Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

18 October 1996 , Kyoto , Fukami compound.

Fukami (YN) was seven years old when the clan head took her to the shrine perched on the hill behind the Fukami compound. It was the morning after her seventh birthday. She could still taste the sweet, fluffy vanilla cream from her cake if she thought hard enough. Her plans had been simple—go outside and play with her cousins, maybe chase dragonflies or dig for cicadas—but those were quickly dashed when a maid politely summoned her.

She was to meet Elder Shion.

That was all she knew of him, really. Everyone in the family simply called him that: Elder Shion. He wasn't ancient, despite the title. Her father once said he was in his mid-sixties, the seventh-generation head of the Fukami clan, chosen by the late elder only five years prior.

But even at her young age, (YN) understood one thing clearly: he was respected—deeply so. A quiet force who held the weight of the family name with both strength and grace. He was the kind of person whose presence made even grown sorcerers sit straighter.

And now, for reasons still unknown to her, he wanted to see her.

Clad in her shrine maiden robes—crimson hakama and a white kimono—(YN) climbed the stone staircase, step by step, until they reached the tall red torii gate. Autumn leaves lay scattered across the stairs and shrine grounds, rustling gently with the wind. A shimenawa hung between the posts of the gate, its paper shide swaying with every soft breeze.

It was supposed to be cold this morning—after all, winter was just around the corner—but oddly, the air felt warm here. Not just warm—comforting. Like the embrace of a mother.

Elder Shion clapped his hands three times and bowed deeply before stepping through the torii. (YN) mirrored his movements, then followed quietly beside him.

“Elder Shion... what are we doing here? Am I in trouble?” (YN) asked, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her kimono. Worry crept into her voice, twisting her young face into a frown.

But Elder Shion simply chuckled, a gentle sound that calmed the still air. He reached out and softly patted her head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nothing to worry about, young (YN),” he said warmly. “I wouldn’t dare scold you. If I did, your mother would have my head.”

(YN) pouted, but couldn’t help the little smile tugging at her lips. That was true. Her mother was terrifying when she was angry—but even she wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Elder Shion.

The shrine grounds held two buildings: the main hall at the center of the stone path, and a smaller auxiliary structure to the left. That second building was divided into three modest rooms—one for cleaning tools, one a changing room, and the last a simple storage space.

Elder Shion guided (YN) toward the main shrine.

He led her to a side door on the left, and together they stepped inside. The hallway they entered was long and narrow, lit only by dim lanterns that cast flickering shadows across the aging wooden walls. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, each step echoing in the silence.

(YN) couldn’t help but wonder—Why had Elder Shion brought her here? There was nothing in the hallway but shadows and dust. Until he stopped. In front of them stood a single shoji door—the only one along this silent corridor. Without a word, Elder Shion slid it open and stepped inside. And signaling (YN) to followed him . With her heart quietly thudding in her chest , she obeyed.

The room was completely different from the rest of the shrine. It was darker, almost solemn. The only illumination came from dozens of flickering candles placed along the walls. The scent of aged incense lingered in the air, grounding the space in sacred stillness.

The walls were covered in hand-painted scrolls—ancient ink work, curling with age. Some were faded and delicate, others bold and vivid, but all told stories of old power. The tatami mats creaked beneath their feet as they crossed the threshold.

At the center of the room sat a raised wooden platform, flush against the far wall. Upon it, a circle had been drawn in thick, dark ink—inscribed with ancient runes that pulsed faintly under candlelight. Nine red candles surrounded the circle, their flames unwavering. Inside the inner ring lay nine talismans, arranged carefully around a central symbol: a fox, drawn in perfect yin-yang harmony.

(YN) stared, transfixed. Something about this place called to her. Not with sound—but with the pull of blood, memory, and fate. She silently studied the drawings on the walls. They weren’t just decoration—she realized that now. Each one was a story, etched in strokes of time and memory.

Elder Shion patted the space in front of him, his hand gentle on the tatami. She shuffled over, adjusting the hem of her hakama until she was comfortable, and then looked up at him with curious eyes.

"Do you want to hear a story, (YN)-chan?" he asked.

What a strange question, she thought.

"Only if it's not about you and Chiyo-baa-chan’s tragic love story," she replied dryly.

A rich chuckle rolled from Elder Shion’s chest, warm and amused.

"Ah... what kind of sass are you children being fed these days?" he mused. "I wasn’t this cheeky at your age."

Then, his tone softened.

"A long time ago… in the Heian era," he began, voice slow and steady like a ritual chant, "there lived a man who fought cursed spirits with nothing but his raw cursed energy and a few humble techniques. He was an ordinary sorcerer—far from the elite, not from the Three Big Families, and barely recognized by the higher-ups of the time.

"But one day, as he lay bleeding and broken on the steps of a forgotten shrine… something happened."

(YN)’s eyes were fixed on him now, completely still.

"They say a white fox stepped out of the forest. Silent. Graceful. And when the man blinked—perhaps from pain, perhaps from fate—the fox was no longer a fox, but a woman."

"A woman?" (YN) echoed.

Elder Shion nodded slowly.

"She had nine tails that shimmered like moonlight, and white ears crowned her head. A kitsune. A divine spirit… said to be a messenger of Inari-sama. She looked upon the dying man, and instead of letting him fade into the soil, she made a pact. 'I will heal your body,' she told him. 'In return, you will carry my power—and with it, help me seal the one who threatens both man and kami alike.' "

(YN) held her breath.

"That was how the pact was born. Together with other sorcerers, the man faced the Demon King of Curses—Ryomen Sukuna. And with his final strike, he helped seal the monster away. The kitsune’s power became his legacy. His family rose in the shadows of the great clans, known only by those who dared look past the titles."

Elder Shion looked at (YN) now.

"And from that pact… came us. The cursed users of the Kitsune."

“So… is the man still alive now? Was he a Fukami?” (YN) asked, her voice small in the flickering candlelight.

Elder Shion gave her a gentle smile.

“No, child. He passed long ago. But he left behind a powerful lineage—his blood still flows in us. Yes, he was a Fukami. Our ancestor. And from him, our clan became known as the ones who carry the spirit of the Kitsune.”

He turned to face the glowing wall of talismans and ancient runes, the candlelight reflecting in his wise eyes.

“But not every Fukami inherits the full power. Only one in a generation—if that. The chosen one, they say. The one born to awaken the true strength of the kitsune’s pact. A sorcerer whose cursed energy rivals even the Gojo clan…”

He paused.

“For years, we had none. The spirit remained silent. Until seven years ago, on the seventeenth of October, 1989… a baby was born to Akashi and Reiko Fukami. A girl named—”

“…Me?” (YN) gasped. Her heart thudded loud in her chest. “Are you saying… I’m the chosen one, Elder Shion?”

Shion’s eyes softened further, pride gleaming behind his lined face.

“Yes, my dear. It is you.”

He raised his hand slightly, motioning to the flickering blue lights hovering near them.

“See this?” he said softly. “This flame… is a hitodama. Every true-born Fukami sorcerer has one. It protects, it shields, it listens to curses and devours them before they can touch you. But you, (YN)… you have two.”

“Two?” she echoed, stunned.

“Yes. A rare sign. A divine sign. There is no mistake. You were born under the mark of the Kitsune. You are the chosen child—meant to awaken the full potential of our ancestral pact.”

(YN) stared at the flickering spirit flame. The same blue fire she had seen near her father. Her Uncle Kagami. But never Aunt Hana—because she was a Hanazaki, not a Fukami by blood.

She remembered asking her father when she was just five, tugging at her sleeves, “Papa, what’s that floaty thing?”

Her father had only smiled. “It’s called hitodama, sweetheart. A blue fire spirit. It protects us, and wards away the bad things.”

Back then, she just nodded along, not understanding a word. But now… now she understood.

(YN)’s eyes lingered on her two hitodama. The soft blue flames danced gently in the air, rimmed with a shadowy black along the edges. They pulsed faintly, like hearts beating in silence. Sometimes, they floated around her openly, clear as day. Other times, they vanished from sight—but even then, she could feel their warmth. Like a gentle hug. A quiet whisper of protection.

“Another sign,” Elder Shion said, his voice low and sure, “is the appearance of kitsune spirits. They begin to show themselves only to the chosen child. I believe you’ve already met them… haven’t you, (YN)? Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi.”

Startled, (YN) turned, her eyes widening.

Behind her, the two fox spirits played like children. Gekkoumaru nimbly dodged Inyoubi’s teasing paws, their soft glows casting flickering shadows across the candlelit room.

“Ehh—really!?” (YN) blinked fast. “I thought everyone had foxes like them! No wonder I never saw Luna’s or Nana’s foxy friends…”

She trailed off, her mouth slightly open as realization settled in. All this time, she thought Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi were just… well, good curse spirits. Curious creatures that liked to play with her. No one in the family ever made a big deal about it. So she hadn’t, either.

Elder Shion chuckled softly, eyes glimmering with knowing.

“They never said anything, did they?” he mused. “Perhaps they wanted to protect your peace a little longer. But the spirits knew. They always do.”

"Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi are twin sisters,” Elder Shion said gently, his voice as soft as temple bells on a windy morning. “Gekkoumaru protects. Inyoubi attacks. They are two halves of the same celestial force—defense and destruction.

From the old records we managed to preserve—some written as far back as the Sengoku era—it’s said that the first sign for the chosen one is the appearance of multiple hitodama. And then…” He paused briefly, eyes glinting with reverence. “Two fox spirits will appear. Their names already etched in fate: Gekkoumaru, Inyoubi. They come before the child turns ten.

And you, my dear (YN)… by the time you were five, they were already by your side.” His tone was lullaby-soft, yet it carried the weight of generations.

(YN)’s gaze wandered—absently at first—until it landed on a painting directly behind Elder Shion. She hadn’t noticed it before.

A woman stood in the image. Pale white kimono. Long silver hair cascading like water. Behind her, nine fox tails flicked slowly, and delicate ears twitched atop her head. She was smiling—no, grinning—mischievously. Her eyes were closed, crescent-shaped like a fox mid-laugh.

(YN)’s breath hitched.

The woman was staring straight at her. Or… had been. It lasted only a blink. Startled, (YN) snapped her gaze back to Elder Shion. Her fingers clutched her kimono hem. But he merely smiled.

Soft. Knowing. Unbothered.

As if he had seen her too. Or worse—expected (YN) would.

Chapter Text

15 July 2002 , Roppongi Junior High School, Tokyo.

Despite coming from a traditional clan, (YN) lived a pretty normal life as a kid—and she was a city girl through and through. At her parents’ insistence, they wanted her to experience life like any other child in Japan. Thanks to kami, Elder Shion accepted their request. He understood that a sorcerer's life wasn’t all sunshine and sakura petals, especially once she came of age.

And so, (YN) was enrolled at Roppongi Junior High School in Tokyo.

She blended in with the other students effortlessly. By day, she was a bright, slightly chaotic middle schooler with a love for kendo. That passion sparked early from training in kenjutsu at her clan’s dojo. In fact, kenjutsu was a core martial art among the Fukami—every member, sorcerer or not, was expected to master the sword. Since her school didn’t offer kenjutsu, she joined the kendo club instead.

She wasn't alone in her school adventure either. Her two best friends, Kanazawa Aria and Kim Irene, were her partners-in-chaos. Irene had just moved from Korea, and the three of them? Unhinged. Loud. Laugh-till-your-soul-leaves-your-body type of trio.

But (YN)’s double life didn’t pause for school bells.

While the other kids spent their nights gaming or binge-watching anime, (YN) trained in secret. Under the moonlight, she learned everything from jujutsu history to the intricacies of the Inari Pact, perfecting her cursed techniques, kenjutsu forms, and spiritual control. On weekends and school holidays, she would accompany her father or other available Fukami sorcerers to exorcise low-grade curses around Tokyo.

It was a hectic schedule for a 13-year-old girl—half normal teen, half secret warrior. But (YN)? She wore both lives like a tailored kimono and never let one world drown out the other.

But what could she do? This was the fate she was born into. All (YN) could do was live her best life—and enjoy what little youth she had while she still could. And for her, youth meant one thing: kendo. Practice, sweat, and the echoing clack of shinai in the air. Competition after competition, both for her school and for her clan.

There was a major tournament coming up next month—August 23rd, to be exact. The All-Japan Junior High School Kendo Championship. Thanks to her performance at the prefectural qualifiers, she’d carried Roppongi Junior High all the way to nationals. Did it feel like cheating to use cursed energy?…Absolutely, yes. But did anyone know? Certainly not.

To everyone else, she was just a cute, competitive middle school girl with a natural talent for swordsmanship. But (YN) knew better. She also knew it wouldn’t be fair to her senpai and clubmates if she used her cursed energy recklessly. So, she kept it on the lowest setting—barely a hum beneath her skin when she trained at school.

But at home? At the clan dojo? Oh, they knew the real her. There, she could let loose—and anyone who crossed blades with her better be ready to get their ass handed to them.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The late afternoon sun filtered in through the high windows of the school dojo. The wooden floor echoed with the sounds of footwork and strike calls.

"Men!"

"Kote!"

"Dou!"

(YN) was in the thick of it, sparring in full gear with one of her clubmates, sweat running down her neck as she moved with sharp, practiced precision. Her strikes were clean, fluid, controlled. No flair. Just efficiency. Just her. Just her enjoying spilt second of freedom before she would go back and open the old scrolls.

Standing near the edge of the mat was Akagi Takemi, her senpai and the club captain of Roppongi Junior High School’s kendo team. He was intense. No-nonsense. His sharp eyes swept over the club members like a hawk watching prey, laser-focused on their stances and footwork. No slacking. No excuses.

This dojo buzzed with passion. Every student here wanted to be better. Every shout, every clash, was a promise to fight harder at nationals.

.

.

THACK! THACK!

"MEN!"

THACK! THACK!

"KOTE!"

"SHINTARO! WATCH YOUR FOOTWORK! THE ENEMY CAN READ THOSE SLOPPY STEPS A MILE AWAY!"

"OI! YOU THINK KENDO’S A GAME?! THINK AGAIN!"

Ah yes. There he was. The Demon Akagi.

(YN) and the other club members sat in the corner of the dojo, watching the 1st and few 2nd years get obliterated under Akagi’s merciless supervision. All they could do was offer silent prayers for the newbies’ souls.

May their hearts be brave. May their spirits be strong. And may they survive this year with their sanity intact.

They just needed to survived for this year. Because next year, Akagi-senpai would graduate. And rumor had it—Fukami might be chosen as the next captain. A hopeful sigh rippled through the group. Please, let it be her. Anyone but another Demon Akagi.

“Nee… doesn’t his throat ever give out?” asked Fuyumi, a fellow third-year, eyeing Akagi with a mix of awe and mild fear.

(YN), mid-scroll on her phone, looked up briefly before turning to her senpai.

“Akagi-senpai once asked me to buy throat medicine for him,” she replied, deadpan. “I think he’s gone numb to the pain at this point.”

That earned a snort from Chiaki, another third-year who was currently sprawled across the floor, using his arm as a pillow.

“I remember in our second year, I came in to greet him and the guy was wearing a mask. I asked why—he said his throat was ‘under medication.’” Chiaki rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”

Fuyumi giggled behind her hand.

“Pfft— Wait, wait—imagine going to the doctor and saying, ‘My throat hurts from yelling at children in a kendo dojo.’”

That did it. Laughter exploded in the corner of the dojo.

(YN), Chiaki, and even a few overhearing 3rd years were doubled over, clutching their stomachs as they laughed, tears brimming in their eyes. Some were wheezing. A few fell over.One swore they saw their life flash before their eyes from laughing too hard.

"Fukami! Did you rest enough? Come here, I need your help!”

Akagi’s voice thundered from across the dojo. He was hunched over the club table, papers spread in front of him like some kind of stressed-out office worker.

(YN) sighed. This again. Ever since she aced the prefectural qualifiers two months ago, Akagi had made her his unofficial second-in-command—constantly asking her for input on training regimes, club matters, lesson plans... Things he had an actual assistant for.

She huffed as she stood, grabbing her shinai.

“You know, you can say no,” said Chiaki-senpai, sitting up and crossing his legs lazily. “He’s probably just gonna ask if we need new shinai again.”

“Chiaki~” drawled Fuyumi-senpai with a wicked grin, “how could (YN) possibly say no to her boyfriend when he’s in need~?”

(YN) froze.

What.

WHAT?!

“Senpai! He’s not my boyfriend!” she hissed, face turning crimson. “Kami—where’d you even get that idea?!”

Fuyumi gave her a sage pat on the back, only making her blush deeper.

“Maa~ maa~ don’t be shy now. It’s okay if you want to keep it secret. My lips are sealed.” she winked with a smug grinned on her lips. Clearly amused teasing her kouhai.

“What secret?! You just said it out loud in front of half the club, senpai !!” (YN) whipped around to find—yes—half the club giving her that same smug, knowing look.

“Yeah, don’t be shy about it, (YN)-chan,” Chiaki chimed in. “We all—”

“What’s going on here? Are you bullying Fukami again?!”

A shadow loomed.

The teasing squad went silent.

Akagi stood above them like a kendo god of war. His eyes swept over the group, then landed on (YN)—face red, mouth open mid-protest. His expression softened immediately. Protective. Concerned.

“Are they bullying you, Fukami?” His tone dropped to Serious Captain Mode.

“If yes, you can report it to me. I’ll take action immediately. As written clearly in our club rulebook—page ten—no bullying is tolerated in this dojo.”

(YN) wanted to scream. Or cry. Or vanish into thin air. This was it. Her life was now officially a romcom manga. How cliche was that. But Chiaki and Fuyumi froze. Did Akagi… just go soft on (YN)? Meanwhile, they were treated like drill sergeant fodder every practice? This had to be a joke.

“Are you accusing this innocent face of bullying?!” Fuyumi gasped, pointing dramatically at herself. “If it was Chiaki, I’d understand—but me? Your best friend?”

“Oi!” Chiaki snapped, immediately standing up. He grabbed Fuyumi by the collar and yanked her close.

“Say that again to my face, woman. What did you just say?!”

“I said your face is the perfect template for a school bully!” Then, in the most theatrical display known to teenage drama, Fuyumi spun and fainted backward against the wall, one hand dramatically pressed to her forehead. “Oh no! I’m being bullied! Somebody save me!”

(YN), Akagi, and several students just stood there, deadpan. Just another regular day at Roppongi Junior High Kendo Club. Then Akagi dropped another bomb, in the most neutral tone ever:

“Chiaki. Fuyumi. If you two really are in a relationship, that’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to worry—I’ll make sure no one here spills your secret.”

Silence. Utter. Complete. Silence. All eyes snapped toward the two bickering idiots. Chiaki’s face slowly turned red. If this were an anime, steam would be coming out of his ears.

“HUHHHH?! Are you CRAZY, Akagi?! Me?! With HER?! Never!!” He immediately released Fuyumi and turned to grab Akagi by the collar, shaking him furiously.

“HUHHH?!” Fuyumi shrieked, throwing her hands up. “You think I’d choose him?! I’d rather marry my shinai!”

“You know…” Akagi mused calmly, completely unfazed as Chiaki shook him like a maraca, “my parents used to argue just like this before they got married.”

“WHAT?!” Fuyumi screeched.

“Please send me your wedding invitation in the future,” Akagi added casually.

Cue Chiaki still violently shaking Akagi. Fuyumi screaming into her hands. And (YN) clutching her sides, trying so hard not to cry from laughing.

Yep. Just another day in the dojo.

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YN) never actually found out what Akagi-senpai wanted to discuss with her that day — not until the next morning.

He handed her a piece of paper during club hours: a list of potential opponents her school would face in the upcoming Kendo Junior High School National Championship.

This year, the tournament would be held in Wakayama. Thank Kami, it was somewhere close to Tokyo this time. Last year it was in Yamaguchi, and her poor back and butt had suffered terribly from the endless bus ride.

Click!

(YN) snapped a picture of the schedule and venue with her phone. Her fingers hovered briefly, then quickly typed out a message. She sent it to him, asking if he was free that day — inviting him to come watch her first match, both for the team and individual divisions.

Seconds later, his reply arrived. A soft smile bloomed on her lips. He said he’d come. As he should. That’s what friends were for, right?

Tucking her phone back into her school blazer pocket, (YN) turned to her right, gazing out the classroom window. Outside, the afternoon sunlight danced across the school grounds.

Beside her, her hitodama flickered gently in the air, floating quietly near her shoulder — a subtle reminder. That soon, like him, she too would step fully into the life waiting for her.

The life of a jujutsu sorcerer.

Chapter Text

20 August 2002 , Wakayama Prefecture.

The Roppongi Kendo Club finally arrived at the traditional ryokan where they’d be staying for the national tournament. The place was gorgeous — wooden floors that creaked just right, the faint scent of tatami in the air, and soft lantern light glowing in every hallway.

(YN) shared a room with Fuyumi-senpai and their club advisor, Meiko-sensei, while the boys — Akagi, Chiaki, and Tanaka — were thrown together into another room.

Sometimes, (YN) swore she wanted to claw her eyes out. Not because of her roommates. But because… ugh… why did this beautiful place have to be crawling with such ugly cursed spirits? Total mood spoiler.

There were a few lurking around the ryokan — one even perched on the roof, long and lanky like some shadow-drenched cricket. From its size, it was probably a Grade 3. The rest? Low-grade nuisances. But still. How could a place that was supposed to be relaxing have this many spirits hanging around?

Then she remembered.

‘Ah… the kendo clubs. Makes sense.’

They weren’t the only ones staying here — two other school teams had also checked in. So all that fighting spirit, competitive energy, anxiety about matches… Yeah, that would attract curses like moths to a lantern.

Still, (YN) kept calm. Her sensei and senpai were in good spirits today — literally and emotionally. The spirits weren’t actively causing harm, so she'd clean up later when the coast was clear. For now, they were harmless shadows on the wall.

So she strolled outside.

It was too hot to stay cooped up in the room, and the night was too pretty to waste. The ryokan faced a charming street filled with warm lanterns, old wooden signs, traditional shops, and the delicious scent of grilled meat and noodles wafting through the air.

If she wasn’t mistaken… she saw a ramen stall earlier. A must-try. A life lesson she learned from Shion-sama was, if you craving some ramen choose the ramen stall that lived longer than your will of life. Same goes to takoyaki stall. (YN) took that by heart. Carved deeply into her bone.

Despite the summer, the night in Wakayama carried a soft chill — probably thanks to the trees, fresh mountain air, and the fact that vehicles were a rarity on these quiet streets. She wore simple sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and her kendo club’s haori jacket, plain black with her school name and logo printed on the back.

Beside her, Akagi-senpai and Fuyumi-senpai walked along the road — not because they were hungry, but because they insisted on coming with her. Couldn’t let the “black horse” of the club get kidnapped or injured before the nationals, now could they?

Such dramatic senpai, (YN) sighed fondly.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road, (YN)-chan?” Fuyumi whined dramatically, clutching her arms like she was lost in a frozen tundra. “We’ve been walking for hours~~!”

(YN) glanced at her with deadpan disbelief.

