Academic activities at Tokyo Jujutsu High School were rather… erratic, for lack of a better word.
Lesson plans here weren't so much suggested guidelines as mild suggestions politely ignored by all parties involved. There was, technically, a standard curriculum approved by the Ministry of Education. No one here had ever actually laid eyes on this mythical document, but it supposedly existed. Somewhere. Gathering dust in some forgotten filing cabinet. You doubted any self-respecting sorcerer would willingly subject themselves to the horrors of geography, history, or—god forbid—civics, when there were perfectly good cursed spirits to eviscerate.
The school did have its own curriculum for specialized jujutsu training. You vaguely recalled seeing a tattered copy of it once, hidden away in the library archives, its pages yellowed and brittle with age. Last updated, you estimated, roughly sixty years ago. In a time before television, possibly even indoor plumbing.
Could the educational experience at your religious school be any more chaotic? Ha! Rhetorical question. At Tokyo Jujutsu High, literal dumpster fires during class barely elicited a raised eyebrow from the student body. Now, if the dumpster fire started quoting Nietzsche, that might be cause for concern.
Actual, flesh-melting, soul-devouring curses? Standard operating procedure.
Standard academic structure and well-defined learning outcomes? Hard pass.
Adding to the delightful pandemonium was the distinct lack of teaching staff. Tokyo Jujutsu High, as far as anyone could tell, employed exactly two teachers. One of whom was Gojo Satoru, and that explained… pretty much everything.
The man operated in two predictable modes: Chaos Incarnate/Embodiment of Pure Anarchy, and "I'm off to do something MORE important than explain basic curse theory to a bunch of rookies who'll probably die before graduation anyway."
The one thing he was good at? Dumping his responsibilities on others.
Hence you found yourself stuck with the unenviable task of tutoring all the incoming first-year students. Gojo taught you some things once upon a time and decided it was far more efficient to make you teach everyone else from now on. Downward knowledge transfer. It made perfect sense. It ate into your free time. It significantly increased your stress levels. It gave Megumi endless ammunition for mocking you relentlessly.
But! Thanks to some judicious blackmail and aggressive whining that you'd heard echoing across the school grounds for nearly three hours, Gojo had managed to badger Principal Yaga into authorizing a generous tutoring fee and a weekly hazard pay bonus. You just had to dutifully log your hours with Ijichi before the 25th of each month.
Did you mind the extra workload and sacrificed free time? Absolutely.
But would you subject yourself to the torture for cold hard cash? Abso-fucking-lutely.
That sweet, sweet early retirement fund justified pretty much anything. Even explaining cursed spirit anatomy to Panda for the fifth time. Nanami would approve. He appreciated the finer things in life, like a comfortable 401k.
Now that you finally had all three first years assembled, you could get started with the basics. Time to herd these adorable little kittens and teach them not to set themselves on fire. Too often.
***
"Why do I have to carry your books?" Megumi muttered, his complaint muffled by the enormous tower of books you had piled on his arms.
As you two turned the corner, Megumi stumbled over a random floor crack, almost sending the whole stack crashing onto both of your heads. You dodged just in time to avoid getting brained by a copy of Cursed Energy Work for Beginners.
"Not my books," you corrected absently, more focused on not getting blunt-force trauma to the head. "Those are for Nobara and Yuji. And watch your step, Gumi."
Megumi huffed, blowing his dark bangs out of his eyes with a gust of pure irritation.
"Then let them haul their own books!" he grunted, hefting the precarious pile higher.
You smirked at him over your shoulder. "Well, you were the one who insisted on following me to the library. Might as well make yourself useful, no?"
An hour ago, you'd decided a trip to the school library was in order to gather the necessary reading materials to get Yuji and Nobara started on their jujutsu education. Megumi hovered silently behind you as you browsed the shelves, keeping a careful distance. Despite his light footsteps, you could sense his presence clearly – his dark, velvet cursed energy felt like honeyed shadow brushing against your skin, impossible to miss.
You bit back a smile, trailing your fingers along the rows of worn leather spines. So, Megumi was following you again today, lurking just out of sight whenever you glanced back. He was working up the courage to ask you something, judging by the nervous yet irritated flickers in his cursed energy. It felt like tiny, anxious hummingbirds flitting around.
You guessed he wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, but didn't know how to start the conversation. There's much to talk about. Like, your clinically diagnosed insanity, or your moment with Nobara.
If he wanted to talk, he should at least come to you instead of lurking in the corners. You pointedly ignored him and went on to search for the last books on your list.
Fate turned the tables when you eyed the massive Encyclopedia of Binding Spells tucked just out of reach on a top shelf. Going up on tiptoes, you strained toward the large, dusty tome teetering just out of your reach, despite your most dignified jumps.
Behind you, Megumi tensed, finally on the verge of overcoming his flustered embarrassment and breaking the silence. Before he could utter a word, you wobbled off-balance with a startled yelp as the heavy book suddenly slid free from the shelf, triggering a miniature avalanche of ancient texts onto you.
