Shoko had no idea why she went.
Perhaps the compulsion came from the desire for closure. She knew this was not a work of fiction to be wrapped up neatly so the readers could move on. This was not a medical book listing facts and leaving no room for opinions or emotions. Real-life left wounds open so long that they festered, and she came here because the mediation was supposed to mark the end of this chaos in some capacity. At least, even in the technical sense—in the way this tragedy would be documented and relayed to future generations—there would be a conclusion.
Shoko had to find solace in that, or nothing at all.
She sat in the same seat as before, cross-legged and smoking a cigarette. Emi from the Fugen’s intelligence sat behind her to observe and report to the elders afterwards. Aside from them, no other member or ally of the Gojo clan showed up.
The dais where Ichiro, Sayuri, and Gojo sat over a week ago was empty except for a small, gold emblem containing the clan’s insignia. It signified that this was their spot, and if their presence could not be felt, their absence would.
Around the mezzanine, more empty seats surrounded them. Places once occupied by proud members of the Big Three clans were now cold and vacant after the crackdown. Bleak-looking men, most of them middle-aged and haggard, smoked cigarettes in clusters as they peered down at the hall.
“Let’s make this quick,” Gakuganji announced from the front. He carried himself with as much dignity and sternness as possible, but there persisted an air of shock around him. When he spoke, it was like he was doing so on autopilot. “All of you have received a summary of what transpired in the abandoned Kagawa temple. We’re here simply to entertain questions and complaints—which I’m sure you have plenty—so that we can finally close this matter.”
Both Kamo and Zenin said nothing. They came in a party half the size of the one that participated in the first mediation, and none of them seemed happy to be back. At the far end of the room, the Jujutsu HQ higher-ups remained clad in darkness and shielded with shoji panels.
“Well?” Gakuganji challenged.
Lord Kamo cleared his throat ceremoniously. There was something pompous about the way he did it. Shoko thought it a way for him to preserve his pride after the purge had nearly crippled his clan.
“We’ve previously submitted an inquiry regarding the death of eighty percent of the Sasaki’s Kagawa congregation under Satoshi Gojo’s hands, and Jujutsu HQ hasn’t graced us with a response,” Lord Kamo said.
Naobito Zenin sipped from his flask. He was already red in the cheeks from drinking, but he didn’t seem ready to stop anytime soon. “Satoshi Gojo massacred a congregation of non-shamans who are connected to important people in our country. The last thing we want is to be dragged down for his poor decisions.” Hiccupping, the old man shrugged and waved his flask around. “Not that I’m glad he’s gone. Someone put that on the record. He was one hell of an opponent on the battlefield.”
Noritoshi coughed into his fist, attracting their attention. Apart from Shoko and Gakuganji, he was the only other attendee who participated in the battle. Shoko could still recall how he had stumbled into the main sanctuary with Todo while Kazuo and her revived Utahime.
He and Todo had stopped at the threshold for a few seconds to take in the sea of corpses around them. When Kazuo, who was performing CPR on Utahime, yelled at them to move, they maneuvered the corpses as quickly as they could, even if it meant stepping on their still-warm bodies.
“Satoshi Gojo’s decision to end the lives of the non-shamans enabled Lord Gojo to exorcise the two vengeful spirits under Suguru Getou’s command. He saved Lord Gojo and Utahime-sensei, and he spared the rest of us from having to deal with violent non-shamans whom we had trouble restraining in fear of accidentally killing them,” Noritoshi said, the anger seeping into his voice at certain inflections. “It is crude for me to admit it, but if Satoshi Gojo hadn’t made that sacrifice, we would’ve died trying to save the very people who plotted our demise. It was them or us. He took the fall for everyone and died a gruesome death for it.”
Ogi Zenin scoffed from his zabuton a little way behind Noabito. Unlike his older brother, he was ramrod straight and sober, eyeing Noritoshi with derision. “Child, do you believe that our non-shaman patrons and the government care for our lives? They’d rather all of you have died in that mission. Satoshi saved you in that battle but endangered the Jujutsu scene further.”
“They can’t just set us aside because of this. Who will deal with the curses?” Noritoshi spat.
Lord Kamo motioned for him to stop. “That was the purpose of our inquiry, exactly. As head of the Gojo clan, Lord Satoru Gojo should be sanctioned for this. Only he and his clan should bear the weight of his father’s actions. The Kamo cannot suffer further blows from their recklessness and greed.”
