The fear Shizuka had lived with for years did not arrive loudly.
It came on a gray afternoon, two years after the incident at the park, when the air felt wrong in a way she had learned never to ignore. Ren was seven now.
They were walking home together, grocery bags in Shizuka's hands, Ren half a step behind her as always. The street was empty in that way suburban streets sometimes were—no cars, no voices, no movement except the slow sway of trees.
Then the world bent.
The pressure hit first, heavy and Suffocating. Like the air had turned into wet fabric pressing against her lungs. Shizuka stopped walking instantly, bags slipping from her hands.
"Ren," she said without turning around. "Stay behind me."
He didn't argue.
The curse revealed itself slowly, as if savoring the moment.
It crawled out of the shadow between two buildings, its form tall and warped, joints bending in places they shouldn't. Its body looked like it had been stitched together from regret—layers of gray-black flesh covered in faint, pulsing veins of cursed energy. Its face was almost human, but stretched too wide, its mouth split into a permanent grin that showed uneven teeth.
What terrified Shizuka wasn't its appearance.
It was its manner.
The curse didn't rush nor did it scream. It tilted its head, observing them like a patient predator, eyes dull and thoughtful.
"So this is the child," it said, voice thick and wet, as if words were dragged through something rotten. "I followed the trail… for years."
Shizuka felt her blood go cold. A special grade.
She stepped forward, placing herself fully between it and Ren. "You can't take him."
The curse smiled wider. "You misunderstand. I don't want him yet."
Its gaze flicked past her shoulder, locking onto Ren.
"I want to see what breaks first."
Shizuka moved before fear could root her feet to the ground.
Her cursed energy surged—not violently, but with sharp precision. The technique she had inherited and refined flared to life.
Thread of Stillness.
Invisible lines spread from her body like a web, threading through the space around them. Wherever the threads touched, movement slowed—not frozen, but resisted, as if reality itself became thick and heavy. It was a control-based technique, one the Gojo clan rarely favored because it required absolute focus and offered no spectacle.
Shizuka had mastered it anyway.
The curse laughed as the threads wrapped around its limbs. "Ah… restraint. You Gojo types always cling to control."
It flexed.
Its own technique activated in response.
The ground beneath Shizuka's feet pulsed, and suddenly the space around her echoed. Every step, every breath, every shift of weight reflected back at her with delayed force. The curse's technique—Reverberation of Grudge—fed on repeated motion. The more an opponent acted, the stronger the backlash became.
Shizuka gritted her teeth as pain rippled through her body, like invisible blows striking her ribs.
"Ren!" she shouted. "Run!"
"I won't!" he yelled back, voice cracking.
She didn't turn around.
The curse lunged despite the threads, tearing through them with brute cursed output. Shizuka raised her hands, fingers weaving seals faster than thought. Threads tightened, slicing into cursed flesh, drawing a shrill, angry sound from the creature.
It struck back.
A wave of reflected force slammed into her chest, hurling her into a wall. She felt something crack—ribs, maybe more—but she forced herself upright before Ren could see her fall.
Blood filled her mouth.
She spat it out and smiled through the pain. "You want to test something?" she said. "Test me."
She advanced, every step deliberate despite the backlash shredding her muscles. Threads layered over threads, weaving tighter, denser, compressing space around the curse.
The curse snarled now, losing its calm. "You're burning your life away!"
"I know."
She slammed her palms together.
The threads collapsed inward.
For a moment, the curse was pinned—crushed by its own reflected presence, space folding in on itself. It screamed, thrashing, chunks of its body tearing away under the pressure.
Shizuka felt her vision blur. Her heart hammered erratically. Her technique was eating her alive.
The curse broke free with a violent surge, one arm torn off, body unstable—but still moving.
It rushed her.
Shizuka stepped forward instead of back.
She gathered everything she had left—every ounce of cursed energy, every year of restraint—and drove it into a single, final weave. The threads speared through the curse's core. The reverberation hit her all at once. Her world went white.
When the sound faded, the curse was gone—its body unraveled into ash and cursed residue that scattered into the wind. Shizuka fell to her knees. Her body no longer listened to her. She turned, vision dimming, and saw Ren running toward her, tears streaming down his face. She smiled.
He was safe. That was enough.
He reached her, small hands gripping her clothes desperately. "Mom—no—please—"
She cupped his face with trembling fingers. "Ren… listen to me."
Her voice was weak now, but steady.
"You did nothing wrong. None of this is your fault."
He shook his head violently, sobbing. "I don't want you to go."
"I know," she whispered. "But you're strong. Stronger than you think. And kinder than this world deserves."
Her breathing grew shallow.
"Don't hate yourself. Don't hate your power. And don't let them tell you what you are."
Her thumb brushed his cheek, wiping away tears.
"Live," she said softly. "That's my last order."
Her hand slipped from his face.
And Shizuka Gojo was gone.
Ren didn't understand death the way adults did.
He understood absence.
The way warmth vanished. The way the world suddenly felt too big, too loud, too empty.
He sat beside his mother's body, knees pulled to his chest, hands clutching her sleeve like he could keep her there if he held tight enough. He cried until his throat hurt and then cried more when no sound came out.
He called her name again and again.
Nothing answered.
The street felt wrong. The sky felt wrong. Everything felt broken in a way he couldn't fix.
He pressed his forehead to her arm and stayed there, shaking, until footsteps approached.
They came fast and late.
Jujutsu sorcerers—three of them—arrived in a rush of cursed energy and urgency. They took in the scene instantly: the residuals, the destroyed curse, the dead woman with Gojo blood.
And the child.
Another stepped forward carefully. "Kid… we're here to help."
Ren looked up at them with red, hollow eyes.
"Don't touch her."
They exchanged glances.
"We need to take you somewhere safe," the first sorcerer said gently. "You're in danger here."
They reached for him.
Ren screamed.
Not in fear.
In rage.
Something inside him snapped—not exploded, but aligned. The air around him compressed, pressure focusing around his small body. He swung blindly, fists shaking, and the force of it sent one sorcerer stumbling back.
Another raised a barrier just in time, grunting as cracks spidered across it.
"What the hell—"
"He's doing this instinctively!"
They moved together, faster now, binding Ren with seals meant for dangerous spirits. He fought like a child—kicking, biting, crying—but every movement carried weight far beyond what it should have.
It took all of them to restrain him. As they carried him away, Ren screamed until his voice broke. He reached for his mother until she disappeared from sight.
The world did not comfort him.
It took him.
And far away, deep within the Gojo clan's sealed halls, something ancient stirred—
Because a child had just survived a special grade curse.
And lost everything else.