Archive of Our Own

Iori Utahime folded her hands demurely into the sleeves of her kosode as she walked up the path, the autumn foliage swept neatly away from the cobbles. She knew exactly how she wished to appear with her pristine miko attire, but she felt much like a little fallen maple leaf herself. 

The last time she had been in Kyoto, it had been for the sister school event when she was a student. As much as she hated to admit it, it had felt excellent to have won with little effort. It had felt excellent to not be the underdog for once, even if her juniors were the true reason for their lazy success. She would never give them the satisfaction of knowing how it had pleased her. She hadn’t been demure that day — running through the woods with her hair streaming out of her pigtails, a glint in her eye because she was so fast and could be so nimbly destructive if she tried. Gojo and Geto hadn’t really made it necessary, after all, but her blood had been up, her cheeks flushed and her spirits high at the feeling that she could break something down to its base particles if she tried. 

She had changed since then. Their whole world had changed since then. 

Besides, it was well known that whatever small destruction she could bring about, Gojo Satoru could do a hundredfold worse. She frowned, forgetting for a moment to be serene, at just the thought of his smirk and those dazzling blue eyes flashing in mockery. 

In habitual disrespect. 

This was a new chapter, and one she knew that she could do well in. She had to. It was something pressing for her and she had done everything right. While Shoko might cheat her way through medical school, Utahime had made the most of her confusing, fumbling coming of age in the fractured world into which she had been spat. She had been almost normal for a while, sitting beside non-sorcerers in her Psychology of Learning lectures and handing in papers about co-construction of knowledge and curriculum studies. She loved it so much she might have let that tide take her away from her world. But she couldn’t ignore them, shifting a little in her seat in class because of the funny little buzzing curses in the corner of the lecture hall ceiling. It wasn’t enough to sneak back in and kill them in the late afternoon when no one was around — certainly not when the curses started getting slightly more malevolent, bigger, nastier, cleverer…

And she obviously knew who to blame for that too. 

It all unfolded as if there had never been any other alternative. Here she was in the autumn in Kyoto, aware that an unfamiliar classroom awaited her. 

When she had been in Jujutsu society, Utahime had worn the many layers of her school uniform at school and her miko attire when she was assisting at her family’s shrine in the summer vacation. She couldn’t bring herself to wear jeans to the meeting with Principal Gakuganji and there was nothing else suitable in her meagre closet. She had always associated it with her life as a sorcerer and so it felt natural to go back to it. She was a little bit wearied by the idea that her demure expression and her crisp shrine maiden attire were probably what had swayed Gakuganji in the end. 

He still wouldn’t give her the job right away though, despite her miko attire and teaching degree. It irritated her, but she tucked that away. She was 23 and a qualified teacher. And she ought to be more than a second grade sorcerer by now. 

But this was how she found herself now — a student teacher. 

She doubted that many of her own teachers had been made to jump through this hoop, but she bore it. This wasn’t simply a job. She knew it was a vocation for her. 

Utahime made her way into the building where she had conducted her first interview with the principal. A student clearly acting as something of a secretary bobbed, sliding the door open for her and trying not to look curious. Utahime touched the scar on her face self-consciously when the door slid shut. Out there in the world, people had been more discreet, but in Jujutsu society, a scar had to mean a grim story. 

The room was beautiful, symmetrical and stately, with a low table and cushions at one end of the room. At the other end, the wall was lined with bookshelves behind the strangely ostentatious spread of Gakuganji’s desk, the dappled maple leaf light from the window fluttering over the surface of both.  

As she waited, she knew how she wanted to appear. It went against her nature, but she was trying to iron that out too. She knelt at the low table close to the door and kept her chin dipped, deep in thought, listening to the fountain in the courtyard. 

As the door slid open, she let her practised smile touch her mouth and she lifted her head, the respectful greeting ready on her lips. But instead of the principal’s careful steps, a lazy gait thumped over the tatami mats. 

“What the fuck?” Utahime spat, all her composure lost in one demoralising second as her gaze swept upwards.

A sharp grin and dark glasses, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark school uniform like the one she used to wear. 

“Mmm. Potty mouth,” Gojo Satoru laughed, flopping down in front of her on the other side of the low table, his limbs sprawling out, “That’s bad language, Utahime.”

Her blood pressure spiked, a dim headache immediately threatening in her temples. It was always like this. Not even two sentences in and Gojo had her flustered and annoyed. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed, keeping her voice lower now but unable to keep the cursing out of her speech as her temper rose. 

Gojo rested his wrist on his propped-up knee, looking at her over his sunglasses with amusement. His head tilted curiously and Utahime felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. 

“Very bad. Incorrigible,” he mused, “and in front of me too, your junior.” 

Utahime scoffed, wishing she wouldn’t flush so easily. She suddenly remembered how Gojo and Geto used to mess with her, their senior on paper but significantly less worldly. She had hated how innocent she was by comparison, and how mortifying it had been when she had been caught eavesdropping on a lewd conversation that Gojo and Geto were having in the hallway between classes. She had lingered at the vending machine, blinking at the keypad, while Gojo said words she had never heard before, wrapping them up in a lurid narrative. Geto had noticed her there and smacked Gojo’s arm to get him to stop. Utahime could sense Gojo grinning, even as she kept her eyes trained on the mechanical spiral moving slowly to drop her iced tea. Her face burned then too. They moved off, kicking off the wall, but not before Gojo stood too closely behind her, dipping his head so that he could whisper in her ear. 

Do you know what that means, Uta? 

She had ignored him, as she usually did, but always unsuccessfully. Geto had tugged him away. 

Want me to show you? 

“I’m your senior now, am I?” Utahime muttered, a little scornfully. “Does that mean you’re going to respect me?” 

Gojo’s eyes were glistening with amusement, half-hidden by those stupid sunglasses. 

“I think you like it better when I disrespect you, senpai,” he said smoothly, sinking back onto his elbows like he was at the beach and not in Gakuganji’s formal reception room. 

Utahime felt a fresh flush bloom on her cheeks and she frowned, gripping her hakama where her hands were resting on her folded legs. She hadn’t seen him in quite a while. He was taller, his shoulders broader, his ease more feline — but that feeling of his strength had taken on a new dimension. His power used to feel boisterous, energetic and crackling. It was something else more fathomless now, and it unsettled Utahime. There was a lot to shift her off-centre in that cocksure smile and the intense gaze over the rim of his sunglasses. 