Megumi darted forward on pure instinct to brace the tall shelf just before the pile of hardcovers could completely bury you alive.
"Owww…" you groaned, blowing a cloud of dust off your face and clothes. "Ugh, stupid fucking shelves."
Megumi's cursed energy pulsed with concern as he silently set the shelves to rights, then gathered up the scattered books covering you.
"Are you alright? Should I take you to Ieiri-san?" he asked, his voice soft with worry.
"It'll take more than some books to put me down," you grinned, gingerly touching your sore shoulder. "Just can't reach anything up there. Hmm…"
You tapped your chin thoughtfully, eyeing the stack of books in Megumi's arms.
"Since you're already holding those…" you began. "Would you mind carrying a few more? There are several other volumes I need… if you're not too busy, that is?"
You flashed him your most charming smile. The one that even Gojo had trouble resisting.
Megumi opened his mouth to protest, then faltered at the sight of your big, hopeful eyes gazing up at him. He knew he was sunk. You and your damn puppy-dog eyes.
"…Sure," he mumbled, ducking his head to hide his pink-tinged cheeks.
And just like that, he was trapped. Technically speaking, school policy dictated that you were forbidden from coercing students into unpaid manual labor. But… charming them into it? Eh, consider it character-building.
When you entered the classroom, Yuji and Nobara were locked in a heated debate on the eternal question: Do hotdogs qualify as sandwiches? Gotta admire their energetic spirits.
Megumi sighed, an irritated furrow on his brow as he dumped the large stack of weighty textbooks down on Yuji's desk without ceremony.
Yuji's brown eyes shone, the previous bickering already forgotten. "What's all this?" he asked eagerly.
"Required reading," you explained, noting Nobara's undisguised look of disgust as you handed her a bunch of ancient, leather-bound tomes. "Megumi already finished these, so you two have a week to catch up. Any questions, ask me. Once you're both up to speed, we can start with the more hands-on stuff."
Nobara cracked open a book, nose crinkling at the waft of decade-old dust and decaying knowledge.
"Ugh, this archaic crap probably still goes on about how jujutsu's all waving shiny swords around and chanting incantations," she scoffed, snapping the book shut, sending another puff of dust into the air. She thumped her hammer down on the desk for emphasis, nearly toppling the precarious pile of books.
"Those are required reading for a reason, Kugisaki," Megumi glared at Nobara, his eyebrows twitched impatiently.
"Please," Nobara rolled her eyes. "I know ten times more practical stuff than these dusty old pages from fighting actual curses, not just reading about them. This is busywork for newbies like Itadori!"
You leaned back against the edge of her desk, unfazed by her brassy attitude. "Oh?" you said mildly. "Then tell me, what will you do when your partner gets caught in a dream-like state by a curse with mental techniques?"
"Wake them up, duh," Nobara said breezily with a flick of her wrist. "No time for napping on the job."
You allowed the barest hint of a smile. "If you want to turn your partner into a veggie, then by all means," you said, your voice soft and devoid of any discernible sass.
The matter-of-fact way you delivered that ominous statement seemed to unnerve Nobara.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrowed her eyes.
"Curses with mind-confounding techniques are uncommon, but powerful. Never below grade two, and frequently much higher," you replied, your voice taking on the detached tone of a university lecturer. "They attack by weaving their cursed energy into the human mind, using our own memories and emotions to keep us trapped in a dream-like state. As they feed, their cursed energy becomes inextricably linked with the victim's, to the point where any sudden disruption…"
You let the implication hang for a moment as Nobara's cocky expression faltered, replaced by a dawning look of apprehension.
"... such as being woken up by someone else, will fry their brain for good. The damage is irreversible."
Nobara gulped at your textbook-level answer. "What should I do then?" she mumbled.
"You enter their dream," you explained. "And guide them out. Gently. That way, they wake up gradually, with minimal trauma. No fried synapses. No drooling."
"And just how am I supposed to… get into this dreamworld?" Nobara challenged, though the defiance in her voice sounded weaker now.
"You would know that," you said, plucking the thickest, dustiest tome from her stack of books and dropping it open in front of her with a gentle thud. "If you had read Chapter 4 of Introduction to Mental Curses."
Nobara winced, shoulders slumping. With a tiny huff, she dragged the book closer, glaring at the tiny font cramming the faded page.
You sighed as Nobara fell back dejectedly in her seat. While you found her arrogance endearing, such ignorance could quickly turn fatal out in the field. Or worse, cost a partner their life, leaving her to bear the guilt.
You cared for Nobara and Yuji. You wanted them to survive this brutal job, to not become another statistic on some dusty report. That meant preparing them as thoroughly as possible, even if you had to cram dusty textbooks down their throats. Baby sorcerers who expected special treatment because they had special techniques quickly ended up dead sorcerers.
You simply couldn't afford to coddle them. Gojo never did you any such favors. He might have spoiled you rotten, but he had never let you skip the gritty-nitty. With his indulgence came ruthless training that left you battered and bruised. He'd pushed you hard, demanded your best, refused to let you slack off. And you were grateful for his tough love – it kept you alive.