“…It’s been ten minutes, you hag.” Akagi cut in, eyes narrowing. “Don’t be dramatic, Fuyumi. "

“That’s right, senpai. Look,” (YN) cut through their bickering, pointing just ahead. “The ramen stall’s right there.”

Indeed, a few meters away stood a small red-lit stall with steam rising and the delicious sound of noodles boiling. The scent of broth hit them like a warm hug.

“Oh thank kami,” Fuyumi groaned with fake tears in her eyes. “Food. I’m saved. But for the last time, Akagi — if you say that word again, I will—”

"Yo, kitsu onna—”

Fuyumi’s words were cut off by a voice louder than necessary. Someone stood in front of them, waving enthusiastically. Or, more accurately—waving at (YN).

White hair. Tall. Sunglasses.

At night.

Fuyumi blinked. Who the hell wears sunglasses at night? Also those eyes? To real to be a contact lense. She glanced at her kouhai, only to find (YN) frozen like a glitching NPC.

Before Fuyumi could ask what was going on, (YN) had already dashed ahead like a girl possessed.

“Satoru?! What are you doing here?!” she practically shouted, disbelief written all over her face.

Gojo Satoru, in all his overgrown teen glory, stood tall with a smug grin on his face.

“You asked me to come, didn’t you?” he said, dramatically clutching his chest like she’d wounded him. “And now you’re acting surprised I showed up? The audacity!”

Oh Kami. Yup, only Gojo could say that with a straight face.

“Excuse you.” (YN) crossed her arms, glaring up at him. “Can’t you read? I said the national is on the 23rd, not the 20th, you absolute idiot.”

He didn’t even flinch. He just grinned—that grin—and ruffled her hair without mercy.

“Aghhh! Satoru! Not the hair!” she shrieked, smacking his hand away. “I swear to Inari—!”

He only laughed, clearly having the time of his

"Anoo~ (YN)-chan,” Fuyumi leaned closer, eyeing the tall boy with the ridiculous sunglasses. “Is he your friend?”

The way she said friend had too much emphasis. Like she was ready to flip a table if it turned into something more dramatic. (YN)’s eyes widened. Oh crap. Senpai. She’d completely forgotten she was out with them. Damn you, Gojo. She whirled around, grabbed Gojo by the wrist, and dragged him over before he could say anything else outrageous.

“Senpai, this is my friend—Gojo Satoru,” she said, trying to sound composed despite the chaos bubbling in her soul. “Satoru, these are my club senpai—Akagi Takemi and Ryuji Fuyumi.”

Gojo tilted his head and gave them a once-over, then broke into that signature smug grin that could either charm or annoy someone to death.

“Yoroshiku ne,” he said casually.

Fuyumi, of course, flashed her most dazzling smile. Well hello, ikemen. Not every day you see cheekbones like that in Wakayama.

Akagi just gave him a long look. Then, as if shrugging off whatever instinct was telling him this boy was probably cursed energy in human form, he nodded politely and turned to (YN).

“Nice to meet you,” he said to Gojo.

Then to her: “But we’ll be late if we don’t move. Let’s go, Fukami. Better get there before the ramen stall closes.”

He started walking, clearly expecting her to follow alone.

Much to Akagi’s surprise—and Gojo’s delight—(YN) brought Gojo along without missing a beat.They sat side by side on the long wooden bench in this order: Akagi, Fuyumi, (YN), and Gojo—which Gojo definitely noticed and probably filed away for later teasing material.

A warm breeze carried the scent of miso, soy, and something nostalgic. An old man in his sixties greeted them with a bow as he lifted the lid from the enormous broth pot, releasing a fragrant cloud of rich chashu and garlic.

“Smells like heaven,” (YN) murmured, already drooling.

"Irrashaimase! What would you like to order? Are you kids from the kendo clubs? I’ve seen a lot of you around this evening,” said the old man, hands moving quickly as he set out bowls along the counter.

“Hai! We are, but we’re from a different school actually,” Akagi replied. “We’re from Tokyo, oji-san. I’ll take one tantanmen, onegaishimasu. Fuyumi, what about you?”

Fuyumi squinted at the simple menu board, finger on her chin.

“Hmm… etto… jaa! One tonkotsu ramen, onegaishimasu!”

The old man gave a nod and turned to (YN) and Gojo.

“And you two? What’ll it be?”

“Same as her, oji-san! Tonkotsu ramen, onegaishimasu,” (YN) chirped before elbowing the white-haired menace beside her. “Satoru, hurry up and order already.”

Gojo squinted at the menu like it held the secrets of the universe. It was, in fact, just six different bowls of noodles and three toppings.

“Hai..same as her. Onegai,” he said with a dramatic sigh, like he was sacrificing something.

(YN) shot him a side-eye. “Really? Took you that long just to copy me? " . She glared at the menace next to her. With that eyes he probably already knew the menu written here even before he come.

Gojo grinned and leaned in, plucking a fishcake from the plate she’d set between them. “I was making a very serious life decision, thank you. What if I ordered the wrong one? What if my stomach couldn’t handle it? Would you have carried my lifeless body home, kitsu onna?”

He rubbed his belly dramatically, pouting like a child, “You’re just a weak little girl—can’t imagine you managing my tall, handsome corpse.”

(YN) stared at him, deadpan. “I’ll carry you in two pieces, how about that? Also life decision, my ass,” (YN) snorted, glaring at him.

“Last time you had a ‘life decision,’ we both ended up on dojo cleaning duty. I still hold a grudge for that, you menace.”

Gojo didn’t even flinch. He casually popped a fishcake into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Maaa~ I’m not saying you’re not my type, (YN)-chan. But... your ass is kinda flat, y’know? Maybe start adding squats to your training.”

Silence.

(YN) froze mid-bite, the dumpling halfway to her mouth. Her face turned red—half from rage, half from embarrassment. Akagi blinked. Fuyumi's soul left her body. The old man at the ramen stall paused, like he just witnessed a cultural event.

(YN) turned slowly to glare at Gojo, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “SATORU! Have you no shame?! Mirror yourself, you scrawny string bean! Your ass is flatter than the pavement outside!”

She jabbed her chopsticks in his direction. “And for your information, I have been exercising! Ask my mother if you don’t believe me!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo leaned back with that signature smug grin. “Well my ass isn’t flat either. You can ask my mother.”

Fuyumi’s jaw hit the table.

This was not the (YN) she knew from school—the composed, calculating, slightly sassy genius of the dojo. This (YN) was feral. She was bantering with the Gojo boy like they’d known each other since the womb. Fuyumi glanced between the two, then shifted her gaze to Akagi beside her.

Oof.

That expression. Eyes slightly narrowed, jaw clenched—not in irritation, but... disappointment?

Wait a second.

Is he... into her?

Fuyumi blinked in realization, piecing it together like a tragic shoujo heroine watching her best friend fall for someone who doesn’t notice.

But (YN) didn’t seem to notice any of it. Too busy bickering with Gojo, who was now stroking her hair in apology, the corners of his lips soft, eyes warmer than summer broth.

Ugh. Fuyumi resisted the urge to groan aloud. What in teenage triangle drama is this?

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Later that night, after devouring a whole bowl of tonkotsu ramen and dodging Gojo's teasing for the rest of the evening, (YN) quietly slipped out of her room.

The ryokan was hushed—dark hallways, creaking floors, the soft hum of cicadas beyond the paper doors. Her sensei, her senpai, and probably everyone else were deep in their dreams. Thank the kami for heavy sleepers.

She padded silently to the vending machine near the back doorway. Under its dim light, she summoned them—two flickers of light that glowed like twin stars.

“Gekkoumaru. Inyoubi.”

Blank inky pool appeared from the ground . Coming out from it two fox shikigami—sleek and ethereal, one bathed in moonlight silver, the other in twilight shadows.

(YN) knelt beside them, her voice soft but firm.

“Go. Exorcise the cursed spirit on the roof. Quietly. And don’t break anything. Got it?”

The fox spirits vanished in a blur of movement, silent as falling petals. Moments later, a shriek pierced the air—distant but unmistakable. (YN) exhaled slowly, arms folded as she leaned against the vending machine.

“So much for being a normal thirteen-year-old girl,” she muttered to herself, cracking open a cold bottle of tea as if this was just another Tuesday night.

Chapter Text

23  August 2002 , Wakayama Gymnasium.

Morning sunlight spilled over the Wakayama skyline in soft gold, washing the sky in warmth and casting long shadows across the gymnasium walls. Inside, a sea of white keikogi and navy hakama moved like a disciplined tide, the rhythmic thuds of footsteps echoing softly across the polished wooden floor.

The air buzzed with quiet anticipation—chatter between teammates, the clack-clack of shinai colliding in warm-up matches, the rustling of armor being secured.

(YN) stood among them, already suited up, and let her gaze drift across the scene. She loved this moment. The calm before the storm. The reverence in the air. The weight of tradition resting gently on every breath.

She would miss this.

Once she entered Jujutsu High, everything would change. Sure, she could technically still participate in kendo but with her sorcerer grade and the demands of her training, who knew if she'd ever have the time again? This might be one of the last times she'd stand shoulder to shoulder with friends in a match that felt... normal.

Today, they’d start with the team division match. The individual match would follow tomorrow. The Roppongi Junior High Kendo Club, representing Tokyo, stood waiting on the sidelines. Fully geared, faces focused, spirits sharp.

From left to right:

Senpo: Tanaka, 2nd year

Jiho: Chiaki, 3rd year

Chuken: Fukami (YN), 2nd year

Fukusho: Fuyumi, 3rd year

Taisho: Akagi, 3rd year

Their club advisor, Meiko-sensei, stood beside them, giving final words—quiet, resolute. Words meant to steady hearts and ignite fire.

"Take a deep breath and relax,” Meiko-sensei’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter like a well-aimed strike. Stern, grounded, no-nonsense.

“This is just like what you’ve practiced for. The opponents out there are the same age as you. Nothing to be nervous about. And don’t beat yourselves up if you lose—”

She paused. Her eyes narrowed.

“—But ideally, don’t lose. Go out there and crush them all. Especially the Akita team. Tch.”

The team blinked.

"...That last part didn’t feel necessary," (YN) thought.

Fuyumi leaned toward her, whispering just loud enough for (YN) to hear through the face guard, “I heard her ex is from Akita. Still bitter, clearly.”

(YN)’s eyes widened as she tilted slightly toward her senpai. “How do you know that, senpai?! That’s kind of scary but also... kakkoi ne~”

Fuyumi smirked, proud and smug as always. “Of course I know, kouhai-yo~ Everyone knows. You been living under a bridge or something? Tsk tsk.”

She wagged her finger in playful disapproval, her tone light even as the match tension thickened around them.

Suddenly—

“Shush. The match is starting.”

Akagi’s deep voice cut in, calm but commanding. Fuyumi flinched slightly and immediately straightened up, pulling her gloves tighter.

(YN) turned her attention back to the match area, her pulse beginning to rise with the sound of the referee’s footsteps and the rustling of hakama against polished floors.

The gymnasium was a sea of navy hakama and crisp white keikogi. Banners hung high above, fluttering slightly from the wind sneaking through the open windows. Rows upon rows of students sat neatly in their teams—silent, composed, but hearts hammering under uniformed calm. The polished wooden floor gleamed under the summer light spilling from skylights above.

At the center stood the Master of Ceremony, a tall, silver-haired man in formal kendogi. A microphone buzzed softly before his voice filled the gym, deep and clear like the first strike of a taiko drum.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed teachers, proud parents, honored referees, and most importantly—our dedicated young kendoka from across the nation... welcome.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to echo.

“This year marks the 27th Annual Junior High National Kendo Championship, and we are deeply honored to hold it here at Wakayama Prefectural Gymnasium. On this very floor, over two hundred young warriors from every corner of Japan have gathered—not just to compete, but to uphold the spirit of kendo: reigi, kiai, kendō wa kokoro no michi nari—the way of the sword is the way of the heart.”

“Remember: every strike carries your effort. Every bow reflects your spirit. Win or lose, you are already champions of discipline, courage, and tradition.”

The audience applauded—parents politely, teammates with restrained excitement, teachers with subtle nods. The sound bounced off the walls, mingling with the scent of floor polish and summer heat.

“To all participants, fight with honor. Respect your opponents. And above all… enjoy the match.”

“Hajime no rei!”

Hundreds rose to their feet. The sound of feet sweeping wood. Then the collective bow—silent, reverent, powerful.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“We will now begin the match. Tokyo Representative, Roppongi Junior High School, versus Miyagi Representative, Sugiyama Junior High. Students, please enter the shiai-jō.”

The referee’s voice echoed across the gymnasium, bouncing off the high ceiling and polished wood floors. The air shifted—excitement folding into focus.

All chatter fell into silence. The only sounds left were the soft brush of hakama sweeping against legs and the steady thud of footsteps approaching the match area.

From the stands, Gojo sat forward slightly, his sunglasses catching the overhead lights. His ever-smirking lips were still for once. His gaze followed (YN) as she moved with calm grace across the floor, her presence striking even among rows of disciplined students.

She walked to the edge of the shiai-jō, knelt in perfect form, and assumed her position.

Chūken.
The middle fighter.
The anchor point.

A position that often bore the weight of the match’s momentum. And she, of all people, held it.

Of course she does, Gojo thought. His lips curled just slightly.

It wasn’t every day you saw a Jujutsu sorcerer, let alone one like her, step into a normal national kendo match. To the audience, she was just a talented Tokyo middle schooler. To him? She was a special grade in disguise. The first of her kind to cross both worlds like this.

And maybe—just maybe—the most interesting person he’d ever met.

At first, Gojo had been jealous of her. A girl the same age, the same cursed grade—Special. Just like him. Yet unlike him, she got to attend a normal school, make normal friends, live what looked suspiciously like a normal life.

That used to burn him a little. But with time… and her sharp tongue… he realized it wasn’t really her fault. It was her parents’ choice. They had asked for it. Why couldn’t mine have done the same? He sighed, slouched deeper into his seat.

Haa~… life isn’t fair. (YN) had once told him, with a very pointed jab to his side,

“My schedule’s twice as packed as yours, Gojo. You don’t see me whining.”

He had stopped complaining after that.

"SENPO! HAJIME!"

The referee’s call rang out, slicing through the tension like a clean strike.

Gojo blinked, pulled back to the present as the first two fighters stepped forward.He wasn’t entirely sure why (YN) had invited him here. Was it as a friend? Or as a fellow Jujutsu sorcerer? A silent protector, just in case something went wrong?

He could feel it clearly now—the faint, acrid scent of cursed energy. Some of it clung to the students. A few shadows among the audience had it too.

He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.What are they all so nervous for?This was just a middle school kendo match.Just a bunch of kids hitting each other with sticks. Something most of them would forget the moment summer ended and they were chasing ice cream at 7-Eleven.

THACK! THACK!

"TSUKI! IPPON!"

"MEN! IPPON!"

"Next – Jiho!"

"Hajime!"

The rhythm of the match cracked like thunder across the gymnasium. Each clean strike echoed through the air, every shout a heartbeat of tension.

The opposing team was already showing signs of disappointment. Gojo noticed the shift immediately—their cursed energy, once brimming with anticipation, now bled sluggishly onto the polished wood floor like spilled ink.

He tilted his head toward (YN)’s side. Her cursed energy was nearly invisible—muted to the point it was barely a whisper. Impressive. With the sheer volume she inherited through the Fukami Inari Pact, keeping it suppressed during combat was no small feat.

Gojo casually stretched out his arm, acting like he was just flexing out a cramp— but in truth, he flicked out a sliver of his own cursed energy, quick and silent.A Grade 3 cursed spirit had begun creeping up toward the rafters of the gym. Not on her watch, he thought. Or mine.

THACK! CLACK!

"KOTE! IPPON!"

"DO! IPPON!"

"Next – Chuken!"

"Hajime!"

Finally. It was her turn.Gojo straightened slightly in his seat. He watched as (YN) moved to the center, then bowed with practiced grace—to the audience, the judges, and finally to her opponent. Respect, discipline. She carried it all in the tilt of her shoulders.

Then came the clack of shinai tapping together. They began circling.

Steps light. Eyes locked.

Each waiting for the other to make the first move. Then Gojo caught it. The faintest shimmer—a trace of cursed energy lacing (YN)'s shinai. So subtle. Barely there. But he saw it. Of course he did. Nothing could passed his eyes after all.

Gojo smirked, sunglasses catching the overhead light, " Heh, you sly fox " . Muttered him.

THACK! CLACK!

" KOTE ! IPPON! "

" MEN! IPPON! "

" Next - Fukusho ! "

" Hajime!"

.

.

THACK!  CLACK!

" KOTE! IPPON! "

" DO! IPPON! "

(YN) could feel Gojo’s eyes on her—sharp, unblinking. She didn’t need to look to know he’d already taken care of the cursed spirit clinging to the rafters above.That was why she invited him, after all.

As a friend… and as a Jujutsu sorcerer.

The cursed energy bleeding off the opponent’s team was sour and thick. Understandable. Two matches lost in a row—and not to just anyone.Tanaka and Chiaki-senpai weren’t exactly people you beat easily.

"Next – Chuken!"

Ah. Her turn.

(YN) rose with practiced grace, her breath steady behind her men.Each step across the polished floor was measured, light, yet firm—like a fox stalking through fresh snow. She stood at the center, on the taped line. Then bowed—to the audience, the judges, her opponent.

Aoyama Kenji, 3rd year. She remembered him. Tough. Experienced. Proud. But he had a tell. A faint twitch of his shoulder just before he struck. That was all she needed.

THACK! CLACK!

"KOTE! IPPON!"

"MEN! IPPON!"

(YN) dipped left in a blur.Too fast. Too clean.

Her shinai snapped upward—Kote— then pivoted smoothly—Men. The strikes rang out like thunderclaps on wood.

Two flags went up. Red. Victory. She bowed once more—graceful, composed—then turned back toward her team. No one would know. Nobody ever did, (YN) allowed herself the tiniest grin behind her face guard.

A whisper of her cursed technique had threaded through the match—just enough to read his movement,to predict the tell before the strike ever came. It wasn’t cheating, not really. It was strategy. And it wasn’t like the higher-ups were watching. She returned to her spot and knelt down, spine straight, pride humming in her chest.

"Next – Fukusho!"

"Hajime!"

Chapter Text

17 March 2004 , Fukami Clan Compound, Kyoto.

It felt like a dream.

Wasn’t it just yesterday morning she’d woken up for school, dragging herself out of bed, her uniform a half-folded mess on the chair? And yet—today, (YN) stood before the mirror, preparing for her coming-of-age ceremony.

An annual rite for every Fukami sorcerer, this sacred event marked the bridge between youth and duty—the moment before they stepped into the world as jujutsu sorcerers. Some would go to Kyoto. Some to Tokyo.

As for (YN), there was never a doubt. She would enroll at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. Her path had always been that of the capital’s light and shadow.

She was dressed in tradition’s embrace: a black furisode embroidered with delicate floral patterns, paired with a pleated maroon hakama that brushed her ankles as she moved.

Her hair was swept into an elegant bun, adorned with a graceful array of kanzashi—tama, kushi, and tanmami catching the soft light. A touch of makeup by Kaori-san kissed her features—not enough to hide, just enough to bloom. She looked… pretty and proud of her natural beauty.

Then came a soft knock.

The shoji door slid open with a hush of wood on wood, and there stood her parents. Fukami Reika, luminous in a pale blue kimono that seemed to carry the morning sky. Fukami Akashi, composed and strong in his formal black hakama, pride radiating from the quiet lines on his face.

They both smiled, gentle and knowing. Years may have drawn fine creases at the corners of their eyes, carved little lines of love and sleepless nights—but in this moment, they looked timeless to her. Even she noticed how fast the time goes through them.

(YN) felt something swell in her chest. Not nerves. Not fear. Something softer. Something older. Like being a single thread in a great tapestry that she now understood.

"Are you ready, my little fox?”

Reika’s voice was a hush, a whisper wrapped in warmth as her hands gently cupped (YN)’s cheeks—still flushed with the glow of youth and ceremony. Their slightly different height made her smile. Her daughter sure got the best genetics from her father. They almost the same height now. Where the little girl who just her knee-height? Who always latched on her legs. Following her like a duckling. And now she grew up.

Her fingers trembled, ever so slightly, as if trying to memorize the softness of her daughter’s skin. Her eyes shimmered, catching the candlelight—but she blinked quickly, inhaled deeply, holding her emotions where they belonged.

Today was not for tears. Today was for pride. For celebration. For beginnings.

“They’re all waiting for you at the front courtyard.”

“Hai, Mama. Mou~ don’t cry, please.” (YN)  pouted. Trying to ease the moment with a little teasing, though her voice softened as she leaned into her mother’s touch.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’ll be here more often than you think.” She grimaced.“For meetings. Ugh.”

Reika chuckled despite herself, a soft sound caught between affection and exasperation. Akashi stepped in, grounding them both with the calm, steady presence only a father could wield.

“That’s right, Reika,” he said gently, patting his wife’s back while resting his other hand firmly on (YN)’s shoulder.

“Our daughter here—our brave little fox—will come back and sit through those endless meetings with me. Just be sure to have the takoyaki ready.”

His smile was a quiet one. The kind that held pride without fanfare. Love without loudness.

He looked at the two women in his life—one who had fought and endured so much, the other just beginning her journey into the wild unknown. It was a full circle, beautifully drawn. Just like the clan crest behind them—a fox, poised in a yin-yang symbol.

Balance. Destiny. Family.

.

.

Akashi gently guided his daughter through the sliding doors and out to the front yard, where Elder Shion, Elder Chiyo, and the full breadth of the Fukami clan stood in quiet anticipation.

At the engawa, three robed family members played solemn notes—shamisen, biwa, and wadaiko—the music slow and haunting, carrying the rhythm of old traditions long passed from one bloodline to the next.

It was a procession of legacy, and she—Fukami (YN)—was the Chosen of the Inari Pact. No longer just a daughter or student.

Today, she walked as a living heir to a spirit-bound promise. Their path wound toward the ancient shrine nestled behind the compound—familiar, yet altered in a way she couldn't name.

As they drew near, (YN)’s footsteps slowed. Something was… off. There was no sound. Not a single note of music reached the hilltop.

No shouts, no laughter, no cries of children echoing through the trees like they usually did on summer visits. Even the wind had vanished—leaves still, trees frozen, the world holding its breath. Her brows knitted in quiet confusion. From here, she should have been able to hear everything. Also there's someone else here other than the Fukami.

Foxes − real ones.

From the woods, they emerged in silence—sleek red coats, earthy brown fur, luminous eyes glinting in the shadows. Left and right they padded forth, as if summoned not by sound, but by fate.

None of them made a sound. Just stood there. Watching them silently. As if they didn't wanted to interrupted this sacred ceremony but there to watched, guiding and guardian.

The stone path underfoot, always a comforting guide, felt sharper now—more deliberate. It led them, unbroken, to the staircase she had climbed more times than she could count. This place was more familiar to her than any café in Roppongi, and yet today, it felt sacred in a way it never had before.

With not a single leaf marred the stone steps. No flower lay wilted on the side. The entire grounds shimmered with untouched perfection, like it had been waiting…for her.