“Please go away,” she said through her teeth. “I’m here for something important.” 

Gojo’s eyes slid over her posture, making Utahime feel like squirming. How could someone younger than her make her feel this way in less than five seconds?

“Nice outfit, Uta,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. 

“What do you have on underneath it?” Gojo yawned. “Bet it’s fucking boring.” 

Utahime glared at him, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She wished she could unsettle him even a tiny bit the way that he unsettled her. She almost felt like blurting out something obscene, anything to wipe the smug smile off his face when he made her blush. 

But she knew that was a trap. She was always falling into the ones he set for her. 

She didn’t like to think that Gojo’s teasing in high school had been the reason for the wildness that she was trying to button away now under her traditional clothing. Out in the world, she’d taken a sledgehammer to the innocence of her pigtails, her wool tights under her uniform and her little miko persona. She would hate to think that it was because of him that she’d worn short dresses, drank too much, let strangers grind against her in clubs and take off her clothes in half-lit bedrooms. But, as she had grinned breathlessly at the ceiling, her back arching as a stranger’s tongue made her come, she had thought triumphantly of Gojo, and how he could no longer make fun of her innocence because there was nothing left of it. 

“Gojo,” Utahime said through her teeth, “what are you doing here?”

His smile was slow. 

“I’m being kept waiting, just like you.” 

He flopped down on the floor completely now, a ragdoll and not the most powerful sorcerer in four hundred years. His uniform jacket rode up, showing the ridges of his abdomen, as he groaned wearily with impatience, as if he had been waiting for hours and not a few minutes. Utahime glanced worriedly at the closed door, her irritation and confusion swirling together with how complicated it made her feel to realise that the worldliness of teenage Gojo had matured into something else. 

“Sit up and answer my question,” she said hotly, knowing that Gojo would never listen to her, but worried that her inability to get him to behave would somehow reflect badly on her. “The principal will be here in a second.” 

She tried to reason with herself. Gakuganji wouldn’t rescind his offer if she couldn’t teach Gojo how to be respectful. As far as she remembered, Gojo was borderline unteachable. 

Gojo rocked his head onto one ear to look at her, one eyebrow raised and his face still. Her breath caught in her throat, because his expression was like a prince who hadn’t yet decided whether to find someone’s insubordination amusing or offensive. 

“You think that you’re gonna get in trouble if I don’t behave?” he observed levelly. 

“Gojo—” 

“You’re right though,” he said slyly. “Gakuganji will definitely take it out on you. I can do whatever I like and you’ll get the brunt of it.” 

Utahime narrowed her eyes, wishing he would straighten his clothing so that she couldn’t see a strip of his stomach and the fine trail of pale hair at the centre crease of his abs that disappeared into the low waistband of his uniform trousers. He smiled wolfishly as he caught her gaze, and Utahime had to quickly avert her eyes. 

“Then can you please sit up and stop being such a dick?” Utahime mumbled, her stomach clenching. 

“You’re asking a lot.” 

Utahime heard footsteps in the hallway, hushed voices and the clack of a walking stick. 

“Please, Gojo,” she whispered, her hands on her knees again, clutching the fabric. 

“Mm. I think I like it when you beg, senpai,” he grinned. 

Utahime's stomach flipped over, blinking at him as her lips parted, suddenly sent back in time to an era when Gojo Satoru could make her tremble with rage and something else complicated by whispering obscenities to her during swordsmanship lectures. 

“I—” Utahime started her retort, despite the fact that words escaped her. 

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Gojo suddenly sat up abruptly, “and I’ll be so good.” 

Utahime scowled, heart thudding.

“Leave me out of your little traps, Gojo,” she whispered, hearing Gakuganji in the hallway, and the little secretary scrambling to get to the door to slide it open for him. 

“I’ll be good. I’ll save up all my little disrespects,” he mused, his eyes watching Utahime with fox-like interest. 

The door slid open and Utahime turned her tattered attention back to the reason she was there, the polite smile a little more wobbly on her mouth. 

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Gakuganji said distractedly, moving over slowly to put a file down on the desk. 

When he turned around, he looked as surprised as Utahime to see Gojo’s respectful bow made in tandem with Utahime’s. 

“I would like to welcome you both to Kyoto and I hope that neither of you will disappoint me nor Principal Yaga in this…experimental…endeavour,” Gakuganji said, measuring his words carefully. 

Utahime smiled, trying not to blink rapidly, waiting for something to make clear and precise sense. She didn’t realise she was bracing for Gojo’s disrespectful quip until it didn’t actually come. 

A silence fell that she realised she had to fill. 

“Thank you, Principal Gakuganji, for this kind welcome,” she said, feeling dazed. 

The principal sniffed, still waiting to be interrupted. Gojo smiled demurely in the space that both Utahime and Gakuganji paused for his quip.

“As I am sure you are aware, this is an unprecedented motion put forth by the Higher Ups who suggested that something of a probationary period for new jujutsu teachers would be both useful and enlightening to all involved.” 

The penny was dropping and Utahime bit down her back teeth, feeling her stomach twist. 

“Principal Yaga is very grateful that you agreed to host us here and I extend his thanks for agreeing to it,” Gojo somehow managed to avoid sounding insincere. 

Gakuganji narrowed his eyes, huffing a little as he sized Gojo up. 

“You have a lot to thank Yaga for yourself, Gojo,” he muttered. 

“I am sorry, I don’t quite understand…” Utahime hoped she was wrong, and that someone could put her out of her misery. 

“As student teachers, both of you will observe lessons, create lesson plans and curriculum documents and assist in outdoor and physical training. You will be expected to teach lessons…under the supervision of the staff.” 

Utahime’s mouth fell open, just as Gakuganji turned to walk around behind his desk. She used his lapse in focus on them to glance at Gojo, who was watching her face with delight as the realisation hit her. 

“I’m sorry, both of us?” she mumbled, eyes wide. 

Gakuganji was unlocking his desk drawer and he sighed wearily.

“I know you have qualifications, Iori-san,” he said tiredly, misunderstanding her tone, “but I assure you that the world of non-sorcerer education is radically different from what we hope to achieve here.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” 

“Here is some information about the structure of the day on our campus and some other necessary paperwork.” 

