Chapter Text
A heavy pressure settled on your chest as you stared at the body in front of you. It was a man, probably twice your age but no less handsome for it. Inky black curls stuck to a feverish face, gone pale from pain. He tossed and turned fitfully, his bare torso shining with sweat as you trembled with terror.
“It’s alright,” your father said, placing his hand on your shoulder, “You can do this. Relax a little and remember your training.”
“It’s never worked before,” you said tearfully, “How can you expect it to do so now?”
“His life is in your hands. It will work, because there is no other option,” he said. You set your palms on the fallen sorcerer’s chest, drawing upon your cursed energy. This first part was easy; you were more than proficient with using your family’s inherited technique.
The weak spots that belonged to every human glowed a cheery white — the nape of the neck, the jaw, the heart. The newly created ones were a furious red, pulsating in a steady rhythm. These were the ones you had to treat and regenerate by utilizing your Reverse Cursed Technique.
Though the Dissection part of the technique was simple, its Reversal was anything but. The technique itself was nothing special, nothing of note — it simply pointed out the weak spots of an opponent. Compared to the inherited techniques of most other important clans, it was downright weak. But that was not where your family earned its importance in jujutsu society: you were not fighters nor leaders. You were healers — or at least, you were supposed to be. Something in your genetic bloodline made Reverse Cursed Techniques natural and easy-won.
Your father was quick and efficient, with a ruthlessness to his light touch as he reconstructed muscles and bones, creating something out of nothing and restoring function to long-useless limbs. Your great-grandfather had supposedly healed an entire army in a matter of minutes once, and legends had it that an ancestor of yours from the Heian period had even resurrected his wife from near-death.
The latter tale was a romantic one that your mother often read in a vain attempt to inspire you, even a little. He loved her so much, she recited, over and over, that he was willing to reach into the darkest depths of his soul to save her.
This was the downside of Reversed Cursed Techniques. In order to create positive energy, it was necessary to multiply negativity by negativity. And this was the step you were unable to do — that reaching into your soul, that bleeding yourself dry for the sake of others.
You were not a healer, or at least you had no aptitude for it. You were the family’s greatest disappointment, a girl who wanted to be a warrior but at this rate was destined to be nothing more than a housewife.
The fact that you were the only heir to the L/N name only compounded this disappointment tenfold. How would your prized Reverse Cursed Technique, Composition, be passed down if the line ended with you, the useless child who could not so much as fix a papercut?
You tried. Feeling the man’s pain and knowing you had to fix it, you tried to rip the hurt out of your soul and mold it into something malleable, something workable, something with which you could soothe his injuries, which were nearing the point of irreversible fatality.
“It hurts,” you whimpered. It felt as though there was a blade driving into your heart, and you clenched your fists, gasping for air, “I can’t, father. I can’t do it.”
“Push past the pain,” he said, voice tense, “That’s the only way. You must take it and make it your own; it will vanish soon, once it has been multiplied with the cursed energy of your technique. The more you practice, the quicker you will be, and thus the less you will suffer. Come on, Y/N, you can do it.”
“No,” you said, stubborn tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head frantically, vision swimming and knives scraping at your windpipe, “No, I cannot breathe, I cannot — I cannot — please, father, you have to save him. I am no healer, I can’t — it will kill me!”
Your voice was shrill and hysterical, fractured with fear and desperation. You were not built like the rest of your family; perhaps you took after your gentle mother, who had no cursed technique at all. Perhaps your constitution was not meant for this. Your father gave you one final, measured look, and then he let out a heavy exhale and pushed you to the side. His hands barely glanced the man’s chest, his brow creasing for a mere instant before the sorcerer shot up with a gasp.
“Easy there, Kaito,” your father said, chuckling and pushing him back down, “You’re not quite back to fighting form just yet. You still need to rest up a bit. Also, quit pushing yourself so much! Fighting such a powerful curse is hard for just about anyone, and you’re still a newly minted Grade 1 sorcerer. There’s no sense in risking it all so soon.”
“Ah, you’re right, but you know how I am. I give my all every time I’m on the battlefield. It’s the only way we stand any sort of chance against these damned monsters,” Kaito said.