Naobito cackled. Spit and alcohol sprayed in the air, and he had to cough a little before he could get his words straight. “Then maybe step down? We’ve suffered severe losses as well, but we’re far from begging on our knees to be spared.”
“Take our share of the burden then. Unlike you, Lord Zenin, I care for the welfare of my people. We do not deal with everything through brute strength and cockiness. The gods know that’s all you’re good at.”
Gakuganji struck the floor with his cane. “Enough! If it’s cornering Satoru Gojo that you want, you’ll have to prove that Satoshi Gojo is his father legally. Moreover, you’ll want to dig up documents that bind Satoshi to the clan. I might as well tell you now that Jujutsu HQ has attempted those and failed. If you find anything of value, do share it with us so that we might bring down the Gojo clan with you.”
Shoko looked back at Emi, who continued taking notes on her laptop in silence. She glanced at Shoko but said nothing. Obviously, this was not news to her.
The pervading silence in the hall relayed the same degree of surprise as Shoko’s. Eyes darted from one face to another, gauging each other’s knowledge and reactions.
On the main dais, Gakuganji nodded at the shrine maidens, who proceeded to pass on documents to the aides of the Kamo and the Zenin camps.
“In 1988, Lady Sayuri Gojo was put on sale by the Gojo clan following the brutal assassination of her older sister, Miss Kaori Gojo. They believed their ranks were infiltrated, and by selling Lady Sayuri, they were putting her under the protection of an equally powerful entity outside of the Jujutsu scene. As a non-shaman, her chances of giving birth to the Six Eyes were slim, but they were still hopeful. As such, one stipulation in her sale was that any sorcerer she births would be returned to the Gojo clan as its property. Any non-shaman offspring may remain with her. Since she was legally married to Satoshi Gojo, people assume he purchased her. That’s not exactly accurate. It was Ichiro Gojo who made the purchase, claiming her as his property, and he allowed her marriage to Satoshi, who, by that time, had legally defected from the Gojo clan in order to remove Lady Sayuri from their estate. Upon Satoru Gojo’s birth and their family’s return to the Gojo Estate, all the lords gave up their titles in the name of unity to make the Six Eyes their ultimate leader. However, Satoshi Gojo never legally returned as a member of the clan. He worked for them under no contract and simply through the privilege of fathering the Six Eyes. Everything was signed by either Lady Sayuri or Master Akira Gojo on his behalf. As per Satoru Gojo’s birth certificate, you’ll be displeased to find that the only parent listed there is Lady Sayuri. Satoshi has refused any written documentation connecting him to his son, likely because he foresaw some bullshit like this will happen. In the papers I’ve distributed to you, Ichiro Gojo has publicly made his ownership of Lady Sayuri known, including the fact that she agreed, upon her purchase, to have all of her offspring be placed under his protection. Technically, according to the documents provided to you, Ichiro has always been Satoru’s father. Satoshi Gojo, being a defector, carries the burden of the massacre by himself. He has managed to spare not only his family and his clan but ours as well.”
Behind Shoko, Emi snapped her laptop close and packed her things. Shoko wondered if she should go as well. Clearly, the Gojo clan had outsmarted the Kamo and the Zenin again. Although not the loudest camp in Jujutsu HQ, the Gojo clan had a way of using subtlety to protect their interests. While everybody was distracted with the Six Eyes, the rest of his kin remained in the background to weave intricate webs that shielded them from every foreseeable attack.
Shoko could picture Satoshi and Lady Sayuri at the heart of this web, working ceaselessly to protect their son. Now it was only her, and these fucking bastards wouldn’t even let Satoshi die with dignity.
Gakuganji concluded the matter with the Kagawa temple massacre and addressed the concern that set the momentum for these mediations in the first place—Utahime’s excommunication. She was no longer in danger of being placed in the Bingo Book, and evidence submitted to Jujutsu HQ proved that any crime she may have committed while in captivity was done under extreme duress.
She may have freed two vengeful spirits, but she also prevented Suguru Getou from using them at the risk of her own life.
As of this morning, her status had returned to normal on Jujutsu HQ’s portal, with the exception that she was flagged as inactive for health reasons.
Shoko dropped her head to her hands and took a deep, calming breath.
Health reasons.
