Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The train ride to Kyoto goes by in the blink of an eye. Not because it’s pleasant, and not because it’s particularly quick, but because Shoko’s brain isn’t really in good enough shape to fuck with the concept of linear time.

“Fuck,” she mutters as they pull into the station. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck.”

“Dude, you’re fine,” Suguru says, holding back a laugh as he tries (and fails) for the fourth (or maybe fortieth) time to try and calm Shoko down. “Relax.”

She doesn’t feel fine. She kind of feels like she wants to pass out. But if anyone should feel that way, it should be Suguru.

It didn’t take long for shit to hit the fan after Satoru left. Maybe a week. Suguru had about a week to pack all his shit into a tiny little box in his chest and tape it shut. Then the curses started coming. Weak stuff at first, but the little ones tend to swarm. And over the past few weeks, it’s just been ramping and ramping - grade twos, then finally grade ones. There hasn’t been a special-grade yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

All the combat sorcerers in Tokyo have been working full time, and Shoko, one of the only RCT users in the city, has been working overtime.

And it’s still not enough.

The curses just keep coming, and coming, and coming - like they know Satoru and Yuki are MIA. Like they know it’s only a matter of time before they’re back, like they know they’re on a timer. But the thing about curses - about jujutsu - is that it’s supposed to self-balance. With less sorcery power in the city, there should be fewer curses too. But it seems like it’s just building and building. For every curse exorcised, it seems like two more spawn from its ashes. Tokyo’s smog of cursed energy just gets thicker and thicker. If Shoko could see residuals, she’s sure the streets would look like a fucking Pollock painting.

So if anyone’s about to keel over, it should be Suguru - the one special-grade sorcerer left to shoulder the burden of three. He’s been on missions every day for almost three weeks. But Shoko’s been holed up in the infirmary too, working around the clock to heal his wounds, Nanami and Haibara’s, and dozen other private sorcerers who’ve pitched in to fill the gaps. They’re both beat. Maybe Tokyo’s going to crack during their little winter break, but it’ll shatter if they both give out for good.

So Yaga signs off on their vacation despite the clan’s protests. Yuki might have left them a shit sandwich - a buffet of shit sandwiches - but whatever she did to the Kamo clan has them bent over a barrel. A few of the Kamo clan’s strongest sorcerers traveled down to Tokyo to cover them. Maybe they even passed each other on the train line.

That means Shoko gets a break. That means Shoko gets to visit Kyoto, the ancestral home of jujutsu. And that means she gets to gay panic.

“I am so fucked,” Shoko mumbles. “I am so so fucked.”

She picks at her winter uniform jacket - it’s a turtleneck, tighter and stiffer than her normal high collar. It’s thicker, which is nice - it makes her feel warm. It also makes her feel like she’s slightly choking all the time.

But, again, that could be the gay panic.

“You are not fucked,” Suguru says, “Well, unless-”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not judging,” Suguru says with a little chuckle. “Just make sure you’re using protection.” Shoko smacks his shoulder, and he doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he feels it. “C’mon, the festival hasn’t even started yet. You have a whole day to doomspiral. Pace yourself.”

“Wow, you’re so helpful.” Shoko bites out.

But Suguru is helpful, kind of. As a case study, maybe, of what not to do when you have a gay crush on someone. And, when the subject isn’t himself, he’s actually a pretty reasonable, logical dude. Maybe there’s another lesson she’s supposed to take away from that.

But Shoko’s off from classes until next week.

She and Suguru step off the train side by side, engulfed by a crowd of holiday travelers. Tinny, electronic bells chime as the train doors close behind them. For the first time, Shoko breathes in the thick, jujutsu-infused air of Kyoto. And…

She doesn’t feel anything.

It’s a little cold. Although not as cold as she expected. Maybe that’s thanks to the turtleneck. Suguru senses it. His breathing slows, and he looks towards the mountains, to the slowly-setting sun. He feels it. Whatever it is - sorcery in the air? Just kinda feels like a breeze... Maybe that’s just the train leaving the station.

“Shoko!”

Shoko’s head snaps around with all of the liveliness of a dead snake. She’s quick enough to spot Utahime in the crowd, but not quick enough to do much about that before Utahime is on them. Her delicate, floral presence instantly lights up their gloomy corner of the station. And Shoko’s fatigue vanishes, painted over with a coat of jittery, electrified nerves.

“You made it!” Utahime cheers, so lively and pretty that they may as well be visiting for the cherry blossom season. She isn’t even doing anything, isn’t even wearing anything special, and she still takes Shoko’s breath away. She still makes Shoko feel warmer than she’s got any right to be in December.

“Uh-”

Utahime suddenly pulls her into a hug: stable and strong where Shoko’s arms tremble. Utahime looks into her eyes, and the noise of the train station seems to drain away. The air seems to grow thicker; although maybe that’s the jujutsu.

“I can’t wait to show you the festival,” Utahime says softly, kindly, only to her.

She has the type of eyes that seem endless. Or maybe Shoko’s brain just stops working before she can find the bottom. But she looks into them anyway, mindlessly lost.

“Y-y-” Shoko stutters, “Me too. Yeah. Um, me too.”

Utahime is overwhelming. Not in the scary, sudden snap of lightning kind of way that Satoru is, and not in the void-black, all-consuming vortex way that Suguru is. Utahime is more like… Like the eye of a storm, deafening in its silence, potent in its calm. You’d think, maybe, that some of that supernatural calm would splash over into Shoko. Or at least that, by comparison, Shoko would find it easier to deal with Utahime than the chaotic clusterfuck special-grades she’s normally trying to sail between.

But nope.

No matter how supernaturally soft and still Utahime’s presence becomes, she makes Shoko’s heart beat a million miles a minute. She makes Shoko’s nerves crash up like a sea tossed around by the storms. So when her mouth falls open, it’s just wind.

“Shoko?”

She should say something. She should say something. But the only thought she can fish up is-

Pretty.

“Are you alright?”

Suguru clears his throat, because thank all the gods, at least he only gay panics over worthless abominable snowtwinks. And he’s a real G. Utahime blushes and lets go of Shoko, which kind of sucks, but it lets her get her head back on straight.

“Ah, sorry!” Utahime gives a quick bow in apology, “It’s nice to see you too, Geto!”

Suguru smiles and lets out a bashful little laugh.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I know you two have a lot to catch up on.” Suguru adjusts the bags on his shoulder - both of theirs, since he’s playing the role of pack mule this time.

“Right,” Shoko says, “Um, lead the way.”

Suguru always says he doesn’t mind that either - carrying the load. Even though Shoko knows that she should feel a little guilty, she really doesn’t. Shoko’s not a total wimp, but she’s also not pushing 180 centimeters and built like an ox, so - fair’s fair.

“Right, we should get going,” Utahime says, beaming, “I got some of the spare rooms ready for you.”

“Sounds good,” Suguru hums. They follow Utahime out of the station like baby ducks, guided into the bustling streets at a slow waddle. Suguru nudges Shoko’s shoulder. Shoko elbows him in the side.

There’s also the second thing, which is that Suguru needs any distraction he can get these days. In lieu of exorcising curses, he falls back on manual labor. Neither seem particularly healthy, but it’s all Shoko can do right now, as his doctor, to keep him alive.

-:-

“You look like you need a smoke.”

Suguru leans over the rail of the indoor-outdoor hallway leading between the dorms and the training grounds. Kyoto’s campus, as it turns out, is laid out pretty much the same as Tokyo’s - minus a few classrooms and plus a few mountains. It’s nice, though. Plenty of space, and, since it’s tucked away in the mountains, you can actually see the stars.

Suguru sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He shuts off his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he turns to face Shoko.

“Maybe, yeah,” he mutters, scrubbing his face with a hand. Then he stares across the field, all the way out to the small torii gate that leads off into the woods. Off campus, into the real jujutsu wilds. Off planet Earth, and into the aether - the cursed realm, a nebulous concept that Yaga wouldn’t have enough information to teach them about even if Shoko did pay attention in class. “Probably shouldn’t, though.”

“Yeah,” Shoko sighs. Best to not. Kyoto’s different. Even without sensing the thick, potent energy in the air, Shoko’s started to feel it -the sorcery. It sort of just feels like they’re being watched. “Still nothing?” Shoko asks, nodding to his pocket.

Suguru groans. He lets himself crumble over the railing, clutching his forehead in his hands.

“It just keeps going to voicemail,” he mutters. “What if that means-”

“Hey,” Shoko leans down next to him, throwing her arm over his shoulders.

“That means it’s dead right? Like-”

“Suguru,” she cuts him off gently. “Yaga said he’s with Yuki. We know he’s okay.”

She gathers up his face in her useless hands. The bags under his eyes are getting worse, and it’s Gojo Satoru’s fault. Even the best RCT in the world can’t fix that.

“Is it-” Suguru shakes his head, biting his lip. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Is it… Is it horrible if that makes me feel worse?” Suguru takes a shaky breath. “Because… If he was in trouble, then…”

“No. Gojo Satoru is horrible.” Shoko says quickly, “You’re not horrible. Not at all. He’s a piece of shit - one, for bailing on us, and two, for not picking up his goddamn phone.” Shoko huffs. “And when he comes back, I’m going to shove a fucking scalpel up his ass.”

Suguru smiles - a small, very fragile smile. “...And if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’s gonna come back.”

“He might not.” Suguru says lightly, shrugging. He pulls away from her, and Shoko lets him go. “I mean, it’s not like - he doesn’t actually need to graduate. Formally, I mean.”

“He has to come back, Suguru.” Shoko rolls her eyes. When Suguru still doesn’t seem convinced, she nudges his shoulder. “Look, he’s not gonna just ghost all of jujutsu society forever.”

“I mean…”

“If nothing else, he’s an attention whore,” Shoko huffs. “You really think he’s gonna hide in an igloo for the rest of his life?”

Suguru sighs.

“...What did I do?” he asks, staring out into the field. “W-what…” Suguru trembles.

“Suguru…” Shoko hugs Suguru. Stone-solid Suguru, reduced to quivering glass by an assless man with a fuckass personality. “Oh, Suguru, you didn’t do anything.”

“I mean-” he chokes out. “I must have.” His voice cracks at the admission, and then the rest of him follows.

“Don’t cry,” Shoko whispers. She strokes his hair, feeling dry split ends under her fingers. “He’s not worth it. He’s so not fucking worth it, Suguru.”

Geto Suguru has walked into her infirmary with broken bones and dry eyes. He’s struggled and he’s suffered for as long as Shoko has known him. But he’s tough as nails. Crying doesn’t make him any less tough, but the fact that he’s crying over a guy? A fucking guy?

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Shoko shushes him, cradling his head in her arms.

No, it doesn’t make him any less tough; but it makes Shoko way more mad.

“I-” a sob rips out of his throat, “I think I love him.”

“I think you deserve better.”

-:-

They wake up the next day weary and red-eyed. Suguru, from a night of crying, and Shoko, from a night of not sleeping. But, hey, that’s her standard. So she pounds a cup of instant coffee sweetened by vanilla-flavored almond milk, which is apparently the only thing anyone at Kyoto Tech keeps around for creamer and creamer-adjacent purposes.

It’s fine.

She’s not that picky about coffee, or anything with enough caffeine to help her stand up straight. She wouldn’t be particularly judicious about cocaine, either, but her body’s innate RCE has a nasty habit of flushing the ‘bad drugs’ out. At least her body understands that the excessive caffeine is doing more good than harm.

She’s still pretty tired, though. Tired enough that she’s only really paying half attention as Utahime drags the three of them into the woods. It’s not long before the campus disappears behind thick woods. The fresh air brightens her lungs, and the sleep deprivation dims her overactive nervous systems. She idly mumbles along to the conversation Suguru is having with Utahime - something about the curses in Tokyo, something about the sorcerers in Kyoto. Shoko doesn’t mind taking a backseat this time, not when Suguru so desperately needs to talk to another human being. And with Utahime, she’d get tongue tied anyway.

“Yeah, it’s mostly just a commercial thing,” Utahime says. Shoko watches her shoulders rise in a shrug, ruffling her kosode. “It’s something the city came up with to boost tourism in the winter.”

“Very, uh… practical?”

She laughs. “Yeah, but at least the lanterns are pretty.”

They keep talking, and Shoko keeps half-listening. Not that it isn’t interesting. The festival brings a lot of non-sorcerers into town, and they make memories - good and bad. The spike of cursed energy goes into Kyoto’s wards, and the miko do some complicated jujutsu rituals to keep the city safe for another year. It’s cool, she’s just too tired to really digest any new information. It’s all very, uh… sorcery-y. Sorcerous?

“Wait, hot springs?” Shoko snaps back into her body as she passes through the archway, setting eyes on the steaming stone baths set into the woods. She basically sleepwalked into the little clearing in the woods, and now that she’s awake-

“Yep!” Utahime cheers, whirling around. “I thought, hey, you guys have been dealing with a ton of curses back in Tokyo, right, so - why not relax!” She beams. “This is your winter break!”