“We all have our parts to play,” your father said diplomatically, “Or most of us do, at least.”
It was an unspoken dismissal, and you bowed your head before slipping out of the hospital wing. Your family manor was silent, your soft footsteps echoing in the hallways as you padded back to your room in shame.
Your fate was all but sealed now. This had been your final chance to make something of yourself, to prove that you could at least be a healer and carry on your family’s noble work. But you could not, and so as a woman of the L/N line, there was only one fate left for you — engagement to a man of note, left to be nothing more than a broodmare, the rest of your life spent atrophying away in some gilded-cage-mansion, raising children that you had no choice in bearing.
You wondered who it would be, which man would lay claim to your hand in marriage. It was no stretch to say you were an attractive prospect, though not for your looks. Any children you might have were likely to be able to utilize Reverse Cursed Techniques, strengthening any clan’s power tenfold. And besides, your family was reliably the only group of capable healers in the jujutsu world that were not pledged to any one side. An alliance with the L/N clan had more benefits than risks, so in that sense you were actually quite sought after. Your prospects were open, though it wasn’t like you’d have much of a choice in the matter because of this fact. You’d marry who you were told to and drown in self-pity for the rest of your miserable life either way.
It was something of a game for you at this point, going through the most important clans and seeing which had unmarried descendants. You often ranked them, picking out which you would like to marry the most and least — what else could you pass your time with? Training to fight meant that you ran the risk of getting hurt, and in a society such as the one you were trapped in, a marred girl was of intrinsically less value. You could not heal, either, so you languished in your room and amused yourself with silly, mundane things such as your own personal version of The Bachelorette.
Your favorite never changed: Toge Inumaki, the only son of the Inumaki clan. He was closest in age to you, with soft blond hair and violet eyes that shimmered with eternal mischief. Dark, delicate markings curled around his lips and on his tongue, marking him as a user of Cursed Speech — his family’s inherited technique. To some, such a thing might be a downside, but you found it a plus, really. After all, the less your future husband talked to you, the better.
But you knew your father and uncles would never allow it. He would be a back-up, a safe option, but he was not what they truly wanted. No, they had their sights set higher — on the scions of the Big Three, and one in particular: Noritoshi Kamo.
He was not bad, you concluded. Not too far in age from you like the heirs to the Zenin and Gojo clans were, he was polite and powerful, if not achingly proper. He was always kind to you, giving you his phone number on your first meeting and sending you gifts every now and then. Indeed, as far as candidates went, he was perfectly tolerable. So, if you could not have Inumaki, then you would take Kamo — provided he would take you back.
And he did. The proposal came via messenger one day, and it was altogether far too formal and ridiculous by any sane person’s standards, but it came. A delicate gold ring with a star-bright diamond set onto the band was presented to you in a velvet box and then fitted to your finger, where it rested as an eternal reminder of the man you were now bound to. Parties were thrown and the higher-ups were informed: Y/N L/N was to marry Noritoshi Kamo once he had graduated from school.
For the first time, you sensed you had made your parents proud. And this was enough to make you somewhat compliant in the festivities, paraded about at functions reserved for the upper echelons as the newest jewel added to the Kamo clan’s crown.
The stiff gaudiness and subtle politics made you more than a little uncomfortable, but your soft complaints meant nothing to your parents, who had never cared to listen before and certainly did not now, now that you weren’t their problem but rather the Kamos’ — Noritoshi’s in specific. And Noritoshi himself only gave you a sad smile when you whispered your feelings in his ear — he understood them, shared them even, but what could he do? What could either of you do? You both were stuck, chained to one another and to a sinking ship that was dragging the two of you down with it.
“Aren’t you so thrilled to have such a beautiful woman to call your own?” This was Naoya Zenin, lifting his glass at Noritoshi in congratulations, who smiled tightly, his nimble fingers tapping your thigh thrice in quick succession under the table. It was something of a language you had developed in solidarity with one another. If anything, the parties had at least forced a tenuous friendship between you two.
Three times was an apology. He was going to play the role he was expected to, but he wanted you to know he didn’t mean it. You smiled vacantly and tapped back once discreetly. Acceptance and affirmation. You would not hold it against him.
