Chapter Text
~~~ July 1st, 2018 ~~~
When the sun rose, her eyes took a while to get adjusted to the shapes and textures of the world around her; despite her natural inclination towards being a night owl, she required a little extra time to prepare herself for the day and thus, kicking and screaming, had become an early riser. She’d found the best way to acclimate herself to the waking world was to expose her senses as early as possible, but in measured ways. This morning, as her lower back began to regret the previous night’s decision to sleep on her office loveseat instead of a bed, she leaned against the doorway and gazed into the adjacent sunroom, once a traditional courtyard now refitted with tempered glass and raised to the level of the rest of the building.
Breathe in, breathe out. The familiar pattern.
Breathing in, she steadied her eyes on the lush greenery she and her students had cultivated together, the product of nearly ten years of bittersweet labor. Spindles of spider plants, mounds of giboshi, tropical vines, propagation tubes, wisteria arches, and cheap wooden shelving layered themselves in a scene of well-kept chaos. She felt her technique rush forward eagerly as her brain stirred awake; sudden smells of sulfur and salt water were intermingled with soil and fresh greens; her special plants, intermingled among the common ones, sung to her in a discordant chorus. Ochre and crimson smoke trails of their energy began to spit out of their stomata, as if they were breathing in the new day alongside their gardener.
Breathing out, she envisioned a woman from times long past, treading through the dirt of her curated garden as the modern woman would tread over the concrete filling it now. Her ghostly visitor meandered from one corner to another, kosode pressing gently against chrysanthemum bushes as her sandals made the slightest divots in the earth, an ephemeral sign that she was here once too. Could she see the whispers of energy as well? Surely someone must have, in the last thousand years.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Despite her best efforts to calm her senses, she found herself antsy and on edge; hands shaking slightly as she turned on the ancient coffee machine she refused to replace, saying nothing else gave her morning cup the same flavor; sugar and cream dumped hastily and to excess; eyes flitting over pictures and descriptions and metrics on her laptop as she sipped too quickly and left little burns on her lips. Teaching sometimes felt like espionage - gathering as much data as you could on your targets ahead of time to curate their experience, predict any irregularities or personality traits to press upon when needed. Observing even minute changes to performance and evaluating their importance to the greater mission. Keeping tabs, managing subjects’ emotions, manipulating situations for a desired effect; students usually had little idea the depth of a teacher’s craft.
As this school year began, however, she’d felt as though someone’s gaze was on her; over her shoulder as she bent over a pit of dirt with the second years, searching for urns or tablets; mocking her quietly as she laughed at Panda’s jokes or stretched with Maki; haunting the voyage back from Hokkaido. As they’d crossed back into Tengen’s threshold yesterday, the torii gates of the school’s entry courtyard seemed to have eyes. Well, more than the usual ones, anyways.
She took another sip of her drink and continued scrolling, her eyes landing finally upon an image of a smiling boy with pink hair. A few brief paragraphs of text accompanied the profile, but instead she glanced at a note by her right hand. Though left ominously on her desk overnight, based on the scribbled handwriting she suspected who the mystery messenger must have been. Given the cavalier nature of spilling lethal secrets on a post-it note that anybody could have found, the culprit seemed even more obvious. She pinched her brow and sighed, fingering over the folded paper for what felt like the hundredth time this morning.
“Arai?” A mild-mannered knock on her office door accompanied by a similarly-mannered voice. “They’re ready for you on the main campus.”
“Thank you, Ijichi. I’ll be there shortly.”
Closing the door to the auxiliary space behind her, she blinked in the direct sunlight before making her way towards the stone staircase. The stairs were narrow and long - requiring a fair amount of concentration - but broken by several flatter standing areas and benches where one could look out into the small valley that the school was nestled in. Peering down, she noted tiered tilework and how the choppy ceramic waves rose and fell against white sidings. The roofs of a few of the buildings shone slightly differently in the morning light than others - something like the difference between onyx and obsidian - and from this distance the different ivory plaster tones that stained the walls were noticeable. Repairs from last December’s attack had been completed a while back, but despite their best efforts the school still bore the scars. She wondered if it was with pride.
Unusually apprehensive, she kept running the stories of her new students through her head, again and again, not wanting to create a faux pas despite years of professional experience. The anxiety almost made her miss the turn into the main complex - she scurried backwards, shaking her head to dispel the feeling as her loafers softly echoed on the wooden path.
Approaching the courtyard that Ijichi had specified, she kept herself in the shadows behind the railings for the time being, hoping to catch a glimpse of the newcomers and get a sense for them before they saw her. The sound of laughter cued her in - glancing around a corner, the backs of two heads were visible, moving and reacting to something particularly funny Inumaki had just said.
One outline she recognized on visuals alone - the grumpy sea urchin that would accompany Gojo on occasion around the school. Potential heir to the Zen’in clan, if rumor - and her colleague - was to be believed. The Ten Shadows technique needed no introduction in her world; she’d written her final paper on its history in her fourth year, an effort commissioned by Gojo in order to harvest as much information as possible without consulting the clans, notorious for stretching the truth on such matters. Megumi Fushiguro also needed no introduction; she smiled, remembering her co-teacher bringing the boy and his sister to her greenhouse when he would leave on extended missions. She wondered what he would say about the time they’d spent together. Tsumiki was always smiling, ready to help, and eager to play games or walk around campus together after the day was over; Megumi had always been decidedly less energetic about the whole endeavor, though every now and again she caught him whispering to his rabbits which leaves were safe and which ones were poisonous.
The other was a girl, unfamiliar apart from her profile she’d spent the morning studying. Unnaturally ginger, her hair cut off just above her shoulders and swished as she laughed at something Maki said. Based on how clean-cut her uniform was and her rationale for entering the school, the teacher doubted she’d have any problems addressing motivation with her. Perhaps she’d even have some interesting stories to share about dealing with cursed spirits in the countryside.