"Don't worry, senpai. We'll read everything! Promise!" Yuji reassured you, his bright smile diffusing the tension.
"Yeah, yeah," Nobara sniffled, her spirits already recovering. "Just some stupid books. I can skim these in my sleep." She was surprised to find you tougher than you looked. But she knew you meant well.
"Once I'm done with these…" Yuji leaned forward, chin propped on his book tower. "You'll teach me a cool technique, right, senpai?"
You blinked at him. This poor baby boy had a lot to learn. Best rip off the band-aid now.
"No, Yuji. I can't teach you techniques. No one can. They're innate. You either have them, or you don't."
"Whaaaat?" Yuji's face fell. "But… I thought I was going to learn awesome sorcery and stuff! Like, how to throw fireballs! And fly!"
Nobara poorly concealed a snort at his crestfallen pout.
You moved to pat Yuji's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You'll pick up useful skills," you soothed. "I don't have an innate technique, either, and I do alright."
"Really?" Yuji perked up a bit before catching himself. "Uh, not that I didn't believe you, senpai! I just… didn't know! That's all!"
You waved off Yuji's flustered backtracking with an amused chuckle.
You wouldn't be offended if he didn't believe you. You were really just an average jujutsu sorcerer – no innate technique and average cursed energy reserves at best. But through sheer determination and stubbornness, you learned control that exceeded most others.
"Sorcerers without innate techniques – like you and me," you explained. "We can learn to do other cool things with our cursed energy. For example…"
You trailed off for effect, then abruptly suppressed your cursed energy, erasing your presence from the room. Nobara and Yuji gasped as you seemingly winked out of existence right before their eyes. It's disconcerting, to look at someone and not sense any cursed energy from them.
After a few seconds, you released your hold, your cursed energy flaring back like a rekindled flame.
"I can vanish by masking my cursed energy completely. And read cursed energy signatures from a great distance. That makes me good for scouting and ambush."
"Hot damn!" Nobara exclaimed, startled. She reached over to touch your arm, not believing her own senses. "Wow. Just then I couldn't feel any cursed energy from you. You were like, furniture!"
"Creepy," Megumi muttered. He still wasn't used to your presence abruptly vanishing like that.
"Awesome!" Yuji bounced excitedly in his seat. "You're so cool, senpai! Think you can teach me how to turn invisible, too?"
You laughed. "Maybe one day, if you study hard and stop arguing with Nobara about sandwiches."
Yuji blushed while Nobara cackled. When her laughter finally subsided, curiosity glinted in her gaze. "Okay, but how do you actually exorcise curses?"
You placed your duffle bag on the table and pulled out a thin wooden bow. "With this," you said, holding it up for their inspection. "My cursed tool, Soulstring."
Yuji peered closer. "It looks so… plain."
"I expected something more extravagant," Nobara agreed with Yuji, for once.
You quirked a brow at that. "Soulstring can shoot without physical arrows. And it never misses."
With that, you scanned the classroom, seeking a suitable demonstration target. Your gaze landed on a tiny dark shape hovering near the windowsill – a spider spinning a glimmering web to catch dust flecks floating through the air.
As Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi traced your line of sight, you drew back the bowstring.
Strands of cursed energy coalesced beneath your fingers, spinning faster until they formed a condensed bolt of glimmering violet light – an arrow made of pure cursed energy.
You released. The arrow zipped across the room in a flash of light, slicing clean through the spider's barely visible silk thread. The tiny thing dropped onto the sill, mildly annoyed but unharmed, before skittering out of sight behind the curtains.
"Whoa..." Yuji breathed, eyes wide with amazement. "That's… way cooler than the cursed blade Gojo-sensei gave me!"
Nobara leaned forward eagerly. "Okay, I've changed my mind," she grinned. "That thing is badass! Where'd you get it?"
"It's a gift, actually." You chuckled at the memory. "From Gojo-sensei. My reward for landing a hit on him during training."
Intrigued noises filled the classroom. Even Megumi perked up at that detail.
"How?" Megumi's eyes narrowed skeptically. "How did you even manage to touch him?"
"I cheated, of course," you waved your hand as if it were the most reasonable answer.
***
It was common knowledge that Gojo Satoru was, for all intents and purposes, untouchable. His Infinity made him impervious to pretty much everything the world could throw at him, from stray bullets to errant toddlers to rogue asteroids hurtling through the void of space. If Gojo didn't want something to touch him, it wouldn't. End of story.
Less commonly known – at least, to those who hadn't had the dubious pleasure of experiencing it first-hand – was the fact that even without Infinity activated, his raw physical strength and combat skills far surpassed even the most elite jujutsu sorcerers. He was essentially cheating at life.
Whenever you trained together, he'd generously deactivate Infinity to, as he so charmingly put it, "even the playing field."
