The Zen’in Curse - sincerelyamee - 呪術廻戦 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

You didn’t know what to expect from Tokyo Jujutsu High. Hell, you didn’t know about a lot of things, to be fair. Most of your life had been spent cloistered within the oppressive walls of the Zen’in clan estate. The few times you were allowed out were for stifling gatherings at other clans’ compounds – which didn’t really expand your worldview, given how they were all miserable carbon copies of your gilded prison.

But you supposed as a jujutsu school, Tokyo Jujutsu High would be secluded and heavily warded to avoid curious civilians stumbling upon it. What you hadn’t imagined was that the illustrious institution was quite literally perched on a goddamn mountain. And of course, the clan driver was delighted to dump your ass on the road at the mountain’s base with a cheery “My apologies, Eri-sama. But the car can’t make it up there!”

Must have been bribed by Naoya’s mother to get back at you for that stunt. Whatever.

Anyway, here you were in an ornate yukata and pointlessly dainty sandals, lugging a massive suitcase – all to make the arduous trek up the sh*t ton of stairs snaking an infuriating zigzag path toward Tokyo Jujutsu High’s gates. Sweat already beading on your brow from dragging your crap up infinite steps carved into the unforgiving incline.

So. Many. Goddamn. Stairs.

Couldn’t these great jujutsu minds have conceived some kind of transport system? Maybe a quaint cable car or some damn elevator? Oh no, brute force and determination were apparently a prerequisite at this esteemed school.

As you mentally cursed the school, the stairs, your elders, and pretty much every entity responsible for your predicament, a joyful voice sounded from behind. “Need some help over there?”

You turned to see a guy around your age with dark hair shaped like a mushroom, wearing a bright T-shirt and jeans. He was dragging his own suitcase yet hopping up the steps three at a time with an energetic bounce.

Instinctively, you stopped and stared at the stranger. Growing up in the suffocating confines of the Zen’in clan had instilled that practiced stoicism so prized in their women. Despite your exhaustion and irritation, your face remained an impassive, almost serene mask – just as you’d been conditioned. You had mastered this display to perfection. Your mother often praised you for it, reasoning it was surely because you lacked a soul to emote with, in the first place.

In seconds, the guy closed the distance, sweating but beaming a bright smile as he addressed you again. “My name’s Haibara Yu. I’m a first year! Are you a first year too?”

You gave a small nod and offered your name. “Eri.”

His eyes swept over your ridiculous outfit, completely unsuited for mountain climbing, but he didn’t comment. Instead, Haibara reached out a friendly hand. “I can help you carry your stuff if you don’t mind!”

You eyed him critically, wondering if he could manage both your oversized suitcase and his own without toppling back down the treacherous stairs in a misguided display of masculine pride. But Haibara looked strong – tall and well-built. You deemed him capable enough to haul the double load without plummeting to his death.

With another nod, you accepted. “Okay.”

As the only legitimate daughter of Zen’in Naobito, expression of gratitude wasn’t a thing you’d developed. But Haibara didn’t seem fazed, grinning again as he effortlessly lifted your suitcase. “Let’s get moving!”

The lack of heavy baggage made the ascent marginally easier, though your impractical sandals were not designed for trekking up a freakin’ mountain at any decent speed. Haibara had to reign in his energetic pace despite lugging both suitcases to match your steps instead.

You maintained a reasonable distance away from the overly chipper guy. While your elders would approve of you keeping your space from an unfamiliar man, truthfully you just didn’t want to risk eating pavement should this idiot indeed take a tumble hauling the double load and drag you down with him.

Yet, impossibly, Haibara didn’t seem even slightly deterred as he kept rambling the entire way. You had never met such a relentlessly chatty person before.

“I was scouted last month,” Haibara recounted. “I was just shooting hoops when this random guy showed up out of nowhere claiming I’m some jujutsu sorcerer! How crazy is that?”

Then he spent the next half hour regaling you with a long-winded retelling of his life story – every banal detail since he first encountered a curse at age seven, all the bizarre occurrences leading up to his recruitment, and so on. When he paused to gulp some air, those brilliant eyes found you again.

“What about you?”

Conversation wasn’t your forte, but seeing as Haibara was willingly hauling your crap, you figured you could humor his nosiness with the basics.

“Family legacy recruit,” you stated flatly.

Haibara’s eyes went comically wide. “Whoa, that means your family is some sort of big shot, right?”

You gave a curt nod. “I’m a Zen’in.”

When this didn’t trigger the expected standard cowering and Haibara simply blinked at you like a clueless idiot, you realized that he, as someone from a civilian family, was oblivious to the jujutsu world’s power players. So you added, “There are three major jujutsu clans: The Gojos, the Kamos, and the Zen’ins.”

Haibara lit up with awe. “Damn! Are you, like, an heiress or something then?”

“No,” you shook your head.

While your father may have been the current clan leader, the Zen’ins were infamously patriarchal – and that was putting their misogyny lightly. Being born a girl in that archaic house was a curse in and of itself. Women were treated as little more than pawns and servants, valued solely for their ability to serve and produce sons.

The only reason you received your due respect was your inherited cursed technique and powerful reserves of cursed energy. Oh, and the influential wealth of your mother’s civilian family didn’t hurt either. While she wasn’t a sorcerer herself, her prestigious lineage held serious sway.

But you weren’t about to unload all the sordid details of your clan’s rampant misogyny on this chirpy stranger you’d just met. So you left it at that, not feeling the need to elaborate further.

Not that your lack of conversational enthusiasm bothered Haibara at all. He steamrolled ahead, letting his racing thoughts tumble out in an endless stream.

“I wonder what it’ll be like studying here? We’re gonna get to slay all sorts of curses, right? Meet fun people? Yeah, it’s gonna be a total blast!”

You let Haibara’s one-sided rambling fill the silence, only humming brief confirmations when he sporadically tossed you a mundane question. He didn’t seem to mind carrying the entire dialogue, happily picking it back up after each of your noncommittal responses.

Surprisingly, you found his nonstop chatter… not entirely grating. There was something pleasant about his voice, his bright smile, his open demeanor – so unlike the stifling murkiness of the people in your clan.

When you both eventually arrived at the school gates, Haibara looked ready to keel over – whether from physical exertion hauling your ridiculous suitcase or just sheer windedness after that marathon monologue, you couldn’t say.

You attempted to take back your crap, but the stubborn idiot was hell-bent on his prince charming persona, insisting on delivering it straight to your dorm room. As you weighed the pros and cons of just knocking him out to end this nonsense, a figure emerged from the school grounds to greet you both.

He was a young man, in his early twenties at best, wearing simple clothes with a sword at his hip. Despite his youthful appearance, he carried himself with an understated grace as he approached with two large bags.

“Hello. You’re the new students, right?” He offered a polite smile. “I’m a teacher here. You can call me Kusakabe. Let me show you to your dorms.”

Sorcerers tended to have rather short lifespans, so a young instructor wasn’t that uncommon you supposed. You and Haibara fell into step behind Kusakabe, Haibara stubbornly dragging your luggage the whole way.

Your room was on the third floor while Haibara’s was closer to the common area on two. You didn’t mind the extra stairs – it would be quieter up there. Before departing, Kusakabe handed a bag to each of you.

“Your uniform. It can be tailored, so check the fit. If anything’s not comfortable, let me know and I’ll have it adjusted for you.”

While Haibara offered profuse thanks, you just gave a succinct nod of acknowledgment. Kusakabe added one final detail as he turned to leave.

“Yaga-sama will be back tomorrow for your first field exercise. So rest well, you two.”

The dorm room was simple and compact compared to your lavish private quarters back at the Zen’in clan’s sprawling manor. But it was clean and had a certain charm in its minimalism – one standard dorm bed, desk with chair, bookshelf, and closet providing just the bare essentials. At least you had your own attached bathroom.

The first rational step was a shower to rinse off the grotesque sweat and grime accumulated from that hellish mountain climb. Once clean and smelling delightful again, you slipped into another yukata because god forbid a Zen’in woman owns anything remotely practical for daily wear.

Your long hair was always an ordeal to properly dry. You’d packed your hairdryer, but the thought of wrestling with this mess on your head right now was just… exhausting. Giving your hair a brief toweling attempt, you decided “damp” was presentable enough. Your aunts and their pursed-lipped disapproval weren’t here anyway.

With basic hygiene restored, you turned your attention to the uniform – a standard white button-down shirt, jacket and knee-length skirt combo. Seemingly normal enough, though you’d need to invest in some new sensible footwear. You wouldn’t survive one curse-whacking expedition in your stupid sandals.

As you began unpacking and arranging your stuff, a sudden rap at the door interrupted your reverie. Of course, it was the Golden Retriever himself, now changed into an oversized hoodie, grinning at you when you cracked the door open.

“Hey, wanna come down to the common room? There’s another first year down there, we should go meet him!”

Before you could so much as tell him to leave you the hell alone, Haibara had already grabbed your arm and started tugging you along with that manic, beaming energy that was downright illogical.

As predicted, when you and your enthusiastic tour guide tumbled into the common room, there was indeed another guy occupying one of the couches – blond hair, hazel eyes, and a general aura of mild irritation at the world.

His eyes sharpened as he took in Haibara barreling forward, bodily hauling you along in his wake.

Haibara called out an affable greeting. “You’re a first year too, right? I’m Haibara Yu!” Not allowing you any chances for escape, he jutted a thumb back toward you. “This is Zen’in Eri!”

The blond guy inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Nanami Kento.”

Nanami’s gaze slid back to your admittedly ridiculous attire, bewilderment breaking through his aloof veneer as he blurted out the obvious question.

“What are you wearing?”

You stated the simple fact plainly. “A yukata.”

If possible, Nanami’s frown contorted further. “I can see that. But why?”

“Because I can’t put on my kimono without assistance,” you answered with an easy shrug.

To you, there was nothing odd about that. The traditional kimono did indeed require skilled hands to properly dress them. You hadn’t realized how strange it was that your clothing options did not include any casual clothes at all. Growing up in the Zen’in clan’s isolated world, there were many “ways of life” you’d simply accepted as facts. But Nanami’s expression morphed into one of complete incredulity, as if he couldn’t quite process your statement.

You could see the judgy look written across Nanami’s features. Your words must have struck an odd cord. Normally, you wouldn’t devote much thought to such social missteps. But this Nanami would be a classmate for the next four years – provided neither of you met an untimely demise before graduating, that is. The prudent choice would be to smooth over any weird first impressions before he wrote you off as a full-blown loon this early.

Except… not having a soul made navigating social norms rather inconvenient at times like these. You weren’t sure what an appropriately “normal” reaction should be, or what emotions to project.

What would Mother do?

Whenever unsure how to behave, you always fell back on your mother’s poise and feminine wiles. Her refined manners were a reliable blueprint for social graces, even if her motivations behind them could be… questionable – as you would later learn, your mother wasn’t exactly a great role model for appropriate behavior. But that was a story for another time.

For now, as Nanami’s incredulous gaze bore into you, you opted to deploy one of your mother’s favorite moves. Adorable dimples emerged as you seamlessly molded your expression into a demure, gentle smile – one that crinkled the corners of your eyes in a soft, flattering radiance, just as Mother instructed.

“A smile like this can disarm any man, no matter the circ*mstances,” Mother had purred conspiratorially in her velvet tones. “It signals vulnerability, openness...it engages their protective instincts. Smile like this, and you can get away with anything.”

True to her lessons, Nanami’s skeptical frown melted away instantly, replaced by a look you couldn’t quite decipher. But the dusting of red high on those sharp cheekbones wasn’t lost on you either.

Before your carefully cultivated smile could verge into outright unsettling territory or poor Nanami succumb to spontaneous combustion from the intensity of his blush, Haibara swooped in to defuse the thickening tension. He ushered you over to the couch, arranging cushions until you were seated comfortably before plopping himself in the middle, creating a friendly buffer between you and the still-flustered Nanami.

“You look great, Eri,” Haibara grinned easily. “But training in those fancy getups could get tricky. How about we go shopping together after the field exercise tomorrow? Get you some functional gear?”

You nodded, silently grateful for his social energy. “Okay.”

“I wonder what kind of exercise it’ll be though?” Haibara continued breezily. “Any ideas, Nanami?”

Nanami gave a shrug, seeming to regain his composure. “Likely some entrance assessment to gauge our current abilities as sorcerers.”

“You’re probably right!” Haibara exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Since we’re first years, we should be graded around three or four, yeah? I’m a grade three!”

He proudly whipped out his student ID as evidence, prompting Nanami to produce his own card.

“I’m a second grade, actually.”

“No way, seriously?” Haibara’s enthusiasm was undented as he turned expectant eyes toward you.

Fishing out your own ID from the intricate folds of your yukata’s obi, you held it up so that Haibara and Nanami could see.

Their jaws promptly crashed to the floor upon registering the emboldened “First Grade” over the corner of your photo.

“What… how?” Nanami sputtered, his composure well and truly shattered again.

You calmly tucked your ID away, giving a simple explanation. “Because of my inherited cursed technique and cursed energy reserves.”

Haibara’s eyes practically sparkled. “So it means you’re like, super crazy strong then, right?”

You shook your head, correcting his assumption. “No, it just means I meet certain criteria.”

“There’s no need to be so humble,” Nanami huffed, a hint of admiration tempering his disbelief. “Being ranked a first grade at your age is seriously impressive. You should be proud.”

Realizing yet another misunderstanding was brewing, you opted to clarify matters fully this time. “No, it’s not impressive. I’ve never actually exorcised a curse before. I don’t have any training in that regard, either.”

Cue their jaws dropping to the floor once more while Nanami squinted at you suspiciously, trying to detect any hint of deception on your part. But of course, your expression remained an open, impassive book as always.

Haibara’s brows furrowed quizzically. “But you said you’re from some big powerful clan, right? Why wouldn’t they have trained you if you’ve got an inherited technique and that much cursed energy?”

You smoothed the sleeves of your yukata, considering how best to summarize the Zen’ins’ signature assholery in a succinct manner. Deciding a brief overview would suffice for now, you explained.

“I had basic training on cursed energy control to make sure I wouldn’t accidentally blow up anything. But that’s it.”

“But why the hell would they not train you properly? That doesn't make any sense!” Nanami said incredulously.