The new students sat awkwardly on the bench, just far enough apart to be noticeable from a distance. Almost as if they were unaccustomed to being next to one another, or as though they’d been saving room for another person. Two, not three. Just as the note said. She swallowed apprehensively and finished her descent down the courtyard stairs. The second years rose at her presence, and the two stood and turned around to their new teacher in response. Bowing, she caught glimpses of both their eyes - one, darker than night and looking distinctly inattentive; second, chestnut orange and glimmering with ambition. Their second hearts beat with indigo and carmine.
“Here she is.” Panda bowed alongside the other students as he announced her arrival. “Sorry for getting you up so early, sensei.”
“It’s no problem, I was expecting this.” She bowed in return towards the newest arrivals. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both formally. I am Ayame Arai, the third teacher here at Jujutsu High. Sounds like my co-instructor has been working on your training in my absence.”
Fushiguro and Kugisaki nodded, though both scrunched their brows slightly.
“It’s good to see you again, sensei,” The dark-haired boy politely greeted her, though his eyes remained far away.
“I’m very excited to train with you!” Kugisaki bowed deeply again, though rushed, with her hands locked at her side austerely. “I can’t wait to get strong and learn how to destroy our enemies from the inside out. When do we do that, exactly?”
Ayame laughed, a little overwhelmed but thrilled at her drive. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss the specifics in class.”
“Not on the practice field?” The girl groused and fell back down onto her seat.
“Bonito flakes.”
“You’re right, Inumaki. Time spent in traditional coursework is a valuable tool in our toolbox of skill-building and knowledge, just as much as active training.”
“Thank you Panda, as always, for your translations.”
Their chatter was interrupted by an unsubtle cough. “I have a question.”
“Yes, Meg- Fushiguro?” He clearly was not in the mood for familiarity.
“Where are the third years?” The dark boy asked. “Were they not with you on the trip?”
She felt a lump grow in her throat. Maki’s eyes darkened and even Inumaki shuffled his feet. Realizing it had been a bit too long of a pause, she responded, “Our students, who were about to enter their third year, dropped out a few months ago. So you won’t be seeing them around.”
“Why did they leave?” His eyes narrowed quizzically.
“It’s… a long story. We’ll discuss it later,” Her hair stood on end, and she glanced at her travel companions, the three second years. Part of the outing was to distract them from the absence of their upperclassmen, as well as Okkotsu’s departure abroad. As a team, she and Gojo agreed that keeping spirits high was of the utmost importance for their class. Little did she know that the first years would end up struggling with a different kind of loss. Her ears rang and fists clenched subtly, nails digging into her palm though they wanted to be clawing something else.
“Seems like you didn’t get filled in on some very important things, and, frankly, neither did I,” She clapped cheerfully, “Now, who wants breakfast while I go murder your other teacher?”
“So… recap,” Ayame bristled, viciously folding and refolding the worn sticky note. “One of Sukuna’s fingers was unwrapped and eaten by a fifteen-year old, creating a living vessel for the most powerful and malicious sorcerer the world has ever known. And instead of, I don’t know, calling me for a real quick update, you just…didn’t.”
“I wanted to let you finish your field trip with the second years.” His white lashes must have been batting innocently under the blindfold. “Can’t interrupt a valuable educational opportunity.”
“Bastard!” A nearby pencil holder went flying, deflecting off Infinity and scattering across the opposing wall.
“I had it completely under control, obviously.” Gojo sniffed apathetically. “Like an old bag of bones could do anything to me.”
Ayame sank into his visitor’s chair with her head in her hands. “That’s true but, damn. What are the chances.”
“Maybe higher than we thought.”
She looked at him quizzically, “Six-eyed hindsight is 20/20…?”
He ignored her prompt. “Did you notice anything unusual while you were on the dig?”
“Actually… yes. This situation explains some things that I initially brushed off. We kept finding Heian-era artifacts in the oddest places, like they wanted to be unearthed.”
“I’d ask where those odd places were but I don’t care that much.”
“Under bushes, in doorways to apartments, even above a Kamakura site.” She ignored him in turn - their usual song and dance.
“Did they dig themselves out of the ground?”
“Stop kidding me.”
Gojo groaned comically and stretched his long arms above his head. “Why not? Apparently a random kid from an unknown bloodline can become Sukuna’s vessel now, so everything seems topsy-turvy.”
Ayame paused at the mention of the actual vessel. Rumor was that Gojo went a little nuts around similar topics. “What was he like?” She probed tentatively.
“He’s a good kid. Really talented.”
“Is?”
The six-eyed sorcerer suddenly leaned in, almost covering his desk due to his height made horizontal. Though the formless mounds of his covered eyes didn’t move, she knew he was staring directly at her.
“Can you keep a secret, Arai?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You have the extra room under the greenhouse. We’ll just tell the other students that your office will be closed for repairs for, like, a month.”
“The bunker? That feels inappropriate. Why can’t he stay with you?”
“First of all, gross. I do not want a sweaty teenage boy getting his juices all over my things.” Gojo had apparently forgotten that he was once too a disgusting teenager. “Second, I have to focus on getting the students ready for the Exchange Event. It’s more my specialty than yours.”
She bit her lip. The second part was true, she wasn’t much help on that front. “I haven’t even met the kid yet. Why would he be comfortable staying here?”
“He’s very go-with-the-flow. Also his whole world’s been turned upside down by Sukuna and, you know, dying, so I doubt he’ll care too much where he sleeps.”
“Is the auxiliary even the best place to keep him? Wouldn’t that be an obvious spot, considering how close it is to the main part of the school?”
“Precisely. It’s best to keep your friends close, enemies closer, and secrets even closer to said enemies.” He shrugged. “Especially since I can teleport, nobody would expect me to keep him just under Tengen’s nose.”
She felt her resolve waver but not collapse, crossing her arms impatiently.
The six-eyed sorcerer rose from his seat and started pacing around the room. “I’m assigning Nanami to help with his training.”