“Certainly,” he said.
“And she is so docile, too. Careful, you might make me jealous. Would you be opposed to sharing?” Naoya said.
“Unfortunately, I am not open to any such thing at the moment,” Noritoshi said immediately. You tapped twice — gratitude. He tapped once back — it’s nothing.
“Pity,” Naoya said before returning to his conversation with his father.
“Thank you,” you murmured under your breath, leaning closer to Noritoshi under the pretense of fixing his collar. “He gives me the creeps.”
“Me as well. He is somewhat of a raging misogynist; it is rather grating. And he is so much older than us that for him to insinuate such things about you makes me feel nauseous,” Noritoshi said. Your expression softened, and you continued to eat your dinner to hide it. Noritoshi was kind, to be certain; this was more than could be said about most of his equals, so you cherished it.
“I am glad that it is you I am to marry and not someone like him,” you said. In a rare show of affection, you interlaced your fingers with his and squeezed. His brows drew together in surprise before he smiled and squeezed back.
“I am glad to marry you, too,” he said. There was no comparison, no qualifier attached to the end of it. Perhaps it was implied, or perhaps he meant to leave it at that; perhaps he really was just glad to marry you. Well, good for him, then. At least one of you had positive feelings towards the relationship.
“Do you mind if I go out for a little bit? It is hot in here,” you said. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, a small frown playing at his lips.
“Are you feverish?” he said. You shook your head.
“No, I just want to take a walk. I need some fresh air. You know how I feel about these parties; after a while, I need a break,” you said.
“Will you be alright by yourself?” he said.
“I’m not a child,” you reprimanded him, “And I won’t go far. Just out on the balcony.”
“Be careful,” he said anyways. You scowled.
“I am glad to hear of the faith you have in me,” you said dryly, standing and brushing your skirt off.
“Just take my worry as evidence of my fondness and accept it,” he said. You fought off the urge to wave him away, instead nodding once, shortly.
“Thank you,” you said. The words rang hollow, and he sighed in defeat but did not argue further, only watching as you excused yourself from the table and headed towards the balcony.
The moon was full and bright, a soft breeze tickling at your skin as you looked down at the gardens filled to the bursting with flowers. They were beautiful, their colors muted in the silver of the night and their petals curled slightly inwards, as if the blooms were sleeping, too. You were too far for their sweet fragrance to permeate the air around you, but you imagined they probably smelled nice. Closing your eyes and leaning forwards as if that would help you any, you let out a soft breath.
It was nice out here, where there were no expectations nor demands floating in the air. Alone, you could pretend that you had a choice in marrying whoever you wanted, in becoming whatever you wanted. With the stars as your only company, you could finally just be yourself.
You were never meant for a life like this. A call to do something with what you had been given sang through your blood. A call to do something, anything. You wanted to feel adrenaline pumping through your veins and fire in your heart; you wanted to feel energy bursting from your fingertips and strength fortifying your muscles. You wanted to leap; whether you crashed or flew didn’t make much of a difference. The free-fall was what you sought, that moment of suspension in mid-air when time slowed and there was nothing but you and your soul and the feeling of being alive.
“I won’t catch you if you fall, you know,” a masculine voice said from behind you. Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you recognized the person who spoke. He was well renowned throughout the sorcery world, after all, a bona fide celebrity that you had seen here and there at various gatherings.
“Gojo,” you greeted him.
“Hello, Y/N. Oh, do you mind if I am familiar with you?” he said. You shrugged, not turning to face him.
“Not really. You’re my elder, anyways, so I’m hardly about to correct you,” you said. He let out a raucous laugh.
“Don’t give me that! We should be friends. I prefer to get along with my students,” he said.
“I’m not one of your students, though,” you said sourly. You heard the click of his footsteps approaching you, and you readied yourself to react somehow, but he only moved to stand beside you, resting his forearms on the railing of the balcony in a casually graceful movement. His typical white blindfold made of bandages had been replaced with a pair of black sunglasses that allowed you to see the maelstrom of blues swirling in his irises as he regarded you coolly.
“You could be. You have potential,” he said. You snorted.
