Chirp, Chirp, Chirp.
Shiki woke up to the soft light streaming in from the window and the sound of birds chirping outside. Stretching lazily, she realized it was the most comfortable rest she'd had in a long time.
Despite everything that had happened, she felt strangely refreshed—more energy than she'd had in days. She got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom to freshen up.
After washing her face, she slipped into her usual kimono, tying it securely. Her hand rested briefly on the hilt of her sword, its familiar weight grounding her as she headed out of the room.
The distant sound of hammering and murmured voices filled the air. The aftermath of the battle still lingered, with school staff moving the injured and cleaning up the destruction.
"Shoko's probably drowning in this mess," Shiki muttered to herself. With Shoko being the only one able to heal using reverse cursed energy, she must be completely exhausted. Shiki wouldn't trade places with her.
She made her way toward the dojo, where the sounds of the school's recovery were more muted. The air here was quieter, more focused. As she approached, she spotted Maki standing near the entrance, her weapon at the ready. Her posture was tense, her expression hard.
"Morning," Shiki said, her voice flat, offering nothing more than the bare greeting.
Maki didn't look up immediately. "Morning," she replied curtly, her tone sharp as always, though there was a slight edge of strain in her voice.
For a moment, they stood there in silence. Shiki, in her detached way, didn't mind the quiet, but she could sense the tension between them, like an invisible thread stretched too tight. Maki wasn't one to dwell on things, always preferring action over words.
"Training already?" Shiki asked, more out of habit than genuine curiosity.
"Yeah. I don't have time to sit around doing nothing," Maki's words were blunt, focused. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries—she never was.
"Should we spar?" Maki asked, not looking for a conversation. Just action. That was her style.
Shiki raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "In your condition? You really think you can handle it?"
"I don't need you to worry about me. I'm not broken."
"Alright." Shiki gave a brief nod, and they headed into the dojo together.
Both moved into position, taking their places on the dojo mat. Shiki's eyes never left Maki, watching every shift in her posture, every subtle movement. Despite the stiffness in Maki's body, there was still fire in her stance. Shiki could respect that—Maki always fought like she had something to achieve, and in a way, so did Shiki.
"Ready?" Maki asked, her voice clipped and serious.
Shiki gave a short nod, her expression as stoic as ever.
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Maki POV
I tightened my grip on my weapon as Shiki stood across from me, her eyes locked onto mine. Every time we sparred, it felt like I was up against a brick wall—but I wouldn't back down. I couldn't. I had to push forward, no matter how far ahead of me she seemed.
"Ready?" I asked, my voice carrying more confidence than I felt. The tension in the air wasn't coming from her, though. It was from me. I hated how she never seemed fazed.
Shiki gave a short nod, her expression as stoic as ever.
I lunged first, aiming straight for her midsection, trying to catch her off guard with speed. But Shiki was always two steps ahead. She sidestepped with fluid ease, her sword already swinging in a calculated arc toward my shoulder.
I barely dodged, twisting my body just in time. But the second I regained my footing, she was on me again—no hesitation, no mercy. She never wasted movement, never gave an inch.
Her blade came at me in rapid succession, each strike more precise than the last. I parried, but every clash of our weapons sent a painful reminder through my injured limbs. I grit my teeth, refusing to show weakness.
Shiki's movements were relentless but methodical. A swift jab toward my ribs made me block awkwardly, and before I could catch my breath, she feinted high, forcing me to raise my guard. The real attack came low, aimed at sweeping my legs.
I jumped back, barely evading her blade, but it was clear—I was being toyed with. She could've finished me several times, and we both knew it. The fact she didn't only made the anger burn hotter in my chest.
"Stop holding back, Shiki," I growled, my frustration rising.
Her expression didn't change. "If I didn't, you'd already be on the ground."
Her words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. Still, my pride wouldn't let me accept it.
"Is that supposed to be mercy?" I snarled, launching another attack, this time aiming for her head. Shiki's blade met mine in a flash of steel, and before I could react, she twisted her wrist, knocking my sword aside. Her counterattack was swift and brutal—her sword came down in a sharp arc.
I blocked, but the force sent me stumbling back, my legs shaking under the weight of exhaustion.
She didn't stop. With one final, precise thrust, Shiki's blade found its mark—my abdomen. I grunted, the impact driving the air from my lungs as I fell back, clutching the spot where her blade had landed. She'd pulled the strike, but it didn't matter. I knew she'd won.