You, personally, had never found the playing field "even," considering Gojo moved at near-supersonic speeds, casually dodging all your attacks like he was swatting away slow and dim-witted flies. All without breaking a sweat or mussing a single platinum-white hair on his perfectly coiffed head. It was frankly demoralizing.
Still, you appreciated the opportunity to spar with the strongest sorcerer alive. It was invaluable experience, even if it mostly involved you face-planting in the dirt. Not that you ever realistically expected to actually hit him. Training with the legendary Gojo Satoru was a privilege in itself. You were happy to be his personal punching bag. Most days.
That particular day, however, after three hours of getting your ass handed to you in the pouring rain, your initial gratitude had long since eroded into a simmering puddle of frustrated exhaustion.
You were soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, and fantasizing about collapsing into a muddy heap and letting the earth reclaim you, while Gojo kept taunting you to fight harder. The relentless downpour had made his usual blindfold stick uncomfortably to his face, so he'd removed it. You briefly considered informing him that having a full view of his otherworldly eyes was also rather uncomfortable, in an entirely different way. However, forming coherent sentences required oxygen, which you were currently experiencing a severe shortage of. You had bigger problems, such as not passing out from exhaustion or succumbing to hypothermia.
"Come on, Spices!" Gojo hollered across the muddy field, sounding far too chipper for someone who had just spent the last few hours pummeling another human being into the ground. "Is that all you've got? Show me some creativity! Get spicy!"
Oh, he wanted spice, did he? Well, he'd get spice, a whole damn spice rack thrown in his face.
A truly terrible, possibly unhinged, undeniably spicy idea popped into your waterlogged head.
Schooling your expression into what you hoped resembled considerable misery and utter defeat, you let your cursed energy fade as you trudged toward him, your shoulders shaking theatrically.
"Giving up already?" Gojo cocked his head, sounding disappointed. "Aw, that's no fun. Where's the fire? The passion? You're usually much more dramatic than this."
You shuffled closer, water squelching in your shoes, until you stood directly before him.
"Hey, sensei…" you murmured, batting your eyelashes demurely, then gestured at your body. "Wanna see me naked?"
Before he could process the absolute absurdity of that question, you swiftly crossed your arms and pretended to lift your drenched training shirt, exposing several square inches of rain-slicked skin above your navel. A PG-13 flash of flesh engineered to induce maximum mortification. Enough to prompt a mild heart attack but not get him arrested.
It was a cheap trick. Utterly ridiculous. But oh, so gloriously effective.
Gojo's cocky expression instantly melted to panicked alarm. He spun around, hands flailing wildly, as though he'd just spotted a giant spider crawling up his immaculately tailored pants leg.
"Spices, NO!" he yelped, scandalized. "That's not—it's just not—Not appropriate!" He sounded genuinely distressed
Huh. You hadn't realized Gojo still possessed some semblance of a moral compass. Or any awareness of social norms. Interesting.
With a gleeful cackle, you capitalized on his temporary moral crisis and lunged. Your hand flew to his face. Instead of smacking him, you just patted his reddened cheek.
Mission accomplished. Hit landed. Fatality.
"Ha! Gotcha!" you crowed triumphantly. "I can't believe you fell for that!"
Gojo blinked, your wicked laughter finally registering through his mortified fluster. Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head around, pointedly keeping his gaze on your laughing face, just in case.
As if that made a difference. With his Six Eyes, he'd still be able to see every inch of you even if you were standing behind him and across the field. You supposed his awkward attempt at shielding his eyes was more about preserving your dignity than his own. And perhaps a little tiny bit about preventing his thoughts from wandering down paths he'd rather not explore. With Gojo Satoru, anything was possible.
"That's…," he sputtered, indignant. "That's cheating!"
"All's fair in love and war, sensei" you countered smugly, patting his cheek again because you could.
Gojo peered down at you intently, his expression unreadable. You made the mistake of looking into his eyes, luminous blue and as vast and deep as the clearest summer sky. He held your gaze for a long moment before his lips curved into a slow smirk.
"Are you saying this is love?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky register. His fingers ghosted over the strands of damp hair plastered to your cheek. "'Cause I'm pretty sure we're not at war."
You inhaled sharply, his feather-like touch radiating through your whole body like a jolt of electricity. You almost leaned into his touch. Almost.
Your brain whirled into action just in time to catch the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He was messing with you. Teasing you. Turning the tables, using your own dirty trick against you. Which wasn't fair at all. It's HIS fault this whole… indecent exposure even happened in the first place. He'd explicitly requested "spice." And you'd merely provided the pepper, so to speak.
You'd fake-lifted your shirt for half a second, and he'd nearly had a stroke out about how inappropriate it was. But somehow this—this blatant, shameless flirting—was appropriate behavior in his book? The hypocrisy. The unmitigated gall of it. Oh, two could play at this game, sensei.
"Are we?" you whispered back, standing on tiptoe, tilting your face up to his.
Breath held, pulse racing, you sought any telling shift in Gojo's hooded gaze as he leaned down to you. He didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate. Mirth danced bright in his eyes, answering your silent challenge.