Her breath caught. “Why him?” She attempted to ask casually.
“To keep it away from the higher-ups. Make sure Yuji’s protected. Give the kid a great role model for his fighting style. And,” he paused, turning around suddenly and bending over to meet her eye level, “to sweeten the deal.”
“Gojo,” She reproached, eyes full of warning which he surprisingly heeded.
He returned to his chair and spun once around. “So, how about it?”
“...Alright.”
“Hooray!” He whooped, clapping his large hands. “I’ll get him moved over right away. Do you happen to have a couch and a TV set up down there?”
“Excuse me? It’s a nuclear bunker.”
“So no? Whatever, I’ll get Ijichi to move one in. He also knows that Yuji’s alive - oh, this will be so exciting!”
She exhaled heavily at the task before her. Breathe in, breathe out. Just like always.
“Arai,” Breaking her trance, he pulled back his blindfold for a moment, and she gasped in surprise. The Strongest’s aura came spilling out, almost blinding her with ethereal white-blue light. When her senses returned, his piercing eyes were sparking dangerously. “We’re going to save this kid.”
~~~ July 2nd, 2018 ~~~
The hastily-scrawled sign in Sharpie read, “Closed for Repairs”, though she’d also locked the main and side entrances to be safe. Thus far, she’d only had to shoo away Inumaki, who wanted a few of her propagations for his own garden on the main campus. The rest would find out from either him - provided bonito flakes was an adequate enough explanation - or from Gojo’s announcement in class on Monday morning. Together they’d fabricated some excuse about the greenhouse’s water lines fracturing underground, in what appeared to be a reasonable way to close the building for a month or two without her needing to find new quarters.
If anyone questioned, or thought they were lying about Itadori’s death, they only had to look at Fushiguro’s sullen, swollen eyes to have their suspicions assuaged. Ayame shuddered a little as she attempted to tidy, not looking forward to lying to the boy’s face almost every day.
She scurried about the underground chamber, sweeping and folding blankets, examining the recently imported futon to ensure it was up to code. She briefly considered hanging something on the walls - what would a fifteen-year-old like to see there? - before abandoning the idea to focus on livability instead. The toilet was ancient, the sink cracked in a few places; lamenting her own lack of skill in repairs, she’d returned up to the greenhouse to clear some space in there instead.
Naturally, the one moment she’d left was when they must have arrived. Dragging a trash bin from her office, she could hear the thinnest whisper of a voice, laughter coming from the metal hatch in the back of the room. Rushing over, she carefully opened the twin metal doors to reveal the descending staircase. Lamplight flickered from the bottom and she heard the echo of conversation.
“Is this a bunker?” A higher-pitched voice with a whisper of a crack.
“It’s actually a cozy, terrace-level studio apartment in the heart of Tokyo’s most exclusive neighborhood.” The familiar croon replied. She rolled her eyes.
“Gojo?” Ayame called down the stairs where she could see two shadows lingering.
“Arai! Come meet your new roommate!”
Muttering, she made the descent, “Not my roommate-”
At the bottom step, she raised her brow and made sudden eye contact with a pink-haired boy. Startling both of them, he straightened up and quickly combed his hair into a semblance of place with his fingers. She’d familiarized herself with his profile, but she’d also not expected to see him moving and breathing anytime soon. His shoulders were unusually broad for his age but he seemed aware of it - his t-shirt hung naturally around his frame as opposed to ill-fitting clothes most teens wore. As she observed him, she realized with a start that he held himself with the intention and demeanor of a seasoned adult fighter; a jarring contrast to his cheerful chocolate eyes and slightly pudgy cheeks, fresh with youth and sunshine. Whereas most sorcerers’ cursed energies were like polite greetings, his only weakly called to her, the smallest heartbeat nestled under his sternum. It shone like a distant star, yet she gasped internally at the color.
Bowing deeply, he pressed his hands together in reverence, “So this is your bunker. Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”
“It’s the school’s, not mine.”
“If you say so, prepper.” Gojo never could resist a bit. He turned to Itadori and whispered, “She’s definitely a prepper.”
“I heard you the first time, sensei .” The honorific fell out of her mouth like a hiss, and Gojo straightened up. Itadori snickered under his breath.
“ Ahhhhh, a woman. ” An ice-cold voice suddenly creeped out from Itadori’s direction, though his lips weren’t moving. A black mist of cursed energy gushed out of him and onto the floor, sucking the light out of the room and causing her hair to stand on end. “ She looks easy to subdue. Release me and I’ll rip out her pretty eyes and use them to pleasure myself while I- ”
“ Whoops! Heh, sorry.” Itadori proceeded to slap his face so hard it left a red mark, suffocating the voice from under his eye. The dark veil disappeared as quickly as it arrived. “I don’t really have control over when he does that. Sometimes he just slips out, you know?”
“That’s… okay, Itadori.” Despite her shock, Ayame couldn’t contain her curiosity. Could she actually speak with the King of Curses? How fascinating. Indeed, his characterization was in alignment with most of the texts - thousands of words written by ancient scribes about his proclivity for rape and torment and such. Itadori removed his hand and she examined the mark. The urge to poke and prod was overwhelming, but she reigned it in for fear of making her new student more uncomfortable. Or getting another threat of unspeakable violence.
“I’m really close to getting him to shut up entirely. It used to be way worse.”
“Very true.” Gojo nodded solemnly. She glanced at her co-teacher. He tilted his head slightly, as if to meet her gaze under the blindfold. Gojo had faith, but he was also the strongest. What could someone like her do if Sukuna happened to take control?
“I told you, Arai - you don’t have to worry. Yuji’s got one thing down, and it’s keeping Sukuna’s powers under wraps. I trained him to do it myself.” Smug bastard. “Oh, and don’t worry, I already gave him the whole ‘training montage’ spiel.” Gojo waved his hand dismissively, as he moved towards the door. “I’ll be back when there’s something really juicy for him to learn about.”