It was strange how two words could encapsulate a person’s state and miss the gravity of it altogether. Utahime had been pallid when they found her. The blood trickling from her mouth stood out like ink on snow. Kazuo had groaned in pain when he felt her rib break under the force of his pumping, but he carried on. He pumped until her heart beat again, and then he lifted her off the ground and ran.
Gojo watched in stunned silence. Once he finally made it to the small circle where she had lain, he fell on his knees in front of Satoshi, catching his corpse just in time as it fell towards him. Shoko had tugged and heaved at Gojo’s arm to get him to stand, as plaster dust was raining down on them, and the entire sanctuary was shifting like a boat at sea. She wanted to run out and heal Utahime, but she couldn’t possibly leave Gojo while he was in shock.
The first pieces of the ceiling fell, blocking Todo and Noritoshi’s path. Shoko, on pure instinct, threw herself on Gojo to shield him. It was stupid. It was impractical. If they survived this, Gojo would tease her for it, but she was a doctor. More importantly, they were friends.
Perhaps this one, she could save.
The rumbling stopped. Noritoshi and Todo yelled their names. Beneath her, Gojo finally moved. He patted her waist in a wordless command for her to step aside. She withdrew, and in one deft motion, he lifted Satoshi in his arms.
“Are you coming?” Emi asked, snapping her back to the present.
Shoko peered down at the hall, where Gakuganji was concluding the mediation. Shoko stood and straightened her clothes. “Let’s go.”
Sayuri poured more ice into the wooden basin and submerged the cloth. She wrung it twice, tested the temperature on her skin, and then returned to Satoru’s bedside. Combing back his hair, she dabbed the smooth fabric on his forehead to check for a reaction.
Nothing. She lowered the towel on his face fully and began to wipe him down.
Shoko told her that RCT was an evolving skill. The more Gojo used it, the better his body adapted. The problem with him was that he was rarely ever put in a position where he needed RCT. The infrequency of this usage meant RCT took a bigger toll on his body each time, which would account for his temperature and fatigue.
Sayuri pulled the blanket back and placed his arm across her lap. His weight startled her so much that she paused to stare at him, as though seeing him for the first time.
Even now, after twenty-six years of motherhood, it still amazed her that she gave birth to him. Her mind couldn’t comprehend how tall and broad he turned out to be, whereas once, he was so small that she could carry him with one arm. There used to be a time when she could shield him with her body, curl up against his tiny frame and make sure death would have no choice but to claim her before it could so much as lay its claws on him.
Now, sitting beside him on his bed, she had no idea how to protect him. It all felt unfair, really. If she could only switch places with Satoshi, she would. The only reason she managed for all these years was because of his patience and instruction, and although there had always been the risk of him going first, it never occurred to her that this could actually happen.
Perhaps that was why she could not feel the full impact of his departure yet. She shed a few tears, but she did not break down or wail like everybody around her seemed to expect. Not when the Fugen returned to the estate in a slow and somber procession, unable to meet her gaze. Not when Gakuganji approached her and offered his condolences. Not even when Ichiro marched past the Fugen in search of his brother and then froze at the sight of something she had yet to see.
Akira and Satoru had stumbled in last, sharing between them the weight of Satoshi’s corpse. The most they could do was wrap him in a white blanket, and she guessed, based on the body’s awkward position, that he had already stiffened.
Later, she would be told that the Fugen insisted on a gurney, but Satoru had refused to let go of him on the plane. Sayuri had to coax him into releasing the body to the healers, and for a second, she thought he might snap. The first and last thing he said to her since his return was an order: do not look at his body.
She agreed, but who were they kidding?
That same night, she clung to his corpse and felt her heart skip a beat. She had always thought this sensation was reserved for love. Nobody warned her that her heart could skip a beat again and change its rhythm at the loss of that love.
She would’ve given in. She would’ve broken down and surrendered to the pain, but the door swung open, and Akira stood at the threshold staring at her as if he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“I…” Akira shut the door behind him and shifted his gaze to Satoshi’s corpse. “I just need to say goodbye. Before the funeral, I mean.”
“Of course.”
Sayuri stepped back to let him pass, but instead, he stopped in front of her. He raised his hand, hesitated, and then lowered it on her shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
Sayuri placed her hand on top of his. Even through his bandaged palm, she could feel the indentations of old scars and fresh wounds. “I want to set the world on fire, but Satoshi might rise from the dead to scold me. I’d rather he rest now. He deserves it.”