A hot spring does sound nice… Relaxing into steamy baths, breathing in all the fresh woody air… But…

“Nice. You guys have a hot spring here?” Suguru steps into the little clearing, poking around the rocks, “I didn’t think there were many in Kyoto.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” Utahime giggles, “There aren’t many natural hot springs here, but this one isn’t not natural. It’s jujutsu-powered. The big clan estates here have them too. I’m surprised you don’t have one in Tokyo, actually.”

“I wish,” Suguru says, huffing out a sigh.

It was just… You know…

Utahime.

“Honestly, I’m surprised Gojo didn’t order one to be built the second he moved there.” Utahime snorts. “It wouldn’t have surprised me, he’s a bit spoiled.”

“Well, he’s-” Suguru sighs, “...You’re probably right, actually. The Gojo estate is probably full of fancy shit.”

“They all are. ‘Tradition’, or whatever. They just like flexing their wealth.”

Shoko drew her arms across her chest. She didn’t care about Suguru seeing her nude or anything. They’d crossed that mile marker many years and many beers ago. And many more times since then, though usually with a thin cover-up of curse blood and gore. But-

But Utahime?

She can be normal she can be normal she can be so fucking normal-

“Shoko?” Suguru turned back to look at her. “You coming?”

“I-uh,” Shoko splutters, not at all capable of being normal. “Um… Do we have towels? We need - we probably need towels.”

“Oh!” Utahime grins, “Of course - yeah. There’s some in the shed,” she said, nodding to the small annex.

“Nice.” Suguru says, “I can go-”

“Oh, uh, no-” Utahime cuts in, “I’ll grab ‘em. Uh, Shoko? C’mon.”

“O-Okay.”

Shoko lets herself be pulled towards the bathhouse. She lets herself get pulled to a lot of places, and at least this time there’s no possible black holes in the equation. Utahime still leaves her feeling a bit spaghettified. Utahime touches a small sigil on the door, and it flashes. The door swings open, revealing a small, stone-tiled chamber. There are a few closets stacked with both towels and cursed tools.

“Practical,” Shoko mumbles. She holds her arms out, waiting for Utahime to load them with linen. But Utahime hesitates.

“Are you alright,” she asks gently. “You’ve been so quiet.” She leans in, brushing stray bangs off of Shoko’s feverish face.

“Oh, um, y-yeah,” Shoko stammers, feeling her cheeks heat. “I’m fine. Just, um - I didn’t sleep well.” Utahime frowns. “Um, not because - I mean, everything was fine with the room, I’m just-“

Shoko gives up.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko mumbles, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just-”

“Burnt out?”

And… Yeah.

She’s fucking tired. The exhaustion hits Shoko all at once - a tidal wave of tired. All of the weight of the past three weeks finally starts to crash down on her shoulders, and it’s fucking heavy. Ever since Satoru had left them high and dry, the water’s been rising. And it feels like, maybe, without even knowing it, she’d been drowning.

“...Yeah,” Shoko says, letting out a sigh.

At first, when Tsukumo had left, Shoko had figured - well, that meant things could chill for a bit. And granted, Tsukumo hadn’t found anything too threatening at the cursed sites - nothing that couldn’t wait a month or so. But none of them had expected things to start ramping up so quickly. It felt less like a build, and more like a burst. Like Suguru had accidentally opened up the wrong portal, and now hundreds of curses were streaming out like water through a busted fire hydrant.

But unlike Suguru’s portals, he couldn’t just suck it all back up. They were down not one, but two of the three special-grade sorcerers in existence. It didn’t matter how special-grade Suguru himself was, he wouldn’t be able to hold the storm back forever. Most higher-grade exorcisms, he could deal with on his own, and then Nanami and Haibara could take on the lower-grade missions. But it was dangerous. Solo missions were always dangerous.

Suguru almost always came back with injuries. Little ones, sure. But they chipped away at him. And as the weeks went on, he’d come back a little more busted up each time. Haibara tried to butt in, Nanami too - but Suguru insisted on keeping them split up. They still had classes, although Yaga had made it clear that under such exceptional circumstances he - in technical terms - didn’t give a flying fuck about their classes.

But Suguru didn’t want them getting hurt. And, shitty as it was, it was a little easier for Shoko to focus on healing just him than splitting her RCT across three sorcerers every time. That was three times the triage, three times the mental energy of figuring out how to split up her limited RCE and channel it into someone else. RCT was already inefficient as hell. Every loss counted, especially now.

With Suguru, she could just pump RCE into his special-grade body and let it decide what healing it needed most. To an extent, anyway. Sometimes, her professional opinion disagreed with Suguru’s dumb fucking sorcery, and she’d have to override. Even if his arms hurt like a bitch, he needed his legs more if he was gonna get back on his feet.

What he needed was his fucking partner.

Solo missions weren’t sustainable for Suguru. Shoko hadn’t realized that they probably weren’t sustainable for her, either.

“...Yeah,” Shoko says again, rubbing her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Yeah,” Utahime nods, smiling sadly. “I’ve heard it’s crazy down in Tokyo right now. I mean it when I say I want this to be a vacation for you guys. Tokyo can manage without you for a few days.”

Utahime closes the distance, passing a few light towels into her hands. The delicate notes of her perfume - lavender and incense - swirl up into Shoko’s face. They’re calming smells - aromatherapeutic or something - but they just make Shoko’s heart race. Her breathing shallows into tiny little breaths - puffs of sweet, windy air, like tumbling flower petals.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Utahime whispers, staring at Shoko with warm, honey-sweet eyes. Shoko nods, not trusting her voice to do much more than melt into sugary goop. Utahime beams. “Now let’s go relax, okay?”

Utahime grabs a trio of face towels as well, then slides the closet door shut with her ankle. She leads the way out, and Shoko follows with weak, boneless steps.

“Right,” she mumbles. But… She does feel a little lighter. In the woods, all she can hear is birdsong and the rustling of leaves. Because for once, her phone is set to silent. All the noise of Tokyo can’t reach her here.

Suguru is already submerged in the hot spring by the time they return. His head lays flat on the edge, his face pointed up towards the warming sky. His eyes are closed, but Shoko knows he’s got at least one owl flying around or perched somewhere in the trees. It’s a new habit he’s fallen into - sentry curses. Not to watch random people like Shoko or Utahime; just to watch his own back. It’s not the only new habit he’s picked up since Satoru left, but probably the only good one.

Utahime strips, and Shoko does the same, turning away to face Suguru instead. She lowers herself into the springs, not daring to lift her eyes until she hears Utahime slip into the water too. It should be easier to look at her, since the bubbly water hides even more than her miko robes, but…

Ohhh, yeah, she’s screwed.

Just the radiant, blushy pink on Utahime’s cheeks is enough to send Shoko’s heart beating out of her chest. Shiny expanses of blemish-free skin curve from the nape of her neck to her sculpted shoulders. She’s not built like Tsukumo, but Shoko can see the lean muscle in her shoulders and arms. She’s no wimp, like Shoko, whose shoulders are broad and boyish, but still completely fucking useless in a fight.

“Shoko?”

“What?”

She is so screwed.

Shoko shakes herself, looking at Utahime's lips as though she could figure out what she was saying with a post-mortem autopsy.

Suguru chuckles. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?

“Uh…” Shoko gulps. “Sorry, tired.”

Utahime giggles. “Oh, we were just talking about the festival tomorrow. You’ve got to try all the street food! I’ll show you where the best takoyaki is.”

“And your performance is at nine, right?” Suguru asks, looking subtly at Shoko. Real fucking subtly. Shoko kicks him under the water, and he just laughs.

“Yep!” Uahime says with a smile, not missing a beat.

“We won’t miss it,” Shoko adds uselessly. Utahime’s smile shines even brighter, tilting towards the sun.

“Good,” Utahime says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Because I’ve got something special planned for you.”

‘You guys’, probably, is what she means. Shoko’s not sure. She’s sure that she stops breathing when Utahime looks at her, because she’s good at triage like that. She’s very observant of physical things like that - like how close Utahime’s lips are, and how her face is wet with steam, and how, if she gets any closer-

If she gets any closer, then Shoko might just turn into steam herself.

But she doesn’t get any closer after that. Utahime leans back, relaxing into the fizzing waters of the hot spring. The silent storm around Utahime seems to let up, and Shoko tries not to stare as she forces air back into her lungs via remote sorcerous CPR.

Suguru and Utahime keep talking - about the missions, about the festivals, about life. They swirl off into littler things than life and death - video games and movies. Parties, like the little one they had before shit hit the fan. They argue idly about which mass market beer is the best. By the time they push Shoko to break the tie, she’s barely resuscitated. But there’s an obvious answer, and it’s not Asahi or Kirin or Heineken.

“Whatever’s on sale.”

-:-

After the hot springs, they head back to campus for breakfast and a breather. Shoko has a chance to get her head back on straight. Breakfast - rice, eggs, and steamy miso soup - is just fine. It’s everything else that isn’t fine.

Because Shoko spends almost the entirety of breakfast staring at Utahime with her dumb mouth swinging open like a broken fence gate. What little she does manage to add to the conversation is garbled at worst and useless at best. Her stupor doesn’t really seem to put Utahime off - or if it does, she’s got a great fake smile. Still, Shoko feels even more brain dead than she did in Tokyo. Utahime eventually leaves to get supplies for their pre-festival mini mission. The second she’s out, Shoko turns to Suguru.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my-”

“Shoko,” Suguru cuts her off - or tries, anyway. “Calm down.”

“-goooood.” Shoko sucks in a deep breath, then blows it out slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Suguru?”

“Nothing is wrong with you. You’re very normal. Probably the most normal out of all of us.”

“I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Yeah, but in a normal way.”

Shoko sighs and bangs her head down on the little wooden dining table. Just like the one at Tokyo Tech’s, it’s way bigger than it needs to be. Most of the seats are left unfilled, and they sit together at one end rather than spreading out. Suguru reaches across the table, laying his broad hands on her tiny, shrimpy shoulders.

“What are you so nervous about?” Suguru asks gently, “It’s just a festival. You’re not asking for her hand in marriage or anything. You don’t even have to call it a date if you don’t want to.”

“Right, because that-” Shoko shuts her mouth.

Because that worked so fucking well for you.

Suguru flinches, taking her point even if she doesn’t quite get around to saying it out loud.

“Sorry,” Shoko adds anyway, “I’m sorry.”

“...Yeah, you probably should be direct with Utahime,” he says softly, “But you don’t need to rush, either. We’ll be here all weekend.” Suguru squeezes her shoulders for a second, then lets them go. “You can give yourself a little time to be ready. Work up to it.”

“Right,” she says, huffing. “You’re right.”

“She probably won’t flee the country.” Suguru smiles, but it’s strained - hairline cracks running through the glass. “But I guess you never know.”

-:-

“So, uh,” Suguru gestures vaguely to the tangle of ribbons Utahime is passing into his hands. Which is difficult to do, given that his hands are rapidly becoming too full to gesture much at all. “What’s all this?”

“Barrier ribbons,” Utahime says simply, as though they are something simple - not some arcane jujutsu concept Shoko’s never even read about.

“Barrier ribbons?” She tilts her head.

“Yeah. You have a few in Tokyo too,” Utahime mentions offhandedly.

“What?” Suguru says, shocked.

Utahime turns around, confused. Her confusion darkens into grim disappointment, and she shakes her head. “Wow, you guys…” A teasing note glimmers through her mock chiding. “I know Tokyo is more combat focused, but still. Don’t you guys learn anything about traditional jujutsu in your classes? Is it really all just, like, CE-infused punching lessons?”

“Hey,” Shoko holds her hands up in defense. “Don’t look at me, I don’t even know how to punch.”

Utahime laughs. She gives Suguru a thick wooden chest to hold, then neatly places the folded ribbons inside. She then adds a few bowls, two sealed vials of powdered ink, and a jar of water. Utahime grabs a few calligraphy pens from the closet and slips them into the pocket of her red hakama.

“We use these ribbons to amplify Kyoto Tech’s barriers around the city - to detect and drive away curses,” she explains as she closes the cabinet. “Master Tengen’s barriers are good for defense, but the ribbons help with detection. Kind of like your sentry curses, I guess.”

“Oh,” Suguru hums, “Cool.”

“You guys have some on the Tokyo campus too, but Kyoto has to have a lot more, since Master Tengen is too far to directly observe the barrier,” she continues, “And they’re not fully integrated with Master Tengen’s technique. It’s an extra layer with a conditional Binding Vow; Mei Mei and I have to maintain them. But luckily,” she smiles, “that’s my specialty.”

“Tying ribbons?” Suguru asks.

“No!” She lightly whacks his shoulder, “Although I am pretty good at that. My specialty is rituals.”

