Shoko clicked her tongue, a sound of mild annoyance, as though someone had just informed her the coffee machine was broken.
"I hate it when people try to murder me. It really kills my vibe."
Jaw clenched tight, Ijichi weighed the gas pedal down. "No one's getting murdered today," he stated through gritted teeth. "I'll lose them."
You gripped Soulstring tighter. Ijichi was right. Nobody was getting hurt. Not on your watch.
The sharp spike of cursed energy confirmed your pursuers were closing the gap. Heart pounding wildly, you watched their black vehicle gaining rapidly in the side mirror. Ijichi's foot pressed the pedal even closer to the floor, the tires squealing as the speedometer's needle climbed into road rage levels. Still, the other car kept perfect pace.
The winding mountain roads whipped past in a blur of green and grey, leaving precious little room to outmaneuver the other car. One wrong move could send you sailing over the guardrails to your deaths. Which would be intensely embarrassing, kicking the bucket in a car accident when you were supposed to die horribly fighting curses.
Gojo would hold a seance just to heckle your ghost about it. Mercilessly. Until the day he died. Then his obnoxious ghost would follow yours right into the afterlife and continue shit-talking you for all eternity. You could already picture his ghost's smug face. Oh god, the thought was almost worse than actual death. You violently shoved aside the mental image of spectral Gojo critiquing your demise.
"How many are there?" Ijichi forced out, tendons straining in his neck from the tension.
"Two in the car right behind us," you reported. "Feels like maybe four more not far behind."
"S-six?" Ijichi's voice cracked, his face blanching. "Six to three? We're outnumbered!"
You held back a biting retort at Ijichi's piss-poor analysis. Six against three? Try six against one. Shoko was no fighter. And Ijichi looked approximately five seconds away from passing out cold behind the wheel at the very thought of fighting.
So, yes. Essentially, it was six skilled sorcerers against one long-range fighter—you. If those bastards managed to flank you, things would get ugly real quick. In close quarters, if it were just you alone, maybe you could pull some sneaky trick and slip away. But protecting Shoko and a hyperventilating Ijichi? You analyzed the rapidly deteriorating situation with growing dread. The odds were shit for even one of you getting out of this alive. You absolutely could not afford to let them box you in.
"Can't this thing go any faster, Ijichi-san?" you urged, glancing back at the pursuing vehicle. Their cursed energies batted at your senses. They would be within attack range any second now.
"I'm trying!" Ijichi wailed hysterically, his hands shaking so badly the whole steering wheel vibrated. "Ieiri-san, for the love of God, please call for backup!"
"Ah, right. Good thinking." In the back seat, Shoko casually retrieved her phone from her bag, utterly unbothered by the fact that you were being ambushed in the middle of nowhere.
Principal Yaga picked up right away.
"Yes, sensei, hello," Shoko began conversationally. "We're on our way back… mm-hm… Everything went fine, Mizuki-san sends her regards…"
Ijichi made a strangled noise like a dying goose.
"BACKUP!" he half-screamed, half-sobbed. "You have to ask for BACKUP! NOW! We have SIX—SIX!—curse users on our tail!!"
Shoko sighed, rubbing her temple as if Ijichi's panicked screeching, not the imminent threat of death, was the real irritation here.
On cue, a massive fireball erupted just outside Ijichi's window, showering the interior with shattered glass. He released a shriek that could break eardrums, hastily throwing up a shield just microseconds before impact.
"A fucking fireball?"
You clenched your bow in frustration as you cast your own shield of cursed energy. Seriously? Some random street thug got to conjure flames while you didn't even have a boring innate technique? Life really was a rigged game.
"Oh, by the way, sensei," Shoko continued into the phone, lounging back in her seat. "We appear to be under attack. Yes, quite bothersome. Do send some assistance when you get a moment. No rush."
Another blast slammed into the car, rupturing Ijichi's already unstable shield. He yelped, his voice climbing several octaves as the car swerved violently across the lane.
"Keep up your shield, Ijichi-san!" you barked.
"I can't maintain it for long!" Sweat poured down Ijichi's pallid face, his eyes wide with terror. He sounded like he was about to go into cardiac arrest.
"Relax, I've got you," Shoko said soothingly, placing a steady hand on Ijichi's shoulder. Her cursed energy flowed out, reinforcing his faltering shield even as she continued her nonchalant conversation with Principal Yaga. "Yes, sensei. Spices thinks there are six of them. Looks like Grade 1s, maybe? Hard to tell with all the explosions."