Taking a measured breath, you gave them the abridged reason. “Because I’m not meant to be a powerful sorcerer. My role is to be married off to another prominent clan or family, to help consolidate the Zen’ins’ standing.”

Despite your matter-of-fact delivery, the subject seemed to weigh heavily on Haibara and Nanami, if their wide-eyed expressions were any indication. From your experience in reading people, you could guess the roiling waves of emotions radiating off them were something approximating pity and sympathy.

Something you had little to no frame of reference for. How were you meant to react to that? You frantically attempted to channel what your mother would do in such a situation before realizing just how ludicrous that thought was. No one would dare regard Mother with anything resembling pity.

Mercifully, Haibara seemed to shake off the awkward tension as he flashed you his usual bright grin.

“Well hey, now that you’re here, you can get all the proper training you’ve been missing out on!” He looped an arm around Nanami’s shoulders, roping the guy into the plan whether he liked it or not.

“Nanami’s already got experience exorcising curses, right? Between him and me – even if I’m just a third grade – we can help you catch up. It’ll be way more fun working together as a team!”

Nanami made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle free of Haibara’s grasp before giving up with a sigh, realizing there was no deterring this human embodiment of enthusiasm. “Yeah, sure, I guess. We’re gonna be going on missions together anyway.”

His words lacked Haibara’s bright inflection, but you could detect no disdain or judgment in Nanami’s tone – perhaps a hint of that same inscrutable emotion from earlier when you’d deployed your mother’s disarming smile. But it didn’t seem to be pity, at least.

An odd sensation bloomed in your chest – light, almost effervescent. You made a mental note to analyze it more closely later.

For now, you inclined your head, allowing a small smile to tug at your lips, since smiling always seemed to do the trick. “I’d appreciate your help.”

Your smile somehow managed to elicit curious physiological reactions in both guys this time.

Nanami’s face combusted into a furious crimson blush, abruptly averting his gaze as if finding the nearby wall decorations positively riveting. Even Haibara’s cheeks flushed slightly pink, though it didn’t deter his motormouth tendency as he swiftly filled the air with an aimless stream of chatter.

Allowing yourself to sink back into the plush couch cushions, you watched Haibara’s animated babbling with an unfamiliar sense of ease settling over you. If your aunts could see you right now – slouching so inelegantly amidst two civilian-born young men with nary a chaperone in sight, they’d surely clutch their pearls into stunned immobility. Good thing they weren’t here, you mused.

In this moment, surrounded by the strange warmth of your new… friends?... you found yourself making an executive decision to stick with them going forward. Call it a whim, a gut instinct, or maybe just recklessness. Because for reasons you couldn’t quite articulate yet, you knew that as long as you were with them, you’d be okay. And for now, that peculiar certainty was enough.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The derelict warehouse loomed ahead, an eyesore of crumbling brick and shattered windows. Even from the outside, you could feel pulses of foul cursed energy washing over you in sickly waves.

So this was Yaga’s idea of an “entrance assessment” – maybe he got his teaching credentials from a cereal box.

Haibara looked psyched. He was vibrating with excitement at the prospect of curse pest control, like a kid being handed the keys to a candy factory. Nanami, on the other hand, just wore his usual vaguely annoyed expression, par for the course. You, though? Your priority was to manage expectations upfront.

“Before we get started, I think there’s something rather important you should know.” You raised your hand to get Yaga’s attention. “I don’t know how to fight. Never exorcised a curse in my life.”

Yaga’s bulging eyes made it look like his eyebrows were trying to escape his face in sheer bafflement. “The hell you mean? Ain’t you a goddamn first grade?”

You nodded. “Technically, yes. But the extent of my jujutsu training amounts to basic cursed energy control exercises. No combat training whatsoever.”

His brow furrowed like a roused bloodhound catching the scent of utter bullsh*t. “But why?”

Ah, here we go again.

You could sense Nanami and Haibara tensing in preparation for the tragic backstory. Keeping your tone matter-of-fact, you aired the dirty laundry. “Because my elders believe that being able to make ikebana and play the koto is more beneficial for my future marriage prospect than fighting curses.”

Yaga’s disgusted huff said it all. He got the picture, alright. The quaint Zen’in traditions must be rather well-known in the jujutsu high society. Waving a dismissive hand, he said in pithy reassurance, “Well, you have an inherited technique, don’t you? Being a sorcerer is 80% innate talent. You’ll be fine.”

“I certainly hope so,” you answered with a nonchalant shrug. “I just feel obliged to warn you – if I do happen to die in there, my elders will most certainly use my death to make your life miserable, perhaps as leverage against the school, too. Best be prepared for that possibility.”

An awkward silence followed your blunt disclaimer. Then, impatience won out over decorum. Yaga shooed you all toward the warehouse. “For cryin’ out loud, just go already! Those are third-grade curses. You’re not gonna die!”

The sparkling confidence was, indeed, reassuring. The three of you filed into the abandoned warehouse at Yaga’s impatient order. The air felt even thicker with cursed energy inside. As you crossed the threshold, Haibara gave your shoulder a gentle pat.

“Don’t worry. I’ll look out for you. It’ll be fine.”

You nodded, unsure if his buoyant determination was meant to bolster you or himself.

Nanami, ever the pragmatist, surveyed the interior with a calculating sweep. “There are two floors,” he assessed in a clipped tone. “Let’s split up and get it over with quickly.”

Jabbing a finger at Haibara, Nanami began delegating roles. “You take the first floor. I’ll handle the second.”

Turning his penetrating gaze on you, Nanami asked, “Who do you want to go with, Zen’in?”

But your focus was locked onto a particularly ominous rust-colored splatter adorning the far wall. Grotesque imagery of past carnage flickered through your mind’s eye as you tried to make sense of the stain. The longer you stared, the more it seemed to slither and pulse. Nanami’s question slipped by unheard.

“Damn it, Zen’in!” He barked your name like a reprimand. “Pay attention. We’re on a mission here!”

You startled at his raised voice, blinking as you turned toward his glower. “What?”

“I said,” Nanami groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You need to pay attention, Zen’in.”

“I’m paying attention,” you countered. “I’m just not used to being called Zen’in.”

Deflect blame. Never admit fault. The true Zen’in way. Your elders would be proud.

Nanami’s brows knitted. “But you are Zen’in,” he stated, as if that fact should resolve the matter.

You met his gaze flatly. “Where I lived, there are 30 other Zen’ins.”

He sighed roughly through his nose, agitated by your unhelpful explanation. “Well what are you used to being called then?”

“Eri-sama,” you answered.

Nanami leveled you with a glare that made it clear your answer did not sit well with him. “I’m not calling you ‘Eri-sama’,” he grunted, putting derisive air quotes around the honorific.

You wondered why Nanami always seemed to have a stick jammed up his ass. He asked you a question and you answered. Why was he getting so riled up?

Mother said men were simple creatures, but you found there was nothing simple about this perpetually vexed specimen before you. It must have something to do with your lack of a soul. Perhaps being soulless affected your ability to fully comprehend and navigate interactions, even though you had learned to read and interpret emotions proficiently enough.

You resisted the urge to frown. But then you remembered that your aunts weren’t here to scold you. You could frown and talk back all you wanted. So you let the crease settle between your brows.

“Why are you mad at me? I answered your question, didn’t I? I was not telling you to call me Eri-sama.”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “I’m not mad at you!” He snapped.

Sensing the rising tension, Haibara inserted himself between you and Nanami. With one hand pressed subtly to Nanami’s chest – both a calming gesture and a physical barrier keeping him from looming into your space – he angled his body partially in front of you in a protective stance.

A defensive move, you noted clinically to yourself. Interesting decision.

Haibara regarded Nanami with a placating smile. “Okay, okay. Let’s not fight with each other!” His voice took on a soothing tone as he sought your gaze. “We’ll just call you Eri then, alright? You can call me Yu.”

You nodded, recognizing Haibara’s action for what it was. He must have assumed Nanami’s sudden flare of aggression had frightened or unsettled you in some way. In reality, you felt no such fear or discomfort – just a mild curiosity at the brusque interaction. But it would be far too complicated to try and explain that you didn’t experience such pesky emotions like other people. So you settled for your trademark minimalist response.

“Okay.”

Nanami seemed to realize he had overreacted. He took a step back and coughed awkwardly, hand ruffling through his hair. “Um, you two go together then. I’ll check out the second floor.” He jerked his chin toward the shadowed corridor leading upstairs, tone softening slightly. “Let’s meet here after twenty minutes. Call out if you need me.”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami turned on his heel and strode away, disappearing down the corridor branching deeper into the warehouse. You watched his retreating back until it faded from view before glancing sidelong at Haibara.

“That was weird, right?” You asked, looking for the perspective of someone who experienced emotions more typically. Perhaps you had missed or misread some subtle cues.

But Haibara just smiled, though you detected a faint tightness around the corners of his eyes. “I guess he just had a bad day. Don’t take it personally.”

“But it’s only morning,” you pointed out.

With a vague handwave, he brushed it off. “Well, maybe he didn’t sleep well last night then.”

Ah, lack of proper rest – a reasonable explanation for foul moods and crankiness.

“I see.” You filed that situational context away as you nodded in acceptance.

With that, you and Haibara ventured deeper into the main floor. All around, decay and abandonment seemed to watch with silent hostility. Shelves and stalls leaned at precarious angles, thick with cobwebs and grime. Broken crates and rusted machine parts lay strewn about in hazardous piles.

The silence could only be sustained for so long before Haibara’s natural inclination toward chatter got the better of him. As he turned to subject you to more of his incessant babbling, his brow furrowed when he noticed you walking a step behind him.

“Why are you always walking behind me?” He asked, pausing as if carefully considering his phrasing. “Does this have… anything to do with your, um, upbringing?”

Haibara was more perceptive than his idiotic antics let on. You hummed a neutral acknowledgment. “I was taught that women should always walk behind men…”

Haibara looked startled, stopping abruptly in his tracks. “That’s not true! You don’t have to—”

You smoothly cut off his budding outrage by clarifying, “I know. I don’t believe that, either. I’m only walking behind you now so that when a curse attacks us, it’ll get to you first.”

You delivered the morbid pragmatism with such a deadpan expression that it short-circuited whatever Haibara intended to say next. He gaped at you, gobsmacked, for a long beat before bursting into peals of laughter that echoed raucously off the metal struts and girders.

“Damn, Eri,” he gasped out, wiping at his eyes with the back of one hand. “Please never change.”

You watched him impassively. Haibara was probably the only person in the world who would find it amusing to be used as a human shield.

Unfortunately, his amusem*nt was cut short as the energy in the air suddenly shifted. A curse manifested from thin air – a writhing, amorphous blob with far more eyes than strictly necessary.

“Stay back, Eri!” Haibara barked, instantly all business as he shoved you behind him.

Then, with a scream, he launched himself at the curse and started… punching it. With his bare fists.

You watched the bizarre display with slight bemusem*nt and perhaps a hint of unimpressed judgment. Was this how one was meant to exorcise curses? Haibara’s method seemed rather…stupid, if you were being honest.

But then, what did you know? Not that you had any practical experience to judge from. Haibara was the experienced sorcerer here. You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his expertise.

The glaring problem, however, was that Haibara’s aggressive punching was only serving to splinter the curse. With each meaty impact of his knuckles, the blob shuddered and split, fragmenting into smaller hostile pieces like an aggravated microbial culture.

Within moments, what started as a single curse was now a dozen disgusting blobs oozing around, their multitude of eyes glaring with escalating malice. A few were already starting to slither around Haibara’s flanks, positioning themselves to strike at his exposed blind spots.

Before they could attack, you raised your hand, activating your technique.

“Shadow Puppeteering: Paralysis”

At once, all the blobs stopped moving. Haibara spun around with a dumbfounded look, taking in the scene of over a dozen curses stilled mid-lurch.

As he gaped at the frozen blobs, you provided a brief explanation.

“My technique is called Shadow Puppeteering. It allows me to manipulate anything with cursed energy as long as shadows are present.”

Paralysis was the most rudimentary application of the technique – locking targets in place. The duration, range, and number of targets one could hold depend on their skill and cursed energy reserves compared to their targets.

Shadow Puppeteering wasn’t necessarily a rare or fancy technique. Many sorcerers in the Zen’in clan possessed it. But due to their generally limited cursed energy, most could never utilize its full potential. Which was likely why you had been ranked as a first grade despite your complete lack of experience.

Your immense cursed energy reserves alone should, in theory, allow you to overpower most curses through sheer force. As long as you could keep them frozen, then you could exorcise them by… stabbing them or something. This was actually how most users of Shadow Puppeteering employed the technique in battle – a small supporting trick, but a deadly one. Even if they could only hold their opponent for a couple of seconds, that was enough to deal the killing blow.

Haibara looked awestruck as he poked at one of the paralyzed blobs. “This is amazing!”

“Try punching it again.” You gestured to the blob horde.

His brow furrowed skeptically. “But it didn’t work before—”

You shook your head. “I don’t think it can keep splitting forever. It’s just a third-grade curse, after all. There must be a critical limit. I’ll hold it still. You punch it until it can’t split anymore.”

Haibara rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “Alright, let’s do this!”

With your technique immobilizing the curse, Haibara’s unrefined barrage of punches eventually took its toll. The blobs disintegrated into ashy remnants coating the cracked floor.

Haibara skipped back toward you, looking quite pleased with himself. “Thanks, Eri! I’d have been totally screwed without you!”

You gave a mild shrug, prodding his back lightly with one finger. “You watch my back, I watch yours, right?”

That was how friendship was supposed to work, you believed.

Laughing, Haibara twisted around and caught your hand in his own with an easy grin. “You’re right!”

You glanced down at where his hand engulfed yours, blinking slowly as you calculated how to react to this new development. What would Mother do?

Before you could properly channel your mother’s wisdom, however, Haibara noticed the curious look on your face. He dropped your hand, letting out an awkward sort of chuckle as a flush crept into his cheeks. Waving his hands in an exaggerated gesture, he stammered, “Um, let’s… let’s keep moving!”

You nodded your agreement. Best to stay focused on the mission at hand. You didn’t want to give Nanami another excuse to fly off the handle again. Speaking of which, you couldn’t help but wonder how he was faring upstairs.