“Love a good ritual,” he snorts, “Do we need any goats?”

“Nothing that dramatic,” Utahime twirls off down the hall, “We’re just extending the ribbons today. It’s pretty simple. Ready to go for a walk?”

Shoko shrugs.

“Sure,” she says, “We could use a little fresh air.”

-:-

The longer that Shoko spends in Kyoto, the easier it is to smell the sorcery. It’s everywhere, lining the streets - paved into the stones. She’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but she’ll get there. It’s still faint, like a nagging doubt in the back of her brain. It’s like some part of her knows that she left the oven on, even if the rest of her knows she’s always been too lazy to bake.

“Is everyone here a sorcerer?” Shoko whispers to Utahime as they walk down the steep, bricked street. Even when she squints with all her cursed senses, it’s hard to tell how much is the bustle and buzz of the city during festival season, and how much is real, grade A sorcery.

“Not everyone,” she replies softly, “But there’s a lot more than in Tokyo.”

It sounds legit. Shoko knew, distantly, that Kyoto was more… ‘jujutsu-y’, but she hadn’t realized just how jujutsu-y it was. Utahime gets looks from a few passersby. And, hey, her miko robes are bright enough to draw a few eyes, especially those of tourists. But the thing is, Suguru gets looks too - and he’s just wearing a sweater.

Kyoto can sense his sorcery; maybe even better than Shoko can.

Utahime nods subtly to an older woman sitting on a bench a few shops down. “She’s a window, can you tell?”

Shoko takes a deep breath and looks, really looks at the woman. Even real sorcerers don’t quite see it like Satoru does. He sees it as colors and shapes. But for the rest of them, it’s just a vague aura, a feeling at someone’s outline, a sixth sense telling you to look closer.

Well, that’s what real sorcerers see. Shoko doesn’t see much of anything at all.

“No,” Shoko sighs, “Not really.”

“Well, it’s pretty faint,” Utahime says apologetically.

The thing is, Shoko would struggle even if the lady was special-grade. It isn’t until Shoko can get her hands on someone that she can really feel their cursed energy. But once she’s in, she’s got even better resolution than Satoru with his dumb Six Eyes. When she can mix her RCE into someone’s cursed system - that’s when she can see them inside and out. So she just watches the window with her normal human eyes, clocking what she can. She’s staring at them, her face twisted into a slight frown.

Well, she’s staring at Suguru.

Suguru doesn’t seem to notice, for what it’s worth. He’s looking around owlishly at all of the shops, the lights, the crowd that’s come into town for a lantern festival that doesn’t mean much of anything. It’s like it’s the first time he’s ever peeked out of his deep, shadow-cast cave. He’s completely lost in all the sights and sounds. And maybe that’s a good thing. That’s all Shoko can really ask for - for Suguru to be somewhere else other than a deep abyss.

But the way the window woman is staring at him, it’s like she wants to toss him down into a ravine.

“What’s her deal?” Shoko mutters under her breath. Utahime follows her gaze, her eyes flitting to the window, then to Suguru.

“Oh, yeah.” Utahime’s eyes harden. “I think she’s Kamo.”

“She’s a clan sorcerer?” Shoko tries to sneak a peek at her clothing, but she doesn’t see anything that would… oh-

Shoko’s eyes snap to a thin red cord at her wrist, braided leather. And that - when Shoko squints - tugs at her with the faintest trace of cursed energy.

“Maybe not a full sorcerer,” Utahime whispers, “The clans keep a bunch of non-sorcerers around too. Windows, like her, but even people who are totally blind to jujutsu. They know about it, even if they don’t have any power themselves.”

“Why?” Shoko tilts her head, “I thought - isn’t that breaking jujutsu rules?”

“Well,” Utahime shrugs, “Technically, yeah. But the clans are the ones who make the rules. And the bloodlines here are so thick that it’s hard for the clans to keep every born sorcerer a secret.” She sighs, crossing her arms. “It’s mostly for manpower, though. The clans’ money doesn’t come from nowhere. A bunch of non-sorcerers just work day jobs and pay into the clan. Some of them move out of Kyoto, but if they stuck around, then it’s probably because they learned about jujutsu.”

“And they know who Suguru is?” Shoko whispers, lowering her voice even more, just in case Suguru has broken out of his little vacation daydream. “Are special-grades really that famous?”

“Not really,” Utahime says, “No one from the minor clans would know him on sight, but some of the Kamo and Zen’in people would.”

“Why?”

Utahime purses her lips. “He has a… a reputation…”

Shoko straightens. “What-”

“Oh, um, not a deserved one, of course,” she clarifies. Utahime turns at a corner adorned with a set of matching stone lanterns, leading them up a short path into a small, square park.

“The clans really don’t like him, do they?”

“Well…” Utahime hums, “They really don’t like his technique. Cursed Spirit Manipulation is… kind of controversial, I guess. And he’s not clanborn.”

Shoko nods. From what she’s heard about the clans, it tracks. But for as ‘controversial’ as his technique is, it certainly isn’t any more dangerous than Satoru just throwing around black holes. And it certainly isn’t any creepier than Yaga’s puppets. Guh.

“Okay,” Utahime chirps, “Here we are!”

It’s nothing special - just a little patch of greenspace tucked in between corner shops. A young maple tree sits in the middle, surrounded by clovers and smooth stones. Utahime points to a thin, short red ribbon tied around one of the lower branches. Shoko almost doesn’t see it at first, which is odd, given how red it is. Utahime makes Suguru open the chest. She pulls a fresh ribbon out, then scrawls a few kanji on it in quick, dainty calligraphy.

“These are all over the city?” Shoko asks. Utahime nods. Once she’s finished writing, she ties the new red ribbon onto the old one. “So, what, is that like, another fake tourist thing?”

Utahime cocks her head.

“Doesn’t anyone ask what they’re for?” Shoko clarifies.

“Oh,” she laughs, “No, they’re veiled. It’s part of the barrier.” She pulls the new ribbon tight, and it flashes bright with cursed energy. The knot disappears, and the ribbons blend seamlessly together. The new ribbon is twice as long, stretching all the way down the length of the tree’s trunk. “We can see them, but only because we’re sorcerers.”

“Oh. Huh.”

Technically, Shoko is a sorcerer. She’s just not a very good one. Or, at least, she isn’t very powerful. But Utahime is seemingly protecting all of Kyoto with a few thin slips of silk and even thinner infusions of cursed energy.

Logically, Shoko knows that there is something to be said for jujutsu theory. She never paid much attention to it in class, since it wasn’t like she could apply most of the principles to her own technique. Amplification takes CE, which she doesn’t have all that much of. Alteration takes precise CE control, which she doesn’t have all that much of either. But watching Utahime, who uses fundamental, neutral sorcery rather than her own innate technique… Maybe Shoko should have paid more attention in class after all.

“All done!” Utahime says, smiling. “Wait, where did Suguru go?”

“Huh?” Shoko turns to investigate. Indeed, their numbers have decreased. She eventually spots him on the horizon, leaning against a wall, talking into his phone. The words he’s saying are too quiet to hear from this far out, but Shoko’s pretty sure she can guess. “...Idiot,” she mumbles.

“Oh, uh,” Utahime looks back at the tree, “I have one more thing to finish up, actually. I’ll join you in just a bit.” She waves Shoko off, fussing with the ribbon again.

“Okay,” Shoko says with a nod, walking back down the path. Suguru pushes a button to hang up just as Shoko walks to his side.

“You’re wasting your time.” Shoko punches his shoulder. Lightly. Clearly it’s too light to shake him out of it - maybe she should be punching a little harder. But maybe it’s just the wrong target. Maybe she should’ve tried punching Gojo Satoru right in the nose.

“I know,” he mumbles. “I know I am, but…” He rubs his hands over his eyes. Deep, purple bags bloom under them. He hasn’t been sleeping well, but it’s not like his waking life is treating him much better. “I just feel like I should apologize. Maybe-” he swallows, “if he calls back-”

“You don’t owe him an apology, Suguru.” If anything, Satoru should be on his fucking knees. Apologizing, begging for forgiveness, sucking Suguru’s dick for the right reasons, not the wrong ones.

“I know,” Suguru says quickly. “You’re right. Not an apology, just… I should explain, right?” His breath trembles, and Shoko can only think about taxing his lungs a little more.

So she pulls out a cigarette - lights it - and offers him the box. Suguru stares at it blankly for so long that Shoko almost puts it away. But, just as she moves to shut it, Suguru laggardly takes one. It’s the first he’s taken in… in months, actually.

“You don’t owe him that, either, you know.” Shoko lights the cigarette for him, and they both take long drags of tainted air.

Suguru sighs, blowing out smoke.

“You don’t,” she nudges him with her shoulder, “you don’t owe him shit, Suguru.”

Suguru just looks out towards the town, and Shoko’s got a funny feeling that maybe, because he’s an idiot, he disagrees.

It’s weird - Kyoto.

In a way, it feels familiar, and in another way, it feels strange. It’s Satoru’s hometown, and it feels like no one’s home. It’s like looking at a shed snakeskin, a cold, dead, leftover thing that Satoru crawled out of and left behind. It feels like she’s walking through his room, little traces of pure, unadulterated jujutsu scattered around like dirty clothes or blurry residuals. Satoru left Kyoto a long time ago. But maybe he left something behind.

“Okay,” Utahime cheers suddenly, walking up behind the two of them. “Ready to go?”

Suguru nods as he takes the chest back from her, carrying it easily. It can’t be too heavy, but Suguru holds it like it’s no heavier than a bag of takeout. As soon as they step out onto the street, an unfamiliar voice pierces through the bustle, nasal and loud.

“Utahime-chan~”

Utahime immediately stiffens. Her cursed energy snaps hard enough that even Shoko can feel it - like cherry blossoms falling into a pond, sending ripples through the clear water. She casts her head over her shoulder, and her face sets into a stony smile.

“Naoya,” she says tightly, “How nice to see you. Are you here to enjoy the festival?”

So this is Naoya Zen’in. The Naoya Zen’in.

She hasn’t met him by face, but she’s basically heard his whole life story narrated on an annoying, pedantic audiobook. Satoru’s obviously a bit of a drama queen, but the second Shoko looks at him, she realizes that his adaptation wasn’t all that dramatized. He’s flanked by two other sorcerers in plain black and white robes. They’re strong enough that even Shoko can feel the cursed energy rolling off of them.

But even they basically fade into the background when Naoya steps forward. Even in her periphery, Naoya’s cursed presence is strong enough to make the hairs on the back of Shoko’s neck stand up. And when she’s looking directly at him, her stomach starts to churn. Naoya’s face is sharp and unforgiving, all harsh lines and acute angles. His eyes are the color of straw, the type that catches fire easily - tinder in a dry storm. He grins suddenly, and his teeth click like shards of flint in a tinderbox.

“Oh, I certainly plan to,” he replies to Utahime, although his eyes stab into Suguru, digging into him like steel pins. “Have you been practicing hard for your little dance recital?” he lilts. His voice slicks over Shoko’s ears like grease.

“Of course! We’ve spent all month preparing for the barrier renewal ritual,” Utahime says brightly, although her hands tighten into fists behind her back, nails digging into the flesh. “Sorry, you may not know that, since the Zen’in Clan is the only one of the Big Three to contribute nothing to Kyoto’s sacred barriers.”

“Ah, well,” Naoya laughs. His eyes flicker alight, and he finally deigns to fix Utahime with that rotted-wood stare. “We’re a little too powerful to waste our time on housekeeping.”

Utahime’s cursed energy snaps again, and by the way Naoya’s cruel smile broadens, Shoko isn’t the only one who can sense it.

“Geto Suguru, in the flesh,” Naoya sneers, looking back at Suguru. “I didn’t think they’d let you in the city.” He takes a step closer, slithering silently as a snake. “You know, the higher-ups like us to kill curse users on sight.”

Suguru doesn’t break - doesn’t even crack. He tilts his head, like he doesn’t follow. But he does. Shoko knows he does. It’s only the same shit every higher-up has spewed at him since he was scouted.

“Well,” Suguru says, a placid smile spreading across his lips, “Good thing I’m not a curse user.”

“No, I suppose not. Guess you get some nice perks as a Gojo clan cocksucker.”

“Ah,” Suguru’s eyes narrow. “My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met. Who are you?”

“Zen’in Naoya,” he spits, irritation spiking through his brows. “Heir to the Zen’in clan.”

“Oh, I see,” Suguru says, nodding slowly- smiling wide. He gently coaxes Naoya to continue, like you would a small child. “Wow, so are you a sorcerer?”

“Wh - Obviously.” Naoya blusters. His gaze turns utterly petrifying, wood hardened into mineralized stone. “Special-grade one.”

“Oh, wait, is that different from special-grade?”