You twisted in your seat, peering through the rear window panel at your overly enthusiastic pursuers. The one with the fire technique was shooting fireballs furiously, hellbent on roasting you all alive in your metal sardine can.
Okay, enough of this bullshit.
Tuning out Ijichi's hysterical shrieks, you inhaled slowly, steeling your nerves. Soulstring thrummed eagerly under your fingertips as you turned to release an arrow made of pure cursed energy point-blank at the rear panel. The entire glass panel exploded outward in a glittering rain of shards.
"SPICES! WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING FUCK?!" Ijichi howled, forgetting all manners, professionalism, and likely his own name in his panic.
Shoko's eyebrows shot up. Before she could offer any commentary, your second arrow was already zipping through the gaping hole in a streak of violet, aimed squarely at the fire guy's heart. His eyes widened in disbelief—as if being shot while actively trying to murder someone was somehow unfair—a split second of 'oh shit' before the arrow punched clean through his cursed energy shield and lodged firmly in his heart. His body went slack, toppling backward.
Shoko casually informed Principal Yaga over the phone, "Update, sensei. Spices just shot one down. So, it's five now."
Despite the primary pyromaniac being permanently decommissioned, the pursuing car didn't slow down. If anything, it seemed angrier. Cursing under your breath, you took aim again.
Your third arrow tore through their front windshield in a sickening spiderweb of cracks before embedding itself with a wet thunk in the driver's throat. You didn't need to see the spray of blood to know it was a kill shot. You always, always shot to kill.
The wheel jerked wildly as the driver slumped. Momentum carried their vehicle over the guardrails. Metal screamed against stone with an ear-splitting shriek before your enemies plunged out of sight, swallowed by smoke and darkness.
"Make that four," Shoko amended calmly into the phone, looking impressed. "Spices is being quite efficient today."
"That… that was close…" Ijichi whimpered, his hands trembling with relief now that immediate immolation was off the table. He might actually cry.
The reprieve lasted approximately three seconds. The roar of engines sliced the air as two motorbikes zipped out of nowhere, carrying the four remaining curse users. They were splitting up, moving to flank you on either side.
"You have got to be shitting me," you groaned, your eyes practically bulging out of your skull.
As the lead bike pulled alongside, the passenger hurled a small object onto your roof. Ugly vines immediately erupted outward, snaking rapidly across the car's surface, weaving a suffocating net of thorny, pulsating tendrils. Your heart dropped. Parasitic cursed plants. Great. Just fucking great. These things could shred metal given enough time.
The vines ripped away the door panel beside you just as Ijichi slammed the gas in desperation. For one heart-stopping moment, you felt your body lurch sideways. Gravity yanked hard. You slipped through the gap, unforgiving asphalt racing by in a lethal blur mere inches below. Scrambling frantically for purchase, you barely managed to grab the edge of the warped door frame with sweat-slicked fingers.
Adrenaline stretched time into an eternity as you dangled precariously outside the speeding car with only your fragile grip separating you from your untimely demise. Gasping, you felt your hold slipping…
Sensei…
Your final thought flashed to Gojo. Damn it, you hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him—
Shoko lunged across the seat. Her hand snapped forward, clamping down hard on your belt. With a grunt of exertion, she heaved you bodily back inside. The momentum sent you crashing painfully against her slender frame. She absorbed the impact without complaint, holding you tight until you could collapse, gasping and shaking, back into your seat.
Maybe she wasn't technically a fighter, but goddamn, thank heavens for her reflexes and terrifying grip strength.
"What do we do? What do we do?!" Ijichi yelped, bordering on a full-blown panic attack as razor vines continued screeching down the sides of your car like fingernails on chalkboard.
"Just try not to yeet me out the door again," you managed, breathing heavily. Your pulse thundered in your ears as the delayed panic set in.
The thorny vines were tightening their grip, digging into the car's frame, but you still had a few tricks up your sleeve—quite literally.
Reaching into the hidden pocket, you pulled out a small slip of paper. With a short enchantment murmured under your breath, you flung it outside. Activated by your cursed energy, the little paper shikigami warped into a huge eagle mid-flight. Its sharp claws tore into the vines wrapping around your car, shredding them into pieces. Sure, you couldn't pull Divine Dogs out of your ass like Megumi, but conjuring moderately intimidating birds was doable.