“He does. All these years…” Akira lowered his head on her shoulder and wrapped his arms loosely around her. “I’m sorry.”
Sayuri returned his embrace. “I’m sorry about Hanabi.”
Akira’s tears seeped into the shoulder of her kimono. “We live in such a cruel world, but no matter what happens, you will always be my pesky little cousin and the woman my best friend loved with his entire being. I could never hate you, Sayuri.”
When Akira said he had to say goodbye to Satoshi, the last thing she expected was for him to lie beside his corpse and embrace him. But the longer she watched, the more it made sense.
Akira had followed Satoshi through his wife and child’s murder and now through Hanabi’s exile. If Sayuri hadn’t been there, she suspected that he’d follow him through death, too.
“Mom.”
Sayuri blinked back her tears and looked down. Suddenly, she was back in Satoru’s room, surrounded by ornate décor instead of the ritual items and medical equipment in the clan’s morgue.
Satoru gazed up at her through lidded eyes. He barely looked strong enough to be awake.
She smiled wanly at him. “I’m here.”
His facial features tensed, and a tear spilled from the inner corner of his eye.
The beginning of a sob rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. Satoshi told her before that Satoru hated seeing her cry. He’d find it easier to kill a special grade than manage the tears of his own mother.
Slowly, she lowered herself on the narrow space next to him and fixed her gaze on the ceiling. Satoshi had painted the sky on it when Satoru first moved into the main house and claimed his apartment. It was a stark contrast to the gilded furniture and dark themes of the room. Lying there, gazing at the clouds, it was almost as if the roof had opened up to reveal a path for escape.
“Satoru,” she whispered. “Do you know why your father painted the sky on your ceiling?”
From her periphery, she saw him shake his head.
“It’s to remind you that you may be shackled to power and responsibility, but you are free.” Turning to her side, she folded her arm beneath her head and studied his face. “You’re as free as Satoshi was, and he used his freedom to love you to his very last breath. He would’ve died one way or another. Age. Disease. Or simply him being the kind of idiot who chokes on his dessert.”
Gojo laughed through his nose so hard that he winced. He had to press down his nose bridge to manage the pain.
Sayuri handed him the damp towel. “Satoru Gojo, it’s inappropriate to laugh at a time like this.”
Her scolding only gave rise to another wave of stifled laughter, and Gojo pulled his knees under him so he was hunched over them with his forehead pressed to a pillow. Sobbing interrupted each burst of laughter, and the skin around his eyes turned pink from rubbing them dry with his palm.
“He was so much bigger than Utahime, and she couldn’t do the Heimlich Maneuver on him, so she made me raise him by the legs while she slapped him on the back like he was a choking baby,” he said.
Sayuri slammed her hand over her eyes while she laughed. Even in death, her husband was finding ways to embarrass her. When she felt hot tears streaming down the side of her face, she patted her face dry with the sleeve of her kimono.
“Was that why he went to a chiropractor the following day?” She had suspected something of the sort had happened, because he refused to eat mochi for months afterwards.
Satoru nodded against the pillow. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” she said, cutting herself short before her voice cracked. She fixed her eyes on the ceiling and took one, long steadying breath. “Don’t. To apologize is to rob your father of his freedom. If he were here to have one last conversation with you, I’m sure he’d tell you that his greatest honor in life was to live and die for his only son.”
When Satoru finally gave in to his grief, Sayuri remembered the first time she heard him cry. That first sign of life. She had panicked because she thought he was hurt—that she had hurt him—but Satoshi told her that it was good. To cry was to announce life. Their son was alive, and even though she felt dead inside, she knew nothing else mattered.
Her son was alive.
Gojo couldn’t remember the last time he cried so hard.
Grief wasn’t new to him, and he occasionally shed a tear, but it had never felt like this. Like his heart was ripping its way out of his chest, and his entire body was struggling to keep it in place or else.
Gojo ducked his head and wiped the water off his eyes. Under the icy shower, he felt numb enough that he could think. Lady Sayuri had insisted on it once he calmed down, because while she was sure this would not be the last time he’d cry over his father, he had to move forward.
Those words had not been convincing from her lips. Deep inside, he knew time had frozen for his mother. Whatever else followed would never compare to what had been. In a way, the same was true for Gojo. No matter the tumult that marked their last few years together, it would always be better than whatever peace they might enjoy afterwards.