I hit the mat hard, my breath ragged. Shiki stood over me, her weapon lowered, her expression as unreadable as ever.
"End of the spar," she said, her tone flat, indifferent.
I wanted to scream. To yell at her. But what would be the point? I'd lost. Again.
Shiki sat down beside me, her breathing steady, a single bead of sweat trickling down her face. Even after all that, she looked…
My breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. I leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling as I tried to collect myself. Every muscle ached, and the dull throb of my injuries was a constant reminder that I wasn't good enough—not yet.
Shiki didn't speak, just like always. She never bothered with small talk, never cared to fill the silence with anything but her presence. Conversations with her were like sparring—draining, one-sided, and ultimately futile.
"Why do you do this?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. I didn't know why I asked—it just slipped out.
She didn't respond immediately, just stared at me with those cold eyes. "Because it's necessary," she finally said, her tone flat, like she was explaining the simplest thing in the world.
The silence stretched on, and I stared at the floor, feeling the weight of everything that had been boiling inside me. I hated feeling like this. Weak. Useless.
"I'm tired of this," I muttered.
"Every single day, I push myself to the limit. I try, I fight, and it's never enough. Not against you, not against anyone. I'm not like the others. I don't have cursed energy; I don't have powers. All I have is this."
I held up my sword, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than ever.
"And even that's not enough."
The frustration that had been building for so long spilled out in those words. This feeling of inadequacy was a bitter pill to swallow. It was pathetic, in a way. I wasn't asking for sympathy or validation. I was stating a fact—one that cut deeper than I liked to admit.
After pouring out my frustrations, I looked at Shiki, who remained silent. Her lack of response was almost more cutting than any words. It stung, but I didn't expect anything else from her. I didn't need comfort; I needed a target.
"Doesn't matter what they think," I muttered, more to myself than to Shiki, my voice steely with resolve. "I'll surpass them all. I don't care how long it takes."
Shiki, leaning casually against the wall, said nothing for a moment.
"If you think you're still trying to prove something, then you're wasting your time," she finally said, her voice calm, cutting through the silence like a blade. "Get stronger, or don't. Complaints and promises won't make it happen."
I narrowed my eyes, not in anger, but in determination. I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me falter. "Who said I'm complaining?" I shot back.
"I'll show them what I'm capable of. I don't need validation. I just need results."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, though it was more bitter than amused. She straightened up, as she prepared to leave.
She turned to go, her back to me, but paused briefly at the door. Without looking back, Shiki spoke, her voice as emotionless as ever.
"Recognition won't change anything if you've already been marked as worthless from the start. All you need is to shut them up with your strength. Results matter, not their approval." Then, with a soft click of the door, she was gone, leaving me standing there with nothing but the echoes of her words.
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After hearing Maki's outburst, Shiki left behind a few encouraging words.
She didn't know if that counted as encouragement, but it was the closest she could come. Shiki's words weren't meant to be comforting; they were blunt, matter-of-fact. To her, the truth was simple. If you were strong enough, people would have no choice but to acknowledge you. Respect and recognition were just byproducts of strength, nothing more.
Shiki couldn't fully understand the weight of Maki's struggles—growing up in the Zenin clan, constantly battling against an outdated mindset that valued cursed techniques above all else. From what she'd heard from Gojo, the Zenin clan was relentless in its prejudice, treating those without cursed energy as if they were worthless. And being a woman in that world? Even harder.
Maki was the perfect example of someone who had to fight for every inch of ground she gained, pushing herself harder than anyone else to compensate for her lack of cursed energy. She used sheer physical strength to carve out her place in the world, but no matter how hard she fought, it never seemed to be enough. In the Zenin clan's eyes, without cursed techniques, she would always be lacking.
Shiki could see it, even if she didn't fully relate. From Maki's perspective, Shiki was someone who seemed effortlessly gifted, possessing an ability that put her leagues ahead of most.
Maki might have started out indifferent to her, but over time, the gap between them became more obvious. And then, when Geto had attacked the school, Maki's feelings of inadequacy had only deepened. She hadn't been able to defeat him. She hadn't even been able to stall him for long. In the end, it had been Yuta who had saved the day.
For someone like Maki, who prided herself on her strength and independence, it was a bitter pill to swallow. She felt useless—a burden, unable to contribute when it mattered most.
And yet... Shiki still didn't understand.
She listened to Maki's words, heard the pain and frustration in her voice, but the feelings didn't resonate with her. Shiki had always been distant, emotionally detached, and while she could recognize Maki's struggle, she couldn't empathize. She didn't know how.
