Chapter Text
The private room reeked of cigarettes and an unhealthy dose of sugary coffee. Satoru's nose twitched gently in response to the strong smells.
A heavy document imperfectly laying in front of his face, he dare not touch or graze across the subject without command. Top Secret. The entire trajectory of his dull life depended on the contents inside, though he never would've thought it could weigh more importance than it already did.
Across him was also a higher up he dared not to casually speak to. A class unattainable from the start. The way the man's suit creased itself was ironed to perfection, mocking his own lazy attire; A regular button-up dress shirt and casual slacks. If he knew he'd be summoned today, more thought would've been put into his damn clothes.
The man had old, slick and styled hair combed to the back. Wrinkles frowned on his face, Satoru tried not to count them out, though he's not the best with promises. It's not like the old guy could breach through his mind.
He leaned forward onto his desk, arms supporting his weight from below. Careful and weary eyes stared right into Satoru.
Satoru in return, did not meet his eyes, drilling anxious holes into the freshly vacuumed carpet. He could tell from the lack of dust as his head dunked downwards.
“I'll keep it short, Mr. Gojo Satoru,” the man said.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, as monotonous as he could.
“Do you want to return to the field?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man straightened out his posture, sniffling loudly as if there were a lack of oxygen in the room, despite the fact that the AC was whirling non-stop. His heavy body slumped back on the chair.
“Open it,” he instructed, directing his eyes to the thick document.
Satoru did as told, reaching in for the document. As he did, his heart pumped with nervousness, unease that would keep him up too long at night. Pale fingers twisted the opening, flipping the thin flap straight. A series of clean paper sat inside.
“Suguru Geto,” the man started. “A well known cultist to say the least. He's also a special grade sorcerer. Someone that we can't quite get a hold of.”
Satoru skimmed through the files as he listened, staring straight at the profile image. Long black hair and sharpened fox eyes. A subtle smile that was unmistakably untrue.
“Do you know what your mission is, Mr. Gojo?” the man asked, pulling Satoru out of observation.
“N-no, sir,” he stuttered, continuing to flip through the stack of stapled papers.
“Your mission, as we have found, is the easiest way to get past him,” he said, crinkling his nose. He shot a nasty glare for a short second, almost unnoticeable to the regular eye, but Satoru was no average Joe. His six senses trickled with dismay, yet remained perfect composure.
The old man left his leather chair to face Satoru head on.
“Before I tell you your mission, I must ask you, how far are you willing to go for this?”
Satoru felt as if his throat got stuck in glue.
“As far you throw me, sir,” he aired.
The man burst into laughter, clapping his hands in approval.
“Very well,” he cried, plopping down on a couch behind the both of them. “I called you specifically for a very simple reason.”
Again, he looked at Satoru with an undecipherable gaze. Worn eyes scanned the tall body, stuck on every imperfect perfection. A lean body with soft features melting into dewy skin.
The sagging skin above the man's mouth creased into a smile.
“I think you're the most handsome one on our team. More accurately, you're beautiful.”
Satoru froze up, a shiver trailed along his neck.
“Thank you, sir.”
“All I ask for you to do, Mr. Gojo, is to seduce him. Make him fall for you the way I have. I don't care how you do it, just make sure you get the job done. I need you to report on his behavior, see if he's capable of handling important missions successfully. We'll transfer you to the Jujutsu Tower from now on, where he and several other sorcerers reside. Remember, if he finds out about this mission, game over.”
Satoru went completely silent. He didn't know how to feel about a mission like this.
“Beauty is also a weapon, I need you to understand this,” he continued, staring in the opposite direction. Outside, there was the burrowing sound of busy footsteps everywhere. “If you succeed, I can guarantee. You'll be back out in the field in no time.”
The man held up a new ID towards him.
Satoru accepted it with both hands, “Thank you, sir.”
“I'm sure someone like yourself does not enjoy the likes of these headquarters, is that right?”
“I'm fine in any place, really, sir.”
The man smirked, “I guess I'll be counting on your adaptability.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I've actually grown quite tired of hearing those two words,” he muttered to himself.
“My apologies, sir.”
Yet again, he broke out into hysterical laughter.
“You can leave now,” the old man giggled, wiping the small tears pooling near the crevices of his eyes.