Toweling himself dry, Gojo wiped the fog off the mirror and stared at his reflection.
Sleep had allowed his body to recuperate from the impact of using RCT to sustain him, but he still looked like a ghost of his former self. His body may be healed, but the heartache of Satoshi’s death made itself evident on his face. Strangely, he thought he also looked more like his father now.
Twenty-six years of continuous stress, protecting and fathering him through impossible situations, must have hardened Satoshi somehow, but just like Gojo, he had a way of burying it under a mask. Gojo could argue that he had always been that way, too, deflecting through teasing and pranks, but it was as though a final steeling had occurred, and now he was at par with Satoshi somehow. He felt he had reached a level of grief that allowed him to understand his father.
All his life, he wondered what it would be like to be him, and now he knew the answer.
Gojo grabbed his phone and checked his notifications. He prioritized those from Nanami, who had sent curt messages regarding Megumi and Tsumiki. Gojo had not allowed Nanami to join the fray in Kagawa in fear that someone might target the kids. It could be the Sasaki, or it could be the Zenin—he had made too many enemies, and either could easily target Megumi with Tsumiki as collateral damage. If there was anyone he could trust to keep them safe through all kinds of danger, it was Nanami.
Gojo was about to filter his messages to search for Shoko’s when a new text from Nanami came in.
I heard the news. I’m sorry for your loss.
Gojo flipped the phone in his hands, took a deep breath, and held his phone up to take a silly selfie. There was no better way to reassure Nanami than to annoy him, but in the end, Gojo couldn’t do it. Smiling itself was difficult. It was as though the muscles in his face had forgotten the action, and his shared amusement with Lady Sayuri earlier had been the exception.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly dropped his phone when it rang. Flipping it over, he saw Megumi’s caller ID. On reflex, Gojo swiped to answer. Megumi only called when something was wrong.
Gojo padded to his walk-in closet in his robe and sat on an ottoman. Megumi’s face flashed on the screen, and he immediately looked down. Megumi used to be impossible to read, but by now Gojo could easily differentiate between his indifference and his discomfort.
“What’s up?” Gojo asked.
Megumi rubbed the back of his neck. “How’s everything?”
“All’s well here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup.”
“I…uhm…Look—” Megumi’s expression hardened. “I don’t know where my dad is, and frankly, I don’t care, but I think I know how it feels to lose one. It sucks, especially since Satoshi was one of the good ones.” He peered up at Gojo before looking down again. In a softer tone, he added: “I’m sorry you lost him.”
Gojo didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he felt the tightness in his chest. Slowly, quietly, he breathed out.
And then he smiled.
“Stop looking so gloomy. Satoshi always said you’ll grow wrinkles with how often you scrunch up your face like that. Ah, by the way, will you do me a favor and try out the pastries in the newly opened café we saw on our way back to your apartment a couple of months ago? Let me know if they’re any good.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of desserts now, are you?”
“Why not? I worked hard. I think I deserve a little treat.”
“Fine, fine.” Megumi sighed. He finally looked at the camera. “Any news about…?”
Gojo hesitated. He had tried hard not to think too much about Utahime. In his two days of respite, he woke up every few hours to check his phone, and Shoko assured him she was fine. Utahime woke up around eighteen hours ago, looking for everyone, including him, Tomoe, and Haruki. He had fallen asleep again, wondering where he would get the strength to support her when he could barely get up. Even now, he doubted he’d be good for her, but he could at least try.
Absently, he fiddled with the Infinity pendant and the ring sitting on his collar. The cool chain around his neck was so short that it was choking, but he couldn’t bear to take it off. “I’m just about to go visit.”
Megumi nodded. “Let me know how she’s doing.”
“As soon as you and Tsumiki try out that café.”
Megumi rolled his eyes and ended the call. Gojo put his phone down and dressed, belatedly realizing that he was smiling for real. At least Megumi didn’t pity him.
Gojo’s thumb hovered over Kazuo’s number. He needed to know how Utahime was doing before he could see her in person. This probably wasn’t the best time to leave the estate, as everybody was just waiting for him to recover so they could hold Satoshi’s funeral, but he had to see Utahime. He would make it quick, but he would make it count.
Each time she woke up, she expected to see her mother and Haruki.
Each time she woke up, she remembered they were dead.