"Neat," Shoko nodded approvingly, still giving live updates into her phone. "Don't worry, Yaga-sensei. Spices is dealing with the vegetation. We're still kicking."
You weren't sure for how long, though. The bastard who had thrown that vine thingy suddenly vaulted from his bike onto your battered roof, obliterating your poor eagle shikigami with one crushing blow. The vehicle rocked dangerously at the impact.
"The great Ieiri Shoko in the flesh," he crowed, crouching low on the roof. He reached down through the shattered window to grab Shoko, his grin twisted with malice. "Must be my lucky day."
At such close distance, his acrid cursed energy left a foul taste on the back of your throat. Heart pounding in your ears, you tried to take aim at him, which proved to be impossible in the cramped interior and Shoko in the way. No clear shot. Damn it all.
You really, really should have taken Megumi up on his offer to tag along this morning. Out of time, out of options, icy panic seized your chest.
"I don't think so," Shoko gave an annoyed tsk, not flinching as the man's hand clamped onto her shoulder.
An unsettling coldness settled over her features. In a flash quicker than thought, she whipped out a gleaming scalpel and plunged it into the side of his neck with the detached precision of a master surgeon. Right in the carotid artery. For the briefest fraction of a second, you felt his cursed energy lag. It passed so quickly you almost thought you'd imagined it. With a serene smile, Shoko twisted the scalpel. Slowly. Lazily.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Blood erupted in a violent surge. The bastard's eyes widened in belated realization, gurgling wetly as understanding dawned in his dimming eyes. Understanding of who the frail woman in front of him truly was.
Healer. Sorcerer. Killer. The great Ieiri Shoko, in the flesh.
Maybe, you reflected grimly, you weren't the only one around here who could be described as unpredictable and ruthless.
In a moment of shockingly smooth teamwork, Ijichi executed a sharp turn while your attacker was off-balance, too preoccupied trying to stem his spraying artery. Caught by surprise, the bastard toppled off your roof, disappearing over the slopes in a very unceremonious exit.
Chest heaving, Ijichi trembled with adrenaline as he screamed after your vanished enemy, "GET THE FUCK OFF MY GODDAMNED CAR, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!"
You briefly considered handing over your title "Spices" to Ijichi. That man surely had some spice when push came to shove. Maybe "Peppers" suited him better?
Oblivious to Ijichi's cathartic meltdown, Shoko calmly wiped the blood off her cheek with the back of her hand. "Another one down. Just three left now."
In the background, you could faintly hear Yaga making incoherent sputtering noises, on the verge of an aneurysm over Shoko's real-time report. You made a mental note to bring the principal some extra-strength calming tea for his nerves after all this. He was definitely going to need it.
The odds were better, but not comfortingly so. Your remaining pursuers seemed to agree, keeping their distance now, neither closing in nor letting you escape their sights. They were waiting. Biding their time. Probably planning something else equally irritating.
You were racking your brain, trying to anticipate their next move, when Ijichi shrieked, "Rockslide!"
Ahead, completely blocking the highway, sat a huge barricade of freshly tumbled boulders. Impossibly inconvenient. Impossibly coincidental. Which meant it was almost certainly bullshit.
You focused your senses, probing the looming rubble pile. Real rocks didn't radiate cursed energy like that. Even if your eyes could be deceived, your senses for energy never fooled you. Or so you hoped.
"Keep the speed up!" you barked urgently.
Ijichi recoiled as if physically struck. "Are you crazy?! We'll crash!"
"It's an illusion, trust me!" you insisted, nerves jangling as your window of opportunity shrank. "Punch through it, don't stop!"
So this was their plan B. Wasn't that great? They'd hired a guy who shot fire AND another who could cast illusions? Someone really hated Shoko's ass.
Just a small distance from the convincing barricade now, Ijichi whined, "You sure??!" His voice climbed in panic.
"Floor it!" Shoko ordered sharply.
With a shrill scream, Ijichi slammed the pedal down, his eyes screwed shut. No turning back now. Either you were right, or you were all dead.
Impact never came. At the absolute last second, the facade rippled away. No collision, just empty road stretching ahead. The false boulders faded out of existence as Ijichi, still screaming, gunned the acceleration, the momentum slamming you all back into your seats.
