kinzoku Mikazuki was nothing but a woman. Because that’s what she was in that moment, a simple woman with her hair up and an unpleasant expression on her face. She wasn’t a warrior, an evil sorceress or an exiled shaman. Just a woman.

Mikazuki stilled, the blood in her veins running cold.

“Who are you?” The special-grade asked, no longer concerned about the stranger’s stark nakedness not her own state of half-undress.

She had bigger things to worry about, like why this woman managed to irk her so much, crawl under her skin like she was about to make it her home. The woman – this stranger who felt less and less like an unknown one-night stand and more and more like a carefully set trap – swallowed, pushing a stray hair out of her face before a placid smile settled on her lips. There truly was little resemblance between this woman and her aunt; Léa Dubois.

While Léa was tall, gracious, thin and soon-to-be grey-haired, this woman was spirited, filled with life, her curves sinful, her eyes cautious yet also brimming with lust for adventure. They both shared the same hair, the same eyes, but the intentions behind those were starkly different, day and night, moon and sun. Léa, being the colder, older one, might have been the moon. And her, the naked stranger, certainly made an intriguing and enticing sun.

“Ah,” The woman popped her tongue again, amusement flickering in her gaze. “We were in such a rush last night, we never got to introduce ourselves, did we?” She asked, tilting her gaze while the French accent lingered in the air at the end of her sentence.

The Kinzoku did not move, no longer feeling vulnerable under this stranger’s gaze. This woman might be her enemy’s family, but there was something distinctly safe about the way she laid her eyes on Mikazuki. Not safe in the sense that she was tame, but safe in the sense that her aunt’s ire hadn’t marred her yet. She was untainted by Léa’s hatred. What a curious thing, to find someone so close to the Frenchwoman yet with such distance within the same family.

“You know my name.” Mikazuki licked her lips, hands clammy with sweat as gold gathered around her arms in a warm liquid blanket. “Now tell me yours before I feel compelled to take it from you.”

The woman in front of her remained unfazed, and as she pulled a shirt over her head and massaged her head, the sorceress couldn’t help but envy that expression. It wasn’t stoic or unfeeling like she was used to from Léa, who liked to pretend to be unaffected when she clearly was not – it was an entirely different affair, like it wasn’t an act at all, but a genuine reaction.

“Rumours are true, then.” The woman said, clicking her tongue as an amused chuckle fell from her lips. “You are quick on your threats.” She huffed out a laugh, putting on her panties before turning to stare at Mikazuki once again. “You needn’t worry about me, love. My aunt and I are not – and have never been – in good terms.”

Mikazuki’s expression didn’t change.

“Your name.” She pressed, the words sounding an awful lot like a threat rather than a simple request.

The woman bowed her head, still amused but also weary not to push any more buttons. Her hair fell on her face, framing it for a brief moment before she straightened her back and held the special-grade’s gaze.

“Sophie Dubois, first-grade sorceress.” The name sounded familiar, but nothing constant enough to make Mikazuki recognize it. “I work mainly in Occitaine, but from time to time I have business to tend to here; in Japan.”

The Kinzoku held the woman’s gaze, almost as if taking her in for the first time. In a sense, she was. Last night; she’d been watching her from the perspective of a lustful, wanton mind. Today, though, she was seeing her fully for the first time, not as a hot piece of ass, but as a fully-fledged fellow sorcerer. It hit her then, just how different Sophie and Léa were.

As far as Mikazuki knew, Léa’s work kept her mostly around Paris and its alentours, but her niece seemed to have settled down as far as possible while not leaving her territory outright. Occitaine was in the southern parts of France, near the Spanish border and bathed in the Mediterranean sea. In other words, it was a world’s away from Lea’s holly ivory tower and her vice-like grip.

“Now,” Sophie’s voice interrupted her daydreaming, her tone as certain and bold as it had been the night before. “as riveting as this conversation is, I believe you have somewhere to be.” She narrowed her eyes, a knowing look crossing her features. “And so do I, so…” She kissed the air, already dressed and in a hurry before waltzing through the door. “Goodbye, love. We should do this again sometime.”

Chapter Text

IN THE END, it took far longer than the mere fifteen minutes she’d first thought for Kinzoku Mikazuki to make it all the way to Mita. Behind the wheel of her Toyota Mirai, the remnants of last night's drunken haze clung to her like a shroud, the world around her spinning slightly with every turn of the road. Her head throbbed painfully, a dull, blinding ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Each thud of pain was a reminder of the too many drinks she’d consumed, and her stomach churned with the unsettled remnants of alcohol.

The smooth, quiet hum of the car did little to alleviate her hangover. Instead, it seemed to intensify her discomfort, the sun's rays piercing through her windshield, making her squint and wince even behind her sunglasses. The conversation from earlier that morning replayed in her mind, gnawing at her with a different kind of pain. Sophie Dubois. The name itself made Mikazuki's jaw clench with worry and frustration.

She didn't trust the woman she’d slept with. Sophie had seemed nice enough at the bar, but there was something about her that set Mikazuki on edge. Maybe it was the way Sophie had casually mentioned Léa. Or perhaps it was the overly friendly manner in which she had inquired about Mikazuki’s life.

The thought of Sophie running back to Léa, spilling every intimate detail of their night together, made Mikazuki's stomach twist with anxiety. Léa was already suspicious enough, always prying into her business, and the last thing she needed was more fuel for that fire, especially concerning her love-life.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she navigated through the traffic, her knuckles white with tension. The roads were a blur, her mind barely able to focus on the task at hand. She wanted nothing more than to pull over somewhere, to close her eyes and let the world fade away, to sleep off the hangover and escape from the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

But there was no escape, not yet. She had to keep going, to push through the pain and the worry, to make it to the hospital in Mita and figure out what to do next. For now, all she could do was keep her foot on the pedal, her eyes on the road, and hope that, somehow, everything would be okay.

Mikazuki pulled up to IUHW Mita Hospital, her Toyota Mirai gliding to a stop in front of the sleek, modern entrance. The building loomed above her, a testament to contemporary architecture with its clean lines and large glass windows reflecting the mid-morning sun. The hospital entrance was bustling with activity—patients, visitors, and staff moving in and out, the hum of conversation and the beeping of monitors blending into a cacophony of sound.

She parked the car and stepped out, wincing as the light exacerbated her pounding headache. Her torn dress, a casualty of the previous night’s rough sex, fluttered slightly in the breeze. Despite having showered, she felt self-conscious about her appearance. She tugged at the dress, trying to make it look somewhat presentable, but the fabric’s rips and tears were beyond repair.

Mikazuki made her way through the automatic doors, the cool, antiseptic air of the hospital washing over her. She navigated the corridors with practiced ease, heading towards the elevators that would take her up to her sister Niko’s room. As the elevator doors closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and trying to compose herself.

The doors opened with a ding, and Mikazuki stepped out onto the floor where Kinzoku Niko was waiting. She walked down the hallway, the sound of her heels clicking against the linoleum floor. She reached Niko’s room and hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.

Niko looked up as Mikazuki entered, her golden eyes bright and alert despite the circumstances. She had inherited their mother’s dark hair, which framed her face in soft waves, contrasting with her fair skin. Her prominent jawline gave her an air of strength, yet her expression was warm and welcoming, a mix that put people at ease.

Instead of a hospital gown, Niko was dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a plain shirt, signalling that she was ready to leave. The casts on both her legs, stark white and rigid, were a stark reminder of her injuries, but she carried herself with a resilience that Mikazuki had always admired.

Niko looked up as Mikazuki entered, her expression immediately shifting to one of irritation.

“…and the prodigal daughter finally decides to make an appearance.” Niko whistled. “You’re late.” She snapped, her eyes narrowing as she took in Mikazuki’s dishevelled appearance. “And what are you wearing? Did you sleep in that?”

Mikazuki forced a smile, trying to ignore the wave of guilt and shame that washed over her. Her dress, once a sleek and elegant black number, was now a testament to the chaos of the previous night. The fabric was torn in several places, the hem frayed and uneven. Stains from spilled drinks and who knew what else marred the material, making it barely wearable.

Niko's golden eyes scanned her sister from head to toe, noting every rip and stain with a mixture of concern and judgment.

“Traffic was terrible.” She lied. “And yes, I had a rough night. But I’m here now. Let’s get you ready to leave.”

Niko's eyes softened slightly but still held a glint of disapproval. Despite her irritation, she couldn't help but worry about her younger sister. They had never spent much time together growing up since their father always kept them apart. He had insisted on their separation, believing it would make them stronger individually. It wasn't until Niko left their family that she and Mikazuki had finally established a real sibling relationship.

Niko used to be wild, too—reckless and free-spirited, living life on the edge until circumstances forced her to grow up quickly. She recognized the same self-destructive patterns in Mikazuki now, and it broke her heart to watch her sister suffer as she had in the past. Niko had hoped to protect Mikazuki from making the same mistakes, but it seemed history was repeating itself.

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?” Niko asked, her voice laced with concern. “You know how I feel about that. You can’t keep using alcohol to deal with your problems, Mikazuki.”

Niko was very familiar with this behaviour; she had seen Mikazuki spiral like this before. The memories were painfully vivid. Almost a decade ago, Mikazuki had been forced to give her twins away, a decision that had nearly destroyed her. Niko remembered the nights spent comforting her sister, watching helplessly as Mikazuki turned to alcohol to numb the pain. The guilt Niko felt was inescapable—she had been partly to blame for that dark time.

When Mikazuki could no longer care for her children, Niko had stepped in, taking the twins in as her own. It was a decision born out of love and necessity, and although Mikazuki knew they were safe in her sister’s care, she had never been the same. The loss had left a gaping hole in her heart, and her dependency on alcohol had only grown over the years as she struggled to cope with the pain and regret.

“I’ve got everything under control.” Mikazuki replied, her voice firm despite the unease she felt. “Let’s just focus on getting you out of here.”

“You always say that. Sometimes I worry you might start to actually believe it.”

Niko sighed but didn’t argue further. Instead, she began gathering her belongings, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind in the hospital room. Meanwhile, Mikazuki rummaged through her sister’s bag, pulling out some clothes to change into. The outfit was typical of Niko—conservative and practical, a stark contrast to Mikazuki’s usual style. She slipped into the clothes, feeling awkward and out of place in the mommy-like attire.

Once they were both ready, Mikazuki positioned herself behind Niko’s wheelchair, her hands gripping the handles.

“Ready to go?” She asked, her tone brighter than she felt.

Niko nodded, and they headed out of the room, Mikazuki pushing the wheelchair with careful precision. As they moved through the hospital corridors, Niko occasionally pointed out things she had forgotten, and Mikazuki dutifully picked them up. The two sisters made their way to the hospital exit, the journey marked by a mixture of silence and sporadic conversation.

Finally, they emerged into the sunlight outside the hospital, Mikazuki squinting against the brightness. She helped Niko into the car, carefully folding the wheelchair and placing it in the trunk. As she slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced over at her sister, who was now comfortably settled in the passenger seat.

“Let’s get you home,” Mikazuki said, starting the engine and pulling away from the hospital.

Despite the headache, the hangover, and the lingering anxiety, she felt a small sense of relief. At least for now, she was doing something right.

Chapter Text

MIKAZUKI DROVE ALL THE WAY BACK TO NIKO’S HOME, the familiar streets of Mita blurring past her. It had been a while since she last visited, having spent most of her time at the hospital by her sister’s bedside or simply busy performing her duties as a special-grade sorceress. The car ride was mostly silent, with Niko occasionally giving directions or commenting on the traffic. It was odd and eerie for the eldest Kinzoku to be like this, but Mikazuki didn’t want to bring any more attention to her sister’s strange behaviour, especially when she could feel a lecture looming in the distance.

Kinzoku Niko had always been like that; always playing the part of the elder sister even long after she forsook her family name. To her; Mikazuki would always be her sweet little sister. But they were also incredibly similar, too. Mikazuki would never be the oldest sister while Niko lived, and yet, that was the role she’d somehow acquired once her sister was cast away.

Jujutsu society was cruel like that; bestowing upon someone the role meant for someone else. Despite the tension between them, there was an unspoken understanding, a bond that had grown stronger over the years. The kind of bond that couldn’t be erased, no matter how hard the Kinzoku clan tried.

As they pulled into the driveway, Mikazuki marvelled at the house. This wasn’t the first time visiting, but it certainly stole her breath away whenever she saw that tiny slice of heaven. Niko lived in a suburban neighbourhood in a somewhat-expensive area of Mita, the kind where large villas and well-kept houses lined the streets, grass perfectly cut into neat squares with tall bamboo bushes at every corner. The house was two stories high, not overly opulent but certainly above average. Its architecture was a blend of Mediterranean influences, with terra cotta roof tiles and white stucco walls adorned with climbing plants like lavender and vines.

It was the kind of home Mikazuki had always dreamed of a stark contrast against the golden stillness of Kogane manor or the Kinzoku Estate. It was a real home, not just four walls thrown together and a thousand screams trapped inside. There were no ghosts here, no sins of their forebearers. Just calm. Peace and quiet. It was so unlike any of them Mikazuki would have laughed were it not for the lump currently sitting in her throat. 

The house hadn’t been a cheap buy, and although it had been a long while, the Kinzoku still remembered when she bought the property for her sister. A place where Niko could thrive, where the kids could grow. A home for the long lost, a place for a real family and not whatever monster the Kinzoku pretended to stitch together in terms of bloodline. If her father could see this place… oh, how repulsive would he find it. This only made Mikazuki realise just how right she’d been to do this in the first place. A real home for a real family.

All of that would soon be gone, now. Or at least that was the plan, wasn’t it?

James hadn’t particularly appreciated the handout, but it was a small price to pay when he’d gained a couple of identical twins to call his own instead. He was a man of pride, had been long before he and Niko fell in love, and although he didn’t understand a single thing about the way the Jujutsu society worked, he did understand family well enough not to ask questions and to do whatever it took to protect what was now his.

Mikazuki got out of the car and hurried around to help Niko. With one arm around her sister’s waist and the other steadying her arm, they made their way to the front door. Niko leaned heavily on Mikazuki, her broken legs making each step a struggle. She felt heavy, pain radiation through her entire body with each agonising step. She knew it would be hard, but she’d certainly never imagined it would feel like this. Niko’s spine was on fire, as were her mended bones; from her crooked feet to her still-shattered kneecaps.

Once inside, Mikazuki guided her to the living room, where she carefully helped her sister lay down on the sofa. Everything about the place was so Niko coded, her sister might have smiled were it not for the cruel memory etched into the back of her mind, the visual of it haunting her every day and night. Niko, being held by two Windows in that exact same sofa, their father looming over her with a wooden baseball bat. Some lessons were harsher than others. At least, on that day, Mikazuki had gotten the reminder she needed. Never trust a man made of gold.

Niko’s face contorted with pain, and Mikazuki’s heart ached. It was always hard to see her sister in pain, but more than anything, it was the vicious reminder that she was the reason for it. Her mistakes. Her punishment. And yet, somehow, Niko was the one paying the price. Except… was she? Wounds would heal, bones would mend. Mikazuki’s mind, on the other hand, was forever changed.

So much hatred simmering under the surface, the thirst for golden blood nearly unbearable. She had a plan; one she’d executed almost perfectly. A part of the Kinzoku wanted to throw it all away just to gut Asahi like a fish. Then maybe this beast living inside of her that thirsted for chaos would be satisfied. Or maybe it would go hunting for more. It was hard to tell, these days.

“I’m going to get you some painkillers.” She said gently as she draped a throw blanket over her sister’s shivering form. “Where do you keep them?”

“In the kitchen.” Niko replied, her voice strained. “Top left cabinet.”

Mikazuki nodded and made her way to the kitchen. The room was spacious and well-lit, with modern appliances and a large island in the centre. She found the cabinet and retrieved the painkillers, filling a glass with water before heading back to the living room. She handed Niko the glass and the pills. Her movements were short and mechanic, completely devoid of emotion. Whether she was forcing herself to be like this or whether it was her natural reaction, it was impossible to tell.

“Here, take these.” Mikazuki spoke calmly, sobriety slowly taking over the remnants of her drunken haze. “They should help.”

Niko took the pills gratefully, swallowing them with a gulp of water. As she settled back against the cushions, Mikazuki perched on the armrest of the sofa, watching her sister with concern. It was always hard to reconcile the image she had made up of Niko in her mind, especially because she hadn’t completely come up with it out of thin air. Once upon a time, Kinzoku Niko had been the greatest sorceress of her promotion. Once upon a time, she had burned as bright at the sun. And yet, here she was now, basically powerless, at the mercy of everyone’s games, with Asahi pulling at the strings behind the theatre. Mikazuki hated every second of it, but most of all, she hated herself for allowing such a thing to happen to her older sister. I was supposed to protect you. She’d never said, already knowing what Niko’s reply would be. Protect me? She cocked her head to the side, a small smile playing on her rosy lips. I’m the older sister silly, that’s my job.

It was Keisuke’s job, too, and look where that got him.

Why did everyone tasked with protecting Mikazuki end the exact same way? Six feet under and without a single soul to mourn them? The Kinzoku was tired of it. Tired in the same way grief hollowed her eyes out. Tired in the same way her soul grew heavy with each breath. Tired in the same way she hungered for golden blood to be spilled. After all, this was all her family’s fault. What was it someone once said?

Like father, like daughter. Like mother, like monster.

Mikazuki shook her head, threads of grey lifeless hair falling over her golden eyes as she spirited these thoughts away.

“Are you sure you can handle picking up the twins from summer camp?” The younger Kinzoku asked, her voice soft but insistent while one arm rested on her sister’s shoulders in an attempt to appear reassuring. “You can’t quite drive yet.”

As a matter of fact, it would take months for Kinzoku Niko to even think of standing on her own again, let alone to drive. But that was a harsh reality for another day, today was all about what could be done in the moment. Niko tried to muster a reassuring smile, the gesture falling short halfway as a flash of pain climbed up her spine.

“I can handle it.” She said, but her voice lacked conviction. As did the look in her dull golden-brown irises.

Mikazuki would never get used to that. So oddly foreign yet also recomforting. The Kinzoku fire was still in there – always would be, it was impossible to pretend to take away every morsel of cursed energy – but it was merely an ember, a reminder of the power that had once inhabited that immense well of potential. In her wildest dreams, Mikazuki shared those same unremarkable eyes. To her, they were a gift; the kind she would never pretend to be worthy enough to receive. No, she was doomed from the start.

“You’re lying.” The grey-haired sorceress let out, her words carrying a hint of that annoying know-it-all attitude that used to drive her sister insane. “Let me do it. It’s no trouble.”

Niko bit her lower lip, the words ‘that’s not the issue, though’ almost falling from her mouth before quickly swallowing them back down. That was a road she refused to walk down, at least for now. But, unfortunately for her, the Kinzoku was right. Niko must have felt this, because although the idea of Mikazuki getting the twins did not please her in the least, she still huffed out a long sigh. She couldn’t drive for shit, and, even if for some miracle she could have managed to do so, she still had a move to plan. Uprooting her entire life just to give her sister a chance.

No, that’s a lie. Her mind supplied, something akin to hope slithering through her defences. To give all of us a chance. Her; the twins, her husband and everyone who had ever been wronged by the Kinzoku greed. Niko hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Okay.” 

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI DIDN’T DARE ASK HER SISTER WHY SHE DIDN’T WANT HER TO PICK UP THE KIDS. That would have been a stupid question, and the grey-haired sorceress was done with those. It was so easy to forget the choices she made ten years ago, everything she sacrificed. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because it had been the right path to follow from the start. Toshinori and Ren were Niko’s. Mikazuki never questioned that, she never fought it. And although her sweet sister liked to include the ‘fun aunt Mika’ into every little activity as much as she could, it didn’t mean a certain kernel of doubt did not settle at the back of her mind. It was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? Nature versus nurture.

Mikazuki – the one who birthed them – versus Niko – their mother. But naiveté wasn’t one of the special grade’s trait, which is why she would never pretend to be their mother. Maybe just once, in the quiet of the night, where no one could see her shed the one tear she had left. Before, she’d always imagined things would be different, almost reversed.