Her father had been the one to break the news to her. After Shoko showered and dressed her and she could eat soft food without throwing up, he sat her down and broke the news. In his usual straightforward fashion, he detailed the facts as he would in a mediation.
His words floated in her brain and refused to make sense. She had stared at him as though he might take it back because this couldn’t possibly be true. She was gone for less than two weeks, and in that short time, her life had unraveled.
Two of the most precious people in her life were dead; she narrowly missed the Bingo Book, and her home reeked of death. Whatever happened within the confines of their Seika shrine had turned the atmosphere grey. Her father hadn’t told her the entirety of the story, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Utahime forced herself to go to the garden alone, without assistance and the crutch Kazuo offered. She pressed herself against the wall and let it guide her to her destination. Behind her, Kazuo followed in silence. She would tell him off, but she had already been unkind to him by blaming Haruki’s defection on their secrecy. Why hadn’t they confided their suspicions with her? Why did they think pushing him to Jujutsu High would change his mind or break whatever unconfirmed affiliation he had with the Sasaki?
Shoko stopped her by announcing that it was time to update her chart.
Only then did the shock and horror on Kazuo’s face register to Utahime, and she broke down as she stammered an apology. In the end, Shoko had no choice but to sedate her. The stress was slowing down her recovery, and her priority was to regain her health.
Utahime supposed that was why she insisted on heading to the garden by herself, on her own two feet. She wanted to feel in control of something, even if her body had betrayed her.
She dropped to the edge of the veranda with a groan. Shoko had healed her injuries, and most of her discomfort came more from overexertion than anything, but pain was pain. All her aches made her feel like a foreigner in her own body. This vessel she had nourished and trained since childhood reached its limit and broke. Even her cursed energy fluctuated so drastically that it was unreliable. If a grade four curse appeared now, she’d keel over in seconds.
Kazuo sat on the veranda next to her. “You probably need a new phone.”
Utahime nodded at the swaying tree in the distance. It was a clear day, punctuated by a flat blue sky and the warm breeze blowing in from the Sacred Forest. Tomoe loved weather like this.
“It’s so strange, isn’t it? One moment, you’re crying, and the next, you’re so numb you think you won’t ever shed a tear again.” Kazuo chuckled, but it was a sad sound. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to dinners without Mother or holidays without Haruki panicking over what to bake.”
Utahime smiled at the memory. Haruki suffered mild panic attacks just before they ate his pastries. When he was ten, Tomoe had to lead him out to the garden and embrace him until he calmed down. Then they returned to the kitchen, where Tomoe shot them all a look. Nobu, Utahime, and Kazuo forced themselves to finish their slice of Haruki’s burnt carrot cake, and Haruki was happy again.
“How’s father?” she asked. She hadn’t seen him since he broke the news to her.
Kazuo finished sending a text message and pocketed his phone. “He thinks if he locks himself in his office and stays quiet, I won’t figure out that he’s crying.”
That was to be expected. Growing up, they had never seen their father openly weep. Violent, yes, but consumed by grief? No. This was the way of a sorcerer. It was twisted, but she couldn’t fault her father for it. She, too, would hate to show weakness, even when weakness was the only proper response to loss.
“It’s just the three of us now,” Utahime whispered.
“We’ll make it work.” Kazuo leaned sideways to pat her shoulder. “We’ll all be fine. I promise.”
“Kazuo?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.” Utahime offered him a weak smile. “It’s a lot to process, but I understand you never gave up on me.”
Kazuo shrugged. “We wouldn’t have been able to pull it off if Satoru Gojo wasn’t taking the lead. Talk about waging war for love.”
Fresh pain pooled in her chest at the thought of Gojo. They had informed her, cautiously, that Satoshi had died in battle, and Gojo hadn’t woken up since delivering his father’s corpse to their Uji estate. He wasn’t in a coma or any serious health condition, but he needed to rest.
Utahime could imagine him sprawled on the bed, probably on his stomach, while hugging the pillow to his face. Gojo tended to isolate himself at his lowest moments. If he wanted to be in anyone’s company, he would either be silent or asleep. She could still recall the first time he visited her apartment on her twenty-fifth birthday, how he barged in and collapsed on her couch because his students had died on a mission.
A part of her wanted to borrow Kazuo’s phone and call him. She needed to see how he was doing and promise to be the firm hand that would hold him through his suffering, but she couldn’t. Utahime could barely stand without trembling, and she had no idea how to process the loss of her mother and brother.