A quick glance behind showed your pursuers rushing forward once more now that their little trick had failed.
You knew you couldn't keep this up forever. Who knew what else they had in store. Something had to be done. And it had to be done quickly. The inklings of a plan formed in your head. Reckless, dangerous, but it just might buy you all a chance.
You fished out another paper shikigami and activated it. Millions of fluttering moths burst out all at once, flooding the highway behind a disorienting swarm. This was your Moth Swarms—a cheap imitation of Megumi's Rabbit Escape, but it should be enough.
"What's the plan?" Shoko arched her brow. She knew that scheming gleam in your eyes far too well.
"Just make sure I don't fall out again," you gestured outside toward the space where the door once was.
"Got it," Shoko nodded, anchoring one hand on the interior handle, the other snapping onto your belt in that iron grip.
Taking a deep breath, you leaned out into the roaring wind. Air battered your face, stinging your eyes and threatening to tear the breath from your lungs. You forced yourself to focus, scanning the winding mountain slopes above, seeking out structural weak points in the cliffsides. Targets acquired, you lifted Soulstring.
"Get back in here, Spices! You're gonna fall!" Ijichi shrieked, but you blocked out all distractions.
Soulstring lit up as cursed energy coiled through your veins. The winding road left only seconds before Ijichi's erratic driving threw off your aim. An eerie calm took over you, time seeming to slow. With a whispered prayer to the vengeful priestess whose broken soul was said to reside in your haunted bow, you released a rapid barrage of highly condensed energy bolts. All shots struck true, detonating across the overhang in sparking bursts.
Cracks spiderwebbed through stone. Then with an awful groan, entire slabs broke free, crashing downhill in a deafening rockslide that spanned the width of the highway behind you. A soft smile danced on your lips as you took in the destruction. What a lovely sight.
"They want rockslides? I'll give them rockslides."
Shoko hauled you back into the relative safety of the car. Behind you, the landslide gained momentum rapidly, boulders and churning debris surging toward the highway just as your clouds of moths dissipated and your enemies raced directly into the piles of rocks. As you'd planned.
The enormous moth swarm proved the perfect distraction. Their fluffy wings and buzzing cursed energy distorted both sight and sound for your enemies. Blinded and deafened, your pursuers couldn't detect the trick. It only made sense to assume the new pile of rocks was their own guy's illusion again. The poor bastard probably didn't even have time to shout a warning. By the time Moth Swarms dispersed, it was far too late.
A deafening explosion followed. You felt their cursed energies flare then snuff out, one by one.
"All down," Shoko gave Principal Yaga the final update.
Silence followed from the other end, presumably filled with Principal Yaga attempting to restart his own heart.
And so you were in the clear.
You met up with your supposed "backup" just outside of Tokyo. Kusakabe pulled up alongside your limping wreck in an ominous black SUV packed with other sorcerers you vaguely recognized from the occasional meetings and healing jobs. Totally reliable reinforcements, this squad, not screaming illegal organization at all.
"Oh good," Shoko announced dryly as the SUV door slid open. "The cavalry's arrived."
"Is Ieiri-san alright?" Kusakabe tripped over his own feet dashing over to your little group, his face leached of all color.
His panic was justified. Ijichi's car now resembled something salvaged from a scrapyard crusher. It was artfully decorated with shredded vines, more broken windows than intact ones, and casually missing an entire door. That mangled heap was probably running purely on Ijichi's terror fumes at this point. Definitely a good thing Kusakabe came to pick you up. Trying to drive this automobile tragedy through Tokyo traffic would likely cause several more accidents and possibly attract the attention of law enforcement, which was always awkward.
"I'm fabulous," Shoko answered breezily as she stepped out.
"You're covered in blood, Ieiri-san," Kusakabe informed her helpfully.
"Oh this?" Shoko glanced down at the significant red splatter pattern decorating her front as if noticing it for the first time. "Not mine."
You clambered out after her, anxiously scanning the surroundings for any hostile cursed energy, relieved to find only the simmering trepidation radiating from Kusakabe's backup squad. Then you turned to help a trembling Ijichi extract himself from the driver's seat. Mr. Tough Guy had deflated; his earlier burst of profanity-laden spice was completely gone. Now he could barely stand upright.