Gojo was smiling, his glee barely contained, as he bowed and received the paperwork that Gakuganji offered each of them. 

“All things considered, it was decided that having you both here in Kyoto would mean the highest likelihood of success for this plan. I hope you will make the most of this opportunity.” 

Utahime felt her lip trembling. 

“Thank you, Principal Gakuganji,” she said politely, even as her stomach twisted, bowing low.  

“If you behave satisfactorily, at the end of the semester, I will write a report making my recommendation for your appointment either here or at the Tokyo school. I might decide that either one or both of you will merit an appointment here. Or perhaps I will send you both back to Tokyo and let Yaga make his own…conclusions.” 

The insult of her not being immediately appointed as a teacher was, unsurprisingly, not even about her. Utahime glanced sideways at Gojo as they bowed again as they were dismissed to the care of the secretary in the hallway, seething. She couldn’t believe she was being lumped in with Gojo with something that felt like her calling. It made the stakes higher. If it all went to shit here, she wasn’t convinced that Yaga would choose her over the Six Eyes. 

“See how well I behaved?” Gojo mused.

“You have got to be joking!” she hissed under her breath, folding her hands into her sleeves again

Gojo, sauntering beside her, bumping into her a little in the narrow passageway. 

The secretary was trying to steal glances at Gojo and Utahime was realising that the curiosity she had seen earlier was not for her scar, but for what the likes of her would be doing attending the same meeting as the Six Eyes User. 

“What?” Gojo asked, but his sharp grin made her sure that he was just trying to make her say it. 

“You?! How are you going to be a teacher?” she spluttered incredulously, momentarily forgetting to keep her voice down. 

Gojo, his hands in his pockets, leant down to whisper in her ear

“Don’t worry, Utahime, I’ll show you how,” he said, his lips brushing her skin ever so slightly. “I’m very good at telling people what to do.” 

She smacked her hand against her ear to stop the goosebumps down her neck so that he couldn’t say any more. 

“Gojo, be serious,” she glared, feeling her face flush again, wishing the secretary could walk faster. 

“The real question is… how are you going to be a teacher, Utahime?” Gojo purred, “when you like being ordered around so much?” 

“You’re a moron,” she almost spat, her stomach fluttering, desperately hoping Gojo hadn’t been overheard. 

“Mm. You shouldn’t be so rude to me, Utahime,” Gojo dipped his head again, because Utahime had dropped her hand from her ear. “It gives me…ideas about how to make you be nicer.” 

Utahime nearly collided with the secretary, who had stopped abruptly in the corridor. 

“Gojo-sama, these are your quarters.” 

Utahime stared resolutely ahead, refusing to even glance in when the door was slid wide, so she did not have to bear the humiliation of the undoubted fact that Gojo’s rooms would be far more luxurious than hers. 

“Is Iori-senpai close to me?” Gojo asked smoothly, not even looking inside.  

The secretary hesitated, as Utahime grit her teeth at the honorific being used in any way he felt like but sincerely. 

“Uh, yes. At the end of the hall.” 

“Ah. That will be a comfort,” Gojo said coolly, “since I don’t know anyone at this school.” 

The secretary blushed, blinking in the spotlight of Gojo Satoru’s attention. Utahime rolled her eyes, remembering a time when she had been frightened to meet the fabled Gojo heir, wondering if he would be solemn and imperious. Instead, he had been loud, beautiful, arrogant and insubordinate. That was the trouble. She hadn’t expected him to be so beautiful.

Utahime looked on now. He wasn’t even flirting. If anything, he was being intimidating. And yet Utahime could almost sense the poor girls’ knees buckling. 

“If you would come this way,” she mumbled, fiddling nervously with her hair. 

Utahime glared warningly at Gojo as he followed along with her to the end of the hallway. 

“What? I want to see who got the better room?” he said, smiling gamely like they were buds at a summer camp. 

She wasn’t sure that she had ever been friends with him, even when they were teenagers. Utahime didn’t enter the room once the secretary had slid the door open for her, because she knew Gojo would barrel in behind her. 

“Thank you,” Utahime said graciously, hoping the girl would leave because she was itching to punch Gojo in the gut, even though she knew it was pointless to attempt it. 

She was incredibly fast. She could land a blow quicker than any foe expected. She could even do Black Flash, something that most people conveniently forgot. But she knew she would never be fast enough when it came to Gojo Satoru. 

He seemed to read her mind, his smile twisting into a little mocking grin, glaring at him even as she acknowledged the secretary’s deep bow. He slipped into her room as the girl left, wandering around and nudging the furniture with his toe. 

“Is this your luggage?” he asked conversationally, jerking a thumb towards two modest suitcases by the window. “All your little outfits?” 

A few people knew what she had been like at university. She hoped Gojo wasn’t one of them. 

“Get out,” Utahime said darkly.

She tried to hold her ground as Gojo sauntered over, his height meaning that he could only loom over her as his proximity grew, almost backing her into the corner where the door met the wall. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he said in a low voice, as she tilted her face up. 

No, they were never friends, not when being alone with him always meant this complicated, breathless, frightening feeling. 

“What do you mean?” she asked warily. 

She immediately regretted asking, because Gojo’s smile was too quick and sharp to be kind. 

“What’s underneath this?” 

He tugged at her scarlet hakama, making her almost choke at the speed at which her indignation and that complicated emotion that Gojo had always made her feel clattered together. She flushed, biting her lip angrily to keep in a stumbling response. She had all the layers of the traditional garb on underneath, complicated and austere, wrapping her in the kind of demure civility she wanted to espouse. 

This was one of Gojo’s traps. He’d made her feel like that girl at the vending machine again. She smacked his hand away and was surprised when she made contact. 

“You’re being lewd,” she said, as levelly as she could. 

Gojo smiled afresh, his eyes glittering. He leaned more into her space, making her push herself into the corner. 

“Actually, don’t tell me. It’s fun to speculate either way.” 

“Gojo,” she said, warningly. “You can’t speak to me like this.” 

Suddenly, he caught her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, abruptly angling her face further up so that the back of her head thudded against the wall. Her heart leapt into her throat. He’d always said these kinds of things to her, especially when no one else could hear him, but Gojo had never touched her before. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Utahime,” he said quietly, his jaw twitching. 

She swallowed, glaring at him. 

“You’re an ass,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so raspy. 