Niko used to be the wildcard, the carefree girl with the whole world at her fingertips. Meanwhile, Mikazuki was the one with her future set in stone; to be the heir’s back-up, with an impossible marriage looming over her head like the sharp blade of a guillotine and a bunch of clan elders waiting on her womb to mature. Niko with her golden cage filled with thorns and her with her pretty gilded bars. Either way, they were both prisons in the end.

The Kinzoku gripped the steering-wheel tighter, nails digging onto the expensive leather while she gave a quick glance towards the rearview mirror. Toshinori was asleep in the back, his head slathed against his twin sister’s shoulder. He was drooling a little bit, eyes closed shut while a strand of dark hair covered half of his face. He was adorable and his carelessness warmed Mikazuki’s heart almost as much as it terrified her. If Asahi ever tried anything…

Toshinori would burn under his wrath, with nothing but his puffy little purple eyes and soccer gear to defend himself. He was so small in her eyes, a minute dot in an endless ocean of gold. When the storm finally arose, he would drown. Ren was different, though. More resilient, less trusting. She still regarded Mikazuki with unabashed uncertainty, her beady eyes looking at her with unease. She was small, too, but her eyes hid something powerful in that swirl of purple.

If Mikazuki had to make comparisons, Toshinori was like her, before everything turned dark and awful. Meanwhile, little Ren was like a female carbon copy of Keisuke. Not just in appearance, but in mentality as well. She also had the best bits of Suguru, too. The Kinzoku could see him in her clear as crystal, and she sometimes wondered whether that was a good thing.

Geto Suguru had been many things before he turned into a mass murderer, but none of those seemed to matter anymore. It was hypocritical of Mikazuki to think so, and yet the thought continued to linger at the edge of her mind. Would his children inherit the madness that dwelled in his mind, or would they inherit the golden curse she bore in her veins? Either way, they were doomed from the start. Of all the deals the Kinzoku had made – selling her soul, giving away her heart and forsaking everything for a chance of revenge – it was the one she hadn’t that haunted her the most along with all it cost her. The heaviest price of all.

“What’s on your mind?” Niko’s voice pulled her back to reality.

Mikazuki blinked, the world around her coming back into focus as the road ahead became clearer. She’d completely forgotten she was driving, her body in autopilot as she pulled in and out of lanes, the engine of her Toyota revving quietly while the suburban area of Mita appeared in the distance. The camping the twins had spent their summer at was outside of the city, in the quiet area of Hikawa. It wasn’t so far away Niko had to worry about their wellbeing but still out of the way of the bustling of the Tokyo lifestyle. It was exactly the kind of life she had wished for them.

“Nothing.” Mikazuki was quick to reply, lips pursed in an attempt to hide her emotions. “Just tired, is all.”

Niko looked at her sister, unconvinced by the Kinzoku’s attempt at keeping the conversation light. She wanted to push – it’s what older sisters do best – but something about Mikazuki’s expression made her pause. She was so used to seeing determination in her golden eyes, she’d almost forgotten what pain looked like. Mikazuki was good at pretending, but her gaze betrayed her at every turn.

It wasn’t the pain in her eyes which gave her away, too. It was the heaviness lingering in her irises, the faraway look she carried. She was here, and yet, at the same time, she was far away. Probably in a place where none of this ever had to happen. Somewhere nice and quiet. Somewhere unreal, according to their life.

Niko glanced at the rearview mirror, stealing a peak of her children. Ren was still awake, a set of heavy headphones slipped onto her ears while she balanced an iPad on her knee. The older Kinzoku sighed, turning back to stare at her younger sister.

“Do you want us to leave?” She asked, all pretence gone from her voice.

Mikazuki’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

This was probably the rawest conversation the two had since the time Mikazuki dropped two newborns in Niko’s life. The sorceress was uncomfortable – she wasn’t honest by nature, and it made her want to claw at her skin. She’d spent so much time building up walls around her heart, she could no longer remember how to demolish them. But, like any good sister, Niko was a fucking sledgehammer, tearing it all down and burrowing a space near Mikazuki’s heart.

The sorceress relaxed slightly, shoulders sagging as she left the highway in the rearview mirror.

“I can’t do this if you’re here.” She explained, and although there was sorrow in her tone, there was also a steadfast calmness. “I can’t do this if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder.”

Niko’s expression didn’t change. There was no judgement in her face, yet she wasn’t cold either. They’d always understood each other without any words, and this was one of these moments. Niko wasn’t good at hiding her emotions, but she still did her best to hide the fear in her gaze.

“What happens when it’s over? When it’s all over?”

Before, she’d been too afraid to ask. Probably because she knew the answer from the moment she walked into that delivery room to see her baby sister holding two babies of her own. Whether Mikazuki caught the terror in Niko’s voice is a question for another day. I’d like to believe she was overwhelmed by her own horror at the choices she’d made, but that would be another bold-faced lie. Mikazuki regretted many things, but not this.

There was no fear, not an iota of doubt lingered in her soul. The Kinzoku knew her fate had been sealed a long time ago, in an abandoned lighting factory. Or maybe it was before that, in a dilapidated classroom. Or maybe even before, when she was placed upon the arms of her mother. Deep into the darkness, we all get lost. Niko had warned her back then, convinced it would make her change her mind. But Mikazuki’s heart had been set long before she pawned it away.

Her sister must have had the same thought, because before Mikazuki had a chance to answer, she put her hand over the sorceress’ arm. The gesture was delicate, yet it burned her skin nonetheless. It was yearning. Begging.

“Where do we go, when it’s all over?”

Mikazuki smiled. No dishonesty in it, just pure unadulterated peace, the calmness of an oncoming storm hiding beneath her golden orbs. She put her hand on top of Niko’s, not to feel the warmth of her embrace, but to gently pull it away from her arm. It was a soft rejection, the kind that would haunt the older Kinzoku long after the name vanished from this earth.

“You go home, wherever that is.” Mikazuki answered, that still smile still etched onto her rosy lips. “And I…” She looked up, eyes glazed over. “I die.”

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI DIDN’T EXPECT THE FIFTEEN MISSED CALL TEXTS waiting on her inbox when she finally made it back to the Kogane Manor. Her life had been busy lately and she’d been quietly avoiding her family for as long as she could, spending little time at the Kinzoku Estate and busying herself with the excuse of the school term starting soon. It had worked for a while, but after almost a full week of not setting foot at the house, the staff – and therefore her father – had become suspicious. Mikazuki had expected some sort of retaliation for her absence, yet she was still caught off guard the moment she stepped through the double door of her house, Tajima waiting for her at the entrance.

“Mikazuki-sama.” He greeted, no hint of joy or any human emotion behind his tone. “Your father is waiting for you at the chapel.”

The Kinzoku heiress closed her eyes, fighting the urge to turn around and wrap her slender fingers around the man’s throat. Tajima might have been the family Window for a while now, but Mikazuki hadn’t forgotten how he held down her sister while their father beat her to a pulp. Still, the grey-haired woman swallowed down the urge, simply nodding along as she stepped out into the cold night air and fresh ambience of the gardens.

She followed the stepstones in the ground, the lights of the Kogane manor soon disappearing into the night while the single light at the edge of the family chapel stood against the darkness. Mikazuki didn’t have a lot of time for whatever her father was planning, not when Nina Hopkings had flown all the way from London just to do some final adjustments on her dress.

With the engagement party for the newly established Gojo and Zenin union looming in the distance – less than twenty-four hours, actually –, Mikazuki couldn’t afford to distract herself. She’d be attending as the clan’s heir, the full weight of the Kinzoku name on her shoulders. But that was nothing compared with the real issue at hand; her prior engagement to Satoru was still the talk of the town, and her role was to prove to everyone just how amicable the split had been. Right. Because amicable was ever the word between them. As if.

So, Mikazuki crossed the garden in a hurry, not even stopping to glance at the pretty Hydrangeas arranged for her brother. Instead, she passed right by them, a knot forming on her throat until she finally stopped in front of the heavy marble doors of the chapel. This place did not bring any happy memories, but the mysticism that hung in the air around the ground stone and golden fixtures haunted her like the ghost of her past.

The sorceress held her breath, pushing the doors inwards before stepping into the darkness ahead. This space was familiar to her; the vines creeping up the columns, the moonlight filtering through the skylight in the ceiling, the golden cracks running on the floor, right up the glass panel that covered the mausoleum of what had once been the greatest sorceress alive. Kogane’s bones rattled as Mikazuki stepped into the room, her heeled boots echoing against the vaulted ceiling.

The young sorceress felt her father’s presence long before she laid eyes on him; Kinzoku Asahi stood against the white Statuario marble column, his body steeped in gold and embraced by the shadows like a cloak. Everything about him was darkness, from the lean frame of his old body to the darkened tint of his golden eyes. He was calm, in control – as always.

“Heiress.” He welcomed her into the room, not even bothering to name her, like somehow speaking her birthright into existence might summon the curse of his bloodline. “Nice of you to show after a week of complete silence.”

Mikazuki watched her surroundings carefully, standing in the middle of the chapel in a somewhat guarded stance. Despite the friendly greeting, the young Kinzoku wasn’t naïve enough to believe this was anything but an ambush. She could feel it in the air, the hairs of her arms standing still while her heart hammered against her ribcage. Mikazuki had been avoiding his calls like the plague – it was easy at first, tapping the little airplane on the phone settings.

Then, when Asahi started sending Doors to her, she simply pretended to be busy. Unfortunately, these were just temporary measures. After all, Kinzoku Mikazuki couldn’t spend the rest of her life avoiding the clan, especially when she was planning on burning it from the inside. Sometimes, one must sacrifice everything for their goal.

“Didn’t think you cared.” The woman answered honestly, playing coy in a moment that felt as lethal as the edge of a well-sharpened blade.

Asahi smiled, all teeth no lip. Despite the fact he was handsome, in that moment he felt like the devil, this ugly side of him bubbling to the surface. He was so used to hiding his true nature, it was easy to forget the kind of man – of monster – that he was. But maybe what he saw in Mikazuki’s eyes didn’t quite match the emotion he expected. Instead, he saw a reflection of himself, younger and far more dangerous, with a fire that was hard to extinguish. She was like him in every possible way, maybe even more ways than either of them realised.

But Kinzoku Mikazuki wasn’t dangerous because she was like Asahi. That would have been too easy. Instead, she was like Kogane – the Mother of Sin, the Goddess who upturned the entire world looking for solace, the woman who permanently changed the world of Jujutsu. The similarities had been there from the start; some of Asahi’s own doing and some of Mikazuki’s own will.

When he first set his plan in motion, it didn’t occur to him that destiny would come back to bite him in the ass. Asahi had been a fool, playing with forces he didn’t understand. Léa warned him once, but he was too famished for power to notice she might have had a point. When he first laid eyes on Mikazuki, Asahi saw the sun. Now, twenty-seven years later, the sun was starting to look back and it was getting too warm to handle.

Was it fate? Destiny? Or maybe something else? Her father could see it, had seen it since that first time his little golden princess looked at him with hate in her eyes. He’d made her into the perfect soldier, never stopping to think she might not fight for his side. But if this was war, then she was a Warhammer. An atomic bomb, a second away from detonating. 

Chapter Text

ASAHI SHOOK HIS HEAD, clearing his mind as he finally pushed himself off from the wall and made his way towards his daughter. He was still taller than her, just enough that she was forced to look up at him, specks of black glowing in her otherwise seamless golden eyes. The sorceress looked away, either frightened by his expression or by what she saw in the reflection of his golden orbs. He held her stare, his right hand cupping her jaw as he forced Mikazuki to look up at him.

The Kinzoku stilled, mind racing as she went over every possible scenario in her head. Mikazuki was not powerless here, she was not helpless like she’d been before. The power in her veins rumbled with that knowledge, yet she still forced herself to quiet it until the gold went still. She could fight him; be petty and slap his hand away, but how much would that cost her? Niko’s hand? Niko’s arm? Niko’s head? No, she couldn’t risk it. She’d already antagonized Asahi too much, and she could feel it slowly catching up to her like a vicious tide.

“Darling, you’re so young.” He spoke gently, his hold tightening around her chin until it left red marks on her skin. “So naïve and so wrong, most of the time.”

The space between them grew smaller and smaller, with Asahi’s presence slowly becoming more potent. He stood in front of his daughter, the smell of his cologne overwhelming her senses. But it wasn’t a scent what she found disgusting, instead, it was the way he moved so close, like he was somehow claiming ownership of her, marking another one of his possessions.

That was the goal, too. It was clear in the hunger in his eyes, he was enjoying this too much, delighting in Mikazuki’s disgusted expression. She hated him, and Asahi fed on it like a curse. So vicious and twisted and rotten to the fucking core. He called her young and naïve knowing she wouldn’t dare move an inch while he held her sister’s life in his hands. This was the man that terrified Léa Dubois, the man that forced The Magistrate on its knees after he massacred an entire clan – his wife’s bloodline. If Kinzoku Asahi was capable of such things, what could stop him from doing worse? Except, if one of them was worse, it was her. Because the moment he’d cursed her with Kogane’s lie, he’d ensure she would become ruination.

Her father pulled the hair out of her face, his movements gentle, but the possessiveness didn’t go unnoticed. He fucking owned her, and he was just making sure they were on the same page about that.

“That’s the problem with this new generation of shamans, isn’t it?” Asahi asked, his hold on her hair going from gentle to hard as he pulled on the grey strands “Gojo, Zenin, Asuga… You’re all so self-centred and selfish, think you’re the greatest gift to humanity.”

He pulled harder, tugging so hard Mikazuki let out a whine. This time, Asahi didn’t let go, crouching down next to her until she could feel his breath ghosting over her face, his rancid smell permeating the air around them. He smelled rotten, like something had died inside of him. Maybe it was his putrid soul, if he did ever have one of those.

Asahi held her there, hatred and cursed energy spewing out of him in equal measure. He was like a giant black hole, the gold in his blood overwhelmed by the cruelty in his soul and the terrible darkness in his eyes. Mikazuki struggled against his hold, a whimper escaping her lips as she felt his grip tighten around the frail roots of her hair. She could easily escape, but the memory of Niko’s face kept her in place, just as still as if a spell had been cast on her will.

No matter what, she would not put her sister at risk. Not again.

“Did you seriously think I wasn’t going to find out about your little scuffle with Léa?” He asked, the Frenchwoman’s name sounding strange from his tongue. A little too familiar, with a little too much weight. “You humiliate me and this clan at every turn; first at your birthday ball by maiming your grandmother–” He grabbed her face and turned it sideways just as Kinzoku Himari entered the room, her dark robes matching the tone of the chapel. “then you go and are seen fucking whatever comes your way. And now you dare challenge the Head of the Magistrate.”

Asahi pushed her down, so far down Mikazuki fell on her knees, bones hitting the hard stone surface while her hair crumbled at her sides, pieces of it coming loose altogether. The world spun on its axis, a familiar feeling creeping up her spine. However, instead of lashing out and allowing her power to crumble out of her body, Mikazuki balled her hands into fists, sucking in a shaky breath as she reigned her cursed energy in. No gold. No games. No retribution.

Not yet, anyway.

“So this is what it’s all about? Léa fucking Dubois?” She cackled, the sound echoing across the room. “She has you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?” Mikazuki’s eyes turned cold, the gold in them suddenly becoming still. “Please, don’t tell me you fell for that French cunt.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement, one she made sure everyone heard.

The sorceress attempted to stand, but two figures stood at her side, holding each arm far apart while her father stomped his foot on her back. Mikazuki felt the clasp of the chains around her wrists, the cool metal sitting against her skin while the two figures attached the ends at columns on opposite sides of the chapel. The Kinzoku was left half-suspended in the air, with her upper body held up by the chains while her legs dragged on the ground. Still, she didn’t let this break her. How could she, when she’d gone through much worse? Inflicted worse, too.

“You do love her, don’t you?” She let out another hollow laugh. “You are so fucking pathetic. All of you!”

Mikazuki looked up; Himari was there, standing in a circle along with Hide. She recognized some of the others, too – elders, most of which she hadn’t crossed a single word with since her birth. Tajima was also at her side, his face shadowed by the midnight darkness as he held on to the chains currently binding her.

“She’s manipulating you and everyone else, can’t you fucking see!?”

The sorceress bit her lower lip, golden blood pooling in her mouth as she fought the urge to rattle the chains and free herself from this madness. Asahi smiled, circling her like a hungry wolf, his smile matching that of the creature while his eyes glinted with excitement.

Mikazuki spat on the ground, the gesture a poor attempt at showing her distaste for the whole situation. Instead, it came out weak, like her strength was slowly being sapped out of her body. It didn’t take long for her to realise the chains were enchanted, probably a simple seal carved onto the iron, yet still strong enough to bind her for a little while.

“The bitch deserved it.” She let out, her grin just as wolfish as that of her father.

“Did she, now?” Asahi asked, head tilted to the side. “You’ve left me with no choice here, darling.” He began walking again, his figure disappearing out of Mikazuki’s sight as he stood behind her once again. “I hope you know I take great pleasure in knowing this is all your fault, Mikazuki.”

And then hell on earth began. 

Chapter Text

IN HER SHORT TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OF LIFE, Kinzoku Mikazuki had experienced many things. Pain wasn’t a new sensation to her. In fact, it was something familiar – something she almost welcomed. She was so used to the feeling she barely had time to process as Tajima and the other Window unburdened her from her clothes, pulling down her black leather jacket and tearing her white t-shirt to pieces to expose her back. Asahi stood behind her, his presence like a dark shadow that obscured Mikazuki’s small frame. The man didn’t linger, pulling aside the tattered remains of the shirt before his hand paused over the clasp of her bra.

“You won’t be needing this for now, darling.” He spoke calmly, his movements swift as he pulled the clasp and Mikazuki’s bra fell open, completely revealing her back.

The sorceress felt his hands on her back, the way his fingers trailed her vertebrae, all the way from the nape of her neck to the edge of her tailbone, right where her jeans and the rim of her underwear stood. The Kinzoku wanted to recoil from his touch, but it wasn’t his disgusting hand that made a shiver run down her spine. Instead, it was the sense of dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, beads of sweat building in her forehead. Asahi laughed, the sound hollow and senseless, yet it haunted her nonetheless.

“What are you doing?”

Mikazuki tried to turn around, but the chains holding her kept her in place. Asahi tutted, his finger trailing over one of her exposed scars. He dug his nail into the damaged skin, a thin trail of golden blood blooming from the wound while Mikazuki bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to swallow down the yelp that built up in her throat.

“Only what you deserve.”

When she finally felt his presence subside, it wasn’t relief what washed over Mikazuki’s face. Instead, it was an intense and overwhelming sense of dread. The sorceress couldn’t quite put it into words, but she felt it all over her body. Her hands shook violently, chains rattling in an incessant cacophony. She tried to think of Niko, to think of her twins, but it wasn’t their memory what kept her kneeling on the ground. It wasn’t the iron chains, either. It was fear; the kind of true unadulterated fear she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not in the hands of The Beldam, not during her exile and certainly not in that same chapel when she prayed to the hollow heart of a goddess.

No, this felt… It felt like sacrilege.

People were moving in her blind spot. She could feel them, their cursed energy swirling in the back of her mind, like tiny flickers of a flame that grew stronger by the second. The chains rattled again, this time not by her doing, but because someone was pulling them taut, her arms now suspended at her sides, muscles burning at the strain. There was a noise and then the sweet scent of fresh leather. Kinzoku Mikazuki knew what was going to happen long before the aged whip cracked against the bare skin of her back.

She’d planned to stay silent, not to give them the satisfaction of screaming, but the moment that thing came in contact with her back, it was over. A scream tore itself out of her throat just in time for another hit. This time the whip cut across her lower back, removing skin and flesh as it tore through her like a razor blade. The chains rattled sharply, the sound reverberating through the cold, empty chamber. She was still screaming, some of it out of pain, but most of it out of horror.

The next strike landed just below her shoulder blades, splitting the fragile quiet with the wet sound of flesh breaking. Her body jerked involuntarily, her chains clanging as the pain bloomed, white-hot and unforgiving. Another scream tore from her throat, raw and animalistic, filling the room. The next strike followed almost immediately, lower this time, carving a diagonal path of destruction across her spine. Flesh peeled away under the whip’s cruel kiss, and Mikazuki felt the sticky warmth of blood streaming down her sides. Her vision swam, black spots dancing before her eyes as she sagged in the chains, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

“Still so proud, aren’t you?” A voice taunted, low and mocking.

