Late afternoon sunlight bathed the expansive French garden of Shinjuku Gyoen in warm gold.
The place was quiet, unnaturally so, save for a single imposing presence seated among the flowers.
M'Khoro sat motionless between the carefully arranged beds. His obsidian skin glistened softly beneath the light, reflecting faint hues of green. He had been there for days now.
His legs were folded in a meditative posture, his back was relaxed and slightly hunched, as though he were attempting to steady himself. He was trying to compose his thoughts and regain control.
But control did not come easily.
Terrifying implications crept back into his mind without warning. His breathing faltered, his eyes trembled as he struggled to suppress them.
Then the effort shattered.
M'Khoro snapped out of his meditative trance with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving. Pain flickered across his features as his composure broke.
It took only a moment for him to settle again.
Slowly, his gaze drifted downward toward the grass at his feet. He reached out and plucked a single blade, holding it between his fingers and studying it intently.
A strange sense of helplessness crept into him as he crushed the fragile leaf in his palm.
When he looked back to the spot where he had torn it from, another blade was already growing nearby.
Grass was difficult to rid of. And unless it was completely eradicated, it would always return; spreading, repopulating, reclaiming any field and nutrients it was denied.
And yet, despite that persistence, grass remained an essential part of the ecosystem.
M'Khoro loosened his grip and let the crushed remains fall away.
As he took in the garden's beauty, movement caught his attention at the edge of his vision.
A group of children entered the garden. It was a school trip.
Their laughter was carried across the air as they strolled along the paths with their teacher, bright and carefree. They were blissfully unaware of the dangerous presence seated in the distance.
One boy wandered slightly away from the group.
As his gaze settled on M'Khoro, he froze.
His eyes widened in disbelief. He had never seen a man so large before. For a moment, he almost mistook him for a statue: an unmoving monument carved from dark stone.
The boy rubbed his eyes, convinced that they were playing tricks on him.
When he looked again… the figure was gone.
Only a faint breeze stirred the flowers where the giant had been moments before.
***************************************************************************
Reiji's eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
For what felt like an eternity, he sat completely still in the chair. His neck rested awkwardly against its edge, his head tilted back, and his arms hung limply at his sides as though all strength had drained from them.
Then he flinched.
Slowly and painfully, a hint of consciousness returned to his gaze. The dark circles beneath his eyes were still dreadful, yet his expression felt… different. It was clearer and almost calm.
He did not know what had happened.
But the lingering sensation of foreign energy; something warm, precise, and undeniably not his own-mending unseen wounds within his skull, combined with the faint residue of cursed energy clinging to his head, was enough for him to piece things together.
His expression hardened.
Reiji raised one trembling hand and touched his cranium. Most of the damage had already been repaired; though traces still remained.
Only then did his attention shift back to the psychiatrist seated across from him.
He grimaced.
'What did she do to me…?'
Confusion welled up inside him.
Aurelia was watching him with an unreadable expression.
"I presume," she said evenly, "that you are feeling better now?"
Reiji blinked and hesitated, his lips parting slightly.
"Y–yes…" he answered, almost stuttering.
Though she had clearly done something to him, her confidence, paired with an unsettling lack of empathy, threw him completely off balance. He could not bring himself to confront her directly.
Aurelia nodded once.
"That being said," she continued calmly, "I believe this is a case of dissociative amnesia. Please consider returning for a few additional sessions if you wish to resolve it fully."
Without another word, she set her notebook aside and opened a file, already beginning to log information.
Reiji sat there, stunned.
She had effectively dismissed him.
And yet… He did feel better.
The doubts still lingered. The dread, the regret, the gnawing uncertainty; they hadn't vanished at all. But somehow, they had become… manageable. As though something inside him had been forced to acknowledge them, and to accept their presence instead of fighting endlessly against them.
It felt like being pushed one step closer to moving on.
As he stared at the elegant psychiatrist, Akame twitched faintly.
Aurelia remained focused on her work. As she wrote, her amber hair shifted gently with each movement.
Reiji found himself staring again.
Every time his gaze landed on her, he found it difficult, almost impossible… to pull it away. His pupils dilated slowly, his awareness narrowing in on her presence.
It felt as though he were sitting before something divine.
Akame, however, was never one to deify.
Reiji's right eye sharpened, focusing on minute details, while his left remained inexplicably enthralled. He admired the luster of her hair, until Akame noticed something else.
Thin strands of greyish silver were threaded through her amber locks.
He was certain of it. And he was just as certain that they hadn't been there before.
His brows furrowed.
"…You used your technique on me," he said quietly. "Didn't you?"
Though his tone carried accusation, he was not even sure what he was supposed to be angry about.
Aurelia paused.
She looked up at him, and for the first time, her eyes seemed… softer.
"Yes," she replied simply.
Reiji exhaled sharply, uncertainty etched across his face.
"Is this how you treat all your patients?"
"Of course," she answered without hesitation. "Yes."
He was irritated, undeniably so. Yet he couldn't bring himself to condemn her. After all, he was secretly healing people too. Who was he to draw the line?
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
Reiji's gaze bore into hers, demanding an explanation without words.
Aurelia sighed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears.
"I do not alter anyone's thoughts or memories," she said calmly. "I merely change the emotional associations attached to them."
She leaned back slightly in her chair.
"It allows people to confront their trauma… without being crushed by its weight."
Everything she said made sense.
Reiji felt the uncertainty within him crack, just a little. He was reminded of his own resolve; his belief in helping others, even if the methods were questionable.
'Maybe… she's the same.'
His gaze softened.
"Why do you do this?" he asked quietly.
"Because I do not want to lose myself."
Though her words carried undeniable melancholy, her tone remained flat and unfeeling.