“Wait - you didn’t tell him anything else?”
“Nope! Bye!” With a blink, he was gone. No need for a door, asshole. That was just for show.
Itadori’s jaw was on the ground. “Still can’t get over the teleportation thing.”
“Me either, and I’ve seen it for half a decade.” She sighed earnestly, rubbing her eyes. “It’s good to see you alive, Itadori.”
“It’s good to be alive, honestly.” He sniffed, “Never died before, so that was weird.”
“Fair enough.” She gestured for him to sit on the couch Gojo had prepared. As they moved to opposite ends, she noted the sleeping cursed corpse, nesting next to the TV stand on a pile of DVD cases. “Welcome to the auxiliary - have you made it over here before?”
“Actually, I saw that this building was on the hill, but we never visited it. I guess if you were away that’s probably why.” After plopping down on the sofa, he glanced towards the ceiling, “Is this it or is there more here?”
“Currently, you’re in a secure room underneath my greenhouse and office. My quarters are also in this building, as well as one of our warehouses for cursed tools and a workshop. Once we assess how secure the building is in general, we’ll reconsider whether you can go into other rooms unsupervised.”
“Your quarters?” Itadori asked, head listing to the side, “So teachers really do live at school?”
“Well, this one does, at least.”
His eyes widened and he bowed sharply in his seat. “I promise to not be an imposition! I also promise to always make my bed and clean up after I make a mess from eating!”
“I appreciate your courtesy,” She laughed, “but I made the choice to have you stay here. You won't be a burden, I promise.”
He nodded hesitantly, running his hands over the couch’s black fabric.
“You should be spending as much time down here as possible, though hopefully the rest of the auxiliary should be available for you soon. There’s a restroom of sorts, so no worries about that, and Ijichi will be grocery shopping for you weekly.”
“Is that enough?” He clutched his stomach.
“You better hope so. We’re not sending out the navy for one teenage boy.” She placed a few papers down on the coffee table; they held written reminders for Itadori about the rules, though upon meeting him she wasn’t unduly concerned. “Gojo said he would oversee most of your training during this time, with a few exceptions for myself and another sorcerer; his name is Nanami.”
“Oh, I think I saw him in the halls once. Does he wear a suit and look like he has a hangover?” Itatori grinned. “He seemed nice.”
She stifled a snicker. “That would be him. I have total faith in both of these instructors-” A half-lie through her teeth. “- nevertheless, you’ll essentially be living with me so we may as well get to know each other.”
The boy’s hand shot up.
“You don’t need to raise your hand, Itadori.”
“Alright!” It shot back down. “What’s your favorite color?”
“...what?”
“I’d like to know what to buy you when Kugisaki and I go shopping again!”
“Itadori, you really don’t have to do that - no, you shouldn’t do that. Did Gojo make you buy things for him?”
“Uh… no, he didn’t. And I won’t.” Both lies. His eyes dropped and he shuffled his feet.
“Fine.” She sighed, “Yellow.”
“Really? Me too!”
“I’d never have been able to tell.” Ayame glanced down to his appropriately-colored hoodie, “Any other questions?”
He shook his head slightly, then paused in thought. “Well, actually, I was in the morgue for a while, and I got a little stir-crazy. Then we teleported here, which just feels like another morgue, no offense.” He scratched his dark undercut. “Can I… see the sun a bit? I promise I won’t run off or anything, I just want to move around a little.”
“Sure. The greenhouse has plenty of light, and I’ve actually got some organizing to do up in my office, if you’d like to help.”
The boy perked up, ever cheerful. “Sounds great!”
She gave him the tour of her greenhouse first, and watched him bask in the diluted sunbeams that streamed through the roof. After locking the door, she finally brought him into her office to get his body moving and some real work done.
Sukuna’s vessel had proven to be an interesting study thus far. She’d been filled in on the story - Fushiguro, the boy she’d never seen smile, had asked for him to be saved because of ‘personal feelings’, which Gojo naturally couldn’t deny; Itadori, with no knowledge of the world beyond or the consequences, ate a mummified finger of his own accord knowing it would likely kill him. All for what? A few non-sorcerers he’d barely known? To have a chance to save the grumpy boy speaking arcane gibberish? However, as she observed her new student cheerfully tidying up her trash and old coffee cups in his yellow jacket - it seemed as though his face was eternally smiling, ever so slightly - the story that seemed impossible was beginning to make more sense. She wondered briefly what a certain sorcerer would make of this new variable.
“You can see cursed energy, Arai-sensei?” Lost in thought, Itadori’s question made her jump. Gojo must have filled him in, to some degree. After a moment, she decided giving him all the information at once was the best course of action. He’d be missing a lot of lectures while in hiding. And, as loathe as she was to admit it, she could never refuse a captive audience.
“Yes. Almost all sorcerers can see it once it’s being used, or at specific moments - like seeing residuals, or clouds of energy around fists and weapons. But I see it all the time. It’s like a core, a second heart beating inside sorcerers that I can look at and sense. And while most people aren’t attuned to the different signatures of other people’s cursed energy, I can differentiate efficiently between different sorcerers and curses. The benefit is I can start to analyze people’s powers and ability to fight one another without any background information, and I can assess the usefulness of artifacts, cursed tools, cursed plants, you name it. That’s why I’m in charge of most of the academic departments, and Gojo is better suited for teaching combat.”
To her pleasant surprise, he seemed to be drinking every word, even as he lifted boxes with one hand that she would need a dolly for. “That’s so cool. Everyone here has such interesting powers. I kinda just… punch things.”
“You might find that more universally useful than what I can do.”
After setting a crate full of textbooks down, he forced a smile, a little sadly, as he looked down at his hands. “Do you have to concentrate on it or does it just happen?”