Whether it was her father speaking or any of the other men present, que couldn’t tell; there was only pain, now.

Mikazuki clenched her teeth, refusing to meet her father’s gaze, focusing instead on the rough texture of the floor beneath her dangling knees. Another crack, another scream, this one strangled and hoarse. The whip’s edge sliced into the tender skin of her lower back, tearing deep, and she bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. The sorceress’ body shuddered, every nerve alight with searing pain, but through the haze, Kinzoku Mikazuki clung to one stubborn thought: she wouldn’t break—not for them, not here.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked instead, eyes pleading as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Why?” Asahi asked, jamming one of his fingers into her wounds, a wicked smile spreading on his face when she jerked away from his touch. “How many times have I warned you about what would happen? How many chances have I given?” He walked around, like a preacher speaking to his flock. “I am a benevolent soul,” Mikazuki didn’t catch the lie, probably because he believed every single word like it was the word of the Gods. “but you just couldn’t do it, could you?”

Asahi huffed out a laugh, stepping back until he was out of her view, yet Mikazuki was still incredibly aware of his movements. She watched him – not with her eyes, but with the senses she’d been gifted. The man played around with the whip, pulling at the piece of leather like it was a fucking toy. He didn’t care about the golden blood now coating his hands, he didn’t care about the woman who had once been his little girl strung up like a traitor.

But she was a traitor, wasn’t she?

“Please don’t do this.” Mikazuki mumbled, her tears now a constant waterfall. “Please.”

The Kinzoku watched as Asahi prepared himself for the next hit, flexing his wrist in anticipation. He craved it; the blood, the chaos, the pain. She’d always known it, and yet, did she, really? Mikazuki tried to blink the tears away, body shaking in fear while Asahi stepped closer and closer, rolling the edge of the whip between his fingers.

“Please.”

It was so strange; everything she used to tell herself was up in smoke now. She was begging. Fucking begging. But Kinzoku Asahi didn’t stop. Instead, he pulled back and whipped her again. And again. And again. Until there was nothing but flesh hanging from bare bone, until the blood on the floor was no longer and poodle but a full-on swimming hole, until the bones of Kogane could no longer be seen through the glass. This went on for long – far too long, even for those who had volunteered to be there. Mikazuki felt like porcelain, pieces of her slowly cracking, the immaculate white shattering into a million pieces while the golden blood she’d been cursed with filled the crevices. Beautiful, but also broken.

“I’ll be good!” Mikazuki promised, her face pale and weary. “I promise I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you want!” She was babbling nonsense now; between the blood-loss and the agony, there wasn’t a shred of sanity left in her mind. “I’ll be a better daughter, the heiress you wanted. I’ll be good, I will love you like I should.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Dad, I love you. Please.”

And like a delicate porcelain doll, Kinzoku Mikazuki cracked.

“Dad. I love you.”

Asahi’s eye twitched. Whether it was out of pity, remorse or any other mundane emotion, it’s impossible to tell. But it wasn’t love – that was something men like him were never taught, something they would never be allowed. Asahi sighed, dropping the whip before rolling his eyes. He turned around, washing his hands with a tissue like none of this ever happened, his expression completely unreadable, even to his own wife.

“Let her go.” He eventually deigned to speak.

The chains rattled, and like a ragdoll, Mikazuki fell against the cold marble of the floor, face pressed against the tiny piece of glass. She sat there, drenched in her own blood and half-naked, grey hair clinging to her skin while the wounds on her back bled. The sorceress didn’t move – she didn’t move when the elders left the room one by one, she didn’t move when Asahi dropped the tissue by her head, she didn’t move when Tajima covered her with what was left of her jacket. She simply sat there, her cheek pressed against the cold glass, the bones of a dead goddess down below. 

Chapter Text

THE FIRST TIME GETO SUGURU MET KINZOKU MIKAZUKI; she was a child. Not the kind of child you find playing on the street with pretty pigtails and a missing tooth, but the kind of child The Magistrate likes to manufacture with blood on their hands and power in their veins. Mikazuki had been the picture of perfection when it came to the Jujutsu way; powerful yet docile, beautiful but lethal, caring and calculating. She was a walking oxymoron, everything Jujutsu society expected of their women. Geto fell in love with it. Not in the romantic sense, but in the way one cares for a sibling or maybe even a child.

The last time Geto Suguru met Kinzoku Mikazuki, he was a corpse.

The circumstance was rather different, and yet, it was all the same. Somehow, everything had changed. Somehow, it was all the same. There he was; again. His body wasn’t his, what was left of his conscience trapped in a bespoke labyrinth, right at the back of his mind while someone – or was it something – else carried the limp body of the woman he used to love. A sister. A lover. A friend. It was hard to tell, all his memories were jumbled; some of them borrowed, some of them erased. But if there was something he remembered, it was the girl with the sunset eyes and the placid smile.

Kenjaku tightened his hold around the slack body of the sorceress, her face nestled against his naked chest while her golden blood dripped onto the carpeted floor. The fake shaman could feel a presence following him, yet he ignored the ghost pullulating on the corridor, pushing the door to the hotel room instead. It was late at night, no outside light aside from the dull glow of the moon and a couple of starts defying the gloomy clouds that stood in the distance. For a quiet August night, it was rather clammy, not that it stopped Kenjaku from depositing the unconscious Mikazuki on top of the covers.

“You are insane.” Kagome called from behind his back, her body floating over the ceiling as she approached to watch the sleeping figure. “Clinically and irrevocably insane. What is wrong with you?” She asked, turning to stare at him with a frown.

Kenjaku’s expression was unreadable, not a single muscle twitching. He adjusted the belt of his yukata which was now covered in blood, the golden colour of the Kinzoku making it look like glitter, or some form of ink had spilled all over it. The outfit was out of place with or without it, especially for a dingy motel in the outskirts of Tokyo. This was their spot for the week, a classless spot no one would ever suspect him or his meat suit from frequenting.

Even after defecting, Geto Suguru had been knowing for having an expensive taste and a penchant for spending, as did most clan kids who had been raised surrounded by luxuries. The plan – or rather, Kagome’s pattern – had been moving slowly. The little ghost was not pleased by this, but after almost being busted by a bunch of sorcerers in Milan, Kenjaku didn’t have a choice but to pull the brakes if they wanted to stay under The Magistrate’s radar.

Kenjaku circled the bed, his expression light as he watched the woman sleep. He paused, the touch of his knuckles ghosting over her cheek. Whether that had come from him or Suguru, it was impossible to tell. Kenjaku breathed in deeply, turning back to Kagome with a characteristic stillness in his eyes.

“Do not fret, ghost. This is all part of the plan.” He half lied, keeping the truth close to his heart. “Not that a lesser life form like you could appreciate the beauty in it.”

Kagome’s expression shifted, her frown turning into a light smile as her eyes landed on the sorceress. She’d been watching Kenjaku for a long time, analysing him like she would a clump of cells under a microscope. She’d learned his patterns, the cycles he didn’t even know he had. These things took time, and even those who had forsaken their identity long ago still held to their past like a life raft. It was why curses could be tracked, why they were found in the places they used to live in. Life had a certain pattern to it, as did every living – and apparently, dying – thing.

“The beauty of the plan, or the beauty of her?”

Kenjaku’s hand stilled, a dangerous energy vibrating in the air.

“Careful there, ghost.” He warned, his tone level, like he was talking about something as unimportant as the weather. “You might be the most tolerable member of this endeavour, but you can still be exterminated if I find I don’t like you.” Kenjaku pulled the covers up, the worn cotton covering Mikazuki’s half-naked form.

She’d been naked when he found her, only wearing a pair of jeans and a torn jacket. Kenjaku wasn’t exactly sure what had called him to her. He’d felt something, like the world had shifted on its axis for a mere second. Apparently, that had been enough, and like a moth to a flame, he’d followed the beacon of power that led him straight to the Kinzoku Estate. The chapel had long been deserted by the time he made it there, but Mikazuki was still laying on the floor, bleeding out over Kogane’s fossilized bones.

He could have left her there. He could have turned around and walk away. Kenjaku could pretend all that he wanted that it was the plan, the Pattern and a hundred more lies he told himself, but the truth was quiet different. Because, somewhere in the deepest and darkest recess of his mind, the disembodied remnants of Geto Suguru had spoken.

Kagome sat on top of the dresser, legs balancing back and forth while her stare remained trained on Mikazuki.

“You said your human suit doesn’t have many memories of her.” She spoke calmly, that child-like curiosity coming back to her. “We know they knew each other, maybe they were even friends.” The ghost paused, cocking her head to the side. “But that doesn’t guarantee anything. What makes you think you’ll be able to sway her towards our side? You said it yourself, as long as Gojo exists, she will never support us.”

Kenjaku smiled faintly, almost as if he had been expecting that exact question.

“She loves Gojo, even when she pretends not to.” His finger glided over her cheekbone, tracing the shape of her face so carefully he was surprised at his own gentleness. “I just need to make sure she loves me more.”

Chapter Text

KAGOME DIDN'T LINGER TO PLAY THE ROLE OF AN IDLE SPECTATOR. Instead, she dissolved into the fabric of reality, her presence dissipating like a whisper in the wind. The motel room grew still, her departure leaving Kenjaku alone with the unconscious Mikazuki sprawled across the bed.

Mikazuki lay motionless, her once-formidable aura now reduced to a faint glimmer, a shell of the sorceress who had captivated him over the past months. She was utterly drained, her cursed energy depleted to the point of fragility. Kenjaku's sharp purple eyes scanned her form, taking in the stark contrast to the warrior he'd observed before.

Though Kenjaku had no access to the memories of his current host, Mikazuki's body was familiar to him. Yet, the changes over the past year were undeniable. Her frame had matured in ways that stirred something primal within him, though he quickly shoved the thought aside. What truly drew his focus were the scars etched across her skin. The latticework of old and new wounds told a harrowing story, one that no one – not even the most knowledgeable sorcerers – fully understood. Mikazuki's decade of exile remained shrouded in mystery, but the marks left behind were chilling evidence of her struggle.

For a fleeting moment, Kenjaku wondered how she had survived it all. The strength it must have taken – both physical and mental – was beyond his comprehension. Against his better judgment, he felt a flicker of something foreign: admiration, perhaps, or pity. He pushed her long, silver-grey hair to the side with careful precision, exposing her back to the dim light.

The wounds there were raw and jagged, remnants of merciless lashings. The flesh was torn and discoloured, swollen and lined with dried blood. While the bleeding had ceased, the damage was severe, each strike having carved itself into her very being. Her back was a battlefield, and her body bore the weight of a war she had never spoken of.

Kenjaku's fingers hovered over the wounds, a fleeting hesitation betraying his usually stoic demeanour. A knot tightened in his chest, unbidden and unwelcome. Guilt? Responsibility? He clenched his jaw, forcing the sensation away. She was just another piece in the grand puzzle, another tool to further his goals. And yet, the sight of her battered form made that lie harder to believe.

Even in her vulnerable state, Mikazuki exuded an air of defiance, as if daring the world to try and break her further. Kenjaku straightened, his expression hardening once more. This moment of weakness would not define him. Still, he couldn't ignore the question gnawing at the edges of his mind: Who had done this to her? And why did it make him feel anything at all?

Kinzoku Mikazuki stirred, her consciousness slowly clawing its way back through the haze. At first, her mind clung to familiarity, anchoring itself to a memory of the chapel, of her father's sombre voice echoing in its vaulted ceilings. But the illusion shattered as her senses sharpened, alerting her to an unfamiliar presence. Groggy and disoriented, she tried to sit up, but the effort sent a searing pain through her body, forcing her back down with a pained gasp.

"Where... where am I?" She murmured, her voice raspy and weak.

Her golden eyes flickered open, darting around the room in search of answers. Her surroundings were alien – plain walls, dim lighting, and the unmistakable drabness of a cheap motel. Panic bubbled beneath the surface, but she instinctively pulled the thin covers closer to her bare chest, shielding herself more out of instinct than modesty. The golden blood staining the sheets caught her eye briefly, but its presence barely registered. Far more pressing was the figure seated quietly in the corner.

Her gaze locked onto him. Suguru. Or at least, the face of Suguru Geto, as calm and composed as she remembered. He sat in a worn armchair, bathed in the dim glow of a flickering lamp, his expression unreadable. Her mind screamed warnings – Don't trust him. Don't let your guard down. But her body was heavy, her energy sapped.

She didn't feel safe, not with him, but safety wasn't a luxury she could afford. Summoning what little strength she had, Mikazuki channelled her golden powers. The blood pooling on the bed shimmered and rose, twisting into a network of needle-like blades that hovered in the air, poised to strike.

"It's just me, goldie." Kenjaku said, his voice calm and unbothered, as if the golden needles threatening his throat were nothing more than an inconvenience. "You've already depleted yourself enough. No need to push it."

His tone carried a faint note of concern, almost genuine, and it grated at her nerves. Her golden eyes narrowed, unwavering.

"My gold, my rules." The sorceress snapped; her voice hoarse but defiant.

Kenjaku watched her carefully, unflinching, his purple eyes betraying no emotion. Mikazuki wasn't a fool. She knew the man in front of her was no man at all. She could smell the decay beneath the illusion, feel the wrongness radiating from him. This wasn't Suguru. And yet, for a moment, she let herself believe. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the ache of a decade's worth of longing and pain.

Suguru Geto had been the father of her children, after all. The weight of that truth pressed down on her, and she hated herself for it – for the way it weakened her resolve, for the way it tempted her to pretend. Pretend it was really him. Pretend they were both okay. Pretend the last ten years hadn't happened. It was easier that way. It hurt less.

Kenjaku noticed the shift. Her shoulders slackened ever so slightly, and the golden needles glimmered one last time before dissolving into fine, glittering dust that floated into the air and disappeared. He should have felt triumphant, but the hollow ache in his chest told a different story.

"I was just trying to help, Mika." He said softly, his voice dipping into something that almost sounded like sincerity.

He licked his lips, hesitating, before continuing.

"You've bled a lot. Pushing yourself any harder will only make things worse."

He paused, studying her carefully, reading the turmoil in her golden eyes. He saw the plea buried beneath her guarded exterior, the silent cry for something—anything—to hold onto.

"I don't need you to trust me," He said finally, his voice steady. "But I do need you to think sensibly about this."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Mikazuki didn't respond immediately. She didn't trust him, not for a second. But maybe, just for now, she could pretend.

Chapter Text

KENJAKU HAD BEEN RIGHT, OF COURSE. She didn't trust him. Mikazuki wasn't even sure she would have trusted the man he was pretending to be. Trust had long since become a foreign concept to her, eroded by years of betrayal. But here was the cruel truth about fire: even when it devoured flesh, it still carried warmth. Every flame could feel like a hearth if the desperation ran deep enough.

The special-grade rubbed her face harshly, burying it in her palms as she fought to regain a sliver of control. Her body screamed in protest, the pain radiating from her back nearly unbearable. She was slipping, consciousness flickering like a candle on the verge of extinguishing.

"You–" Mikazuki began, her voice breaking.

She shook her head, forcing her thoughts into something coherent.

"What happened?"

The last clear memory she had was of the cursed chapel – its pristine marble, the gold-coated dome gleaming in moonlight, and the bones of her ancestor laid bare beneath it. Then, nothing. Whether it was the overwhelming pain or her mind shielding her from trauma, she wasn't sure. Either would be par for the course. Kinzoku Mikazuki was no stranger to pain – both enduring it and inflicting it.

Kenjaku paused, licking his lips as he deliberated. Her sharp golden gaze followed the movement, burning with an intensity that made him feel like prey under scrutiny.

"I found you." He admitted finally, his tone softer than he intended. "Thought you'd be safer here."

The admission startled even him, the faint trace of honesty in his words catching him off guard.

The memories hit her like a flash grenade, blinding and disorienting. The chapel. The clan elders. The whip. Her father. Father. Was that even the right word for Kinzoku Asahi? Or was some naive, broken part of her still trying to redeem him? No, Mikazuki thought bitterly. Kinzoku Asahi wasn't a man. Whatever shred of humanity he might have once possessed had been obliterated the moment he raised a whip against his eldest daughter.

She had always known what her father was. The moment he took out the Edamura, she had seen the truth of him. But being the target of his fury – feeling the bite of his rage etched into her skin – had made it personal.

And yet, there was no one to blame for this but herself. She had walked into that chapel, into his trap, knowing full well the danger that laid ahead.

"My father, he..." Mikazuki faltered, her voice cracking under the weight of her thoughts.

A hollow laugh escaped her lips, bitter and uncontrollable. It wasn't funny. None of it was. But she couldn't stop. The laugh dissolved into sobs, quiet and ragged, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her grief.

"I've made a huge mess of things."

She wiped at her face, but her hand came away streaked with blood. Kenjaku – Suguru – it didn't matter anymore; leaned forward, gently clasping her wrist to stop her from rubbing her face further. His gaze softened as he took in the mess she had become: tears, blood, and snot streaked across her face, her skin pale and trembling.

"You're hurt." He said quietly. "You need rest and hydration."

His hands moved carefully as he positioned her to inspect the injuries. His cold fingers pressed lightly against her hips, steadying her as he examined her back. A shiver crawled up her spine at his touch, though she wasn't sure if it was from pain or something else entirely.

Kenjaku pushed her hair aside, letting the silvery strands cascade over her shoulder. His hands moved with unsettling precision, almost clinical, but there was an eerie gentleness to his touch. He studied the gashes crisscrossing her back, some deep enough to expose bone.

"The damage is severe" He murmured, his thumb tracing the length of her spine with care, avoiding the worst of the wounds. "It will take weeks to heal, but–"

Mikazuki cut him off sharply, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. The long, curling strands fell like a curtain, hiding her injuries from view.

"It won't." She said flatly, her tone edged with bitterness. "The whip's tip was coated with anorthosite. It halts regeneration."

Kenjaku stilled, her words sinking in. Anorthosite. Her father had been thorough, cruelly so. He knew her too well – knew how to break her, both physically and mentally. That was the curse of sharing blood with your enemy. It was personal in ways no outsider could replicate.

Mikazuki's jaw clenched as the reminder settled over her like a suffocating weight. Asahi had been prepared, precise, and merciless. And yet, despite everything, she had survived. Barely. But like a phoenix, she was prepared to rise from the ashes to burn it all down.

"If you won't heal with cursed energy, we can always try to do it the old way. I just need to clean the wound and debride it first." Kenjaku said gently.

Yet even as the words left his lips, he felt the shift in the air.

Kinzoku Mikazuki might have been drained, her body teetering on the edge of death, but an immense energy radiated off her in waves. It was overwhelming, tangible, and undeniable—a bottomless pit of power coursing through her veins like a storm barely restrained. She wasn't just a reservoir of strength; she was the embodiment of it. The longer Kenjaku lingered in her presence, the more he realized she was a sun burning brighter with every passing moment, consuming everything in her path.

For a fleeting second, Kenjaku's breath hitched, and he wondered who would ultimately succumb to that fire.

Mikazuki's golden eyes, usually alive with an almost chaotic energy, stilled. The churning storms within them froze into an eerie calm. That stillness was more lethal than any blaze or outburst. She didn't need a spark to ignite, no kindling to fuel her flame. She was both the fire and the fuel, all wrapped in the form of a goddess, deadly and divine.

"I really appreciate this," She said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "but I don't need your help, Suguru."

"I know." Kenjaku replied, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.

His dark eyes locked onto hers, transfixed by the light within them, as if seeing something divine.

"But I'm prepared to offer it anyway. I'll give you anything you want."

Mikazuki's pupils dilated until the black swallowed the gold entirely. A shadow passed over her face, an intensity blooming that made the air around her feel charged.

"Anything?" She asked, her voice low, dangerous.

Kenjaku hesitated but didn't look away, the weight of her gaze holding him captive. He nodded, unable to suppress the faint tremor in his hands.