As always, Elder Shion and Elder Chiyo approached the vermilion torii gate first. They clapped three times , bowed and then stepped through. The others followed—one after another in measured reverence. (YN), heart steady and hands calm despite the weight in her chest, copied them.

Three claps. A bow. Then her foot crossed the threshold. And just like that, she was no longer a girl crossing a shrine gate— she was a chosen one. A promise. A name in the making. And yet her shoulder felt heavy.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

All the members of the Fukami clan sat in perfect silence, knees folded neatly beneath them as they lined the courtyard in front of the shrine building. Not a word passed between them. Not even a whisper. Only the faint rustle of fabric and the slow beat of anticipation hung in the air.

Without a signal, Elder Shion and Elder Chiyo rose and motioned for (YN) to follow. She did, heart thudding softly in her chest. They led her toward the wooden door on the left side of the shrine—the one she hadn’t touched since she was seven.

Ah.

That room.

The memory flickered back—her small hands clutching the hem of her robes, Elder Shion’s soft voice telling her stories, the candles, the circle, the fox… she had never stepped foot inside it again. Every visit to the shrine since then had been ordinary: prayers offered, omamori taken, bows exchanged beneath the torii gate.

But today wasn’t ordinary.

This would be her second time and perhaps, her last as a child. The door slid open with a low wooden sigh. The air inside was still. Unchanged. Sacred.

The room looked exactly as she remembered it—dimly lit by the soft flicker of candles, ancient hand-painted murals lining the walls in quiet storytelling. The scent of old paper, incense, and the faintest trace of something sweet—foxglove or sakura—lingered in the air.

But this time… something was different. At the center of the summoning circle—surrounded by the nine talismans and nine red candles—rested a single object: a bracelet.

Beads as dark as ink, each one carved with delicate spider lily patterns that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. Next to it, an omamori wrapped in deep crimson silk, embroidered with silver thread. A charm for protection? A seal? A key?.

Elder Shion and Elder Chiyo sat in front of her, facing one another across the quiet room. Their hitodama—small, flickering flames of blue with ghostly trails—glowed brighter, more vivid than usual.

One each for the elders. Two for (YN). Indicated for the two fox shikigami she owns . She could sense them too—Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi—poised behind her like twin shadows of fate. Their presence was steady, comforting. Protective.

Elder Shion’s voice filled the silence. Low, husky, threaded with time. A gentle lullaby caught in winter wind.

“Today, we gather to celebrate our Inari Child… as she comes of age. From this day forward, your path will no longer be sheltered. You will face missions that demand sacrifice, decisions steeped in doubt,and moments where the world may feel cruel and unjust.”

He paused. A breath. The candles flickered, as if moved by his words.

“But remember this—One life for others. That is our creed. Our Bushidō. That is the soul of a Fukami sorcerer. That is our Jujutsu.”

Without speaking, Elder Chiyo began to move with elegant, practiced gestures. She unrolled a long rectangular cloth onto the tatami. Upon it, she placed:

A bowl of salt, glowing faintly under the candlelight . A bowl of water, cool and still . A weathered scroll, its frame aged and splintering—likely bamboo . A small ceramic flask of sake . And lastly, a sheathed katana, black-lacquered with the Fukami clan crest in silver near the guard

The air felt heavy with reverence. The scent of old wood and ceremonial oil clung to the space. Elder Chiyo scooped a small handful of salt into her left hand, chanting under her breath in the old tongue.

She took (YN)’s hands into her own—firm but kind—and gently rubbed the salt over her palms and the backs of her hands. A quiet purification. The sting of salt, both symbolic and grounding. Then, wordlessly, she guided (YN)’s hands to the bowl of water. She dipped them in, watching as the salt dissolved—washed away like the past.

Elder Chiyo handed (YN) a small embroidered towel. She gently dried her hands, fingers trembling ever so slightly with anticipation.

The next step: the scroll.

With ceremonial care, Elder Shion unrolled it across the tatami mat. The ancient parchment unfurled with a soft hiss—revealing rows of names, written in a bold, calligraphic hand. Each one a legacy.

“This is the record of the Inari Pact,” Elder Shion began solemnly.

“The last successor was Fukami Shouta, thirty-second of the line. Now, by the will of the elders and the sign of the Kitsune spirits, we, Fukami Shion and Fukami Chiyo, name you—Fukami (YN)—as the thirty-third successor of the Inari Pact.”

The air shifted. Heavy and still for a second. The ancient runes circling the scroll shimmered as the nine red candles surrounding the talismans flared.

Then—fwoosh—they extinguished one by one. The talismans burned away, their ashes curling upward in graceful smoke, leaving behind only the beaded bracelet and the omamori in the circle’s center.

This time , when she locked her eyes with the painting fox lady, (YN) didn’t look away. She held her gaze—unafraid. Steady. Seen. The lady on the wall grinned knowingly, her closed eyes glowing with faint light. As if a sign that she accepted her as the 33rd Successor.

Then she reached forward and took the katana, drawing the blade from its lacquered sheath. Its polished steel caught the candlelight—cold and elegant. She nicked her thumb against the blade’s edge. A single drop of blood welled up. Lowering the blade, she dragged her bleeding thumb from tip to guard, marking it. Then, with the same finger, she pressed her bloody thumbprint beneath her name on the scroll.

A soft hum resonated in the air. The blood on the blade and her skin vanished, absorbed into the katana as if claimed by it. But on the scroll, her bloodprint remained—drying into deep crimson ink. (YN) let out a slow, unsteady breath. Like there's a sudden energy entered her body. Shaking her soul and shivered her spine. She returned the katana to its sheath with care, as if laying to rest the girl she had been.

Elder Shion stepped forward and retrieved the beads bracelet and omamori. While Elder Chiyo silently cleared the altar, leaving only the sake dish and (YN)’s new blade.

With hands full of reverence, Elder Shion slid the black beaded bracelet over her right wrist. Then, he tied the omamori securely to the sheath of her katana.  Elder Shion gently lifted (YN)’s wrist, turning it so the bracelet caught the low light.

Twelve dark beads rested against her skin—but only two of them glowed softly, infused with her blue-tinged cursed energy.

“This bracelet holds twelve beads,” Elder Shion explained, voice calm as still water. " But only nine are destined to shine—each one representing a tail of the Kitsune spirit. For now, only two have awakened… Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi. As you grow—stronger, wiser, and more attuned to the pact—more beads will light the path.”

(YN) stared at them—two tiny stars pulsing against her wrist. Gekkoumaru. Inyoubi. Her guardians.

“The omamori,” Elder Chiyo added, “is your warding talisman. It will shield you, bring you luck when the skies darken. Keep it close, always.”

(YN) nodded slowly. She understood.

Even if her heart was already aching under the weight of it all. What a troublesome life I have… she mused inwardly. But she straightened her back, steady and proud.

“I, Fukami (YN), as the thirty-third successor of the Inari Pact, do hereby pledge to carry out my duty as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, following the Bushido of the Fukami clan and the way of Jujutsu. One life for others. I vow to protect the Fukami bloodline, to honor the spirits and Inari-sama’s messengers, and to walk with clarity and purity through the impure."

Her voice didn’t waver. Not even once. There was no going back now. This what's her life was meant to. From the moment she born. Her life already been written. By ancient parchment and black ink. No more running around in the school hallway. Joking with her friends. Gossiping about new song released. Maybe she still could do that with her friends in Jujutsu High. But she doubt it will felt the same as she did in middle school ─ nrmal middle school. Not military cursed school. But at least he was there.

Then the final part of the ceremony approached. Elder Chiyo passed a shallow sake cup to Elder Shion, who took the first sip, then handed it to Chiyo. She too drank, then carefully offered the cup to (YN).

(YN) cupped it with both hands. The rice wine shimmered faintly with her cursed energy—just a flicker—and she brought it to her lips. The taste was bitter. Warm. Ancient. Slightly grimaced with the taste. Was this what alcohol taste? Euw. Not really her liking then. Or maybe she need to drink it more often. To understood the taste. Then she drank it again . For a second thought. Maybe not.

But she drank until it was gone. Somewhere behind her, Gekkoumaru let out a faint chuff. Inyoubi’s tails flicked softly in approval.

So it begins, she thought.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Meanwhile, the Fukami family waited outside the shrine in solemn silence, their eyes fixed on the burned talismans that still smoldered on the platform’s of the Kagura-den.

No one cheered nor clapped. Instead, they all bowed—foreheads pressed to the ground. Reverence, not celebration. For this was no ordinary rite. Fukami (YN) had been chosen. The 33rd successor of the Inari Pact. And with that title came a burden far heavier than her fifteen years.

When Elder Shion, Elder Chiyo, and (YN) emerged through the shrine’s wooden doors, the air shifted.

Her cursed energy pulsed softly—subtle, refined, yet unmistakably changed. As though the weight of generations now walked at her side. (YN)’s gaze lowered to her right wrist. The bracelet glinted in the daylight.

Twelve beads. Deep red, almost brown. Like dried blood or ancient lacquered wood. But only nine beads bore the delicate imprint of the red spider lily—etched like secrets into the surface. The remaining three remained blank. Waiting.

The omamori tied to her katana holder was a deep midnight blue, embroidered with white spider lilies in careful, hand-sewn threads. When she looked closely, thumb caressing the pattern on the omamori , she recognized the stitching. It was Elder Chiyo’s handiwork.

The procession began their quiet descent down the hill. But just as they reached the final step—(YN) stopped. Her eyes fixed on a shape at the edge of the path.

A white fox perched upon the moss-covered stone wall. Tail swaying slowly, elegantly. Its body was that of an animal, but its face—its face held something otherworldly. Its eyes… they were smiling. Calm. Ancient. Kind.

Around her, the family exchanged puzzled glances. Why had the Inari Child stopped?

But (YN) didn’t speak. She simply stepped forward and bowed. A deep, respectful ninety-degree bow.Because she knew, instinctively, as surely as her own breath:

This was no ordinary fox. This was the spirit . The one who had been watching, waiting, guarding the lineage. When she straightened up… the fox was gone. Vanished like fog in morning sun.

“Shall we continue our walk, dear child?” Elder Shion asked, his voice gentle behind her.

(YN) exhaled softly, turning to rejoin the path ,"Yes, please. My apologies for the delay."

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said.

“Inari always walks in silence. You listened. That is enough.”

Chapter Text

1 April 2004 , Metropolitan Curse Technical College, Tokyo.

Exactly after her Coming-of-Age Ceremony, (YN) was sent here—to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

She was greeted at the gate by Yaga Masamichi, the school's principal, who welcomed her with a firm nod and few words. Ever the stoic man. Then, without much ceremony, he guided her to the dormitories.

The girls’ wing stretched out to the left, the boys’ to the right. Clean stone paths, soft greenery, and old wooden beams gave the entire place a peaceful, timeless feeling. (YN) thought it was beautiful—quiet, tucked away, almost like a temple retreat.

She could’ve seen herself happily studying here… if it weren’t for the whole jujutsu sorcery business, of course. Before he left, Yaga turned to her, gaze unreadable under the shadow of his glasses.

“Classes begin tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Then, like smoke, he was gone.

Her room was simple—just the basics: a single bed, a study table, a wardrobe, and a small bedside table.

After unpacking her clothes and arranging them neatly inside the wardrobe, (YN) turned her attention to the desk, which sat between the bed and the wardrobe. She pulled out her essentials—makeup, skincare, lotion, perfume, and her little treasure box of accessories—and began arranging them with care. Who needed a study table for studying, anyway? That was what the bed was for. Multipurpose. Obviously.

The drawers, however, she treated like a personal vault.

One by one, she tucked away her books, manga, clan scrolls, cassette tapes, and CD box—her treasure trove of comfort and chaos. And of course, her gadgets: a camcorder, camera, Walkman, and CD player. She had them all. Honestly, she owed it to her friends for being so insistent. Without their influence, she might've turned out... uncultured. Ew. The thought of not knowing a single DBSK song? Unforgivable.

Knock! Knock!

Someone knocked on her door.

Seriously? Can’t they see she was in the middle of something important? Like arranging her kingdom of CDs and gadgetry? But alas, duties called. She let out a quiet sigh, dropped her Walkman onto the table, and made her way to the door.

When she opened it, there stood a girl—around her age and height, with short brown hair and a casual confidence that radiated from her smirk.

"Yo. New girl. Shoko Ieiri. Yoroshiku." The girl gave a brief wave.

New girl? Weren’t they both new here?

(YN) smirked, mirroring her. "Yo, new girl too. Fukami (YN). Yoroshiku ne."

Shoko grinned wider and jerked her thumb toward the hallway, in the direction of the dorm entrance.

"Wanna hang out for a bit? There’s a vending machine nearby. Figured we could talk. Get to know each other. Y’know... since we’ll be heading into missions together and all."

Not a bad idea. New place, new faces. With Aria and Irene back home, she did need to start fresh.

"Yeah, I’d love to," (YN) replied with a small smile. "Wait a sec, lemme grab my wallet and phone."

She turned, grabbed her things from the desk, tucked them into the pockets of her sweatpants, and reached behind the door for her brown cardigan. Shoes on, door locked, and she was ready.

The two girls walked down the hallway together, the cool evening air breezing in from the open corridor windows. The soft hum of vending machines already in earshot—along with the beginnings of a new friendship.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The vending machine area was... surprisingly nice.

Hidden away in the quiet part of the campus, tucked beneath a tree with dappled shade—it wasn’t Roppongi, sure. But if the vending machine had her favorite brand of tea? She could forgive everything.

Click. Clack.

(YN) crouched down, snatched her bottle of tea, and grinned. Cold was always better. Sweeter somehow. She twisted off the cap and took a long sip before heading over to the bench where Shoko was already lounging, holding two boxes of Pocky and a bottle of orange soda.

“Ahhh~ I wouldn’t mind drinking this tea every day.” She leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Shoko snorted and grabbed a stick of chocolate-covered Pocky. “Really?”

“Yup. But only this brand. I’ve tried others. Nothing beats it.”

She reached for the second Pocky box—strawberry flavor. Jackpot. “What about you? Any ride-or-die snack I should know about?”

Shoko chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Not really. I’ll eat anything, especially if it’s free. Take note for future reference, Fukami-chan.”

(YN) laughed. Oh, she liked this girl already.

“Yes ma’am! But call me (YN), please. Fukami sounds old. And my family isn’t exactly... cute material, you know?”

She lifted her tea with a flourish. “(YN)-chan~ Now that’s cute and friendly.”

Shoko chuckled, about to reply—but someone cut her off.

"No. I disagree. ‘Kitsu Onna’ is way cuter and way more you. Right, Kitsu Onna?”

Ughhh. Of course he showed up.The only one who called her that—Gojo Satoru, the bane of her peaceful days.

She and Shoko turned to the right, just as two boys strolled over in loose t-shirts and sweatpants. One had awkwardly fluffy white hair that looked like it lost a fight with a lawnmower. The other had long black hair with side-swept bangs and the calm aura of someone who owned three incense diffusers.

And that mushroom-headed menace?

“Pfftt—HAHAHA! SATORU! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?! AHAHAHA!!”

(YN) doubled over laughing. It was so bad. That forehead—that unfortunate chop—he looked like a furious spiky mushroom. A very punchable enoki.

Gojo flushed, fists clenched at his sides. “SHUT UP, YOU KITSU ONNA! Ughhh! I knew it—I should’ve run away that day. DAMN YOU, OLD MAN!”

It was his elder’s fault. They ambushed him on his coming-of-age morning, scissors in hand and no mercy in their hearts. He thought he could escape ridicule. He forgot she would be here.

“Hahh—hahh~ oh kami, I can’t breathe—pffft—” (YN) wheezed as she wiped her tears.

Even Shoko and the black-haired boy let out small chuckles.

“It’s true, Satoru,” the black-haired one added dryly. “It’s...a choice. Did you use scissors or a blindfolded raccoon?”

“Shut up, Suguru. You’ve got no right with that emo fringe. Are you hiding a cursed spirit under there?”

He turned to (YN), still catching her breath beside Shoko. “And YOU. Don’t think I’ll forget this betrayal, Kitsu Onna.”

“It’s called a hairstyle, you buffoon,” Suguru replied with a smirk. “Anyway, are you two new here?”

He offered a small bow. “I’m Geto Suguru. Nice to meet you.”

Ahh—so Mushroom had a partner in crime. And a name.

(YN) nodded and pointed between herself and Shoko. “I’m Fukami (YN), and she’s Shoko Ieiri. Nice to meet you too.”

“Ah~ Just call me Suguru,” he said, tossing a wink. “It sounds cuter.”

Eh? Did he just—?

(YN) snorted and gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Smooth. Real smooth. You and your bangs are dangerous.”

“See? Someone gets it.” He shot a smug glance at Gojo. “Unlike some people.”

(YN) side-eyed Satoru, who was pouting like he just got banned from sweets. Geto tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at (YN), as if something just clicked in his brain.

"Wait a minute...” Suguru leaned in, squinting at her like he just solved a mystery.

“You're that one-point hit Fukami? The junior high kendo champion? From Roppongi Junior High?”

(YN) blinked. Eh? She didn’t know she was that memorable.

“How do you even know that?”

Suguru grinned. “The news. And my school bulletin board.” He chuckled. “My senpai swore it was a bluff—until they actually fought you. Came back with bruises and trauma.”

Shoko’s head tilted. “Chotto… You're from the Fukami clan, right? With the Inari Pact? You went to middle school?”

She sounded genuinely surprised. “Aren’t most clan heirs homeschooled like that annoying mushroom over there?”

(Satoru, in the background: “HEY!”)

(YN) scratched her cheek sheepishly.

“Umm… yeah. My parents enrolled me in primary school first, then middle school. They wanted me to grow up like a normal kid.”

She shrugged. “There was no kenjutsu club, so I joined kendo instead. One thing led to another, and boom—national champion. Didn't realize people actually read those tournament results.”

Shoko and Suguru both nodded, impressed.

Suguru laughed softly. “Oh, they read them. You were kind of a myth, y’know. They called you the ‘Black Horse of Roppongi.’ Cool. But scary.”

(YN) raised an eyebrow. “Scary?”

Suguru nodded. “My senpai said fighting you felt like trying to block a thunderclap. He couldn’t even see your hit. Just—bam. Match over.”

(YN) chuckled, sipping her drink. “Well, I was in a bad mood that day.”

"Of  course you won, you cheater—using cursed techniques to read your opponent’s moves. Such a sly fox.” Gojo crossed his arms, smirking like he just dropped the truth bomb of the year.

Geto blinked. She what now?!

“Ehhhh~ Seriously?” Suguru looked at her like she’d just revealed she was a secret jujutsu spy. Even Shoko paused mid-sip, blinking at her. Expression: deadpan judgment.

(YN) huffed and crossed her arms.

“Okay, first of all— it's not my fault I got picked by my senpai to enter that competition. Second—yes, I hate losing. So I used my gifted technique to win. Sue me.”

She tossed her hair with dramatic flair.

“It’s not like the higher-ups are gonna crash a junior high tournament. Play smart, not hard, ever heard of that, Satoru?”

Gojo tilted his head, lowering his shades just enough to glare playfully.

Their eyes locked. Their cursed energy subtly clashed—his like crackling air before lightning, hers like coiling fire and blue flame. (YN)’s hitodama sparked to life, flickering around her shoulder like it was ready to fight on her behalf.

They stood off like two feral cats over the last fishbone—until Suguru quietly leaned toward Shoko and whispered:

“Are we watching a lovers’ quarrel or the prequel to a bloodbath?”

Shoko sipped her drink. “Hard to tell. Could go either way.”

Pause.

“I give it two years before they either kiss or try to kill each other.”

“Or both.” Suguru grinned.

Chapter Text

27 March 2005 , Some village in Gifu.

Though the village wasn’t far from town, an eerie silence clung to every rooftop and tree. Yaga-sensei had assigned (YN) and Geto to investigate a mado's report about cursed spirits—doll-like ones. It wasn’t (YN)’s first mission, but it was her first without Shoko or Satoru. She didn’t mind being paired with Suguru, though.

The time on her phone read 8.30 pm. But here in the village with a minimum amount of lights, it look like a midnight already. There were only a few lanterns clung to life—one on a crooked pole at the end of the street, another flickering in a window like it was afraid of the dark too.

The rest? Nothing but outlines. Roofs and fences melted into each other, silhouettes stitched in soot and silence.

" Ahh..ahh..They started to comes out," she murmured, eyes darting to cursed spirits creeping from rooftops, the trees, even slithering up the light poles. Geto scanned the area. Despite the scattering of low-grade curses, something felt off—like something was watching.

(YN) huffed watching Geto exorcised the snake like cursed spirit then consumed it. The grimace expression Geto makes didn't passed her eyes. Wordlessly (YN) takes out a strawberry candy from her pocket and hand it to him.

" You know, I can take care of that. Did you really need to eats every cursed spirit that you see ? " . Geto chuckled softly. His hand takes the strawberry candy that (YN) shoved at him, unwrapped and popped into his mouth . His eyes followed Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi as they silently dismantled the nearby spirits—graceful, lethal.

" I know you can handled it but if didn't protected you, Satoru will have my head you know " . Replied him as they continue thier walking at the ground road there.

They need to find a house near a letter box. But after 20 minutes walking now they didn't found any letter box here where the house that the mado said they saw the doll like curse spirit entered.

" Huh? Satoru? What about him? Don't tell me that you scared of him ─ Ah! " . Then she gasped and stopped on thier walks . Her hands flinging on Geto's chest to halt him .

" Did Satoru threatened you before we come here? Tell me the truth Suguru. I will punch and scolds him into next week"

Geto stared at (YN), a little stunned.

She looked completely serious. But then—he laughed. Loud, carefree, like the idea itself tickled him with a teasing grin, he reached over and gave her a firm pat on the head.

“Heh! As if I’m scared of him. Nah, he didn’t say anything, (YN)-chan. Don’t worry your tiny cursed heart about it. But—if you’re planning on scolding him, go right ahead. He still hasn’t returned my manga. Three volumes, (YN). Three."

Oh, she will be scolding him. Yapping his ears off like an unleashed curse dog. After all, someone had to take care of that Satoru boy. Homeschooled by the Gojo clan. Smothered in technique training and isolation. That boy had the social skills of a wet rice cracker.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Eventually, they found it. The red letterbox stood beneath a dim lamp post that flickered every five seconds. A house stood just beyond—normal enough, save for the trash and cigarette butts littering the ground. There was a untrimmed bushes besides the yard which (YN) can saw cursed spirit peeking over there. But then seconds later vanish after inyoubi slashed them up.

" Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure."

The moment (YN) finished the chant, a veil started to lowered down encasing the whole area of the house . Immediately they were attack by a bunch of a dolls. Geto summon his cursed spirit to fight back. (YN) clapped Geto's shoulder then walking towards the house. This cursed spirit clearly being controlled.

" I'll checked inside. Meet me once you finished. Inyoubi! Go help Suguru. Gekkoumaru! Come with me! ".

" Be careful, (YN)-chan! I'm not lying about Satoru will end me if you hurt! " . Geto reminds her before she went to through the door. (YN) just wave lazily over her shoulder.