“Not so. I can’t use my Reverse Cursed Technique at all. It’s not something I’m capable of, actually,” you said. He wrinkled his nose in disdain.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve often found that capability is not something we can really define for ourselves. You might find that strength when you need it most…but even then, even without your Reverse Cursed Technique, you are not useless,” he said.
“Thank you,” you said, blinking at the acknowledgement, “That is very kind of you to say.”
“I’ll admit I have ulterior motives,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and grinning as if to offset his words.
“Oh,” you said, though you really should’ve expected such a thing, “That’s fine.”
“Though I wasn’t lying! It’s true that you could be great, but we both know your talents will be wasted in a life such as the one your family desires,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you said with a bitter laugh.
“I want you to come to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. You can train under me to fight curses, and if you are able to unlock your Reverse Cursed Technique, then all the better! Shoko can help you hone it, she’s a relative genius with such things,” he said. Your shoulders sagged, and the smile fell from your face as you shifted your attention back to the moon.
“That’s not a choice I can make for myself, and it was unfair of you to ask me in the first place. As if my life has ever been my own,” you said.
“I’m from one of the Big Three clans, too, with far more respect than Noritoshi and your father have combined. They won’t stop me if I command it,” he said.
“What good would forcing the issue do? You’ll just make more enemies. It’s no secret the higher-ups have no love for you; respect, yes, but they are more likely to harm than help you. It would not be wise for you to do something that directs the vitriol of both the Kamo and L/N clans towards you, too,” you said.
“I’m the strongest,” he said, and it was a lazy statement that hung in the air with the weight of a thousand stones. He was the strongest.
“I think I should like to jump after all,” you said finally. “At least there will be one thing I can do for myself.”
“I won’t stop you,” he said.
“Thank you, but we all know they would,” you said, motioning towards the party haphazardly and then shaking you head. “Anyways, maybe I’m not quite at that point just yet. Thank you for your offer, Gojo, sir. I really appreciate it…and I really, really, really wish I could take it.”
He extended a hand to pat you on the head, careful to avoid messing up your elegant hairstyle. You closed your eyes in content; this was the most parental affection you had been shown in some time, or at least without any strings attached. Once, you might’ve thought such a thing sad, but by now it was a firm fact of life that you were resigned to accepting.
“Don’t give up so easily,” he said before waving cheerily, “Enjoy your time outside! The weather’s nice, so don’t rush back too quickly, yeah?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” you said, deciding you might never understand him. Attempting it was futile, so you just pushed the odd encounter out of your mind. Dwelling on lost possibilities would only taint the night with melancholy, after all, so what was the sense in it? Never mind that the strongest sorcerer in the world had just offered to train you. Never mind that he thought you had potential. Never mind any of it.
You should’ve known that Gojo was up to something from the smirk he wore as he left you alone. A sudden chittering noise in your ear caused you to jump, and goosebumps abruptly rose on your flesh when you came to the horrific conclusion that you were not alone. Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as you slowly turned your head and met the eyes of a curse.
This was your first time encountering one, but you knew what it was as if it were an instinct. The body was twisted and malformed in an inhuman way, its sharp teeth bared in a predatory leer as it continued to laugh maniacally, its intentions clear in its stance.
The only thing you could think to do was scream. You screamed until your throat was sore and you heard a pounding at the door — but why were they pounding like that, why were they not coming to save you? You craned your neck as much as you could, keeping the curse in your peripheral vision and then swearing aloud when you fully understood the magnitude of the situation you were in.
It was locked. For some reason, the door was locked, and none of them could open it. You saw the rage and despair on Noritoshi’s face, and some part of you was comforted in a fatalistic way. Here was somebody that would mourn for you; not your bloodline or skills but rather you.
Naoya was the second person you saw, and distaste bubbled in you at his self-satisfied expression. This was the natural order of things to him; you were a pretty toy, but why should he risk himself to defend something so easily replaceable? And, to that end, why did even Noritoshi feel so strongly about this? He had no shortage of suitors, after all. Your death would free him to do whatever he wanted in the future.
It was cold, you idly noted; perhaps the goosebumps were not from fear alone. Indeed, the fear had actually vanished into a freezing, clinical calm, and your mind at once slowed and then sharpened.