Satoru momentarily paused.
“Yes, sir.”
~
He exited the suffocating room quietly, gentle hands closing the door with care, or realistically, fear. His heart thumped loud enough to feel and hear it as he walked a long, grey corridor. Hands gripped the file enough to turn his knuckles white.
What a load of bullshit.
Out of every mission he could be handed, a task of seduction was thrown in his face.
Satoru was very capable himself, a leading figure in the Jujutsu Administration. Six Eyes and Infinity. He'd be dominating in the field if it weren't for one mistake. A choice that cost him the loss of himself.
Humanity was simply a weakness in the eyes of higher ups, but what is a mistake if it was done on purpose?
A decision is what he made.
Again, a decision with high stakes.
Go big or go home, is it?
~
He opened the double door entering his office space, bustling with stacks of never-ending papers to check and write, held by the hands of sleep deprived employees that would give their soul to the grim reaper if it asked. Of course, they'd already sold it to the Jujutsu Headquarters. Including himself.
Satoru worked his way through small little desks and finally arrived at his own. A messy assortment of untouched documents recently placed were stacked on top, alongside his monitor and telephone. A matte and bumpy surface with a coiling cord that really didn't stretch too long. Worn buttons with numbers starting from zero to nine, the color was long faded, but it was no trouble, Satoru had already memorized them. A plastic box filled with lollipops was the sole personality the desktop had, the rest was good-old muted office space.
He plopped down on his chair, spinning it with an empty pace from left to right, swaying his legs in the same motion. Reaching in for a pen, he twirled it with his fingers as well, eyes empty yet head full of thought. The pen was sleek and expensive looking, golden details shining at the tip of it. The kind of pen that's been stolen by almost everyone, a universal experience.
Satoru's eyes wandered back to the heavy document, picking it up with his free hand as the other kept spinning the pen. He stared at the printed picture of his target.
He stopped spinning the pen.
At least he's handsome.
Pierced ears and thick skin, thin lips that blended in with his skin entirely. A history of betrayal against jujutsu society, conducted under the former Time Vessel Association. They used to act boldly, launching several attacks on society. For some reason, they quit operation, and Geto Suguru returned to the Jujutsu Administration as a sorcerer. He's in the field, but it's reasonable the higher-ups refuse to trust him so easily.
Satoru dropped the document back on his desk, leaning his head backwards onto the head rest of the chair. It wasn't the best material, the plastic that supported the cushion prevailed the entire piece. The best that can be offered to “small fry” like himself. He stared into the blank ceiling, wishing he were floating in space instead of this mess. How rejuvenating astronauts must feel, letting their body loose in vast, empty space. No noise, no bustling, as if time ceased to exist entirely. The clock displaced on his table ticked repeatedly, putting Satoru in a trance.
How on earth would he wrap a guy like that around his fingers?
He unbuttoned his collar slightly, letting his milky skin seep out from his shirt. Then, he continued to roll up his sleeves to the forearm. Satoru rose from his lazy posture to pack his belongings. He bent down to reach for a white cardboard box, the one workers would either use when fired or transferred. The dusty smell and dark ambience down there overwhelmed his sensitive nose, it made him break out into a series of unfortunate sneezes. Heat crawled into his nose as he crawled out of the tight space underneath.
God bless me.
Satoru began packing up his few belongings, a few files he'd have to take to the tower, the ticking clock shaped like a penguin, the many pens he'd stolen over the years, and of course, a haphazardly fitted box of candies.
It had flavors like strawberry, cherry, grape, lemon, milk, lychee, and an unsettling amount of orange. Satoru obviously avoided that flavor ever since buying the box, but now it was practically the only flavor left.
He opened the box and reached in for an orange flavored candy, unraveling the wrapper with aggression. Satoru popped it into his mouth and sucked on the sweetness of it. As expected, it was the blandest flavor known to mankind. He moved it to the right side of his cheek, listening to the timid sound of the hard candy rolling against his teeth.
Satoru swore an oath to never eat this horrendous flavor again.
Moving back one step, he snatched his black suit jacket off of the spinning chair, settling it on top of his shoulders and stepped forward once again. With his box in both hands, he finally was able to step out of this hell hole and into another.