His face cracked into a smile, the prince finding the insubordination cute. 

“What did I say about being rude to me?” 

Utahime grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand away from her face, keeping her eyes on his, even though she knew it was futile to act tough in the face of everything that he was. She wanted so badly to wipe the smug look off his face. He had always loved to unsettle her. 

“You promised that you’d be respectful,” she reminded him shakily. 

He chuckled, flexing fingers. She felt her grip loose traction as he brought up his Infinity. 

“Yeah, but not to you,” he almost snorted. “You wouldn’t even like that.” 

She took a deep breath, realising she couldn’t push him back if she tried now. She’d never touch him. 

“Gojo, Gakuganji will kick us both off this campus if you behave disrespectfully—” 

“I told you, Uta! I’m saving that up for something big. I’ll be good as gold when it comes to Gakuganji.” 

He smiled now and backed away, sauntering out of the room with his hands raised, as if this had been a defeat. Utahime slid the door shut hurriedly, as if he might barge back in.

“Fine, leave me to my speculation,” he yelled down the corridor as he walked away. 

She touched her chin, where she could still feel the press of his touch and wished desperately that she didn’t feel so breathless. She cursed, because her feelings had always been a humiliation. She hoped desperately that Gojo had never known that his teasing, his whispering in her ear, his grating attention, always turned her insides liquid. She really had never expected him to be so beautiful. 

She heard him whistling in the corridor as he slid his door open at the far end and her stomach flipped over. It was best that he never learnt how her body reacted to the things he said to her. 

The first night, she peeled away the layers of her miko attire in the low light of the bedroom she had been given, she thought about her ignorance as innocence, and how that had fallen away so completely from a time long ago when a boy had whispered in her ear at the vending machine. 

Want me to show you? 

In provoking her to turn away from that kind of ignorance, she supposed that he was already a teacher, but of a lesson that she still wasn’t sure she had learnt completely. 

The Kyoto school was structured very differently from the Tokyo one. Utahime already knew this from its reputation and from visiting as a student. But now she found herself in a confusing limbo, between civilian and teacher and not that much older than the fourth-year students herself. The much more formal and traditional structure of protocols had never needed to accommodate someone like a student-teacher. 

And then Gojo Satoru made their limbo feel much more complicated by being a high-status visitor, but barely out of his teens and wearing a school uniform no less. It didn’t help that Gojo’s reputation and his natural magnetism made students and staff alike so confused on firstly how to treat him and secondly, how to treat his quiet, diminutive colleague, Utahime. 

At first, Utahime was relieved that she didn’t have to jump right into the teaching role, because she suddenly doubted her ability to command a room when she had to stand beside Gojo as his supposed peer in a category that had been created just for them. 

Or rather, a category that had been created just so that the Higher Ups could keep an eye on Gojo before they let him run roughshod through the education of the next generation of sorcerers. 

Utahime and her modest ambitions had simply got caught in the crossfire. 

And so, as they observed lessons, and discussed didactic practices with the actual teachers, Utahime started to feel frustrated. It didn’t help to be in such close proximity to Gojo all the time, a person who said whatever he pleased to her in hushed tones and yet who uncharacteristically listened attentively to his instructions, did precisely as he was told, and acted with detached deference to the principal whenever it was required that they interact. It felt like Gojo was a better student-teacher than he had ever been a student. 

As the days went by and they observed lesson after lesson, marked assignments and did odd jobs for the staff, Utahime grew increasingly impatient. At least, it felt like impatience. 

The fine days were becoming more sporadic, and she sat on the makeshift bleachers overlooking the modest sports terrain, the only open area on the Kyoto school campus, Utahime shivered at the chill in the air. 

The students were practising their hand-to-hand combat under the watchful eye of their teacher. 

“This is boring,” Gojo groaned from somewhere behind her. “Even you could do better.” 

“You’ve got to do drills before you can spar, remember?” 

“I don’t remember, no,” Gojo said airily. “What is it that you do again? I’m sure the kids are curious.” 

“If you’re trying to goad me into making a fool of myself, it won’t work.” 

There was silence behind her, and Utahime tried to concentrate on the kids in the field keeping their breathing and their postures correct. 

“Their movements are so fucking repetitive.” 

“Rigour and discipline are important, Gojo,” Utahime sighed. 

The bleacher bench behind her suddenly creaked as Gojo materialised on the level right behind her, his long legs caging her between his knees. She gasped, as she felt his hand flick around, clutching a handful of her hair in an underhand grasp. His grip on her was lost in the fall of her hair. Utahime stiffened, her heart thudding in her chest at this unexpected contact, at his frightening and unpredictable intensity. His movements were so fast and erratic when he wanted them to be. 

“Oh, you like discipline, Uta?” he purred, a boyish laugh caught in his voice. 

“Let go of my hair, you dickhead,” she said through her teeth. 

She nearly whimpered, as Gojo slowly dragged her hair downwards, pulling her head backwards as he leant forward. The back of her head hit the bleacher bench behind her, the space between his spread knees, and Gojo’s face appeared in her upside-down field of vision, the weak autumnal sun making a halo out of his white hair. 

“I’ve already told you that you shouldn’t tell me what to do,” he whispered, his face close to hers as he leaned forward in his seat, his body making a strange yin-yang with hers, “I don’t like it.” 

Utahime’s face flushed, her anger and something else shameful bubbling up in her belly. 

“Let go, someone is going to see,” she said through grit teeth. 

Gojo’s smile was all diamonds now. He hummed, the cold steel going out of his voice. 

“Can’t have that,” he giggled. “Isn’t that right, innocent little Utahime? Gotta be sweet all the time?” 

Utahime knew that he wanted her to start spitting with anger at his handling of her and his teasing words. But she remembered that this particular schtick left over from high school — that she was cute and virginal and ignorant — couldn’t really have any traction anymore. She wondered what Gojo would do if she smiled now, a minx and not an angry kitten. She gazed up at him, his face upside down to her, with her eyes burning. She hated that he could still make her feel so green and untried. 

“Yeah, but not to you,” she said, softly defiant. 

It thrilled her to see the grin fade off Gojo’s face, his eyes igniting with something a little terrifying. 

“Utahime,” his voice was soft too, but bladed with warning, “that’s not very nice.” 

“You’re never nice,” she said, ignoring the strange spike of sensation that the harsh velvet of his voice caused in her. 