"Even you?" She murmured, her words slicing through the silence like the edge of a blade.

Chapter Text

TEN YEARS AGO, Saturday, July 7th 2007 –

SOMETIMES, KINZOKU MIKAZUKI WANTED TO KILL HERSELF . It wasn’t a recurrent thought, but it still managed to linger at the back of her head, constantly nagging at her awareness. It would certainly make things easier; for her brother, for her parents. She was the cursed child, not cursed because of what had unknowingly been done at her birth, but cursed because of the blood that ran through her veins. She wasn’t like Keisuke; born to be steeped in gold with a gilded crown of bones.

She wasn’t like Niko, who had left everything behind in search for the happiness she’d always been denied. Mikazuki was like a ghost; an amalgamation of everything her father wished, yet at the same time, never quite satisfying the idea he'd built in his head. The sorceress let the tears fall, lowering her head just enough so she wouldn’t be forced to look at her reflection. The dorm bathrooms were filthy, with mold and dark smudges growing on the edge of the plain mirrors, the white ceramic of the sink cold under her fingers as she gripped it tighter and tighter.

Part of her hoped it would splinter under her grip, crack like porcelain, but the Kinzoku wasn’t powerful enough to manage that. At least not yet. The girl sighed, trying to ignore the ache in her chest before pressing a wet paper towel against the back of her neck, right behind her ear. The laceration went all the way from the tip of her hairline to the edge of her earlobe, the kanji for gold, a neat 金 seared onto her skin. The piece of heated iron had been pressed against her scalp for less than a couple of seconds, yet it had apparently been enough to etch the word into her skin for the rest of her life.

Like she was cattle, prime and ready for slaughter. And like every piece of cattle, she had an owner.

“I could take care of that for you, ya know?” A voice called from the doorway.

Mikazuki turned around harshly, banging her forehead against the cabinet door of the mirror as her golden eyes met Suguru’s purple ones. The boy stood silently, his usually carefree expression undisturbed as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest, hair pulled up in a traditional style. He didn’t look tired at all, which was odd considering the night they’d spent. Mikazuki wasn’t sure she’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep, and that was saying something since she’d been cuddled between the warm body of her twin with Shoko’s arm slung over her waist. At least until the call. Until the punishment had come. The sorceress’ fingers grazed over the wound, the jagged skin underneath burning with a different kind of pain.

Without waiting for an answer, Geto came into the bathroom, ignoring the sign at the door that was clearly labelled ‘girls only’. He huffed out a sigh, carefully pulling the wet paper out of Mikazuki’s hand so he could fold it over once more, the dry blood in it a stern reminder of what had been done to the girl. Suguru stood in front of the newly eighteen-year-old, he pulled her hair out the wound, carefully pressing the towel against the injury. He was delicate but deliberate with his movements, his usual demeanour replaced by real concern as he assessed the girl over.

“How did you know?” Mikazuki mumbled, teeth sinking on her bottom teeth.

For once, she didn’t feel guilty. As a child, every time she got hurt, her grandmother would sit her down to give her a talk, remind her just how important her role was. ‘You’re the spare, you cannot afford any injuries.’ Spare parts; always for the heir, always for Keisuke’s sake. But not today. Today, she couldn’t feel anything at all. She was completely hollow, nothing left in her pretty little broken heart.

Suguru’s fingers caressed her earlobe, the soft touch of his hands sending a shiver up her spine. Mikazuki felt small in his arms, safe in a way she only felt with Keisuke. Geto-senpai was like an older brother to her. He was polite and well-mannered, the kind of man she hoped to marry before her destiny was sealed away. But he was also kind, caring and funny. Suguru was a type of warmth Mikazuki had never felt before. Satoru was also warm, but there was an unspoken chaos to it. A danger that made her pause.

“When I woke up and neither of you were there I figured something happened.” Suguru explained softly, his breath hot against her cheek. “How’s Keisuke?”

Keisuke. Mikazuki closed her eyes in an attempt to chase the memories away, but the more she tried to forget, the more she remembered. She could still see Kei’s face as Asahi’s hand grabbed him by the nape, bending him forward until the flaming iron made contact with his skin. The sorceress had watched, sobbing, pleading from her spot in the chapel, her own hands bound while her brother dissolved in agony. The Kinzoku sniffled at the memory, avoiding Suguru’s poignant stare. His touch never faltered on her skin, the cold wet towel still pressed against the brand.

“Drowning his sorrows in alcohol and sex, as he always does.”

Keisuke had been the first to disappear after their lesson. Probably on his way to fuck Shoko, as the two usually did whenever life got in the way of their lifestyle. He’d probably smoked something, getting as high as he could to pretend things weren’t as fucked up as they really were. It was easier to pretend, always had been.

Mikazuki glanced towards the unopened bottle of vodka still sitting in the counter, next to the sink.

“I was about to do the same.”

Suguru’s movements stilled, a sudden change in his mood. He pulled away, placing the tiny square of paper on the bathroom counter before searching Mikazuki’s gaze. She avoided his, staring at the floor tiles instead. She couldn’t bear to hold his gaze, not when her mind was still racing a hundred miles an hour.

“You’re spiralling.”

It wasn’t a warning as much as it was a fact. Mikazuki let out a hollow laugh, hands raking through her hair. She pulled up the dark part of her hair, the lighter strands falling easily against her back like a cascade of intertwining fates. Everything about her was a lie; even something as trivial as fucking hair. Suguru – as always – was right. Kinzoku Mikazuki was spiralling. She had been since the incident in Paris, when she was forced to make an impossible choice in the catacombs. Nothing could have prepared her for the world that unravelled since.

The sorceress swayed, showing she’d already drunk more than her body could handle. Suguru went to catch her, hand around her waist, but before he could pull her towards his chest to stabilise the both of them, Mikazuki snatched the bottle from the counter, flinging the cap away and taking a long swig. Suguru watched her carefully, unsure on what to do. He didn’t know this version of the Kinzoku, didn’t know how to act when he could see the pieces of her fragile mind fracturing.

“Everything about me is a lie.” Mikazuki mumbled as she buried her face into Suguru’s chest, tears staining his dark uniform.

He was only half-dressed, they had class in a couple of hours, principal Hirata had some last lesson to impart to prepare them for their special-grade exam, a mission in Germany, not that they ever got any real details.

“And it’s starting to unravel.” She took another drink, throat bobbing with each gulp.

The bottle stayed close to her lips, the cold glass pressed against her mouth. Geto’s hand was still holding her tight against him, wrapped around her waist and holding her straight. Meanwhile, her free hand was playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling on the strands that weren’t long enough to be pulled up in his ponytail. The sorceress held her breath, looking up and holding his gaze.

An eternity passed. Or maybe it was just a second. Standing on her tiptoes, Mikazuki pressed a soft, chaste kiss against Suguru’s lips. Still, he heard the question loud and clear.

“Unravel with me, please?”

Chapter Text

CAN YOU LOVE SOMETHING THAT ISN’T REAL?  Can you crave something that isn’t yours? Geto Suguru asked himself these questions as he stood there, completely frozen with Mikazuki’s soft lips pressed against his. He could taste salt in his mouth, her tears cold when compared with his usual warmth. She was like a porcelain doll, so fragile and so cold in his arms. He was afraid to shatter her to pieces.

But a part of him – a primal, very human part of him – wished to do nothing but to ruin her. Unravel with me. How could she be so bold, so open? How could she look at him pleadingly, asking for something a girl like her should run away from? Kinzoku Mikazuki was the daughter to one of the most prominent families in Jujutsu Society, her virtue could not be questioned. She was supposed to marry his best friend, for fuck’s sake, less than a month ago he’d attended their engagement ceremony. And yet. And yet. And yet.

But Mikazuki wasn’t asking. She was begging. And had he been a stronger man, Suguru would have taken a look at the half-empty bottle of vodka and the tears in her eyes and he would have refused. But today, he wasn’t that kind of man. Still, he paused for a second. Just an extra second of consideration that made his blood run ice cold in his veins.

For the longest time, Geto Suguru had known one truth and one truth only when it came to Mikazuki; she belonged to Gojo Satoru.

As did he, but that was a matter for another day altogether.

Mikazuki was like a sister to him. Until this second, she’d never entered his radar; she was too petite, too naïve and too feminine for his tastes. And yet, there was something about her that called to him, a siren song that lured him through the ocean. She was beautiful, but even as Suguru held her in his arms, he could sense the destruction and chaos singing in her veins. A siren call, indeed.

The girls’ arms were still around his neck, his hands still holding on to her waist. But he never felt like a cage, but rather a saving grace. She felt safe in his embrace. Mikazuki’s initial burst of excitement faded, a scared stillness returning to her breaths. The air settled around the pair, thick with electricity. Whether it was the combined forces of their cursed energy or simply the lust that now lingered in the air, it was impossible to tell.

Up close, she was painfully beautiful. Her pulse fluttered in her neck, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. The Mikazuki he knew, the one forever tethered to Satoru’s shadow, had never looked at him like this. Satoru’s gaze had never been hers until recently, not like Suguru’s was now.

The thought rattled him. Lust surged, hot and reckless, threatening to unravel his iron will. She was everything he shouldn’t want, but her presence set his blood on fire. His body screamed to claim her, to give in – just this once.

Mikazuki’s pulse leapt in her throat. Up close, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to face him straight on. Thick black hair brushed his forehead, framing his face. He was classic in a way most Jujutsu men craved, like a shaman of old times, his eyes a deep shade of violet. Without them, his attractiveness would’ve been cold, almost intimidating in its perfection, but with them, he was approachable. Human.

She’d never thought about him in that way, not when her heart had been set on someone else from the start. But Satoru had never looked at her like Suguru was. His ocean eyes had never been hers like Suguru’s warm purple ones.

Geto held her gaze, breath caught in his throat. Lust rushed through his veins in all its raw, hot glory at the thought of dipping his head over hers. Of tasting, testing, and exploring whether she was as glorious in the bedroom as she was outside it. Kinzoku Mikazuki was everything he shouldn’t want, but with every look and every touch, he was tempted to break all his rules and claim her, at least for a little while.

Mikazuki looked down, a blush creeping over her cheeks. Inches. Bare inches. Blood rushed through her body, small currents running down her spine from where he held her neck, her breaths coming faster even as she tried to keep it under control.

“I shouldn’t have–”

Suguru crushed the rest of whatever she was about to say between their mouths. The kiss was so sudden, so unexpected, that Mikazuki stumbled back a step, Suguru’s hold on her waist being the only thing that kept her from crashing down completely. The Kinzoku had never kissed a man before – any man other that Satoru, and that was a fluke rather than something meaningful. This felt different, though. It felt hungry, primitive. But it was also sweet, candid. It was so easy to get lost in it.

And for the first time, she felt his hands, on her bare skin. His rough, big hands on her skin. Roaming, exploring, caressing. Geto was everywhere all at once: hands tangling in her hair, teeth scraping across her lips, muscles vibrating with coiled energy. Desperate and feverish, like he was drowning, and Mikazuki was his only lifeline. Pieces of his stony mask clattered to the floor around them. Emotions poured through the jagged cracks, dragging the sorceress’ hands to his shoulders, his teeth down her neck, and his fist around the hem of her uniform skirt.

The Kinzoku’s skin was soft to the touch, and the flutter of her pulse matched the sudden escalation in

Geto’s heartbeat. A heavy, tension-laced silence weighted around them. All that cool control she’d witnessed five minutes ago… evaporated. Mikazuki’s brain was tripping slowly, her control over her faculties getting dazed, her lungs starving for a gulp of air she refused to take. Only instinct, that bothersome thing, told her that he would vanish if she showed any indication that she didn’t like it. And oh, did she like it. She fucking loved it. This… this was… enlivening her. The ghost finger traced the shell of her ear. Her toes curled.

Those sensitive, swollen lips, that still bore the mark of his mouth, trembled.

Chapter Text

BEFORE THE KINZOKU COULD BLINK, his mouth was upon hers once again, prying her lips open with his tongue, flicking her tongue in a movement she felt between her legs. Clenching her thighs together to relieve the throbbing, she closed her eyes and went up on her toes, instinctively allowing him more. And then, he devoured her. No. This wasn’t devouring. This was savouring. He was savouring her lips, memorizing her taste, introducing himself to her so much more intimately than he ever had. Her toes curled even as her heart clenched, pulse throbbing all over her body.

She could hear his breaths, right against her neck, blowing softly over her ear, heating the skin it washed over, the brand on her skin long forgotten. Her neck tingled. Blood rushed over the spot, igniting it with a flame she was unfamiliar with, his exhale kindling it, higher and higher, just across that expanse of skin. Her heart stuttered, her fingers pressing harder into the porcelain of the sink, her trapped arm wanting to squirm.

She barely contained the urge, standing still except for her heaving breasts, her fingers tingling with the need for touch, for sensation, hungry for contact with warm male flesh she could feel now behind her, not pressing into her but so, so present. She turned her face towards his. Mikazuki wanted him, but she wanted him out of her system more. This was a one-time thing, and she wanted absolutely no memories of it, ever.

Suguru yanked his hand up and backed the girl against the mirror. It was basic, primitive, carnal. It was heated, wild, insane.

“Time to get really quiet, goldie.”

The nickname she used to love now made her stomach churn with something she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not your gold–”

His hands gripped her waist before she'd taken one step, picking her up with a kind of strength she'd never experienced, making her heart fall to her knees. She barely contained a yelp at the sudden movement, but the moment her feet were off the floor, he moved her like she weighed nothing more than a cushion, and put her on the bathroom counter in front of the mirror.

The cold granite hit the overheated skin of her ass suddenly, making her hiss, the counter hard against his not-so-gentle deposition. Her skirt bunched up against her upper thighs at the motion, the cold porcelain against her exposed flesh making her shiver. His hands left her waist and the moment they did, she put her hands flat on the counter, a little behind her to maintain her sitting position and keep her balance.

The action made her breasts push outwards, her legs slightly spread from the way he'd deposited her, with her dress almost above her thighs. Mikazuki felt a flush crawl over her face at the wanton picture she made, never having displayed herself so carnally to anyone, let alone her fiancé’s best friend. Her gaze locked with his as he stood two steps away from her, his eyes sharp on hers, before slowly going down her neck, her cleavage, her heaving breasts to the top of her thighs, all the way down to her toes in a slow, languid perusal.

Her breasts got heavier, nipples hardening unabashedly as heat pooled even heavier in her belly, her breaths hastening. She did her own perusal, her eyes roving over that hard, male chest she'd felt pressed against her so many times in the muted yellow lights in the room.

Before she could blink, he closed the gap between them, his hands going straight to her thighs, parting

them wide as he stepped between her legs, his face inches from hers, his eyes still holding that mix of

sheer lust and utter fascination. Suguru could regret this later.

His hips snapped to hers, her skirt bunching up even higher, and her breath locked in her throat. She felt him, pressed into her, right against her core, his hard, hard erection rubbing deliciously against her bundle of nerves. Suguru was big, and for a moment, a sense of dread settled at the pit of her stomach, the arousal not enough to cloud that part of inexperience she carried close to her heart.

She was wet, getting wetter with every rub of his length against her. Mikazuki was as virgin as they came, she hadn’t even dared to touch herself, not even once. She knew what her family thought of such things, and her parents already had enough trauma for a lifetime with Niko’s antics before she found the love of her life.

Geto put his other hand right between her legs without preamble, his fingers pushing aside the fabric

of her panties and diving straight into the core of her. He should have paused, should have been more careful when he knew this was her first time, but his aching cock was currently making all the thinking. Mikazuki’s back arched, a current zinged through her body, making her toes curl in her shoes, the scent of her own arousal wafting up to her, making her even wetter.

“We can still stop, if you want.” He said, unsure on whether he actually could.

Mikazuki shook her head vehemently, already too far gone to think about anything other than his cock inside of her aching core. One of his hands circled the front of her neck, the other plowing into her folds with far more experience than a boy his age should have. Maybe he was a natural at this like he was at everything else, not that Mikazuki had enough experience to tell. Removing one hand from the counter, resting her weight on the other palm, Mikazuki placed it right over his bulge, gripping it like he was gripping her neck, squeezing once. She had no idea what she was doing, only following what her body spoke and what felt right. His hips thrust towards her sharply, barely missing the edge of the counter as his eyes flared with temper.

Suguru’s fingers never penetrated her, just kept circling round and round, completely avoiding her nub, just straying around her opening, sending currents of pleasure and such deep, utter need through her she would have begged if it went on for more than a second.

Mikazuki bit her lip to keep a needy whimper from escaping, refusing to give him the satisfaction and also terrified anyone would walk in. Her fingers tightened over his length and a low sound rumbled in his chest, barely heard because of their proximity. Had he been anyone else, she would have taken a moment to admire the control he had over himself. But this was Suguru, and he was known for having more self-control than any of them, even in this carnal moment, he was careful. He felt big in her palm, bigger than her hand, bigger than she could hold all at once, and her walls clenched with desire as hunger for flesh gnawed at her. Mikazuki’s breaths came out in soft pants as her heart thundered, completely beyond her control now.

And suddenly, before she could take another breath, his hand came back to her neck, his other on the counter beside hers. She felt the tip of his erection brush against her clit, and her breaths quickened, the realization that she was doing this, with him of all people, thrilling some deep-rooted part of her. She wanted this. She hated it, and she was mad at herself for it. But she needed this. She needed it like oxugen to breathe, like the air in her lungs, and she clung to him just as desperately as she would if he were.

The Kinzoku needed him to rut against her and make her explode, not like a bomb but like a woman, so, so badly. Gods, she needed to scream her lungs out as he fucked her. Hard. A rapid heartbeat passed. And suddenly, Suguru thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. Careful my ass. A cry left her mouth before she could stop it, the burning sensation, her own wetness lubricating him, his big size spearing into her depths in that one stroke, making her breath catch, her heart hammering as the pressure of his presence filled her.

There was pain, but the pleasure was so much more overwhelming. She was bleeding, too, could see droplets of gold on the ground and smeared across the hilt of his cock when he pulled out before ramming back in. None of it mattered, not when she felt so glorious.

Geto pulled out before she'd even felt him completely, hitting back in, hard, without waiting for another breath. This time Mikazuki bit her lip, containing her cry of pleasure as new sensations assaulted every inch of her skin, the fire rising to a crescendo inside her body as her breasts bounced once from his hard thrust.

He pulled out again before she'd even acclimated to his size, bending his chin down to his chest, hiding

his face from her. She deliberately closed her eyes, not wanting to remember his face when he felt every inch of her walls squeezing him like they were, her body unable to hide any reaction from his. Mikazuki knew he wouldn’t gloat about this, he’d probably feel worse than her afterwards, but she couldn’t deal with the shame when everything felt so good. She didn't want to see anything but stars behind her eyelids as he pulled her apart. Suguru pulled out, snapped back again.

Currents travelled up and down her body, her breaths coming faster and faster, her heart beating wilder and wilder, the smell of sex and his woodsy scent filling the restroom quickly. She got wetter and wetter with every thrust, wetter than she'd ever been before, wetter than she should have been, barely containing her moans of pure bliss, her body going in a state of nirvana.

The sounds of their rapid breaths and barely contained sounds filled the room. They were supposed to be quiet, but at this point it seemed impossible; every obscene sound echoed across the dorm bathroom like a sinful melody, the slapping sound of skin on skin only accelerating things. Mikazuki’s blood pounded loudly in her ears, her palms ached from being pressed so hard into the counter. Her back arched as her spine curved, legs hitching higher on his hips to get a better angle as Suguru got into the rhythm of the movements, quick, fast, hard, his hand hard on the back of her neck the only other place he touched her.

Suguru snapped his hips into her sharply, the angle hitting a spot inside her that made her eyes roll back into her head even as sounds tried to escape her, muffled against his large hand. His pace increased suddenly, becoming more rapid than it had been, becoming faster than she'd thought a man could possibly ever move, becoming so quick he was in and out of her before she could even breathe.