Naoya flinches like he’s been slapped. “Well of course you wouldn’t know,” he snaps, “Clanborn sorcerers use a different designation system to-”

“Oh, right, so you’re just a grade one,” Suguru beams, brightening his eyes with play-enthusiasm. “How nice!” Naoya twitches. “Maybe you could come visit Tokyo at some point, Nanami would love a more evenly-matched sparring partner. See, Satoru and I are both special-grade, so-”

“Enjoy the festival, Suguru-kun,” Naoya spews, acrid and poisonous. He brushes past them, the other two Zen’in sorcerers following close behind. “I wouldn’t stay too long past the closing ceremonies, if I were you. I hear the streets get a little dicey at night.”

Even after they saunter off, the air stays stained with them: bitter ozone, the smell of a storm before it hits.

For the first time in a while, Shoko feels her heart soften a little bit as she thinks of Satoru. Satoru as a kid, alone, stuck in the raging storm of Kyoto. And after that, alone in the strange, sprawling streets of Tokyo. It’s a wonder he didn’t turn out worse.

“Ugh,” Utahime sighs, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him. Naoya is…” Utahime shakes her head, dancing around to find nice words to pretty up her own revulsion. “He’s…”

But Shoko doesn’t really care to be nice.

“An ass?” Shoko offers.

“Yeah. He’s an ass.” Utahime laughs, and some of the tension drains out of her shoulders. “He’s just an ass.”

“You know,” Suguru says mildly, “I thought he’d be shorter.”

Chapter Text

So, it turns out that they don’t even get to go to the festival, let alone enjoy it. The storm that’s been brewing all afternoon finally decides to boil over. The second they get down to the riverside, lightning strikes.

Utahime speaks up first: “Geto-”

“Yeah, I felt that,” he answers immediately - before the question even hits the air.

Both of their heads whip towards the mountain. A beat behind, Shoko follows suit. The lightning must be invisible. She doesn’t see the flash of light, and doesn’t hear any thunder rumbling afterwards. The air doesn’t feel like it’s humming with cursed energy - just plain old humidity.

“Felt what?” Shoko asks lamely. She squints, feeling for the squiggly dread she’s supposed to sense like it’s second nature. There’s a whisper of it, pretty faint. It feels a little cold - a little tickly. If she didn’t know better, she’d probably just feel a breeze.

“Something big,” Suguru says, sucking air through his teeth. “A curse, probably. Grade 1?”

Utahime nods. “Something strong. It was probably drawn by the festival... But… The barriers should still be working. They’re not supposed to expire until sundown.” She purses her lips. “It shouldn’t be able to come into town as long as the barriers are working. We only have a few more ribbons to extend, so let’s do that first. Then we can deal with the curse.”

“Sounds good,” Suguru nods. “Lead the way.”

The dread gets thicker as they head out into the mountains. Either that, or it just gets a little colder. Hard to say. There’s a few more barriers to restore - scattered through the woods, and at a shrine atop the mountain. So they head into the woods, climbing the mountain path. The sounds of the city die down, and the fog of cursed energy from all of Kyoto’s non-sorcerers thins out too. The mountain air is crisp, and probably less curse-y. Also hard to say.

“I can’t tell where it’s coming from anymore. It’s so much weaker now…” Utahime says, looking to Suguru. “What about you?”

A wall of trees blocks out the shapes and sounds of Kyoto. Ahead of them, the stone path winds through thick trunks, carving up the mountain. Behind them, there’s only green now. Suguru scans the woods, then shakes his head.

“I can’t tell either,” he says. “I can scout, but… I’m not sure which way to go.” He looks up to the treetops, to the north, and then to south. ”It almost feels like it’s on top of us.”

Utahime looks up to the sky, and she frowns.

Shoko looks around too, but she doesn’t see shit. So she looks at her phone instead. The little bars blink, turning into an X - no signal. That’s fine, though. Shoko pulls up her screenshot of the map, because she’s a genius. Even if she can’t find their curse, she can keep them on the trail.

“It could be coming from the shrine…” Utahime says, “but there’s no way the barrier is down there. There are other wards at the shrine; there’s no way a curse could be there.”

“So, wait, is it a sorcerer?” Shoko blurts. “Like, uh, a curse user?”

“Eeeeeeeh, maybe,” Suguru says. “But sorcerers are a lot better at controlling CE than curses. If someone’s doing bad shit, they’d want to hide it.”

“Right,” Utahime nods. Shoko nods too, still a beat behind.

“Right,” she mumbles. “Duh.”

“Whoever - whatever is doing this, they’re not hiding it.” He eyes the treetops, wordlessly summoning his owl. “We can find them, but we need a better vantage point.”

“We need, like, a compass,” Shoko mutters. “A curse compass.”

“Oh!” Utahime laughs. “Actually, that’s a really good idea!”

“Uh-”

She takes Shoko’s hand, smiling at her with glittery, whirlpool eyes that suck Shoko into her currents. She lets herself be pulled towards Utahime, and then towards Suguru as she reaches into her box of tricks. He pops open the latches on the chest, and Utahime reaches in. She pulls out an empty bowl and a small wooden pen. She fills the bowl with water, then sets it down on the path.

“Okay,” she claps her hands together, then hands Shoko the pen. Utahime looks at her, starry-eyed, and then asks for the moon. “Alright, just infuse this!”

“Oh, um…” Shoko bites her lip. Her chest feels a little caved-in, pre-emptively crushed by Utahime’s imminent, earth-shattering disappointment. “Suguru should really do that,” she mumbles, holding it out, “I kinda suck at CE infusion.”

“Oh, no, uh,” Utahime laughs, waving her hands. “I meant with RCE. Um, unless Suguru can do that.”

“Wait, what?” Shoko cocks her head.

Infuse it with… Reverse cursed energy?

“Nope,” Suguru says, shaking his head.

“I think you’re pretty good at that, Shoko,” Utahime says with a mischievous grin. “Better than me and Suguru, at least.”

Well, that much is true. She’s better than Satoru too, but that’s like saying she’s better at crosswords than a toddler. And she would totally say that - if Satoru were in range to hear it.

He’s not, though. Gojo Satoru fucked off to Canada, guzzling maple syrup by the gallon while the rest of them drown in a swamp of curses.

But at least that motherfucker can’t use RCT. It’s divine justice; the only justice Shoko’s probably gonna get. Shoko gently holds the pen and starts to infuse it. She keeps her hopes low - beneath the earth, locked in a bunker somewhere. But it… It actually works. It works pretty well, honestly. RCE spirals down from her head, then flows into the pen. It shines with white energy, humming with life.

“I didn’t even know you could do that,” she mumbles.

“Well, you can,” Utahime says.

Cursed energy and reverse cursed energy are drawn to each other, apparently. When they meet, they annihilate, cancelling each other out to reach equilibrium. If Satoru tried to explain it, Shoko would probably tune it out just like the rest of the lecture content she can’t really apply in practice. But it’s Utahime saying it, and her voice is much easier to listen to. Utahime takes the pen from her and carefully places it in the water, right in the center of the bowl. Slowly, it starts to spin. The pen wobbles back and forth, unsure whether to point south, towards the shrine, or north, towards the empty side of the mountains. It just keeps spinning.

“Uh, is it supposed to do that?” Suguru asks, frowning.

“Well, shit.” Shoko breathes out her disappointment like she’s blowing out a puff of smoke. Although this one’s a little more bitter. “...Sorry.”

“No, hold on…” Utahime purses her lips. She has Shoko infuse a handful of tiny leaves, too, and then she adds them to the bowl. They drift over the calm, glassy surface. About half of them collect at the north side, and the other half float towards the south side.

“Wait, so…” Shoko tilts her head.

“Yeah. You did it right,” Utahime says grimly. “There’s two sources.”

“Damnit,” Shoko grumbles. “I hate being right.”

Utahime laughs. “It’ll be fine. That’s probably why it felt so strong, actually. If it’s two curses, they’ll both be weaker. Right, Suguru?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Weaker residual, weaker curse. That’s generally how it works.”

Which - Shoko wouldn’t really know a thing about how these things generally work. She’s generally back home in the infirmary, waiting for her boys to return from the war.

“Oh, cool, well, that’s good?”

Suguru summons his manta curse from a large portal. “Let’s check it out.”

“W-wait,” Shoko stutters, “Shouldn’t we tell someone first? Like, call for reinforcements? I mean, no one even knows we’re up here, and-”

“Don’t worry,” Utahime laughs, patting her gently on the shoulder. “We are the reinforcements - you and me. I’m combat trained too, you know.” Utahime’s voice softens as she turns to Shoko. “And you are the best support sorcerer I could ask for.” Shoko blushes. “We should split up,” she says, louder - to Suguru. “There’s a path up to the shrine. Shoko and I can go there. Suguru, can you cover the north side?”

“Got it.” He gives a salute, then hops onto Shelly. “I’ll meet you there after?”

“Wait,” Shoko says. Her lungs feel shaky, and her words come out worse. “I-I…” She sucks in a breath.

“Hey,” Suguru floats over to her, hovering a few feet up. Utahime tactfully busies herself collecting the components of the compass. “What’s up?” he whispers.

“I’m worried about you,” she admits.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to go on your own. We can-” she glances at Utahime. She shouldn’t be on her own either. But… If any of them has to solo it, obviously it’s Suguru. He’s the special-grade. But still, it just… “We can figure something out?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m used to solo missions.”

“Yeah, but-” Shoko winces. Not when he’s falling apart over some dumb boy. He’s fraying. Shoko can see that. She just can’t see how to sew him back together. “...Not in Kyoto. The curses are stronger here, right? I mean…”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Look, I’ll come find you as soon as I get intel. I won’t rush into anything. I’m not Satoru, y’know.” Shoko’s lips flatten into a hard line. “Hey. It’s just like our normal missions.”

“...Right.”

Is it?

Is it different? Does it matter? Maybe it is; but maybe it doesn’t.

But it feels different, seeing it in person. It feels different, turning her back to Suguru’s as they walk up the mountain. It feels different, leaving him behind - leaving him alone. It feels different, watching Suguru vanish into the wild forest, drowning in a sea of trees.

-:-

They make it about halfway up the mountain before Utahime cuts straight through the bush instead of beating around it.

“So, um… What’s the deal with Suguru?”

Shoko lets out a loud breath, deflating like a wacky, hapless balloon animal with a thorn in its paw.

“Sorry, I’m nosy,” Utahime says with a little laugh. “You don’t have to tell me, of course, if it’s personal,” she adds. “But, um, if it’s because of what Naoya said… The Zen'in clan doesn’t actually have the power to execute him; not without a vote.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shoko sighs. And it is. It’s a relief, honestly. Utahime is so direct, it’s…

It’s nice. Refreshing, even. Dealing with Thing 1 and Thing 2 feels like wading through murky water sometimes. Even if she can feel the bottom, there are stones hiding below the clouded surface, and if she doesn’t step carefully, she’ll slip.

“It’s not - it’s nothing like that.” Shoko says, staring at the rocky path ahead of them. She kicks a pebble out of the way, and it flies off into the wilderness. “He’s just being emo because Satoru left.”

It’s difficult not to tell her everything. It’s like dancing on the edge of a knife - or a scalpel. Like if she grabs the wrong end, she’ll cut her fingers. But Shoko has never had trouble keeping her hands steady. It’s her mouth that’s the real problem.

“Oh, I heard about that,” Utahime nods, “He’s in… America, right?”

“Canada,” Shoko corrects. “With Yuki. They’re doing research or something.”

“Oh,” Utahime whistles. “Fun.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugs. It does sound kind of fun - vacationing to a winter wonderland. Satoru’s probably having a grand old time building snowmen and riding moose. He’s certainly not out there fighting curses.

No offense to Canada, but Shoko hopes it’s shit.

“So… did they break up?”

“What?”

“Suguru and Satoru,” Utahime cocks her head. “They were dating, right?”

Shoko’s hands freeze, and her mouth freezes too. It takes her a second, then a minute, then what feels like an eon to catch up.

“If he left like that, I mean.” Utahime continues, “It just - it sounds like they broke up. Maybe I’m wrong, I just thought - I mean, Satoru’s always been a little dramatic. But it kinda sounds like something he would do.”

“Wait,” Shoko blurts out, “You know Satoru’s gay?”

Oh, fuck fuck fuck-

Shoko claps a hand over her mouth - it’s too late, but-

There’s no blood.

There’s no pressure.

There’s no burn, no twinge, no reminder of her Binding Vow, which means…

“Wait, you did know…” Shoko whispers. “So I didn’t…” Utahime tilts her head. “Um, nevermind,” Shoko shakes her head. “It’s not important. But when - how did you know?”

“I mean, it’s kind of obvious? Well, um, it is to me, I guess,” she says sheepishly.

Obvious to her? Utahime is observant, of course. She’s detail-oriented. But the way she says ‘to me’...

Shoko gulps down the fizzy nerves in her throat like a swig of soda.