Gojo’s smile came back slowly, a thaw that nearly made her squirm. 

“You don’t want me to be nice, senpai,” he observed playfully. “You want me to be awful to you.” 

That feeling like impatience suddenly broke over her. She wanted to sink her nails into his legs where they caged her in.

“You want us to spar? Is that it?” she suddenly spat, knowing that she could never win against him, even in hand-to-hand combat. 

Gojo’s sly smile showed her that he had managed to get exactly what he wanted from her and she’d walked straight into the trap. 

“Not with you dressed like that, no,” he said dismissively. “Not unless you take a few of those layers off.” 

Utahime tried to jerk her hair out of his grip for the first time, her cheeks flushing. Her hair slid easily out of his hand, making her realise he wasn’t even holding it tightly. She flung her gaze forward, head swimming like she had been hanging upside down, checking to see if any of the students or the teacher had noticed. 

They were still absorbed in their drills, sweating in the weak sunshine. Of course, Gojo was really good at knowing when to toy with her so no one noticed. He was still leaning forward, a devil on her shoulder, even as she kept her shoulders stiff and her gaze trained forward. 

“Why do you always mess with me like this, Gojo?” 

Gojo’s lips had to be moist, because she felt some of the strands of her hair stick to them as he whispered in her ear. 

“Cos you never make a scene. Especially now, or Gakuganji won’t give you the job,” his voice was light and dangerous. “Because you like it.” 

Utahime flinched away from his whisper in her ear. 

“He wouldn’t give it to you. He hates you,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders.

“No, I’ve reformed, don’t you know? Good as gold.” 

Utahime scoffed, but a little seedling of panic took root in her chest. No one had said explicitly that she and Gojo were competing for the same appointment. But it would be simply typical of all her interactions with Gojo if a half-made deal with him came around to bite her in the ass. 

The students had broken out of formation, and their teacher had instructed them to break into pairs and they were loosely sparring, giggling and joking while they waited for proper instructions to begin. The teacher beckoned Gojo and Utahime over. 

“Please would you help me observe and critique the students,” the teacher said solemnly, “and correct their techniques.” 

Utahime nodded, bowing respectfully, smiling because she was happy for the opportunity to actually instruct. She was good at this. Her frame was petite and slight, and she had honed it her whole life to make up for impediments like that. She had studied and refined her movements for years, and through that study knew the exact ways to communicate destruction with her body. 

She wandered around the pairs of students, watching carefully and quietly offering advice. She could hear Gojo stomping around too and using florid and vague descriptions to try to convey the things he could do without thinking. Despite her best efforts, she was watching out of the corner of her eye. He really had grown so tall and muscular over the few years since she had last seen him, and was a commanding, looming presence. 

“No, like this. Here, let’s show them, Utahime,” Gojo suddenly commanded, grasping her by the waist and all but dragging her to the centre of the loose ring of sparring pairs.

“Wha—” she stammered, as Gojo rounded and took on a fighting posture that she didn’t know he even knew how to do. 

His smirk was deep, his eyes glistening because he had given his sunglasses to an awestruck student to hold. 

“Try to hit me,” he commanded. 

All the students had stopped sparring, gathering close, buzzing with excitement at the opportunity to see Gojo Satoru fight. 

“Gojo, I don’t think that sensei wishes—” Utahime began levelly. 

“Oh come on, Utahime,” Gojo scoffed. 

She attacked, quick as a little viper. She had no hope of winning outright, but she thought she could at least be as quick as she possibly could, and save a little dignity that way. Gojo dodged rather than blocked her fists, slipping back from her kicks and grinning at the effort she made. 

“You ass,” she muttered breathlessly. 

The smile slipped and, to her shock, Gojo flipped around, his speed blurring, the world tipping as she felt her body slam into the ground. She kicked at his knee, instinct rather than a real plan to vanquish him. Though she tried to topple him, his retaliation was seamless, and she instead found herself flung over, the air pushed out of her lungs, and Gojo straddling her, pinning her arms with his knees. 

“How do I make you act nicer, Utahime?” he mused lightly, his voice too soft to be overheard. 

“Get off.” 

Gojo laughed, releasing her. 

“Oh, I will.” 

He hopped up and Utahime scrambled to her feet, trying not to look perturbed as Gojo explained to the wide-eyed students what she had done wrong. But she was blushing when she walked to her room as the sun set after the training session, tugging at the ties of her hakama after she had slid the door shut. She was almost breathless with frustration, feeling the upwelling of some dreadful knowledge about herself as she stripped away layers down to her kimono slip.

Because she had liked it. She had liked his rough handling of her and his long, heavy body pinning her into the sports terrain. She closed her eyes as she remembered his beautiful, cold smile of triumph. She wished she could wipe it clean and not have it replaced by a look that somehow excited her more. 

Suddenly, she felt the particles moving and she shrieked, spinning around as Gojo manifested behind her, grasping her around the waist in a fluid movement like he had when drawing her into the sparring session. 

Except this time he pushed her against the wall, hiking her up on his thigh, chuckling as she gasped in surprise. 

“Mmm. That felt so good… you squirming underneath me,” he said throatily, “You drive me crazy, Utahime.” 

“Gojo! Go back to your room!” Utahime yelped, flushing as his large hands on her hips kept her against his thigh, her cunt pressed flush. 

“Okay,” he shrugged. 

Utahime felt like she’d been tipped over, a spinning marble, as the fabrics of the world were ripped down and reknit in one second. She choked, as instead of the wall behind her, her head hit something soft with a bounce and Gojo’s heavy body dropped over hers, his knee parting her legs. Her heart was throbbing in her throat, as she tried to lift her head. She knew she was in his room, the lights off, and of course, he hadn’t rolled up his futon. It smelt like him. 

“Gojo!” she gasped, as his hands slid up the outer edge of her arms to pin her wrists above her head. 

“The thing is that you know that I’ll always let you go,” he purred, and her stomach clenched as his mouth pressed into the hollow of her throat. “But you never make a scene, do you? Because you like it when I’m a dick to you. Only me.” 

Utahime’s vicious response caught in her throat as Gojo sucked on her skin, making her pussy throb, even as she flushed furiously at his words, and Gojo pushing things too far for the first time ever. 