Once inside, (YN) unsheathed her katana from its bag. Her footsteps were slow and silent as she glided down the hallway, every step calculated.

At the far end, the sound of frantic pacing echoed—heavy, erratic, panicked. Gekkoumaru’s ears perked, its form growing tense as it moved protectively closer to her side.

Her hitodama flickered faintly. They're more than just protective flames, they cloaked her cursed energy completely, blending her into the ambient atmosphere like smoke in moonlight. She had activated the concealment the moment she and Geto entered this cursed village. To any spirit’s eyes, she wasn’t even there. Hide under animal presences , mimics the natural cursed energy signature of an animal — specifically a fox.

Fox veil. That's what she read in the scrolls . A tricky and gifted cursed techniques. Sometimes she wonder if this the cause of her nickname from him. Yes? No? Maybe so.

The room at the end of the hallway glowed with harsh yellow light, casting jittery shadows. Inside, the cursed user’s voice cracked with panic, “Shit, shit, shit! Why the hell are Jujutsu sorcerers here?!"

His footsteps pounded across the wooden floor, quick and uneven. His breath ragged, his cursed energy flaring with pure anxiety.

(YN) remained leaned against the hallway wall, calm and unreadable. She was calculating—waiting. No need to rush when your prey was already panicking. Despite sending his curse doll to distract Geto, the man had left himself wide open here.

She glanced down at Gekkoumaru who tilted her head, glowing moonlight eyes locked on the doorway. Awaiting the signal from her. But before (YN) could make her move, a soft click echoed from the room to her right. She paused, not from fear—of course not.

Should she finish off the cursed user first, or check the sound? Hmmm... The second thought sound better. Then she shrugged, calm as a breeze.

“Meh. Suguru can handle himself. Consider this… extra credit."

She padded over to the shoji door and slid it open slowly, careful not to make a sound. The paper-thin door groaned faintly, like it too didn’t want to see what was inside. Nothing special in the room .─ basic tatami room. The room beyond was dim. Stale air rushed out to greet her, tinged with the scent of old wood and dust... and something else.

Piled high in the corners and across the tatami were dolls—stacked haphazardly, some crumpled over, some upright as if they were waiting for her. Blank porcelain eyes . Cracked cheeks. Limbs missing. Smiles that didn’t belong. They stared at her. Every single one.

She stepped in slowly, Gekkoumaru brushing against her ankle, fur prickling. Even the hitodama dimmed slightly, flickering like a candle near death.

“Ughhh... Okay. Now it’s creepy,” she muttered, eyes narrowing.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

All of a sudden, the dolls began to twitch. Not just one—not two—but all of them. First, a slow creaking of limbs. Then heads tilted in perfect unison. Glassy eyes glinting in the flickering light.

The cursed user must’ve activated them from the other room, using the dolls either as vessels or mimicked constructs formed by his cursed technique. (YN)’s brow furrowed.

“Are they real dolls infused with cursed energy... or are these his shikigami?”, muttered her. It didn’t matter now. She stepped forward, calmly drawing a breath. Releasing her cursed energy, she guided it through her limbs—flowing into her katana like liquid moonlight.

"Jutsushiki: En’yō Reiketsu."

One elegant, almost dance-like slash. In a blink, a wave of blue flame burst from her blade—but this flame didn’t burn.

It froze.

Like winter wind wrapped in silk, the flames crept across the dolls, freezing their movements mid-jerk. One almost reached toward her. But it to slow and the ice already crystallized around it.

And then—Shhhhrack. They shattered, one by one, fading into silence and cursed dust.In the distance, the cursed user must’ve sensed it. But before he could panic again—

BANG!

A loud punch echoed from the other room. Ah, her savior had arrived. Geto must’ve finally knocked the guy’s teeth into next week. (YN) turned wanted to step out—but then...A sound. A faint creeeak, like something shifting in an old drawer. She froze, katana still glowing faintly with cursed frost.

From the side—inside a low storage unit—a voice echoed softly, too soft for normal ears. But her hitodama flickered, sensing something. 2 cursed energy behind it but it's not belongs to human . Then who?

She reached and threw the door open with a sharp slide. Gekkoumaru ready to defends her to any attack ,lucky there's none. But, her eyes caught something nestled in the shadows of the top shelf. Sat two twin Ichimatsu dolls − white porcelain faces, black bobbed hair, perfect and eerie. One wore a red kimono. The other, black. Their heads were tilted slightly tilted. Looking at her

“Hiks… hiks… Okaa-san!!”

Wait. What…? Okaa-san?! Me?!

(YN)’s thoughts barely caught up before the two Ichimatsu dolls leapt into her chest—a blur of black and red kimono, porcelain faces pressed against her as they wailed.

“Waaahhh~! Onegai yo~ Okaa-san, don’t kill us! Riku will be good! Riku swears!”

“Ren too! Ren’s sorry! We didn’t mean to be bad! Please, Okaa-san, onegai!”

(YN) instinctively caught them—arms full of tiny, trembling dolls now sobbing into her uniform. She blinked.

Can cursed spirits… cry? No—wait, can they even… talk?! Her hitodama pulsed beside her, not in danger mode… more like ' ??? ' mode. Even Gekkoumaru tilted her head. Looking at her with her puzzled face.

Then—

“WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

A voice from the doorway. (YN) turned, deadpan, to find Geto standing there, eyes wide, mouth half-open in complete disbelief.

“Why the hell are they calling you mother, (YN)-chan?!”

(YN) blinked. She looked down at the two porcelain heads still clinging to her. Their glossy eyes stared up at her, brimming with tears that… probably weren’t real?

“…I have no idea.”

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(YN) and Geto now sat in Yaga-sensei’s office, shoulder to shoulder on the worn leather couch. Though, to be fair, only one of them was mentally present. (YN) was too occupied with the non-stop barrage of questions from the two curse dolls—Ren and Riku—currently curled in her lap like clingy toddlers.

In front of them stood Yaga-sensei, arms crossed, and next to him was Fukami Keigo, a sorcerer from (YN)’s clan—the closest branch member stationed in Tokyo.

“...So, um,” (YN) hesitated, absently smoothing Ren’s uneven bangs, “is this… normal?”

Just as she finished the question, the twins’ cursed chatter trailed off. Their eyes closed. Their tiny porcelain bodies relaxed.

(YN) blinked. “...Huh. They fell asleep?”

“They do that,” Keigo replied, amused. “Emotionally-driven or childlike curses often imprint on Inari Pact successors. It’s because of the aura of nurturing, comfort… safety. A maternal signature that’s part of the bond. This only happened now because you’ve never encountered a ‘childlike’ curse before, (YN)-sama.”

That… actually made sense. With her tight schedule, school, and club practices, she rarely came across this type of spirit. Most of her missions were clean exorcise-and-go types.

Geto leaned forward slightly, voice quiet. “So… what can she do now? Let them stay or…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The air thickened just slightly. (YN) glanced down at the twins curled against her. Their little hands clung to her sleeves. They looked human-like this way. Thier cursed energy pulse like a heartbeats. Deep on her heart, she couldn't not had a heart to exorcise them. Damn it. She already getting attached by them.

Keigo stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well… ultimately, it’s up to (YN)-sama. You could exorcise them. But… if you choose to let them stay, perhaps Yaga-san might consider fostering a pair of adopted curse dolls.”

He glanced at Yaga expectantly. The principal was already rubbing his temples. After a long pause, Yaga finally sighed.

“…Fine. They can stay here at the school. I’ll make arrangements.”

(YN)’s face lit up like a lantern festival. “Seriously, Sensei?! Thank you so much!”

“They’d better behave,” Yaga added, though there was no real bite in his tone. “If they cause trouble, they’re your responsibility. But otherwise… Panda would probably enjoy the company.”

(YN) beamed. Choco cookies. Yes. She was absolutely baking thank-you cookies for Sensei tomorrow. With sprinkles and extra chocolate chips .

“That’s a relief,” Keigo said with a small bow. “And a unique outcome. Not every day we get curse dolls adopted by a school.”

Geto stretched and grinned lazily. “They’ll behave better than Satoru, sensei. So don’t worry.”

Yaga actually chuckled at that. (YN) covered her mouth, snorting. Because, yeah. That was facts. No matter how chaotic Ren and Riku were… they would never be as unhinged as that white-haired menace with sunglasses and zero volume control.

.

.

Later that night, (YN) brought Ren and Riku to her room. Yaga had suggested they stay with her for a while before moving in with Panda and the other cursed dolls.

Who knew what kind of chaos would erupt if they woke up alone in a new place? (YN) grimaced at the mental image of twin tantrums at 6 a.m.—dolls flying, glass breaking, possibly fire. Yeah… no thanks.

The twins were now fast asleep, tucked near the corner on her bed. They both snuggled under a spare blanket and two small plushie pillow she own. It's remains her on how she would do this over her Barbie dolls when she was a kid. Except this dolls was alive and can talk. What a creepy, horror life she lived.

From the small CD player on her nightstand, a soft ballad floated through the room—one of her DBSK mix playlists. Melancholy voices, gentle piano, a whisper of strings. Perfect for nighttime distraction. She can't fell asleep without it , without any sound . Or else she will overthinking something and then it would turn into insomnia and she will wake up with eye bags and headaches.

She let out a long, tired sigh and sank into her mattress, her head pressing into the pillow with that delicious post-mission exhaustion.

What a day.

She exorcised a haunted doll room, got saddled with cursed spirit toddlers, and now… she was apparently a mother?

“…What’s next? A real kid?” she muttered, half-laughing to herself.

Dear gods, she hoped not. She wasn't ready for that level of nightmare fuel. With that final, drifting thought, (YN)’s eyes fluttered shut.

In the quiet dimness, the soft glow of her hitodama flickered gently at the ceiling. Outside the window, the wind rustled the trees—and somewhere, faintly, one of the twins mumbled in their sleeps.

“…Okaa-san…”

Chapter Text

The next morning , Dormitory Room.

True to Yaga sensei's words, the twin ichimatsu doll woke up. (YN) heard giggles before she even opened her eyes. With a sleepy sigh, she stretched her arms and slowly sat up.

There they were—Ren and Riku—sitting in front of Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi, tilting their heads in unison like curious cats. The shikigami didn’t seem alarmed, just amused. Inyoubi gently played with Ren's hair, earning a soft giggle.

The moment (YN) stepped down from the bed, the twins turned toward her at the same time. Then—zoom! They latched onto her legs.

" Okaa-san! "

" Ohayouu! "

" Hai.. Hai.. Ohayou " . Replied her , her voice a bit croaky. (YN) gently patted their head . Caressing softly like her mother always did. Making Ren and Riku nuzzled at her accepting the warmth and love from her.

Then she crouched to thier level. Both her hands on thier white pale face. Her thumbs strokes thier rosy cheeks .

" Okaa-san will get ready first , alright? Can you two wait with gekkoumaru and inyoubi there for me? "

Ren and Riku turned to look at two fox shikigami there sitting on the round fluffy brown rug . Then nodded eagerly.

" Umm! "

" We will, okaa-san! "

They went back to gekkoumaru and inyoubi. Continued thier staring game.(YN) sigh and smile before she rise up and went to bathroom to shower and get ready for her classes.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Clad in her Jujutsu uniform, katana bag slung casually over one shoulder, (YN) walked through the dormitory hallway toward the pantry.

On either side of her, Ren and Riku toddled along, each clutching one of her hands with their tiny porcelain fingers. She wasn’t even at the pantry door yet when the chaos hit her ears like a brick.

Gojo, of course, was already whining about breakfast—again. Geto's voice followed, scolding him with the patience of someone who’s so over this routine. Then came the inevitable—Shoko’s dry, sarcastic jab that cut through both boys like a kitchen knife through tofu.

(YN) sighed and shook her head.

“So much noise this early in the morning…” she muttered under her breath. Not ideal for someone who was, very much, not a morning person.

" Neee.. Didn't we eat this yesterday? Give me garlic bread and pasta ! "

" Satoru, be grateful you can eat a breakfast "

"Eat your glutton alone and die "

A chuckle slipped from (YN)’s lips, instantly drawing the trio’s attention. Shoko gave a lazy wave. Geto offered a warm “Morning”.

But the loudest one of all? The dramatic, spiky-haired mushroom? Gojo Satoru shrieked. He pointed an accusatory finger at (YN), then at the two small doll spirits now peeking from behind her legs like startled kittens.

“W–WHAT are those?! Kitsu onna! Did you give birth to them last night or something?!”

Shing! THACK!

A katana whizzed past his face, slicing the air and embedding itself in the wall behind him—precisely where his cheek had just been. (YN) stood, fuming red, her entire body shaking from pure mortified rage.

“Have some shame, will you?! Are you blind now?! Can’t you see they’re cursed spirits, you DUNK MUSHROOM HEAD?!”

“Haaah?! Who you calling mushroom head, you noodle-haired woman?!”

Shing! THACK!

A second projectile flew—this time, an aura-glowing  pair of chopsticks—piercing the wall just beside the katana. Thrown by (YN), naturally, as she took her seat beside Shoko with an audible huff. Ren and Riku clambered onto her lap like little goblins returning to their throne.

Shoko eyed the two Ichimatsu dolls nestled on (YN)’s lap. Her plate and bowl already empty, she now leaned her head on one palm, eyebrow raised.

“You really do have a habit of bringing home strays, huh, (YN)-chan.”

(YN) groaned dramatically. “Haaa... It’s not like I meant to, okay? They just... latched onto me!”

She put down her chopsticks—stolen from Gojo , of course—then scooped up Ren and Riku, holding them up like a proud but overwhelmed parent.

“But come on, how can you say no to these faces?” She wiggled them gently.

Before Shoko could deadpan a single word, she was promptly cut off.

“Okaa-san”

“Who are they?"

Ren turned shyly, hiding his face in (YN)’s chest, while Riku tightened his hold on (YN)’s uniform, scooting closer to her like a clingy toddler.

Shoko blinked. “...Did they just call you—”

“O-Okaa-saaaan?!” Gojo screeched, finger jabbing wildly at (YN). "You had kids and didn’t tell me?! Who’s the father, kitsu onna?!”

Shing! Tack!

Another cursed-charged pair of chopsticks flew across the room, narrowly missing Gojo’s cheek and embedding perfectly beside the others and the katana already stuck in the wall. It was beginning to look like an abstract art piece of rage and regret.

Suguru sighed into his tea like a man who’d aged fifty years in five minutes.

“This is going to last all day, isn’t it?”

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Later in the training field.

Ren and Riku followed (YN) like lost ducklings. She went to the toilet—they were right behind her. She walked with Shoko to the vending machine—they clung to her legs, asking what drink she was getting like her tiny cursed fangirls.

Truly, no peace for the blessed. From his spot on the stairs by the training field, Gojo huffed, slouching like a very dramatic, very put-upon Greek statue. The late evening sun bathed the sky in a blend of warm orange and soft violet blue. The trees rustled, petals danced on the wind, and somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed like a soundtrack to his suffering. But that's not his view. No. Gojo got another better view to watch.

In front of him, (YN) and Geto sparred. She was graceful—fluid like a stream over smooth stones. He was solid and sharp, like carved obsidian. Gojo had to admit, they matched well.

At first, Geto didn’t expect (YN) to want a hand-to-hand match. Not when she’d already mastered Kenjutsu like a war goddess out of an Edo-period folktale. But she insisted and now Geto was eating humble pie with a side of bruises. Kicks by kicks. Punch by punch. He admitted. She's good at dodging and findings a spots ─ hidden , undetected .

Gojo’s eyes slid sideways to the creepy little curse dolls sitting beside him on the steps—Ren and Riku. Who (YN) asked him to watched over them. As if they needed one. It was his heart that needed protection. Even after a cute played thing with panda which not looking cute at all . With no assigned mission today, they’d just been attending classes and lazing around the school yard like little gremlins.

Then, after lunch, he, Geto, and Shoko had witnessed "mummy (YN)" proudly introducing her twins to Yaga’s cursed dolls.

Surprisingly, it went well—at least mostly.

Yaga’s dolls usually stayed silent and inactive, permanently set to 'do not disturb' mode… except for Panda, of course. Panda, being the social butterfly he is, immediately dragged Ren and Riku to play in the block section.

(YN) had even wiped away fake tears, looking for all the world like a proud mother watching her toddlers make friends at the playground.

“They grow up so fast,” she whispered dramatically, her voice thick with fake emotion.

Geto and Shoko both side-eyed her. Hard. This was normal, apparently. According to Gojo, you either ignored her or joined her. So he joined her.

“I know, right?” Gojo said, crouching beside her and dramatically dabbing at his eyes like he was mourning the end of toddlerhood.

Geto and Shoko sighed in perfect synchrony. That was Gojo and (YN) for you. Dramatic asses.

But that's in the afternoon. Now in evening they all went to the training field. Gojo still glances to the dolls next to him. They were weird. Too quiet. Too polite. Too... doll. He imagined them clicking their necks at once and slowly turning to face him in the dark. Ugh—he shuddered.

Clack.

Gojo flinched. Ren had just turned his head. To look at him. Directly.

“...Eh?” Gojo blinked. “Oi. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Clack.

Now Riku turned, too. Their wide glassy eyes blinked.

"Oii! Kitsu onna! Take your children back—they’re creeping me out!"

Gojo's voice cracked just a bit as Ren and Riku continued to sit motionless beside him, staring with unblinking devotion.

"Hah… hah…HUH?! Don’t tell me you’re scared of them?" (YN) scoffed, catching Geto’s punch with her forearm, her muscles tensing beneath her uniform. Her leg swung up in one fluid arc, aiming directly for his temple.

“Tch—!” Geto grunted, catching her ankle just in time. Such power… from such a small body. He could feel the force behind her strike.

"Strongest or not, creepy is creepy!" Gojo argued from the sidelines. "And have you even seen Suguru’s newest curse collection?! Literal nightmare fuel!"

At that, Geto paused. His sparring slowed. He turned to Gojo, smiling—but not the kind of smile you’d feel safe under. His cursed energy began to hum softly, seeping from his skin like smoke curling around a match.

“…You wanna fight? Right now?” he asked, calm but venom-laced.

"Ehh~ not really. But don’t cry when you lose," Gojo teased, stretching like he wasn’t instigating a war crime.

(YN) let out a long, maternal sigh. One born from years of secondhand nonsense. Boys. Always boys. And, as if summoned by that very energy—

"Okaa-san!"

"Up! Up!"

Ren and Riku glided toward her, tiny hands raised like ducklings who’d discovered gravity.

(YN) crouched down, scooping them up with another quiet sigh—but this one laced with fondness. That kind of sigh only the deeply affectionate (and terminally exhausted) ever learn.

As she walked past the two ticking time bombs—

“Well then,” she said sweetly, “don’t cry when I report you both to Yaga-sensei for damaging school property if I see so much as a scratch here tomorrow.”

Silence. The boys froze comically. Only the distant rustle of wind through the training field answered. Unknowingly someone set his eyes on her, even after she disappeared behind the dorm entrance with her twins in her arms, soft giggles rising from her sleeves.

Gojo and Geto stood in stunned silence, still in their fighting stances, but very much disarmed. But Geto didn’t miss it Gojo’s gaze lingered on the door. Soften, devoted eyes watching her laughing with her two adopted dolls.

‘Heh… such a simp,’ he thought.

Chapter Text

10 August 2005 , Cafe in Roppongi.

What a rare day this was.

In the heat of summer, Jujutsu sorcerers rarely got a break—but today, by some miracle (or maybe just pity), Yaga-sensei granted (YN) and Shoko a day off . So what do two teenage girls do when the world stops asking them to punch cursed spirits in the face?

Snack hunting.

There was a particular café (YN) had been dying to visit. And now that she had the chance, she wasn't going to waste it. With her katana left behind and her uniform folded neatly in her room, she traded blades and curses for sunshine and sugar.

She wore a soft baby-blue floral sundress, a navy knit cardigan, and white Mary Jane heels—a far cry from her usual combat gear. Dragging a reluctant Shoko along, they got ready and asked one of the assistant managers to escort them to the café.

.

.

Cling!

The little brass bell above the door rang sweetly as they stepped inside. (YN) took a deep breath. Inhaled the warm air with the scent of fresh cream, sponge cake, and espresso—it almost made her cry.

This... this is what life was supposed to feel like. Can she rewind the time? Was it too late for her to gave up her life as sorcerer now? Definitely . The desserts that she could eats once a week on summer break now was cuts into nothing. Sometimes it was either she to tired to stopped at the cafe or she not in the mood. Exorcised cursed spirit sure taken away all the joy.

The sweet voice of the staff greeted them warmly from behind the counter. "Irasshaimase! What would you like to order?"

(YN)'s eyes scanned the dessert display with laser precision—eyes glinting, tongue buzzing, soul weeping. Thinking what dessert should she get. Decided what's her brains and hearts wanted . They're really not synchronized mind you.

"One vanilla Swiss roll, one chocolate almond muffin, and... Umm...three mochi, please. For drinks—iced latte, onegaishimasu!"

A righteous reward for all the cursed blood she’d spilled over the past few months. She was going to devour every calorie like it owed her rent.Then the lady turned to Shoko after done conforming her orders.

“Iced Americano and vanilla cake,” she replied flatly. Per (YN)'s request, of course. The cake.

(YN) glare deadpanded at her as they walked to the table by the window, where the golden sun painted delicate shadows across the table. The pastel walls, potted plants, and soft indie music completed the dreamy picture. But the audacity of this woman.

"I can't believe you ordered black coffee, Shoko!"

(YN) looked personally offended. Narrowing her eyes at her friend in front of her now. Just a single iced Americano?! If she ordered the creamy caramel frappe with fluffy cream she don't mind. But the poor iced Americano without a sweet cakes ? It's criminal.

"Where is your cute girl soul?! If it were Suguru, I wouldn’t even flinch. But you?! We need more girls' nights. You need to embrace the feminine divine!. "

"I've been drinking this since long before Jujutsu High. It’s not a big deal."

“It is when we’re in a café that literally looks like a Studio Ghibli scene. Haaa...I blame Suguru for corrupting your aesthetic taste. You’re too cool sometimes.”

The waiter soon arrived with their order, and in moments the table bloomed with color and sweetness—fluffy Swiss roll, golden-baked muffin, glossy mochi, a tall iced latte beaded with condensation. Her stomach and soul both thrilled at the sight. But of course, no girls’ day out was complete without a few pictures.

(YN) pulled out her beloved silver digital camera like a seasoned pro.

A snap of Shoko mid-sip (totally candid).

A perfect overhead shot of the dessert spread.

And a quick mirror selfie in the café’s dreamy pink bathroom.

She hugged Shoko after the selfie, thanking her for indulging her whims today.

Shoko huffed in her seat—fondly, though—and let her eyes drift to the window. Summer sunlight poured over blooming hydrangeas outside; sparrows perched on the menu board, fluffing their feathers in the heat. The café exterior was nothing remarkable, but the moment felt like the kind of soft, fleeting life teenage girls should get to have.

By the time (YN) devoured the last strawberry mochi and drained her latte, she clapped her hands together with purpose. Shoko turned to her warily.