There were no further unpleasant surprises as you and Haibara methodically cleared the rest of the ground floor. With the main level secured, you climbed the rickety stairs to regroup with Nanami on the second story. You found him standing in the middle of one of the empty rooms, brow creased in a pensive frown of concentration.

“Hey Nanami! What’s up?” Haibara called out as you approached.

Nanami’s gaze swiveled toward you, expression perplexed. “You’re done already?”

“Sure thing!” Haibara flexed an arm. “We got some gross blob curse but I punched the sh*t out of it! Oh, and Eri’s technique is super cool…”

He prattled on enthusiastically as usual, but Nanami didn’t seem to be listening. He looked distracted, almost… unsettled about something. You studied him briefly before cutting to the point.

“What is it?”

Nanami’s sharp eyes flicked to you and then quickly away again. “Something feels… wrong. I’ve exorcised the curses hiding up here, but it still feels like…”

You walked closer to where Nanami was standing, pressing a hand to the dingy wall and feeling the lingering tingle of cursed energy. “Like there’s still a curse somewhere,” you finished for him.

Indeed, while the curses were gone, a heavy malice still clung to the building. You took a slow breath, trying to pinpoint the exact source as Haibara looked around with sudden wariness.

“You’re sure?”

And then it clicked.

It felt like a curse was somewhere... everywhere. Because the whole building was the curse.

No sooner had the realization struck you than it manifested. Hundreds upon hundreds of spikes burst from every surface. The ceilings, the walls around you – a forest of deadly quills primed to impale the three of you.

“Get down!”

Nanami’s shout was unnecessary. Haibara had already tackled you both, throwing his weight over your bodies as the spikes launched.

It was pure chaos after that spike trap triggered. One second you were standing there, the next it felt like the entire damn warehouse was trying to turn you all into human pincushions.

You got slammed to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs as Nanami and Haibara essentially dog-piled you. Nanami clutched you to his chest while Haibara wrapped his arms around you both, shielding you with his body in a desperate attempt at protection.

There was a breathless eternity where the only sounds were the thunderous barrage of metal spikes punching into the floor all around you and your own ragged gasps for air. Your lungs burned from the compression, ribs creaking against Nanami’s vice-like grip. You were legit starting to see stars when Haibara’s trembling voice broke the cacophony.

“Are… are we dead yet?”

The plaintive question prompted Nanami to slowly creak his eyes open, blinking in wonder as he murmured, sounding just as uncertain, “We’re… not dead.”

Which was about when you managed to wheeze out from your undignified position, “You’re not dead… but I’m about to be.”

At your strained voice, Nanami instantly tried to loosen his stranglehold. But with Haibara still fiercely clinging like his life depended on it, the ensuing scuffle to disentangle yourselves proved difficult.

Nanami hissed out through gritted teeth, “Dammit Haibara! Let go!”

“S-Sorry! Sorry!” Haibara scrambled free, limbs flying everywhere.

After some awkward flailing, the three of you managed to separate with much panting and mussed hair and clothing in disarray.

It was only then that the guys seemed to clock the reason you weren’t all perforated meatloafs: You had managed to encase everyone in a thick dome woven from solid shadow.

Haibara’s eyes went saucer-wide, hand coming up to touch the undulating barrier.

“W-Whoa…” he breathed, fingers trailing over the rippling surface. “You’re an absolute beast, Eri! This shield is insane!”

And it really was. Even as the spikes continued raining down relentlessly, not a single one could pierce or even scratch the surface of your shadow shield.

You gulped in a grateful breath of fresh air, lungs finally able to fully reinflate. At that moment, you were struck by the realization that the life of a jujutsu sorcerer was truly fraught with peril. Less than twenty minutes into your first mission and you’d already nearly met an inglorious demise – crushed to a pulp beneath your own partners. Definitely not the ladylike way you had been raised. Mother would not approve.

Once you had recovered enough air to speak and Haibara had finished fawning over your shadow shield, the three of you hunkered down to strategize a way out of this literal deathtrap. Nanami was the first to ask the pragmatic question.

“How long can your shield hold up?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Until this curse gets bored of shooting at us, I guess? Don’t worry, I have more than enough cursed energy to spare.”

Haibara chimed in next. “Can you do that paralysis thing again then? Freeze the whole curse so we can exorcise it?”

A reasonable suggestion, but you shook your head. “I can freeze it, but you can’t just punch a building.”

Nanami let out a frustrated huff. “Or you freeze it and we’ll get the hell out. Let Yaga-sama deal with this mess.”

You stared at him. “But this is our assessment task.”

Nanami stared back, expression conveying you had missed the point entirely. “Yaga-sama said there would only be grade-three curses here. This is clearly way beyond that. I don’t think he intended for us to take on something this strong.”

You could understand the logic there. But that was not how Zen’ins ran things – Zen’ins started a fight AND finished it.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said firmly. “A task is a task. We need to complete it.”

To your mild surprise, Haibara nodded in emphatic solidarity. “Eri’s right. We can’t just quit! Let’s at least give it a real try before calling for backup.”

Nanami gaped at you and Haibara like you’d both grown second heads, utter disbelief written across his features. “You can’t be serious! I’m not throwing my life away over some bullsh*t training op!”

You tried to reassure him. “You won’t have to. I think I could exorcise this curse with the second form of my technique.”

His skeptical stare was downright withering. “But…?”

You blinked. “How’d you know there was a ‘but’ coming?”

Nanami’s glower intensified to truly impressive levels. “Because if you could just do that, you would’ve led with it already.”

You had to hand it to him. The guy was as sharp as he was prickly.

“You’re really smart, Nanami,” you offered with an approving nod.

Mother said that men loved to feel intelligent and receiving compliments stroked that ego, flattery was key to keeping men engaged and amenable. But Nanami seemed immune. Instead of preening at your praise like he was supposed to, his glaring only got worse.

“Stop dodging and spill, Eri,” he bit out sharply. “What’s the damn catch?”

You guessed his apparent lack of sleep had prevented him from being receptive to the compliment. No matter, his loss. You decided to lay it out straight.

“The second form of my technique requires way more skill to pull off than I currently have.”

Nanami crossed his arms with a sour expression, inadvertently clouting Haibara with an errant elbow in the cramped space. The poor guy squawked in surprise.

“So what’s the point of even mentioning it then?” Nanami demanded, unmoved.

You persisted, unruffled. “Because I might be able to brute-force it with a binding vow.”

You pulled up your sleeve, revealing a small dagger strapped to your forearm. But before you could even draw the blade, Nanami’s hand clamped down on your wrist with bruising force.

“What kind of binding vow are you talking about?” His voice was apprehensive.

You glanced pointedly down at the dagger. “A blood vow, of course. It’s the most effective.”

You tried to tug your arm free, but Nanami refused to relinquish his grip. His fingers tightened, uncompromising. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you hurt yourself for some stupid exercise.”

Reaching with your free hand, you patted his shoulder in what you hoped came across as a reassuring gesture. “I’m not hurting myself. It’s just a little blood. Nothing dangerous, really.”

It wasn’t quite the whole truth. Blinding vows were all about equal exchanges. The blood was merely a ritualistic gesture to initiate the vow. The price you would actually have to pay was directly proportional to the skill gap you needed to fill to pull off your technique.

Nanami seemed unconvinced, frown lines etching deep grooves around his mouth. Before the impasse could drag further, Haibara cut in.

“Well, why don’t I do it then?” He made a move to take the dagger from your grasp. “I’ve got plenty of blood!”

Both you and Nanami turned to stare at Haibara in equal measures of incredulity. So he really was an idiot.

You pointed out the obvious flaw in Haibara’s offer. “This is my technique. I have to be the one to make the binding vow.”

For a long, tense moment, the three of you remained locked in an unproductive staring contest. The sight was baffling – three people squatting in a tight circle, practically holding hands while staring at each other.

You sighed, deciding to put an end to this stupid deadlock. “Do you want to get out of this, or are we going to sit here holding hands forever?”

Nanami held your gaze, jaw working like he was chewing rocks before finally releasing your wrist from his white-knuckled grip.

“Fine. Do what you want.” His tone said he thought you were making a terrible decision.

Haibara backed off as well, though his expression was pinched with obvious concern. “You’re really sure this binding vow thingy isn’t dangerous?”

You nodded. “It won’t kill me, I promise.”

Before either of them could protest further or voice any more moronic suggestions, you brought the dagger down across your open palm in one fluid motion. A clean cut blossomed crimson against your skin. Haibara flinched, but Nanami didn’t so much as blink, watching the ritual with unnerving focus.

Immediately, you could feel the binding vow take effect. Cursed energy thrummed through your veins with a tangible force. Splaying your fingers wide, you activated the second form of your technique.

“Shadow Puppeteering: Wreckage”

Within seconds, inky shadows spilled forth from underneath you in every direction, rapidly blanketing every surface of the warehouse until the entire structure was sheathed in all-consuming darkness.

Once the last sliver of surface area was gone, you clenched your bleeding fist in a silent command. The shadows contracted inwards, seeping into the very foundations of the building.

While Paralysis would only freeze a target, Wreckage, as the name suggests, quite literally wrecked its sh*t. A reverberating howl tore through the air as your technique crushed through the hidden curse with overwhelming force.

Nanami reacted instantly, his arms encircling you, wrenching you against his solid chest. One hand cradled the back of your head, tucking your face against the thundering beat of his heart. You clutched at the hard planes of his back, fingers scrabbling for purchase as the world itself seemed to detonate around you. Haibara pressed in tight behind you, his larger frame enveloping you both as he leaned over your huddled forms.

The building seemed to come alive, bucking and convulsing. Cracks shattered across the supporting walls like capillaries, fracturing apart in jagged splinters. Chunks of plaster and decaying wood exploded in a shower of shrapnel. The roars escalated to a fever pitch, the air boiling with cursed energy as the enraged curse fought viciously against your technique.

In hindsight, Nanami and Haibara’s dramatic bodyguard routine was ultimately unnecessary. Even as the building collapsed in on itself like a house of cards all around you, the shadow dome you’d whipped up earlier held strong. Not a single piece of rubble could rain down on your heads.

But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right? You appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Now that you were not pinned to the ground and at immediate risk of suffocation, you realized their misguided bearhugging wasn’t entirely unpleasant. A little awkward and sweaty, sure, but not wholly terrible.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the howling cut off into silence. The tremors ceased, the last traces of the curse were gone. You gave Nanami’s back a gentle pat. “It’s okay. You can stop squishing me now.”

With some extent of reluctance, they both release their clutches, allowing you some much-needed personal space. Taking the reprieve, you deactivated your shield, letting it melt down to smoky shadows at your feet.

And just like that, the full extent of your handiwork was laid bare in all its glorious, apocalyptic splendor. What had formerly been a pretty unassuming warehouse now more resembled the bombed-out aftermath of a warzone. The entire place was little more than a smoldering pile of jagged debris, craters, and crumpled steel beams jutting up at random angles – the sort of catastrophic clusterf*ck that would have cleanup teams working around the clock for weeks trying to restore some semblance of order.

You doubted this level of total destruction aligned with whatever “entrance assessment” Yaga had envisioned for your little field exercise. You gave a careless sniff. The job got done, didn’t it?

Sure enough, as soon as the dust settled amidst the rubble graveyard, Yaga came barreling in, face beet-red and contorted into unbridled rage.

“What in the ever-loving HELL was that?! Who in their right goddamn mind—”

But you never caught the rest of his furious tirade. Without warning, your vision swam and your legs decided they were done supporting your dead weight. The hefty toll of that binding vow came due with a vengeance, absolutely zero f*cks given for dramatic timing.

The last thing your fading consciousness registered was Haibara’s arms catching you before you could faceplant gracelessly into the ground, scooping you up and cradling you against his heaving chest. “Eri! Eri, hey!” His voice pitched higher as he shook you.

You vaguely heard Nanami calling your name with equal distress. “Oi! Eri, don’t you f*cking dare!”

As darkness encroached on the edges of your dimming awareness, you idly wondered what Mother would do.

The answer, you suspected, would be an elegant swoon onto the nearest floor cushion, her embroidered fan fluttering dramatically as the household servants rushed to attend to her delicate constitution with smelling salts and soothing words.

Well… Considering there was no dignified surface to swoon onto around here, you supposed you’d managed the passing out part the best you could, if not with quite the same decorous flair. Small victories.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open as consciousness rudely rejoined you. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights assaulting your senses, you took grudging stock of your surroundings. A plain off-white ceiling, crisp linens, the faint smell of disinfectant – marvelous, an infirmary. What a nice place to wake up.

How the hell did you end up here?

Memories trickled back in hazy fragments. The crumbling warehouse deathtrap… That gross blob curse… A flurry of spikes… Haibara and Nanami’s panicked shouts.

Right, right. That “field exercise.” Yaga had sold it as a routine curse clearing at some abandoned warehouse. A nice little warmup to test your skills before the real fun began, or so he claimed. His pre-mission briefing had been sorely lacking in details, like the high-grade curse slumbering in the basem*nt, woven right into the foundation itself.

By charging in like the reckless idiots you were, swinging away at those lower-level curses, your merry trio had gone and awoken the big bad sleepyhead downstairs. So much for easing your way into the sorcerer life.

Desperate times called for hasty binding vows. In exchange for a temporary skill boost, you must have given away quite a hefty chunk of your strength, evident by the vicious throbbing ache pulsing in your skull. Any further use of Wreckage would be off the table for a long while.

The door creaked open with ominous noise, and a girl swaggered in like she owned the infirmary. A sharp bob-cut framed her face, one single beauty mark punctuating her cheek beneath one eye.

“Awake finally, are we?” she drawled out in a casual air, giving you an appraising once-over.

You blinked slowly at her, still groggy and confused.

“You were out cold for three days.” She sauntered over and patted your face with impudent familiarity. “You know how to make an entrance, princess.”

She didn’t look much older than you, that was for sure. Definitely not a timid, sweet-natured school nurse type.

“Ieiri Shoko’s the name. Call me whatever though, I don’t discriminate. I’m the healer around these parts.” She squinted and poked at you some more, entirely too handsy. “You made a binding vow, didn’t you? Nothing I could do to fix that stupid choice. But I healed the cut on your hand and your bruised ribs. You’re quite welcome, by the way.”

She paused, co*cking her head. “Want me to go fetch your boys? They’ve been camping here ever since you got hauled in.” A sly glint entered her eyes. “I had to kick their asses out, they were being such mother hens.”