"Getting brave, hmm?" he chuckled, the rough edge to his whisper sending goosebumps down your arms.
His cologne enveloped you, dark yet crisp, mingling with the earthy smell of rain and wet grass. You refused to back down, even as your nerves trembled at the heat radiating off him, so close now that his chest almost pressed against yours. It was getting hard to tell if this was still a joke, and you had no clue what either of you would do when the punchline landed.
"Scared, sensei?" you purred, your voice barely a breath.
Gojo huffed a surprised laugh, the warmth of it feathering over your tingling lips.
"Terrified," he whispered. The word emerged rather gruff from his lips as he leaned impossibly closer.
This close, you could see something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. A flicker bright and dangerous and thrilling—all the shimmering colors of madness.
You realized, with a flash of unwelcome clarity, that Gojo Satoru never lost. Not at anything. He'd never backed down from a challenge, be they verbal, physical, or the reckless sort playing out now between his lips and yours. Your thoughts were swept away, drowned in the warmth of his breath against your lips and the intoxicating sense of impending recklessness.
On impulse, your fingertips found his chest, resting lightly just below his collarbone. Gojo froze. His entire body went rigid. You could feel his heart hammering wildly beneath your palm. That was unexpected. Probably a quirk of special-grade sorcerer physiology? Something to ask Shoko about later. For now, you attributed the frantic pace of his heart to biological variations rather than… well, you weren't sure what else it could be. No way in hell Gojo Satoru was nervous around you. Surely not.
For an endless moment, the two of you stood frozen in time, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, his hand slid over yours, his grip warm and firm. He didn't pull away. His eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
Gojo's cursed energy enveloped you in a hazy bubble. It felt strangely intimate. His cursed energy was usually overwhelming – blindingly bright, dazzling, and loud. Being near Gojo felt like walking straight into a spotlight after hours of darkness. Your senses ached from the sudden overload, and yet, you couldn't look away.
You'd grown accustomed to that overwhelming presence by now. So when his energy turned soft and subdued, wrapping you in this gentle haze, it was startling in an entirely different way. More personal. More vulnerable than you'd ever known him to be.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Your cheeky game had gotten out of hand. It was time to pump the brakes. You had to put a stop to whatever was going on here. Now. Before either of you did something you would regret. Something that would make it impossible to look at each other the same way again.
The very second you were about to pull away, Gojo exhaled sharply. His eyes flew open, crinkling at the corners as he laughed unsteadily. The sound was strained, as if he too sensed how close things had come to going too far and had made the agonizing decision to step back from the edge, at great personal cost.
You knew. Knew with the absolute certainty of your own beating heart that Gojo had just made a choice. A difficult choice. Perhaps the hardest choice he'd ever made. For you.
He could have indulged his very human impulses. No one could have stopped him if he'd decided to follow through. You couldn't have. So, he'd stopped himself, despite the raw temptation that must have been overwhelming in the heat of that moment. Because that was the kind of man he was—utterly powerful and deeply kind.
He could have taken what he wanted, and he chose not to. He chose you, chose to prioritize you over his own want, over everything else. As he always had, ever since the day he'd barged into your life. In every way, small and large, visible and hidden, Gojo Satoru had always, always chosen you.
"Alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You win this round, Spices. I yield." He stepped back, though a lingering tension still edged his smile.
You swayed slightly as he withdrew, as though he'd taken the air itself with him. Unsure whether you were more relieved or disappointed, you managed a wry grin. "Does this mean I'm the strongest now?"
Gojo laughed heartily. "By my count, your victory today makes the score… 205 to 1. So you'll still need a feeeew more wins before you can claim that title, I'm afraid." He reached out to affectionately ruffle your soaked hair. "Extra points for the audacity of that move, though!"
You snorted in indignance as Gojo threw an arm around your shoulders, steering you out of the rain. The warmth and familiar weight of him at your side washed away any lingering awkwardness. This was simply Gojo in his element, at his most genuine, boyish and unguarded. The way he was when duties and expectations fell away, leaving only a quiet understanding that no matter what happened, you always picked up right where you left off.
"Though, I'll admit, that was a clever trick back there," Gojo nudged your shoulder playfully. "You deserve a reward for pulling that off. Ask me for anything. Seriously. Anything at all."
You blinked up at him in surprise. "Really? Anything?"
"Of course!" Gojo flung his arm out with dramatic flair. "The moon? The stars? Name it. Anything for my dearest."
As Gojo rambled on, you considered your options.
Tempted as you were to request cold hard cash for your early retirement fund… this was Gojo fucking Satoru offering you a personal favor. You gotta make it count.
"I want a bow," you declared. "One that can shoot without arrows."
Gojo deflated slightly. "That's it? Couldn't you ask for a pony or something?" He made a face when you aimed a half-hearted kick at his shins.
"Why would I want a pony?" you huffed. "Do you know how annoying it is to lug a hundred arrows everywhere? I want a cursed tool with built-in ammunition. Endless ammo. So I never run out."