"Okay! Sweet done! Now... we hunt savory: takoyaki, okonomiyaki, and melon soda!"

Shoko blinked.

“... You’re still hungry?”

“Shoko, I exorcised six curses last week and carried Satoru’s emotional baggage. I deserve crispy octopus balls.”

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Tips for finding real, homemade-style takoyaki? Look for the stall that seems older than your will to live.

(YN) found exactly that—right near a street junction, tucked beside a rusted vending machine and a creaky wooden bench. The takoyaki stall had a faded red banner, smoke curling lazily from the hot iron plate, and an oji-san with more wrinkles than years left to tolerate tourists.

Perfect.

She and Shoko sat on the bench, sharing a paper tray of warm, savory takoyaki, each ball sizzling with umami-rich promise. And then disaster struck when a hand swooped in and takoyaki disappeared.

Gone. Vanished. Abducted.

“Yum~ Free food really is the best food, huh, Suguru?” said the culprit nonchalantly, as he chewed on her last takoyaki ball. The last one that she saved for. The one that had a lot of katsuobushi.

Gojo Satoru.

Mushroom-haired menace. Stealer of snacks. Goblin king of audacity.  (YN) gasped and looked up at him. Gojo braced himself for a punch. Shoko prepped herself to play referee. But instead of a snarl or a scream, she pouted. Her eyes shimmered—round, teary, impossibly sparkly. Her lips trembled. Her cheeks flushed pink.

Gojo twitched. He’d fought cursed spirits. He’d laughed in the face of death. But this? This was his limit.

“Oji-san,” he turned to the takoyaki vendor with shaky pride, “One more plate. With extra katsuobushi. Please.”

He paid.

He waited.

He handed the new plate to (YN) in total silence.

(YN) looked like the happiest girl in the world. She took the plate with both hands and beamed up at him, radiating pure sunshine. Gojo turned his head quickly, pretending to stretch his neck but that's wasn't enough to covered his pink ears.

"Want some, Satoru?” (YN) asked casually, holding out the tray with one warm takoyaki.

Gojo didn’t look at her at first. He was busy pretending the tree across the street was fascinating. Very fascinating. He grumbled something under his breath but still leaned in, snatching the takoyaki ball like a sulky crow.

“Tch. Only ‘cause you offered.”

Shoko and Geto exchanged a knowing look across the table. She took a long sip of her melon soda, eyes twinkling with mischief. He, meanwhile, quietly pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

Gojo, cheeks puffed with food. (YN), smiling like the sun at him with takoyaki between them like a shared secret. He even knew her order of takoyaki. Always with extra katsuobushi. And yet still play pretend on his feelings.

Suguru didn’t say anything, but a soft smile curved on his lips.

‘What an idiot,’ he thought, tucking the phone back into his pocket after sending that picture at Gojo's phone. For him. So that he could put it in his hidden file.

Not just Gojo. Both of them. Clearly, they liked each other. Obviously. Painfully. And yet here they were, still dancing around it like it wasn’t written in every glance and every spark between their cursed energies.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

They wandered through Roppongi well into the evening, the city glowing around them with neon signs and the buzz of weekend life. Gojo and Geto had just wrapped up a mission—sweaty, exhausted, but naturally dramatic—and immediately crashed the girls’ hangout.

Because of course they did. That’s how they’d found (YN) and Shoko at the takoyaki stall earlier—mid-bite, mid-laugh, mid-peace.

Now the four of them strolled the streets together, sampling every little thing that caught their eye. One moment, Gojo was dragging them into a maid café with sparkles in his eyes. The next, (YN) was tugging his sleeve toward a butler café, declaring it was only fair.

In the end, they went to both.

(YN) and Shoko sat unimpressed in the maid café, quietly judging frilly uniforms and over-the-top greetings. Meanwhile, in the butler café, Geto and Gojo both tried to act cool—but (YN) did not let that pass. She took pictures. So many pictures.

And every moment was captured on (YN)'s camera.

One, of her and Shoko, posing dramatically with a giant dessert mascot.

A shot of Gojo and Geto making ridiculous faces, one eye half-closed, the other sticking out their tongues.

And then... a quieter one.

A photo taken from behind—Gojo and (YN) walking a few steps ahead of the others. The street bathed them in orange-pink twilight. (YN)'s head tilted slightly toward him. Gojo’s profile was caught mid-smile—soft, warm, almost reverent.

A look that held no teasing. No sarcasm. Just... affection. Between them who completely unaware but not to him.

Geto noticed since he’d been the one holding the camera at that moment and when he checked the photo later, he stared at it for a while.

"I hope she sees it," he thought, thumb hovering above the screen.

Because it wasn’t the type of smile Gojo gave just anyone. It was hers. Geto glanced at Shoko. Hoping that she also saw what he does.

Indeed she did. Both gave a silent and knowing smirks.

"What an idiot "

"Couldn't agree more "

.

.

They settled the day with some ice cream . Sitting on a bench at the park nearby . Watching some kids playing at the playground there. The only place they didn't see any cursed spirit here. Maybe it's full with happiness from the happy kids laughing and shouting. Subconsciously, (YN) lean a bit at Gojo next to her. They were waiting for the auxiliary manager .Lucky there's one who near them who willingly to pick them. But they needed to waited  30 minutes for him to arrived.

While the kids there laughing, Geto and Shoko in a heat discussion and (YN) scrolling her phone. And then—there was Satoru Gojo. Sitting stiff as a broomstick, trying not to explode.

Because...

Because (YN) was leaning on him.

Not a full-blown dramatic lean—no swoon, no movie-moment head on shoulder. Just a soft, casual brush. Her shoulder resting against his arm. Her hair lightly brushing the edge of his uniform sleeve. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for her, it probably was.

But for him? Panic.exe.

He stared straight ahead, wide-eyed behind his tinted glasses, face frozen in a "perfectly normal, nothing’s happening, I am chill" expression that was failing miserably.

(YN) didn’t seem to noticed. She was talking about something—was it the flavor of taiyaki or the fact that she saw a cat riding a bicycle? Who even knew? Her voice was a soft hum in his ears, half-distracting, half-hypnotizing. He caught a word here and there, but mostly his brain had stopped functioning somewhere around shoulder contact.

"Satoruuu," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, "Are you even listening?"

Brain: SCREAMING

He cleared his throat. "Hah? Of course I am. I'm a genius, remember?"

"You haven’t blinked in two minutes," Shoko commented dryly, not even looking up from her ice cream.

Geto turn to looked at them . "He looks like a statue. Maybe someone exorcised his brain."

"W-what nonsense are you talking!" Gojo snapped, voice a little too high, cheeks just a tiny bit pink under his glasses. "I'm perfectly fine. Cool. Normal."

"Ohhh? But your ears are red," (YN) giggled, tilting her face up toward his. The sunlight caught the shimmer in her eyes, and Gojo—Gojo made the unfortunate mistake of looking directly at her.

Mistake. Critical hit. Game over.

He whipped his head away like he’d been shot, hiding behind his hand with the subtlety of a car crash. "Shut up, kitsu onna," he muttered, eyes darting everywhere but her.

Suguru cackled. Shoko snorted. (YN) just blinked innocently.

"You're warm," she said quietly, leaning a little more against him. Gojo did not survive that moment. Where's the auxiliary manager when you was needed now?! 

Chapter Text

17 October 2005 ,Metropolitan Cursed Technical College, Tokyo.

Clock on the wall read 12:00 A.M.

Midnight at Jujutsu High arrived cloaked in silence. Not the peaceful kind—but the wrong kind. Eerie. Oppressive. As if the wind itself was holding its breath. No rustle of leaves. No hum of distant traffic. Not even the buzz of a cursed spirit lurking in the shadows.

It was still. Too still.

For seasoned sorcerers, it was enough to set off alarms in their spine. The air felt heavier, denser—as though space itself were shifting. Something was coming.

Something old.

Something waiting to be summoned.

Yaga Masamichi, seated at his office desk, felt it first. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He paused mid-paperwork, his pen hovering above a half-filled form. Instinct made him reach for the curse energy around him, heightening his senses.

Geto and Gojo were on a mission tonight, out near the Saitama ward. That left only two students within the school walls—Shoko and (YN).

Shoko was likely holed up in the infirmary still, combing through the latest cursed affliction case from Osaka. And (YN)... he sighed. She’d been injured on her last mission. Burnt out, drained from overextending her cursed technique. Strict bedrest for at least three days.

He waited. Silent and still, watching his shoji doors like they might swing open at any second. Waiting for cursed users, or worse.

But nothing came. The silence continued to press against his ears. Maybe he was just tired. Paranoid.

Still...

The discomfort in his chest wouldn’t fade.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

15 October 2005 , 2 days before.

Lately, she’d been seeing things — fleeting shadows at the edge of her vision — and feeling bone-deep tired. Exhausted, even. Her limbs felt heavier than stone, her muscles taut and sore, and a sudden dizziness always followed whenever she used her cursed energy. She told herself it was just the season changing, from warm to cold — perfectly normal for her body to be a little under the weather.

But her heart said otherwise.

Still, she brushed it off and acted as though she was fine. And she was… mostly. Just a bit tired. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Gojo didn’t buy it for a second. He insisted she rest, but stubborn as ever, she refused. That little standoff spiraled into an argument — one sharp enough to leave them not speaking for days.

Then she saw something or someone who she thought she would never saw it again.

The white fox. The same spirit she once glimpsed during her Coming-of-Age ceremony. Elegant. Elusive. Enigmatic.

She spotted it again at Jujutsu High—this time while sparring with Geto at the training field. Just as she turned to deliver a punch, her eyes flickered toward the treeline. And there it was. Amid the rustling autumn leaves and half-bare bushes: the fox. Watching her silently.

Her breath caught and reflexively, she bowed but as always, by the time she looked up—it was gone.

“Umm... are you okay, (YN)? And, uh... who were you bowing to?” Geto asked, his arms still half-raised, prepared to block the hit she never threw.

(YN) didn’t answer right away. She stared at that one spot beyond the bushes, her face suddenly pale beneath the golden sunlight. Geto scanned the area, but there was nothing. Just dried leaves and wind-shaken branches.

Seconds later, (YN) exhaled and straightened her back. “Gomen, Suguru. Can we take a break?” she asked, rubbing the back of her neck, her voice thin.

“You sure? You look... off,” Geto said, lowering his guard. “I can talk to Sensei, get you a day or two to rest. You’re not even flaring with cursed energy right now.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted with a tired smile. “Just a bit drained. I’ll be okay.”

But he didn’t argue with her—just let her be. From the hallway, he watched her slowly make her way toward the dormitory—shoulders sagging, steps unsteady. He prayed it was nothing more than exhaustion from the mission. Nothing serious. Nothing life-threatening.

Still, the tension between her and Gojo didn’t help. Both of them were too stubborn for their own good, mouths shut restrained themselves to talked bad on each other. Geto and Shoko could see it plain as day—they missed each other. Watching his friends fight wasn’t how Geto wanted to end this year.

... until the news came. She’d been injured—badly—on a mission with Shoko.

Gojo didn’t take it well. He blamed himself instantly. The moment he heard, he stormed into Yaga’s office, demanding (YN) be taken off the active mission list. Without waiting for an answer, he started taking over her assignments himself.

But from where Geto stood, this wasn’t just about protecting her. This was Gojo’s way of punishing himself—for being careless, for not taking her seriously when he should have.

According to Shoko, she had overextended herself. Pushed her cursed technique past its limit. Still managed to exorcise the spirit, but... collapsed afterward.

Geto told them about the fox. The sudden fatigue. The strange shift in her energy. But no one had an answer to it. All they can do now hoping she will get well soon. Or they will handling extra bratty Gojo.

─ Or so they thought.

The next morning, they found Gojo on a call with (YN)’s elders—his expression the most intimidating and serious they had ever seen from him. He was discussing her condition with Elder Shion, his voice low but firm, demanding that they find a solution.

It wasn’t common for a sorcerer to suffer this kind of cursed energy burnout—especially not (YN), who was known for her stable reserves thanks to her hitodama and shikigami.

"Onegaishimasu, Shion-sama," he muttered, the words heavy with urgency. His striking blue eyes never left her unconscious form on the bed. He watched the rise and fall of her chest—small, steady movements that were enough. Enough for him to know she was still here, still alive, still breathing.

Shoko had murmured that Gojo looked more mature like this, but Geto couldn’t agree. To him, it wasn’t maturity he saw—it was strain. Furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin line, his whole face drawn tight. A man completely different from the Gojo they knew. Or rather, the Gojo he became when (YN) wasn’t beside him..

.

.

Geto shouldn’t have been surprised to see him there—sitting right beside her. The man who had been gone all day, only to return at night and refuse to leave her side. The man holding her hand so tightly, it was as if letting go meant she would simply vanish.

Through the cracked door of (YN)’s room, Geto could see Gojo. She still hadn’t woken, but that was normal for someone who had pushed their cursed energy past its limits.

According to Shoko, she might open her eyes in a few days...maybe weeks.

Geto prayed it would be sooner. He couldn’t stand seeing Gojo like this—pale, hair unkempt, eyes twitching with restless energy, cursed energy pulsing unevenly around him all day like a storm with no wind.

Her room, once loud with their constant chaos, was now suffocatingly still. The only sounds came from the world outside… and the faint, warm hum of her cassette player. Gojo must have put it on, knowing she hated sleeping in complete silence.

“Please forgive me,” Gojo murmured against her hand, his lips brushing the back of it in a kiss so delicate it seemed out of character for him.

Geto looked away. It was too much—too fragile, too soft. Too full of love.

Who was this man? And what had he done with Gojo Satoru? Was this what love did? Turned someone inside out until they were unrecognizable? Even his own parents had never shown devotion like this.

Boy was down bad for his future missus.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

She knew she was dreaming. Every step through the mist-laced forest confirmed it. But this forest looked familiar. Like the one at her home. Maybe it was at her compound. But she don't remember they had those. A line up of stone lantern on the each side of the path. Glowing in blue flame. Huh...

The last thing she remembered was exorcising a cursed spirit with Shoko and then blank. And this wasn’t a domain expansion either. There was no pressure, no twisted curse energy lurking nearby. Just silence. Calm. As if the forest itself breathed peace.

Strangely, she didn’t feel fear.

No anxiety.

No danger.

Only familiarity. Like her soul had walked this path before. Like her body remembered this place better than her mind did.

Ahead, a still lake shimmered beneath the moonlight was the other things she saw than the tree . A single torii gate stood at its center, half-submerged, its vermilion wood faded and weathered by time, as though it had been waiting there for centuries—patient and unmoving. It rose from the water like a relic of forgotten prayers, a doorway between the seen and unseen.

The surface of the lake was glass—so pristine, so unnaturally still, it didn't reflect the world around it, but swallowed it whole. There were no ripples, no drifting leaves, not even the trembling of wind. It was the kind of silence that felt sacred… or cursed.

Somehow she afraid to disturb the stillness. Also she notice the moon hung full above, enormous and luminous. Brighter than she’d ever seen it.

Too bright.

Too still.

It hovered like an ancient watcher, cold and silver and… alive. The light didn’t warm the skin—it painted it in pale blue, like something not of this world.

The air here buzzed with something unspoken. Heavy and hushed. Like the forest was holding its breath, like the trees themselves dared not whisper.

And yet...

To (YN), it wasn't frightening. It was peaceful. Like slipping into water that was just the right temperature. Like returning to a place she’d once called home in another life. There was no fear in her heart. Only stillness. Only awe and an odd, aching sense of… being welcomed. And then—

Bin~g!

A sharp, resonant pluck of strings.

‘Shamisen?’

Her gaze shifted to the lakeshore. There, seated with impossible elegance, was a woman in a white kimono bound with a crimson obi. Her long, ink-black hair pooled like shadows around her, cascading over the mossy stone she sat on. In her lap rested a shamisen, fingers dancing slowly across its strings.

Bin~g!

The melody shimmered through the forest like mist spun into song. Ancient. Beautiful. Haunting. (YN) stood still, entranced by the sight.

Then—a movement caught her eyes. It comes from behind the torii gate, two miko stepped out of the trees, with lanterns in hand. Not human, no . Their faces were sharp and vulpine, their eyes golden. When she looked properly it's a fox spirits in shrine maiden robes, and (YN) notice even their steps silent as snowfall.

They stopped just behind the gate and above them—perched on the horizontal beam—was the white fox.

The fox.

The same fox that had watched her during her coming-of-age ceremony. The same one she saw in the woods while sparring. The same that flickered between presence and illusion.

Now, seated upon the torii, the fox stared at her—serene, poised, divine with her nine tails unfurled behind it, flickering softly like pale flame.

A kyūbi no kitsune.

For a brief moment, (YN) thought she saw a woman in the fox’s place—graceful, regal, wrapped in flowing silk and moonlight. But when she blinked, only the fox remained.

‘Huh...’

When she could felt the surface of the lake rippled—finally, as though breathing for the first time in centuries—she saw Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi emerged from the mist. They stood silently before (YN), facing her with their familiar forms bathed in moonlight.

She didn’t know why, but her chest felt hollow—devastated. Like something precious was slipping away. No—like they were going to leave her.

Her gaze fell on them, memorizing every detail. Gekkoumaru’s cute button nose. Inyoubi’s soft, squishy paws.

They had been with her since she was a child—playing in the snow, watching stars, keeping watch under her futon when she cried. They were her first companions. Her protectors. Her shadows. Her home.

Deep down, (YN) understood. This was a farewell. Their final service. A quiet ending to her childhood’s magic. All she could do now was just accepting thier goodbye and thus she bowed deeply.

“Arigatou gozaimasu.”

Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi bowed back—then turned without hesitation. As they walked toward the torii gate, their silhouettes shimmered with each step, becoming translucent. And the moment they passed beneath the gate—they vanished.

Gone.

(YN) let out a stuttered breath and her eyes tearing a bit. Even in dreams, goodbyes carve softly into the soul. There would be no more Gekkoumaru hiding behind her when Inyoubi teased her. No more late-night cuddles when she was too tired to stand.

'Ahh… I hate this feeling sometimes.'

Bin~g.

The shimasen’s last note sliced the silence as the lady stopped playing. And then—from beneath the torii gate— a tall figure stepped out. Black as a void, sleek and silent. Lanky, almost spectral. In her hand, a long sword glimmered like obsidian.

She approached slowly, each step echoing louder than sound. When she stood before (YN), the figure bowed. Startled, (YN) bowed back—her breath caught in her throat and then—clear, like a bell, a voice echoed inside her mind:

"Kagetsura."

Eh...?

Her lips parted in soft awe. Oh . This must be it. The reason why Gekkoumaru and Inyoubi return to their realm. A next stage from the Inari Pact. The awakening of the 3rd tails, Kagetsura.

So this… this was her new shikigami. The one born of evolution and growth. Of sorrow and strength. She took a deep breath before greeting her new shikigami.

“Pleased to meet you, Kagetsura.”

Kagetsura nodded once. Sharp. Precise. Then vanished into the darkness. The shimasen began again—one final, mournful note that lingered in the trees and between her ribs . As her vision began to blur, she looked up—the nine-tailed fox was still there, perched atop the torii gate.

Watching her.

Guarding her.

Smiling, perhaps.

Then—she woke with a jolt, gasping. Back in the realm of the living.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(YN) jolted awake—heart pounding softly in her chest. Her breath came out in a sharp exhale as she sat up, rubbing her forehead and stretching her body.

'Oh kami, how long she's been asleep?'  Her body so stiff and sore.

A sliver of sunlight filtered through the window, casting warm patterns on the floor. Outside, birds chirped sweetly, and the leaves rustled with a gentle breeze—like the world itself was exhaling too.

She blinked slowly, letting the moment sink in. Her eyes flicked to the clock hanging above her study table.

8:00 A.M.

"Eh...?"

She was late—but not in the rushed, panicked way. Also her body felt… strange. Not heavy. Not sore. Not drained like before. Actually, she felt good. Clear. Light.

Whole.

Then she slid off the bed, feet touching the floor like she hadn't just spent the night in a dream that carved farewells into her soul. Quickly she got ready for class, lock her door and walking the familiar halls of Jujutsu High.

Halfway there, it hit her.

Her steps weren’t dragging. Her energy wasn’t fractured. That bone-deep fatigue she’d carried since the mission? Gone. Wait—she had passed out after the last mission with Shoko, right? Damn. How long had she been out?

And her injuries—completely healed. Not even a scratch on her arms or face.

Frowning, (YN) dug her phone out of her pocket, flicked it open, and checked the date. October 17. Her eyes widened. Two days?! She’d been unconscious for two whole days?! No wonder she’d woken up feeling stiff and sore this morning. Even now, her body hummed with that peculiar, hungry sort of tiredness.

Well then. Before anything else, she needed one thing—her big breakfast. But abruptly she paused in the corridor, brows furrowing slightly. Remembering what she's dreamed last night. Then she took a looked at her beads bracelet her Elders gave

Another beads glowing up in a bluish swirling energy. Just like the other two next to it . That's mean what her dream last night, wasn't really a dream. It's a messenger. A realm where her world and the other connected.

“Huh.”

The moment passed, but the sense of peace remained. A soft thread in her chest, as if something old had been released—and something new had taken its place.

Chapter Text

17 October 2005 , Metropolitan Cursed Technical College, Tokyo.

No one was in the classroom when (YN) stepped in. Shoko, Geto, and Gojo were likely off on a mission already. Well then. If that’s the case, she figured, might as well find Yaga-sensei.

She turned on her heel and exited the classroom building, heading toward the faculty wing. The morning sun peeked over the rooftops, casting golden light across the gravel path. Crisp autumn wind tugged at her jacket sleeves, rustling the ends of her shawl and sending a shiver darting up her spine.

When she reached the faculty building, there's a auxiliary manager heading towards her.  He flinched—actually flinched—when she greeted him. Wide-eyed, pale, and very clearly avoiding her gaze. Then she asked did Yaga-sensei in the building now.

"Yaga-sensei’s in the meeting room," he stammered. "With the other sorcerers and assistant managers..."

She gave him a polite nod. “Thanks.”

He nearly tripped over his own feet scurrying out of her way. (YN) frowned. Weird. Did she really that scary?

She pulled out her compact powder and popped it open with a soft click. Checking out her face. No dirt. No demon marks. No cursed goo. Just her regular old gorgeous face.

She smirked. "Still cute and beautiful as always."

Snapping the compact shut, she tucked it back into her school bag just as she reached the meeting room. She waited outside, arms crossed, shifting on her feet as the minutes dragged.

She was bored. Restless. Her fingers twitched at her sides—missing the familiar sensation of summoning Gekkoumaru or Inyoubi. But ever since the night by the lake... silence. Nothing answered her call anymore.

And that was the other reason she was here. She needed Yaga-sensei’s permission to return to her family compound in Kyoto—to speak with the elders, to understand more about the new shikigami.

Kagetsura. The name alone made her skin prickle.

Tall.

Lanky.

A long sword glinting at her hip and that mask—blank, unreadable, like something pulled from the void.

Creeeak. Tack!

Clang!

