Chapter Text
Nanami stared at the screen. The cursor on his document blinked at him mockingly, each disappearance and immediate appearance ticking just-off from the steady sound of the analog clock behind him.
Tick. Blink. Tick. Blink. Blink. Tick. Blink. Blink. Tick. Blink.
It was driving him crazy.
With great restraint, Nanami transformed his pent-up scream into a controlled groan of frustration as he leaned back on his chair, closing his eyes. Ignoring the ticking behind him and the pounding behind his eyes, the exhausted man attempted to think of a more calming scene.
With some concentration, a bright but peaceful image slowly came to his mind. One of crashing waves, of sunlight sparkling across a blue sea, of soft calls of seagulls in the distance. The vision was initially blurry but became increasingly sharp in his mind, like dreaming of a forgotten childhood memory.
Or maybe it was more like a favorite childhood dream.
Because that’s exactly what it is, Nanami mused dryly. A childhood dream.
He sighed. As an adult, he knew better by now than to indulge in a careless daydream.
He has spent one too many late nights in the office staring at blurry numbers and endless spreadsheets. He has felt one too many aches of dread waking up to his blaring alarm. He has spent one too many hours on call with rude clients that demanded endless money for their trust funds. He has lost one too many—
He has left his workplace with a more than comfortable salary, meeting the dim and pleading eyes of the unhoused on the street. He’s seen their countless hands outstretched for a single coin, while Nanami tries to muster up more empathy than an exhausted pang in his chest.
Well, that is not quite true. Even now, tucked within the walls of a towering conglomerate, hidden in the halls underneath the sterile LED lights of a corporate office, his heart ached. His hands clenched at the injustice, at the nonsensical violence of it all. It was not fair. All of it.
And worse, it did not make sense. There was another way, there were so many other options—all this suffering is preventable. Why can’t—
No.
Nanami knew far too well how life treats you for having empathy for the weak, or god forbid, the dead. Nanami steeled himself. He knew better.
Life does not have purpose, life does not have rest, and life certainly is not fair.
Certainly, it was not for Hai—
Life was not fair, and living was without purpose. It was just a matter of accepting this universal truth about life, a tautology as blunt and bitter as death itself. Once you swallow that pill, life is just trying to find enjoyment in the simple pleasures, in the small moments of quiet, and in the warm beaches far, far away.
That is, at least, what the salaryman resolved to believe all those years ago, that is what he told himself as he blinked away the stinging wet in his eyes. The burning remained.
Nanami composed himself, one last time. He must be tired today.
It was just about a simple life, a simple job, and a day of work well done. He should not let a childish dream of rest and escape distract him, an unreachable distance away.
With a start, the blond realized how long he must have been wallowing in his own misery, unmoving from his chair.
Back to work. How many lives are resting on my finished tax return calculations? It’s very important. The salaryman chuckled dryly, shaking off his exhaustion and righting himself.
Nanami glanced at the clock behind him, the hour hand reading slightly past 2 PM. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. There was still a long work day ahead of him.
| — — — — — — —— — — |
Nanami stared at the grinning curse that leered right next to the bright smile of the bakery lady. Her shoulder probably aches, he thought vaguely. How long has that been there by now?
The salaryman was on his daily evening excursion to the nearby bakery shop for dinner, the only thing that kept him running on his six hours of sleep and 15-hour workdays. Right after this, he had five more hours of work ahead of him, if he was lucky.
But now, he stared at the grotesque fly head on his favorite bakery girl’s shoulder.
He was tempted. He has always been tempted. If he just raised his hand, he could crush it so easily.
His finger twitched. What if…No.
No, he can’t break his years-long promise to never step back into that world. And certainly not for something as trivial as a low-grade curse, equivalent to a bed bug or small cold.
But then again…
Maybe it was the years of visiting the bakery every day that wore him down.
Maybe it was each welcoming and bright smile that the bakery lady offered him, each Hello! followed by a Welcome back! said with a grin, as if they were sharing an inside joke.
Maybe it was the way she started toasting the bread for his sandwiches recently, dismissing his gratitude with a wave and insisting that her most loyal customer should be able to enjoy a warm sandwich, what with the cold winter chill creeping in.
Maybe it was all of those things, or perhaps it was none of those things.
But, something, something over the years slowly chipped away at a part of Nanami’s resolve—a part that he did not even realize was built inside of him.
Chip…chip…chip…each passing day…each smile and greeting…each ticking of the clock at his desk. Tick…tick…tick…
Nanami shifted uncomfortably, still staring at the taunting gaze of the curse on her shoulder. The bakery lady was the only solace and light that interrupted Nanami’s dreary days, packed with pointless numbers and faceless yen and dollar signs, all with no real value.
She was the only worthwhile life in his mind (even though Nanami admittedly believed that living had no worth) in his world filled with pathetic men in uptight suits and balding hair, a world filled with oily and greedy hands that desperately gripped all the money in the world, never satisfied.
Money. Money. Money.
Work. Work. Work.
Nanami stared at the curse’s eyes blankly. His migraine thudded behind his eyes, and he could hear the rushing of blood in his head behind the dull pain.
The man was dimly aware that the bakery lady was speaking to him, her concerned gaze flitting around as he stood impassively at the cash register, unresponsive.
Nanami stared on, unbothered, concentrated at the open air right next to her head.
Perhaps it was the pain of the acute migraine that was building up inside of him. He could feel his entire body thud in sync with the intensifying thrum of blood pumping through his head. An excruciating pressure was mounting from behind his eyes.
But if the sorcerer was being completely honest with himself, this was not just a migraine. It was a curse.