Kusakabe looked you over, his brow furrowed. "Everyone okay? No serious injuries?"
"We're peachy, Kusakabe-sensei," you chirped, shooting him finger guns. "Almost died several times, standard Tuesday. No big deal. Just like Fukuoka, right?"
You beamed brightly at Kusakabe, who visibly winced at the mention of Fukuoka. Oh yes, you both remembered what went down that one time you were unfortunate enough to be partnered on a mission together. He might be able to fool everyone else acting all tough, mature, and responsible. But not you.
Wouldn't surprise you in the slightest if he'd deliberately dragged his feet getting here, hoping you'd conveniently solve the problem (or get solved by it) before he had to risk his own precious hide. Utter coward, through and through.
Kusakabe coughed awkwardly, avoiding your gaze as he hustled your group toward the idling SUV. "Good. Good. Excellent. Let's move before, uh, any remaining enemies catch up!"
He spun around and pointed dramatically at a pair of grim-faced sorcerers. "You two! Stay here! Set up a perimeter! Engage the enemies if they reappear! Delay them for as long as possible!"
See? Already delegating the actual risk to expendable underlings. Classic Kusakabe.
Shoko waved him off. "That won't be necessary. We took care of them."
Kusakabe's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. "You… took care of six high-grade curse users? By yourselves?"
"No, we had a tea party and they politely decided to leave," you muttered under your breath.
If Kusakabe caught your snark, he wisely chose to ignore it, still trying to process the information, calculating the odds of Shoko pulling an elaborate prank.
"There might be a cleanup required, though," Shoko added. "Bodies to dispose of, rocks to clean, you know, that sort of thing."
Kusakabe just blinked slowly. "Right. Yes. Cleanup. I'll… I'll send a team."
As you settled into the cramped back seat of the SUV, the low chatter of the half-dozen combatant sorcerers faded into background noise. Surrounded by theoretically capable fighters at last, you felt yourself starting to relax. The adrenaline crash left you drained, lulled by the gentle rumble of tires on the road.
Beside you, Kusakabe spoke quietly into his phone, adopting his most responsible tone. "Yes, Yaga-sama. I have them. Everyone's alright. Yes, Ieiri-san is fine. Minor vehicle damage. I'd like to request a cleanup team…"
You tuned him out. As you were nodding off, Shoko's amused voice snagged your drifting focus.
"You know," she began softly, leaning toward you, "I don't know who messed with you this morning, saying you were unpredictable and ruthless… But they were right."
Said the woman who'd cheerfully twisted a scalpel in someone's neck barely half an hour ago.
You snorted. "Takes one to know one, Ieiri-san." There was no edge in your jab, only affection.
Now you understood the peculiar pride in Megumi's voice when he'd delivered his brutal assessment. He was really onto something. In this line of work, being unpredictable and ruthless wasn't necessarily a flaw. It was a survival trait. It meant you got to live to complain about the paperwork another day.
"Indeed," Shoko chuckled softly.
You both dissolved into quiet giggles, leaning against each other.
When your laughter faded, you stared absently out the window. What a chaotic disaster of a day. But everyone made it out in one piece, so no real complaints. Except maybe about the pay. Babysitting duty was turning out way more hazardous than advertised. You should definitely be getting a bonus for this shitshow. And maybe hazard pay. And possibly therapy. But definitely the bonus first.
Before long, Kusakabe pulled into the school's parking lot. Principal Yaga himself awaited your arrival, signature worried expression in place as he ushered you all upstairs.
Soon you found yourself sunk deep into a plush sofa, strategically wedged between Shoko and a still-vibrating Ijichi. Kusakabe leaned tensely against the nearby wall, attempting to look coolly professional while radiating pure relief that he hadn't needed to actually fight anyone. Across the polished desk, Yaga assessed each of you in turn. You couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but his cursed energy simmered in poorly contained anger. Which was fair. Having the greatest healer of the jujutsu world nearly turned into roadside barbecue would probably irritate anyone.
"Tell me everything that happened," Yaga commanded, tapping an impatient finger on the pristine desk. "Don't leave out a single detail."
Straight to business, then. No tea and sympathy first.
You took a deep breath, then launched into the most comprehensive, albeit possibly non-linear, report of your life.
"Okay, so we were just driving along, right? Super nice weather, pretty mountain view, birds probably singing, though I couldn't hear them over the engine. I was mostly thinking about dinner because honestly, the bento they packed for us sucked—"
Yaga's eyebrow twitched ominously.