The door burst open with a loud tack and the metallic clash of steel—everything happened so fast that (YN) didn’t even have time to blink. In front of her stood a tall, shadowy figure—Kagetsura—lithe and dark as ink, blocking the incoming katana with one smooth, echoing parry.

(YN) blinked, wide-eyed. “Ah! Kusakabe-san, what is this? A surprise training session for me?”

Kusakabe, still gripping his katana, stared at her, visibly sweating. Around the room, a handful of sorcerers and assistant managers—including Yaga-sensei—were frozen in place.

“N-No...nothing like that,” Kusakabe stammered, hastily sheathing his katana. “S-sorry for the sudden attack, Fukami-san... "

Kagetsura, silent as always, dipped her head once. Then, just like mist dissolving under sunlight, she sank into the earth in an inky ripple and disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

(YN) puffed her cheeks, clearly annoyed. “Mouu~ How many times do I have to say this? Don’t call me that! Just (YN), or (YN)-chan is fine!”

She crossed her arms with a huff. The formality of Fukami-san made her itch—it sounded like her elders. Distant. Ancient. And definitely not fun.

She appreciated the respect—truly. But every time someone decades older than her said "Fukami-san" like she was a noble matriarch, it gave her chills. She wasn’t comfortable being placed above people who'd been fighting since before she learned to even hold a blade.

Yaga, who had been silently watching the floor where Kagetsura vanished, finally looked up and approached her.

“What are you doing here?You still have one more day to rest. The others are all out on missions already.”

(YN) scratched the back of her neck. “I know, sensei. I just wanted to ask your permission to go back to my family compound in Kyoto.”

She paused, then gestured toward the spot where Kagetsura had disappeared. “That was my new shikigami—Kagetsura. I want to talk to my elders about her. There’s still so much I don’t know.”

"Hah... You have my permission. But remember—no missions for today."

"Ehhh~ but I’m feeling fine, sensei—"

"No. That’s final. Also you just regain from consciousness. Don't do much activities"

Yaga cut her off sharply before she could finish. He absolutely did not want to deal with Satoru Gojo marching into his office, throwing a tantrum, if he found out Yaga let (YN) take on a mission right after her injury. Not today. Not with the headache still pounding behind his eyes.

"Hai... Tsk!"

(YN) huffed, her lips puffed out in a pout as she turned to leave. She really did feel like she could throw a bus right now—but an order was an order. And honestly, she didn’t want to deal with Gojo either. Not until she had more coffee, at least.

"Ask Yukiko to send you to the compound!"

Yaga called after her, just as she stepped out of the faculty building. She turned her head, already halfway through a firm decline—

"Satoru's orders."

That stopped her.

"ARGHH—fine!" she shouted in frustration, storming off. Her figure disappeared around the corner, leaving only the echo of her grumbling behind.

Yaga sighed and turned to face the room full of stunned sorcerers and assistant managers. The silence was so heavy, even the crows outside seemed to pause. He lowered himself back into his chair and rubbed his temples.

“W-what was that, Yaga-san?” one of the younger sorcerers finally asked, still pale from the encounter.

Yaga exhaled, long and deep.

“That... was the second stage of the Fukami Inari Pact.”

He paused, letting the weight of that settle in the air.

“The three-tailed fox, Kagetsura. An assassin-class shikigami—and the only fox spirit known to possess that much negative cursed energy. It’s no wonder Kusakabe mistook her for a cursed spirit. Hell, I nearly did too.”

His gaze drifted to the faint shadow left on the floor where Kagetsura had vanished. Quite impressed with his student healing abilities. Just two days ago she fainted and now she woke up with such amount of cursed energy. And don't made him talked about her hitodama who keep charging her up .

"Her family sent word early this morning. No wonder I felt that eerie pressure last night...Kagetsura has awakened."

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fukami Compound, Kyoto.

Her family compound never changed, no matter how many times she returned. The vibe, the feeling of the buzzing sealing curtain humming through the air, and most importantly—the food. Nothing ever beat Haruki-san’s cooking. Even though she’d had a slight problem entering the compound (thanks to the seal mistaking her for an enemy), all was forgiven the moment she took her first bite. The food healed her rejection. Instantly.

“Gomenasai ne, (YN)-chan,” her mother, Reika, said as she sat beside her in the dining room. “We didn’t have time to reseal the curtain since Priest Tsukiko was away yesterday. And you didn’t inform us you'd be arriving so early. Your father was ready to cut down what he thought was a cursed spirit...Turns out it was his beloved daughter.”

Her mother chuckled gently, but across the table, her father sat ramrod straight, a stiff line of regret across his usually proud face. Somber. Dejected. He looked like a war general who’d accidentally tried to fight his own troops. He didn't want to believe he just attacked his daughter. Who just regain from consciousness. Imagine his panic and worried when he heard the news from Elder Shion. He almost booked a train to Tokyo if Reika didn't stopped him.

(YN) sweat-dropped, eyeing her father while she swallowed down a warm, pillowy takoyaki. Then, she muttered—

“Hah...it’s my second time being attacked today.”

Her father immediately perked up, deadly silent for a moment.

“Who was it?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hah? What are you talking about, Papa?” (YN) asked, leaning in, not quite hearing his low growl.

“Who dared to hurt my daughter?!! I will kill them!”

(YN) shot up from her cushion, panicking as she rushed to stop him. Her father was already halfway out the room, katana unsheathed and eyes blazing.

“PAPA! CALM DOWN!” she yelled, struggling to drag him back by the sleeve. “MAMA! HELP ME! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!”

And sure enough, Reika was giggling from behind her fan like this was all an after-dinner comedy show.

“Hahahahaha~!"

.

.

After the dramatic ordeal with her father, (YN) now sat in the sacred room alongside the Elders and Priest. The air was heavy with incense and reverence. They followed tradition: the purification and cleansing ceremony, prayers for good fortune and protection—as she was now officially fifteen—and lastly, the welcoming ceremony for her shikigami, the three-tailed assassin fox spirit, Kagetsura.

Elders Shion and Chiyo sat flanking Priest Tsukiko, facing (YN) across a ceremonial tatami mat. Between them lay three sacred relics: an aged scroll sealed with a crimson cord, an heirloom higanbana tsumami kanzashi, and a black-handled tanto engraved with the Fukami family crest.

“Omedetou, young Fukami,” said Tsukiko, his voice calm as water under moonlight. “For awakening Kagetsura—a shikigami as graceful as she is lethal. Within this scroll lies everything you must know about her.” He extended the scroll, and (YN) took it with both hands, bowing low in respect.

“For you,” Elder Chiyo added, placing the kanzashi into her palms. The red spider lily petals shimmered faintly in the candlelight. “You’ve died many times, child. Not in flesh—but in heart, in soul. And still, you return. Stronger. Kinder. Fiercer.”

(YN)'s breath caught in her throat. Her lips trembled.

“I thought higanbana was for partings,” she whispered.

“It is,” Chiyo smiled softly. “But it also marks the path home. This is not for mourning—but for honoring the self you’ve shed, and the one you’ve become.”

Her heart ached in the best way—like being stitched together by gentle hands.

Then came the tanto from Elder Shion. It was cool and weighty in her grip, heavy with history.

“This blade was used in the Soul Severance Ritual,” he explained, his voice unusually somber. “It will be needed again when you face the third stage: the Six-Tailed Soul Sealing, Tsukigami. Last it was wielded to sever Sukuna’s soul and bind his cursed fingers. We..,regret that records are scarce.”

“Eh?! Really? That’s so cool!” (YN)'s eyes sparkled, her awe immediate—until her smile wavered. “Wait. So...no instructions?"

Elder Shion chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Afraid not. We’re dealing with antique cursed tools and ancient mysteries, after all.”

“Maa~ maa~, (YN)-chan,” Tsukiko said soothingly. “You may never need to use it. Worry not.

But deep down, (YN) already knew the truth. She would use it. The question was not if—but when.

.

.

The soft scrunch of dried autumn leaves followed each step as Elder Shion, Elder Chiyo, Priestess Tsukiko, and (YN) emerged from the sacred room. The cool evening air carried the scent of earth and faint incense, the sunset spilling gold and crimson over the carpet of fallen leaves. None of them spoke at first, content to walk in silence toward the ceremony hall where her birthday celebration awaited.

“You gave us quite a scare when young Gojo called me about your condition two days ago,” Elder Shion said at last, her voice cutting gently through the quiet.

(YN) blinked, her steps faltering. Gojo?

“Really?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Yes,” Elder Chiyo chimed in with a small smile. “He sounded so worried and desperate—poor boy nearly gave himself a heart attack.”

The autumn chill couldn’t compete with the sudden warmth flooding her cheeks. Her heart gave a ridiculous little flutter, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. So...he was worried. Whoever said Gojo Satoru had no heart clearly didn’t know him at all.

Oh she can't waited to teased him about it later. Muehehehe.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, they held a birthday celebration for her at the ceremonial hall. Every available family member was present—smiling, chatting, feasting. Though (YN) tried to enjoy herself, she couldn’t help but feel a little pouty. Her friends weren’t here. They were away on a mission in Miyagi. Tch. Typical.

But they'd promised to celebrate with her tomorrow once they returned. That promise alone warmed her chest a bit.

Shoko had sent her a text with a picture of her gift—a fox charm nestled in a velvet pouch. Elegant and subtle. Very Shoko.

Then came a message from Geto:

"Otanjoubi omedetou!"

Attached was a photo of a newly released manga volume with a post-it: “You’re gonna cry on chapter 7.”

And then… there was Gojo. Of course he didn’t just say “happy birthday.” Oh no. He gave her a lecture.

“You should be resting. No training, no cursed technique use. Do you know how badly you overexerted your energy? Your entire aura was leaking like a broken kettle !”

Blah blah blah. Classic Gojo. But then his voice softened through the line. (YN) just pouted and argued with him more. But the word from him shut her up.

“It’s because I was worried about you... (YN).”

Ba-dum.

He said her name. Her name.

He never says her name like that.

Just those few words from him —and her face flushed hot. Her fingers gripped the sheets and her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

"Did you hear me? Oi!”

“Hai hai, I’m listening! Mou~ enough with the nagging already! You didn’t even wish me happy birthday, Satoru! So cruel of you!”

“Fine...Happy birthday, kitsune onna.”

"Tsk.. Look at you. Since when you become tsundere huh? Where's the one been dead worried of me two days ago? , "

The silence between them was so loud. Gotcha. She wasn't sure what's he doing right now. But she heard some rustling and thumping. Heh.

".... Shut up, kitsu-onna! "

There it was. Her Gojo. That teasing, exasperating voice that somehow still made her heart flutter. Hearing him say it—that nickname, in that voice—was enough to make her grin like an idiot and giggle into her sleeve.

Ughhhh... shit. I love him.

They exchanged a few more playful words, the kind that danced around things unsaid, before finally murmuring a quiet “goodnight” to each other.

As the call ended, she tossed her phone aside, buried her face in her pillow, and let out the most undignified squeal.

Damn it. Confessed to me already you menace!

Chapter Text

25 December 2005 , Dormitory Common Room, Tokyo.

They planned it.

The moment (YN) saw that glint exchanged between Geto and Shoko, she knew they were plotting something.

For this year’s Christmas, (YN) had taken it upon herself to decorate the common room. And by “herself,” she meant dragging her friends into it—namely Geto, Shoko, and Gojo. Though that walking menace was currently off buying KFC. He claimed it was “tradition,” and insisted on being the one to bring it back. Fine. Let him have his chicken pilgrimage.

Which meant, for now, it was just (YN), Geto, and Shoko in the common room.

A medium-sized Christmas tree stood in the corner, graciously funded by Yaga-sensei, who had asked the assistant manager to pick up the basics. But of course, basics weren’t enough for (YN). She had gone out and bought extra decorations herself—cuter, trendier, far more aesthetic.

Geto, being the tallest (and therefore automatically promoted to head of tree operations), was in charge of stringing the Christmas lights, red ribbons, and ornaments.

From her seat on the couch, Shoko handed him the decorations one by one like a bored noblewoman supervising the help.

“Lazy much, Shoko?” (YN) asked, raising a brow.

Shoko didn’t even glance up. “Can’t you see I’m busy? Chop chop. Keep working, Suguru.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Geto sighed, catching a red ornament she tossed at him. He hung it next to a white one and stepped back, squinting at the symmetry.

“You two better appreciate this. I’m basically sacrificing my dignity for holiday aesthetics.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Shoko muttered, stretching her legs out on the coffee table. Then send a smirked at Geto which being replicated by him. It looked innocent. Like two happy teenagers celebrating Christmas. But not to her

(YN) watched them both with narrowed eyes. That glint, that smirked again. Something was definitely up.

.

.

The scent of gingerbread cookies, cinnamon rolls, and hot chocolate wafted through the common room like a warm holiday blanket. (YN) busied herself in the pantry, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly dusted with flour. Baking was more than just a hobby for her—it was therapy, a form of affection, a silent offering.

She baked when she was stressed. She baked when she craved something sweet. And she baked when...Gojo seemed like he needed it.

She wasn’t even sure when that started. Back then, he would show up at her house, running from the suffocating grip of his clan, and she’d bake for him without a second thought. Out of sympathy. Out of silent understanding. She used to pour her heart into it back then, moved by his pain.

But now?

Now he demands it. Like a bratty little flour-dusted king.

Sigh.

While the last batch of gingerbread cookies baked away in the oven, (YN) brought out the freshly made ones to the table—along with cinnamon rolls, still warm and sticky-sweet. The gingerbread cookies were blank for now—no icing, no decorations—because some menace insisted on decorating them himself.

As she wiped her hands on a tea towel, she heard the familiar sound of stomping footsteps and dramatic muttering echoing from the hallway.

(YN) poked her head out just in time to see Gojo Satoru grumbling to himself, arms weighed down with two plastic bags that were suspiciously festive and suspiciously overloaded.

“What in the sugar-dusted hell did he buy this time…” she murmured to herself, squinting.

“You're late, Satoru. Poor Suguru almost fainted waiting for the chicken,” (YN) said as she took the plastic bag from his left hand. But when she opened it up, her brow furrowed. Okonomiyaki and takoyaki? Huh?

“Late?” Gojo scoffed, puffing out his chest dramatically. “You try waiting in that monstrous line, and just when it’s finally my turn, bam—they’re out of chicken. I had to drive all the way back to Shinjuku to find another place. You should be grateful, you kitsu onna.”

(YN) blinked at him, head tilting slightly as she peeked at the logo on the packaging. Oh? This was from that restaurant in Shinjuku. The one she loved. The one that only had one branch—far, far away from the convenience of this errand.

Interesting.

“Hai, hai. Arigatou...” she said, lips curling upward as she examined the okonomiyaki. “But, doesn't this takoyaki come from that place in Shinjuku?” Her voice was soft, teasing—just enough to poke at the truth without forcing it.

Gojo froze. Just for a second. Then his ears started to turn pink. Busted.

“Shut up!” he snapped, eyes darting away. “Like I said, I was there to get the chicken. I just—passed by that restaurant, and—well—why not, right?! I was craving it, obviously.”

Mmmhm.

He didn’t even like okonomiyaki. Not really. But she adored it.

(YN) chuckled softly, her eyes crinkling. Her heart did that annoying warm flutter it always did when he pretended not to care. She knew better.

"Alright, fine, I tru—"

"Naa, Shoko," Geto cut in, his voice all syrupy mischief. "Doesn't someone need to kiss when they’re standing under a mistletoe?"

A what now?

A kiss?!

That one word alone was enough to freeze both (YN) and Gojo mid-motion. Slowly, like characters in a horror movie, they tilted their heads upward.

Yep. There it was. A tiny mistletoe swaying above them.

Since when?! (YN) hadn't seen it before—but when her eyes flicked toward the wall, she spotted a low-grade cursed spirit crawling smugly back toward Geto.

That little traitor. They planned this.

"Yup! Totally bad luck if you don’t do it," Shoko added, standing next to Geto with the fakest worried expression known to man. "We don’t want that for next year, do we?"

"I know, right? Remember when (YN) forgot her omamori?" Geto clutched his arm dramatically, feigning an old war wound. "We all got injured on that mission..."

“Haaa?! W-what are you saying, Suguru! Don’t lie, you little shit! You never got injured!” (YN) barked, jabbing her finger at him while he kept up the Oscar-worthy performance.

“She’s right,” Gojo chimed in, arms folded smugly. “Since when do you get injured? Or are you saying you’re getting weak now?”

Geto’s eye twitched—but only for a second. His smug returned doubled.

“Well, if you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it,” Geto said coolly, stepping forward. “Move aside, Satoru. Let me—"

“No!” Gojo snapped, practically leaping in front of (YN). “I’ll do it! Come here, kitsu onna.”

“Eh?!” (YN) squeaked, heart slamming so hard she could hear it in her ears.

He stepped closer, voice cracking like brittle ice. And yet… there was something almost soft in the way he looked at her. Something real.

He was serious about this.

(YN) looked up at Gojo, really looked. He was trying so hard to act cool, but his flushed cheeks, the twitch of his hands buried in his jacket pockets, and the way his eyes darted everywhere but her gave him away.

She smiled shyly. Just the smallest tilt of her lips, but it made his heart flip.

Gojo, meanwhile, couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch Geto or run for his life. Maybe both. But when he glanced back down at (YN)—at her sparkly eyes and those... pink lips—

No.

Bad Satoru. Focus. Cheeks. We are at cheeks level, not lips.

One day, though... yeah. One day.

And then he saw it—she was ready. Waiting.

So Gojo slowly leaned in, heart pounding like temple drums. As he got closer, her scent hit him: that soft perfume he could never name, mingled with ginger, cinnamon, and hot chocolate. The way she always smelled when she was baking.

The way she smelled like home.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a gentle kiss to her left cheek. Just for a second. Maybe two. Long enough to memorize the warmth of her skin. The faint gasp she let out. The stillness of the room.

(YN) held her breath the whole time. She hadn’t even realized her eyes had shut. His presence was so close, so real. The heat of his body, the whisper of his lashes brushing against her cheek... It felt longer than it probably was. It felt like a pause in the universe.

When Gojo finally pulled back, his face was pink down to his ears, eyes snapping away like a guilty teenager. Then—

A synchronized snorted from Geto and Shoko snapped then both. Or just Gojo as he went to tackled his friend there. While (YN) walked back to the table. Settled the food into the plate.

“Come here, Suguru! Let me hit you!” Gojo howled, dumping the KFC onto the table and launching himself across the couch.

“Argh! Satoru, you lunatic!” Geto yelped, toppling over with a laugh as Gojo tackled him with all the strength of someone fueled by flustered embarrassment and suppressed butterflies. While Shoko casually followed (YN) who still stunned at the table. Wondering about the kiss.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Minutes later, they finally settled down—mostly because Yaga-sensei showed up and smacked both Gojo and Geto on the head.

That did the trick.

Laughter echoed around the common room as the chaos melted into comfort. The table was a joyful mess: crispy fried chicken stacked high on a plate, fluffy mashed potatoes and creamy coleslaw on the side. The okonomiyaki Gojo had bought? (YN) had already cut it into neat slices, offering it to everyone with a grin.

Christmas was about sharing, after all.

"Sensei! Come join us—decorate a gingerbread cookie!" (YN) called, waving Yaga over like a hostess at a holiday café.

He grumbled, but eventually shuffled over, plopping down between Shoko and Suguru with a resigned sigh. "I came to check on you all… not decorate cookies."

“Too late,” Geto said, passing him a naked gingerbread man and a tube of icing. “You’re one of us now.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Yeah, Yaga-sensei. Spread the holiday cheer.”

Yaga muttered under his breath about overgrown children, but when he thought no one was watching, he drew a tiny Santa hat on his cookie.

(YN) caught it, though. And she smiled.

.

.

After the mess was cleaned, the leftovers packed up, and everyone shuffled off to their rooms—bellies full and hearts warmer than mulled wine—(YN) stepped into her dorm with cheeks still warm from the mistletoe incident.

The door clicked shut behind her.

She flopped onto her bed with a long, muffled groan. Face buried in her pillow. Her heart refused to calm down. And the ghost of Gojo’s kiss on her cheek? It burned like a curse mark of embarrassment and butterflies.

Then−

“AAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!”

A muffled scream into her pillow. Yep. That happened. He really kissed her. On the cheek, but still!!

Meanwhile

Two doors down, in his own room, Gojo Satoru collapsed backwards onto his mattress like a dramatic anime protagonist in the middle of a love crisis.

He groaned into the night.

“Why did I tilt my head like that?! WHO TAUGHT ME TO ACT LIKE A DRAMA PROTAG??”

He rolled to his side, smashing his pillow over his face, kicking his legs like a lovesick teenager. He could still smell the cinnamon and chocolate from her hair.

Back in (YN)’s room, she turned on her side, pulling the blanket up to her nose. Her fingers brushed her cheek—the one he kissed. Her lips quirked into a sleepy, shy smile.

“... Idiot,” she whispered, but there was no bite in it.

In the quiet of the night, two idiots laid in their separate rooms, both wide awake and hopelessly caught up in the same thought.

That kiss.

Chapter Text

14 February 2006 , Dormitory Pantry.

Valentine’s Day had always been just another day for her. Before she knew him of course. Before she realized her own feelings. Before the puberty hits her like a truck filled with love potion.

Sure, back in middle school, (YN) had received the occasional secret chocolate or love letter—but none of it ever meant anything. Not really. Nothing of that compared to the simple, store-bought chocolate Gojo once gave her.

Even if it wasn’t handmade. Even if he handed it over like it was no big deal. She’d still received it with both hands, heart pounding. Back then, it might have been platonic. Might have. But today... today, it meant something more.

(YN) woke up early. The sun was still shy behind the curtains, the house blessedly silent—everyone else still asleep. Thank the stars for that.

Wrapped in her matching blue pajamas and fluffy slippers, hair tousled and mind half-asleep, she padded quietly to the pantry. This was supposed to be a surprise, after all.

She opened the fridge tucked inside and pulled out a box of fresh strawberries, along with three types of chocolate—dark, milk, and white. Instead of the usual Valentine truffles or shaped molds, she’d decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries.

Why not?

They were sweet. Romantic. A little messy. Just like her feelings.

.

.

Gojo gave up on sleep.

He’d woken too early and now, no matter how many times he tossed and turned, it refused to return. His brain wouldn’t shut up—but what truly yanked him from bed was the familiar tug of her cursed energy. Lively. Focused. Intent. Why was she up this early? Classes didn’t start until 8:00, and it was barely 6.

Grumbling, Gojo dragged himself out of bed, guided more by instinct than curiosity, following the warm pulse of her energy down the quiet hallway. The moment he stepped into the pantry, the scent hit him—chocolate. Sweet, rich, warm. And there she was.

Sitting cross-legged on the chair, dipping strawberries into bowls of melted chocolate. She decorated each one carefully before setting it aside to cool. Hair tied in a messy bun, still in her matching pajamas and those ridiculous fluffy slippers. Ridiculous and cute.

She turned before he even made a sound, sensing his presence with the same ease he felt hers.