When you said nothing in response, merely holding her gaze, Shoko chuckled – more entertained than perturbed by your silence. “Not a talkative one, eh? I thought with that level of property damage, you’d be more like Gojo.”

At the mention of that buffoon’s name, it clicked into place. This brash, irreverent girl must be the one Satoru had endlessly babbled about with misty eyes during that dreadful New Year’s gathering at the Kamos’ estate last winter.

“You’re Sho,” you stated, finally putting a face to the name.

Shoko’s grin widened with wicked delight. “Oh ho? The princess speaks! Color me surprised.”

She plopped herself down unceremoniously on the edge of your bed with casual disregard for personal space. Clearly boundaries weren’t a thing this young woman concerned herself with.

“That prick told you about me, huh? All praises, I’m sure,” she purred, leaning in close. You found you didn’t particularly mind the invasion. Such trivial social conventions never made much sense to you anyway.

“Satoru said you’re bossy, you reek of cigarette smoke, and you drink too much,” you answered her bluntly.

Shoko let out an indignant huff at having her vices so baldly listed out. “Ugh. That asshole has such a way with words.” Then, her eyes danced with mischief as she leaned in even closer. “You and Gojo are on a first-name basis? My my, you two must be close.”

You blinked at her suggestive tone. “There are a lot of Gojos and Zen’ins where we’re from. It’s easier to go by first names.”

Shoko groaned and rolled her eyes. “Right, right. Clan kids’ problems.”

Then she tapped her chin thoughtfully as she processed the information about your history with Satoru. “How long have you known Gojo then?”

“Since I was seven,” you stated evenly.

Her eyes lit up with intrigue at that revelation. Now that was prime potential for juicy insider knowledge.

“Well, in that case, you must know all kinds of dirt about him! Ooh! You know what, I’ll make you a deal.” That mischievous glint was back in full force. “Spill the tea you’ve got on Gojo, and I’ll show you around the city. You didn’t get to explore much before causing mass destruction, did you, princess?”

You considered her proposal with pragmatic detachment, dispassionately assessing the pros and cons of backstabbing your childhood best friend. On one hand, Satoru’s reputation as an unrepentant asshole preceded him. So really, was there anything left about him that wasn’t completely soiled? Nothing you could divulge would tarnish his skeezy image further. On the other hand, he was still a world-class asshole, and would definitely find some petty way to exact revenge on your traitorous ass.

But then your thoughts strayed to the more immediate concern – your dire need for a new casual wardrobe. Your entire Zen’in clan-approved closet consisted of kimonos, yukatas, and other traditional outfits ill-suited for the sorcerer life. You desperately needed a shopping therapy session to stock up on some practical garbs.

Haibara had offered to take you shopping, but one look at the graphic tee and ratty hoodie atrocities he favored told you his fashion judgment was about as trustworthy as a broke streetside fortune teller. Shoko, however, was a pretty girl who looked like she understood aesthetic appeal.

Selling out your oldest friend to the highest gossipy bidder for the greater sake of pretty new clothes? Satoru’s downfall was inevitable. A small price to pay and an acceptable trade in your eyes. Mother would approve.

So you nodded once, sealing the deal. “We’re going shopping tomorrow, Sho. Help me pick nice clothes and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Shoko squeaked with delight like a toddler hopped up on pure sugar. Before your confused mind could even process what was happening, she flung her arms around you in an exuberant hug, practically squeezing the life out of you.

“We’re gonna be the bestest of besties in no time, Eri!” she crowed directly into your face.

You patted her arm with severe awkwardness, head still swimming from... whatever drugs they had pumped into your system.

The tender bonding moment – if you could even call being aggressively mauled such a thing – was interrupted by the door slamming open with a bang. Haibara burst through, dragging Nanami along in his frantic wake.

“Eri! You woke up, finally!” His voice was far too loud for your addled state.

Releasing his captive, Haibara scurried straight to your bedside. “How are you feeling? I was so scared!” he fretted, hovering anxiously.

Without missing a beat, Shoko whipped around and swatted at Haibara, her palm connecting with the back of his head in a crisp slap. “Keep your damn voice down, boy!”

“Oww!” Haibara clutched his head with a wounded look. “Totally uncalled for, senpai!”

Then, he remembered his priorities and resumed fussing over you again. “Are you okay? You’re not in pain, are you?”

You mustered up a weak smile for his benefit. “I’m okay. Told you it wouldn’t kill me.”

Perhaps the smile lacked its standard persuasive power in your wrecked state. Haibara didn’t blush or sputter like his usual besotted self. He just looked terribly concerned. “You were unconscious for days, Eri. That’s not being okay.”

At least he had the sense to keep his voice down this time. You reached out to pat his arm. “That’s how binding vows work. I’m okay now.”

While Haibara continued fluttering around you like an anxious mother hen, Nanami hung back by the door, probably still stewing over the stupid argument. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze skittered away when you looked at him. You thought he was being utterly ridiculous about the whole thing.

Before you could wave the brooding Nanami over, the door burst open again with even more disruptive force – this time admitting the most obnoxious person imaginable.

“My sweet little Eri!” Gojo Satoru crooned in that nauseatingly saccharine tone as he barreled through, damn near bowling Nanami over in his tactless hurricane arrival. In a blink, he’d rudely elbowed Haibara out of the way and deposited himself at your bedside.

Without preamble, Satoru grabbed your face and squished your cheeks between his palms like an overeager grandma. “You slept three days straight after tangling with a pathetic curse, huh?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval, an insufferable smirk curving his lips. “Oh, I’m never gonna let you live this down!”

You tried valiantly to shake off his paws, huffing out an irritated breath that just seemed to spur on his juvenile antic. Satoru had always derived far too much entertainment from getting a rise out of you.

Another man strode in with far more decorum than Satoru’s blustering entrance. Tall and broad-shouldered, a muscular frame with a roguish smile playing at his lips as he took in the chaos – clear amusem*nt dancing in his dark eyes.

Undeterred, Satoru just grinned wider, releasing your cheeks to proudly present you like a prized show pony. “Hey Suguru, come meet Eri – my most favorite Zen’in ever!”

You blinked at the newcomer, immediately recognizing him from Satoru’s colorful ramblings. “You’re Weird Emo Bang.”

Suguru’s eye twitched as he turned to glare daggers at his so-called friend. “That’s what you call me to her?”

Shoko positively vibrated with glee from her perch, delighting in this fresh drama.

Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence poorly. “Wait, wait. I told Eri nice things too!” He turned to nudge your shoulder insistently. “Right? C’mon, back me up here.”

But you opened your eyes wide, putting on your most artfully deceptive innocent expression. “What nice things?”

Satoru sputtered indignantly at your blatant betrayal, clearly gearing up to pinch your cheeks again in retaliation. Oh, he was going to be so pissed when he realized you had agreed to Shoko’s deal to air ALL of his dirty laundry far and wide.

Before he could make good on that grabby-handed threat of further cheek abuse, Shoko deftly slapped away his reaching paws, apparently considering you under her protection now. “Play nice, Gojo. She’s still recovering.”

“From what, being a brat?” he whined.

The two of them quickly devolved into childish bickering, filling the room with a barrage of creative insults and overly personal jabs.

Haibara and Nanami could only stare at the rapidly derailing situation, while Suguru stood back with an awkward, pained smile – mortified to be associated with these raucous clowns.

You watched the exhausting chaos unfold with an impassive stare, keeping your thoughts to yourself as usual. Apparently this a sneak preview of what your life would now consist of on the regular. Might as well get comfortable.

The squabbling continued unabated for several more minutes until Satoru perked up, remembering something that had piqued his interest. Swiveling toward you, he pinned you with one of those assessing looks that made you feel like a fascinating bug under a microscope.

“Hey, speaking of… How did you manage to get yourself enrolled at this dump anyway? I thought all pompous Zen’in brats were obligated to attend that hoity-toity school in Kyoto?”

You gave an easy shrug, unbothered by the slight against your entire lineage. “I convinced my elders it was in their best interests for me to come here instead.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Oh yeah? And just how exactly did you manage to swing that one by them?”

Meeting his gaze evenly, you deadpanned, “Told them I want to marry you.”

A stunned silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. All at once, everyone in the room stared at you, expressions ranging from utter bafflement to quietly heartbroken in Haibara’s case. Even Satoru looked flabbergasted, for once in his life rendered speechless.

It was Shoko, predictably, who broke first, doubling over into rowdy laughter. Clutching at her sides, she gasped out, “Oh princess, that’s a good one!”

Satoru seemed to regain his bearings, rolling his eyes as he bopped your forehead none-too-gently with his knuckles in a patronizing gesture. “Tch, you’ve spent too much time around this twisted gargoyle,” he clucked disapprovingly, flicking a glance toward Shoko. “Her vile sense of humor is rubbing off on you.”

You shook your head, your face a mask of impassive seriousness. “No joke,” you said evenly, holding his gaze. “I told my elders I must come to this school to be with you.”

Satoru’s co*cky veneer slipped again as his jaw went momentarily slack, gaping at you like a landed fish. “What the actual hell, Eri?”

Then, seeming to remember his trademark swagger, he pasted on a salacious grin and leaned his face in far too close for propriety’s sake. “Oooh,” he purred in a low tone, “didn’t realize you’d been harboring a secret crush on me all this time!”

One hand came up to run through his silver locks with an exaggerated gesture of preening. “Is it my dashing good looks?” He questioned huskily. “Or my sparkling wit and charming personality that does it for you?”

Without hesitation, you swatted his hovering face away, hoping that your facial expression conveyed the right amount of disdain before explaining in a flat tone, “Because it was the only way my elders would ever allow me to come here. Now get away from me, you shameless lecher.”

Satoru reeled back with a look of offense, one hand clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, my sweet Eri!” he exclaimed with feigned hurt. “Leading me on like that for years…”

From the sidelines, Suguru seemed to find his voice despite the increasingly awkward situation, shooting a mildly pained look between you and Satoru. “Are all clan kids this… dramatic?” he ventured hesitantly. “Or is it just you two?”

Perhaps you could have phrased that better and spared everyone the confusion, but it was the truth. In the esteemed Zen’in value system, the worth of a daughter lay in what advantageous marriage alliance she could forge – which powerful ally she could entrap for the clan’s benefit.

When you came into this world, your elders were less than thrilled, to put it generously. They had expected a son to carry on the prestigious lineage as usual. But the Zen’ins were about as pragmatic as they were gigantic, raging assholes through and through. Your elders tolerated the existence of daughters who could potentially become half-useful pawns in due time. After examining you with a critical eye, they declared that you would fetch a fair groom one day. A main-line Kamo, at the very, very least.

However, your mother disagreed, scoffing at such modest ambition. “Don’t be absurd. This is my daughter,” she stated with an air of smug finality befitting a woman of her supreme ego. “She will not marry just any man. Only the strongest deserves her hand. You would all do well to remember that.”

Your mother took immense delight in retelling that particular story over and over throughout the years, the words were seared into your very being. She always made bloody well sure you understood on a fundamental level that you deserved only the very best this world could offer – the finest foods, the most lavish clothes and jewels, and ultimately, the most powerful husband. Because you were her daughter – her legacy. It was an immutable fact in her eyes.

So when your dear old father had questioned why you wanted to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High instead of the Kyoto school like the rest of your siblings and cousins, you couldn’t just tell him you wanted to get away from his clutches and learn to stand on your own feet now, could you? No, you needed a persuasive reason.

What would Mother say?

You knew the answer as clearly as you knew your own name.

With a haughty sniff and your chin jutting out in your best impression of your mother’s regal poise, you stated the words that would alter the course of your life: “I will marry Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive. And none of you will stand in my way.”

Your elders had been rendered speechless with outrage, as to be expected. The Zen’ins and the Gojos had been gleefully dishing out feuds and throwing shade for generations upon generations in the most juvenile manner possible at every afforded opportunity. The mere notion of a marriage between them was nothing short of blasphemous.

But your father was intrigued by the possibility. If his daughter could actually snag Gojo freaking Satoru… Well, that would swiftly and definitively allow the Zen’ins to seize the upper hand in their endless power struggle. A possibility too tantalizing to dismiss out of hand. As for your mother? She was so, so proud. What man could be more powerful or worthy of her daughter?

As you finished recounting your convoluted scheme to escape your batsh*t crazy family, a heavy awkwardness crashed over the room. It was a lot to process – the warped entitlement, the casual mentions of daughters being married off like livestock, your blasé attitude about the whole f*cked up situation. Well, what the hell were these poor people even supposed to say to all… that?

At that point, you hadn’t learned the whole “not oversharing your generational trauma with total strangers” rule of social conduct yet. In your book, those were all just simple facts stated plainly without filters, nothing to tip-toe around.

After a painfully long pause where everyone seemed frozen in stunned, mildly horrified bewilderment, it was your new self-appointed “bestie” Shoko who saved the day with her refreshing lack of tact. Pointing a finger at Suguru, she quipped, “Well, if that’s the requirement, then Weird Emo Bang over there qualifies too.”

Suguru shot her an exasperated look at the insistence on that stupid nickname, but still puffed out his chest with a heaping dose of masculine pride at the backhanded acknowledgment. “That’s right, I’m the strongest around,” he confirmed with a self-satisfied nod.

Not one to be so easily upstaged, Satoru rolled his eyes at Suguru’s casual posturing. “Uh, we’re BOTH the strongest,” he countered with a dismissive wave of his hand in Suguru’s general direction. “But obviously I’m still leagues above this bargain-bin Gojo-wanna-be.”

You considered their ridiculous bravado, head tilting as you assessed the level of truth in this rather bullsh*t claim. You didn’t think that’s how “being the strongest” actually worked. There could only be one top dog at any given time, right?

But you kept such pedantic observations to yourself for the moment. After all, there was still so much about this world you didn’t understand. And they’d known each other for quite some time. Maybe there were truly some nuances they knew better than you.

So you studied Suguru critically instead, taking in his tall stature and handsome if brooding features. He certainly looked like he could back up his arrogant claim, you had to admit, even if his overall vibes leaned more toward depressed pretty-boy than hardened warrior. But after fixing your eyes on him appraisingly for an uncomfortable stretch to the point he started fidgeting self-consciously, you shook your head.