Worse, what if this was her fault? Gojo would never openly blame her, but she knew he would’ve spent every waking moment replaying the battle in his mind, calculating each move and coming up with alternatives. He would trace back his hurts to the root, and she feared that instead of any monstrous villain, all he’d find was her.
What if she’d just killed herself instead of releasing the vengeful spirits? Gojo would grieve her, but at least Satoshi would be alive. Gojo could always find someone new to love, but he would never have another father.
Utahime hid her face in her hand. A sob escaped her, loud and broken. No matter how hard she pressed her fingers over her eyes, the tears wouldn’t stop. It was too much already. If she lost Gojo too, she didn’t think she would ever recover.
“You’ll catch a cold.”
Utahime froze. Something warm draped over her shoulders, sending heat down her body and calming her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been quivering until it stopped.
From her periphery, she saw that Kazuo had left, and in his place sat Gojo. She glanced down at his jacket, which hung on her like a coat.
Gojo glanced sideways at her. “Better?”
Utahime pulled the jacket close over her front with one hand, and she wiped her cheeks dry with the other. “Better.”
“I’m guessing they told you everything.” He drew a circle over his face. “You have that look.”
Old reflexes kicked in, and she scowled at him, anticipating an insult. “What look?”
“When you want to bottle things up,” he said. “I can’t remember how many times I’ve caught you blinking back your tears because you’d rather deal with things on your own.”
Utahime fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t see the point of telling you when you already have a lot on your plate.”
“Utahime.”
She turned to face him. He rarely used that tone on her. Jokingly, maybe, but she could tell the difference in the minor inflection in his voice.
Gojo hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, and his fingers tented against his forehead. “You’re my fiancé. I plan to marry you and be with you for as long as I’m alive. It doesn’t matter if you throw the weight of the entire world on my shoulders. I’ll always have room for your hurts.” A pause, and then he made a face as he combed his hair back and straightened up. “But to be honest, I don’t care about the entire world, and I’m only morally obligated to most people, so you can have all of me, anywhere, anytime.”
Utahime swallowed hard. She picked up her slipper and tossed it at him. “Don’t make me laugh! It’s rude to be happy at a time like this.”
He inspected the shoe print on his sleeve, stunned. “You’re well enough if you’re throwing things already.”
Utahime pursed her lips to hide their trembling, but that only pushed out her tears, and now there was no more hiding them from him. She bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t see why you should be sorry. You were a victim in all these.”
“I’m sorry for Satoshi. I’m sorry for Hanabi.” She kneaded her chest with her knuckles to soothe the stinging in her heart. “I’m sorry for being weak.”
Gojo’s face clouded. He swiped a tear on her cheek with this thumb. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Tomoe and Haruki.”
Utahime shook her head wildly at him.
“Come here.” Gojo shifted on the bench and wrapped his arms and legs around her, his hand pressing her head on his chest. She wanted to scold him for cocooning her like this, as it looked idiotic, and it was probably inappropriate to cuddle like this in a shrine, but she didn’t want him to let go either.
“None of it was your fault,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “Suguru has always been my responsibility.”
Utahime shifted on the floor and embraced him as tightly as she could. His solidity and warmth grounded her. He calmed the storm in her head and gave her body permission to relax. To be held by Gojo was to experience true safety. To be loved by him was akin to being touched by a god.
She wasn’t sure if it was her religious upbringing or Suguru Getou’s influence, but at that moment, she was convinced she was made for Gojo.
“Satoru.” She drew back slightly to see his face. “I have something to ask.”
“I may or may not have survived on sweets while you were away,” he blurted. “Why? Do I smell sweet?” He sniffed his armpit.
Utahime tugged his hair. “Be serious. It’s about Satoshi’s technique…”
“Oh.” His mask slipped for a fraction of a second. It was enough for her to see how the mere mention of his father’s name undid him, but he was deflecting everything again. She wondered if she should call him out on it or whether to allow him this means to cope.
“You mean his Domain Expansion?” he asked.
She nodded. “Did it affect you? Father said Satoshi’s Domain Expansion stresses the brain by dragging their memories…forward? Like, letting them see into the future?”
“Ah. His technique treats memories like movie reels. It’s like dragging the brain towards a reel with nothing in it, because the future is always yet to happen.” He regarded her. “Why? You weren’t supposed to be affected by that.”