"Oh, right, the attack!" you corrected yourself quickly. "So then I suddenly felt this weird spike of cursed energy, like, wham! You know? Came out of nowhere. And—"
You trailed off, distracted by a speck on the window across the room. Was that a smudge or a bug? Or a spider? The one whose webs you obliterated this morning? Did it come for revenge? That seemed petty, even for a spider.
"The attackers," Yaga prompted tightly.
"Hm? Yeah, them! So they pulled up and the first guy was all 'fireball, fireball' which was rude. Like, who just starts throwing fireballs without even introducing themselves? Anyway, I've never seen anyone sling fire like that before. He must have been, like, a Grade 1, right? Good technique. I wonder how much they paid him for this gig…"
As you meandered through the thrilling narrative maze of your own thoughts, Yaga's patience visibly frayed. Shoko, however, listened with rapt interest, occasionally interjecting helpful commentary.
"Curse users with flashy techniques like pyrokinesis don't come cheap," she offered. "Nothing short of one mil yen for that guy, I'd wager."
You gasped. "Seriously? One million? How much do you think I could make on the black market? Just hypothetically, you know."
"Hmm," Shoko rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Less raw power than fire-guy, but your planning is excellent. And the discretion… maybe half his rate? A third? Depends on the client and the target."
"Umm… Actually…" Ijichi spoke up timidly. "You also need to account for your young age and perceived lack of field experience… relative to market rates…"
Yaga exhaled slowly. "Perhaps we could focus on pertinent information…"
"Of course, sir! Pertinent info, coming right up!"
You continued rambling through the disorganized sequence of events, frequently interrupting yourself when some utterly irrelevant but fascinating detail popped into your brain. Principal Yaga did explicitly ask you not to leave out anything, so you were trying your absolute best to be thorough.
Shoko did absolutely nothing to steer things back on track, too happily indulging your tangents. Beside you, Ijichi still looked like his soul had vacated the premises, but he occasionally offered mumbled clarifications, most of which were drowned out by your own enthusiastic narration.
After twenty minutes of scattered details about the atmospheric conditions required to cast believable illusions and the intricate mechanism behind Moth Swarms ("It's about maximizing the visual effects while minimizing individual unit energy cost, see…"), Yaga's eyebrows seemed to have developed a permanent twitch.
"GODDAMNIT!" he roared, slamming his hand down on the desk. "Does anyone else in this room possess the ability to provide a coherent report?!"
You blinked, a little startled. Coherent? You thought you were being coherent. Recalling Ijichi's badassery back then, you decided he would give a better report.
"Ijichi-san!" you nudged him encouragingly. "You tell Yaga-sama. You were awesome! Oh, hold on, do you remember what you yelled when you flicked that bastard off your car? It was hardcore!"
Principal Yaga needed to know how bravely Ijichi had faced mortal peril, how he'd done his job despite being absurdly out of his element. Perhaps then the poor man could finally be allowed to take some time off. A beach somewhere. Far, far away from exploding cars. Even get a hefty raise.
Ijichi only mumbled incoherently, sinking lower in mortification.
"No, really, tell him!" you insisted, shaking his arm. "It went something like 'Get the fudge off my flipping car you sons of biscuits!' But like, the uncensored version, ya know?"
A strange gurgle emerged from Yaga's throat. It might have been the onset of a stroke. He looked like a man who had peered into the abyss, and the abyss had offered him incomprehensible anecdotes about cursed moths.
"Shoko," he sighed, rubbing his temples wearily. "You tell me. From the beginning. Please."
At long last, Yaga was able to wrestle a coherent, chronological version of the incident out of Shoko. This accomplishment, however, failed to soothe his frayed nerves. Any fleeting sense of relief was promptly obliterated when Kusakabe's phone rang. He answered tersely, his brow crunching as he absorbed the report from the cleanup team dispatched to deal with the aftermath.
"Six bodies, all accounted for, " Kusakabe confirmed. "Two confirmed kills by projectile cursed energy—that'd be Spices, sir. One appears to have a… scalpel in his throat. The remaining three died on impact… with the, uh, rockslides."
"THE WHAT?!" Yaga thundered, shooting upright so fast his chair nearly toppled over.