“You wouldn’t do,” you concluded bluntly, not a shred of mercy to soften the rejection. “You’re not from a prestigious family. If I said I wanted to marry you, my elders would probably just burn your house down to the ground on principle.”

Even though he had literally just met you not even half an hour ago in this very room, Suguru seemed almost… miffed that he didn’t make the cut as a viable decoy marriage prospect. Raking a hand through his weird emo bang with a moody little huff, he couldn’t resist pushing back the frank dismissal of his romantic worth.

“Why the hell not, though?” he groused, somehow taking personal offense. “Two of the strongest is better than one, right?”

Or maybe the co*cky bastard just didn’t want to be one-upped by his best frenemy. Whatever, men and their fragile masculine pride complexes. Who could keep up with all that nonsensical posturing?

Still, you supposed having a plan B to fall back on couldn’t hurt your chances. So you accepted his offer with an indifferent shrug. “Okay, sure. If Satoru dies prematurely or something, I’ll tell my elders I want to marry you next.”

Shoko, already well on her way to becoming your new favorite person based purely on entertainment value alone, cackled at your contingency plan. Satoru himself, however, squawked with overblown indignation, feathers quite ruffled at being so readily replaced. Suguru, for his part, seemed pleased with securing the position of backup hubby for now, nodding as if it were already a done deal.

Soon enough, the two self-proclaimed strongest idiots had to head out on some mission or other they were apparently late for already, because Satoru had insisted they swing by to check on his “most favorite Zen’in” first before anything else.

Shoko took her leave too, chuckling something about looking forward to taking you shopping for some “big girl clothes” as she sashayed out. That left you alone with Haibara and the still-brooding Nanami in the now quiet room. Haibara hovered attentively by your bedside as usual. But Nanami kept an oddly wide berth, lingering near the door like he was worried you might declare you wanted him as backup hubby #2 if he ventured too close.

You waved him over with an imperious flick of your wrist. “Come here, you’re too far away for us to talk like normal people.”

Not that you actually had any concrete grasp on how “normal people” conducted conversations, but Nanami didn’t need to know that tiny detail. He relented, slouching over to perch stiffly at the foot of your bed. Well, good enough for now.

Haibara shot you a concerned, almost pleading look, eyebrows furrowing. “You wouldn’t… actually go through with marrying Gojo-senpai though, right?” he asked hesitantly, as if dreading the answer he expected.

You leaned back against the stiff headrest with a tired sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of your recent ordeal catching up to you again. “Of course not. He’s insufferable. I could barely survive being around him for an hour at a time.”

Nanami let out a low snicker at that ruthless assessment. “And yet you two seem awfully… close.”

“I guess you could say he’s… a childhood friend of sorts,” you conceded with a noncommittal shrug.

It wasn’t easy making friends as a clan kid. Satoru may have been an obnoxious prick for as long as you’d known him, but he also hadn’t been lying about you being his “most favorite Zen’in” either – simply by being the only Zen’in he could halfway tolerate associating with for any extended period ever since you were kids. Just like he counted as your most favorite Gojo too, for better or exponentially worse more often than not.

Not a ringing endorsem*nt by any means, but it was technically correct in the most depressing way.

Haibara did seem somewhat comforted, at least, by your confirmation that marrying good ol’ pal Satoru was never actually on the table – the worried crease between his brows easing slightly. You could understand his concern to some extent, as irrational as it may have seemed on a surface level.

But you still found his fretting to be rather silly and premature. You’d only just met the bumbling idiot a few days ago. Normally, people didn’t start entertaining serious thoughts about marriage this early after meeting someone, did they? Then again, perhaps Haibara wasn’t operating from a “normal” societal baseline either if he had already grown so attached to you in the handful of days since your paths first crossed on those stupid stairs.

The conversation mercifully managed to shift away from that unproductive discourse about hypothetical marriage arrangements, much to everyone’s relief. Haibara took the opportunity to fill you in on what had transpired after you literally crushed that warehouse to rubble pieces.

Since none of you bright sorcerers had remembered to cast a veil first, the entire explosive showdown played out for the civilian world to witness in awestruck horror. It had even made the evening news, much to poor Yaga’s mortified chagrin. The man had nearly torn out whatever remaining wisps of hair he had left in sheer stress over the PR disaster.

Well, how were you supposed to know casting veils was standard protocol before wrecking an area? You couldn’t be blamed for that oversight. If anything, it was Yaga’s fault. You had outright told the old man you knew jacksh*t about exorcising curses, and he had brazenly waved off your concerns. You pointed out as much to Haibara with a casual shrug.

Besides, surely your elders could compensate whoever owned that crumbling warehouse in cash if it really became an issue. No need to blow such trivial details out of proportion.

With that minor matter settled in your mind, you sank back onto the infirmary bed and allowed Haibara to continue fussing over you to his heart’s content. Nanami, meanwhile, just watched the two of you silently from his self-imposed distance – some indecipherable emotion simmering behind those warm hazel eyes.

Eventually, Shoko came back to shoo the boys away and ordered you to rest up. The night passed slowly as you drifted in and out of fitful rest. As a lifelong light sleeper, the slightest sound easily roused you from whatever shallow slumber you managed to find.

So when the softest footfalls began echoing down in the hallway outside your room, your eyes snapped open instantly, all senses on high alert. You remained still, listening to the approaching steps.

“Stop hovering outside my door, Nanami,” you called out, tone even and unamused once you identified the distinct pattern.

There was a muffled start of surprise before Nanami hesitantly poked his head into view, looking almost guilty at being caught.

“How did you know it was me out here?” he asked in a hushed murmur as he let himself into your room, drifting over to take a seat beside your bed this time without prompting.

“The sound of your footsteps,” you answered around a jaw-cracking yawn.

Nanami’s brows furrowed. “You could tell it was me just from that?”

You hummed a vague, sleepy noise of affirmation. Talking felt like such an unnecessary effort.

“Why are you awake anyway?” Nanami asked after a beat, shifting in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable.

Cracking open one eye, you shot him a mild look of pure “are you serious?” as you stated the obvious, “I wasn’t awake. I’m just a light sleeper. Your creeping around is what woke me up.”

A Zen’in who sleeps heavy is a Zen’in who dies early.

Nanami didn’t know that little fact.

He deflated a little at your accusation. “Oh...sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just… I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a little walk to clear my head. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

You nodded along, far too groggy and drained to question his midnight wandering habits at the moment. When you offered no further response, Nanami took it as an opening to keep nervously babbling on.

“I’m… sorry about how I acted earlier, by the way. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you like that. It was wrong of me.”

You squinted at him through bleary eyes. “So… you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Nanami shook his head firmly. “No, no… I wasn’t mad at you. It’s just…” He trailed off, features twisting like he was warring with how to properly articulate his thoughts before finishing lamely, “It’s complicated, I guess.”

You propped yourself up a bit more to study Nanami’s face properly. “Do you hate me, then?” you asked him point-blank, unable to parse any other logical reason behind the way he acted around you.

He startled at the painfully straightforward inquiry, staring at you like you’d just asked the stupidest question on earth.

“What? No! Of course not!” He sounded almost affronted at the mere suggestion.

You gave a small nod, unsurprised. You didn’t think he actually hated you either. Like, seriously, what was there to hate about you in the first place? But having the confirmation felt reassuring nonetheless.

With the low lighting from the moon filtering in through the lone window, you took a moment to openly study his face from your half-reclined position. Tracing over the soft hazel hue of his eyes, the stray lock of blond hair framing his face, the sharp angle of his jaw…

Nanami’s cheeks seemed to redden faintly under your scrutiny, but the dim lighting made it difficult to say for sure.

Perhaps if you’d been more well-rested, you could have channeled your mother’s cultured way with charming words. As it was, your exhausted tongue seemed to bypass your higher reasoning entirely as you voiced the first thought passing through your mind.

“You’re weird, Nanami,” you said with zero coyness. Mother would be livid.

The observation earned you a disgruntled breath from Nanami. “You’re one to talk,” he shot back, though without any real bite.

You hummed agreeably at the assessment. A long stretch lingered between you as Nanami seemed to mull over your respective weirdness.

Finally, he let out a soft sigh, gaze skittering away from your heavy-lidded stare. “Guess I’ll get going then. You should try to get more rest,” he mumbled, moving to push himself up from the bedside chair.

Before he could fully rise, however, you reached out on impulse, hand shooting out to catch the fabric of his sleeve between your fingers. Nanami froze, looking back at you with open surprise as you tugged him back toward you.

“Can you…” You hesitated for a second, wondering at the odd impulse even as the words spilled out in your usual matter-of-fact tone. “Can you hold my hand?”

Nanami looked blindsided, mouth dropping open slightly as if your simple request had been the absolute last thing he expected to come out of your mouth.

Ever since you were a tiny kid, it had been a comfort thing. Whenever you got seriously ill, Mother would hold your hand while you slept, so you would know she was there to watch over you – that you needn’t worry about footsteps or shadows. No one would dare come near you when Mother was at your side. Mother never let you get too dependent on the coddling though, only permitting her presence when you were sick enough to “truly require it.”

You couldn’t possibly dump all those layers of nuanced bullsh*t on Nanami, not when your brain was still operating at half-capacity, coherent thoughts slipping like sand through your fingers. So instead you settled for the simplest explanation as you gazed up at him. “It’ll make me feel better.”

He blinked once, twice – then heaved out a weary sigh, shaking his head as though resigning himself to the latest in a long line of your bizarre whims. After a moment’s hesitation, he settled himself back into the chair, reaching out to take your hand in his. You felt him stiffen slightly at the contact.

“You’re ridiculous, Eri,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than you.

You couldn’t help noticing how rough and calloused his palms felt contrasted with the surprising tenderness of his grip as your fingers intertwined. It was… nice. Comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You get five minutes and then I’m leaving,” Nanami stated firmly, as if giving himself a strict time limit on this nonsense.

You managed a sleepy smile at his long-suffering tone. Not one of Mother’s patented heart-stealing smiles, specialized to ensnare even the coldest of men. But for some reason, that faint expression of contentment still brought a noticeable flush dusting across Nanami’s cheeks before he quickly looked away.

That night, you discovered Nanami was a hopeless liar. Because by the time you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, he was still there holding your hand, long after the arbitrary five-minute time limit had expired.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Shopping for outfits suited to your new sorcerer career felt weirdly symbolic – like cracking open an important doorway after years of stifling restriction. Silly as that sounded, even in your own head. No more would you be suffocated in those oppressive traditional clothes, which your elders insisted all “proper” Zen’in women must eternally swaddle themselves in. No more teetering about on dainty sandals like some ceramic doll.

Before hitting the mall with Shoko, one quick errand first. You turned down the hallway housing faculty offices, Kusakabe’s workspace door hanging invitingly ajar. You announced your arrival with three crisp knuckle raps against the wood, then shoved it open the rest of the way because why not? The man startled up from his cluttered desk.

“I want pockets,” you demanded, not wasting time on greetings.

Kusakabe’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Come again, Zen’in-san?”

“Eri,” you corrected him. Then, reaching into the bag at your side, you whipped out one of your uniform skirts, flipping it inside out with a flourish to expose the shameful joke masquerading as pockets. Mere gaping open fabric slits stitched into the lining – utterly useless for actual storage purposes.

You fixed Kusakabe with a stern look. “You said to inform you if I needed my uniform tailored. Well, I want real, functional pockets added, with proper depth and zippers so I can actually carry my stuff. None of this decorative nonsense.”

Kusakabe’s mouth worked soundlessly, thrown by your brusque demands and refusal to adhere to politeness. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod. “Uh… right. Okay, I’ll get that taken care of. Please just… leave the skirt with me.”

“Good,” you said, dropping the skirt along with the other one still in the bag atop the nearest clear-ish surface on his disaster zone of a desk. “I expect quality workmanship, Kusakabe.”

Kusakabe looked at you blankly. You could see the confused gears grinding behind his eyes as he processed your flagrant disregard for honorific use. He was likely expecting at least some flimsy attempt at polite gratitude to butter him up for the uniform alterations. But such niceties weren’t part of your repertoire yet – in your limited experience, you were always the one to be addressed with every deferential honorific under the sun and things were always done for you as you pleased without need for gratitude.

After an uncomfortably long stretch, Kusakabe cleared his throat with an awkward “ah-hem.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he asked, “Anything else I can do for you, Eri… -san?” He tacked on the honorific like an afterthought, unable to abandon propriety even when you had led by example.

You tilted your head slightly, giving the matter of any additional requests a momentary ponder. “Yes, actually. Will you be personally overseeing my training?”

Kusakabe ran a hand through his already tousled hair, somehow managing to look even more nervous and flustered than before – despite supposedly inhabiting the esteemed teacher role here. “Ah, yeah, I guess so…. I’ll be in charge of all the first-year students.”

Holding his gaze, you asked, “So tell me then, have you ever trained a student who had zero previous combat experience before?”

Your words came out gentle, devoid of any accusatory tone. Still, Kusakabe audibly gulped. A strained smile cracked across his face. “Um… well, no, actually. This… this is my first time formally teaching anyone. I’m still on probationary period myself…” He trailed off with an uncomfortable chuckle.

You gave a mild nod, unbothered by his lack of prior experience. “I see. That’s quite all right, I suppose. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. My combat abilities are non-existent.” You waved a flippant hand as if physically brushing away the issue. “So feel free to do whatever remedial preparation you might require to account for that blank slate reality, yes?”

By this point, Kusakabe’s brow glistened with anxious beads of sweat, the poor man was reduced to robotic nodding motions. You turned on your heel and strode off without a single thought toward a polite farewell, leaving him to quietly suffer an apparent existential crisis alone in his cluttered office.

With the uniform pocket situation handled, the next crucial step would be to acquire servants… eh, helpers to cart around your inevitable mountain of shopping spoils. You had the perfect targets already in mind.

Haibara was an easy mark – that eager guy was more than happy to tag along wherever you beckoned without a second thought. But Nanami? Now that was a stubborn mule if you’d ever seen one. This straightforward request shouldn’t even require the effort of asking. He had both the spare time and premium-grade muscle mass to serve as an ideal pack mule. Why not put those assets to good use carrying your haul for once?

But of course, Nanami balked the second you opened your mouth to make the reasonable request. “I’m not your servant, Eri,” he huffed out, nostrils flaring.