“...To you?”

“Although,” she hums, “I wasn’t actually sure until I walked in on him kissing Geto.”

“Wait, what?” Shoko nearly trips over a rock. “When did that happen?”

“Um, when I was in Tokyo with you guys last time - I, um,” she blushes. “Well, everyone was kind of drunk, so, like, whatever, right? And… Well, not that it should matter, obviously, but…” She sighs, staring up at the sky - what little they can see through the canopy of trees. “...There’s always been… rumors about Gojo in Kyoto.”

Clan gossip… Yeah, that tracks. No wonder Satoru avoided Kyoto like the plague. Shoko’s never really been in the loop on clan politics, but Satoru’s never had a kind word to say about the Big Three. Shoko probably could have guessed there was some clan fuckery going on, if she cared enough to think about clan politics. But look, Kyoto is a long way from Tokyo. The five-hundred kilometers feels like a whole universe sometimes. And the only important thing in Kyoto is standing right next to her on the path.

“Really?”

“Clan sorcerers are pretty conservative. And,” she adds under her breath, “they really like to talk shit about each other.”

Shoko laughs. Utahime’s eyes snap to hers - a burl of delight hidden in their hardwood grain.

“The Gojos are actually the least traditional,” she says, “Well, like, in that way. But all of the clans are obsessed with having as many kids as possible. Even if they don’t get the big techniques - they’re still clan sorcerers. And the more sorcerers a clan has, the stronger it is - even if they’re just low grade sorcerers. Even just being a window is valuable to the clans.”

Shoko nods, thinking of the window they saw in town. “Right. Like, spies and shit.” Utahime nods brightly.

“Yeah, spies! The clans like to encourage sorcerers to have a bunch of kids - but only with other sorcerers, so there’s a higher chance they’ll inherit the ability - especially the clan’s special inherited techniques” she explains, “But the Gojos aren’t as strict, because their main techniques are… Kinda shitty, I guess?”

Shoko cocks a brow. Satoru’s kind of shitty, but not because of his technique. If she were in the sorcery arms race, she’s pretty sure she’d take the quantum physics bomb, even if it had a shitty attitude.

“Well, obviously Gojo - um, Satoru - is really strong, but only because he has both Limitless and the Six Eyes. And that only happens every four-hundred years or something. When you only have one, I guess it’s kind of useless?” Utahime lets out a bitter laugh. “I mean, that’s what the Zen’ins think, anyway. But like I said, they like to talk shit.”

“They’re probably just jealous.”

“Yeah,” Utahime shrugs. “I mean, I guess I can relate. My technique is also kind of useless on its own. And the Gojos actually try to marry in as many sorcerers as they can, so they have access to other techniques.” She chuckles. “Ask me how I know.”

“Oh my god, wait-” Shoko gasps. “Did they-”

“Yeah,” she shudders. “I mean, they were - it was very business-like, actually. They were very… professional? But it’s still, like, super culty. Even here, there’s not a lot of non-clan sorcerers, let alone female ones, so…”

“Wow, he uh… He never told me about that.”

Satoru and Utahime, huh? It hurts to think about. Not in her brain - in her heart, though. A little bit in her stomach. She could see it happening. Pretty easily, actually. In Kyoto, surrounded by trees and sky. Surrounded by sorcerers, by ancestral jujutsu, by the world Shoko barely sees.

“Oh, I’m sure he didn’t know. And it’s not like Satoru wanted any of that. That’s actually why - well,” Utahime shakes her head. “The rumors that he’s gay-”

Wait, hold on, yeah. Shoko shakes herself. Satoru is gay. Satoru is violently, terminally gay. Of course it wouldn’t happen - why did she think it would happen? Satoru is gay, and Utahime has standards.

“The rumors started because Naoya Zen’in is a homophobic ass. But - that’s how it started. He refused to even meet any of the girls, and a lot of them were really upset about that. Like, even if it’s a fake marriage, the Gojo clan is still mega rich. And it’s not the Zen’in clan, which no woman wants to marry into. So then Naoya started insinuating that he was gay, and Gojo just…” She tosses up her hands.

“Flipped?”

“Something like that,” Utahime says. “You know how he is - and way better than I do, I bet.”

“Yeah,” Shoko sighs. “...I knew he hated Naoya, but I didn’t realize…”

“They probably hated each other before that too. Naoya is a complete asshole.” Utahime shudders. “You know, the Zen’ins approached me too-”

Shoko cringes. She visibly cringes. She cringes so visibly Utahime breaks out into a laugh.

“I know, right?” Utahime says, grinning. “I never would have married Naoya, though. Not for all the money in the world.”

“Would you have married Satoru?”

“Ew, no,” Utahime sticks out her tongue. “Oh, um, not ‘ew’ because he’s gay though,” she adds quickly. “Just ‘cause he’s an idiot. And he wouldn’t want to marry me, obviously. We agree on that. Thank god.”

“Wait, are you gay?” Shoko blurts out. She instantly smacks a hand over her mouth, but it’s too late to shove that back in. “...Oh my god,” she mumbles, “I’m sorry, uh-”

Utahime laughs, clear as windchimes. “I’m bisexual,” she says breezily. “Did I not tell you that?”

“Oh. Uh.”

“I’ve, um…” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been too busy to date much though. You know - with everything.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Shoko stammers. A little chill sinks into her chest, and ice creeps into her stomach. “You’re pretty busy, I bet. All the missions...”

“Well, I was thinking… Another sorcerer would get that, right?” Utahime smiles at her, small and sweet. “...Maybe that could work?”

Another sorcerer, like…

Shoko’s phone rings suddenly, and her lame little Wii lobby ringtone ruins the entire vibe. Because she’s a vibe ruiner. She’s a gay, pathetic, vibe ruiner.

“Damnit,” Shoko groans, “Sorry.” She glances to the lock screen, then immediately swipes to answer. “It’s Suguru,” she explains quickly. “Hi. Hey. Hello, Suguru,” Shoko says through gritted teeth, horrendous vibes inside and out.

“Sh-”

“Suguru?”

“—Oko-?”

“You sound like shit - you’re breaking up.” Shoko scans the woods. They’re almost to the top of the mountain - so say the distance markers on the path. But almost isn’t close enough for a good signal. “The reception is pretty bad up here.”

“Yeah. Can’t—residuals.”

“What about the residuals?” Utahime looks at her quizzically, stepping closer to the phone. Shoko taps the speakerphone button, and Suguru’s voice carries out into the forest.

“Strong residuals here-”

His voice clears up for a second:

“Okay, can you hear me any better?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Nice. I flew up a little higher. There’s strong residuals out here, but I haven’t seen any curses. I think we’re wrong. It’s probably a sorcerer. If it was a curse - a strong one - I think… I think I’d know.”

He’d know? How would he know? If the residuals are indistinguishable… Then… Why would he…

“Anyway, you need to be careful.”

“Right,” Shoko nods. He’d know. He’s special-grade, after all. Shoko might not trust his taste in boys, but Suguru ought to know his curses. “You be careful too.”

“Yeah. I’ll keep looking. If I don’t find anything, I’ll meet you at the shrine. Text me when you get there?”

“Aye aye, cap.”

-:-

Not long after Shoko hangs up, they finally reach the shrine. It’s well maintained, clearly, but compared to the shrines Shoko has seen in Tokyo, this one feels… wilder. It’s set into the mountainside like it belongs there. Vines and tall grass curl around the torii gate like they don’t want to let go.

Shoko shoots Suguru a quick text, including a map screenshot with a squiggly little hand-drawn question mark where Shoko’s shitty GPS guesses they are. She doesn’t put much stock in its estimation, though. Ahead of them, in a neat, verdant clearing, there’s a small building huddled under the treetops - the shrine proper. Near the front, there’s a small fountain. Utahime strides through the torii gate and washes her hands in it. Shoko, a beat behind as always, follows suit. She winces at the water - so cold it almost burns her hands.

“Kyoto Jujutsu High used to use this shrine as an annex,” Utahime says idly, “But we haven’t had enough students to need it in a while.”

“It’s pretty isolated.” Shoko hums, “And pretty far from campus, isn’t it?” It would be a pain in the ass to climb up and down the mountain all the time. But then again, Utahime is a fit, beautiful warrior princess - a few stairs are probably nothing to her. Shoko’s quads feel like jelly.

“Yeah, well,” Utahime laughs, “Isolated is kind of a good thing when you’re storing cursed relics. It’s empty now, though. We moved everything to the main campus a few years ago. The Kamos helped us set up a vault for all of the cursed tools and stuff. Our barriers aren’t as strong as Master Tengen’s, but they’re still pretty good.”

“Wait, so there’s nothing here?”

“Well, there shouldn’t be, but…” Utahime squints at the building - the main sanctuary, where a kami supposedly resides. “I mean, you feel it, right?”

Shoko… doesn’t feel much of anything. Yeaaaah. 404 Error: creepy shit not found.

Shoko squints at the shrine too, narrowing her eyes, honing her cursed spidey senses. She tries to grab at the cursed energy winding through the forest, but it leaks like water through her fingers. She’s not half as experienced as Utahime. She’s not a combat sorcerer - barely a mission sorcerer at all.

She wasn’t fully blind. She could kinda sense residuals. They were like… fingerprints left at a crime scene. But she’s way better with reading the active cursed energy inside a sorcerer’s body. Y’know, the stuff they’re actually using. But reading a sorcerer’s vitals requires getting up close and personal - touch contact - and Shoko does not currently habeas a corpus.

“Uh, I feel… cold?”

Utahime smiles. And then a snowflake lands on her nose. And then Utahime frowns - and then, because Ieiri Shoko is a useless lesbian, all she can think is: cute.

“It’s snowing?” Utahime murmurs, looking up at the sky. Sure enough, as Shoko sticks her tongue out, she feels a snowflake land on it, melting into a fresh, frosty drop of water. “That wasn’t on the forecast,” Utahime says.

“Well, we’re up in the mountains. Snow is normal, right?”

“Yeah,” Utahime says, frowning. “But there weren’t any clouds. Not even in the distance. And-”

A gust of - of something nearly bowls Shoko over suddenly. Ice shoots up her spine, and she gasps. Utahime takes a step back, rushing to Shoko’s side. Shoko gasps.

“You feel that, right?”

When Shoko opens up her lungs, she breathes in something that stings like smoke. Something prickly, like the cold, like the burning in her hands. Something that feels like menthol in her mouth, icy and potent.

Cursed energy.

“Yeah…”

In the blink of an eye, the snow picked up - flurries whirling into a full-blown blizzard.

“Okay, so,” Shoko sucks in a breath. “I don’t think that’s normal.”

-:-

Utahime quickly grabs Shoko’s shoulder and pulls them both under the torii gate. It’s too thin to provide much cover, but they both duck behind one of its pillars anyway. A dark speck appears amongst the grey clouds and white flurries - small at first. Then, as it gets into range, it begins to resolve into the vague shape of a human.

“What the hell?” Shoko whispers, “Who is that?”

Powdery white snow begins to blot out the forest floor. The snowfall seems to pick up as they draw closer to the clearing. Their cursed energy is so strong Shoko can taste it - sharp, almost bitter. Like spearmint, with an edge of something wrong. It’s overwhelming - enough to make Shoko flinch. And if she can sense that, then…

“I don’t know,” Utahime whispers back. She looks pale - almost blue. That’s bad. That’s really bad.

“A sorcerer?”

“Yeah.” Utahime quickly unsheathes her katana. Her blade hums to life with her cursed energy. The air tightens around her, like a gentle breeze hardening into crystal. “Don’t worry,” she says, her eyes trained on the sorcerer. “We’ll be fine.”

It really doesn’t feel like they’re gonna be fine. But fine or not, there’s not much else she can do but trust Utahime. Shoko certainly isn’t going to tell her how to do her job. Shoko doesn’t even have a pocketknife, much less a katana.

“Okay,” Shoko says, gulping.

The figure lands in the center of the clearing, tossing up a cloud of snow in their wake. It’s a heavy impact, but the ground seems to shake more than the figure itself. Thick plates of paneled samurai armor - all formed from ice - cover them from head to toe. Even their face is blocked out by an icy helmet. And at their waist hung two short blades, also made of solid ice.

“So… you’re really into ice, huh…” Shoko mutters.

Utahime snorts.

“Do you know them?” she whispers to Utahime. “Is this, like, a famous curse user or something?” She’s definitely never seen anything like them in Tokyo. Even the most traditional sorcerers there just wore robes, not like, LARP armor. Is armor even practical in a fight? It seems heavy. But Kyoto’s sorcery isn’t really about ‘practical’.

“No, I don’t think so.” Utahime shakes her head. “I can’t really see their face, though.” She raised her katana, taking a defensive stance. “We’ll be fine,” she says to Shoko, “Just stay back.”