If she'd been incoherent before, she was barely lucid now. The friction, the pressure of his hips pistoning into hers, the sheer thrill of being fucked so thoroughly. Mikazuki’s hands were moving away from the counter and holding on to his shoulders before she could stop herself, her nails digging into his hard, hard muscles as his hand on her neck held her weight, like it did during training, the sheer strength in his body making her try to flex her hips and match his pace. But she couldn't. Suguru moved so fast, so quick, she was just pinned to the spot, letting him move in and out and in and out of her without doing anything except breathe, her walls clenching and unclenching at a pace that couldn't match his ardent hips.

Her nipples hurt, scraping against the fabric of the uniformed shirt, needing touch so badly. She wanted to grab his hands and push them on her breasts. She wanted to pull her skirt down all the way, pull his head down and make him suck her aching nipples. She wanted to feel the lash on his tongue against her hungry breasts, feel the rasp of his tongue, feel the wetness of his mouth as his hips moved into hers like a machine.

And then, Geto suddenly bent his knees, thrusting upwards, and her mind blanked. Blanked, feeling the force of that thrust down to her bones. Her teeth clenched, the coiled heat in her belly winding tighter and tighter and tighter. He speared her again and again, and her toes singed with the sudden roar of heat, traveling up and up her legs and spine to where he held her neck, starting from where he drilled and drilled and ending where his hand rested, the coil curling and curling and curling even as the heat spread through her limbs.

And suddenly, with one more thrust, her body locked, everything exploding, behind her eyelids in pure, sheer black, inside her body with a consuming fire she'd never felt, outside her skin in a clenching of muscles as her neck tilted back, her hips lifting off the counter from the sheer power of her orgasm, her mouth opening in a silent scream for a split second under his palm. His hips kept moving, in and out and in and out, hitting that spot again and again and again.

It was too much. She tried to shake her head, her body screaming in ecstasy, but his hands didn't let her move. He kept moving. She kept exploding. And she bit down on his hand before she realized it, trying to find some purchase of the intense currents of pleasure zapping all her senses, making her wail and whine and whimper in her throat as she bit and bit and bit on his hand, drawing blood.

And he thrust in, one last time, before stilling, expanding inside her before flexing his hips in reflex, exploding into his own orgasm, her walls quivering around him in stunned aftershocks. His own small,

shallow thrusts spurred more from them, milking her as she milked him for all he was worth, his hand

tight on her neck, a low rumbling sound the only sound from him. His breaths were rapid, quick, and shallow like his thrusts, her own matching his. She was done. So done. She couldn't feel her limbs. Couldn't feel her face. Couldn't even feel her teeth. She'd never felt this.

Chapter Text

THE FIRST TIME GETO SUGURU HAD SEX WITH KINZOKU MIKAZUKI, he was nineteen and in the dorm bathrooms. The third time, though, someone else was master of his body, wearing his skin and burrowing in his bones. This entity – Kenjaku as he called himself – used his body as he saw fit, pulling the strings of his doll-like corpse to pleasure the sorceress like he was born to do so. Sex had always been something trivial for Suguru.

He had it out of habit rather than out of enjoyment, because as a man, he was expected to like it and to pursue it. The only time he’d truly let himself live in the moment was with Mikazuki, and even then, he’d felt the regret settling at the pit of his stomach the moment their lips met.

Kenjaku was a lot like him in that sense. Although his borrowed body allowed every sensation to burn into him, it wasn’t lust what governed his mind. He was cold, calculating, a mastermind hiding inside of who had once been a special-grade shaman torn apart by a society unwilling to accept what they’d done.

To Kenjaku, sex was a weapon, the kind he wielded expertly and unforgivingly. He was old – older than anyone could imagine – and in the many millennia he’d walked the earth, he’d also learned plenty. He’d learned how to please a woman; how to tease her, how to make an eternity out of an hour of entanglement. He’d also been a woman, multiple times, which gave him insights very few possessed.

Kenjaku knew how sensitive certain parts could be, he knew how certain muscles could clench and release, knew a female orgasm was one of the best highs to exist. Kenjaku knew everything about the female body and its reactions, which is why like a good savant, he put it all to good use with Kinzoku Mikazuki.

“Fuck.” Mikazuki groaned. “Right there. Can you do it again?”

Her question sent a shock through Kenjaku’s system, the earlier heat igniting into an inferno that razed every other thought he had to ash. There was only her, and this moment.

There was neither rhyme nor reason to the ferocity of their desire. Sunlight slanted through the windows and found the curves of Mikazuki’s body, sculpting shadows beneath her breasts and draping gold across her shoulders. Long legs. Creamy skin. Hair that gleamed pale beneath the sun’s kiss. She looked like a goddess come to earth, but the most beautiful thing about her wasn’t her face or naked body. It was the power gleaming in her eyes.

And when her gaze touched his, the air thinned and, once again, Kenjaku was reminded that despite everything, this body was not his.

Objectively, Mikazuki was one of the most beautiful women Kenjaku ever met. The Kinzoku features were strong in her; not the dark hair or the dull golden eyes that later crossed into the bloodline, but the real white strands of deadened hair that looked like straw under the sunlight and the sunset eyes. Her face was oddly symmetrical, with very little Japanese in her and plenty of those good old Greek features she’d inherited from Midas. She was perfect, the flawless female form, almost as if sculped by the gods.

Kenjaku had been attracted to her from the start, the way the earth was attracted by the gravity of the sun. But it’d been a low-simmering attraction, the type he could easily brush off by focusing on something else or continuing with his devious plans. At least until said plans got pummelled to the ground time and time again. He had a new plan, one that involved plunging into this attraction, warping it for his own benefit. Mikazuki was a carnal woman, never denied herself the flesh of those she desired. Kenjaku could use that.

Mikazuki was angry. So angry he could feel it in her skin, in her eyes, in the tingling her lips left on his. Some people’s anger ran hot, exploding in outbursts and impulsive violence. Hers was different, though; it ran cold. So so cold he could feel it frosting over their tangled bodies, her skin like porcelain under the touch of his hands.

Bit by bit, Kenjaku mapped her skin with kisses until he reached the flutter of her pulse. He paused, savouring the find, before sliding two fingers inside her and pressed his thumb firmly against her clit. Her pulse went fucking wild. Mikazuki’s hips jerked, and a keening cry left her lips as he pushed deeper until he was buried knuckles-deep inside her. Her nails scored deep crescents in Kenjaku’s shoulders, but the sting only intensified his pleasure. Kenjaku hungered for this reaction, he loved seeing her like this. Wild, uninhibited, and so damn beautiful that it made his cock ache.

“Suguru, I…that…ah.” Her words gave way to an unintelligible string of moans and whimpers as he finger fucked her sweet little cunt.

She writhed so powerfully, Kenjaku had to release her hair and hold her down with his free hand. It wrapped around her throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to prevent her from bucking him off as shudder after shudder wracked her body. His cock was so hard, it felt like the skin would split. He hadn’t touched it, but he didn’t need to when touching her was enough.

“That’s it.” Kenjaku murmured.

He coaxed her closer to the edge, curling his fingers just enough to hit her most sensitive spot. Her body stiffened, and a hoarse cry tore from her throat as she came apart beautifully around him. The convulsions rolled into one another, soaking my hand and prolonging our pleasure until she finally

slumped against me, weak and breathless.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Kenjaku spoke, his impossibly hard cock standing tall between his thighs.

Mikazuki was still straddling him, her core throbbing from the orgasm while she regained her vision. The sorceress leaned down so her nipples grazed his exposed chest. An electric spear of need pierced through Kenjaku’s body. Mikazuki drew his bottom lip between her teeth with a gentle nip. Still holding a fistful of her hair, Kenjaku pulled her head back so she looked straight at him.

“Now shut up and sit on my cock, goldie.”

If it were anybody else, Mikazuki might have complained simply out of habit, but since this was Suguru and she was still riding the high of her last orgasm, she nodded and did as she was told. Fire blazed in her golden depths. She planted her hands on his broad shoulders and pushed herself up, her eyes locked on his as she positioned the tip of his fat cock at her entrance.

Soon, the murky waters of lust closed overhead, amplifying the thunder of her heartbeat as she sank onto him, inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside her. Mikazuki’s mouth opened in a small gasp, but the noise that came out of him was so raw and guttural, it sounded more like beast than man. Tight, hot, and so fucking wet. She started slow and sinuous, but her rhythm soon picked up, and Kenjaku had to grit his teeth and mentally run over his Pattern just so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by coming too early.

“You feel so damn good.” He groaned, his head falling back so he could drink her in.

Mikazuki bounced up and down on my cock, her hair a mess, her face flushed with exertion. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, and he was so lost in this, for a moment, he forgot all about the plan, the Pattern and everything else that wasn’t Mikazuki sitting on his cock. Kenjaku grabbed her hips and slammed her down, eliciting a sharp squeal. He thrust up to match her pace, and the volume of their grunts and moans intensified until he finally came with blinding force. His vision whitened, streaks of lightning racing behind his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, she was just coming down from her own orgasm.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI LAID ON THE BED, covers draped haphazardly over her naked form while she lowly breathed in and out. There was a chill in the air, the window was open, and the summer breeze filtered in through the cheap plastic blinds. Despite the rare cold, this wasn’t why her skin was marred with tiny goosebumps. Instead, it was the exceptionally gentle touch of a newly familiar hand. Suguru’s finger traced the shape of her body, all the way from the stretch marks on her hips to the ridge of her breasts.

Geto’s finger was cold against her hot summer skin. Mikazuki was pale from the blood loss, but even then, her body ran hot. The blood in her veins boiled at the constant temperature of its melting point. Her skin acted like a smooth barrier, but even then, Kenjaku could feel the unnatural warmth emanating from her body. He curled his finger around her nipple, temped to lean in and put it in his mouth, but he could already tell his corpse was becoming weary. His borrowed body, despite being brought back to life, was still damaged. An exhausting sexual encounter later and it was already wilting like a flower, although he could still sense some blood rushing south at the sigh of her naked glorious body.

“You are divine.” He mumbled, wondering how much of his words had been Suguru’s and how much had been his.

Mikazuki huffed out a laugh, not fooled by the way his clear purple eyes observed her. These might have been the eyes of an old friend, but the look in those orbs held a predatory gaze. Geto had never looked at her like that, not even that time in the dorm communal bathrooms. Kenjaku was a good mimic, but there was still too much of the creature underneath. It had been easy to pretend it was Suguru when his cock was buried deep inside of her, but now that the morning light illuminated him, it was clear there was no trace of the man he had once been.

The sorceress had been playing along for a while. It was easy to do so when this person – creature – was attempting to play her, but Mikazuki was tired of these games. She turned, her golden eyes glowing a knowing twinkle, just as bright at the morning sun. Kenjaku caught her stare, his breath stolen for a brief moment.

He’d felt an attraction to the woman from the first moment he laid eyes on her, partly because she looked like one of his ancient wives – the wild one, the only one capable of playing him better than he’d played her. Whenever he looked at Mikazuki, he saw so much of her it was ridiculous. Her hair was different, at least three shades lighter than Kogane’s had been. Hers had been light blonde, like sun beams falling on winter grass. The eyes, though, were the same.

But Kinzoku Mikazuki wasn’t Kinzoku Kogane – or, if she was, she was hiding it really well. Kenjaku knew of the spell Asahi had attempted to cast. He was a fool for believing he’d be the one to successfully attempt it, but instead of taking the loss and moving on, he’d built a web of lies, carefully crafting an entire history around his daughter. Kinzoku Mikazuki; the long-lost heiress of Kogane. Kinzoku Mikazuki; the reincarnation of the Mother of Sin. Kinzoku Mikazuki; the little girl punished by her father’s greed.

Asahi had been a fool. He continued to be one, hurting the special-grade sorceress like she wouldn’t retaliate in ways that would make the world tremble. He could see it now in her eyes; the ‘no remorse’ mindset, the anger simmering right under the surface. She was a hurricane, a storm of biblical proportions. How exactly she’d acquired Kogane’s forbidden techniques was a mystery for another day, though.

“Hgh, I am a mess.” The sorceress sighed as she sat on the bed, grey hair cascading over the side of her body and covering the new litany of fresh wounds.

She was beautiful, even like this. Part of her hair was covered in golden blood, the glittery substance making it glow under the sunlight. The wounds were still open and fresh, a mix of rotting meat and newly minted coins filling the air. Mikazuki tried to reach the gashes, but she came short as her arm flailed over her back. Suguru Kenjaku sat up as well, pushing Mikazuki’s hair to the side so he could inspect the lesions.

This time, the Kinzoku didn’t shy away from his touch, helping him to tuck her hair away instead. Their fingers brushed for a second. It was the smallest touch, especially considering the sex they’d just had, but something about it made Suguru’s purple eyes dilate, almost as if the real version of him awoke from his slumber. It was just a second, though, and just as it happened, it faded.

“We still need to get this cleaned. Fucking was reckless of us.”

Mikazuki smiled faintly. Suguru would have never said such a word. Still, she nodded along, playing the fool because, somehow, it was easier than facing the truth. She could feel Kenjaku’s hands on her back, slowly tracing the gashes as he devised a plan. Mikazuki knew she would never heal from this; not like she was supposed to. Maybe it was a blessing. Maybe she was meant to bear it, maybe this was the only way the Sun tribe knew to rebel against her clan. A constant reminder that the Sun tribe would forever be trapped in her blood.

Kenjaku pressed his open palm against her spine, her body reacting instantly with both a tingle of pleasure and pain.

“I’m sorry about the tattoo.”

The quote that lined her spine, the vertically written calligraphy she’d gotten done in Buenos Aires. This must have been penance for all that she’d done, or rather everything she said she would do and didn’t. Wasn’t it just a couple of days ago that she’d stood in front of her brother’s grave and pledged revenge? Hadn’t she promised to the dearly departed that she would take down The Magistrate?

None of it meant anything if she couldn’t get her shit together. Asahi’s wrath had taken Mikazuki by surprise. She thought her status gave her some semblance of protection, but she was reckless and thought herself to be invincible. Asahi made her favour by reminding her exactly just how cruel he could be.

Now it was her turn to be cruel in return. To play the game. Her father thought she was a pawn in his board, but even pawns can eventually become queens. Queen of Nightmares, to be exact.

Mikazuki looked up, her big golden eyes showing a newly acquired determination.

“Help me?”

Is what she said.

“Unravel me?”

Is what he heard. And he did. Oh, he fucking did. 

Chapter Text

THE PAST HAD ALWAYS BEEN A CURIOUS THING TO KENJAKU. He was old – so old his mind was prone to forget things. Some of those things were unimportant; small details of his past lives, moments that seemed to be lost in time, the things that made him human. Maybe that’s why he shed that part of himself, because no part of him could even pretend to remember what it was like to be a living breathing thing instead of whatever he’d become.

Still, Kenjaku did not miss his humanity – if he ever had one at all. Things like these – humanity, morals, a soul – were completely inconsequential in his eyes. There were very few people who shared his viewpoint on such things; even most curses agreed humans had something they lacked, a quality that could not be put into words. Then there was her.

Kinzoku Kogane had been the only one who saw humanity as an obstacle, a setback, rather than the joyful experience everyone else seemed to be convinced it was. She had a vision, a lust for power that rivalled – and exceeded – that of every other shaman. Unfortunately for her, she was born a woman in a world of men, not that it stopped her from wreaking havoc. It was one of the main reasons why he’d fallen for her so fast and so true, and even after she bested him, a part of his rotten heart continued to sing at the mention of her name. It hadn’t been love – he was not capable of that, not now nor then – but it had been a sentiment strong enough to make him wonder if she could be enough.

Kogane hadn’t left him time to figure it out, though, as she had killed him before he could set his plan in motion. Turns out, the Mother of Sin had her own plans as well, her eyes and heart set on someone else already. But that’s a story for another day.

Kenjaku shook his head and started to examine Mikazuki’s wound. The gashes were fresh, and he could feel her pain radiating from them. He looked at her, something akin to pity stirring in his chest, though he knew it was a feeling she would loathe. Mikazuki was stronger than that; she didn’t need pity. Even in this state, she wasn’t weak. She was a paradox, and it intrigued Kenjaku almost as much as her connection to Kogane did.

He pushed her head aside, exposing her back fully so he could study the clean cuts left by the whip. His hand rested at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. It was cold, the warmth of her skin in stark contrast to his dead-like grip.

“Can you stand?” He asked gently. “It’ll be easier to clean this in the tub.”

Mikazuki’s skin crawled under his touch. It was so different from earlier, when they were tangled together. This felt predatory, as though he was trying to claim ownership of her. But she wasn’t something to be owned. Worse still, she felt his presence now in a way that had nothing to do with their bodies entwined earlier.

“Hm, didn’t think you’d be so eager to see me naked again.”

The joke fell flat, partly because she was still naked, but also because she couldn’t hide the unease behind her words.

Mikazuki wasn’t scared of Kenjaku. These days, nothing truly scared her. Still, there was something about him that unsettled her, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was wearing her best friend’s corpse like a tailored suit. He was a man – no, a beast, a creature – pretending to be someone else. It made her skin crawl almost as much as her own act of pretending to be oblivious. They were two people playing a dangerous game with no clear rules.

“I have no need to see your naked form, Mikazuki,” Kenjaku said calmly, leaving out Geto’s old nickname for her. “I’ve memorized every inch of it already.”

Her cheeks flushed, and wasn’t that ridiculous? For Gods’ sake, she was supposed to be pretending, yet it felt all too real for a moment. Who was playing who here? Were they both lost in a game where no one could win?

Kenjaku didn’t wait for a response. He slipped his hands under her knees, his other arm sliding behind her back as he scooped her up from the bed. Mikazuki’s cheeks burned brighter, and she buried her head against his chest, her hands gripping the sides of his kimono. She remembered being carried like this before, but the meaning was lost in the haze of the past. This time, there was no fanfare. He carried her to the bathroom, where the bath was already running. As he gently lowered her into the steaming water, Mikazuki realized just how in over her head she was.

How much of this was pretending, and how much was real? She was too afraid to ask the question, so she let it simmer, tracing aimless shapes in the water as steam rose around her. For some reason, she expected him to leave, but he didn’t. He sat on a stool behind her, slowly combing his fingers through her hair. For a moment, it left her breathless.

This was too intimate, even for Geto Suguru. Somehow, it didn’t feel wrong, and that made her skin prickle with guilt. Kenjaku washed her hair gently, rinsing away the golden blood clinging to her grey strands, then moved on to clean her wounds. Strangely, Mikazuki didn’t feel exposed. She sat naked in the tub, her knees drawn to her chest, her back pressed against the cheap material, while he methodically tended to her.

This moment would haunt her, she knew. The line between reality and pretence blurred too much to distinguish anymore. Her mind drifted, struggling to justify this vulnerability. It was supposed to be a trick to lull him into complacency, but instead, it felt like she’d placed a noose around her own neck, tightening with every second.

“Thank you,” Mikazuki eventually mumbled, half her mouth submerged in the water. “I’m not good at asking for help, and you…” Not you. The real Suguru. The one who loved me, the one I loved back. “You’re always there, even when I’ve been awful to you. I feel like a terrible person.”

“You’re not a bad person, Mikazuki,” He said, combing through her hair.

Oh, how much she wanted to believe him.

“You’ve been damaged, that is all.” He paused, unsure if the next words were his or Suguru’s. “As have I.”

Mikazuki hummed, her head resting against the cold tile of the tub.

“Two messed-up souls, aren’t we?” She licked her lips, her breath trembling as she continued. “Do you think we can be saved? Do you think redemption can be found for people like us?”

For a moment, Kenjaku wondered if she was asking for herself or for him. It almost felt like she was speaking to him – the creature pulling the strings of her lover’s corpse – and not the man he was imitating. He wanted to answer, to tell her there was no point, but before he could, Mikazuki answered herself.

“There’s really no point, is there? I stopped asking for forgiveness a long time ago. Redemption serves no purpose to me.”

Maybe, Kenjaku thought, they were more alike than he’d first realized.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI SAT ON A CHEAP PLASTIC CHAIR, her silver hair cascading like liquid dusk down her bare back. A flimsy plastic mug steamed in her hands, filled with the burnt-black sludge this motel dared to call coffee. She wore little—sun-brushed skin left exposed save for the oversized white shirt draped over her shoulders. In the soft glow of sunrise, her silhouette lingered just beneath the fabric, more suggestion than concealment.