Gojo believed you had potential; somehow, you had a gut feeling that this was his way of proving it. True to your intuition, he was nowhere to be found. The so-called strongest was not even attempting to save you, the vulnerable girl about to be absorbed by a curse. This was not entirely unforeseen, though, was it? He had said so already — he would not catch you if you fell. This meant, then, that he had the faith you could catch yourself.
“Alright, then. If that’s how it’s to be,” you said, pulling a pin out of your hair and rolling your shoulders. Your elaborate updo did not even budge — far too many other pins and hairspray were at work keeping it up. You silently thanked the maid that had done it before refocusing yourself. You only had one shot at this; though your reserves of cursed energy were actually above-average, channelling it was like working a muscle that had not been used in some time. You doubted you could maintain it for long without fatiguing yourself beyond belief, and at that point, you might as well give up and hand yourself to the curse on a silver platter.
Furrowing your brow, you imbibed the hair pin with as much cursed energy as you could muster — a fairly basic technique that most sorcerers were capable of, even you. Sweat poured down your forehead, but you only wiped it away with a flick of your hand, your concentration too intense to be broken. You would pay for this later, but you would be thankful to do so, for it’d mean you’d lived to tell the tale and face the consequences.
A giddiness replaced the fear as you realized you were about to do it. You were about to fight a curse, and whether you won or lost, your time on this earth would not have ended without impact. The call in your blood hummed lowly, sated for the moment as you finished cursing the pin. Then, turning to the spirit that had, until now, been watching you silently, you tilted your head.
“Dissection,” you said, pronouncing each syllable meticulously. At the same, you held out one palm and tapped the pin against the center, activating the pressure point that allowed your technique to take hold even when you were not in contact with your target.
You were surprised to discover that, unlike humans, the weak spots of curses glowed a malevolent, dark green. Though, this made sense when you afforded it further thought, so you shook off your initial shock rather quickly.
The brightest spot was the weakest — or at least, it worked that way for humans, and you assumed that that principle, at least, transferred over. At any rate, you hoped so, because you were about to stake your life on it.
The solar plexus — if it could even be called that on such an inhumanoid thing — drew your attention first, shining far more than the other pinpricks of light. Taking careful aim and then trusting the rest to fate, you threw the pin.
It stuck true, and the curse stumbled back in surprise before promptly bursting into a million particles. The pin clattered to the ground, and time suddenly returned to its normal pace. What had seemed like minutes upon minutes had in truth barely been a few seconds, and as your heart rate slowed, you came to understand what you had just done.
The door slammed open as you crouched to pick up the hairpin, holding it up to the light and inspecting it carefully.
“Y/N!” Noritoshi’s concern was so heartbreakingly raw that it wrenched you from your daze. He was upon you in an instant, kneeling and holding you tightly to his chest, glaring out at the others as if they would try to attack you, too.
“Noritoshi,” you said, slumping against him, the soothing ylang-ylang of his cologne grounding you to reality, “I just exorcised a curse.”
“I am so sorry,” he said, “I — I should’ve been there to protect you, but I let you down. You could’ve been killed, and I could not so much as open a damned door! I cannot begin to imagine the terror you must’ve felt. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
“Noritoshi,” you said once more, only now you were more amazed than anything, “I just exorcised a curse.”
“Yes,” he said, “Yes, you did. You should not have had to…but you did.”
“Boy, did she ever!” This was Gojo, the only one tactless enough to intrude on the private moment, causing you to let out giggle, breaking the tension somewhat.
“She was excellent, indeed,” Noritoshi said, “There is nobody more talented than her in the entire world, I think.”
You thought it ironic that he was saying such things to Gojo of all people, but it was sweet, so you did not bother to correct him.
“I’m inclined to agree! In fact, she’s so talented I want her to train with me,” Gojo said. You felt Noritoshi stiffen around you, and panic seized your throat. He could not say no, he could not, you believed you might die if he did.
“You mean to risk her life daily by throwing her into the world of sorcery headfirst?” he said, tone scathing.
“Yup!” Gojo said.