“Okay,” Shoko mumbles. Utahime says stay back, so she stays back. Shoko clutches the torii gate with thin, trembling fingers. Utahime walks out into the clearing, steady as ever. The snow around her seems to calm - falling slower, falling lighter.

“Who are you?” Utahime says, raising her voice over the rush of snow.

“Begone,” the sorcerer says flatly, gesturing to the torii gate.

“Um… No?”

The sorcerer sighs. “Right,” they mutter unenthusiastically. “Fine.”

Suddenly, they draw their ice knives from their sides. They slide forward in a rush, tossing up waves of snow beside them. In an instant, they descend on Utahime, slashing at her with their double blades. Utahime raises her katana just in time, deflecting the knives. But they’re fast.

Shoko lunges forward, but she catches herself on the torii gate before she can be so foolish. Stay back. Stay back.

Utahime is fine. Utahime is a combat sorcerer. Utahime has a big ass sword.

The sorcerer comes at her with a cold fury, slashing and spinning in the snow. Utahime steps back gracefully and dodges out of the way. Even the snow doesn’t seem to slow her down. Her footwork is good, from what Shoko can tell. Suguru would know; Satoru wouldn’t. Utahime dodges another knife, and this time, when she spins, she swings her own katana back, straight into the ice knife. It shatters in a spray of diamonds.

Utahime doesn’t give them time to breathe, let alone strike back. When they raise their second blade, Utahime shatters that one too. Her cursed energy floods the clearing - like old pressed flowers, stale and dry. The sorcerer slides backwards, carried by the snow. They raise their arms. Four daggers materialize by their side, formed of snow packing itself into sharp, hard ice. They hover in the air, slowly tilting towards Utahime. Then, as the sorcerer charges forward, the blades spin out.

Utahime dives back, just barely dodging the arc of blades. Shoko holds her breath as she dances away from the sorcerer, keeping a distance. Okay, okay. Ice knives. Floating ice knives. It’s got to be the sorcerer’s innate technique, right? But is their technique the ice knives or… just ice?

Shoko studies the sorcerer, trying to puzzle them out. But this guy’s a little more complicated than sudoku. They move quickly - far too quickly for armor like that to actually allow. Heavy armor and shit is supposed to slow people down. At least, that’s what she’s learned from Skyrim. Even Yuki, whose technique controls mass, slows down when she bulks up. If she didn’t, well, her technique wouldn’t really be about mass - it would be about force. Easy mistake to make.

This sorcerer’s plated armor seems to move with them like a second skin. As Shoko looks closer, she sees it sort of levitate around their body - just like the ice. All of the ice they’ve summoned seems weightless, controlled directly by cursed energy. Which means their wings don’t have to carry anything beyond their own weight, either. Huh. Maybe if they could weigh the sorcerer down somehow…

Utahime dances backwards, evading slash after slash as the sorcerer steps forward. She’s light on her feet, even in the snow. But the sorcerer is relentless - aggressive. They lunge forward suddenly, and the cold air seems to snap. Utahime trips as the snow beneath her turns suddenly to ice.

“Utahime!” Shoko clenches the wooden gate as Utahime catches herself, off-balance.

The sorcerer dives forward, knives glinting in the late sun. Utahime turns just in time, turning a piercing blow into a grazing one. Blood trickles out of a gash in her upper arm, staining her white sleeve red. Shoko winces. It’s not bad. It’s shallow - the kind of thing that Shoko would shrug at during a triage and wrap with a bandage rather than expend her RCT for. But a wound like that still stings, especially in the biting cold.

Before the sorcerer can shift back into their defensive stance, Utahime strikes back. She closes in, finishing her turn, shoving her katana right through a gap in the armor’s side. The blade pierces through their stomach, and blood spurts out where the blade sinks in. They cough, and crimson trickles beneath their mask, spilling down to their neck.

“Nice!” Shoko cheers from the torii gate, sucking in a breath of relief.

“Gotcha,” Utahime grins.

She steps back, pulling her katana with her, but the sorcerer suddenly grabs onto it. They grip the blade so firmly that blood oozes from their hand, staining the metal black. Their ice mask breaks into sparkling crystals of ice, revealing a bloody, but beautiful face beneath.

A feminine face.

“You…” they rasp, “have got nothing.”

Shit.

With a snap of minty cursed energy, the blood on the katana freezes solid. They clench the blade in their fist, and it shatters into needles of brittle, shining metal. The sharp cursed energy softens and warms suddenly, turning as cozy as blankets in the winter. The sorcerer’s wounds vanish instantly, easily. They spit blood onto the snow, staining it red. Shoko senses the energy multiplying and inverting, then sharpening back into a needle-point fury. The conversion was efficient - almost effortless.

Shit.

“Bitch ass ice lady…” Though they don’t really seem like a woman - or at least, they’re nowhere near as girly as Satoru.

“Utahime!” Shoko shouts: “Be careful! She’s - it’s - um… They’re strong!”

Bitch ass ice sorcerer, then.

Utahime slides back, throwing her broken katana to the side. She reaches into her pocket, quickly drawing a ring of throwing knives. Each of the knives has a tiny red ribbon tied around the handle - a barrier ribbon. She latches the knife ring to her belt, drawing one in each of her hands.

“Who are you?” Utahime shouts. She keeps her distance as the sorcerer paces. The icy winds pick up on the mountain, and the snow gets heavier, harsher.

“Flee this place,” they say tonelessly.

“Well that’s not really an answer,” Shoko mutters.

And they couldn’t leave the mountain even if they wanted to. Not now - not easily. The snow has piled up so high that Shoko can barely see the path back down the mountains. They’d get lost - they could freeze to death.

“Leave,” the sorcerer says, summoning two knives in their hands. “Now.”

“Sorry,” Utahime says, setting her lips into a firm line. “But no.”

They throw a knife at Utahime. She dodges it easily, and it flies off into the woods. The second one comes right after, without even a moment’s pause. Utahime dodges that one too, less easily. It buries itself in the torii gate, splintering the wood. Utahime whips out her own knives, throwing them at the sorcerer, but they don't move to dodge. A panel of ice materializes in front of them, shaped like a wedge. The knives bounce off of the edges, clattering away in opposite directions. They sink into the ground at the edges of the clearing, right at the treeline.

The sorcerer sighs. They leap up from the ground, their wings carrying them as if they were made of light snow. When Utahime throws another knife, they dart out of the way, even nimbler in the air. Utahime’s knife sinks into a tree behind them.

“Oh, shit…”

“We’ll be fine,” Utahime says, shooting her a reassuring glance. “Just give me a moment.”

Shoko trusts Utahime. Shoko does not, however, believe Utahime.

“Utahime,” Shoko gulps, “She almost killed Satoru!”

“What?”

Suddenly, Shoko hits the snow, hard. All the air leaves her lungs in a soft ‘oof’, and what’s left is a dumb, gasping non-combat sorcerer flailing on the ground. Utahime rolls them both to the side, covering Shoko with her back as an ice knife shatters against the torii gate, exploding into a cloud of ice shards. The shrapnel tears little cuts into Shoko’s arms and Utahime’s back.

Utahime spins back onto her feet. She offers Shoko a hand, pulling her up. “You need to get under cover,” she says quickly, glancing at the gate. Her eyes widen. “...Oh.”

Shoko glances at the torii gate too - wondering what’s so ‘...oh’ about it. It just looks like a normal torii gate, same as before. And. …Oh.

“Wait, did that not hit it?” Shoko wonders. The force of that knife should’ve torn a chunk out of the wood. But the paint isn’t even chipped, somehow. The gate is fully intact, completely undisturbed. “What the hell?”

“She’s not just a sorcerer,” Utahime says. She wipes her face. Blood trickles out of a web of tiny cuts over the left side, where she couldn’t quite shield herself from the blast. Shoko touches her shoulder, automatically burning a spark of RCE to close them up.

“You should-”

“You need to see.”

Utahime bites her lip, but then nods. “Okay, make sure you save some for yourself.”

“Right.”

“You…”

Shoko’s eyes snap up to the sky. The sorcerer glowers darkly at her, their eyes scrunched tight.

“Uhh, me?” Shoko mumbles.

“Get back!” Utahime shouts, shoving her to the side.

Utahime steps forward just in time to block Shoko’s body as a javelin of ice flies their way. It strikes her in the side, piercing straight through her torso. Utahime cries out through gritted teeth, clutching her side. Shoko curses.

She grabs onto Utahime, pumping RCT into her side. She snaps off the ends of the javelin, closing Utahime’s skin over the shard of ice. Utahime winces, and she grabs Shoko’s shoulder so tight it feels like it’s gonna bruise.

“Sorry,” Shoko whispers. It probably hurts like a bitch. The ice might keep it numb, but it’s probably cold enough to just burn like a motherfucker. But Shoko doesn’t have time to spare, and Utahime doesn’t have blood to lose. Utahime keeps her stance steady, somehow.

“Save some for yourself, remember?”

“You are not making that easy,” Shoko says bluntly. Combat sorcerers… “None of you have any sense of self preservation,” she grumbles.

Utahime laughs, though it’s… it’s wet.

“I’m okay,” Utahime says, patently not okay. Her movements are getting slower - and if it’s enough for Shoko to notice, it’s enough for the enemy sorcerer to notice too.

The sorcerer glares down at them, their fury reinvigorated. The clearing erupts suddenly - a sickening crunch sounds out from all around them. Thick walls of ice rise from the snowy ground, blocking them in from all sides.

“You,” the sorcerer booms, staring at Shoko.

“I didn’t even do anything!”

The sorcerer throws another javelin in their direction, and Shoko is finally tired enough that she can’t panic enough to freeze. They dodge out of the way, taking cover behind one pillar of the gate. Utahime ducks back out, throwing another knife in the sorcerer’s direction. They dodge, though, untouchable in the air. The knife digs into the ice wall, but it barely even cracks. They’re fucked. They’re so fucked, aren’t they?

The snow picks up, and Shoko’s heart rate picks up too. The fluffy, nice snowflakes sharpen into hailstones pattering against the ground. The smaller pieces cut Shoko and Utahime’s skin - the bigger ones bruise them. At least it’s cold enough that Shoko’s body is starting to feel numb.

“Take cover at the shrine,” Utahime tells her. She draws a thick blade from her side - shorter than her katana, but beefier too. “Take this,” Utahime hands her one of the tiny throwing knives.

“Um, okay,” Shoko stutters, clutching the knife. She knows how to use it, in theory. It’s the practice though - that’s what she’s lacking. And theory doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough to stand against the bitch-ass ice sorcerer, no matter how well she’s done on the written tests. It’s better than nothing, though.

Shoko runs for cover, ducking under the roof of the main shrine. Hailstones ping against the roof and the deck, but they don’t even dent the wood. Is it something to do with the sorcerer’s cursed technique? Maybe their ice only targets living things - things with CE? But the shrine has a bit of CE, doesn’t it? Shoko can’t really tell, but it’s like… jujutsu-y, right?

Utahime holds her defensive stance as the sorcerer approaches. Their blood-red eyes still flicker to Shoko, watching her for any sudden moves. But Utahime interposes, forcing the sorcerer to focus on her. She’s the one holding a big knife, after all. Utahime breathes in, and the sound of hailstones seems to get quieter. The clearing gets still, despite the flurries of snow and ice raging around them. A small circle under Utahime’s feet flares alight with cursed energy, as delicate as a thorned rose.

This time, when she moves, she’s faster. Her wounds don’t slow her down at all. She twirls away from the sorcerer and their knives as they swoop down, diving into the clearing. Utahime trades back every one of their blows, blocking the ice blades with her own knife. Her sudden speed is enough to give the sorcerer pause. They circle around the clearing, carving paths out of the snow. Utahime is relentless, if not forceful. The sorcerer dashes back into the air, huffing in annoyance.

The ground erupts beneath Utahime’s feet. Lances of ice thrust out of the earth, narrowly missing Utahime. She steps gingerly around the spikes. As the storm thickens, so do the ice spikes. They keep on pressing out of the ground, trailing just a step behind Utahime as she dashes around the clearing. With each spike that she evades, she seems to grow quicker, and calmer too, as if she were in a trance.

Her flowing dance doesn’t last forever, though. Suddenly, the ice beneath her turns slick. She trips, twisting awkwardly as she goes down. Instantly, the sorcerer strikes. They dive down from the air, slamming a lance of ice down into the earth. Utahime rolls out of the way just in time. She flips back up into the air, cringing as she tries to hold herself up. She slashes out with her knife, but the sorcerer just flies back, dodging easily. Utahime throws yet another knife after them, but it goes wide and wedges itself into the torii gate.

“Foolish girl,” the sorcerer mutters.

They fly high into the air, summoning another ice lance. Ice freezes around Utahime’s calves, locking her in place. Suddenly, the ice constricts, and Shoko hears a loud, familiar crunch of bone shattering. Utahime cries out, dropping her knife. It skids against the ice, sliding out of reach.