“You need to—” she gasped, trying to muster her outrage. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be good. I just want to see what you wear underneath that whole getup,” he smiled. “I’ve been thinking about it for years.” 

It wasn’t lost on her that she wasn’t even struggling, completely taken off guard as he let go of her wrists and pushed up her slip. He slid down her body, humming as he saw her cotton panties, spreading her knees further apart with the same fluidity that he had thrown her onto the floor of the sports field. Utahime covered her face with her freed hands, knowing he could probably see the humiliation of how wet she was, uncertain where this was going and where she wanted to stop it. 

“See, Utahime, you want this from me. You want to be my little slut. You want me to show you how.” 

Utahime’s gasp was strangled, as he suddenly put his wet tongue against her clothed cunt, soaking the fabric, making it rough and dreadfully promising against her clit. 

“Gojo!” she choked, her heart racing, as her hands flew down and pushed his head away from her spread legs. 

Gojo chuckled, as she scrambled backwards up his futon. She slipped easily away from him because he was never actually holding her too tightly. He stayed on his stomach, looking up at her with those crystalline eyes, his grin tugging up at the side of his mouth. 

“I like sweet things,” he said lazily. 

Utahime looked at him hotly, trying to recover her composure, feeling the dampness of his saliva against the cotton of her underwear. 

“I’m not sweet,” she muttered, getting to her feet. 

“Mmm, that’s not what you want Gakuganji to think. You want him to think you’re perfect and docile.”

“Shut up.” 

“Do you think he saw me overpower you so easily on the sports field?” Gojo asked conversationally, rolling onto his back to look up at her. "You weak little thing." 

“I’m sure you could overpower most people, Gojo. That’s your whole thing,” Utahime said through her teeth. 

“No, now my whole thing is being the best boy I can be. I told you, I’m saving up all my disrespect. Gakuganji might even like me, I’m so fucking polite and obedient.” 

Utahime narrowed her eyes at him, a dreadful suspicion growing as Gojo continued conversationally. 

“Do you think he heard you cussing in the dining room just because you got tea on your sleeve? Do you think he knows you’ve got quite the mouth on you?” 

The little anxiety that had been fluttering to life in her chest suddenly took a deeper root. She hated to believe that Gojo was winning in categories that she thought were her discerning characteristics. 

“Do you think Gakuganji will find out you’re in here with me in your underwear?” 

Utahime gaped at Gojo. 

Was this sabotage? 

“You’re an asshole,” she ground out, her pulse racing. 

“Yes, but you’ll think about me later, won’t you?” 

The problem was that she did, after dashing cautiously down the hallway back to her room and flinging herself inside. In the middle of the night, naked between the blankets of her own futon having shed all the final layers, she thought about his pretty blue eyes and his tousled white hair, with her hand between her legs and her fingers where his mouth had only glanced. 

Utahime’s feet hardly made a sound as she moved swiftly along the empty corridor. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for any clues that she was being followed. The whole campus was shrouded in deep nocturnal silence. She wondered if the Kyoto students snuck out like they used to when they were kids, or whether the sombre traditional tone of Tokyo’s sister school filtered down into sombre and traditional behaviour for her students. 

Maybe she’d find out for herself. Maybe Gojo hadn’t done everything possible to upstage and sabotage her, just with his being Gojo. It could go either way really. If this whole probationary period was really just something invented by the Higher Ups to throw a speedbump in Gojo’s plans, then Utahime and her fate were really inconsequential to the whole thing. Maybe she’d be shoved into the system somewhere as a junior teacher and life would go on as she had intended. 

Or maybe they’d decide that Gojo needed further supervision. Maybe she would be shunted to the side more permanently while they gave the Kyoto position to Gojo so they could weaken his alliance with Yaga. 

There were no lights on as she rounded the corridor, but she could see just fine in the darkness. The passageway was silent too. She put her hand on Gakuganji’s door, checking for residuals and finding that the coast was clear. She slid it open. 

She knew that the desk was locked, but Utahime could hum things loose. It was a nifty little trick that she kept under wraps. She stepped inside carefully, sliding the door shut behind her. She crept towards the desk. 

“Utahime.”

She spun around. 

“Gojo,” she stammered. 

He was there, barefoot and in his school uniform trousers and a t-shirt, both of them creased like he had pulled them on hurriedly to follow her. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

She glared at him, backing up against the desk. 

“I know Gakuganji has already written that report,” she said, swallowing nervously. 

He took a slow step towards her. 

“And? Why do you want to see it?” he asked, his voice so low it was nearly just a rumble. 

“I want a heads up. In case I should make some alternative plans.” 

Gojo smiled lazily, growing slowly closer. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Neither should you.” 

“Ah. Mutually assured destruction.” 

Utahime nearly scoffed, but her heartbeat was in her throat. 

Since this all began - Gojo’s voice in her ear at the vending machine, the salacious things he said to her, the way he always singled her out where no one else could see - there had been only one thing assured.

It was that Utahime would be destroyed, and not Gojo. 

He couldn’t be touched. 

Gojo was easing closer and closer to her, watching her face with his glowing blue eyes, a little smile smoothing out the ethereal beauty of his face. Utahime’s heartbeat was so loud in her ears that she was certain that he could hear it, as the edge of Gajuganji’s desk hit her lower back. 

Only three years younger than her, but Gojo looked to her like the peak of masculine, youthful beauty and power. In her heart of hearts, she always knew that she’d buckle to him for less. 

“What alternative plan did you have in mind?” Gojo said, his voice low and rumbling as he stepped close. 

Utahime’s legs were trembling, her stomach clenching, as she tipped her head back to look him in the face, that old habit of meeting him head-on as if that would ever get him to step down. 

“I...don’t know,” she mumbled, swallowing because his hand suddenly slid up the side of her neck. “I’ll think of something.” 

It would be a sweet caress if his thumb didn’t slide over her windpipe, the slightest pressure making her tremble.

“I could think of something for you to do,” he mused. 

Utahime narrowed her eyes at him, even as her body reacted to his touch. She could count on one hand the number of times Gojo had actually touched her, and here he was, his thumb sliding up and down her windpipe and his eyes burning. 

“I’m not asking.” 

Gojo made an amused noise. 

“You’d like it, Utahime. You’ve always been perfect for it.” 

Utahime managed to make a little sound of contempt, the last of her resistance. 

“Perfect for it?” she repeated. 