“At first, I definitely had to concentrate, or else it would get overwhelming. I’d get flashes of color or smell or texture and not know where they were coming from. It was quite confusing, as you can imagine. My parents had no idea what to do with me, sent me to all sorts of neurologists and psychiatrists. But the school scouted me, and I worked hard to control it. Now it’s just like seeing, well, any color really. Can you imagine not seeing red, or being able to taste rice?”
“Woah. That would be awful. I love both those things.” He grinned, genuinely this time, fingering at his sleeves.
“It makes it hard for me to fight, though.” She continued absentmindedly, reshelving language books that she’d realized ended up in the history section. “The rest of you have this intuitive understanding of cursed energy that I just don’t have. You feel it in your body, and I see it and hear it and sense it.”
“Wouldn’t seeing cursed energy make it easier?”
“Not really. I get in my head and can’t really channel or call it on command. I can see someone else doing it, and siphon some of their energy away from them to use for my own attacks, but I can’t infuse it into my punches or send out shikigami or anything like that. My Grade Two title is mostly a formality. The higher ups insist my power could be dangerous but if it is, I haven’t seen it yet.” She flexed her forearm investigatively. Her body had been getting stronger in the last six months; she could see more definition and her plants felt a little lighter. But she wasn’t sure the training would be enough to keep up with the uncertain times.
They moved in silence for a moment, each arranging and rearranging whatever looked cluttered.
“Do you like being a sorcerer?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem, I don’t know. A little sad?” She almost dropped the stack of books he handed her.
“Well, it makes me feel… weak. Especially when my co-teacher is literally ‘the strongest’, it can be hard to measure up when my technique is ‘seeing pretty colors’.” Huffing, she hauled the heavy stack to the foot of her biology-themed bookcase.
Itadori gazed at her pensively for a moment. “Maybe that’s why there’s people like me out there. To protect the people like you, or Fushiguro. The smart ones, I mean.”
“You seem plenty smart to me, Itadori.” She chuckled. “Maybe a little crazy, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of cursed energy and techniques in no time.”
His second heart sparked at her words, like a flame catching a new log with a matching sound to boot. The movie training would do him good, teach his cursed energy to not be so… loud.
“Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses.” She mused, kneeling down and beginning to pull outdated books from some lower shelves, “And the best way to be a jujutsu sorcerer is to optimize them as a team to help everyone out.”
Yuji nodded eagerly. “Right! I can do that. Being ‘the strongest’ sounds pretty impossible anyways.” He paused, and glanced back over his shoulder at her after fiddling with a plant. “I’m sure Nanami would protect you, if you asked him to. I bet he’s super strong!” He made an ironman pose when she turned to face him, getting her to laugh a little. “Our missions together haven’t started yet, but I can just feel it.”
“See, you’ve got a good sense for things already. Though, the Grade One sorcerers usually have better things to do,” Job done well enough, she got to her feet and turned her attention to the disaster zone that was her desk, “Besides, I’m quite safe while here at the school. We’ve only been infiltrated a few times.”
“Don’t you ever want to leave though?”
Busy hands hovered for a moment while her mind flashed to starlight peeking through rain clouds; the softness of silken bedsheets; the warmth of an oven; corner tables at a high-end bar and the bittersweet taste of hard liquor.
“I go on missions fairly frequently. Often with Nanami, actually. But he’s not there to just protect me.” She backpedaled. “I might only be a Grade Two, but I outrank him on school-related errands. So he’s often there for support, more than anything.”
“Do you like him?”
“Excuse me?” Whipping around suddenly, her elbow almost knocked over a half-full coffee mug and she scrambled to catch it.
“I mean,” The boy stammered, red in the face, “do you like going on missions with him? Will he be okay working with me? I’m so sorry-”
“Just kidding, Itadori.” Ayame smiled warmly and felt her shoulders relax. “Nanami will be a great mentor for you. He can probably help you a lot, actually.”
“Awesome!” He beamed, and she swore the entire room lit up. “I can’t wait to meet him!”
~~~ June 1st, 2015 ~~~
“Fellow sensei~! I have a surprise for you!”
Ayame groaned at Gojo’s sing-song call, intentionally loud enough to be heard from outside her office. God, what was it now?
“Gojo, I swear if this is another live cursed worm or disgusting pile of guts-“ As if in battle, she rapidly weighed her options. Spin around and get a head start on whatever horrific sample her colleague had brought for her, perhaps even giving her a second to dodge out of the way? Or should she remain fixated on the carefully arranged tubes on her work station, less for actual safety and more to deny Gojo the satisfaction of seeing her react? Deciding that her real enemy was ego, she refused to turn around and leaned over her desk like a fictional mad scientist hell bent on glory. Despite a few instances of tentacles flying at her face, she knew Gojo wouldn’t actually hurt her. Or strongly suspected, at least.
Just as one would hear footsteps, she could sense the energy signatures of two sorcerers approaching the open door way. Strong ones. The Strongest, but who was the other? Her vision was suddenly awash in a vague ochre tint, an unfamiliar familiarity knotting in her heart.
“Arai?”
Though she was already artificially fixed to the spot, the voice made her freeze. Her eyes widened and heart stopped. In spite of her attempt to curb Gojo’s attention-whoring, she turned around as if pulled by a string.
Gojo lounged in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame like a cat bathing in a sunbeam. Next to him was the most gorgeous man Ayame had ever seen, a man out of the movies. Well, if the movies were honest about fatigue. Though handsome overall, she was struck first by his rigidity and second by the way his hands clenched his briefcase like a floatation device. He stood quite a bit taller than her, though his broad-chested body was dwarfed in comparison to Gojo’s lanky frame and intentionally spiked hair. A navy blue suit jacket shrouded his shoulders and hung cleanly, seams forming an exact 110 degree angle down his arms, which expertly wore the hollowness of the jacket’s sleeves. Not a stitch out of place, he kept his jacket buttoned despite the unseasonably warm day. His pocket square appeared to be the same material as the ivory collared shirt, with a subtly shimmered herringbone pattern noticeable only upon catching the light from her open windows. Dodging the trap of looking at his lower-half, her eyes unwittingly trailed the length of his jawline before climbing his strong nose and under-eye bags. Had this man ever slept? Combined with the shallow sinking in his cheeks and the fine lines developing on his forehead, she suddenly felt the need to offer a cup of hot herbal tea or a hammock. A vacation to somewhere with white beaches and a sea breeze. It would loosen his hair too - the champagne color had been dulled with too much product, tamed by intensive preening and a slicked-back style.