She was still. Quiet. The mug pressed to her lips though she never drank from it. She already knew the coffee tasted as vile as the mildew that climbed the corners of their bathroom mirror, but she kept pretending—out of stubbornness or ritual. Maybe she believed, deep down, that this farce of normalcy was part of healing.

On the outside, it didn't look like she was healing. But she was. Slowly. Painfully. In silence. The scars carved across her back would never fade. Neither would the ones clawed into her heart.

She had curled into herself, knees drawn close, her gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the grimy motel railing. It had been too long since she'd stopped to appreciate something as simple as this: the way the dawn lit the sky in bleeding golds and soft lavenders. The quiet unnerved her. The stillness scared her. It gave her time to feel. And for just a moment, she let herself believe in the illusion of peace. Just a moment—because peace never lasted.

A hand brushed over her shoulder, careful, deliberate, avoiding the slashes on her skin like they were sacred.

"You're quiet today." Fake Suguru said.

Like he knew her.

He didn't.

He liked to believe he did, liked to act like the fragments of memory he carried meant something. But even what remained inside Geto Suguru's mind was too fractured to form a whole. Kenjaku might've wondered if some part of Suguru was hiding things from him – but there was hardly anything left to hide. Suguru had been broken down to nothing, his soul scattered like cherry blossom petals in a storm. Each day, there was less of him.

Mikazuki tried not to flinch beneath the touch. It felt vile. Unwanted. But what unsettled her more was how much her body still craved the warmth.

Suguru's – no, Kenjaku's – hand slid down, fingertips barely grazing her spine before he stepped beside her. Together, they watched the sun crest over the mountains, the silence stretching between them like a thread too thin to hold. He'd said she was quiet today. But so was he. There wasn't much to say between them anymore – not when all they did was fuck and sleep.

Mikazuki hated the game they played. Hated herself for playing it. But this was what she had been taught. A sorceress, a weapon, a woman – her body was just another tool. Another blade to wield. It had never belonged to her anyway.

"I think I'm just tired." She mumbled, letting her cheek fall against his arm.

It surprised her – how natural it felt. How easy it was to lean. Kenjaku smiled. Barely. A twitch of the lip; restrained and unreadable. It was more than she usually got from him, and somehow, that felt like a small win. He hadn't let her in yet, not fully, but she could feel the cracks forming. She moved slowly. Careful not to spook him. She was deep in enemy territory, after all. And the enemy territory was deep inside her – over and over again. There was no love in it. Not real love. Just the ghosts of something she'd once felt for the man whose face he wore.

I never loved him.

What a lie. But, she was a liar, wasn't she?

Kenjaku stirred, snapping her back to reality with a sudden movement. He leaned in, extending a flimsy paper plate filled with neatly sliced fruit toward her.

"I brought you something," He said, his voice soft, the smile on his face a little too well-practiced. "It's all I could get from the store down the street. But I know it's your favourite."

Suguru knows it's your favourite. He didn't say it. He didn't have to. It echoed between them anyway.

Mikazuki put on a smile, feigned joy warming her face as she reached for the bamboo fork stuck into a glistening slice of pear. But before she could take it, Kenjaku snatched it up and held the piece out to her.

"Oh, you're feeding me now?" She asked, voice half-sarcastic, half-dead. "I can feed myself, you know." She chomped down on the pear, letting the juice flood her mouth, pretending to enjoy it.

"I'm well aware." He replied, his grin flickering into something almost real. "But you're still healing."

That broke her. Her chewing slowed. Her smile slipped. For a heartbeat, the performance crumbled. The glow she wore like armour dimmed beneath the weight of her own pain. Kenjaku sat across from her, plopping into the other plastic chair like it meant nothing. His gaze locked onto her face. He didn't understand her. Not really. But he could sense the shift.

"What?" He asked, stealing a piece of fruit for himself.

She didn't answer. Not right away. Instead, she reached behind her, fingertips grazing the scarred landscape of her back, tracing the damage with a touch so gentle it trembled. But it wasn't the pain that made her hand shake – it was the truth. It wasn't just her tattoo that had been cleaved open that night.

It was her soul.

"I will never heal from this." She whispered, the words tasting like salt and iron and surrender.

Kenjaku tilted his head, confused.

"It might take time, but–"

"I'm not talking about the scars." She cut in, licking the tears from her lips like they shamed her.

And they did. Of course they did. Especially in front of him. She had already cried a lifetime's worth in Suguru's arms.

Oh. I forgot again, didn't I?

Kenjaku inhaled through his mouth, long and quiet. He studied her, as if she were a particularly interesting page in a very long book. There was no pity in his eyes. Only strategy. Calculation. He didn't feel sorry for her. Not yet. But he imagined one day, he might. Mikazuki was good at pretending to be fragile. Probably because she wasn't pretending at all. Sometimes, the line between real and fake blurred. This was one of those moments. Two people, caught in a game neither fully understood.

"I will never heal from this."

And this time, there was no pretending.

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI SPENT A TOTAL OF TWO EXTRA DAYS IN THE STINKY MOTEL MAKING LOVE TO THE SHELL OF A MAN SHE’D ONCE LOVED AND LICKING HER WOUNDS. By the time she finally managed to drag herself back to Kogane manor and the dreary Kinzoku Estate with her hellish family, it was already August 31^st. The sorceress barely had any time to do anything other than readying herself, a black-lace gown already draped on her bed for the occasion.

For once, it wasn’t the entire family attending the event. Instead, it was just her playing the part of the dutiful daughter and acting as the Kinzoku heiress. Her attendance was all about appearances, though – smoothing down the fallout of the political marriage her father had conducted with the Gojo matriarch. It didn’t really hurt anymore, at least when compared to the throbbing pain in her back. Nina Hopkins had stopped by a couple of hours before show-time, making some final adjustments to her dress so the back would be completely covered up, long-sleeves and a high-collar to cover up the hickeys littered over her skin. It was an odd choice for late august, but Mikazuki didn’t have the energy to pretend to care about what other guests might think.

The sorceress stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face scrunched in a frown. Mikazuki had never been one to care about appearances – she was hot, everything else mattered very little to her – but even then, she could tell she looked like hell. There was nothing pretty about her tonight; she looked like an expired clown. Her hair was thin and uneven, some of it fell straight on her shoulder while the layers on the back still held some sort of a curl pattern. Her skin was pale with a dark undertone, lines under her blood-shot golden eyes. Maybe she should have taken it easy instead of seeking comfort in dick. Then again, dick riding was always a remedy in her book, so maybe she was okay.

As if reading her mind, Akari walked over to the woman while she stood on the dais, the midnight black gown trailing on the floor.

“This is nothing a little make-up can’t fix.” She assured, placing a light diadem with black diamonds etched onto de lace-like fabric. “I’m sure I can find some concealer and a little bit of blush to make your cheeks pop. Everything will be perfect tonight.”

Mikazuki stifled a laugh at the irony of everything. She really was going to be spending the night at a luxurious engagement partly looking like a tragedy. Not that she cared, tonight was all about the dashing couple; Zenin Eshima and Gojo Satoru. The whole thing made her bitter, and it wasn’t because the Zenin girl was marrying her childhood crush, but rather because she was still a child. A young, innocent girl being sacrificed for the furthering of the Jujutsu world. And wasn’t that a tragically familiar tale? How many little girls and boys had been sacrificed for what The Magistrate considered to be the greater good? How many dreams had died at the hands of Léa’s nightmares?

“You don’t need to. I’d rather not stand out tonight.” Mikazuki sighed, golden eyes perched on her own reflection, almost as if she could not recognise herself in it. “I have no intention of upstaging the bride to be.”

Akari didn’t miss a beat, a familiar fire in her words as she spoke next.

“Maybe you should.” She spoke clearly yet calmly. “Gojo-san should know what he’s missing, one last look at what could have been his.”

The old Mikazuki would have laughed at loud and agreed whole-heartedly. This one, though, remembered the conversation she’d had with the Gojo boy and wasn’t naïve enough to believe he had any more say in the arrangement than poor little Eshima. The sorceress cleared her throat, stepping down from the stool before smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

“Satoru isn’t mine, it’s time to stop pretending he ever was.” The words didn’t feel like a stab to the heart this time. “If anything, I should apologise to him and his bride for acting like a hormonal teenager at my birthday party when I should have been congratulating them instead.”

She had bigger things to think about. Mikazuki’s life had been turned upside down since Asahi decided to whip her like a slave, and until the marks faded from her skin, there was nothing else she could think about. She tried to bury the feeling with sex and alcohol, but none of it seemed to be able to erase the feeling of uncleanliness that seeped from her skin since the incident. She felt dirty, unclean. It was ridiculous, but the feeling remained all the same.

The sorceress stood in front of her boudoir, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden desk until she reached the small ring box with the stupid ring inside. Her hand paused, picking up the satin box. It felt lighter in her hands now, maybe because it didn’t really mean anything to her anymore. Mikazuki opened the box, pushing the thin silver band on her finger. She stared into the many facets of the stone, her reflection staring back at her in the grey starry crystal. Once upon a time, this ring had been a promise. Once upon a time, she would have felt something upon wearing it. Now, she felt nothing.

I guess time does heal all wounds.

Mikazuki didn’t miss who she’d once been, following Gojo like a love-sick puppy. Like he could ever love her back. She wasn’t even sure what she’d felt for him was love. It felt like adoration, like she couldn’t breathe wouldn’t him. Satoru called it devotion, and sometimes Mikazuki wondered if he was right, if he’d seen something she couldn’t at the time. These days, love was a foreign concept to her. What was love, to some dancing the dangerous line between life and death. She stared at her outstretched hand, the ring looking back at her almost mockingly. But it wasn’t the ring that bothered her.

Mikazuki didn’t take her eyes off from her hand, entranced by a vision. Her fingers trembled, the porcelain skin of her hand suddenly turning dark, the stench of decay filling her nose as pieces of flesh and bone turned to dust under her gaze. She blinked, the vision disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. It wasn’t a threat, but rather a warning. She’d been toeing the line too long, and time was running out. There was very little she could do about it; especially when she was constantly being watched, either by the pretender who had usurped her friend’s body or by The Magistrate. She couldn’t risk exposing all of her cards. Mikazuki balled her hand into a fist, a soft smile grazing her lips. She would be fine.

Dead women cannot die, after all.  

Chapter Text

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI SMOOTHED DOWN THE FABRIC OF THE DRESS, BREATH CAUGHT IN HER LUNGS. She felt foreign in her own body, both from the overly conservative piece of clothing and the ill-fitting tiara that sat on her head. So much of tonight’s outfit screamed Kinzoku while so little of it was hers, and yet, this was the only appropriate option considering the wounds that still festered on her back. Suguru had done his best to heal what he could, but even with his abilities, the flesh hadn’t quite closed yet.

The lashes had cut deep, down to the bone, and where each gash crossed her back horizontally, a thin yet gaping line of gold sat instead. The skin around it was red and raw, almost as if the golden gash had been carved out of the bone. Mikazuki could have easily reached out to Shoko for a better fix, but no amount of healing with erase the effect of anorthosite. It had dug deep into her skin, quelling her cursed energy and preventing the gold in her blood from mending the cuts. Besides, she’d rather keep her friend from seeing such an ugly side of her; not the wounds nor the scars on her back, but the terrible madness that seethed in her soul.

Mikazuki was so focused on her thoughts she barely noticed the Door standing by the archway. However, her cursed energy perked up at the sudden presence, immediately recognizing the flickering soul who had stood by while her father carved the bones in her back. A half-smile played in the sorceress’ lips, something wicked and devious flashing across her sunset eyes.

The Door was prim and proper, polished to perfection with his hair slicked back and his shirt expertly ironed. Tajima waited a second before speaking, his small beady eyes going from Akari’s fiddling hands to the special-grade. Despite her pitiable look, her presence was still that of a Kinzoku. She was an heiress in her own right, all of the danger that exuded from Asahi circling around her as well. Tajima cleared his throat.

“Your father has requested your presence, Mikazuki-sama.”

The Kinzoku supressed the urge to laugh at the propriety of it all. Oh, so now it’s Mikazuki-sama. How convenient. She could have easily swallowed the thought and allowed her bitterness to die, turning to ashes in her mouth. Then again, that wouldn’t have been a very Mikazuki-sama thing to do.

“Why?” She asked curiously as she met Tajima’s conflicted gaze.

If he regretted any of it, he didn’t look like it. Eiether way, he would eventually get his due. Everyone would; from all the fools who had held her sister while Asahi blew her kneecaps, to all those who had stood by while her flesh turned to ground beef under the force of the whip.

“If Asahi wishes to speak with me, he can come here and talk. I do not exist solely to fulfil his needs, nor am I pawn for his grand games.”

Mikazuki was unhinged, the thought of what she would do to them eliciting a small smile. These ideas should have frightened her, instead, they made her feel giddy like a child. She felt hot all over, burning like an inferno. She couldn’t wait to watch them burn with her. The sorceress quirked her brow, hanging on to the thoughts like a lifeline.

“Is he planning to torture me while everyone's watching again, or...?”

Something flickered in Tajima’s gaze. She saw pieces of it in Akari’s face as well, not that she stopped to comb through the servant’s expression. She had bigger games to play.

“I’m not privy to any of his plans, Mikazuki-sama.” Tajima said as he mustered all the seriousness he could. “He’s waiting for you at the family chapel. I believe he said it’s an urgent matter.”

Mikazuki nodded, gathering the dress in her hands as she lifted the hem from the floor. This was still one of Ellie Saab’s latest designs, meaning no matter how much she hated the conservative approach, she was still supposed to be careful with it. These kinds of pieces cost a fortune, even to a family like hers. Mikazuki had already lost enough one-of-a-kind dresses to her bloodthirsty habits, more than one design drenched in blood by the end of the night.

“Then let’s go, shall we?” She didn’t wait for Tajima to answer, making sure he followed her steps out into the hallway and out the small door that led to the gardens.

As she’d been expecting, the other Door – Window, maybe? – was waiting for her at the entrance. He too was well-dressed, the Kinzoku crest proudly displayed on his chest along with the ugly trinket that marked his status as a low-ranking member of the Magistrate. Mikazuki nodded her head in lieu of greeting and the three disappeared down the path.

The Kogane manor was the farthest building from the main house and the chapel, which were on the opposite side of the Kinzoku Estate. This meant it was at least a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk across the gardens, a path of mossy stepping stones leading the way. The Estate was one of the largest in all of Hokkaido, and its gardens were well-known throughout the whole Jujutsu Society. Mikazuki had spent most of her childhood playing hide and seek with her twin across it acres.

The garden was set up on multiple layers, with the bigger and highest ones set up at the perimeter throughout the estate while the further inland, the lower one stepped. The outside layers were made up of apple orchards, with hundreds of trees covering the wheat fields. On the inside, though, everything was green and wet, and that was Mikazuki’s favourite part. As a child, she and Keisuke used to jump from one side to the other of the stream, playing with the koi fish in the river. That was a long time ago, though, and any joy the sorceress had once felt had been replaced with hatred.

Maybe that’s why she stopped halfway across the journey. Mikazuki halted her steps, pretending to sniff the lovely hydrangeas that grew near the rock wall. This place used to feel magical; the smell of the flowers, the low hum of the birds, the quiet flowing of the waterways and the green faded tone of the foliage… none of it felt like home anymore. It was empty, like the heart she carved out ten years ago.

“Your father is waiting.” Tajima warned in the politest way possible, not that it would have changed anything.

Mikazuki nodded, stepping away from the rock half-wall before turning to look at the men. They were standing at a prudent distance, but not far away to completely dodge the attack. The Kinzoku didn’t need to think twice about it – they were well-trained, but nothing could have prepared them for the kind of speed she’d been honing during her exile. She moved fast as lightning, disappearing from her spot only to reappear behind Tajima. With one clean move and cold blood, Mikazuki snapped his arm, cursed energy and magic be damned.

Tajima yelled in pain; his voice drowned out by the cicadas. Before he was even done with his wail, Mikazuki was already on the other one, her foot colliding with his knee with enough force to push it inward. The two men folded like lawn chairs, falling to the ground. Mikazuki rolled her eyes, adjusting a strand of grey hair that fell from her hairdo. Her dress was still immaculate, as was her make-up and hairstyle. She was as unbothered as the hydrangeas she’d pretended to admire earlier.

“Fuck–” Tajima cursed, the word completely out of character for someone like him.

He held his arm, the limp appendage dangling from his side like a piece of minced sausage. The sorceress stood there, picking at the lint of her dress before she leaned against the rock wall. Even then, with a piece of his humerus puncturing through his skin, Tajima had to admit she looked glorious. Like a harbinger of death, but glorious, nonetheless. Mikazuki crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing both men with a twitchy smile.

“I don’t think I need to explain myself here, do I?”

Both men shook their head, still in shock from the pain and the casual expression on her face.

“No, message was loud and clear.” Tajima croaked.

“Good, but, just in case… next time you want to do nothing and stand there and watch women; go to a strip club.”

Do not lay a hand on me or my sister ever again. 

Chapter Text

THE RAIN POURED RELENTLESSLY, a cacophony of splattering drops hammering against the slanted roof of the main house on the Kinzoku Estate. The sound dominated everything, muffling even the faintest creak of the wooden floors. Asahi stood beneath the eaves, his tall frame leaning against one of the weathered wooden pillars, eyes fixed on the garden before him. Water pooled in the uneven stone pathways, the soft glow of lanterns casting flickering reflections on their shimmering surfaces. His wife, Kinzoku Hide – once Edamura –, nestled close to him, her small frame pressed against his side.

Their silence was heavy, a quiet borne of shared burdens rather than comfort. The air around them, though rich with the scent of rain and earth, felt weighted with unspoken thoughts. The couple, despite their noble bearing, exuded not confidence but a profound sadness that seemed to seep into their every movement. Hide’s delicate hands rested around Asahi’s waist, her fingers occasionally tightening, as if seeking reassurance from his solid presence. Her dark hair framed a pale face, accentuating the piercing Edamura green of her eyes as they studied her husband’s profile, calm yet tense.

The silk of her kimono gleamed faintly, its white fabric offset by the deep red satin trimming the hem. She rarely wore the clan’s colours, red and green, but tonight, the hues felt fitting, as if a silent homage to a past they both could not escape. Asahi’s permissive nature, especially when it came to Hide, allowed such small acts of defiance. The Clan Elders would curse her name if they laid eyes on the piece, not that Asahi would allow such disrespect to his one and only.

Yet now, even the elegance of her attire seemed a trivial matter against the weight of their conversation.

“Are you sure?” Hide’s voice broke through the symphony of rain, low and heavy with sorrow.

Her eyes sought his, searching for certainty. They had been talking for a while now, their conversation accompanied by the quiet yet constant lull of the rain. Hide could feel the weight of it all on her shoulders, even when most of the burden was not hers to carry. She was just the wife, the trophy by Asahi’s side. He loved her, yet this wasn’t enough to change how the world viewed her; just a pretty accessory to be worn, an angle to be exploited.

“As sure as I can be, given the circumstances,” Asahi replied, his deep voice steady but carrying a note of weariness.

His arm tightened slightly around her waist as he spoke. Her figure was small in his arms, a certain fragility to her frame. Hide’s beauty had been the talk of the town back in the day – the Edamura heiress, the oldest of their bunch. She was beautiful in the way a forest in green; with so much of her being vibrant and lush and so full of life. But she was also strong, trained to kill and harness her cursed energy like a well-honed weapon.

Nothing about her was fragile, yet everything about her was delicate. To Asahi, she was a well-aged wine with a dash of poison, and she ignited every fibre of his being. Their marriage had been arranged, but within the union they found something more powerful than love; companionship. Hide was the rhythm to his blood and he the song to her soul. They both just happened to have unsurmountable amounts of rage and regret inside, as well.

“There’s no point in delaying this any further. Things have changed.”

Have they? She wanted to ask, the words hanging on the edge of her lips like a dangerous poison. So many things had changed, and yet everything felt the same. The same ghosts haunting her dreams, the same demons crawling towards her, the same secrets suffocating her.

“Léa, you mean?” The name slipped from her lips like venom, sharp and unyielding.