“What are you doing up this early, kitsune onna?” Gojo yawned, scratching his head. “And what’s with the strawberries and chocolate?”

Without waiting for an answer, he strolled over and grabbed one from the finished batch, popping it into his mouth with zero remorse.

(YN) frowned, hands on her hips. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

Tch. This walking light pole just had to ruin the surprise.

“Hahh...not like I didn’t want to sleep, kitsune onna,” he mumbled dramatically. “Even my own body’s betraying me these days.. "

He plopped onto the chair next to her, resting his head on his folded arms like a pouting child. He went quiet after that, eyes half-lidded, watching her work in silence.

The final strawberry went into the bowl of melted white chocolate. She held it up, let the excess drip off, then carefully drizzled it with milk chocolate and sprinkled it with crushed almonds. Another perfect piece. She set it beside the others with a proud little smile.

After finishing the last strawberry, (YN) turned to look at Gojo. His hair was a mess, his pajamas slipping off one shoulder, and his usually bright eyes were clouded with sleep. She furrowed her brows and reached out, gently running her fingers through his snowy hair.

Soft...

“Do you have a headache? Or are your eyes acting up again?” she asked softly. “I can call someone from your clan to bring your medicine if you need it.”

He didn’t respond. Just sighed and leaned further into her touch like an oversized lazy cat. His eyes fluttered closed as if her fingers alone were enough to lull him.

Oh no, she thought grimly. He’s going to complain later if he falls asleep like this and his back cramps.

“Satoru? Hey—wake up. You can’t sleep here.” She nudged him gently. “Satoru!”

But of course, it didn’t work.

“I still need to pack these strawberries. Go back to your room.”

He grumbled, groaning as he sat up a bit straighter—but instead of moving, he shifted even closer. His arm looped around her waist, and before she could react, his head rested on her shoulder.

(YN) froze.

She could feel his breath against her neck. It sent a traitorous shiver down her spine. Her brain went fuzzy.

“Sa-Satoru! You—ugh!” she squeaked, nudging him again. “Don’t fall asleep here!”

But he just hummed sleepily, snuggling in closer, face half-buried in the crook of her neck.

“Oh my god. Are you kidding me right now? Sato—”

“(YN)... it's too bright,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and low. She let out a sigh, slumping in her chair. This man. This ridiculous man.

He was impossible when he got like this—warm, clingy, sleepy... and so hard to say no to. Especially when it came to his light-sensitive eyes and the headaches he stubbornly kept to himself.

“Hah... fine,” she muttered. “But don’t whine if I move around a lot. I still have to pack the strawberries.”

He hummed again, already halfway to dreaming. (YN) shot him a side glance. Annoyed. But undeniably fond. She reached for the chocolate strawberries and began packing them into the small gift boxes she’d prepared for her friends.

Unseen by either of them, Geto lingered at the doorway. For a moment, he just watched—the quiet affection, the ridiculous cuddles, the unspoken longing humming between them. He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He still couldn’t believe his friend could act like this and still have the nerve to blush every time he teased him about it.

“Honestly, why haven’t they confessed already? It’s not that hard, is it?” he muttered under his breath. “Painful to watch, the way they orbit around each other like lovesick moons.” With a soft sigh, he turned away and quietly left the dormitory building.

He’d only come in to grab some water before his usual morning run—but the sight of those two in their little bubble made him pause. Yeah... maybe the vending machine would do today.

.

.

Later that morning, just before they parted ways for their assigned missions, (YN) handed each of them a small box of chocolate-covered strawberries. Each box contained six strawberries, each dipped in a different type of chocolate—milk, dark, white, and even a few with toppings.

Gojo, of course, had already finished his. He’d eaten the entire box on the way there, shameless as ever. Shoko, as expected, accepted hers with an easy grin, immediately opening it and popping one into her mouth without hesitation. Geto accepted his with a calm, fond smile.

“Thanks for making these for us.”

(YN) waved her hand with a soft chuckle. “It’s nothing. Just a little gift to show I appreciate my friends.”

Their mission for the day split them into two groups: Geto and Shoko in one team; (YN) and Gojo, in the other.

As they walked off in opposite directions, Geto glanced back at Gojo. He could sense it—Gojo’s cursed energy was unusually steady today. Calm. Balanced. There was a serenity to it, like the sun had finally risen after a restless night. He smirked and let out a quiet snort. Of course he’s fine today. Nothing like a little love to fix that mess of a soul.

"What's wrong, Suguru? Something on my face?" Gojo asked, narrowing his eyes as he caught Geto snorting.

Geto just chuckled, shaking his head. "Nope. Nothing to worry about." He paused, then smirked. "Though you do look unusually... radiant today. Something happen this morning?"

Gojo shot him a mild glare before quickly looking away. "No. Why?"

But even as he averted his gaze, Geto caught the unmistakable pink dusting his friend’s cheeks. Bingo.

He burst out laughing and clapped a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. "Never mind, lovebird." With a smug grin, he turned and called out, "Shoko! Let’s move out! Leave the couple alone! "

(YN), who’d still been chatting with Shoko, froze mid-sentence. Her cheeks flared bright red. Shoko cackled, gave her a quick wink, and darted toward the car where Nanami was already seated and Geto had flopped in the backseat.

"Bye, lovebirds! Yukiko-san —snap a picture of them together, will you? We need something for the album!" Shoko teased, slamming the car door dramatically just as the engine roared to life.

That left (YN) and Gojo standing in a puddle of embarrassment, with the auxiliary manager smile knowingly. His flip phone already taken a picture of them blushes , eyes darting everywhere but not theirs.

Moments later, they piled into their own car, the assistant manager already behind the wheel, humming along to the radio. The mission waited—but so did the undercurrent of something new, something unspoken, dancing just beneath the surface.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Later on at night.

(YN) was ready to sleep.

She just fresh from the shower, skin warm and clean and her muscles a bit sore but loose after a long day of exorcising curses. And now she sat cross-legged on her bed in a dimly lit room, wrapped in a cotton pajamas with her hair slightly damp.

The soft hum of her cassette tape filled the silence—an old 90s Japanese mixtape, melancholic and comforting which now currently playing a song from Miki Matsubara - Stay with me . Leaning on the bed with Gintama manga in her lap. A perfect before the bed ritual she's been doing since middle school.

Then—

Knock knock.

She blinked, frowning softly. Who could that be at this hour?

(YN) stood up and padded barefoot to the door. When she opened it, her eyes widened in surprise.

Gojo Satoru stood there. Hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, his snowy hair a little messier than usual. He rubbed the back of his neck like a schoolboy caught sneaking out.

“...Hey,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “Can I come in?”

“...Uhmm...sure.”

She stepped aside, letting him in. That’s when she noticed it: a cardboard box in his hands. He walked over to her bed, set it down carefully, and patted the spot next to it.

“Sit,” he said.

(YN) huffed a little, curious but cautious. She closed the door and joined him on the bed. The box sat between them, closed—but something about it felt… alive. She glanced at Gojo. He still wasn’t saying anything. Just looking at the box.

Then—He opened it.

Meow.

“...Eh?”

Inside was a tiny, fluffy white kitten. Blue eyes wide and glassy, fur like fresh snow. It blinked slowly, then let out another soft mewl.

(YN) gasped, eyes growing round and when she looked up at Gojo, stunned. Because he smiled—a real smile. Not the cocky, smirking kind. No shades. No swagger. Just Satoru. Soft and boyish and a little bit shy.

“Is this for me?” she whispered. Her fingers had already found the kitten’s head, gently stroking between its ears. It leaned into her touch, purring almost instantly.

Gojo nodded, grinning. “Yup. Picked him up from a pet shop on the way home. Poor guy was abandoned by his old owner.”

(YN) scooped the kitten up into her arms. The little furball curled against her chest, tail flicking lazily.

“Thank you, Satoru,” she said quietly, heart swelling. “He’s perfect.”

"Satoru, look! He’s purring!” . (YN) gasped in delight, her voice melting into a coo as she cradled the kitten against her chest.

“Aweeee...are you lovin’ me already, little guy? Yes, yes, I love you too.” . She giggled, nose brushing soft fur, completely smitten.

But then—reality rudely elbowed its way in. Her smile faltered. If the kitten stayed here...who would take care of him when she was out on missions?

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gojo’s voice came soft and casual, like he’d seen the worry blooming behind her eyes before she could hide it.(YN) blinked, brows knitting.

“Hm?”

She tilted her head. Was she really that easy to read? Gojo let out a sigh, dropping onto the edge of her bed with all the grace of a tired golden retriever.

“The cat. I’ve already sorted it out,” he said, waving a hand like it was no big deal.

“He comes with a keeper.”

“...A keeper?” . Her tone was cautious, suspiciously soft.

“Yup,” he grinned. “I brought someone from my clan. New staff. Still young, probably mid-twenties. Just started two weeks ago. So I brought him here and gave him an extra job. Come to Jujutsu High and take care of this little furball .”

(YN) blinked. Then blinked again.

He what now?

The tears caught her off-guard—slow and warm, trickling down her cheeks before she could stop them. No one had ever done something like this for her before. It was such a small thing, yet it cracked something open in her chest. A simple gesture...but it meant the world.

“Wait...did you force him to be the cat keeper?”

She sniffled, wiping a tear with the back of her sleeve.

“And didn’t your clan elders say anything? I’ve seen them before—they don’t seem the type to let their staff run off to play nanny for a cat.”

Gojo snorted, flopping backwards on her bed, arms behind his head like the most annoying man alive.

“Pfft. They didn’t even notice. Or if they did—they’re too scared to question me.” . He shot her a smug grin.

“What are they gonna do? Punish me for loving animals?”

(YN) snorted, amused by his dramatic grumbling. With a soft sigh, she lay down beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped ever so slightly under her weight—they laid so close that their shoulders brushed, yet neither made a move to pull away.

Gojo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. From this close, he could smell the familiar blend of her soft soap, her favorite lotion, and that shampoo she nearly cried over when it went out of stock.

He found it oddly easy to smile whenever she was near—especially in quiet, intimate moments like this. Moments that felt stolen from a louder world. Moments Geto would definitely tease him for if he ever caught them being this soft.

She raised the kitten into the air with both hands, holding him aloft like some fluffy little prince. The cat dangled awkwardly, his legs swaying.

"Meow!" The cat tilted his head, his blue eyes gleaming with curiosity.

(YN) let out a squeal before scooping him back into her arms, hugging the soft bundle of fur tightly against her chest.

"He's so cute!! What kind of breed is he, Satoru?" she asked, looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes.

Gojo's smug grin softened into something gentler. His voice, for once, not dipped in cockiness but something sweeter.

"Ragdoll," he said. “He’s gonna get bigger than this, so prepare yourself, kitsu onna. Pretty soon, he’ll be the one taking over your bed."

He reached out to the cat when she put him down between them and gave the cat a scratch under the chin, which earned an enthusiastic purr in return.

(YN) rolled onto her stomach with a huff, reaching for her manga from the nightstand. She tried to act nonchalant, cool as winter wind—but her heart had other ideas, hammering traitorously in her chest.

"You know what day it is today, right, Satoru?" she asked, eyes on the pages but clearly not reading a word.

Gojo clicked his tongue, then he turned to his side. Head resting on his palm.

"Of course I know," he muttered, side-eyeing her. "What do you take me for? I already gave you that fluffy little guy—now you're demanding chocolate too? The audacity."

His voice was playful, teasing. But deep down, the man was struggling to breathe. Every second with her was dangerous—he was dying here. Slowly. Painfully. From an incurable disease called love.

(YN) let out a tiny laugh, cheeks flushing.

"Hai, hai, gomen... that's not what I meant, you idiot!"

Feeling a bit embarrassed she reached out and gently tapped the cat’s head. (YN) looked at the cat, smile softly before she gaze up to Gojo sapphire eyes. The one that she like the most. The one who had the same eye color of the cat. Her smile bloomed, wide and warm, eyes crinkling into half-moons.

"Arigatou, Satoru."

Gojo froze.

She was looking at him—really looking—her face lit up with affection, her cheeks rosy in the dim light. Something in his chest squeezed tight.

He groaned and promptly shoved his face into the cat’s fluff like a man defeated.

‘Someone please help me. I am seconds away from biting her cheeks off. This is aggression. This is too much.’

"You, okay there? "

"Hmmm"

"Meow" 

Chapter Text

1 April 2006 , Metropolitan Cursed Technical College, Tokyo.

Somehow, her first year had quietly melted into her second and she was still standing. Miraculously. She’d made friends. She’d grown. She’d survived cursed spirits, brutal training, and emotional chaos. And maybe—just maybe—she’d developed a crush. Not that he knew. Or did he?

Spring had always been her favorite season. The flowers. The vibe.The feeling that everything was fresh, new, and soft around the edges. Back in her old life, April 1st meant walking into school surrounded by rowdy, wide-eyed freshmen and energetic upperclassmen waving banners and shouting club promotions. The chaos was comforting, in its own way.

But here, in Jujutsu High, there was none of that.

There were no big orientations. No clubs. No paper flyers taped to walls. Jujutsu sorcerers were a rarity—a hidden minority in a world that didn’t even know they existed. They had to be found, scouted from a young age by others who could sense cursed energy. Even among families with sorcerer blood, not everyone was born with the gift. In (YN)’s family, for instance, those who became sorcerers could be counted on one hand.

So when Yaga-sensei announced that the new first-years would officially be joining the classroom today, (YN) was thrilled. She couldn’t wait to teached them everything she had learned so far—every little tip and trick carved from blood, sweat, and cursed energy.

The one she was most excited for was Nanami Kento. When he explained his cursed technique, her eyes practically shimmered. Finally, someone she could spar with properly. She was thrilled at the thought of teaching him more about kenjutsu. After all, she was the only one in the school who wielded cursed tools.

Geto mostly relied on hand-to-hand combat.

Gojo...meh.

And Shoko? Well, she was a healer. Her training was completely different.

While they waited for the new students to arrive, (YN) drifted over to Shoko’s side. The two of them huddled around her phone, watching a video Shoko's mother had sent—a tiny cat tumbling over a plush blanket.

“She’s so cute!” (YN) sighed, her heart practically melting into a puddle. That cat was so adorable she wanted to bite those whiskers—not in a violent way, but in the overwhelmed-by-fluff way.

"You’ve got your own cat, haven’t you? He’s cuter than Mimi here," Shoko said, leaning lazily against the wall with her head resting in her palm, eyes half-lidded but amused.

Oh. Right. Her cat. The one Gojo gave her on Valentine’s Day.

She almost snorted. That fluffy furball had come with an instruction manual and a full-time guardian—someone Gojo had specifically brought in from his clan to take care of it. Who would’ve guessed that the mushroom-headed menace had this kind of soft, romantic streak?

"I know, but all cats are cute, Shoko!" she declared dramatically, hugging her arms to the desk. But her thoughts had already drifted back to that moment—Gojo standing awkwardly outside her door, cheeks pink, barely able to meet her gaze as he held out the kitten in a little carrier wrapped in a bow.

The most ridiculous part? She had only once casually mentioned wanting a pet—then instantly dismissed the idea because she knew she’d be too busy with training and missions. And yet, bam—a cat. From him. Of all people.

“Hahhh~ just confess to me already, you idiot mushroom-head,” she groaned silently, burying her face in her folded arms, grinning like a fool.

Creek! Tack!

The classroom door flew open with enough force to rattle its hinges—unsurprisingly, it was Gojo. And right behind him, ever the shadow, trailed Geto. Just about she thought of him and here he now strutting to his table . It's to scary to be coincidence . But then (YN) frowned when she noticed his hair.

Gojo’s hair had finally grown out of its awkward phase. No more mushroom head. (YN) squinted at him in mock judgment. She’d lost one of her best insults.

Gojo, of course, noticed it

“What’s with the glare, Kitsune Onna? Wanna fight me or something? Go ahead just don’t cry when you lose.”

“Humph!” (YN) crossed her arms, chin raised in challenge. “Wasn’t it you who flinched when I summoned Kagetsura? Don’t pretend I didn’t see you step back.”

“Hah?! I didn’t flinch! That was Suguru pulling me back” Gojo huffed, dramatically wounded. “I wasn’t scared of your creepy shadow-fox. I was... surprised by the cursed energy! Totally different!”

Meanwhile, Geto and Shoko watched from the sidelines like weary parents observing their two emotionally constipated children having another daily squabble.

“Honestly...” Shoko murmured without looking up from her phone. “This again?”

“I swear,” Geto sighed, rubbing his temples, “for kami’s sake, just confess to each other already!”

Silence. Like puppets cut from strings, both Gojo and (YN) froze mid-bicker. Blinked. Stared at Geto. Then, in perfect, suspiciously synchronized denial:

“I don’t like him!”

“I don’t like her!”

They turned away from Geto to face each other—and that’s when it hit.

(YN) grinned, slow and smug. “Ohhh? So I heard that right, Satoru? You like me?”

Hands clasped behind her back, she stalked forward like a cat ready to pounce. Gojo edged away, flustered and already blushing like a ripe tomato.

‘I will murder you, Suguru,’ his eyes screamed.

“Hah?! Who said that?! Shoko, check her brain. She’s clearly gone mad. That cursed energy of hers is rotting her logic.”

But no one was buying it—not with that beet-red face and twitching lips. Shoko snorted. Geto chuckled. They were thoroughly enjoying watching Gojo Satoru crash headfirst into his first teenage crush. Poor boy didn’t stand a chance..

Creek! Tack!

The door creaked open again—Yaga-sensei stepped in, flanked by two boys.

He paused, scanning the classroom. Gojo, red-faced, was frozen mid-squabble with (YN), who was grinning like a cat with cream. Behind them, Geto and Shoko looked far too entertained.

Yaga sighed. Loudly. The kind of sigh that came with a headache.

“Go and sit down. What are you all yelling for? I could hear you from the hallway,” he muttered, ushering them toward their seats.

They obeyed without complaint—well, Gojo muttered something about "freedom of speech," but one pointed look from Yaga shut him up. Geto took the seat to the far left, Gojo flopped down beside him, followed by (YN), and finally Shoko by the window. The arrangement wasn’t planned, of course. Totally not Geto and Shoko’s doing. Nope.

“Alright. I’m sure you’ve all heard and meet by now—but today, we’re welcoming two new first-years.” Yaga gestured to the boys standing beside him. “Nanami Kento and Haibara Yu.”

“Once again hajimemashite, Nanami Kento. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

The ash-blond boy spoke first—his voice level, posture ramrod straight. His uniform was spotless, his expression unreadable. He looked more like a twenty-five-year-old tax accountant than a fifteen-year-old student. He totally different from when (YN) meet him weeks ago. Maybe it's her first time seeing him wearing uniform.

Then came the sunshine.

“Haibara Yuu-desu! Nice too meet you again, senpai!”

The boy beside him grinned with all the brightness of spring—eyes sparkling, body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. He didn’t seem bothered by the classroom’s chaos one bit. Possibility him to joined the chaos was high. Probably by tomorrow he will played tags with Gojo and her dolls.

Once the two settled into their seats—directly behind (YN)—she spun around in her chair with a wide, sparkly smile.

“I already love you both . Also welcome to the classroom,” she declared.

From her pocket, she produced two individually wrapped strawberry candies and held them out to the boys like treasure.

“Here! Another little welcome gift from your senpai. Fukami (YN)-desu! Yoroshiku, Yuu-chan! Kento-kun!”

“Woah! Arigatou, senpai!” Haibara’s eyes practically twinkled as he accepted the candy like it was gold. Nanami took his more calmly, giving a small nod as he pocketed it.

“Arigatou,” he said simply and slipped the candy to his uniform pocket.

Gojo, sitting next to her, watched the scene with narrowing eyes. That candy. That smile. That favoritism.

His hand shot out toward her. “Where’s mine, kitsu onna?” he asked flatly.

(YN) squinted at him. Then turned her head away with a dramatic huff. “No candy for you! Bluekkk!” She stuck her tongue out, very maturely. Then faced the front like nothing happened.

Gojo’s eye twitched. His pride was in shambles. He smacked his hand on the table. “Hah?! You?! Oh, so this is how we’re doing things now—”

“Sensei! Satoru’s damaging school property again!” (YN) shot her hand up like a tattling prodigy, pointing accusingly at Gojo, who was now half-sitting, half-standing, completely outraged.

“Slander! Stop accusing me of things I didn’t do!” he barked.

“You smacked the table, didn’t you? That totally counts as property damage!”

“Come here, I’ll show you what property damage really looks like, kitsu onna!”

“Satoru! Sit down!” Yaga snapped, already feeling the migraine rising.

Gojo flopped back into his seat with the grace of an angry cat, still glaring daggers at (YN), who was now giggling behind her hand.

Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not now, please. We’ve got another mission to discuss. First of all... "

(YN) tried her best to focus, though her thoughts drifted toward Nanami. She’d seen his bag. A sword bag—just like hers. Her fingers tingled at the thought of a sparring match. This year might just be more fun than the last. She silently prayed for a good one.

Meanwhile, Nanami Kento already regretted enrolling in Tokyo Jujutsu High.

He stared blankly at his new seniors. Geto Suguru—cursed manipulation. Gojo Satoru—Six Eyes, Limitless. Fukami (YN)—Inari Pact successor. Ieri Shoko—reverse cursed technique. Watching how the other two senpai didn't bat an eyes on what's happening, enough for him to understood it was normal and would be his usual couple drama. Great.

Incredible sorcerers with utterly insufferable personalities. Nanami sighed and thought he should’ve gone to Kyoto.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Later on in evening.

Tack! Tack!

The sharp clack of shinai striking against each other echoed through the school dojo like thunderclaps. Each blow reverberated through the walls, shaking the floorboards with the sheer intensity of the duel.

What was supposed to be a light spar between (YN) and Nanami had spiraled into something far more serious. Heated glares, flaring cursed energy, and an unspoken agreement that this was no longer "friendly."

Outside the dojo door, four heads cautiously peeked inside—Gojo, Geto, Shoko, and Haibara—none of them brave enough to enter. One wrong move, and they'd be casualties.

“(YN)-senpai is so cool,” Haibara whispered, eyes wide with pure awe.

“That’s nothing compared to when she spars with her clan,” Gojo muttered, arms crossed. His tone was casual, but there was a proud glint in his eyes. “She’s not even going all out.”

Haibara snapped his head toward him, utterly gobsmacked.

“This isn’t her full strength?!”

“Trust me, Yuu-chan,” Gojo said with a knowing smirk. “If she went full force, Nanami wouldn’t even be standing right now.”

A chill ran down Haibara’s spine—but it was laced with admiration. Fear and respect tangled together. His senpai was terrifying... but awesome.

“Shoko,” Geto said, watching Nanami get struck cleanly in the side, “get ready to heal him after this.”

“Hai hai~” Shoko sighed, already cracking her knuckles in preparation.

.
.

Chapter Text

27 July 2006 , Keiji High school , Ibaraki.

Of all the places (YN) hated the least, it was schools. The cursed spirits there were usually smaller—childlike, even. And if a stronger one appeared, it rarely surpassed Grade 3. If they lucky enough of course.

For this mission, Yaga-sensei assigned her and Nanami to exorcise a cursed spirit at the school. According to the report, the spirit was estimated to be Grade 2—or above.