Shoko is out of reach too. Too useless, too slow. She’s frozen by her own fear - she can’t even close her eyes as the sorcerer spins in the air, poised to dive down again. Utahime tosses a knife behind her, sending it straight into the ice wall - not even trying to hit the sorcerer. And then-

“Cursed Technique Reversal,” Utahime gasps, “Seven-Sided Stage.”

The knife in Shoko’s hands flares to life with cursed energy. It blazes out into the clearing, connecting to six other daggers scattered in an uneven heptagon. Suddenly, the clearing is filled with a crushing, heavy aura. The sorcerer plummets from the sky, crashing into a row of ice spikes. Blood spills over the lances, pooling over the snow. The sorcerer’s body twitches, speared open on the spikes. Their limbs shatter from the impact, twisting in unnatural directions. It’s brutal. It’s brutal even for a sorcerer. Shoko winces.

The sorcerer lets out a wet, feral growl. They struggle on the spikes for a second, and then the ice snaps. Every sound is muffled by the snow - too soft, too distant. Shoko feels like her head is full of fluff. The sorcerer lifts themselves from the icy shrapnel. They channel their RCT, shoving their bones back into place, sewing their skin back together. But it’s far from effortless this time. Shoko can feel the RCE pouring out of them in heavy waves, but their body heals sluggishly. Their RCE seems to taper into a trickle as it flows through their body - like water dripping through a cloth filter. The hailstorm lets up, easing back into snow.

Each of their steps grows more sluggish, but they walk forward, fueled by blind fury. They walk towards Utahime. Shit. Shoko runs towards them, but the sorcerer simply points in her direction. Immediately, the snow beneath her turns to slush. It flows up Shoko’s legs, then freezes, locking her in place.

“A ritual… clever,” the sorcerer snarls. “But you are weak.” They grab Utahime’s knife from the ice, walking over to her.

“Damnit,” Shoko gasps, tugging at the ice. No dice. She smashes her little knife against it, but it’s way too thick for her to break through. The knife slips uselessly off the side. “Utahime!”

“Next time,” the sorcerer growls, their voice tight and harsh. “Just fucking flee.”

They drive the knife down into Utahime’s shoulder, pinning her into the snowy ground. Utahime cries out, clutching at her shoulder. The sorcerer trudges towards one of the ice walls, leaving a trail of dark, bloody footsteps behind. When they reach the wall, a panel of it melts away into water. The sorcerer disappears into the treeline. A second later, the trees shake as they take flight on their frozen wings.

The ice around Shoko’s feet starts to melt. As soon as it’s mostly slush, Shoko breaks free of it, hurling herself towards Utahime. Her eyes are hazy and faraway. Her kosode is mostly red now. The only spot of white left on her is her pale, tightened face.

“Utahime,” Shoko gasps, kneeling by her side. She reaches for Utahime’s bloody shoulder, taking stock of her wounds. And they’re bad. They’re real bad.

“S-save some…” Utahime whispers, sucking in harsh breaths, “...for yourself.”

Fucking combat sorcerers.

Chapter Text

Shoko cuts her hands when she yanks the knife out of the ground.

The volume of blood that she spills seems like teaspoons compared to Utahime, who’s leaking buckets. It’s a slippery, bloody, horrible mess to get the blade out of her shoulder, but she does. Shoko falls to her knees after she tosses it into the clearing. With a snap of RCE, she closes Utahime’s shoulder up - just to stem the bleeding. She’s careful. She saves as much as she can. But even then…

Shoko’s basically empty.

She knows it, Utahime knows it, the sorcerer probably knew it too. Panic rises in her chest, sharp and cold. In a fair world, she’d be able to wield it as a cursed weapon. Stabby jujutsu knives or something. But the world’s not fucking fair, and she always just ends up cutting herself.

“It’s going to be fine,” Utahime says softly, tugging her back to the present. And she needs to be present - she can’t miss a thing. Utahime’s voice is barely louder than a whisper - not because she’s sharing secrets, but because she doesn’t have the strength left to blurt anything out.

Shoko nods. “Right.”

It’s easier to lie to herself when it’s Utahime’s lie. It’s easier, but not easy at all. She gets Utahime up on one foot - that’s the best she can do. She takes Utahime’s weight onto herself, practically dragging them across the clearing. She steals a brief look at Utahime - just a second’s glance. But she doesn’t need to look for much longer to triage. Utahime’s right ankle is completely mangled. Her foot is covered in dark blood, and it’s sticking out wrong. Her calf only looks better because it’s mostly hidden by her wide red pants, and it’s harder to see the bloodstains there, especially when they’re soaked with snowmelt.

They stumble into the shrine together. It’s a little warmer; it’s out of the wind, at least. But the snow keeps falling outside, piling up in the clearing. The sun is low in the sky - barely any light filters into the shrine. And as night falls, the clearing only gets darker and colder.

“Okay,” Utahime sighs as they make it through the entryway, “you can put me down here.”

Shoko basically collapses as soon as they get under the roof. Her muscles are useless, almost as useless as her jujutsu. They’re undertrained, undertested, underpowered to begin with. She slides down on the wall next to Utahime, limbs wobbling like jelly. “Take a second,” Utahime says, “Breathe.”

“...Yeah.” Shoko breathes. She really, seriously, breathes. “Okay.”

Utahime looks around, getting her bearings. They’re in the main hall; Shoko can guess that much. But Shoko doesn’t know this shrine very well - doesn’t know any shrine particularly well. Not like Utahime, who takes to the shrine like a duck in water.

Shoko knows bodies a little better.

She puts her hands on Utahime’s shoulder and lets RCT course through her own limbs, then into Utahime’s. She maps out Utahime’s wounds. She takes a measure of her vitals. She focuses in, searching through Utahime’s body for clues. Utahime’s lost a lot of blood - obviously. She doesn’t need RCT to know that. She can’t quite estimate the volume by sight, but it takes a lot of blood - a real bad amount of blood - to stain that much snow dark red.

Luckily, the knife - maybe it’s more of a machete, Shoko thinks, when she turns it over in her hands - the big-ass knife didn’t hit anything too vital when it pierced her shoulder. Just muscle - didn’t even chip the bone. That wound will be easy enough to heal, so Shoko marks it for later. Utahime is bruised pretty badly on her arms and back from the hail, but those aren’t life-threatening either, just uncomfortable. Her ankle, though… It’s broken - basically shattered - and her calf is fractured too. Even on a good day, that’s a lot of cursed energy to burn. And it’s really, really not a good day.

“Crap,” Shoko mutters. “We need to get back to Kyoto.”

It’s not like they can get down the mountain, though. Not with Utahime’s leg completely broken. She needs help - they both do. She needs Suguru; she needs Shelly. And - wait - they’re higher up now, so-

“Damnit.”

Her stupid phone won’t turn on - it’s too cold. It just powers on, then black screens, and then it immediately shuts off. “I don’t know what to do…” she whispers. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Utahime calls from the wall she’s slumped down against. “We can do this,” she says gently. “We’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Shoko bites out, choking back frustrated tears, “You’re stable. You’re not fine.”

Utahime smiles, and then she lets out a little laugh. “I’m alive.” Her eyes slip shut, smooth and peaceful. “So I will be fine, soon.”

…You can take the combat sorcerer out of combat. But you can’t take the combat out of a combat sorcerer. Shoko wishes she could - a simple surgery, cutting out the parts that have grown malignant. But that’s the problem with cancer and shit. Once it’s metastasized, there’s no getting it out. It’s engraved into the body; it keeps coming back.

“Yeah, but, look-” Shoko sucks in a breath, “Look. Your ankle is broken - your leg too - I don’t know how we’re gonna get down the mountain. We need to get you back to campus. I need - we don’t even have rations, do we? I don’t know if I’ll be able to heal you enough tomorrow - and I can’t like, leave you here.”

“Shoko.”

“The sorcerer could come back - they probably will, right? To finish the job? Even if they don’t, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re a lot weaker right now. And if this snowstorm keeps going… It’s cold, so-”

“Shoko.”

Utahime slowly opens her eyes again. She stares at Shoko, and the room goes quiet. Even the snow flurries outside seem to die down, snowflakes slowing as they fall. And Shoko’s world narrows, shrinking down to a small spotlight, to the one sorcerer in front of her.

“You’re wounded too.”

“Huh?” Shoko looks down at herself. She… Right. Her palms are still bleeding, though a dark crust has dried over the cuts. Her sleeves are bloodied from it, and the fabric of her uniform is tattered from the hail. Beneath the cloth, she can feel bruises blooming all along her arms. Shoko takes a deep breath, then she directs her RCT inwards. She circulates it through her own body, taking stock of her wounds before she lets any of it flow.

Utahime’s right. Her arms and face are covered in small wounds - nothing major. She twisted her own ankle when she went down too. It’s extremely swollen, and she didn’t even feel it. It’s nowhere near as bad as a break, but she can’t keep putting weight on it. Her whole body feels numb; she’s probably still high on adrenaline. Fuck. She didn’t even feel it.

Is it the same for Utahime? For all of the combat sorcerers who just power through fights like they’re not taking damage? If they can’t feel it - if they can’t see the blood spilling out…

“Heal yourself first,” Utahime interrupts. Her voice is steady; but Shoko starts to shake. Shoko latches onto her, clinging to her resolve like a life raft.

“None of my wounds are life threatening,” Shoko says, trying to mirror Utahime’s adamantine nerve. “I need to heal you first,” she says, “Your shoulder-”

“No,” Utahime cuts in. She shakes her head limply. Her muscles are starting to ache enough that the motion is a bit clumsy, but still clear. No. “How much RCE do you have?” she asks pointedly. “We need one of us in good enough shape to search the shrine and keep watch. Isn’t RCT way more efficient on yourself?” Shoko nods reluctantly. “So it has to be you. You first, Shoko.”

Damnit.

It makes sense.

Shoko doesn’t like it, but it makes sense. Even on a full tank, she’s not sure she could heal Utahime’s leg well enough for her to be walking by morning. RCT speeds healing immensely - but it’s not instant. Bone breaks are tough.

And she’s not working with a full tank - she’s not even working with a half tank. She’s almost empty. She’s basically only got enough to stabilize. It’s easier for her to stabilize, though. No matter how thin her reserves get, Shoko’s RCT is a little more potent when it’s a matter of life and death. RCT seems to go into overdrive when someone is teetering. Maybe it’s part of her cursed technique - trading death for life. Maybe it’s part of fundamental jujutsu.

“We’ll heal you up,” Utahime says, sucking in a pained breath, “and tomorrow, you can get back down the mountain - you can find Suguru so he can come get me.”

“...Suguru.” Shoko curses. “Shit, Suguru. What if the sorcerer is going after him?”

“He’s probably fine. Stay calm,” Utahime reminds her. “He’s special-grade. And he can fly. He’s a better match for that sorcerer than me - and he’d be able to get away if he thinks he’s not.”

Right. Shoko nods. He’s fine. He’s probably at least more ‘fine’ than Utahime, currently.

“Right now, we need to focus on getting through tonight,” Utahime says. “We’ll figure out tomorrow, tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Shoko agrees.

“First, heal yourself.”

Shoko does, reluctant as she is to burn the RCE. She uses as little as she can manage to close the shallow cuts from the ice storm, and the cuts from the katana. It clears her mind, too. When the sharp pain pricking at her skin in the background goes dull, she manages to focus. The ankle is harder. It’s just twisted, not broken, but the sprain is deep. Shoko tries to be stingy with it, but it takes almost everything she has left just to straighten it out and bring down the swelling.

“Good, can you walk?” Utahime asks. Shoko tests her footing. It’s better - still a bit sore, but she’s mobile. Shoko nods. “ I need you to go and get my box of cursed tools,” Utahime says softly. “I left it outside by the gate.”

“O-okay,” Shoko says with a quick nod, then she rushes out into the clearing.

The snow keeps falling - and it didn’t pause while they got their bearings in the shrine, either. A thick layer of it blankets the ground, and it’s steadily getting higher. It’s not high enough yet to cover Utahime’s box, luckily. Shoko finds it by the torii gate, just barely peeking out of the snow. She brushes the thick layer of snow off the top. Wet, half-melted ice drenches her hands. She picks it up and carries it back; her fingers start to feel a little numb.

Utahime breathes a sigh of relief as Shoko hurries back into the shrine.

“Good, you found it,” she says weakly. “Set it down here.” She gestures to the floor beside her limp body.

Shoko sets the box down beside her and sits. She cups her hands in front of her mouth and breathes into them, rubbing them in circles to warm them. They tremble, though. She’s glad none of their wounds require surgery; she’s in no shape to hold a scalpel.

Utahime clicks open the latches on the box, then she opens the lid. She pulls a few small tools out: a stick of charcoal, a huge candle, and a box of matches. She draws a little rectangle on the floor in thin, wobbly lines. Slowly, she adds tiny, scratchy details. There’s a line at the front, a box at the back, and - oh.