She listened, but beyond that, what could she do? She didn't have the capacity to feel sympathy for others. Maki's desire to be recognized by the Zenin clan, by the jujutsu world, meant little to Shiki. To her, recognition was just a hollow concept. Achievements— real tangible results were what mattered.
"Recognition won't change anything if you've already been marked as worthless from the start. All you need is to shut them up with your strength. Results matter, not their approval." Shiki had said
The words were simple, perhaps even callous, but that was how Shiki saw the world. If she were in Maki's shoes, she wouldn't care what anyone thought. She'd brute-force her way to the top, disregarding everything else. If Maki could grow stronger, that was good. If not, then that was her limit.
Shiki didn't stick around to see how Maki reacted. After delivering her message, she turned and left the dojo, her mind wandering as she roamed the school grounds aimlessly.
As Shiki wandered, she felt a presence behind her, prompting her to turn around. A staff member stood there, unfamiliar to her—a new face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, her expression unreadable as always.
"Are you Ryougi Shiki?" the man in front of her asked.
"What do you want?" Shiki asked, her voice cold and distant as ever.
"Please come with me. The elders wish to meet you," he said, gesturing for her to follow.
Shiki raised an eyebrow, mildly curious. The higher ups summoning her was unusual. Typically, it was Gojo or the principal who handled such matters. As a Grade 4 sorcerer with no cursed energy, she was well aware of the disdain the higher-ups had for people like her. Their sudden interest in her piqued her curiosity, but not enough to ask questions.
Silently, Shiki followed the man down a narrow corridor. They eventually reached a staircase leading upward. The path felt familiar—it was the same one she had taken when she first encountered Gojo.
They ascended in silence, the air growing colder as they climbed higher. At the top, they arrived at a cave entrance with an old wooden door slightly ajar. As they neared it, the door creaked open on its own, as though expecting her.
"Come in," a voice from within beckoned.
Shiki stood at the entrance of the supposed higher ups resides, its dim interior flickering with faint light from the torches mounted along the walls. The air was cool and musty, the distant echoes of dripping water adding to the eerie atmosphere.
The man who had escorted her gestured inside, and Shiki stepped forward without hesitation. Her eyes scanned the area ahead, already feeling detached from whatever nonsense awaited her beyond the open door. The elders, hidden within the shadows of the room, had clearly been waiting for her arrival.
It was a dimly lit room, and their identities concealed behind closed doors. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the chamber.
"Ryougi Shiki," one of the elders began, his voice carrying a weighty authority that barely registered with her. "You have become a peculiar figure in our institution, a sorcerer without cursed energy yet capable of wielding a most peculiar power."
Another elder chimed in, his tone dripping with disdain. "You are a curiosity at best. A wild card that threatens to disrupt the order we have long established. Your association with Gojo Satoru makes you... difficult to ignore."
Shiki's gaze remained unfocused, her mind already wandering. The elders voices blended into a monotonous drone as they continued with their endless posturing.
They droned on, talking about the old ways of jujutsu sorcery, the legacy of their clan, how her existence could upset the balance if left unchecked. It was all nonsense, the same archaic beliefs she'd come to expect from people stuck in their outdated ways. She was only half-listening, her mind growing restless.
'No wonder Gojo doesn't bother with them,' Shiki thought to herself.
She wondered why she had even bothered to come. She could be training, resting, or simply staring at the sky and feeling less irritated. These people were wasting her time with their self-importance. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword out of habit, grounding her amidst their endless lecturing.
Suddenly, one of the elders cleared his throat, drawing her back into the present. "Despite your... unique status, the higher-ups have decided that it is time for you to be promoted to the rank of First Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer."
Shiki's expression barely shifted, A First Grade Sorcerer? That was a considerable leap for someone like her, especially considering the disdain these people had for anyone without cursed energy.
"You will be assigned a mission," the elder continued. "And Kento Nanami will accompany you as your superior during this trial. If you prove yourself capable, your promotion will be formalized."
Shiki knew the process well. To become a First Grade Sorcerer, you needed the recommendations of at least two existing Grade 1 sorcerers. Afterward, you'd be sent on several missions with a Grade 1 to assess your skills.
"Why now? You've never cared much for someone without cursed energy." Shiki, in her usual stoic manner, simply tilted her head slightly.
The room fell silent for a moment, The same elder who had spoken before narrowed his eyes at her.
"You are as brazen as Gojo Satoru," he spat. "Always questioning, always thinking you're above the rules. You think you can challenge us?"