As if a Zen’in would ever take no for an answer. Especially when you could smell even the barest whiff of a chance to get your way.

You shifted tactics with an airy wave of your hand. “But you said you would help with my training, did you not?”

Nanami’s eyes narrowed to judgmental slits. “And this has nothing to do with your actual training.”

“I need to buy proper training clothes for said training,” you pointed out reasonably.

He crossed his arms, lips pressing into a flat line. “No.”

Refusing to concede, you took a calculated step closer, tilting your head back to gaze up at Nanami through your lashes with your best approximation of wide, pleading eyes. Your lips even curved in a slight pout, knowing full well the effect this particular maneuver tended to have on the opposite sex.

“Just for one brief morning?” you implored, letting your voice soften. “It’ll be really nice to have your company there…”

You had never needed to say ‘please’ before. This damsel routine alone was always enough to bend people to your whims.

Sure enough, Nanami’s cheeks flooded with color, a furious crimson wave creeping up his neck as he spluttered and floundered incoherently. After an extended moment of embarrassed flailing, he managed to force out a terse, strangled “Stop doing that! FINE, I’ll go with you, okay?!”

You quickly dropped the saccharine expression, nodding in satisfaction. A Zen’in always got their way, through any means necessary – even if said means involved a little light manipulation and toying with unfortunate weak spots.

As Nanami stomped off to grab his jacket, you glanced sidelong at Shoko waiting by the doorway. She was doubled over wheezing with laughter, tears of mirth leaking from the corners of her eyes after witnessing your shameless ploy.

“Princess, you’re just… the worst!” she gasped out between strained giggles, clutching at her sides. “That boy doesn’t stand a chance!”

You shrugged unapologetically. The ends more than justified the means. Now you had your servants helpers assembled for a productive shopping expedition. Just as any proper lady should.

With Shoko’s expert guidance, it didn’t take long to accumulate everything you would need for your new sorcerer wardrobe – from training gear and casual everyday outfits to pajamas and even undergarments. For those more personal items, Shoko ordered Haibara and Nanami to wait a respectable distance away.

You weren’t terribly particular about clothing styles in general, so you trusted Shoko’s fashionable tastes and let her pick out whatever she deemed suitable. Your only requirement was that it all must make you look pretty. A reasonable enough demand.

Shoko scoffed at that directive. “Oh please. Even a potato sack would look pretty on you, princess.”

Despite the teasing words, she took careful consideration in coordinating proper color palettes and complementary combinations to match your fair skin, dark hair, and… unique eyes.

That last feature proved a little tricky to accommodate. Most people whose irises appeared black from a distance actually had some shade of deep brown upon closer inspection. But your eyes? Just pitch black. Fathomless midnight black, so dark that not a whisper of light reflected off the inky pools. It threw Shoko for a brief loop when she leaned in to examine them.

To her credit, she didn’t voice a single prying question about what cosmic wrong must have occurred to curse you with such endlessly dark orbs. For all her brash irreverence, Shoko demonstrated a great deal of sensitivity and understanding. It spared you from having to stumble through an awkward explanation about the lingering effects of being born without a soul.

With each new garment she handed you to try on, Shoko would scrutinize how the colors and tones played off your features and soulless eyes. Despite the inherent challenge, she seemed to find an unexpected joy in the task – muttering a constant stream of commentary under her breath as she worked.

You followed Shoko’s directions without question, dutifully turning this way and that to provide an unobstructed view for her eagle-eyed analysis from every angle. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, triple-checking that seams laid flat and hems hung evenly before giving any piece her approval.

“Hmm, we may need to go up a size in the chest area on this one,” Shoko mused at one point, eyeing your torso critically. “Just to allow some extra breathing room when you’re… well, you know.”

You glanced down at yourself. “When I’m what? There’s hardly anything there.”

“Yet!” Shoko amended with a bark of laughter, reaching out to flick teasing fingertips at the modest swell barely noticeable against the fabric. “Give it another year, princess. Then these little things will do some serious inflating, believe me.”

“I can just buy new clothes then.” You shrugged off the crass comment.

Such was Shoko’s way – unfiltered bluntness. You supposed that at the price of backstabbing your oldest friend, it was part of her role to account for all variables and other messy stuff that you didn’t understand.Like having a soul. And all the complicated feelings, nuances, and social cues that came pre-packaged with one.

While you had promised Shoko to spill all the juicy tea about Satoru as payment for her skilled shopping assistance, you thought after all the genuine care and effort she put into cultivating your new wardrobe, she deserved more than just access to Gojo’s stinky closet of skeletons.

As the final outfit was scrutinized and approved, you made her an enticing offer. “Why don’t you pick out whatever you want too, Sho? I’ll cover all the costs.”

Shoko’s perfectly arched brow inched up her forehead. “Seriously? You’ll just… buy me anything I want from here?”

You gave an airy shrug, pulling out the sleek black credit card issued to all of Zen’in Naobito’s children. “Probably not something exorbitant like a house or a yacht. I’ve never actually tested the limits, I’m sure my elders put a cap on how much I can charge though.” You waved the pristine card leisurely. “But clothes, makeup, accessories – that should all be fine.”

Shoko’s eyes lit up with intrigue at your implication of essentially unlimited funds. “Damn, so this is what they mean by clan-kid privilege, huh? Why does Gojo never treat me to anything nice like this?”

“Because he’s an ass,” you reminded Shoko.

She eyed you with impish delight. “You sure about this, princess? I don’t want your cold-hearted elders getting pissed and cutting you off if I go too hog wild with your generosity.”

You waved away her concern. “It’ll be fine. I still have my mother’s card as a backup just in case.”

Though in truth, you knew the miserly old farts who ran the Zen’in affairs would never risk the humiliation and loss of face from having Zen’in Naobito’s only legitimate daughter be unable to pay for simple purchases out in public. Your allowance was surely astronomical to avoid such indignities at all costs.

“Seriously, don’t hold back,” you told Shoko with an easy smile, gesturing around. “Get whatever catches your eye. I’ll cover the entire bill.”

With your blanket approval to indulge granted, Shoko took off in an excited frenzy – flitting around the department store like a sugared-up hummingbird. She scooped up stylish tops, trendy dresses, sleek athleisure pieces and accessories galore by the armful, seemingly unable to curb her appetite now that the spending floodgates were open. For some odd reason, she also amassed a rather hefty stack of lacy, colorful lingerie sets in various tantalizing styles.

When you shot her a quizzical look, Shoko just patted your cheek in a patronizing manner. “You’ll understand all about these later when you’re a little older and more… developed, princess.”

You stared at her flatly. “You know you’re only one year older than me, right?”

But Shoko just laughed off your attempted jab at the meager age gap, giving you a suggestive hip check. No matter, you decided. You would have plenty of time to figure out the nuances and allures of racy lingerie later. For now, with your joint massive retail acquisition complete, you and Shoko efficiently redistributed the teetering mountain of shopping plunder onto your pack mules – also known as Haibara and Nanami.

“Alright boys, you’re dismissed to head back to campus,” Shoko announced, shooing the two away with a flick of her wrist. “The ladies need some private debriefing time.”

As Nanami and Haibara turned to head out, you dug into your purse. You intended to try discreetly pressing some cash into their hands to at least cover transit fare back to the dorms and perhaps a small snack or drink for their troubles. But Nanami swatted your hand away with a huff, stalking off with his jaw clenched tight. Haibara gave you an apologetic shrug before scurrying after Nanami, struggling under the weight of all the bags he’d been saddled with.

You watched them go with a tiny frown. How needlessly difficult Nanami insisted on being over the simplest courtesies and attempts at appropriate compensation. Didn’t the idiot understand it was expected – practically mandatory – for ladies of your standing to reimburse any hired help properly? You’d have to work on pounding some basic etiquette into that guy’s thick skull.

With the baggage – both literal and figurative – ditched, it was just you and Shoko now.

You settled into a cozy little coffee shop filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed beans and baked goods. After ordering two ridiculously oversized, gooey milkshakes topped with an outrageous array of whipped cream, syrups, and sugary garnishes, Shoko dove right into the interrogation.

"So, how close are you and Gojo exactly?" she asked bluntly, her words muffled as she noisily slurped the milkshake, making sounds unfit for polite company.

You took a moment to consider your response as you eyed the grotesque display before you. “We meet around three times a year at our clans’ official gatherings.” A truthful statement, though the emphasis on “official” carried meaningful weight.

Of course, you omitted any mention of all the countless other times Satoru had unceremoniously materialized in your private quarters, using his infuriating teleportation technique to spirit you away on impromptu misadventures without so much as a “by your leave.” But you had only agreed to air out his dirty laundry, not showcase your own walk-in closet of skeletons. So you kept those compromising details to yourself.

Shoko made a thoughtful “hmm” sound as she calculated just how intimate that level of acquaintance truly implied. For regular people, it may not amount to much more than a simple greeting between nodding acquaintances. But considering you were both elite clan kids, that scheduling alone hinted at a certain unspoken closeness.

Leaning across the table conspiratorially, she tried again with the subtlety of a rampaging buffalo. “Alright, let me put it this way – on a scale from casual hangout buddies to seeing each other buck naked, where precisely does your relationship with Gojo fall?”

You answered immediately without hesitation. Honesty was, after all, the best policy. “I’ve seen him naked. Not the other way around, though.” A loaded statement that demanded further clarification.

Shoko’s eyes widened with interest as she jerked upright in her seat with such force her milkshake sloshed precariously. “Oh reaaaaally? Do tell, how did THAT situation happen?”

Pursing your lips, you tilted your head as you considered how to properly frame that particular anecdote. If you really spilled all the steamy details, Satoru may very well make good on past threats and bite your entire head off, inadvertently kicking off the Second Jujutsu Clan War and reducing you both to untethered vengeful spirits.

With a nonchalant shrug of faux indifference, you deflected. “Just a dumb accident. Nothing special.” A blatant lie, but one you sold with the smooth conviction of a skilled grifter.

Shoko deflated like a sad balloon, disappointed and unsatisfied by your evasive non-answer. “Laaame. You’re no fun, princess.”

Despite your evasiveness, Shoko remained vicious in her quest to dig up any potential skeletons or weaknesses to use as ammunition against Satoru. After taking another obnoxiously loud slurp of her milkshake, one that would make a ravenous animal seem reserved, she leaned forward with a suggestive smirk.

“Okay, so… how is he down there?” She made an exaggerated gesture towards her lap, leaving no ambiguity as to what specific anatomy she was referring to.

You blinked at her a few times, visibly processing and parsing out her crude implication like a computer buffering. Once it clicked, you tapped a finger against your chin thoughtfully.

“I don’t really have any basis for comparison, but I guess he seemed… okay?”

Years later, once you did eventually gain more empirical data points, for judging such attributes, you would come to realize that good old Satoru was doing far better than just “okay” in that department. But that particular awakening was a story for another time, locked behind the vaults of your mind.

For now, Shoko could only groan into her palms at your painfully oblivious response. Shifting tactics again, she tried a new line of questioning, one that hopefully didn’t require dealing in nuances.

“Is he… you know… a virgin at least? Please say he’s a virgin,” she asked, desperation tinging her words.

You shrugged again, nonplussed. “That’s never come up as a topic of conversation. I could ask him for you if you want?” You offered helpfully.

“Please don’t!” Shoko sputtered, looking mildly horrified at the very idea of you so bluntly propositioning Gojo about his sexual experience. “At least tell me if he’s ever had a girlfriend before? Or a crush, something?”

You shook your head, trying your best to jog your memory. “No official girlfriend that I’m aware of. Those kinds of relationships have to be clan-approved for political reasons. But he does have a bunch of celebrity crushes, I think.”

Dragging a hand through her meticulously styled hair, Shoko let out a frustrated grunt that bordered on unhinged. “Damn it princess, you’ve got to give me SOMETHING I can use as leverage over that arrogant prick! Some piping hot gossip, an embarrassing secret, a weird fetish – anything! What makes that insufferable narcissist human??”

Seeing Shoko’s evident exasperation, you racked your brain, determined to provide Shoko with at least some semi-useful ammunition against Satoru. Finally, something surfaced from the recesses of your memory.

“Um… he likes legs?”

Shoko perked up at this scrap of a lead. “Oh? Do elaborate,” she prompted eagerly.

Gesturing toward her exposed calves peeking out from her skirt, you relayed the comment with your typical frankness. “He said you have really great legs that would feel nice wrapping around his—”

The words spilled out in such as neutral, matter-of-fact tone that it took Shoko a few beats to realize you were not, in fact, joking at all this time. Her eyes blew wide as she abruptly threw up her hands, cutting you off mid-sentence with a horrified gasp.

“Oh my god, stop stop! I can’t believe he actually told you disgusting stuff like that!” She cringed, looking scandalized. “What kind of messed up things do you two even talk about?!”

Surprisingly, you felt a small need to defend what little honor Satoru had left after that exhibition. “He doesn’t really have anyone else to talk to.”

So, in essence, the answer to Shoko’s question was everything. Satoru unloaded every unfiltered thought and crude musing that popped into his perverted one-track mind, including the disturbingly graphic stuff, because you were his only friend and confidante. Apparently, that included his grotesquely vivid fantasies as well. Wasn’t that simply what best friends were for?

Shoko took a deep, calming breath as she visibly worked to remain patient with your brutal honesty and lack of social tact.

“Okay, fine. So he’s a leg man, I got it. That’s… something I can use, I suppose.” She grimaced. “Anything else you can give me on that jackass – but try to avoid the really skeezy stuff this time, yeah?”

You worried your lower lip between your teeth as you mentally rifled through your catalog of Satoru’s many idiosyncrasies and vulnerabilities. Finally, another innocent but potentially exploitable tidbit sprung to mind.

“Oh! He’s ticklish. Does that help at all?”

Shoko gave you a deeply skeptical look at that last revelation. “Really? He’s ticklish? I’ve tried that on Gojo before and he didn’t even flinch.”

You shook your head insistently. “He is ticklish, I promise. But you have to get him in just the right spots.”

“Try digging into here…” You angled your body slightly to the side, trailing your fingers along your own flank and ribcage to demonstrate. “...and here… and right about here too.” You tapped specific points almost clinically. “And if he’s being an extra-obnoxious jackass that day, zero in on the area just above his tailbone. He’ll fold like a lawn chair.”