Hide’s gaze darkened, the bitterness evident in her tone. She knew of her husband’s past with the woman, though she had always played the fool for his sake. It was easier to pretend it was just a fling, but even if her most naïve days, she’d seen the love in her husband’s eyes. Léa had walked away from him, and despite his feelings, Asahi had never looked back.

Part of it was his pride, but a part of him also feared what made the woman change her mind. Léa Dubois had taken one look at The Magistrate and made it hers. There was power in that, whether Asahi liked to admit it or not.

“If this move of yours fails, she’ll destroy us.” Her words hung like smoke in the humid air. “Both of them will, each for their own reasons.”

Léa Dubois. Kinzoku Mikazuki. Two sides of the same coin, both of which hungered for something. Léa breathed power like she breathed oxygen. And Mikazuki… she craved revenge like one craves air when drowning. Asahi’s brow furrowed briefly, though his voice remained composed.

“Don’t concern yourself with that. Mikazuki is under control.” He exhaled, a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh. “As for Léa, it’s time the Head of the Magistrate realizes her reign is nearing its end.”

Hide’s lips curled into a faint, humourless smile.

“It sounds so simple when you say it like that.” She murmured, her voice laced with a bitter edge.

Like this war hasn’t cost us everything, she thought but left unsaid.

“But I worry for our future – for the future of our children.” She leaned further into him, her hands trembling slightly as one rested over his. “I brought seven children into this world and lost two others before they could even take a breath. An accident took my eldest, and then my daughter chose love over this family. Fate claimed my boy Keisuke, and then…” She faltered, her voice breaking as she choked back tears. “We’ve already lost so much. I don’t want to keep playing this game.”

Asahi’s jaw tightened, his face shadowed with regret. He looked down at her, his stern expression softening for just a moment. He wished he could offer her a promise of peace, a simple assurance that this storm would pass, but he knew better. Instead, his gaze returned to the garden, watching the rain as it fell in relentless sheets. Each drop felt like a reflection of himself, falling and falling with no end in sight.

“There is only one way out of this game,” He said finally, his voice cold with resolve. “Mikazuki is the divine move, but the lies and rumours I’ve cultivated over the years are no longer enough. She must step into the role she was destined for.”

Hide’s lips pressed into a thin line, her knuckles whitening as she gripped his side.

“And what happens when she uncovers the web of lies you’ve spun around her?” Her voice rose, anger flaring in her eyes as she turned fully to face him. “She could do so much worse.”

A faint smirk tugged at Asahi’s lips, though it carried no warmth.

“I’m counting on it.”

Hide exhaled sharply, her frustration mingling with a deep, gnawing fear. She rested her head on Asahi’s shoulder, drawing in a slow, shaky breath as though trying to memorize the scent of him, the feel of his presence.

“I miss how things used to be,” She admitted softly. “But then I remember the truth; none of it was ever real, was it?” Her voice cracked as she looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You bought this false sense of safety with her existence, and now we’re left to pay the price.”

For a long moment, Asahi said nothing. The rain continued its relentless assault on the roof, the garden, the world beyond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, a quiet rumble that barely rose above the storm.

“We’ll pay it together.”

Chapter Text

THE RAIN DIDN’T STOP MIKAZUKI AS SHE MADE HER WAY TO THE FAMILY CHAPEL. By now, the details of it are etched onto her memory, from the large columns that held up the vaulted ceilings to the heavy golden tiles that lined the archways and the cracked marble floors that ran with golden veins. Her heels clacked against the ground as she made her way across, the familiarity of this place making her skin crawl.

She hated every inch of this room, had done so from the moment she was dragged in chains the first time. This ornate chapel was just a prison, and the glass floor which allowed a nearly perfect view of Kogane’s gilded bones only solidified that. It scared Mikazuki, the fact that she might one day end like that; a bunch of embellished bones buried under an empty monument. She deserved more than that. As did Kinzoku Kogane. Mikazuki stood in the middle of the room, her cursed energy and the garnished gold of her Everlasting humming under her skin.

She felt it going restless under her skin, and even as the memories of the torture she’d endure gnawed at her mind, it wasn’t the pain that made her blood sing. Pain was easy compared to what she currently felt; this mix of indecipherable emotion, a mix of foreboding and unease, the same electricity that hung in the air before a storm crackling in the room. In her head, along with a ringing in her ears, she could hear the crack of the whip, feel the anorthosite tip carving tracks in her bones.

Almost as if summoned by the memories, Kinzoku Asahi appeared at the edge of the door. He stood there, half-leaning against the large double doors to the chapel, his hands buried in his suit pocket. He looked old, for a moment. He was still handsome, his dark hair slicked pack, his face spotless and clean shaven. Asahi had nothing soft about him – he was all looming shadows and smoky darkness, his mere presence setting off alarm bells in whoever witnessed it.

For a moment, Mikazuki wondered if this was how the Edamura had felt when he marched upon their estate. Had they felt the crackling thunder, the angels signing in the distance, announcing their departure? Or were they as clueless as she had been when she was first called into that chapel only to be whipped like a slave?

“Did you ask me here to torture me again?” The question cut the tension in the air like a sharpened knife on butter.

The sorceress was feeling bold today, all of the foolishness she’d been accused of leaving her body like steam. The blood on her veins was restless, boiling and rolling and stretching across her whole body seeking release. She held on to the feeling, balling her hands into fists and allowing a part of it to slither out through the cracks in her arms, curling around her arm like a golden snake. It wasn’t a threat as much as it was a statement, a challenge that Asahi didn’t bother to meet.

“You went after Léa. You left me with no choice.” He said simply, pushing himself of the wall.

The doors to the chapel closed, room rumbling like a thunderstorm. Mikazuki felt the floor shake, partly because of the sound and partly because of all the power she contained at her fingertips. Asahi was remarkably calm, not a single hint of cursed energy coming from him. Like he was hiding himself under this pretence of niceness. But Kinzoku Asahi didn’t do nice, and certainly didn’t do nice with her.

“I thought you wanted her dead.”

Asahi had made himself clear multiple times, whatever he’d once felt for Léa Dubois was either gone and up in smoke or it simply didn’t stop him from wanting her dead. Her father was a man like that, his goals always came first, even when it came to feelings like love – or whatever version of it he indulged in.

“In time.” He answered curtly, his shoes scraping against the marble floor as he walked.

He didn’t stand close to Mikazuki, leaving a wide berth between the two. Instead, he stood in front of the mosaic, admiring the piece with a knowing smile. He’d spent half of his life wasting away in front of the piece, and although time had not been kind to it, it was still one of the most expensive pieces of art the family owned. It had no real value on the real world, but in the eyes of those who practiced Jujutsu it was priceless. Asahi’s golden eyes scanned the mural, taking in its expansive layout. It covered at least three of the four walls of the chapel, and although it didn’t tell a chronological story like most murals did, it did tell a tale. One as old as time.

“But if I move my pieces too early, the whole game could unravel before it’s time.”

Asahi spoke like he was alone, like whatever he was talking about was somehow bigger than him. Mikazuki sighed, arms falling at her sides. She didn’t move from her spot, still standing in the centre of the chapel, right over Kogane’s gilded bones. There was something poetic about it, with the light that filtered through the ceiling landing on her head, the moon singing its praises to the long lost princess and her dead ancestor.

“Why did you call me here, Asahi?”

Asahi. So cold, so detached. Not that he could blame her. He could only blame himself for this. For all of it, actually. The King of Sorcerers rolled his shoulders in an attempt to keep himself focused, but even as he did, his eyes travelled back to the mosaic. It chipped away at him, gnawed at his consciousness and he couldn’t quite tell why. Could it be the figure of the late Kogane, standing in what he assumed to be the garden of Eden with a golden apple in her hand? Or maybe was it the snake descending from the branch, slithering through the leaves like a harbinger of fortune?

“I used to be your father, once.” He laughed bitterly, the lines around his eyes wrinkling slightly. “I am here to tell you the truth; to unravel the web of lies I spent almost thirty years building around you.”

The lies. So many lies. This entire world is built on lies. Asahi thought but he didn’t say, stealing another glance at the mural. Kogane’s golden hair flapping in the wind, her palm open while the damned apple rested on it. It felt like a cruel joke. The mural was supposed to depict the original sin, a bastardised version of it with Kogane at the centre of it all. The original sin. Love? Sex? Lust? Trust?

But there was no sin in the mural, was there? The apple was intact.

Maybe it’s not all lies. Maybe, somewhere, once, an artist decided to tell the truth.

“It’s all secrets and lies with you, why tell the truth now?”

It was a genuine question as much as it was a complaint. Mikazuki didn’t know what she expected; some sort of grandiose answer, one that would justify everything that had happened until that point. But nothing Asahi could say would ever change any of it, nothing would bring Keisuke back and nothing would put the broken pieces of her heart together once again. It was too late for that. Mikazuki fixed her gaze on her father’s back, taking in his relaxed posture and the slight slant in it. He was leaning on his good leg, just like her. Asahi never took his eyes away from the wall, committing every single detail of the mural to memory.

“Because time is running out, and you being clueless serves me no purpose.” 

Chapter Text

BECAUSE I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME. He could have said, but then this entire plan would have fallen apart, and Asahi couldn’t afford any more setbacks, not when everything hung in the balance. Everything was connected, every little detail had a purpose, a goal. There was a whole world to unravel here, but it wouldn’t be Asahi’s job to do so.

Some people see the future and they cower under the weight of it. Kinzoku Asahi wasn’t like that. He’d seen the future, he’d stared at it right in the face, and in the abyss that had stared back at him, Asahi had concocted a plan. He’d seen the ashes that remained at the end, the blood that coated the ground and the sins of his past. So he built an empire and covered it in gold. And although every empire needs an emperor, it also needs a defender. A weapon, a Warhammer to bring down its enemies. A nightmare so he could tuck in the dreams into bed.

Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made. Sometimes, we are not the ones who make them.

“So, here I am again. Your weapon of choice.”

Mikazuki felt hollow inside, like her heart had been set alight and then snuffed out again. She walked closer, her heels clacking against the marble and echoing against the vaulted ceiling. The sorceress stood directly in front of her father, blocking the view of the mural. He looked old, tired and so done, but she held herself high, looking at him with such intensity he was taken aback.

“Was I ever a daughter to you?”

Her voice broke when she made the question, and maybe she died a little bit inside, too.

“How could you? Nothing about you is real.” Asahi said softly, his expression unlike anything she’d seen before. “I made you up, built you from the ground up.” He pressed his palm against her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears she refused to believe were there in the first place. “Nothing about you is real.”

Nothing about you is real. Mikazuki wished she could tell herself this was another lie, another one of his schemes, but the sincerity of his words stole her breath away. Even if Asahi hadn’t said it, she knew. She’d known from the moment she was born, from the moment she felt the world shift beneath her feet, from the moment the entire Jujutsu society had its eyes trained on her. She wore it on her skin daily, felt it flowing in her veins along with her blood.

Hide had said it first, that day. What had she called her, again? A curated nightmare. Something bespoke, something handmade, but still a dream, nonetheless. Kinzoku Mikazuki wasn’t real, she was something Asahi had made up, a dream he’d concocted, like the myths people used to believe about the Heian Era or about their family.

“Am I even a Kinzoku?” The sorceress asked, already afraid of the possible answer.

You’re a dream. A curated nightmare. The Queen of Nightmares. A Nightmare is just a dream. The words wouldn’t stop, like a cacophony of screams, all superimposed over one another. She felt them cawing at her, like an unkindness of craws circling her head. No matter how hard she tried, the voices wouldn’t stop.

You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real.

Everything about you is a lie.

Mikazuki steadied herself, forcing the intrusive voices aside as she fought the bile rising in her throat. Her golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into Asahi’s face, searching for cracks in his stoic mask. She was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how painful.

“Yes,” He said finally, his tone as heavy as the storm outside. “My blood is your blood.”

“Is Hide my biological mother?” She pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She gave birth to you.” Asahi replied, each word measured.

“That’s not what I asked,” she snapped, the sharp edge in her voice cutting through the air like a blade. Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. “You said you’d tell the truth, so tell it.”

Asahi’s gaze darkened.

“She is not your mother.”

Mikazuki’s breath caught, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest.

“Is Keisuke my brother?” She demanded.

“As much as he can be,” Asahi said, his voice carrying an enigmatic weight. “Two eggs from different chickens cooked on the same pan.”

Her mind raced, every piece of the puzzle falling into place with excruciating clarity.

“How?” She whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear and confusion.

“The how isn’t as important as the why,” Asahi said, his infuriatingly calm smile never faltering. “Twenty-eight years ago, I was given an impossible task. Léa expected me to fail – she counted on it. She wanted to make me an example, a warning to the other troublemakers who didn’t fully adhere to The Magistrate’s way. It was a lesson, I suppose. A reminder that I would always be under her thumb. I thought that after the twins were born, I might get some respite, but Léa’s heart was filled with venom.”

“Because you chose someone else.”

He’d married Hide, not Léa.

“I only did as she commanded. I had as much choice in my marriage as Hide did. My elders found the arrangement convenient, and as the second-born, I was more than willing to marry the heiress to a prominent clan.”

“A clan that you would massacre years later.”

“Yes,” He admitted without hesitation, his voice devoid of guilt. “Léa was jealous of our union, and she wielded the power of the vow against Hide. She made her lose two pregnancies through it. We buried empty coffins in the garden for each of them.”

“I’m sorry.” Mikazuki murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow.

“Léa’s temper is like a storm, and I was done fleeing from its thundering clouds.”

“You intended to sail through it.”

“I didn’t know how at the time,” Asahi admitted, his gaze distant. “but when the mission came through… I finally found a way to push back.”

“The mission. What happened? And what does this have to do with me?”

“Because everything that has happened since can be traced back to that day – to the moment I made a choice I shouldn’t have, a lie I allowed to fester for years, hoping it would protect me.” He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his memories. 

Chapter Text

THE SORCERESS PLOPPED DOWN ON THE STONE BENCH, her eyes never leaving the mural. It was easier looking at it, inspecting the fine coloured stones that made up the image. Some of them were old, so old the paint had almost faded completely, and the original colour of the stone was starting to peek through. Others were so fresh she could smell the strong pungent scent, like sour milk.

Asahi’s shoulders sagged, yet his eyes never left the mural, as if he too was entranced by the brush strokes and the gilded crown Kogane wore on her hair, her golden hair woven around the spiky thorns that made up the object. For a moment, Mikazuki thought he would not speak. It wouldn’t even have surprised her, at that point, Asahi was a private man, he kept so many secrets and so many classified information, if he answered each question he would have never gotten to where he currently was.

“Twenty-eight years ago,” Asahi’s voice was strained as he spoke, his face twisted in a painful grimace as he rubbed his injured arm. “Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, reappeared.”

Mikazuki shivered, the words cutting through the air like shards of ice. The King of Curses, walking among them. The worse part, was that she could imagine it; she could imagine him, strolling through Tokyo and drinking in the sight, enjoying every second of his newly acquired humanity, even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

“It was a boy from the Nagano clan; he was only a semi-second grade and was playing with things he should not have. He found a relic, a necklace made of one of his fingers, I think, and like the moron he was, he decided to wear it.” Asahi sighed, looking wistfully at the ceiling, the golden pearly material giving him almost a perfect reflection. “He was dead the moment he put it on, of course, but his body was somewhat compatible with Sukuna, so the curse reanimated him and made him his.”

Mikazuki closed her eyes, her father’s tale filled with so many details she could easily picture it. It wasn’t often that sorcerers lost themselves to cursed objects, but it did happen, and when it did, it was tragic.

“He pillaged through a couple of villages before we even realized.”

The sorceress didn’t need to ask who we was. With Asahi, it was always The Magistrate and its vicious claws.

“By the time we found out, the damage was irreparable.” Her father hesitated, eyes flickering back down to stare at the mosaic, the angelical figure represented in it a stark contrast to what he knew of the real Kinzoku Kogane. “I was tasked with stopping him, as if any sorcerer could.” He huffed out a laugh, but it felt hollow and misplaced. “So I tried to use the one thing I knew would help me tame him, control him.”

Mikazuki clenched her jaw, saliva building up her mouth. She knew what Asahi would say next, she knew because he’d already confessed to a different version of this. The sorceress bit her tongue, blood pooling in her mouth. Part of her had known since she first laid her eyes on those rings; one wrapped around Sukuna’s decaying finger while the other one was tied to a string placed around Kogane’s rotting corpse, buried deep under the chapel.

“You raised Kinzoku Kogane from the dead, didn’t you?”

Asahi chuckled darkly, turning towards Mikazuki with an indecipherable expression. The two Kinzoku stayed like that for a while, the two figures small in comparison with the large mural that occupied the entire wall of the chapel, even curling around the soft edges.

The sorceress had hated that mural for so long, after her exile. She used to stay up at night, staring at the starry sky and then at the dark ceiling of the cabin, cursing that damned mosaic and the woman depicted in it.

Mikazuki had begged to be saved, that day when the Magistrate stripped her from her soul, her cursed energy and her power. She’d begged so hard her nails cut through the skin in her palms, so hard she chipped her teeth from grinding them. The sorceress had looked up, waiting for a sign while the Sorcery Mistress of France pressed her hand on her chest, and when Kogane’s gaze never met hers, Mikazuki learned the most valuable lesson there is.

No one was going to save her. Not her father, not her brother, not the broken system they called jujutsu society, and certainly not a forgotten deity like the one staring down at her.

So Mikazuki grew up, and she learned to save herself instead.

The sorceress shifted her gaze towards the floor, where she could feel Kogane’s body rotting ten floors down. Mikazuki had always looked up to her, the world of jujutsu was, and would always be, a world of men. And yet Kogane had been able to rule it. And yet, sorcerers trembled at the mere mention of her name.

Even now, when the sorceress had been dead for hundreds upon hundreds of years, Mikazuki could still feel the residual energy coming from her body, like a delayed reaction, like her cursed energy couldn’t quite grasp the fact that she was dead.

“That was the goal. But the spell was trickier than I expected. I failed.” Asahi explained, his words as heavy as the gold inside of his veins. “Then the news of my wife’s pregnancy spread, and like wildfire, this new rumour started to spread as well.” He was almost wistful, remembering the details of what had caused this descent into chaos. “To anyone looking, it was obvious what had happened; the baby would be Kogane’s true reincarnation, a vessel perfect for her resurrection.” He paused, eyeing the mural with something akin to sadness flickering in his golden eyes. “Sukuna was desperate, probably from all the guilt of the past. So I made a deal with him, all of it based on a lie, but it worked, he went away, and I came back victorious.”

Mikazuki licked her lips, the taste of betrayal coating her tongue.

“And you couldn’t just let it be, could you?”

“Not when fate had just provided me with the keys to my freedom.”

Freedom. That’s the only thing Asahi had cared about from the start. He hated being tied down; either to the forces of The Magistrate, to Léa or anyone else. But he was loyal to the things that mattered to him and the things that he loved; be it his doting wife or his family. He just couldn’t be bothered to be loyal to her.

“Did it ever occur to you that your freedom might cost me mine?”

The question cut through the air like a blade.

“Your freedom was inconsequential.”

Asahi’s tone was final, like he’d never even thought about it, like the idea never occurred to him. Like she was collateral damage to him. And maybe she was. Created as a weapon of destruction. A bespoke nightmare built from the ground up just so Asahi could pretend to be free. But real freedom doesn’t exist, and so he’d played his hand for nothing.

“Halfway through the pregnancy, Hide had a miscarriage and lost one of the twins. I was desperate, and my sister’s corpse was still warm. I took one of her eggs and fertilized it, then had it implanted on Hide.” He shrugged, like somehow this monster of nature and science he was describing wasn’t insane.

“I’m not seventeen minutes younger than Keisuke.”

Unlike you, I have a real twin. The Beldam had said it first, hadn’t it?

“No, you’re seventeen weeks younger.” 

Chapter Text

“IS THIS WHY?” The sorceress asked, swallowing back the choked sob that kept fighting its way out of her mouth. “Why you made me dye my hair that stupid colour, why I’ve always had the clan looking over my shoulder, why The Magistrate would constantly test me?”