She hated that phrase. "Or above?"

What does that even mean? Couldn’t they just give a specific grade and assign a sorcerer of the same level? . (YN) had read too many reports—and seen too many cases—where young sorcerers didn’t survive because of vague intel and careless assignments.

Nanami noticed the furrow in her brows and the tight press of her lips as the auxiliary manager explained more about the mission.

Apparently, the Grade 2 cursed spirit was suspected to have manifested from a 17-year-old male student. He likely didn’t even realize it was a cursed spirit—just a growing darkness he couldn’t understand. He’d been a victim of bullying, with problems at home too. Years of bottling up pain and anger until it all burst out.

Still, they couldn't explain how a Grade 2 spirit had come from him. It wasn’t impossible ... just unusual. The higher-ups suspected something—or someone—behind it. Perhaps an outside influence. Like Sukuna’s fingers.

"If it really is from one of Sukuna’s fingers, we’re in serious trouble, Kento-kun,” (YN) said quietly to Nanami beside her. “Better brace yourself.”

“Hai, (YN)-san,” he replied, though doubt lingered in his voice.

He wasn’t sure he could handle it well—not alone, at least. A Grade 2 cursed spirit might be manageable, but the boy himself… that was another matter entirely. If he was a cursed user, not just someone affected by a Sukuna finger, this mission could spiral fast.

He silently hoped the aura was just residual… and not a sign of something darker.

.

.

The school hallway was eerie—too quiet, too cold. A heavy, lingering presence clung to the air like damp mist.

Nanami had just finished exorcising a cursed spirit that had been lurking around the faculty building. Luckily, most of them here were low-grade, barely enough to make him break a sweat.

He had parted ways with (YN) earlier, just as she instructed. While he cleared the faculty side, she handled the classroom wing.

As Nanami stepped into the hallway of the classroom building, he paused. A familiar voice drifted from one of the open doors—(YN), speaking softly to someone.

He peeked in.

There she was—his senpai—kneeling gently as a small cursed spirit clung to her midsection, hugging her tightly. Its form barely reached her waist. It sobbed, broken and childlike. Nanami couldn’t quite make out the spirit’s words, but a few trembling ones rang clear:

“I... don’t... want... to... die... okaa-san..."

Nanami’s breath caught. In that moment, he was reminded again of how different (YN) was. Where others saw cursed spirits as threats, abominations born from pain, she… she saw children. Fragments of suffering.

She knelt lower and spoke with a voice so tender it could lull the wind.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I promise you, dying isn’t always scary. Inari-sama will take you in. You’ll have friends there...you’ll eat delicious food, and sleep in a warm bed every night. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Even though the cursed spirit’s appearance was unsettling, grotesque even, (YN) looked at it with gentle eyes—like a mother would a frightened child.

She wiped its tears with delicate fingers, then slowly unsheathed her katana. The cursed energy she used was minimal—soft, warm. Just enough to exorcise it painlessly.

One clean stroke. The spirit vanished like morning dew under sunlight. When (YN) turned and noticed Nanami standing silently at the doorway, she gave him a small, tired smile. Then, she gently patted his shoulder as she passed him by.

“Let’s go,” she said softly. “We still have to find the boy.”

.

.

They didn’t take long to find the boy.

The gym building reeked of cursed energy—thick, suffocating, like rotting smoke clinging to the walls. A few lower-grade cursed spirits loitered outside, likely drawn by the powerful one hiding within, seeking its protection like parasites.

One coordinated slash—from (YN) and Nanami both—and the lesser spirits were gone, evaporated into cursed dust.

But the real challenge had just begun.

Inside the spare room, they found the boy huddled in a corner, trembling violently, his face streaked with tears and fear. The room was a scene of chaos—splintered sports equipment scattered across the floor, claw marks gouged into the walls, and a second student lay bleeding beneath the looming form of a grade 2 cursed spirit.

The cursed spirit turned the moment it sensed them—two high-grade sorcerers entering its domain. It shrieked and lunged at them with crazed speed.

(YN) moved instinctively, shoving Nanami to the side with surprising force just as the spirit attacked.

Nanami slammed against the wall, rough but not injured. What made his breath hitch wasn’t the impact—it was watching his senpai get thrown across the gym like a rag doll, her body crashing into the opposite bleachers with a sickening thud.

“(YN)-san!!” Nanami's voice cracked as panic surged through him. He pushed himself up, ready to run to her side.

But he froze. Because from the broken rubble and dust, (YN) stood. Her body bore only minor scratches—nothing life-threatening. And behind her, towering like a silent sentinel, was Kagetsura. Tall. Lanky. Masked. A cursed spirit so fearsome and regal, it felt more like an ancient warrior god than a shikigami.

Nanami stared, wide-eyed.

‘She must have summoned Kagetsura to shield her,’ he thought.

And she had. The moment she saw the flickered movements from the cursed spirit, she already summoned kagetsura to reduce the impact when she was thrown away like that. And kudos to her hitodama. Doing a great job, healing her.

The ice-cold gaze from (YN), her head tilted slightly as she stared down the cursed spirit, made Nanami realize just how different his senpai in the classroom was from the one standing before him now.

The cursed spirit cackled, bouncing around erratically. The air was thick with malice and raw cursed energy. No doubt about it—this one was a semi-grade one.

“Kento-kun! Agh—! Take the students and get out of here!” (YN) shouted as the cursed spirit launched another attack, forcing her to dodge and slide across the floor. “Let me handle this!”

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He wasn’t foolish enough to ignore an order—especially not from a special grade.

He sprinted toward the spare room, quickly gathering the injured student and the boy they suspected to be the source. Blood soaked the injured boy’s uniform, staining Nanami’s own as he hauled them out of the gym building.

The cursed energy behind him crackled like thunder, but he didn’t look back.

Near the school gate, Nanami gently laid the injured student down on the ground. Without pause, he pulled out a pocket blade, cut the boy’s school trousers, folded the fabric, and pressed it firmly against the deep slash on his abdomen to slow the bleeding.

Then—thud.

Nanami turned sharply at the sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind him. The boy had collapsed, face pale and chest rising with shallow breaths.

Nanami let out a sigh. “Guess I’ll be sending you to Yaga-sensei for interrogation.”.

.

.

When (YN) sensed that her kouhai had moved far enough away, she cracked her knuckles and rolled her neck. Time to show this cursed spirit who's boss.

While dodging a barrage of attacks, (YN) maneuvered to get closer—blade unsheathed, body poised like a coiled spring. The thing with Kagetsura was, she couldn’t move on her own. She followed wherever (YN) led. So if (YN) couldn’t close the gap, Kagetsura couldn’t strike.

And the cursed spirit knew it.

It moved erratically, desperately, as if it understood—if the sorcerer and her shikigami got too close, it was finished. She had to end this quickly, before the cursed spirit attempted Domain Expansion.

A technique she hadn’t mastered. When she asked her elders about it, they’d just shrugged and said, “It’ll come to you naturally.” what does that even mean?! Ughhhh!

But then—there. A blind spot. Just on the cursed spirit’s left flank. One mistake that this big guy made or it just pure instinct that it being covered. (YN)’s eyes flicked toward some broken wooden fragments nearby. A plan clicked.

She bolted.

The cursed spirit noticed instantly, screaming and lashing out harder. Activating her hitodama, (YN) vanished from its awareness—concealing her cursed energy like smoke in fog. She dove for the wood, grabbed a long shard, and hurled it to the right.

Brakk!

The cursed spirit turned—exactly as planned.

(YN) dashed in from the front. With a fierce slide across the cracked gym floor, she unsheathed her katana in a flash and slashed across its abdomen and Kagetsura followed up with a clean, brutal cut to its head.

“Jutsushiki: En’yō Reiketsu.”

In a split second, the searing blue flame burst forth—then crystallized into pure ice, freezing the entire gym in a shimmering flash. Cold surged through the air, frosting everything in silence.

(YN) rose to her feet, gasping. Her breath came out in thick white puffs. The cursed spirit writhed in its frozen cage, twitching beneath layers of ice. She stepped aside. Kagetsura loomed tall, blade glinting with frost, then—

Shhkk!

One final slash.

The cursed spirit cracked, shattered, and vanished. The only thing that left there was a wrinkled finger of Sukuna. How and when , that's she cannot answer it. All can she do now was resealed it back.

" Kagetsura, go and take a talismans in my room. " The shikigami nodded and disappeared- into the inky black pool beneath her. Before seconds later she appeared back holding a talisman.

(YN) took the talisman and wrapped it around the Sukuna finger. The talisman buzzing in her palm before tighten up. She let out a sigh and slipped the sealed finger into her pocket. Then walked out from the gym to the school gate . The cases here more complicated than she thought.

.

.

Nanami let out a relief sigh when the curtain started to disposed. Meaning that the semi-grade 1 cursed spirit already exorcised by his senpai.

The auxiliary manager who waiting outside, rushed into the school. He quickly kneel down to the injured student. Took out a cleansing alcohol and bandages. He clean the blood and wrapped it to prevent from the further inspection while waiting to get a proper medical care.

He glance at the side where the other boy layed there . "Is he injure too, Nanami-san ? ," asked him. Nanami grunted before he standing up and picked up the boy. "Fortunately no. Just passed out. I'll put him to the car . "

Without waiting for the auxiliary manager replied , Nanami moved to the car that was parked on the side road. Huffing when he managed to put the boy into the back seat. Guess he’d be riding with them. Nanami stretched a faint smile when he saw his senpai walking out with the auxiliary manager.

(YN) patted Nanami shoulder. Smile on her face. Though there was a scratched on her left cheek and chin. But other than that, she looks fine. "Good job, Kento-kun!. "

Nanami frowned a bit. "I'm sorry , (YN)-san. I can't help you much this time." He felt kinda useless here. He supposed to helped her exorcised the cursed spirit but here he was. Safe and uninjured. While his senpai battling her life there.

(YN) furrowed her brows when Nanami said that. "Kento-kun. Being sorcerer doesn't mean they need to exorcise a cursed spirit only. A sorcerer also need to help someone who in need. In this kind of situation, as someone who older than you, I have this responsibility to take care of the younger. "

She looked aside to the injured student and the boy inside the car there. Heavily breathing but still alive. "Look , if you didn't take them out from there. They probably died from that cursed spirit. That's also a job description for being a sorcerer, kento-kun. "

Nanami watch the victims there. He was glad , he can saved them . Gave them another chance to saw another sun rise. Then he looked back at (YN) who still smiling knowingly at him. "I understand that, (YN)-san."

"It's not really our faults either. The higher up should have send someone more experienced than us before sending us here, right". Added her. The Jujutsu society relying so much on higher up but they didn't gave back a what the sorcerer needed from them. Humanity and common sense. "Hahhh.. I hope they all died while eating. Easier than to kill them ".

Although she murmured about it , Nanami still catch it. His senpai so scary. Better not messed up with her.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(YN) just finished filling the report for today mission. Still in her uniform, she walked to the faculty room. She knocked the door before entering it. Yaga-sensei office.

When she get the replied from Yaga-sensei, she open the door and saw Kyoto Jujutsu High Principle, Yoshinobu Gakuganji. Sitting in front Yaga-sensei. (YN) really hope her smile can covered her cursed energy that buzzing out now.

"What do you need, (YN) ? How was the mission? ". Yaga asked her after she bowed to them. (YN) bowed just enough to be polite—but not enough to mean it. Her cursed energy buzzed around her like a thunderstorm held by a thread.

"Nothing. Just wanted to send you my report. Also.. Sensei. I found this." (YN) put the sealed Sukuna finger on his table. The room fell silent as Yaga and Gakuganji stared at the item on the table—the shriveled, talisman-bound finger of Ryomen Sukuna, pulsing faintly like a sealed heart.

(YN) straightened up before she continued. "How and when I didn't know about that. I suggest you send someone to investigate. The grade 2 cursed spirit turns out was a semi-grade 1 . You lucky I'm a special grade or else my family would have my dead body now. Ahahahaha! ." She let out laughed. Laughing her fate and life. But not her eyes and cursed energy . They ice-cold and buzzing even more.

"Though I hoped you didn't send a student to exorcise higher grade cursed spirit, Gakuganji-san . What's the point of having high level sorcerer out there if you just send us , student who mostly grade 4 and 3 to exorcise higher grade cursed spirit like a chop meat to them. We also have a family and life to spend you know. We just a kid and I hoped you didn't forget that. "

She clapped once and turned around leaved the office. Leaving the Sukuna's finger there for them to keep it saved and discussed further inspection of today cases.

"I hope you consider my words, Gakuganji-san! Jaa nee!." Even though (YN) said that in a cheerful tone, the weight of her killing intent didn’t go unnoticed by Yaga-sensei—or Gakuganji.

Silently Yaga agreed what his student said.

As the door closed behind her, Gakuganji slowly looked at Yaga. “You’ve raised a dangerous one.”

Yaga didn’t respond. He simply reached for the report and smiled.

.
.

Chapter Text

31 July 2006 , Jujutsu High Classroom, Tokyo.

Ever since Gojo gave her the ragdoll cat, (YN) brought him everywhere she went in school. She named him Ichigo, because just before Gojo gifted him, she’d given him a box of chocolate-dipped strawberries. It was fate. What else could he be called but Strawberry? Thus, Ichigo he became.

Ichigo was a calm and quiet cat… but beware. Annoy him, and you’d find teeth in your ankle. Just ask Gojo—he had the scars to prove it. Despite being the one who bought him, Ichigo had absolutely no issue sinking his fangs into Gojo’s leg if he irritated (YN). Which, naturally, happened often.

This morning, the second-years were granted a rare blessing: a day with no missions. Imagine that—a full day without chaos, without blood. Just the chance to rest and pretend, for a little while, that they were ordinary kids.

Of course, they knew better. Sorcerer schedules were fickle things, always subject to the cruel humor of fate. But for now, the morning was slow, calm, and golden. And so they savored it, clinging to the quiet as if it might shatter at any second.

Even without missions this morning, the second-years still got ready and headed to class, following routine. After lunch, though, they found themselves blessed with free time.

But peace? Please. What’s peace when you’ve got a white-haired menace who insists on picking fights with a cat?

.

.

(YN) was seated at her desk with Ichigo curled up peacefully on her lap, his half-lidded blue eyes locked on Gojo with silent judgment. His tail swayed slowly, side to side.

A warning.

A challenge.

And across the classroom, the one under Ichigo’s silent judgment stood sulking next to Mei Mei, arms folded, forehead pressed lightly against the window. He glared at the cat. He would not—could not—lose to a glorified pillow with claws.

“Such a protective cat you have, (YN)-chan,” Mei Mei murmured, her voice dripping amusement. Her eyes glinted as they slid to Gojo. “Even the great Six Eyes sorcerer… dethroned by a cat.”

Gojo spun, scandalized. “Hah?! I’m not scared of him, for your information! I’m the victim here! He nearly tore my ankle off!”

Fueled by righteous fury, he stormed across the classroom.

“And you—! You ungrateful brat! I raised you! I fed you! I named you! And this is my thanks?!” He dramatically stabbed a finger toward Ichigo’s forehead.

(YN) gasped. “Don’t poke my son!”

She slapped Gojo’s finger away with all the scorn of a betrayed mother and scooped Ichigo protectively to her chest.

“That’s what you deserve for stealing my karaage just now!”

Then—swift and merciless—she jabbed her finger into his chest. Justice. Gojo flinched, swatting her hand away like a child caught mid-crime.

“You’re betraying me—for a furball?!”

From her lap, Ichigo let out the smallest huff. A declaration of war. The others couldn’t help but laugh. Of course. Only Gojo Satoru could pick a fight with a cat. And lose.

Geto sat across from (YN), head resting lazily on his palm. Of all the cats in the world, Gojo had chosen this one. White fluffy fur, blue eyes—he’d literally bought his own reflection in feline form.

A snort escaped Geto. “You know what they say—sons always stick closer to their mothers. As the father, you’ll just have to accept it.”

The words landed with deadly precision. Gojo sputtered. (YN) gasped. Both froze, cheeks flushed crimson.

Geto’s smirk widened. Too easy.

“What? I’m not wrong. You bought the cat for her—makes you the father. Ichigo’s obsessed with her—makes her the mother. And since Ichigo looks just like you...” He leaned back, smug. “...that makes you a sly little—Ackk!”

Gojo lunged, hands clamped around Geto’s neck. “Shut up, you cursed-eating menace!”

In seconds, the strongest sorcerer was locked in an undignified wrestling match on the floor, Geto laughing even as he grappled him back.

Gojo couldn’t believe he’d let it slip that far. He hadn’t meant to. Really. But looking at Ichigo—blue eyes, snowy fur—he realized something awful. Subconsciously, he had bought her a cat that looked like him. A piece of himself. Something she would keep close.

(YN) flailed, trying to explain, her cheeks heating. “No—I just thought he was cute when Satoru gave him to me! How was I supposed to notice? He’s a cat! And Gojo’s...a human who acts like a cat—wait...”

Her words trailed off as the horrifying realization set in. White fur. White hair. Blue eyes. Both sprawling dramatically on couches. Both picky eaters. Both picking fights with anything twice their size.

“Oh my god...” she whispered. “They are the same.”

Shoko snickered into her sleeve. “You really didn’t realize it, huh, (YN)-chan?”

Utahime patted her shoulder with mock sympathy. “I don’t know what you see in him, but I’ll support your relationship. Just...pray for your sanity.”

“And how’s that supposed to comfort me, senpai?” (YN) deadpanned, before shoving her face into Ichigo’s fur. Her voice came out a muffled mumble. “I don’t even know why I like him...”

Lucky for her, the boys were still busy wrestling like children, loud enough to cover her words. Unlucky for her, the girls weren’t. They all exchanged knowing looks, hands half-covering their mouths as they tried—and failed—not to laugh.

Ugh. Just kill me now, she thought, peeking over Ichigo’s head at Gojo and Geto rolling on the floor.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Gojo, Geto, Shoko, and (YN) sat on the train bound for Tokyo, the hum of the tracks lulling the four into a comfortable quiet. They’d just finished exorcising a cursed spirit in Saitama, and with August creeping closer, Japan had shifted from perfect breezes to suffocating summer heat.

Luckily, the night train wasn’t crowded—no sardine-can commute with office workers tonight. The air conditioning blessedly cooled their skin, so they’d shed their Jujutsu jackets, left in only the white shirts beneath.

When the train pulled into Shinjuku, a new group filed in: students in crisp uniforms, swords bags slung across their backs. Kendo club. They were tall, sharp-eyed, maybe high schoolers or college freshmen.

(YN)’s gaze lingered. She couldn’t help it. That uniform, those bags—it was a world she’d once known. If life had gone differently, she would have been one of them. Maybe she would still be training, chasing medals, wearing her calluses like trophies.

But that wasn’t her path. She was the Fukami heir, successor to the Inari pact. Her life belonged not to medals and wooden swords, but to protecting the non-sorcerers who never even knew she bled for them. Everything demanded sacrifice. For her, kendo had been the first.

Shoko noticed how her friend had gone quiet. At first she thought (YN) had dozed off, but no—her gaze was fixed, steady, caught on one spot. Curious, Shoko followed her line of sight.

Ah. Kendo students.

She knew how (YN) loved kendo—or maybe what she missed wasn’t just the sport, but the freedom it carried. The laughter, the easy camaraderie. Hanging out with friends, knowing they’d still be there the next day. That kind of security was a luxury sorcerers could never afford.

“Hey, you okay?” Shoko nudged her gently, keeping her tone casual. She knew that look. She knew that ache. Every sorcerer did, in some way. It wasn’t weakness to reminisce—it was proof they were still human.

(YN) shook her head lightly, turning back to Shoko. She leaned against the chair, arms folding over her chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry. What did you say again?” her smile followed after—soft, sincere. Just enough for Shoko to believe her. Or at least, to let it go.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say Gojo stole your candy again,” Shoko drawled.

(YN) immediately turned, glaring at the white-haired menace beside her, and smacked his arm.

“Bad Satoru! Haven’t I told you to ask before you take anything?”

Gojo, who’d already been sneaking glances at her since she went quiet over the kendo students, only grinned and played along.

“Oi...what slander is this? You gave your last candy to Suguru earlier, so don’t blame me.” He reached out to pinch her cheek, smirking.

(YN) shoved his hand away and pressed both of hers firmly onto her lap. “So? Maybe you stole my phone instead.”

She leaned closer to Shoko and whispered, “Hide my phone, Sho-chan.”

Shoko snickered and smoothly slid (YN)’s phone into her own pocket. “Hai, hai.”

Turning back with a triumphant grin, (YN) jabbed her finger at Gojo. “Aha! I knew it! It was you!” She patted both pockets dramatically, then reached up and pinched his cheek in return.

Gojo yelped, clutching his face. “Oi! Cruel woman! Suguru, Shoko—you saw that, right? She’s bullying me!”

Gojo couldn’t resist. In one swift move, he caught both of her hands, pressed them to her lap, and leaned in close, his arm sliding around from behind to pin her in place.

“Agkh! Satoru!” (YN) struggled, but his grip was unyielding.

“Silence. The culprit has been caught.” His grin widened as he tilted his head toward Suguru. “Report this to Yaga-sensei—Fukami (YN) here is guilty of slandering Gojo Satoru. Under Jujutsu law, that’s… a two-hour detention.”

(YN) couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Only Gojo would make up a law like that.

Suguru sighed dramatically, playing along. “Two hours? You’re letting her off easy.”

Shoko smirked. “Should be at least three.”

(YN) groaned, shaking her head as she laughed harder, her earlier heaviness easing off her shoulders. Sure, the ache of missing her old life was still there. But with Ichigo, and with these idiots by her side, she had something new—louder, wilder, and maybe even better.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(YN) was ready to drift off, her cassette player humming a 90s pop mixtape. Ichigo purred beside her as she lay on her bed, lazily patting his side while telling him about her day.

“..And then, your father stole my phone on the train—”

Knock. Knock.

The sound at her door cut her story short. She didn’t even need to check; the cursed energy gave him away. Sighing, she stood and opened the door to find Gojo casually leaning there.

(YN) narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, sir? Can’t you see I’m busy with my bed buddy? We were right in the middle of my glorious victory in sparring against you.”

Gojo didn’t answer. Instead, he shook a bag of chips at her, deadpan. Then he sighed.

“Haaah. Guess I’ll eat this with Suguru, then.” he turned on his heel, but (YN) caught his wrist.

“Wait. Now that’s a different story. Please, come in, your honor.”

She opened the door wider. Gojo strolled in with light, careless steps, plopping onto her bed and tearing the bag open. She shut the door and joined him, Ichigo now wedged firmly between them like a little judge.

“So,” Gojo grinned through a mouthful of chips, “continue your story. I’m sure Ichigo wants my side too.”

(YN) huffed but obliged. “...And then Satoru fell to his knees when—”

“No, no. Clearly it was Suguru’s fault.”

“Mrrreeow.”

Outside, the cassette tape kept spinning its soft pop, but inside the room—(YN) was living her own story, and Ichigo had already picked sides.

.

.