After all, one person's hell is another's heaven.
Stepping out of the building and into the parking lot, a cold breeze flew in, whirling his white hair in inconvenient swirls.
His car was white and slightly shabby, neither bottom of the list old or enviously expensive and grand. A kind of flat car with silver in the front. Compared to cars of this age, it was rather a later model. What mattered was that it functioned, was clean, and well maintained. Among other cars, either grey Toyotas, black Jeeps, and a few older Cadillacs, his ride was easier to distinguish.
Satoru enjoyed going high-speed with cars, though he could only pray to afford a sports car. Revving up the engine only resulted in wasting gas. After a while, the candy melting in his mouth had vanished onto his tongue. He kept the white stick nestled between his teeth, fiddling with it occasionally as he drove.
In his mind, the image of his target relived and regenerated over and over again. How could he even make himself noticeable? Too flashy would get him reprimanded, too plain would make him ordinary, and too close would make him suspicious. What Satoru did know was that he needed Geto Suguru to know his name; Geto had to have a curiosity towards him.
At the moment, that's all he had. What comes next he would save for that day. For now, all he wanted was to burrow his head into a soft pillow and drift to sleep.
~
The following morning, Satoru received a text from his former-boss. It was the coordinates of the Jujutsu Tower, his new workplace.
Dusty eyes barely pried open, his apartment smelt of cold air and linen. Satoru rose from his bed, the tall, single kind. In some ways, he and his bed were quite similar. He deserved warmth, so did his bed. Outside was the familiar sound of honking cars and distant complaints, traffic was crazy.
In the bathroom he tossed his white set of pajamas off, sending them into a blue, plastic laundry basket. The room gently smelled of oceanic breeze, citrus and refreshing. His shampoo was light cucumber followed by mint conditioner, after that was strawberry body wash. He made sure each pore and crevice of his skin was clean before exiting the cold shower.
Then came the worst part.
What to wear.
With a fluffy towel wrapped around his pale waist, Satoru plucked at the material while thinking.
In an instant, he pulled out a pair of boxers and a white, ironed dress shirt.
Now it was actually difficult.
His wardrobe was painfully grey, not a touch of color in sight. Satoru figured Geto wouldn't like colors either, he'd just have to test the waters today.
Satoru chose grey-striped trousers, they were conveniently old, meaning it would be tighter around his ass. Though only enough so that Geto, if he noticed, would have to reconsider whether he himself was a creep for staring. Next, Satoru wore a black vest that accentuated the curve of his waist. The result of accidentally starving himself and only occasionally eating sweets. Finally, a sleek, black-tie to put it all together.
Looking in the mirror, Satoru only had one thought.
He was hot. If Geto ignored this, he would either be a traditionalist bastard, or had really good self-control. Either way he'd be a dork.
Satoru then finally packed his belongings: his phone, ID, files, papers, a bundle of bandages just in case, and most importantly, the document with Geto's information. All of them were packed neatly in his leather briefcase bag. He probably wouldn't keep up the tidiness for long.
He took one last check in the mirror, accompanied by a long sigh.
Stay hot as usual.
As he strode through the door, a ground-breaking idea sparked in his mind.
Someone as charming and handsome as Satoru deserved a good chase.
He was going to play hard-to-get.
~
When Satoru arrived at the tower, a genuine awe escaped his mouth.
The Jujutsu Tower was big.
It towered above others, huge panels of blue tinted glass and structure that eased into narrowness as you looked up. There was a spiral of regular glass, a modern design choice that added a bit of soul to the tower. Ordinary workers became visible to the naked eye.
He assumed sorcerers lived in the higher levels of the tower.
He hoped that he'd make it there one day.
Satoru worked his way through the spinning door, entering the vast space of the tower. Countless people rushing to different places. Maybe some were heading the same place he was.
The special grade sorcerers.
His office title at the tower was an “Organizer & Informant for SGS”.
Basically a slave for the special grades.
Not only would he research curses and items for them, he'd have to organize their schedules, work as their informant on missions, and write reports on each case. He'd also have to attend to the missions given by the special-grades as well. Whatever the higher-ups and sorcerers wanted.
For Satoru, there was the extra of observing and seducing a certain black-haired sorcerer.