Aurelia stood and walked toward the window behind her, resting against its edge.
Outside, a bustling street unfolded.
People moved in countless directions, each wrapped in their own lives. A man in an expensive suit shouted angrily into his phone. A lone woman sat on a bench, crying quietly. Two ruffians fought without a care in the world. A street vendor smiled as he handed candy to a small girl.
Aurelia scanned the crowd slowly and Reiji continued watching her.
It was as though she were searching for something, patiently waiting for it to appear.
Then she saw a couple.
A handsome young man and his beautiful wife, walking hand in hand through the crowd.
What followed felt almost unreal.
Reiji's eyes widened as the room seemed to glow softly, as though dust particles themselves were refracting moonlight. The air shimmered with something ethereal.
For a brief, fleeting moment-
The amber strands in Aurelia's hair shifted to metallic… greyish silver.
Reiji's breath caught.
'W–what…?'
There was something deeply unsettling beneath her beauty, it was something hidden, but unmistakable now that he could see it. His hands clenched tightly around the chair's armrests as tension locked his body in place.
He scanned her face desperately. For the first time, her expression had changed.
A deep sadness surfaced.
Then, just as suddenly, the atmosphere settled. And the glow faded.
Aurelia turned away, her hair slowly returning to its muted amber hue. Her face promptly slipped back into its familiar, apathetic calm.
"It seems," she murmured softly, "that I still have time…"
Reiji heard every word.
She returned to her desk, never quite meeting his gaze. Removing her glasses, she wiped them carefully with a napkin.
Reiji remained seated, troubled thoughts churning violently.
'There's something very wrong with her…'
"You may leave now," Aurelia said flatly, without looking at him.
Reiji didn't argue.
He stood, nodded quietly, and walked toward the door. He paused only once to cast a final, uneasy glance back at her.
After a brief exchange with the clerk regarding his next appointment, he stepped outside.
He left with far more questions than answers.
But one thing was certain… He would surely return next week.
****************************************************************
"It was such a pain to get permission from Sensei…" Geto muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, and whose idea was this again?" Gojo snapped back, irritation clear in his voice as he rummaged through a stack of ancient scrolls.
"We're lucky he even allowed it," Geto replied curtly. "Under normal circumstances, digging up classified records about the great clans is considered a crime."
They were deep within the secret archives of Jujutsu High, hidden beneath one of Tengen's many layered barriers. The air itself felt heavy here; old, sealed, and burdened by time. And, of course, their objective was clear.
The room itself was ancient. Paper charms hung densely from the ceiling, some swaying faintly, while others were firmly affixed to the stone walls. Their inscriptions glowed, these were layered wards meant to deter intruders.
A single oil lamp cast a weak, flickering light across the chamber.
Geto sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully studying a long, brittle scroll. Gojo stood near a tall shelf, arms folded, eyes drifting between several weathered tomes as he debated which one to pull next.
Geto clicked his tongue.
"Tch… so. What have you found so far?"
Gojo groaned. "Eh? Well… the progenitor's name isn't mentioned in any of the documents I checked."
Geto shut his eyes briefly and exhaled.
"Same here. But I did find records of his actions."
Gojo spun around instantly, his irritation evaporating as a bright grin spread across his face.
"Oh? And?"
Geto met his gaze, expression grim.
"The texts describe him as a ruthless ruler," he said. "…who indulged in all kinds of savagery."
He lowered his eyes back to the scroll, his voice steady but heavy nonetheless.
"Challenging Ryomen Sukuna. Frequent massacres. Human experimentation."
Gojo's smile slowly faded, settling into a thin smirk.
"That's… still pretty vague, don't you think?"
Geto nodded.
"They only recorded one incident in detail."
He paused.
"One day, he encountered a woman," Geto continued. "She possessed an ability that the progenitor coveted deeply, for reasons the records never explain."
His jaw tightened.
"She was subjected to prolonged torture," he said coldly. "All in preparation for a ritual known as the Rite of Waning Blood."
Gojo's expression darkened.
"He believed the ritual would trigger some kind of transformation."
Geto swallowed.
"She was bled for nine nights," he said quietly. "At first, the pain was physical, and hope still existed. Then pain became normal. Time lost its meaning and her sense of self began to erode."
The lamp flickered.
"Eventually, her mind attained clarity," Geto continued. "But clarity born from degradation was not truth, it war surrender, disguised as insight."
His fingers tightened around the scroll.
"By the ninth night… submission no longer felt like defeat."
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Geto exhaled deeply, as though the act itself were meant to purge something foul from his lungs.
"The records state that the progenitor allowed these events to be documented,"
Geto continued. "Which is the only reason we know any of this."
He shook his head.
"There is no information regarding what happened after that."
Silence followed.
Gojo finally spoke, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.
"I knew about Noritoshi Kamo… the most vile sorcerer in history," he said slowly. "This kind of cruelty… it really does run in the blood, huh."
Geto's eyes narrowed sharply.
"But Reiji is nothing like that."
Gojo glanced at him, a faint smirk returning.
"So… do we tell him?"
Geto didn't answer immediately.
"If he doesn't already know," he said at last, "then the Kamo clan is deliberately hiding it from him. And if that's the case, there must be a reason."
He looked down at the scroll.
"Anything we do now could have disastrous consequences."
Gojo nodded once.
"Which means we don't say a word until we're absolutely certain."
A long silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken understanding.
Geto carefully rolled the scroll shut.
Gojo walked over and sat beside him. However, his usual levity was completely absent.
"Suguru…" Gojo said quietly.
Geto turned his head.
Gojo's voice was low, tense in a way Geto rarely got to hear.
"What do you think the ritual was for?"
The lamp flickered violently.
And the silence returned.