“Noritoshi,” you said. His attentive eyes were on you in an instant, and then you found yourself unable to speak anymore. Your hand found his bicep, and you tapped once. Acceptance and affirmation. You begged him to understand, and to your surprise, he did.
“Are you certain?” he said hesitantly. This bolstered your resolve, and you nodded, finding the courage to vocalize your thoughts once more.
“I have to. Now that I have done it once, there is no way I can live without ever doing it again. Noritoshi, please,” you said quietly, to avoid being overheard. He studied you for a second before exhaling through his nose in a warm amusement.
“I’ve known from the very start that you’re not one to be tied down. It would be sheer stupidity on anyone’s part to think that they could stop you from doing what you will, but I do not want to ever give you cause to work behind my back. Marriage…it is a partnership. We will be partners, at least, in the future,” he said.
“Partners,” you repeated, not questioning how he had seen through to your true nature so easily. You were not that good at camouflaging your wants — he was only the first to ever pay enough attention to uncover them. “I can accept that. I would like it, even.”
“Very well, then,” he said, “Train with Gojo, if that is what you will.”
“Thank you,” you said, eyes widening as you realized this was it, this was liberation, this was the freefall you had craved, “Thank you, Noritoshi, thank you, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said brusquely, “Your wants are as much mine as mine are yours. I am not like…well. You know who.”
“I do,” you said, and now you were beaming, “But thank you, anyways.”
“Ready to go?” Gojo said, once again interrupting the moment and offering you his hand, “I already called and ensured a room would be ready for you on the campus! You’ll be transferring in a little after the year has started, but don’t worry, the rest of your classmates are a welcoming bunch, so you’ll fit right in.”
“Yeah,” you said, taking his hand with an air of finality, “I am. Let’s go.”
He pulled you to your feet and dragged you after him, cackling out apologies as the two of you ran through the throngs of partygoers that had gathered to watch the spectacle. You winced at his crass behavior, but when you pushed aside all thoughts of propriety, you realized it was fun to race though the crowds, sticking out your tongue at Naoya when you passed him and snickering at the confusion that flitted over his features.
“You put that curse there! And you locked the door!” you accused him between sharp inhales, your lungs burning from pure exhilaration.
“What are you talking about? I would never endanger a child!” he shot back.
“Maybe not, but that means nothing. I doubt you thought I was in any danger, anyways,” you said.
“You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that. I know someone you’d get along with marvelously! Too bad he’s a year younger than you,” he said. “Want to stop for mochi on the way to the school?”
“Sure?” you said, startled at the change in subject. “Yeah, mochi is good.”
“Alright!” he said, pumping his fist in the air. This was the heir to the illustrious Gojo clan; this was the strongest sorcerer in the world; this was the strangest man you had ever met. He was a person of many dichotomies, and you were stumbling to keep up with them all.
He rambled about random things as a tired man with deep-set frown lines drove the two of you to a place that sold mochi, and then he paid for your food without complaint. However, as you both ate, his demeanor sobered.
“You’ll be one of us from now on,” he said.
“This feels like a cult initiation,” you said nervously, wondering what you had just signed up for.
“It might as well be. You have lived in this society for your entire life, but you have never been in battle, have you? It is entirely different from the healing you have trained for until now,” he said. You understood, then, what he was trying to say in his funny, roundabout way.
“It is easier, I think. Fighting, that is, compared to healing,” you said thoughtfully.
“Is that so?” Gojo said, and there was genuine curiosity in his voice now, “Explain.”
“Healing is like a war,” you said, remembering the pain in your chest and the death that washed over you when you tried to use your Reverse Cursed Technique, “There are storms in suffering, I’ve come to find — great, unshakable seas of pain set into turmoil with the slightest disturbance. It is too delicate a job for me, so I think I shall stick with battles. I would rather witness death than be responsible for it.”
“Responsibility is inescapable,” he said, shoving the last of your food in his mouth. “But you may not be far off in your assessment.”
“I will not know until I’ve done it. What I am certain about is that I would prefer dying to living as I have until now,” you said.
His eyes were wise, belying his true maturity and grief when he spoke next.
“It is not your own dying that you should fear.”
This, too, you understood, so you nodded in assent.
“I know.”