Satoru would absolutely come for your backstabbing, betraying ass once he found out you were dishing this kind of classified information to Shoko. But you couldn’t resist the opportunity to metaphorically stick it to him.

A sly, triumphant look stole across Shoko’s face as she committed each vulnerability to memory, nodding seriously. Only for her eyes to suddenly narrow suspiciously a moment later.

“Uh… wait. How exactly did you figure out all these extremely specific details in the first place?”

You answered with a casual shrug, “Trial and error over the years.”

“Do I even want to know what kind of f*cked up ‘trials and errors’ went into discovering Gojo’s ticklish spots?” Shoko asked with a disturbed grimace, looking mildly nauseated.

You opened your mouth, ready to explain the long history of physical roughhousing, no-holds-barred wrestling matches and one-upmanship games you and Satoru had engaged in since childhood. How such extreme reconnaissance into his bodily weaknesses had been a brutal necessity at times in order to gain whatever petty advantages you could find against your monstrously powerful friend.

But before you could launch into those convoluted tales of childhood debauchery, Shoko let out an exaggerated groan and waved you off vehemently, her face scrunched up in disgust.

“You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know the gross things you two freaks probably got up to. Just… spare me the details, please,” she pleaded, looking pained.

You closed your mouth, vaguely tempted to argue that there was nothing inherently “gross” about it. Escalating feuds and rivalries into all-out brawls and bodily warfare was simply par for the course – all fair game in love and literal war between two sad*stic, unhinged clan kids raised on a steady diet of violence.

But before you could defend your questionable codes of conduct and childhood pastimes, Shoko squinted at you with undisguised suspicion glistening in her eyes.

“So what, he just… lets you torture him like that and take it? Doesn’t fight back or anything?”

“Of course he retaliates,” you replied easily, taking a pointed slurp of your shake. “He gives as good as he gets, I assure you.”

Shoko stared at you appraisingly, her expression flickering between morbid fascination and abject revulsion as she burned with an insatiable desire to extract more lurid details about the precise nature of these brutal reprisals. But seeming to think better of venturing down that rabbit hole, she ultimately relented with a visible shudder and shake of her head, as if to physically dislodge the mental images.

“Actually, you know what…” She announced firmly. “I only agreed to hear about HIS dirty secrets. Keep your own weird kinky sh*t to yourself, princess.”

With a fresh arsenal of Satoru’s weaknesses and exploitable quirks, Shoko seemed pleased with your debriefing for the time being. The two of you settled back, allowing the conversation to meander into more casual territory – dishing about fashion, makeup, heaping scorn on the entire dumbass male species, you know, the vital bonding rituals.

Shoko was buzzing with this giddy, infectious energy at finally having a girlfriend to indulge in all the clichéd girl talk she’d been deprived of. You were more than content to simply listen as she chattered away, studying her bright expressiveness with a studious fascination.

The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed too hard, her dimples winking. How her delicate eyebrows would do that judgy lil’ quirk at the latest gossip like a disapproving suburban mom. The slight scrunch of her freckled nose as she debated between multiple juicy toppings for her next shake order.

You cataloged each micro-expression and flutter of fleeting emotion that danced across Shoko’s open features, struck by how she never seemed to obscure or temper her feelings with pretenses or hidden agendas. Shoko was an open book, raw and real in a way no one in your twisted family ever allowed themselves to be.

What started as a clinical, impassive observation – born from your lifelong habit of scrutinizing everyone around you in a detached manner – gradually shifted into something else entirely. You found yourself fixating on the most random, pointless details about Shoko.

Like how freaking adorable the light sunburst of freckles looked dusted across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Or the way her megawatt smile could practically power the entire city grid when she really let it beam, crinkling the corners of her eyes into happy little crescents. The way her glossy hair framed her face just right, like she spent hours precisely arranging each lock.

You know that disorienting feeling when something just hits you outta nowhere? Sneaks up and smacks you upside the head when you least expect it?

That was the dawning realization that slowly bloomed in your mind – Shoko was just… really freaking pretty. Like, unfairly, almost offensively gorgeous in this low-key, next-door vibe kind of way that you’d just never consciously registered before now. It was confounding, really, how you’d managed to overlook it all this time.

Suddenly, Satoru’s whole creepy obsession with her made so much more sense. Now you could understand why he had never been able to shut his stupid mouth about her any time he brought her up, accidentally or otherwise. A girl like this could absolutely short-circuit any warm-blooded teenage boy’s brain into vapid, rambling submission.

You wondered if you could maybe pick Shoko’s brain for some wisdom about this whole pretty girl game she seemed so effortlessly gifted at. Like, what was the actual deal with all that sheer, barely-there lacy lingerie and crap she hoarded? Were you eventually gonna need a whole drawer for that kind of… gear? So many questions, so few appropriate people to ask.

You decided to just file away the curiosities for now, though. In this moment, you were contented to just be here with Shoko – your newest bestie. Satoru who?

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Despite that rage-aholic idiot Nanami pitching an unwarranted tantrum and refusing to let you compensate him for acting as your pack mule (the term “helper” was a stretch) during the shopping trip, you’d decided that the guys were still getting fancy food on your (elders’) dime anyway.

From the moment you could comprehend language, your mother had drilled it into you – never let yourself owe anyone any favors, period. Debts got called in at the worst possible times by the worst possible people infesting this miserable planet.

While your mother may have lacked the mystical air of jujutsu, she was every bit as feared and respected in those elite circles as the most powerful sorcerers. Sure, her family’s generational wealth certainly greased plenty of greedy palms, but Mother must have been doing something outrageously diabolical behind the scenes to command such terrifying influence – none of your insufferable maternal aunts came close to wielding that level of power.

You didn’t really think Nanami or Haibara would ever lord this silly shopping duty over your head as some big favor to cash in later. But still, Mother’s lessons had been burned into your soul (metaphorically speaking, of course) – staying debt-free just seemed like the safest life policy. And you aimed to always cover your bases, no matter how trivial the situation may seem.

So heeding your mother’s wisdom, you went to the most exorbitantly overpriced, obnoxiously pretentious sushi temple in all of Tokyo and ordered the entire damn menu without so much as blinking an eye. Just imagining the aneurysm-inducing shock on the old coots’ faces when they reviewed today’s budget massacre filled you with a twisted sense of perverse glee. Good, let those misers choke on their precious family finances.

Naturally, you figured Nanami and Haibara would be overjoyed – nay, downright giddy – when presented with the veritable mountain range of exquisitely crafted sushi you so generously bestowed upon them. But when the restaurant’s wide-eyed delivery guy dutifully dumped the gargantuan order onto the common room table at your command, both of them just… stared. Dumbfounded. Mouths agape like stunned codfish.

You briefly wondered if these guys somehow disliked sushi. That seemed implausible – sushi was the quintessential pinnacle of Japanese cuisine. Anyone dimwitted enough to claim otherwise simply hadn’t experienced the real elite stuff yet.

Nanami gestured at the teetering architectural marvels of nigiri and gunkan maki towers, a perplexed frown crinkling that aforementioned judgmental brow of his. “Uh… what’s all this?”

“Our lunch,” you stated matter-of-factly. Wasn’t that obvious? It should be self-evident.

Those narrow eyes slitted further in that annoying judgy way of his. “Did you clean out an entire restaurant or something?”

“I didn’t know what you guys would like, so I made sure there were plenty of options to choose from,” you waved a dismissive hand, lightly flicking one of the smaller takeout bags. “You don’t have to eat everything.”

A perfectly logical approach, really.

Haibara tentatively started peeking into the different bags and takeout containers with furrowed brows. “Eri, this must have cost a small fortune,” he muttered, sounding almost anxious. “You really, really shouldn’t have. We could get months worth of groceries for what this costs.”

A tiny, barely perceptible crease formed between your brows as you frowned at their bizarre reactions. What dimension were these guys operating in? Why couldn’t they just accept a nice gesture without turning it into an awkward production?

“You don’t need groceries,” you pointed out with a tone of pure reason. “The school provides us meals anyway. And I wanted to compensate you properly for your troubles today.” You gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s fine, really.”

At your poised explanation, Nanami’s expression darkened like thunderclouds rolling in over a children’s birthday party. “It’s not fine, Eri,” he hissed, raining on your well-intentioned parade as usual.

You were about to respond, but he abruptly turned and started stomping away. You called after him, genuinely confused. “So you don’t like sushi? I can order something else for you—”

Nanami cut you off without breaking his dramatic flounce. “I’m not hungry.”

Before he could take more than three steps though, you flicked one finger, paralyzing him in place with your technique. You were sick of the ill-tempered guy just storming off and ignoring you whenever he felt like it.

“What the hell, Eri?” Nanami growled as he realized what you’d done, his body rendered immobile. “Let me go right now, dammit.”

Haibara placed a hand on your forearm in a poorly executed attempt to placate the souring situation. “Eri…”

You swatted his hand away with the back of yours, keeping your focus on Nanami. “I’ll let you go when you tell me what’s wrong,” you demanded.

You could practically hear Nanami’s jaw clenching as he futilely fought against the binding shadows restraining his movements. No luck. So far the only person who could brute-force his way out of your Paralysis was Gojo Satoru. Oh, perhaps you could try it on Weird Emo Bang to verify his claim as the strongest.

Finally tired of struggling, Nanami exhaled a frustrated sigh that could have wilted flowers. “We’re not your hired help to be paid off, Eri. That’s what’s wrong. Now let me go before I really lose my sh*t.”

You blinked, still not quite understanding the heart of the issue that seemed to vex him so. But Haibara’s anxious hovering gave you pause. Glancing between his worried frown and Nanami’s tensed body betraying his simmering anger, you made the strategic decision not to antagonize him further for now. It was never a wise idea to corner men, even if you were technically stronger than them.

With a slight twitch of your finger, you released your restraining hold, causing Nanami to stumble forward a step from the sudden lack of resistance. You expected Nanami to whirl on you, screaming obscenities about the dick move you had just pulled on him. But instead, he simply shot you one last inscrutable look – disappointment? Frustration? Disgust? – before turning and stalking out without another word.

Nanami was being a complete raging asshole for no good reason. Like, seriously, who got pissed off when someone surprised them with exquisite gourmet delicacies? You crossed your arms, expecting Haibara to take your unquestionably reasonable side like the devoted puppy he usually was.

However, instead of loyally backing you up, Haibara just plopped down into a nearby chair with a heavy sigh. “Please don’t do that again, Eri.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

He motioned vaguely in your direction with one hand. “Your… technique. It’s incredibly powerful and… and terrifying if we’re being honest. To have your autonomy and control over your own body stripped away against your will like that…” Haibara shuddered. “It’s not a pleasant feeling at all. Don’t just use it on others so casually.”

A slight frown tugged at your lips as you processed his words. “I wouldn’t have hurt Nanami. I just wanted him to actually talk to me for once.”

Haibara nodded understandingly. “I know. But friends don’t restrain each other against their will, even temporarily. It’s… a violation of trust, you could say. So try to avoid doing that going forward, okay?”

You hadn’t really considered the situation from that inane perspective before. Perhaps Haibara had a point this time, loathe as you were to admit it. You moved to sit in the chair next to him, conceding the argument even as frustration toward Nanami’s unjustified behavior lingered.

“Fine, I won’t do that again,” you grumbled. “But he was still being an asshole. What’s so wrong with me trying to return a favor to you guys?”

Haibara turned to fully face you, a glimmer of realization flashing in his eyes as he seemed to connect some obvious dots.

“So… you think you owe us because we helped carry your shopping bags this morning? And now you need to repay that debt to us?” he asked carefully, as if afraid you’d snap and paralyze him too for stating such an absurd notion.

You met his inquisitive gaze squarely, not quite understanding the point he was trying to make. “Yes? I mean, it took time and effort out of your day. Hauling all those bags all the way back here couldn’t have been a mindless stroll in the park.”

Perhaps your understanding of how the world operated outside your clan’s warped traditions was still somewhat lacking. But you believed in the principle of equal exchanges. You may have been born soulless, but you weren’t unfair.

Haibara sighed deeply, sounding almost as if he was trying to maintain patience with a particularly dense preschooler. “And that’s exactly what’s wrong here, Eri. Not everything has to be a transaction.”

You opened your mouth to disagree, but Haibara pressed on before you could argue.

“We helped you out because we wanted to. As friends, not hired labor,” he stated firmly. “We don’t expect you to pay us back now or at some point later. You don’t owe us anything at all. That’s just what friends do for each other.”

Those last few words hung in the air as you processed their unthinkable meaning, rendering you momentarily speechless. Everyone in your life up to this point had always tried to curry favor, to get you indebted to them in some way from the moment you took your first breath. This was the first time someone had outright refused to hold their assistance over you as leverage to be exploited later.

You could only stare at Haibara, at a complete loss for how to even begin reacting to such an alien concept. What would Mother say to this madness?

This conversation was veering into deeply uncomfortable existential territory that threatened to undermine your entire cultivated worldview. Part of you was tempted to redirect by deploying one of Mother’s smiles again. But the painfully earnest, almost pleading expression on Haibara’s face dissuaded you. You doubted he would react positively to such an obvious deflection tactic this time.

Seeking an escape, you averted your gaze, eyes landing on the towering pile of beautifully packaged sushi still sitting untouched and inviting on the table. “So you guys… really aren’t going to eat any of that?” you asked with an exaggerated sniffle, hoping the feeble ruse might distract him.

Haibara saw right through your transparent attempt at changing the subject. Rather than call you out on it, he simply smiled that same warm, disarming smile and extended his hand toward you – not to take yours, but leaving his palm open in offering.

You blinked at his outstretched hand for a moment, your mind racing to calculate what Mother would do. But you quickly gave up. Mother would never have allowed herself to stumble into such a ridiculous scenario in the first place.

Pushing aside your habit of channeling Mother’s wisdom, you opted for the first impulsive, slightly terrifying thing that came to mind – placing your hand in Haibara’s calloused palm. He gave it a gentle squeeze as his earnest gaze met yours once more.

“So let me get this straight,” he began, his patient smile never wavering. “Did you really order this absurd amount of high-end sushi just to try repaying us? Or did you actually want to share a meal with your friends too?”

You tilted your head slightly, honestly considering his question for perhaps the first time without your defenses obstructing the view. “I… I suppose do want to eat together,” you admitted in a smaller voice than intended. “With you guys.”