She opened and closed her mouth as she motioned to her head, struggling to verbalize her thoughts. “I have a vague idea of what happened while I was with the Sasaki, but I don’t remember everything. Not in detail, at least. They’re flashes of color. Nothing vivid. It’s like it happened to me, but I’m detached from it. Does that make sense?”
Gojo couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, and his airways constricted. The phantom of his father’s hand wrapped around his throat, holding him up against the wall as he threatened to show Utahime all that Gojo did in the mediation. That would be the cost of seeing all that Suguru had done to Utahime while in captivity.
Gojo ran his hands up and down the length of her arms, soothing her to soothe himself. “Do you want to remember?”
“No.” She shuddered. “That wasn’t me. I’m not a bad person.”
Gojo embraced her again and buried his face in her hair. His face grew hot, and he pinched the insides of his eyes to stop himself from crying. Not here. Not in front of her. “I won’t be surprised if he multitasked and tampered with your memories. Satoshi refused to show me anything when we arrived in Kyushu.”
Utahime stifled a sob. She gripped his shoulders hard. “Thank goodness.”
The image of his father’s mutilated head returned to him. Now, it made sense. Killing hundreds of people with his Domain Expansion in a matter of seconds should’ve stopped his heart. He would’ve dropped dead, bleeding from his eyes, nose, and ears, but he would’ve been whole. That he performed the reverse on Utahime while simultaneously striking that number of people overheated his brain and melted half of his head.
Satoshi had always been keen on showing off to Gojo. He wished he could at least tell his father that he was impressed.
He wished he could tell his father how much he loved him.
“Oh, before I forget.” Gojo took out his phone and snapped a photo of Utahime. For some reason, his flash was on, and this made her blink fast as her vision recovered.
Gojo grinned at the photo. It showed her puffy eyes and cheeks, both pink and rubbed raw in places, but she looked well. She looked so much better than when he found her in the temple. “Sent!”
“Let me see!” She forced his phone in her direction and shrieked. “Satoru Gojo! Unsend it! Delete it!”
“Aw, but you look like a lost little penguin here.”
“I don’t even like penguins!” She wrestled the phone out of his grasp, and she snapped a photo of him up close. Perhaps too close. The photo showed his face from a low angle, and although his mouth was wide open and his nose wrinkled, no one could deny he had a handsome face.
She tried again. “Look ugly, will you?”
“I can’t. You’re asking for the impossible, Senpai.”
“Just look like you escaped a mental asylum.”
Gojo stuck his tongue out and pressed the skin of his face upwards. “Does this work?”
Utahime took several photos and sent one to Megumi. Gojo may have pulled off the crazy, but it was like the elements were on his side. The way the sun struck his skin and hair was too perfect to be natural. This had to be a by-product of Infinity or something, even though he wasn’t using it at the moment.
Gojo tucked her hair behind her ear while she was busy studying his photos. “Wanna take a photo together?”
“Should we? It feels too soon to be happy again.”
“They deleted everything digital from yours and mine. I didn’t consent to it, but the clan thought it was a necessary safety precaution in case you were placed in the Bingo Book,” he said.
Utahime’s breathing quickened, and her pupils roamed the garden as she took this information in. “Nothing?”
“I believe so.”
Utahime frowned at his phone. After a beat, she raised it and pressed their cheeks together, making sure they were both in the frame. Their smiles were forced, and the angle was against the light, but Gojo thought it was a good photo. Everything was good as long as they were in it together.
He zoomed in on her face. “Penguin.”
She tugged at his lashes. “Crazy man.”
“This crazy man will kiss you now.” He tilted his head and pecked her on the lips. “This crazy man will kiss you again.”
Utahime giggled while their lips were pressed together, and he, too, broke into a smile. Holding her head steady, he bent down for another kiss, this time deeper; intimate in a way that communicated what could not be said through words.
He missed her. He thought he lost her. For the longest second of his life, before he draped his jacket on her and sat on that veranda beside her, he thought this would end differently.
Utahime’s tears made his eyes flutter open. He pulled back a little to wipe her cheeks. “The pain comes and goes. It’s the same for me.” She clutched the overlapping seams of her kosode to indicate where she was hurting, sobbing so hard now that she couldn’t speak, and all he could do was wrap his hand around her fist.
“Utahime, I promise that the next time Suguru and I meet on the battlefield, I will kill him,” he whispered. “I won’t hesitate anymore.”