During your first few months at Tokyo Jujutsu High, you'd tried out a frankly absurd array of weapons. We're talking ornate halberds that could cleave a car in two, battle axes bigger than your entire torso, and spears that no mortal human could discreetly haul around Tokyo without attracting the attention of law enforcement and possibly a SWAT team.
Blades were okay – a traditional weapon of choice for sorcerers, easy to carry, and readily available in a variety of styles. Using a blade, however, required getting within slicing distance of curses. You'd very much prefer to avoid that. You didn't have the sheer brute strength of close-quarters brawlers like Hakari or Maki. No, you needed solid range.
Knives were fun to throw. For a while, at least. But you'd need quite a lot of throwing knives to realistically survive this career, and resupplying was expensive. It simply wasn't a sustainable option, not if you wanted to maintain your rigorous early retirement fund contribution schedule.
That's why you settled on bow and arrows. It worked well with your cursed energy control. You'd locate the curses, sneak attack from a strategic vantage point, shoot them down before they ever noticed you. It's clean and efficient. No fuss, no muss, no overtime. Now, if you could never have to worry about running out of arrows? Your career would be all set.
You were well aware it was an unreasonable thing to ask. You didn't know if such a bow even existed. But this was Gojo. He could make anything happen with a snap of his fingers. He did say you were his most spoiled student. Time to put that title to the test.
As you were considering angrily stomping your feet a little to motivate him—you were still technically his ward, and therefore entitled to a bit of brattiness—Gojo held up his hands placatingly, his eyes sparkled with indulgence.
"Fine, fine," he sighed. "One cool, self-loading bow coming up for my demanding Spices."
You expected it to take Gojo some time to track down a cursed weapon matching your rather specific requirements. You pictured him scouring dusty antique shops, haggling with shady underworld merchants, forging it out of pure starlight and unicorn tears… But, being Gojo Satoru, he did none of those things. He simply acquired it. Effortlessly. The very next evening, he casually teleported into your room, unannounced.
You were sprawled lazily atop messy blankets, engrossed in your book as the rain pattered the windows, when a sudden flash of light nearly made you tumble off the mattress. You squawked in surprise, glaring daggers at the tall figure now looming over you with a cheeky smile.
"Sensei!" you hissed, clutching your chest. "We've talked about this! You can't keep teleporting straight into my room! What if I was naked?!"
Gojo shrugged, utterly unapologetic. "You always read at this hour. Why would you be reading naked?" he seemed baffled by the concept.
"Why not?" you pointed out. "That entirely depends on what I'm reading, doesn't it?"
Some books could require a more relaxed approach to, uh, enhance the immersive experience.
He flashed his infuriating grin. "I'll take full responsibility, then." He said that like it was some kind of reward.
You hurled your book—The Illustrated Guide to Viscera Removal and Proper Organ Disposal—at Gojo's stupid, handsome face. It bounced harmlessly off his Infinity.
"One day," you muttered darkly under your breath. "I'll figure out how to make barriers that even you can't waltz through."
Still snickering, Gojo casually tossed something directly at you. You fumbled to catch the object against your chest – an unassuming wooden bow with a worn leather grip.
You blinked down at the plain bow, confused. "That was fast. Where'd you get this already?"
"It's been sitting in one of the storage rooms in my clan estate for centuries," Gojo explained, throwing himself onto your bed—uninvited, as usual. You wrinkled your nose and scooted away from him. Personal space, sensei. Some of us value it.
"Legend says it originally belonged to this crazy powerful priestess back in the Sengoku era," he continued, tracing a finger over the faded ornate carvings along the weathered wood. "Sweetest soul you'd ever meet, apparently. Healed the sick, helped the poor, gave excellent relationship advice. But after some great tragedy—the stories differ on the specifics—her kindness was eaten up by sorrow and hatred. Turned her into something else."
You shuddered, both horrified and intrigued. Gojo's voice softened.
"Her soul fractured, they say. The kind half reincarnated and began a new cycle of life, while the dark half remained with her. Consumed by grief and rage, she went on a rampage in the name of vengeance. All manner of unspeakable tragedies. Until… she finally passed away. That dark, broken piece of her soul was said to have transferred into this very bow when it was buried with her."
Your mouth dropped open in dismay. "Wait," you sputtered. "Hold on a second. Your ancestors… raided a vengeful priestess's grave?!"
You shoved the bow back at Gojo. "No! Put it back! Right now! Before it curses us both!" The last thing you needed was to invoke the wrath of a powerful, evil priestess from the past. Your life was complicated enough as it was.
"I mean, 'raided' is a strong word…" Gojo said, looking slightly sheepish.
At your scandalized expression, he laughed. "Kidding, kidding! Relax, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement between clans. Totally above board. No grave robbing involved. Besides, it's been thoroughly tested. Certified curse-free. You're not gonna get possessed anytime soon. Promise."