Despite her natural inclination to avoid eye contact, she forced herself to make it regardless, telling herself it was a good exercise in living with disquiet. Though, upon meeting his gaze, she found both more and less discomfort than she’d ever anticipated for. It appeared that his eyes’ natural state were to be dull - in a similar way, his shoulders appeared to instinctively slouch, only to be kept in place by his jacket as a corset would hold in a stomach - but as she lifted hers to his, they flickered like an old candle and she drew a breath in as they caught the light. They were the color of rich, tanned leather; the wooden frame of a proud sailing ship; like a spot of earthen clay or rich soil she would dig into for her garden to grow in; the bronze of a war hero’s statue. And they traced her features as she had just done to him, the subtle glow of guarded surprise seeping out from the corners.
That cursed energy, she knew it.
“Yep! Your spunky underclassman Ayame Arai, now a full-fledged teacher at our beloved school.” Her colleague tilted his head. “Arai, please, your stares are usually electrifying but right now it’s just rude to our friend.”
“I’m not your friend, Gojo.” The man muttered.
“Oh you~”
The yellow glow, the spots around the edges. The scent of cinnamon. Familiarity hit her like a train.
With any luck, you'll never see me again.
“Wait… Nanami?” She dropped the tube she was holding, letting it shatter on the ground.
To his credit, her old classmate never skipped a beat, bowing mechanically. “Yes. Pleased to see you again.”
A brief but heavy silence. Ayame suddenly remembered that she’d fucked something up.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry for that.” She almost screeched as she rushed for the broom. Gojo snickered and, unsurprisingly, declined to offer help.
Nanami had transformed so much, he was almost unrecognizable. Without his cursed energy signature, she wasn’t sure if she would have made the connection. “You, uh, changed your hair.”
Her colleague’s snicker turned into a cackle at the rushed comment.
“Yes, well,” Nanami scratched his new undercut, eyes glued to his feet. “The old look didn’t work for me anymore.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it!” Gojo clapped cheerfully, despite attempting to leave them on an awkward note, “gotta go chat with Yaga and finish up some super-secret-strongest-sorcerer paperwork. You’ll be legally ours in no time!”
Nanami shot a withering look at the blindfolded man who ignored it as he spun through the open door. He stopped, threw up peace signs, and slammed the twin doors shut; leaving Ayame and her visitor standing in pointed silence.
“You’re not going with him?”
“No, I,” he said, a little sheepishly, “I don’t have much to do yet. Getting reacquainted,” his eyes pulled away from the ground and towards her, “is my main objective.”
Did she blush? If she did, she prayed he didn’t catch it. Turning to her work, he mercifully allowed her to clean in silence as he gazed around what would generously be called a lab. It was more like a mad scientist's lair, if said villain invested heavily in plants, old books, broken down label makers, and neglected mugs with unidentifiable and potentially unpotable liquids. Nearby tables were covered with what looked like potions in a diverse array of tubes and fluids; dark recesses held shelves of odd floral specimens - some appearing dead, growing in unpredictable directions, strangling their peaceful neighbors, preserved in jars of ether and oil. He noted a whisper of cursed energy emanating from the pots - could plants even hold curses? That hadn’t been mentioned during his time at school. Dark corners gave way to growing lights and lamps, dead candles and living ones side by side.
A door left ajar in the back shone with natural sunlight - a greenhouse, perhaps? A generous endowment by the school if that were the case, and out of curiosity he approached the door while the woman swept furiously behind him. Skylights, unusual for this style of building, dappled the floor and made the room look like an indoor forest. He supposed it didn’t just look like one - it was one, with hundreds of species of plants, moss, lichens finding homes on shelves, tables, rocks, the stray cart or two. While most of these looked more peaceful than the ones inside, he noted a few with distinctly evil auras; sometimes obvious, with red vines or blackened leaves, but some rested inconspicuously amongst the other pots. He couldn’t believe that, with her power, that she’d haphazardly leave them so exposed without some reason. Experiments, perhaps?
“Do you care for these on your own?” He called back inside, still transfixed with the sight.
“Goodness, no. The students have rotating schedules with me to help care for the plants and, uh, keep things organized. What they can, at least. Maybe get sucked into a lecture on invasive species in the process.”
After cleaning the broken glass, Ayame dumped it in a trash bin by her workstation and washed her hands in a nearby sink. Sensing that she needed to dignify herself somewhat, she sat at her desk and began to move important papers around subconsciously as he returned from the greenhouse door.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” She gestured to the chair opposite her own, the one used for students and other visitors. Suddenly realizing how rickety it likely was, she exhaled in relief as he chose to sit regardless of its quality.
“Bit of a trek up here.” He set his briefcase down on his lap, hand curled around the handle.
“It’s worth it for the privacy.” One of her papers - an ungraded short-form essay in Panda’s scrawled handwriting - was upside down as she anxiously tapped them, attempting to align their edges on the desk. Somehow the sheets kept slipping out of her hands.
His eyes flickered down to her haphazard shuffling, but if he noticed the mistake he didn’t say so. “The school must value your work highly if they’ve refitted this building so recently.”
“Hmm, I’d like to think so, but you never really know.” She sighed shortly and lay the stack down on her desk, the elephant in the room burning holes in her head. “Look, Nanami. I… maybe I don’t want to know, but what did he mean by ‘legally ours’?”