Suddenly, Gojo’s large hands grasped her hips, lifting her onto the desk, pushing between her knees and spreading them apart. 

She gasped, as he pressed his lips against the artery in her throat, not a kiss and not a bite, no love and no hate. 

“Perfect for me. Perfect for my cock. Perfect for me to fill up with little brats.” 

Utahime leant back, her palms on the surface of the desk, shaking a little in shock at his words. 

“What are you talking about?” she stammered, as Gojo’s mouth opened against her skin, his hand sliding into the opening of her silk robe. 

“I’m talking about destiny,” he laughed throatily against her skin. “You think anyone you ever meet will ever compare to me?” 

Utahime shivered, as his fingertips moved along her collarbone, leaning into her, tipping her back as she tried to hold against the tide. 

“You want me to be a clan whore?” she said coldly. 

Gojo nipped at her skin, sending a bolt of excitement right through her core, making her tense deeply, a pathetic yearning gesture. 

“Oh, Uta, as if it doesn’t turn you on to imagine being my plaything.” 

She bit her lip, because it did. In a way, she always had been something that Gojo toyed with for his own amusement. There was a shameful truth as to why she had always let him. She put her hands up against his chest. 

“I don’t want to be your slut,” she managed, more breathless than she wished to be. 

Gojo laughed, his boyish chuckle. 

“Yes, you do. You always have,” he murmured. “And no one else at that fucking university has made you feel like I do.” 

Utahime closed her eyes, waves of arousal and dismay washing over her as she felt Gojo’s fingers hovering over her skin where he had slid it into the opening of her robe. She squeezed her eyes as she frowned, wondering why he was hesitating, for all his forward, grating, insistence. Until she realised, opening her eyes and seeing the lopsided smile on his face. 

Gojo would wait for her to damn herself. 

Her hand that was on his chest flattened, the fingers dipping slightly above the collar of his t-shirt, touching warm skin, a rare privilege. 

Gojo’s smile grew. 

“Ask me, Utahime,” he murmured, his hands curving over her thighs. “Ask me to show you how.” 

She hesitated, knowing that it would be everything she had ever resisted and everything she ever wanted. 

“Show me,” Utahime rasped. 

Gojo’s grin was sharp, pleased, as he swiftly unthreaded her robe, pushing the lapels over her shoulders. 

“Always so many fucking layers,” he whispered. 

He hummed appreciatively, his fingers slipping over the silk of her pyjamas, a pale, flimsy slip with thin straps. 

Utahime whimpered as he kissed her collarbone again. 

“Is this what you sleep in, Uta? I must confess I’ve been wondering for years.” 

She glared at him, her heart thumped in anticipation of the humiliation, because she hadn’t worn this kind of thing until very recently, not until she’d done her best to ruin her ignorance of everything. Her breath caught as Gojo caught the bottom edge of it and ripped, callously splitting right up the middle, not even batting an eyelash. 

“Gojo!” she hissed, affronted, aroused by how easily it was ruined. 

“I’ll dress you in better things. Things that I like,” he murmured, sliding the rags of it off her shoulder like it was her kimono. “I’ll make you wear them under that stupid miko outfit.” 

“I’m not going to be your whore.” 

Abruptly, Gojo pushed aside her underwear, two fingers sliding into her, sliding suddenly into her cunt in a way which made her back arch in surprise. The wet sound made Utahime’s cheeks burn. 

“You already are,” Gojo said, sliding his fingers out and back in again, her earlobe between his teeth. “You’re already mine.” 

Utahime moaned as his fingers curled, beckoning her to disaster. His mouth moved over her tits, tongue curling over her nipples as he unravelled her with his fingers. 

“Fuck,” she gasped, realising that she would come too quickly, that she might see sense afterwards and that Gojo would know how she sounded and looked in pleasure when she had only ever hoped, for her own safety, to show him her unflappable, cold exterior. 

“I’ll show you how to be nicer, Uta. I’ll teach you how to say please,” Gojo whispered, a smile in his voice. 

Utahime grasped the fabric of his t-shirt helplessly, breathing out raggedly in the mounting satisfaction of his fingers, the gratifying humiliation of being at his mercy like this. 

“Gojo, I can’t…” 

“Come on my fingers, Uta. Do as I say.” 

She did, sobbing out in pleasure as it broke over her, his fingers teasing out her secrets, a kind of magic, as Gojo did to her what he had heard her describe so many years ago at the vending machine. She hardly had time to regain her breath, to let reality settle again, before Gojo had reached up and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He grabbed her hands and placed them on his naked chest, his eyes burning as if with anger when her fingertips touched his warm skin. The muscle was so firm and the skin so soft, but underneath her palm, she felt the ridge of a scar, another dark miracle like the one on her face. 

“You’ve got some nerve, Hime,” he said, his voice a little vicious, “to be so fucking beautiful.” 

She nearly choked out a laugh, as she didn’t have her hands, both palms pressed against the soft, bare skin of his chest, on the most beautiful boy she had ever known. And she knew, her insides boiling, that she would let him do whatever he liked with her. Her hands slid lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling his skin jump under her touch. 

“Unzip my trousers, Utahime. Take out my cock,” he said, his eyes like steel on her face as her hands explored his skin. 

She hesitated again, as if the damage could be undone or disaster prevented. Slowly, she eased the zipper of his uniform trousers down. She pushed his trousers slightly down his hips, her eyelashes fluttering slightly at the dusting of white hair down from his navel, and drew out his cock. 

She swallowed, her pulse like thunder, because he was long, thick and pretty. He smirked, seeing her daunted expression, his ego stroked by the way she bit her lip apprehensively at how big he was in relation to her. 

“You’ll take it,” he told her, his voice almost sweet as he took her hand. “My little whore.” 

She nearly flinched as he spat in her upturned palm, and, his hand over hers, wrapped it around his girth. He grinned, a breathless smile, as he moved her hand up and down slowly, showing her what he liked. His hand fell away from her to rub his thumb along the scar on her face, his voice growing vicious again, his teeth grit as she continued to slide her hand up and down his cock.

“Look at you. Such fucking nerve. You know what makes you even more beautiful, Hime? This,” his thumb rubbed along the shadow on her face almost roughly, the friction warm on her skin. “So fierce and strong. And it drives me crazy.” 

Her lips parted, surprised at one word in his ragged voice, eyes widening. 