You still eyed the bow dubiously. "If it's so special, why would your elders let me have it? Shouldn't an ancient cursed tool stay with your family?"
"Because for the last two centuries, no one in the Gojo clan—or any of our gazillion related families, for that matter—has been able to use it," Gojo gave an exaggerated shrug. "So at this point, it's just taking up space."
"Why is that?" Your eyes narrowed. Cursed tools of this caliber didn't sit unused for centuries without good reason.
"Because there's a catch." Gojo grinned, then drew back the bowstring. It made a soft thrumming sound. Like something was waking up from a long sleep. "It's called Soulstring. Know why?"
He went on to explain: Only the one who's always true to their soul shall wield Soulstring. And so long as their soul remains true to its original essence, Soulstring shall never miss.
That was the condition for wielding the bow, at least according to his long-dead great-grandpa. Who was probably a more reliable source of information on ancient cursed artifacts than, say, Wikipedia or that one dubious-looking Reddit thread you'd stumbled across last week.
That priestess had lost sight of her own soul and ended up down a dark path that resulted in destruction and tragedies. Perhaps, in the last moments of her life, as an act of atonement, she'd imbued the bow with this condition? A safeguard. A way to ensure that her powerful weapon would only ever be wielded by someone who could stay true to themselves? Someone who wouldn't succumb to the same darkness that had consumed her.
You wondered what staying true to one's soul even meant. It sounded awfully vague. And deeply philosophical. You hated philosophy. Almost as much as you hated team meetings.
While you were pondering the existential conundrums of the cursed bow and its picky nature, Gojo lifted it and aimed at a random spot on your wall. Cursed energy surged at his fingertips, materializing into the familiar shape of an arrow.
"Oi!" you shrieked, half-jumping on Gojo to stop him from accidentally demolishing your room. "You can't just shoot up my room, you lunatic!"
Gojo, naturally, ignored your very valid concerns and released the cursed energy arrow with a chuckle. However, instead of piercing your wall and creating a gaping hole that would no doubt earn you a stern lecture and a hefty fine from Principal Yaga, the arrow fizzled out, dissipating into the air like a burst soap bubble.
Gojo turned to you with a flourish. "See?" he said, as though this proved something. "It's a special-grade cursed tool, sure, but if no one can use it, it's nothing more than a fancy wall decoration."
If Gojo couldn't use Soulstring, did it mean he was not true to his soul? You didn't have enough time to delve on that thought. Gojo casually tossed the bow your way.
"Give it a try, Spices. If it's a bust, I'll get you something else. Some kind of cursed machine gun, maybe. Or a flamethrower. You seem like the flamethrower type."
As you caught Soulstring, anxiety fluttered within your chest. You, worthy of the most powerful Sengoku priestess' weapon? A weapon that had apparently rejected generations of Gojos, including the strongest sorcerer alive?
A niggling suspicion began to form in your mind. Was this some elaborate prank? Had Gojo set you up for failure to get back at your dirty move the day before? It certainly sounded like the sort of thing he'd find amusing. You really couldn't put it past him. You'd seen him pull worse pranks.
Sensing your doubt, Gojo gently closed your fingers over the worn grip. "Hey now, no overthinking!" He leaned down, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think you have the best shot out of anyone in centuries. You've got the strongest, kindest soul I've ever seen. So, come on. Try it. For me?"
You bit your lip, the sincerity in his eyes and that soft plea had your heart doing somersaults. The desire to please him quickly overshadowed your nervousness. Drawing a bracing breath, you slowly pulled back the string. A strange surge of cursed energy spun through your core and streamed down your arm to pool within your palm.
Soulstring responded. The worn wood beneath your fingers began to glow with a faint violet light, energy threads converging along its length. You couldn't believe your own senses. It… it was kind of working? The bow thrummed beneath your grip as you took aim at the far wall, the arrow taking shape in a brilliant blaze. You released a shuddering breath and let the shot loose.
The violet bolt blazed across the room, spearing the wall dead center and leaving a huge hole before dissipating in a shower of sparks.
You blinked down at the plain wooden bow in awe. Behind you, Gojo whooped loudly before sweeping you up in a fierce hug.
"You did it!" he exclaimed, pride radiating off him in waves. "Haha! Just as I suspected. Soulstring chose you! Your sensei is never wrong!"
Joy and disbelief warred inside you even as Gojo hefted you up in his arms and spun you in dizzying circles. You. Just average you. Wielding the legendary Soulstring when everyone else in the past two centuries had failed? It simply made no sense.
As Gojo set you down, his smile wide and radiant, you clutched the bow close to your chest, still trying to wrap your head around it.
"Something's not right," you whispered, staring fixedly at the floor. "Maybe it was a fluke…"
Gentle fingers tilted your chin up until sky-blue eyes bored into yours. His expression had turned serious.
"Now you listen close," Gojo murmured. "I don't make mistakes, especially when it comes to assessing potential." His voice was so quiet you had to strain to hear it over the pounding of your own heart. "You, my dear Spices, are brimming with it. So full, it practically overflows."