He'd get to that later.
Ahead of him was the front desk. Behind it was a brown-haired young lady. Monotone black suit, similar to everyone else in the building.
An unknown sigh of relief crept out of his lips. Satoru was glad he wasn't standing out too much.
Yet again, his calculations were correct.
He approached the woman confidently, wearing a gentle smile on his face as he did. The best way to live in an office was to have a good reputation. Not too boastful or too shy.
“Hey, mornin’,” he started, reaching into his bag for his identification card.
“Hi, how can I help you?” She replied. Her voice was sweet, it matched her cute face.
“Oh um, I'm kind of new here. I was wondering where I could get to the SGS.”
Satoru held up his card in her face, grinning as he did.
“Oh, I feel bad. It's gonna be a tough first day. The SGS starts on the 97th floor. That's where Yuki Tsukumo and Yuta Okkotsu are. On the 98th is—”
She stopped, a look of disgust appeared on her face. It was mixed with a hint of fear as well.
“Ugh, Naoya Zenin,” she continued, rolling her eyes and holding up her face with her hand.
“What's up with him?” Satoru scoffed. “Can't be that bad, right?”
Satoru knew Zenin was an asshole, but for someone all the way down at the bottom to show this amount of annoyance at his name? He had to be the fucking devil.
“Don't even get me started. He terrorizes all the girls in this facility. It's like he keeps watch on who enters! And if it's a girl? He personally stoops to our level just to be an ass. He makes it hell for everyone. Not just the girls. If he finds any guy doing something slightly non-masculine, he calls them out and picks on them daily. Getting on his bad side is like a preview of hell.”
“Damn, I better watch out.”
“You bet!”
The woman once again straightened out her posture.
“Sorry, was that too much?”
“Oh, no, not at all!” Satoru exclaimed. “But I am curious about the last one.”
Her face turned blue, leaning in closer towards Satoru. Her eyes looked around, anxiously seeing if anyone was eavesdropping.
“It's Suguru Geto. He used to be a terrorist, went against the Jujutsu Administration. No one can figure him out. The people who work under him? They either betray us or go insane. Worse than Naoya.”
“Huh.”
Her face bloomed again, turning towards her working space in peace.
“Well, good luck, Gojo Satoru. I hope you make it out alive.”
Satoru smirked at her.
“Watch me.”
He walked over to the elevators, metal and cold. There was a line formed around each shaft, Satoru went ahead and chose the one with the least amount of people. Workers began to crowd behind him.
For fucks sake, just open already.
His ears twitched, his body heated, his brain was on fire, and his eyes wouldn't stop. It was too much. Too many people. The cons of working in public environments and offices included the fact that he couldn't wear blindfolds, and higher-ups thought it was rude to wear shades inside.
Blindfolding just for a while wouldn't hurt.
He stepped out of the line and ran towards an empty space.
Shaky hands took out white bandages from his bag. He felt his eyes watering and neck burning. His tongue felt too moist.
Satoru rushed to wrap the soft fabric around his eyes, he finished tying it at the back.
Much better.
Once again, he walked towards the elevators. Conveniently there were less people.
When the doors opened, only a few people came in. Satoru checked his watch: 8:20 A.M.
Perfect.
He would make it on time.
Looking around him, there were several people huddled together. As time past by, he learnt that two other people were heading towards the SGS. He decided to initiate conversation.
“Looks like we're all in the same boat,” he started.
There was an older guy with glasses and a blonde.
“I'm Satoru Gojo.”
The man cleared his throat, “Ijichi Kiyotaka.”
“I'm Akira Nitta, nice to meet you both,” the girl beamed.
The rest of the ride up was silent, except for the sound of Satoru unwrapping the bandage. The dull silence soon ended awkwardness and returned with anxiety.
They arrived. At the entrance, there were a few other employees lined up in two. Satoru chose the left side in the middle.
Slowly, over the course of five minutes, everyone was lined up. There was an unknown woman sitting affront, legs crossed and relaxed. Satoru assumed she was head employee. He also figured she told everyone to line up this way.
Over time, something shifted. The cursed energy grew stronger. Around him, everyone maintained their deadpan, professional expression. They didn't realize yet.
The special grades have arrived.