Strong. 

Suddenly his hand shot out and stilled hers, grabbing her wrist abruptly. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gojo chuckled darkly. “I’ll come. And I don’t want to come in your hand. I want to come inside you.” 

Her eyes widened even more, because no one had ever done that, or spoken to her like Gojo did so casually. She could feel her pulse thrumming, her excitement whipping up feverishly. 

“Do it then,” she murmured, her hand sliding up the back of his neck, bringing his face to hers, “Please.” 

She never expected that Gojo’s mouth would be pressed against her when he pushed her underwear aside again, his tongue sliding into her mouth as the head of his cock made a slippery pass along her cunt. She never expected that she would be kissing him as he pressed into her, a stretching, insistent pressure, making her gasp as his hands over her legs, his thumbs pressed into the soft, bare skin of her inner thigh kept her in place. 

“Satoru,” she whimpered, as he bit her lip, urging deeper into her, breaking her apart. 

He was so big, and he was not gracious, greedy to be as deep inside her as he could. He rocked softly, inching deeper in increments, making her feel wild because the sensation drove her crazy. 

Gojo hummed against her mouth, lost in the kiss as he fucked gently into her, always deeper, his hands sliding around to her ass to urge her body onto his dick. 

She broke from the kiss, gasping, as he finally slid flush with her, frightened he would immediately start fucking her mercilessly. Her fingernails sank into his bare shoulders, feeling herself tighten around him, accommodating him, squeezing him. She watched his dopey smile turn cocky. 

“See? My little whore,” he breathed, the smirk on his face still touched by the sheen of her kiss. “You want it so badly.” 

She frowned, about to retort, but Gojo suddenly pulled back, sliding half out of her and fucking into her again, making her slap her hand over her mouth to hold in her cry. The friction was glorious, the thickness of him dragging along every sweet nerve she had. 

Gojo chuckled again, burying his face in her neck, as he thrust again. She moaned against her palm. 

“Mine. You’ve always been mine. Look at you. You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? You’re going to beg me to make a mess of you.” 

Utahime tried to stammer out a reply, but his words coupled with the way he was fucking her, sliding almost all the way out before possessing her again in one forceful thrust to her deepest point again, made everything he said shamefully true. 

She’d always wanted this.  

Suddenly, his fingers on her clit made her squirm, the sudden clench in her stomach making Gojo grunt as she clutched him tighter. 

“Satoru, it’s too much,” she gasped, her head almost lolling back because the sensation of his thrusts made her feel limp. 

He caught her mouth in a kiss, catching her cry as she unspooled so quickly it frightened her. It was a juddering, over-sensitive pleasure, too much and too fiery in its sweetness. She felt Gojo drink in her every spasm against her lips, groaning deep in his throat. 

She was boneless, sinking backwards onto the desktop, her hair splayed out on the wood, as Gojo grit his teeth, his jaw tight, and yanked her ankles up onto his shoulders. 

“Fuck. Fuck, Hime,” he hissed at her, finding a rolling pace, jolting her body with the force of his thrusts. “Do it again. Touch yourself and let me watch.” 

“Greedy,” she mumbled, mesmerised by his wolfish gaze, those ethereal blue eyes fixed on her body. 

But she slid her fingers down to her clit, circling the sensitive flesh as he fucked her and lifted her slightly off the surface of the desk to angle himself into her. 

“That’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna fill you up, Hime,” he rasped, almost babbling now. “You’re so perfect for it. My cum. My children.” 

Utahime's eyes closed, feeling the quickening of pleasure again, even as he drove into her, the desk edging forward across the floor with a creak for every thrust. 

“Please,” she said softly, losing herself in the darkness behind her eyelid, Gojo’s cock carving out its place inside her, his words ringing like church bells. 

She came again, seconds before he did, a killing blow. His hand was on her sternum, pushing into Gakuganji’s desk, as he groaned and flooded into her, three short thrusts into her to spill himself completely. What a desecration. What a final disrespect. 

Silence settled, and Utahime opened her eyes to see Gojo breathless and smiling down at her. She blinked twice, surprised that his expression was not one of contempt. 

“See, Hime? You’re mine,” he said softly. “You always will be.” 

Utahime swallowed, her stomach fluttering. He didn’t pull out of her, didn’t lean forward to kiss her. He just took her in as she lay spread before him, his cock still buried inside her, the fragments of her clothing spread out underneath her. 

“I’m not going to do it, Gojo,” she said at last, finding the voice that had been lost in her breath, 

“Do what, Hime?” Gojo asked, his voice fond, like he was humouring her. 

“I’m a sorcerer. I’m not going to be some pointless kept woman you can fuck whenever you feel like and who you use to make a bunch of illegitimate babies so you can stick it to your clan elders.”  

Gojo’s hand moved up her ribs, suddenly cupping her breast, his thumb swiping tenderly over her nipple. She felt him twitch inside her, even as he grew soft. 

“I was thinking of something a little more dignified, Utahime, “ he mused, his eyes travelling over her body, “something a little more official.” 

Utahime’s pulse jumped, her lips parting in disbelief as she realised what he was suggesting. 

“You’re messing with me,” she said hotly. 

“No, I’m not. It’s pointless to suggest that I’ve ever wanted anyone else,” he laughed at her annoyance. “And Gakuganji will lose his fucking mind if I steal you away from this school. I told you I’ve been saving up a big disrespect, Hime. You can hardly be shocked.” 

Her cheeks were burning, and she tried to lift herself up onto her elbows, her temper rising. Gojo’s large hand on her sternum again pushed her back down. 

“I’m not doing that either,” she said, her voice rough with all the emotions he had caused. 

He laughed, another throaty sound, and Utahime swallowed because she could feel him getting hard inside her again. 

“We’ll see. You’ve only fucked me once and you already know you’ll do it again,” Gojo purred. “You know you’ll always end up right back here…you underneath me, wearing something I like.” 

Utahime closed her eyes, feeling Gojo fill her out again. It all swirled together with the emotion in her chest — her skin firing again, the wetness between her legs, the filth that she wanted him to say to her, the inevitability. For now, she would resist what he had shown her. She’d be a teacher, she’d follow her calling, and take up her role in Jujutsu society the way she wanted to. But she knew she couldn’t keep it at bay. The way she liked it was too potent. 

His disrespect.