Your breath hitched as Gojo's thumb brushed your cheek tenderly.
"One day," he continued. "Everyone else—and, more importantly, you—will see what I've known all along. Just how truly extraordinary you are. You and I," his lips curved into a slow smile that made something inside you clench tight. "We're going to change the world."
You studied his earnest expression, chest swelling with fragile emotion. If the strongest sorcerer in the world had deemed you worthy, who were you to argue? Gripping Soulstring tightly, you gave Gojo a wavering smile which he returned tenfold.
The tender moment stretched for several heartbeats before being broken by an ominous creaking sound. You turned with dawning horror to survey the volleyball-sized hole now adorning your dorm room wall, courtesy of Soulstring's demo shot. Oops.
"Oh no!" you gasped. "Yaga-sama is gonna have my head! It's your fault, sensei!"
"Ah, nothing a little plaster and some paint can't fix," he said, waving a casual hand at the gaping hole in your wall. "I'll have Ijichi—"
You smacked his hand away, eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare try to rope Ijichi-san into this! We're getting professional repairs, and you're paying!"
Gojo blinked, then threw his head back with a laugh. "Fine, fine! Professional repairs, on me. I'll even buy you dinner right now to ease the pain of our shared culpability. How does all-you-can-eat yakiniku sound?"
Strong arms wrapped around you affectionately. With the housing crisis averted and the promise of endless grilled meat dangling tantalizingly close, you spared one last anxious glance at your poor wall before letting Gojo whisk you away.
And that's how you scored a special-grade cursed tool for free.
***
Storytime's over.
You clapped your hands loudly as you finished your tale. You conveniently left out certain details. Like, the precise nature of your "cheap shot" on Gojo, and the subsequent highly inappropriate game of chicken that had nearly ended with Gojo in handcuffs and you expelled from the school.
Yuji and Nobara stared at you, mouths agape. Even Megumi looked mildly impressed. Which, coming from him, was roughly equivalent to a standing ovation and a ticker-tape parade. High praise, indeed.
"Do you think Gojo-sensei could get me a special-grade hammer?" Nobara asked, eyes glittering. "Like, one that shoots lightning bolts?"
"Maybe," you laughed. "But you'll have to land a hit on him first."
"Hell yeah," Nobara grinned, cracking her knuckles. "I'm so in. Lightning hammer, here I come."
You'd love to hang out with them for longer, bask in their awestruck admiration, perhaps even field a few more questions about your incredible awesomeness… but your phone buzzed with an incoming text. From Shoko.
"Alright. Y'all get on with your required reading." You stuffed Soulstring back into your bag. "Next week, we'll move to cursed energy control. Then, I'll show you how to cast basic barriers and make adorable little paper shikigami."
"Wait, senpai!" Megumi hopped up from his seat, catching your sleeve before you could dash off. "Can we talk?"
Took him long enough to work up his nerves. This had better be good.
"Tonight?" you offered. "Gotta run now. Ieiri-san's summoning me." You helpfully waggled your phone so he could see the notification from Shoko. "I gotta tag along."
Translation: Gotta babysit Shoko and more importantly, write her report. Shoko's preferred method of documentation involved scribbling illegible notes in thick black Sharpies on whatever scraps of paper happened to be within reach, and then stuffing said notes into random medical supply boxes, where they'd no doubt be unearthed centuries later by bewildered archaeologists and hailed as the lost prophecies of some ancient civilization. You were doing the entire jujutsu society a huge favor. Not that they would ever know or appreciate the sheer magnitude of your data-entry and office-management heroism.
Megumi frowned. "Is this a mission? Should I come with you? I can skip my afternoon training session if you need backup."
"Nah," you shook your head. "Ieiri-san doesn't do missions. We're just visiting a local office outside Tokyo. Some injured sorcerers need patching up."
Megumi studied your face for a moment before nodding. "Be careful."
"Of course!" you beamed. "Always am. See you guys later!" You heaved your bag over your shoulder and zipped out of the classroom with an airy wave
As you swept out of the door, you heard Nobara and Yuji impatiently pouncing on Megumi. Their excited chatter carried out into the hallway.
"Holy crap! I didn't know someone without an innate technique could be that cool!"
"Fushiguro, tell us about Spices-senpai! Everything!"
"Yes!! Spill it, Fushiguro! How strong is Spices? Stronger than you?"
Even from afar, you could feel Megumi's cursed energy flickered with annoyance, a clear sign of impending eye rolls and long-suffering sighs. But when he spoke, his voice held genuine warmth—a quality he typically reserved for panda cubs, street cats, and you. It was a very short list. You felt honored to be included.
"You know what makes curses so deadly? It's not just their raw power. It's how unpredictable they are. How ruthless. They have no hesitation. No mercy." After a pause, he added. "Spices is like that. All of that. And so much more."
Despite the brutal assessment, Megumi's voice was thick with pride and affection. You weren't sure if you should feel offended or flattered. Another thing for the ever-growing list of questions for Shoko.