"The highway, sir," Kusakabe hastened to clarify, perhaps attempting damage control. "It was completely blocked. Wrecked, actually. The team is working on clearing it now. No civilian casualties, though! Thankfully!"
Yaga's expression spasmed. Sweet merciful Buddha, grant him strength. He needed strength. A goddamned highway? A major highway to Tokyo? The High Council would rake him over hot coals for this catastrophe. They might even flay him alive with the scalpel Shoko'd left behind and use his skin for drum practice. He thought he'd escaped this kind of large-scale property destruction madness when Gojo finally graduated. Apparently not.
As if in slow motion, Yaga watched his career flash before his eyes. All his hard work and sacrifices, his dreams of changing the jujutsu world soon to be just smoke and ashes… probably accompanied by a hefty bill for road repairs
"GODDAMNIT!" he screeched, slamming both fists onto his desk, rattling the expensive pen holder. "Couldn't you all have tried something else?! Anything?! Before resorting to the total destruction of vital public infrastructure?!"
The unholy noise Yaga emitted couldn't quite be classified as human. You and Ijichi shrank in fear while Kusakabe wisely tried to merge with the wallpaper.
Unruffled as always, Shoko simply nodded and smiled. "Of course, sensei," she agreed, smoothing down her hair. "My apologies. Next time someone tries to murder me, I'll be sure to explore more diplomatic solutions first."
Before Principal Yaga could actually self-combust or attempt diplomacy via strangulation, Gojo teleported into the room. His arrival came with a deafening pop, cursed energy swirling violently. The very air seemed to warp and fracture around him.
You had to blink against the pressure stinging your eyes, the sheer density of his power, like standing too close to a roaring supernova. Even those who weren't energy-sensitive like Kusakabe and Ijichi recoiled, gasping for air.
Gojo's trademark swagger was nowhere to be seen. His silver hair stood wild, his face bloodless. There was something in his otherworldly eyes that looked chillingly like fear. Primal, gut-wrenching fear. As if he had woken screaming from his worst nightmare, only to find it made real.
His piercing gaze immediately locked on you and Shoko. Ignoring everyone else, Gojo crossed the room in two long strides and swept both of you into a crushing embrace, fingers digging painfully into your shoulders. He held onto you with the wild desperation of a drowning man finding driftwood amid raging storms.
"You're alright," he exhaled shakily, voice choked.
You had never seen him stripped so raw.
"I'm alright," Shoko whispered back, her hand coming up to rest on his arm. "Me… And Spices. We're both alright."
Gojo's uncharacteristic vulnerability left you breathless. You couldn't find any words for the unsettling sight of a terrified Gojo Satoru, so you simply rubbed comforting circles into his back. The way he always did for you when your panic's claws sank deep. Anchoring him here with your presence, together and whole.
Gojo breathed in deeply. You could feel his cursed energy gently blanketing over Shoko and you as he extended his Infinity over you both. As if he wanted to shield his most precious people from the entire world. To keep you by his side, hidden carefully away so no danger would ever touch you. Safe from all harm in this little world of his.
It was during times like this that you wondered why Gojo even bothered letting anyone close at all. As the strongest, he would outlive everyone he ever cared about. Hell, he'd probably outlive the concept of jujutsu itself. What was the point of such mortal attachment when it could be so easily taken away?
Shoko, you understood, sort of. They had history carved deep, stretching back long before the burden of destiny settled fully onto his shoulders. They were constants in each other's orbits, survivors of a shared past.
But you? You were a later addition. A complication he'd willingly introduced into his life. After everything he'd been through, after all these years… Why open himself to such vulnerability again? Surely Gojo knew better by now. He wasn't slow on the uptake, despite occasional evidence to the contrary.
Yet here he was, the most powerful being in existence, God among men, clutching you both desperately to his heart as if you were the ones protecting him. As if afraid time would slip through his fingers and steal you away while he wasn't looking.
Gojo was always babbling about him alone being the honored one. The only one standing at the top of the world. All very dramatic and self-aggrandizing.
But perhaps, he didn't really want all that endless emptiness. Perhaps that's why he let you in, why he allowed himself to occasionally shatter apart and trust someone to help gather the pieces. For those brief, flickering moments where he could feel anchored against infinity's current. Moments where people like you and Shoko made him feel almost normal again. Where eternal didn't have to mean lonely.