The man hesitated, and rubbed his hand over his eyes.
Ayame felt mild panic setting in as she waited for the acidic voice she once knew to snap back, but when the response came, his tone was calm, gentle even. “It’s fine. I’m returning to sorcery.”
Cautiously pleased, she chewed on her curiosity. “I did wonder where you’d been all these years. I’m not sure anyone knew where you went, exactly.”
“Finance.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a corporate man.”
“Me either.” He murmured, fidgeting with his wristwatch. Ayame hadn’t noticed the piece earlier as it was covered by his sleeve. It was silver and hefty, and by twisting it around his wrist she could see a hint of the forearms beyond. She didn’t have to be an expert in the stock market to wonder how much money he’d been making up until recently.
She nodded towards it. “Why’d you come back?”
He crossed his arms and squared his shoulders before answering succinctly: “Work is shit.”
Sorcery is shit .
It echoed in her head, ringing in her ears, louder than its normal volume, as if the memory was playing out in front of her. She suddenly wondered if her chatter was making him uncomfortable. After all, this was still Nanami , despite the years that had passed.
“That… makes sense.” She responded weakly. They remained in silence for a few moments, and she wished the ceiling would collapse on her again. Or perhaps a sinkhole would swallow her whole this time.
“Usually,” she found herself unable to keep quiet. “The higher-ups don’t allow people back who have left. How were you able to?”
“Actually, Gojo found a solution.” He shivered almost imperceptibly. “I feel odd saying that. When did he become competent?”
She shrugged as if she didn’t know the kind of man Gojo had become in the last four years. Glancing back to her guest, his shoulders had relaxed slightly and his crossed arms looked somewhat less intimidating.
“Sounds like the school’s finances haven’t caught up to the modern era. We might still have vaults of rice as our primary asset. So, I’ll be stepping in.”
“Oh, thank God!” Ayame couldn’t contain her excitement, almost slapping her desk in celebration. “There’s no way our funds have been properly managed. Maybe ever. They have the money for two TVs per classroom but not enough to have the students’ gym towels washed every week? Ridiculous.” She scoffed, nose scrunched.
“Precisely. Though I’m not exactly pleased to serve, I’m pleased to be at your service.” What? He paused, and a brief flash of something she couldn’t identify passed over his face before he cleared his throat. “We’ll get the books set straight. One fewer problem to worry about.”
“It will be nice to have a new staff member around.” She offered.
“ Contractor, ” He clarified, a little too strongly, “And, for better or worse, I won’t be around that much. I’ve also agreed to go on missions. That was the only part of the deal the elders wouldn’t concede.”
“Well, you were always a good fighter, right?” She remembered a butcher’s knife, wrapped in white bandages, and a boy swinging it around on the track.
“Yes, I was.” He murmured, eyes far away.
She cleared her throat. “Well, please feel free to make yourself comfortable here. When you are around.” She smiled. “My students say the auxiliary is a welcome respite from being beaten up by Gojo and Kusukabe during training. Maybe… you’ll find some peace here too.”
He looked at her - in the eyes this time. The thinnest smile she’d ever seen danced on his lips. She wasn’t even confident that it was a smile and not profound discomfort manifesting itself. Or gas.
“Thank you, Arai. I may take you up on that.”
This was not the same boy she went to school with. That much was clear. She briefly wondered if he had some sort of brain worm, or had a run-in with a curse that created a mirror version that took the place of the original.
He nodded to a corner behind her. “Your office is quite pleasant, I’ll admit. I shouldn’t be surprised that you have a nook here, with how much you appear to read.”
“It’s my job to learn and teach as much as I can about jujutsu history and cursed energy. Seeing as though my co-teacher would never glance at something that wasn’t a shonen manga.”
“I’m not sure you’re one to talk, hmm?” The thin smile reappeared.
Oh god. He’d noticed them.
“Are those One Piece stickers on your monitor? I thought I remembered you being obsessed with it in school.” Was he being playful ? What on earth…
She stifled her surprise with a pained mutter. “… I really like Luffy, okay?”
“Trafalgar Law too?”
“For different reasons.”
“ Ah .” A knowing sigh.
“ Wait , you also know who they are. You’re definitely not an innocent party here, are you?” She teased, sending an accusatory finger forward as her eyes narrowed. “Were you holding out on me all those years? Who’s your favorite?”
He contemplated for a moment. “Señor Pink.”
“Liar. Though I appreciate that you’re caught up.”
“Fine. Ace.”
“There’s our answer. In pace requiescat, as they say.”
He stared at her as the Latin flew. “…and Robin.” The confession appeared to slip out of him.
“Ah! And there’s our real answer.” She laughed openly and fell back into her chair, sending a shit-eating grin towards her new colleague. “Completely understandable.”
His nose had turned the subtlest shade of pink. Maybe teen Nanami hadn’t fully left after all. “In any case,” He cleared his throat, attempting to change the subject a little too late, “it seems as though you’ve pushed the curriculum forward quite a ways since we were students here. Gojo provided an almost glowing recommendation.”
She smiled sheepishly and played with her lab coat, hoping the fidget appeared both mindless and mysterious, “Most of it is really just discovering what people taught before us. You know, what the elders’ teachers studied, and the generations before that. Our school days were so focused on combat and techniques that we didn’t really get to learn about the joys of being a sorcerer at all.”
“ Joys ?” His face twisted incredulously, the room darkening suddenly as though a light had gone out. “Is that a joke?”
A heavy weight stuck in her chest and she felt like she was spinning; instead, she shook her head, boring holes in his gaze with her own resolve. “No, it’s not. They’re things like learning about the history of sorcery, the ecology of cursed spirits, where our place is in the big world and how curses fit in. I’m not saying I or our predecessors had all the answers,” her eyes glittered intensely and he stifled a sharp inhale, “but they’re questions worth asking.”
A boy with dark bangs and darker eyes flashed in his memory. “Aren’t some of those questions dangerous?”