Shiki's lips curled slightly, though her smile lacked any warmth. "It's not that I take after Gojo," she said coldly, her voice even. "It's that I don't care what you think."
The elder's face twisted with anger at her words, his grip tightening on the armrests of his chair. "How dare you!"
She remained unfazed, her expression as unreadable as ever. There was no malice in her tone, no defiance. Just cold indifference.
"Is that all?" Shiki asked, her gaze drifting lazily around the room. "Because if so, I have more important things to do."
The elder, his face now flushed with anger "Leave! You will be contacted about the mission."
Without another word, Shiki turned and walked out of the chamber, her steps steady, not a care in the world for the wrath she had left behind. As she exited, the door swung shut behind her with a resounding thud, leaving the elders fuming in their seats.
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After leaving the chamber, Shiki's footsteps echoed in the quiet, cool air of the stairwell. As she stepped out into the open, the soft rustling of leaves and the late afternoon sun greeted her. By the entrance, leaning casually against a tree, was Gojo, holding two ice creams.
He grinned when he saw her. "Hey there. Want one?" he asked, holding out one of the cones.
Shiki, without a word, took it from him. She glanced at the ice cream for a moment, then back at Gojo, who looked oddly relaxed for someone who'd just been mentioned in a room full of old, bitter geezers.
"How was your little chat with the higher-ups?" Gojo asked, biting into his ice cream with the same irreverent attitude he had towards everything. His sunglasses reflected the sunlight, but she could feel his gaze on her.
Shiki took a bite of her ice cream, savoring the coldness before replying, "Horrendous."
Gojo laughed, as if her response was exactly what he'd expected. "Yeah, I figured. Those old farts just love their 'tradition' talk, don't they?"
"They wouldn't shut up about it," Shiki said, her voice flat but filled with an underlying disgust. "I don't know how you deal with them. It's a miracle you haven't obliterated that council by now."
Gojo shrugged in a childlike way, grinning. "Tempting, isn't it? I get through it by not listening half the time. They love hearing themselves talk. You just gotta let them run out of air."
Shiki let out a faint, sarcastic chuckle. "Sounds about right."
Gojo took another bite of his ice cream and raised an eyebrow at her. "So, what's next for you? They didn't drag you up there just for some tradition lecture, did they?"
Shiki paused, glancing at him. "I've been promoted. First grade."
Gojo's grin widened like a kid who had just pulled off a prank. "Ah, so you're finally catching up to the big leagues. Knew it was only a matter of time."
"I assume you had something to do with that?" Shiki's voice remained cold, but there was a hint of understanding behind it. "You and Principal Yaga."
She couldn't think of anyone else who would recommend her for promotion. Most of the people she knew were classmates, or people like Gojo and Shoko. Beyond them, she had no real connections to anyone of higher rank.
Gojo leaned back against the tree, looking amused. "Yup. I put in a good word. You're too talented to be stuck as a grade 4. Principal Yaga agrees too. He thinks keeping you in that rank is a waste of time and talent. So, you'll be running with Nanami soon."
"Nanami?" Shiki narrowed her eyes slightly. "I see. He's one of the higher grades."
"Yep, good old Kento Nanami." Gojo sighed dramatically. "Serious guy. Too serious, if you ask me, but he's solid. You'll like him—well, maybe not like him, but you won't hate him. Probably."
Shiki raised an eyebrow, still biting into her ice cream. "And you'll be there?"
"Of course! Gotta make sure everything runs smoothly," Gojo said, his voice casual, though Shiki knew him well enough to recognize the amusement hidden behind his words. "Plus, Nanami and I go way back. You two are gonna get along just fine. He's your perfect match in terms of being all business."
Shiki finished her ice cream, brushing off the remaining crumbs. "I doubt it."
Gojo chuckled. "Well, I guess you'll see soon enough. You'll be meeting him tomorrow."
Shiki looked at Gojo, then at the horizon where the sun was beginning to dip. She wasn't one for gratitude, but there was a faint flicker of acknowledgment in her gaze. "You're meddling too much. I could've done it without your recommendations."
Gojo grinned, waving her comment off. "Sure, sure. But what fun is it if I don't get to play puppet master every now and then?"
Shiki turned to leave, not bothering with any further goodbyes. "You're annoying."
"And you're welcome!" Gojo called after her, his tone cheerful, as if her insult was the nicest thing she could've said.
Shiki said nothing in return, walking away with her thoughts more on the mission ahead.
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