A wide, boyish grin stretched across Haibara’s face as if savoring a private joke at your emotionally constipated expense. “See? That’s not so difficult, is it?” He gave your hand another squeeze, rubbing your knuckles with his thumbs. “We’re your friends, Eri, and that’s why we like doing things for you. Sometimes it really can be that simple.”

Then, he grabbed your hand and yanked you up to your feet with surprising strength. Somehow, in one smooth motion, Haibara managed to gather up the entire massive sushi order, cradling the numerous boxes and bags precariously in his arms.

“What are you doing?” you sputtered in confusion as he started heading for the door.

He shot you a mischievous smile over the teetering tower of food containers. “Let’s eat together, just us friends.”

With his arms completely full, Haibara lifted his chin toward the bag containing various sauces and condiments. “Could you grab that last one, Eri?”

You could only stare back at him, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity. One simply did not order Zen’in Eri around – especially not to perform menial tasks. That was an outrageous violation of how things were supposed to work.

But before you could inform him of the severe crime he was committing, Haibara was already hauling the improbable sushi mountain out into the hallway, leaving you little choice but to snatch up the bag of extras and hurry along after him.

It didn’t take long to realize he was leading you straight to Nanami’s room. As you approached the closed door, Haibara hollered out cheerfully with no sense of propriety, “Oi, Nanami! Let’s all eat this fancy sushi together!”

When no response came, he started singing the other guy’s name in an increasingly grating cadence, accompanying it by kicking his foot against the door like some annoying door-to-door salesman. He would probably have been terrifyingly effective at that job, you mused.

The juvenile tactic soon paid off as Nanami’s irritated bark sounded from within the room. “Go away, Haibara! I’m not in the mood.”

“This is… embarrassing,” you muttered under your breath as you glanced around the dormitory hallway with thinly veiled horror.

If any of your elders could see you right now – standing outside some random peasant boy’s room holding a bag of condiments like a kitchen maid awaiting an audience - the catastrophic mortification would ensure your immediate and permanent disownment from the clan. Mother would ascend directly to the roots of the ancestral bloodline tree.

Haibara didn’t seem to grasp the full implications of the demeaning situation he’d put you in. Without a single care in the world, he simply… squatted down and deposited the entire towering stack of sushi boxes and bags onto the hallway floor like some uncivilized savage.

Then, as if this disgraceful scenario couldn’t plumb more abysmal depths of indignity, the unrepentant savage reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it an insistent tug. “We’ll just sit here then,” he declared with an easy smile, like it was the most logical course of action.

You couldn’t quite believe the audacity of this idiot. An imperious huff of disbelieving air escaped your nostrils as you pointedly put your foot down on this lunacy. “I am not sitting on the floor with you. That’s unsanitary.”

Haibara actually had the gall to snort a small laugh at your objection, clearly amused by your righteous indignation. “You’re a sorcerer, Eri. Soon you’ll have to sit on surfaces far more gross than just a clean hallway floor. Having a casual lunch sitting on the floor isn’t that bad, trust me.”

Still, he seemed to concede your point somewhat, shrugging off his ratty old hoodie and laying it down on the floor next to where he sat. Haibara patted the bunched-up fabric invitingly. “There, is that more acceptable?”

You fixed him with a look of utter disbelief, silently asking whether his stupid face was really serious right now. When his affable expression didn’t waver in the slightest, you realized with steadily mounting horror the barbarian wasn’t just joking around.

With no other remotely palatable option presenting itself thanks to Haibara’s unshakable tenacity, you gingerly lowered yourself with great trepidation to sit upon the gross hallway floor, carefully keeping your weight centered atop Haibara’s worn hoodie in an uncomfortable perch, trying your utmost to avoid so much as brushing against the questionable floor.

And so there you were, begrudgingly taking part in this humiliating picnic lunch right outside Nanami’s door. You still couldn’t quite believe you’d allowed Haibara to cajole you into this preposterous situation in the first place. There had to be something disastrously wrong with your mental faculties beyond just the whole soulless predicament. Surely no normal, self-respecting person would ever stoop to this level of indignity.

Haibara must have some kind of broken cursed technique that allowed him to compel people into joining his foolish acts of depravity against their better judgment. A variant of Cursed Speech, perhaps. It would explain his baffling ability to drag you so thoroughly out of your natural austere element at every turn.

Ugh, no point dwelling on it now – best to just power through this embarrassing circ*mstance as quickly as possible. Determined to at least maintain what tattered shreds of dignity you had left, you tried your best to eat the fancy sushi rolls and nigiri with proper decorum and poise.

Meanwhile, Haibara was positively shoveling the food into his mouth at a blistering pace. Worse, he continued making a ruckus by shouting through mouthfuls at the still-closed door.

“Oi, ‘Nami! This premium stuff is really freakin’ good!” Haibara projected between messy bites, bits of rice spraying out to land on his threadbare t-shirt. “You gotta come try some, man! Wait, here – let me save you some rolls, yeah?”

You shot him your most judgmental stare as another scatter of rice fell from his overstuffed maw to join the growing mass accumulating on his shirt front. At this charming rate, his t-shirt was going to be more sauces and crumbs than actual fabric by the time this absurd “picnic” concluded.

Did this absolute animal of a man seriously not have any concept of basic table manners? Maybe he’d been raised by actual wolves in the wilderness.

As if sensing the scorching heat of your critical gaze, Haibara paused his furious devouring for a moment to flash you a disarmingly bright, food-smeared grin of pure innocence. “Whash wit’ dat look, Eri?” he mumbled around his full mouth.

Instinctively, you leaned away from his sauce-flecked vicinity. “If you get even one drop of that sauce on me, Yu, I swear upon the honor of my clan I will shove you headfirst down the nearest stairwell,” you stated coolly with murderous eyes.

Haibara was really pushing his luck to the absolute limits at this point. Rather than looking chastened by your very serious threat of grievous bodily retaliation, that insufferable grin of his only seemed to widen with wolfish glee. Swiping some stray teriyaki sauce onto his index finger, he started extending the offending digit right toward your face in a blatant challenge to your authority and personal space.

“It’s just food, Eri, relaaax,” he laughed carelessly with a teasing lilt. “Not gonna, y’know, kill you or anything.”

Oh, you were absolutely NOT relaxing one iota in the face of his sudden unhinged behavior. Recoiling against the wall, you tried to put as much self-preserving distance between yourself and this wild jungle creature masquerading as a friend.

“Don’t you dare bring that anywhere within breathing distance of me!” you warned in a low, dangerous hiss befitting your noble status and supreme disgust.

But Haibara remained completely unrepentant, continuing his sauce-fingered approach with that stupid, taunting smirk plastered on his stupid face. You’d thought the guy was supposed to be one of the sweet, polite ones. How naively mistaken you’d been in that grievous assessment of his character.

In a split-second, you weighed the drastic option of simply paralyzing him then and there. But then you recalled your ill-advised promise to Haibara that you wouldn’t use your technique on him or Nanami like that again. Had this scheming asshole somehow planned and baited you into this whole thing from the very start?

As his sauce-laden fingertip loomed perilously close to swiping the pristine bridge of your scrunched nose, you braced yourself for the ultimate, most undignified of resorts – drawing a deep breath before letting loose with an ear-piercing shriek of “HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP!”

The hallway’s confined dimensions amplified and concentrated the sonic intensity of your desperate cry for emergency intervention, ensuring even those rooms further away would have their occupants roused from the commotion. Hopefully that would summon someone – anyone with a modicum of sanity – to rush to your aid and rescue you from this escalating madness.

Nanami’s door flew open with a reverberating bang, the sour-faced guy himself bursting out into the hallway looking alert and primed for potential combat against unseen assailants.

“Eri?!” His wide eyes immediately found you cowering against the wall, mouth still hanging open mid-screech as a look of abject fear and disgust twisted your refined features.

It took Nanami only a second to fully take in and process the absolute chaos of the scene laid out before him. You and the feral Haibara sitting amidst a scattered explosion of upended sushi boxes, disheveled takeout bags, and various spilled sauces – the hallway floor looking like the aftermath of a small-scale war zone. Haibara himself was an utter mess, covered in food debris as he hovered over you with a teriyaki sauce-dipped finger extended menacingly toward your face like a loaded weapon.

Nanami’s eyes twitched as the sheer absurdity sank in. “What on earth are you gremlins doing out in front of my door?” he demanded, tone laden with a mix of confusion and vague accusation.

Upon seeing Nanami finally emerge, Haibara perked up, pulling his offending sauced finger away from your personal airspace slightly.

“Oh good, you finally came out! I guess I should have tried screaming bloody murder sooner if I knew that would work.”

Sensing your tormenter was briefly distracted, you seized the opportunity presented. Lashing out with one foot, you kicked Haibara squarely in the side with as much vicious force as you could muster from your compromised position on the filthy hallway floor. You’d promised not to use your technique on them, sure, but nobody said anything about regular old-fashioned violence.

The solid kick connected with a meaty thump, knocking the breath from Haibara as he was sent toppling over onto his side with a yelp of surprise. Various sauces and rice grains scattered everywhere from the impact.

If Nanami’s signature stare of judgment could get any more scathing, it most certainly did in that moment, boring holes into the both of you with silent disapproval.

Of course, one measly kick wasn’t nearly enough to put down the feral beast that was Haibara Yu. He scrambled right back up into a seated position, dusting himself off and flashing that stupid, unrepentant grin back at Nanami.

“Well, now that you’re already here, might as well sit down and grab a bite too, eh?” Haibara gestured openly at the scattered sushi feast.

Nanami stared at Haibara with that same look of profound bewilderment and disbelief you had leveled at the unhinged fool earlier – one that questioned whether the guy had all his marbles properly secured upstairs in that thick skull of his.

“You’re crazy, Haibara,” Nanami shook his head slowly.

You gave a firm nod of agreement with Nanami’s astute assessment.

But as always, Haibara was relentless in pushing his unorthodox agenda. “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be fun, I swear! Just hang out and chill with your buddies, y’know?”

Haibara turned toward you as if looking for an ally to assist in his insane campaign. But you were ready for his shenanigans this time. You deftly dodged out of range of those sauce-stained paws before he could make any undesired physical contact. No need for him to actually touch you again – you got the general idea loud and clear. A haughty huff of disdain slipped from your nostrils as you stared him down one more time for good measure.

Then, almost surprising yourself, you lifted your gaze up to meet Nanami’s skeptical eyes.

“I…” you paused, the words feeling weirdly stuck in your throat.

But you were a Zen’in. And a Zen’in always finished what they started, no matter the undignified circ*mstance.

“I’d like for us to share this meal together. As friends. If that’s okay with you.”

The words felt clumsy and foreign as you forced them out, but it was as close to an apology as you could muster. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling an uncharacteristic bout of nervousness prickling at you. Which was weird – you never got nervous. If anything, it was usually the people around you suffering from nerves in your presence.

But you stubbornly held Nanami’s inscrutable gaze, keeping your expression unguarded and guileless for once. Mercifully, Nanami seemed to take pity on your painfully awkward attempt at making amends. With a slight shake of his head, he uncrossed his arms and lowered himself to sit on the floor across from you and Haibara.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed, sounding every bit as exasperated as the pinched look on his face implied. “But next time, we eat in the actual dining hall like civilized people, alright? No more of these ridiculous hallway picnics.”

“Absolutely,” you nodded.

Haibara just laughed loudly, tossing Nanami a fresh set of chopsticks from one of the bags. “But it would be more fun this way,” he grinned.

Which Nanami didn’t even dignify with a verbal response, simply shooting Haibara one of his signature withering looks before reluctantly digging into the cooling spread of premium sushi.

The initial awkwardness dissipated as the three of you settled into an easy rhythm of passing dishes and boxes around the circle. Haibara, as always, was an absolute mess – happily plowing through plate after plate while getting sauces and rice grains practically everywhere in the general vicinity during his feeding frenzy. But for some indiscernible reason, his feral eating habits didn’t seem quite so off-putting to your sensibilities anymore.

At one point, a stray piece of shrimp tempura went unexpectedly airborne after one of Haibara’s overenthusiastic bites, the deep-fried projectile almost beaning you square in the forehead before Nanami snatched it out of the air just inches from your face with his quick reflexes.

“I will stab you in your sleep,” you informed Haibara with a dead serious face, which only caused him to double down with laughter, sending more errant rice grains raining in your direction.

To your mild shock, Nanami let out a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest, nearly making you jump at the unexpected sound. You couldn’t recall the last time, if ever, you’d heard him actually laugh in good spirits.

“Here, let me get that for you,” Nanami murmured, his usual brusque monotone softening as he leaned in close.

Calloused fingertips grazed the side of your face as Nanami plucked the offending grain from where it clung to your hair. His fingers seemed to linger perhaps a beat too long, brushing along your temple in an unhurried caress. The roughened pad of his thumb whispered across your cheekbone with exquisite tenderness as he drew his hand back, seeming to move at half-speed before his hand finally fell away.

The casual intimacy of the simple gesture gave you a slight start. But not an unpleasant one, you realized with mild surprise. More just… an unfamiliar flutter of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Haibara’s movements stilled as he caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye. His gaze softened wistfully. There was a glimmer in his warm eyes, some sort of emotion that you hadn’t learned to read yet. For a fleeting moment, Haibara seemed to get lost in his own thoughts. But then, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, snapping himself out of the brief reverie. His usual bright grin returning, he seamlessly carried on babbling about some inane topic as if nothing had happened at all.

As you and the guys continued digging into the sushi sprawl, you felt a strange warmth blooming in your chest. An odd, but not unwelcome sense of contentment. The corners of your lips curved upward in what you suspected might be the subtle beginnings of a genuine smile before you could think to school your features back to neutral.

Haibara seemed to notice your smile, his attention briefly catching on your expression before he ducked his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. His rambling about the food or whatever died down to a more subdued murmur as he focused more intently on shoveling sushi into his mouth, as if to keep himself from looking your way again.

Perhaps, this was what normal people did with their friends? Simply enjoying sharing food and company without keeping a mental tally of debts and favors? You still didn’t quite grasp the allure of eating communal meals while sitting on dirty floors like barbarians. But you supposed this particular circ*mstance with these two particular idiots wasn’t so unbearable after all. In fact, you could even get used to this.