“Not if we’re safe in how we ask them. Which starts with being open and honest that they exist in the first place.”
He snorted, but his eyes sparked nonetheless. “The higher-ups must hate you.”
“No more than they hate Gojo.” She smirked.
In his silence, the rush of debate quickly exited her system, leaving her on-edge and concerned. She felt her heart beat loudly through her chest, and was left silently gasping for air despite her previous conviction. For every moment she tried to not think of something, two of the same thoughts returned. This wouldn’t be the first time, you know . That your philosophies have scared people off.
After what felt like an eternity, Nanami sighed deeply, releasing his briefcase’s handle to loosen his tie. “I think… I’d like you to teach me, sometime.”
“About what?” She perked up as he rapped his fingers softly on the leather of his case.
“Everything I missed while I was gone. I’m not sure I believe you yet, about those questions being worthwhile,” his brown eyes flickered to meet hers, “but I’d like to know why you think so.”
They held her gaze, steady and certain as a statue’s.
“My office hours are on Wednesdays at noon,” she stammered, suddenly off-kilter, “unless you’d like something more one-on-one.”
She almost slapped her face as she said it. Did that count as sexual harassment? She could already hear Gojo’s laugh echoing down the halls as her new colleague told everyone what she’d implied. When he stood up from the opposing chair, she almost had a heart attack, picturing a summons from the higher-ups slapping on her desk any day now.
He leaned over the desk ever so slightly, and she realized his eyes had never left their post from where she sat.
“I’ll check your schedule,” The world’s smallest smile made an encore performance, and a pleasant shiver rolled up her spine. “I’m looking forward to learning from you, Arai.”
~~~ July 31st, 2018 ~~~
“You can read auras right? What color’s mine?” The girl pleaded excitedly.
“Well, not exactly. I can see your cursed energy emanating off you, and it has a color of sorts, but that’s not exactly an ‘aura’.”
Nobara’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s not an aura, I don’t know what is,” She leaned over to Yuji with an exaggerated sigh. “She doesn’t even know what an aura is.”
The pair shook their heads disappointedly. Fushiguro pretended he was somewhere else.
“Fine.” Ayame acquiesced. “Kugisaki, your cursed energy is… red. Vermilion, really. The texture of cheap velvet.”
“ Cheap ?”
“Itadori, yours is-“ she paused. She’d seen his cursed energy many times before, and he’d never know the ramifications of it, but she hesitated nonetheless. “Yellow. Golden. With black stripes.”
He pumped his fist enthusiastically. “Yes!”
She turned to the third student. “Fushiguro, would you like to know?”
“I guess.” He responded, a little too quickly.
She smiled. “A gentle indigo,” Glancing back at her other student, “Expensive velvet.”
The whisper of a smile flashed across his face as Nobara attempted to assault her teacher. Yuji cackled and grabbed his friend’s shoulder to hold her back.
“What about yours?”
She cocked her head at the dark boy. Few people had ever asked her that question. “I don’t really have a color, probably since I absorb other people’s energy instead. Clear, I guess?”
“Like diamonds!” Yuji cheered.
“Like toilet water.” Nobara growled.
~~~ June 23rd, 2007 ~~~
“Oh oh oh!” The boy with the big eyes was nearly leaping out of his seat in anticipation. “What color is my cursed energy? Does it have a smell? Can you taste it?”
THWACK on the back of the head, courtesy of his classmate. “Yu, really? Leave her alone.”
“No it’s fine,” Ayame chatted anxiously. Befriending upperclassmen was a challenge here, and Haibara seemed the most approachable. “Let’s see, yours is… fuchsia for sure.”
“Fuchsia?”
“A really vibrant pink,” His companion clarified.
“With a hint of saffron. Taste, I mean.” She blushed.
“COOOOOL!”
She turned, somewhat apprehensively, to the other student. “Nanami? Do you want to, uh…”
He put his face forward as if to pout and his eyes narrowed dramatically, but they held no malice. “Sure. Whatever.”
She stared at the boy, unknowingly off-putting. He squirmed but tried not to show it. “Yellow.” She said after a few moments, definitively.
“Ohhhhhhh yes! Yellow is the best!” Haibara clapped.
“What?” Nanami scoffed indignantly, face scrunched up in disgust. “Are you serious? Not like, black or silver or something?”
“Uh, I’m super sorry,” She backpedaled, suddenly wishing she’d never offered in the first place. “It’s really more like a golden, if that’s better. With… black spots?”
“Like a leopard!” Haibara seemed to be having the time of his life. Though, admittedly, he acted like that every day.
“Kind of, actually,” She mused. “Or like a really pretty cow?”
Her upperclassman grabbed uncomfortably at the sheath on his shoulders and stood up abruptly. “Well thanks, I guess. Gotta go reevaluate some stylistic choices now.”
“Really?”
“No. Come on, Yu.”
Beautiful, chocolate eyes glanced between the two opposing parties, landing on Ayame’s distraught face. “Hey don’t worry about it, he’s just mad that he’s been proven scientifically to not be emo to the core.”
Another scoff as Nanami turned to walk away.
“See you in class later, okay?” Haibara grinned, and the entire room lit up.
“Okay,” Ayame mumbled weakly. She wished the ceiling would fall on her stupid, stupid head.
Ten days later Ayame and Shoko were asked to tend to their classmate’s corpse. For “educational purposes”, specific to their techniques. Nanami never left the room, despite Shoko’s insistence, but he only rarely glanced past the rag on his face.
During one moment, their eyes met. Ayame was tired, eyes red from crying gently as she scanned the body for any traces of cursed energy. They wanted her to keep practicing so she could do it automatically. For the moment, she had paused her work, and quietly sat beside Nanami in the only available chair.
She heard a soft noise as his chair creaked, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw his darkened amber eyes peering at her from beneath the cloth.
“ Sorcery is shit. ”
Ayame had never seen eyes so empty.