Building for years now, there was a visceral, ugly rot in his body. It was an anger, a hum, the undiscovered black mold growing in the foundation of an old, tired home. Festering inside him, the mold had slowly poisoned the air in his lungs and sapped the energy from his veins.
And now, it was seeping out of his veins into the cold, harsh air.
With a start, he realized an exceedingly simple truth. He hasn’t been happy for a long time. A long, long time.
And that curse…
“Are you getting enough sleep?” The bakery lady asked kindly, a genuine expression of concern and curiosity on her face as she tilted her head.
…that damn curse.
Without thinking, Nanami unloaded all of his grievances about his pointless job, all his existential musings on the inanity of capitalism, all of the festering bile inside him that built up for years and years onto the bakery lady.
He was sure that he spoke more words to her in the single, dryly delivered monologue than all the words he uttered to her over the years combined. He spoke as desperately and urgently as a whispered prayer in a confessional, but as mindlessly as a cog in a watch, an ant on the ground.
She was visibly taken aback, understandably. The bakery lady was accustomed to her most loyal customer’s silence, as if he were preserving what little energy he had not drained from work. Their interactions on his end largely consisted of curt and polite nods and the occasional small smile of acknowledgement.
“A-are you bragging about how much you get paid?” The bakery lady asked almost earnestly in confusion.
“No I’m not,” Nanami cut her off.
The thuds of dull pain were now excruciating behind his eyes, almost blinding him as his head pulsed.
The bakery lady laughed, clearly disconcerted but simultaneously at ease. “Sorry, a lot of that went over my head there.” She rubbed her head sheepishly.
THUD. Money, money, money. THUD. Work, work, work. THUD. Tick, tick, tick.
“Would you like your sandwich toasted and bagged?”
The fly head buzzed in her ear and she grinned, oblivious.
ENOUGH.
Nanami decisively raised his arm, cutting through the air.
The pressure in his head vanished as quickly as the fly head was pulverized.
Simultaneously, the bakery lady’s body relaxed, a burden quite literally lifted from her shoulders. Nanami thinks he can see the usual light return to her tired eyes. Or maybe he was projecting his own relief from pain, finally free from the migraine pulsing behind his eyes and pressure building in his chest.
With dry gratification, Nanami realized that he hadn’t felt this satisfied in years. He felt quietly proud of a humble job well done—making someone else’s day even slightly brighter.
Finally, a task that was worthwhile to have been completed.
As he watched the bakery lady roll her shoulder in relief, something inside of him shifted.
Perhaps it was a new foundation being built in an old, tired house.
“Excuse me.” The sorcerer’s job was done.
As he walked away from the bakery steadily, Nanami maintained his stoic face and ignored the lady’s cries of gratitude from behind him. “Tch.”
Nothing’s changed, he lied to himself.
That didn’t mean anything. He lied again, but this time, he allowed for a slight smile to glance across his face as he stared into the distant city skyline.
| — — — — — — —— — — |
Clearing his throat, Nanami glanced down at his phone that he brought out of his pocket, his thumb hesitating over the screen.
He had been walking aimlessly around the city for a while, in contrast to the new sense of purpose brewing inside of him for the first time in years.
In all honesty, he was stalling.
The now-former senior portfolio manager and analyst was not usually a man of procrastination, nor one of wavering resolve. He preferred to confront any unpleasant task head-on, without hesitation and with a strong determination to complete a job well-done.
It was the responsible way, after all, but more importantly, the only way that Nanami knew.
That is, until now.
He opened then closed the loathsome contact for the fourth time, fingers hovering.
Nanami curled his mouth in distaste at the name and the memories, then irritation—this time annoyed at himself and his own ridiculousness.
Yes, the white-haired sorcerer was annoying at best, and incorrigible, intolerable, irresponsible, not to mention embarrassingly insubordinate, as well as infuriatingly powerful, and arrogant…Nanami lost track of his thoughts. Where am I going with this? Ah, yes.
The white-haired sorcerer was annoying at best, and downright incensing at worst…but Nanami trusted him.
Unfortunately.
God knows why, and what for. Trusted him not to die, trusted him not to defect, or trusted him to be strong (the strongest, in fact)…whatever it was, clearly, Nanami trusted Gojo Satoru enough for the “Chosen One” to be the only contact remaining on his phone tied to the jujutsu world.
There was no good explanation for why and how that happened. Nanami supposed that even all those years ago, when he graduated and left sorcery behind, and even when Gojo was at his peak level of incorrigibility, the man still trusted him. Trusted him to what exactly, outside of reliably getting on Nanami’s nerves? That still remained unclear.
But Nanami realized all of this around five blocks ago. If he were to be completely honest, he found himself feeling a bit…in rather childish and simple terms…nervous.
Nervous? About what, Gojo? The former salaryman scoffed. No, Gojo represented something far greater, far more important. The entire world of jujutsu.
And the idea of re-entering that world? Dull eyes and streaks of blood on the sidewalk flashed through his mind. Of course he was apprehensive.
Much brighter eyes were replaced in his imagination, and a lilting tease rang through his ears, Are you crying? My little kouhai nervous?
To this thought, he immediately bristled in irritation.
Enough pondering on pointless thoughts and ruminating on unwanted memories. The moment he eliminated the curse from the bakery lady’s shoulder, he had made his decision.
Clearing his throat, he opened his phone one last time. “Hello?... Yes, it is me.”
There was a pause as Nanami listened to the other end. His lips were pressed in a thin, bloodless line and began curling into a sour grimace.
“Yes, I’ll be stopping by Jujutsu Tech tomorrow…”