Suddenly, it all made sense. All the times she felt watched, all the times she was made fun of because her father forced her to dye part of her hair a light blonde, all the times Léa looked at her like she was a monster. They treated her like a nightmare because that’s what they expected, the lie they’d been told. Mikazuki paused, licking her lips in anticipation as the next question left her mouth.

“Is this why you arranged my marriage with Gojo?”

Everything about you is a lie.

“It was to placate The Magistrate.” Asahi explained, his tone careful. “Realistically, if you ever awakened as Kogane, he would be the only one capable of stopping you.”

Realistically, everything about her was a lie. Realistically, none of it mattered. Realistically, her entire life had been in service of feeding the lies Asahi had told to save himself. In his head, he believed it could have been any of his children. But in his heart… in his heart, he knew the truth. Fate and destiny had aligned to make this possible. If the Gods truly existed, then they smiled down upon him. If the Gods truly existed, they hated Mikazuki nearly as much as she hated them.

“All of these lies, all of these secrets… what do you want from me?” Tears streamed down her face, and Mikazuki didn’t care to hide them anymore. “My entire life is a lie that I’ve lived in service of you. What more could you want from me?”

Asahi had taken everything from her. He was feasting on her bones after all the flesh was gone. He was wearing her skin as a coat and using her hair as fur. He was breaking her down for parts, just like he’d envisioned from the first time he spoke this egregious lie. Mikazuki grew up believing she was spare parts for her brother, but in truth, she was born to save her father from his own sins.

“Just one more thing.” Asahi smiled, the gesture so putrid it made Mikazuki’s stomach churn. “I need you to be Kogane.”

The Mother of Sin. The Consort of the King of Curses. The Deathbringer.

Everything about you is a lie.

Everything– except this. Kinzoku Mikazuki was born to be Kinzoku Kogane, that was the only part that was real, the only part that burned in her skin and settled in her bones, the only truth she could hold on to.

Almost like that day, with blood on her hands and blood on the walls and blood– No, there was no point thinking about that now, not with Kogane’s judgemental gaze staring at her from the mural.

“You said the spell didn’t work–”

“Only I know that. Everyone else only has rumours to go by.”

The rumours he’d allowed the run rampant, the secrets he planted, the fear he forced her to become.

“You want me to lie? To everyone?”

Everything about you is a lie.

“I want you to rise to your true potential.” Asahi explained slowly, his tone condescending, as if he were speaking to a dog instead of his own daughter – not that he ever viewed Mikazuki as something other than a means to an end, the ultimate weapon. “You might not be Kogane, but you bear her legacy. Her blood runs through your veins. The Magistrate fears her more than anything, and–”

“–there is power in fear.” She finished for him, surprised at how easily the words came to her lips.

“There is power in fear.” He echoed, a proud smile on his face.

Everything about you is a lie.

There is power in fear.

There is power in fear.

Everything about you is a lie.

There is power in fear.

Everything about you is a lie.

There is power in–

“Have you ever wondered why The Magistrate fears Kogane – just the idea of her – so much?” Asahi interrupted, his thoughts once again far away from this place and this moment.

Mikazuki held her breath for a second, mind still spiralling. She was in a labyrinth of her own making, lost in the crevices of her own mind, unable to recognise the sound of her own voice. But she was also a sorceress, special-grade, and as such, a part of her was always alert, always listening.

“She was the Mother of Sin, she rose an army of curses against–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Asahi tsked.

“Kogane’s only crime was falling in love with a curse.”

His words were bitter, as if he bore some sense of understanding. Maybe Léa was a curse to him. Or maybe love in general. Mikazuki wasn’t sure she disagreed. Asahi looked at the mural again, at the uneaten apple that Kogane’s likeness held on her palm.

“There was no sin, no torrid affair, no horrible betrayal… she fell in love, and Sukuna fell with her.”

“I don’t understand. Then why…” Mikazuki turned towards the mural, as if truly seeing it for the first time. “Why did they perpetuate the lie?”

More secrets and lies. History – their entire history, the pillars the society of Jujutsu was built upon, were nothing but a bunch of lies. The Magistrate: the institution that existed with the sole purpose to keep control and push back chaos, was settled on a big pile of lies, all of which had her clan’s name written on it. History had been built on the back of Kogane’s bones. There was no sin, no betrayal, no war. Kogane’s only sin had been love, and from that love, hatred had blossomed. This entire time, Mikazuki had been sailing among liars, watching as The Magistrate blamed those brave enough to deny them.

All of it, every single second of it, had been built on a lie. On Kogane’s gilded bones. It made sense now. This chapel, this room. All of it had been built as a reminder of the truth. So even in a sea of lies, there remained a lighthouse of truth. It’s why her bones were buried beneath, under a glass floor that acted as a ceiling as well.

Wars had been started for less.

Everything about you is a lie.

No, everything is a lie.

“To justify what they did to her.” Asahi looks at the mural, at the apple Kogane held in her hand like it was the sun, rays shooting out of it like a halo. “What do you know about the creation of The Magistrate? How a group of unnamed sorcerers acquired the power necessary to put the whole world of Jujutsu on its knees?”

Mikazuki opened her mouth but stopped halfway. She knew plenty, every child was instructed in The Magistrate and its history at a young age. But, how much of it was true? How much of it was a lie? It was hard to tell. Things that had been previously written in stone suddenly felt murky, like everything hung on a thread. What had once been real was now a dream, a figment of imagination, a long-lived lie.

“I– There was a spell.” The sorceress stammered. “They used a spell to bind all Jujutsu families to The Magistrate, similar to the vow Léa makes us swear.”

She felt like a child being schooled to death, and were it not for the foreboding feeling growing in her gut, she might have just walked away and pretended this whole conversation didn’t happen. But it did happen, and the more she stayed in that chapel, the more she felt that betrayal like it was somehow hers.

“It was a spell. A forbidden spell.” The King of Curses explained casually. “The reason why they fear Kogane so much is because of what they did to her on that night and every night that followed thereafter.” 

Chapter Text

ON THAT NIGHT. ON THAT DAY. The Magistrate, once again, at every point in history, perpetuating hatred and chaos until it burned it all to the ground. Ten, in a circle, around an altar. Thirty-seven, in a circle, in an abandoned lighting factory. One woman. One girl. One betrayal. The parallels were so obvious from the start. History repeating itself over and over again, trying to find justice where only bigotry had prevailed.

Mikazuki got it now, why on that day, she’d appeared. Why on that day, the world stood still while the fabric of the universe unravelled for her. Reality was not fragile, and the universe loved balance almost as much as it loved fate. Sometimes, though, balance isn’t about righting a wrong, but about wronging those who tried to make it right. Mikazuki was born as a ripple in that balance, and those foolish enough to try and quiet the waves she made never realised she wasn’t done creating tsunamis.

Reality wasn’t fragile, but the Kinzoku wouldn’t hesitate to shatter it into oblivion.

“A spell to keep everyone in line. To bind the will of every sorcerer to that of The Magistrate and keep control of anyone gifted.” Mikazuki spoke, marvelled at the mosaic. “That kind of power cannot come from jujutsu alone, the kind of energy required to pull something like that off would be monumental. It would require a sacrifice so great it would split the heavens above.”

The heavens. The Earth. The Circles of Hell. Everything would have to be cleaved just for the fabric of the universe to be rewritten. That kind of power wasn’t easy to come by, it was the sort of ability that one read in scripture, the biblical pull of the gods that were written off from the myths, the deities time forgot because they were too dangerous. Gods, Saints, Cosmics… a hundred different names to describe a power no human mind could even begin to conceive.

“It was never their sacrifice, The Magistrate knows better than that.” Asahi huffed, no smile and no mirth behind his gold-stained eyes. “They aren’t the ones who paid the price.”

“Kogane, then?”

Asahi laughed, the sound hollow and devoid of any emotion. He felt bitter, like he’d taken a taste of the world and came back disappointed. That was much of the man, these days. A complete distaste for the world he inhabited as well as its people. Asahi had lived long, much longer than what a normal human life would allow him, but it wasn’t the time he’d spent on Earth that made him old.

It was something in his eyes, that golden touch that hid beneath his hooded lids. He’d seen so much, knew too much. The knowledge weighted heavily on the tattered remains of his souls, and this heavy burden was now being passed onto his heir. Sometime, this had to end. And it ended with them, in this room, talking over the dead corpse of their ancestor.

“If they’d killed Kogane then, none of this would have happened. The world would not be as it is now.” He said it both with sorrow and finality, like there wasn’t a single universe, a single alternate reality where fate took another course. “The details of the spell are no more, but you may find some remnants of it hidden across the world.” Asahi looked down, something akin to regret gracing his features before it was gone. “Very similar to what I attempted to achieve with you, if only unholier.”

Unholier. What a curious word for someone already so damned as Kinzoku Asahi. How could something be more unholy than what he was? Mikazuki smiled faintly, momentarily wondering if maybe she was far worse than he ever could. She was unholy, her entire existence a sacrilege against everything she’d been taught. She was blasphemous, and wasn’t that funny, considering how many times she’d been accused of this over the years, the truth somewhere unreachable for her but so very obviously written over her soul for everyone else to see?

“The spell.” She demanded, a lump growing in her throat as her mind races a thousand miles an hour. “Tell me the necessary ingredients. Tell me what they did.”

Asahi shook his head, that glazed look coming over his eyes once again. Like he was lost in a battle she knew nothing of. But, if this was war, then she’d come ready with her armour. This wasn’t a piece of the truth she was ready to let go of, especially when everything else had already been exposes. She needed to know; know all of the lies, all of the fabrications that had led to this moment.

“Nothing good will come from it.” He tried, a hint of desperation in his tone.

Careful what you wish for, he didn’t say. Mikazuki didn’t do desperation, and like a wrecking ball, she tore his walls apart. She came closer, face to face, the intensity of her gaze a stark contrast against the innocent-looking portrait of a young round-faced Kogane. Still, the resemblance was uncanny, like she’d come off from the paint of the wall, the mosaic left empty and dull. But Mikazuki was real, as was the demand etched in her eyes, the gold in her irises churning like the clouds of an oncoming storm.

“You want me to be Kogane, right?” She asked, still in his face, her breath coming off hot. “Then let me be fucking Kogane. Let me feel her righteous fury, let it burn me from the inside out.”

It wasn’t a question nor a request, but a command that left no room for refusal. Let it cleanse my soul like Midas’ gold tore the flesh from the native people. Let it burn my heart and fill it with hatred so pure and raw it has no choice but to pour out into the world and consume everything. She could feel it stirring under her skin, the blood inside of her veins screaming, begging for release. It had been too long; too long since she’d allowed herself some grace, since she’d let her blood run free, and now it overflowed.

“Spool of gold;” The Kinzoku blood flowing in her veins like it had through Kogane’s. “Lover’s betrayal.” The King of Curses turning his back on his one and only. “Heart of the unborn.”

Heart of the unborn. Heart. Of. The. Unborn. A child. A baby. A foetus. Stolen right from Kogane’s arms after the birth, before she even got to hold them. The flash of memory was so brief, Mikazuki barely got to feel any of it, yet it was enough to turn her blood cold, the gold in it turning to lead as it stilled and became heavy.

They’d stolen her baby while it was still warm and covered in blood, left Kogane screaming and crying in the child bed with the afterbirth still inside of her. It was ripped out of her, cord still attached. She didn’t even get to know if it was a boy or a girl. It made sense, now. Why she took her hear out, why her hair turned white as a ghost, why she raised an army of curses against the newly formed Magistrate, why she betrayed everything she knew.

Kogane’s rage outlasted her life, it outlasted every generation and was reborn anew within every Kinzoku. Mikazuki could feel the fury buzzing under her skin, it was unlike anything she’d felt before, a surmount of energy that came deep within her bloodline. She looked down, watched as Kogane’s bones glowed, the power so immense it blinded her momentarily. This rage, this hatred, this need for revenge and retribution, it had been hardwired in Mikazuki the same way it had been planted inside of Asahi and everyone that came before him, and it had all been born out of Kogane.

This was her legacy.

Mikazuki stared at Asahi, expression overly calm despite the fact her heart hammered against her ribs, the sound deafening. The sorceress was still trying to process everything, but the information kept echoing inside of her head, like ping pong ball ricocheting off the walls with no clear direction. She was lost, yet at the same time she’d never been so clear-headed before.

“This is why you want me to pretend.” She licked her lips slowly, eyes glowing nearly as much as the bones of the deceases. “If Kogane is alive, if I am her reincarnation or her vessel, I can keep them in line.”

The Magistrate, in the palm of her hand. It was almost too good to be true. But it was true, had been since Asahi laid out his carefully planned scheme all those years ago. It was why The Magistrate used to keep an eye on her as a child, why they watched her train when she finally awakened Everlasting, why they tried to marry her off to the Edamura before pawning her to the Gojo. The hair; half dark like she’d been born with it and half white to play the part. All this time, she was in control without even being aware of it.

Had any of them known other than Léa? Did Hide, Keisuke know? Did Niko before she left? The lies continued to unravel, there was no end to this thread, and if she continued to pull, what would she find?

Asahi nodded quietly.

“Just the mention of her name makes Léa and the rest of them pause.”

He seemed proud of this, like it was one of his biggest achievement. To him – who had spent an entire lifetime at war against The Magistrate – it probably was. In truth, though, he’d achieved nothing. Not really, not when Mikazuki was the one carrying all of the weight. She was the weapon, and he her handler. At least, for now. Things were put into motion, falling in place. Slowly but surely, Mikazuki’s plan began taking shape.

“I know she fears Kogane’s wrath more than anything. She worries the past will come for her and the rest of them lot.”

Mikazuki cocked her head to the right.

“Is she right? Will I wear Kogane’s skin when I kill Léa like you expect me to? What about after?” The question hung in the air, but before Asahi had any time to address his daughter’s concerns, the sorceress was already on her toes, more questions in tow. “I cut the head of the snake, another one will take its place. That’s how it works. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

She’d seen this movie plenty of times before. One down, two more to go, which then became three and four and the wheel never stopped spinning. Kinzoku Asahi knew this – he’d lived this, probably had taken the life of the previous Head of The Magistrate for all she knew. This couldn’t be it, though. This couldn’t be all there was to his grand plan, not when there were so many flaws and loose threads to pull from. As if sensing her insecurity, Asahi raised his head, that serene expression crossing his features once again

“I have no intention of cutting the head of the snake. I plan of burning the whole den.”

A den of vipers. That was the legacy The Magistrate had built, the house Léa inhabited every day, the skin she wore. She was a snake, a pretty blue Malayan coral snake – beautiful and equally lethal. She was venomous, poisoned everything she touched. She did it with grace, subtly enough people didn’t notice until the infection had set in, and by then, it was too late to do anything about it. Some people called it the most beautiful death in the world, but Mikazuki knew better.

“And then?” She asked just for argument’s sake.

“Then you get what you’ve wanted all along.” Asahi stood, arms open at his sides.

He was old, tired and thin, a shell of what he’d once been, of the beast who had massacred an entire clan just because he could. But Mikazuki was not fooled, nothing about Asahi was weak. He was just as deadly as before, if not more now that he’d been honing his skills for years, his knowledge an equally sharp blade.

“You get to kill me.”

Oh? That certainly sparked Kogane’s interest.

“So it’s about revenge?”

Asahi raised a brow, a soft cunning smile playing on his lips.

“Some would call it justice.”

The Magistrate owed Kinzoku Kogane a debt, and Mikazuki was going to make sure they paid it.

Chapter Text

A LONG TIME AGO, Heian Era –

THE BIRTHING CHAMBER REEKED OF SWEAT AND BLOOD , the gilded linens soaked in the fluids of childbirth despite their opulence. Kinzoku Kogane, head of the illustrious Kinzoku clan, writhed on the bed, her golden hair plastered to her forehead, framing her contorted face. Her golden eyes, once so commanding, now brimmed with tears that spilled freely down her cheeks. Her cries, raw and primal, echoed through the grand chamber, piercing the gilded walls that bore witness to centuries of noble legacy.

The midwife, a plump woman with trembling hands, hovered nervously at the edge of the bed. Behind her, a younger maid stood silently, her head bowed and her shadow oddly still despite the frenzied lamplight. The midwife’s voice was soft but urgent.

“Kogane-sama, one more push. The head is crowning.”

The Kinzoku gritted her teeth, her nails digging into the golden bedposts, leaving faint indents in the precious metal. She had crushed harder substances with ease, but now she could barely focus through the blinding pain. A scream tore from her throat as she bore down, every muscle in her body straining. The sensation was unbearable, as if her very core was being ripped apart. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest heaving.

“It’s almost over, Kogane-sama.” The midwife assured, though her voice betrayed her fear of the woman she was helping.

Kogane’s reputation preceded her: a noblewoman whose touch turned anything to gold, whose clan’s wealth and power surpassed imagination. The only one brave and powerful enough to charm The King of Curses into her bed. Kogane called it love, but those who had seen Sukuna in action and all of the atrocities he committed knew he was no capable of such emotion. Now, though, Kogane wasn’t the strongest sorceress alive, nor was she Sukuna’s beloved, today she was just a woman in agony, clinging to the shreds of her strength.

Another contraction hit, and Kogane screamed again, her voice reverberating like a lioness’s roar. The room seemed to pulse with her pain, the air thick with something ancient and furious. Finally, the pressure released, and the room was filled with a new sound – a baby’s cry, high-pitched and piercing.

The midwife held up the newborn, its body slick and trembling.

“A healthy child.” She announced, her tone a mix of relief and reverence.

She moved to clean the infant, her movements swift but careful.

Kogane’s eyes fluttered, exhaustion threatening to claim her, but she forced herself to stay awake.

“Let me…” She whispered, her voice hoarse. “Let me hold them.”

The midwife hesitated, glancing at the silent maid for approval, a fleeting expression of confusion crossing her face. Before she could hand the child to Kogane, the maid’s shadow shifted unnaturally. Kogane’s golden eyes, dulled by pain, sharpened just as the maid moved with inhuman speed, snatching the newborn from the midwife’s hands.

The midwife screamed, but her cry was cut short as the maid struck her in the temple, sending her sprawling to the floor. The maid’s face twisted into a cruel smile as she turned to Kogane, the infant writhing in her arms.

“No.” Kogane gasped, her voice breaking. Her arms flailed weakly, reaching for the child. “No! Give them back to me!”

The maid’s form began to shift, her plain appearance melting away to reveal a lithe figure clad in black, her features sharp and predatory, her eyes a dark auburn, same colour as her hair.

“The Magistrate sends their regards.” She sneered, before darting toward the door with impossible speed.

Rage exploded within Kogane, hotter than molten gold. Her exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a raw, burning fury. She tried to push herself up, but her body betrayed her. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the bloodied sheets.

“You will not take my child!” She bellowed, her voice reverberating like a thunderclap.

The golden veins that ran beneath her skin glowed faintly, reacting to her rage, but she was too weak to summon her cursed energy fully. Sukuna was away, doing whatever men do best when their woman is upon the childbed. She was alone, felled by someone she thought she could trust.

She clawed at the floor, her nails raking against the wood as the sounds of the kidnapper’s footsteps faded. The child’s cries grew distant, piercing her like knives. Her vision blurred, not from exhaustion but from the hot tears streaming down her face.

“No.” She sobbed, her voice cracking. “Please, not my baby. Not my…” Her words dissolved into broken wails, the sound of a mother’s heart shattering.

The air in the room grew heavy, almost suffocating, as her cursed energy began to swirl uncontrollably. Gold began to bloom around her, spreading across the floor and walls in jagged, haphazard patterns. The bedposts melted into shapeless lumps, and the ornate chandelier overhead groaned as it turned to solid gold, its weight pulling it dangerously close to collapse.

“I will destroy them.” She whispered, her voice trembling with venomous resolve. “I will make them suffer until they beg for death. And then, only then, will I curse this world for all eternity.”

Her golden eyes blazed, the anguish in them giving way to something darker, something monstrous. Whatever humanity had lingered within her was consumed by her grief and fury. Kinzoku Kogane, once the closest thing to royalty in the Jujutsu world, was no longer a mother mourning her child – she was a wrathful goddess, and her vengeance would be absolute.