“A map?”

Utahime nods. She adds a few final details to the map of the shrine. It’s simple, but accurate. Shoko recognizes the broad features. Utahime probably knows the floor plan by heart. Utahime places the candle in the box representing the main shrine. She strikes a match, but it snaps in her weak hands. She tries again - another snap.

“H-here-” Shoko tries, but her shaky hands aren’t any better. “Fuck. Wait-” Shoko rummages through her pocket - and - yes. She flicks her lighter, easily summoning a little spark. Shoko lights the candle. Utahime’s smile burns even warmer than the flame.

“Handy,” she chirps, though… She sounds tired - not normal tired. Sorcerer tired. “Good for mood lighting,” Utahime adds.

“I’m hoping you had the candles for something other than mood lighting.”

Utahime smiles. “Yeah.”

Utahime takes a deep breath, then murmurs an incantation under her breath. Shoko doesn’t catch all the words, just the way Utahime’s voice gets soft and airy, almost a breathless falsetto. She twists her fingers together into one complex sigil, then another, then a third. Utahime closes her eyes, then chants:

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Shield that which is sacred.”

The lines of the map flare alight under them, erupting with cursed energy. Utahime falls back against the wall, shivering. Blacker than darkness… But Shoko doesn’t recognize the other words.

“Okay,” Utahime says. “We’re safe.”

“A veil?”

Utahime nods. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s a protection barrier - a simple one. It’ll turn away anything lower than a grade 1, as long as the candle stays lit.” She glances at the candle. It burns slowly, and the flame is small. “It should last the night.”

Shoko bites her lip. “That sorcerer…”

“Was probably special-grade, yeah,” Utahime sighs. “I know. But this is all I’ve got.” Utahime sits up a little bit, glancing at the entryway. “If that sorcerer wanted to kill us, they could have done it pretty easily. I doubt they’re coming back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really. But...I think they wanted to distract us. Though from what, I don’t know.”

Shoko nods. She grabs herself, hugging her arms to her chest. “It’s freezing,” she mumbles. “You - we need to stay warm for the night. It’s only going to get colder.”

“So, let’s fix that. See what you can find here. Maybe we can start a fire?”

“Okay,” Shoko mumbles. She gets back to her feet, and she focuses on the shrine. It feels kind of like a video game - some old-school survival horror. She searches for supplies like bandages and bullets. She doesn’t find anything that helpful.

It’s a shrine, not a zombie survivor safehouse. No one’s holing up here to stick out the winter. She doesn’t find any sleeping bags or blankets, no cans of food (not that she has a can-opener, not that she even knows how to open them with a dagger). She finds a few thick floor mats that look soft enough to use as tarps - or maybe really stiff blankets. There’s some stiff outdoor cushions too. They’re covered in a layer of dust that’s built up over seasons sitting in storage. They’re a little stale-smelling, but neither of them have asthma. Shoko doesn’t find firewood. That’d be far too lucky. She does find a few wooden broomsticks.

If they make it out alive, she’ll buy the shrine some new brooms. It seems like a big ‘if’ at this point. A smaller ‘if’ than before, but still an ‘if’.

She returns to base with a small hoard of scavenged supplies in her inventory. Wet stones from the clearing outside - enough to build a tiny fire pit. Wood from old broomsticks, tinder from some dry bits of paper she found in the shrine’s side rooms. It’s probably sacrilege, but Utahime doesn’t balk when she rips the paper blessing to bits. She just calmly teaches Shoko how to build a fire. When her hands thaw out a little, Shoko lights the pile of wood and paper with her lighter. Even as the fire starts to grow, she can’t stop shivering. It’s inevitable - they’re both drenched in snowmelt.

…It’s a wonder their hands aren’t covered in frostbite.

“Um,” Shoko inhales. “I, uh… I need to take your clothes off.” Utahime blushes bright red. “To, uh, keep you warm-” Shoko stutters, raising her arms and waving them like maybe she can redirect the words crashing out of her mouth. But that doesn’t even work well on railcars, and Shoko’s train crash just keeps chugging on. “I’ll take mine off too!” she adds, “Uh - I mean - because we’re soaked, and-”

“Right,” Utahime says with a little cough. “Yeah, um, that makes sense. That’s fine.”

Shoko goes first. Because, at least that makes it less weird, right? Hypothetically. She still feels weird. Really fucking weird. She awkwardly peels herself out of her clothes, trying, at least, not to be obviously weird about it.

It feels a little less weird once she gets out of her uniform. Her underwear is at least dry, and the fire has grown enough that her skin immediately starts to warm up. She sighs as she kneels down by the fire, letting it drive away the wet cold. That’s what’s important right now - staying warm, staying dry.

It’s because of the balmy fire, and because Utahime nearly bled out in front of her - that she can’t be too nervous about stripping down in front of her crush. She’s got enough on her list to be nervous about that her own body doesn’t even make the top 5. At least her body is a living one, not a cadaver.

It’s Utahime’s turn next. She lifts herself with what little strength she’s got left. Together, they peel the wet miko uniform off of her. It’s grueling, delicate work - Shoko tries not to rip away the drying scabs keeping Utahime’s blood in her body. She tries, and she mostly fails. Utahime winces as sticky blood tears at her skin.

“Oh shit…” Shoko whispers.

She sucks in a harsh breath as she takes a look at Utahime’s body. Her whole chest is covered in mottled, patchwork bruises. Her arms are covered in cuts, raw and red. The gash on her shoulder puckers at the edges, trying to heal outwards instead of in. The machete took so much flesh out of her shoulder that she’d probably scar even if Shoko had a full tank of RCE to heal her up with. Her leg is even worse. The tissue is still inflamed - red and swollen. Shoko can set the bones manually - she doesn’t need any sorcery for that. But they won’t heal much without RCE.

“T-that bad, huh?”

Shoko shakes her head. “...Not that bad,” she manages. “Not ‘you’re gonna die’ bad.”

“Just ‘oh shit’ bad?” Utahime smiles, though it wobbles.

Shoko swallows. “I deal with ‘oh shit’ bad, like, all the time.”

Utahime laughs, and as weak as it is, it’s a pure, smooth sound. It runs over Shoko’s shoulders like clear water.

“Right,” Utahime murmurs. “I bet you do.

“Damn straight.”

Shoko sets Utahime’s ankle as well as she can. It’s not perfect, but it’s straight. Utahime takes it pretty well, considering that Shoko’s too tapped to give her magical painkillers. But she has something a little better than magic - real medicine. Shoko does a little bit of quick crafting with her salvaged materials. Barrier ribbons and knife sheathes turn into a makeshift split. Then, Shoko reaches out, placing her hand on Utahime’s shoulder, and uses the very last of her RCE to close the wound. Utahime stares up at Shoko, a smile curling up the corners of her eyes.

“I mean. It’s not how I imagined stripping for you,” she says, “But I’ll take it.”

Shoko freezes. Her brain freezes too. She glitches out, and encounters a fatal error. Blue screen of death - death by lesbianism.

“I’m gay.” Shoko blurts out. She claps a hand over her mouth. “I, uh… Fuck,” she mumbles through her fingers. “Um… I just - I hope… I hope that doesn’t, uh, bother you.”

Utahime laughs suddenly, bright and clear and full of life.

“No, not at all,” she hums. “I mean, it would make it a bit harder for me to ask you out if you weren’t.”

Shoko freezes again, frames stuttering in her brain.

“Wait really?”

“And um,” Utahime smiles, small and red. She bites her lip, then says: “I hope it doesn’t bother you if I kiss you now.”

“No,” Shoko whispers breathlessly. “Um, no. That, uh… Wouldn’t bother me.”

So Utahime kisses her, tasting as sweet as honey and as strong as hard liquor. The potency of her cursed energy fizzes on Shoko’s tongue like carbonation. She gasps as Utahime’s hands find her waist, drawing her in. The warmth of their blazing campfire seems like a tiny candle compared to the heat of Utahime’s bare skin shifting against Shoko’s own. Her shaky hands find Utahime’s chest, landing clumsily against the sheer fabric of her bra.

“A-ah, sorry,” Shoko whispers.

Utahime laughs against her lips, and one of her hands slides over Shoko’s, twining their fingers together. “Don’t be sorry,” she says, “I’d prefer that my doctor be thorough...”

“I swear this was not an elaborate setup for me to get your clothes off.”

“Right, well. I wouldn’t have minded if it was.” Utahime grins. “...I’ve been waiting ages for this, you know.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t really think I was being subtle.”

“Well,” Shoko blushes, “I’m kinda bad at picking up on things.”

“That’s okay,” Utahime says, her eyes glittering. “I can make it a little more obvious.”

Utahime reaches behind her back, deftly unhooking her bra with one hand. She slides the straps down over her shoulders, and guides Shoko’s hand back to her chest. They kiss again, and again, and again for good measure. To share warmth, and to share each others’ labored breaths. Because… the air on the mountain is so thin. That must be why Shoko feels so light headed.

“You’re incredible, you know,” Utahime whispers. “I’ve always thought that.”

“W-what?” Shoko chokes on an incredulous laugh. She’s dizzy now - from Utahime’s words, and from the lips that they spill from. “How can you say that?” she murmurs. “I was so… So useless. I couldn’t fight at all. I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t stop you from getting hurt.”

“Shoko, you’re the only reason I’m alive.”

“But-”

A soft light shines in Utahime’s eyes, glimmering like a polished burl of oak. “You stopped me from dying,” she says, “Sure, I fought that sorcerer, but I couldn’t have done that if I didn’t have you there to fall back on. Without you, I’d be bleeding out right now.” Utahime kisses her cheek, whispering, “You’re so much stronger than you realize.”

“...Only when I’m with you.”

Utahime blushes at that. “I meant it when I said I’d give anything to have you in Kyoto,” she says softly. “You make me feel stronger too.” Utahime reaches for her below the covers, finding the swell of her hip.

“We should…” Shoko sucks in a breath, shaking her head. “You should take it easy. You’re still wounded. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s never stopped a sorcerer before…” Combat sorcerers… “How much RCE do you have left?” Utahime asks.

“...Not a lot,” Shoko admits. “I’m basically empty. Why?”

“Okay. I’ve got a little CE,” she says. Shoko tilts her head. “Hey, Shoko,” Utahime’s lips curl up into a sly little smile, “Let’s make a Binding Vow.”

“A-a Binding Vow?”

“I’ll give you my cursed energy,” she whispers, “if you give me a kiss.”

It’s a bit nicer than a mutually-assured death pact, she’ll give her that.

“Sure,” Shoko mumbles, too quick and too airy.

Shoko leans in, pressing a shaky kiss to Utahime’s lips. A stream of cursed energy trickles into Shoko’s body. It’s soft and slow, like a lazy river. Shoko lets out a sigh. Almost automatically, the cursed energy cycles up through her, multiplies into reverse cursed energy, and flows back into Utahime. The bruises on her body fade, and her cuts start to close.

“I think I’ve got a little more,” Utahime murmurs. She kisses Shoko again, threading her fingers into Shoko’s hair. Now that she’s not teetering on the brink of anemia, her hands slide deftly over Shoko’s body. Her movements are every bit as precise as they are with her rituals. It makes Shoko feel… something close to sacred. Utahime’s toned body presses up against Shoko’s as she pulls a mat over them like a blanket. They share each other’s heat, and it builds. Shoko’s arms tighten around her waist, and Utahime’s cursed energy floods her mouth. It swirls around in her dumb, dazed brain and spreads back out through her fingertips. This time, she numbs all the pain she can find in Utahime’s body.

“You’ve got a great bedside manner,” Utahime hums. Her shoulders loosen up, and the tension melts out of her body.

Shoko blushes bright red, and Utahime laughs. She trails kisses down Shoko’s neck, then slips below the mat. Beneath the thick, stiff covers, Utahime’s soft lips find the swell of her breasts. She gently pushes Shoko’s bra down, exposing her bare chest. Shoko lets out a weak, unbidden noise.

“Utahime-” she gasps.

“Is this alright?” She looks up from Shoko’s chest, her steady brown eyes pointed up at Shoko’s trembling lips. “Too fast?”

Shoko nods, then shakes her head, then freezes.

“Not too fast,” she blurts out, “It’s fine. Um, I’m fine with-” she stutters. “You can keep going.” She clumsily unhooks her own bra, slipping it off. Utahime smiles and presses another kiss to Shoko’s collarbone. With each kiss, Shoko feels a tiny wave of cursed energy flow into her body, then ebb away into Utahime’s. It’s not enough to heal any broken bones, but it’s enough to numb the pain. And the cursed energy - or maybe just the kissing - is certainly enough to keep them warm.

“...But, um, we should still take it easy,” Shoko adds later, when her brain thaws out.

Utahime lets out a little chuckle as she presses a kiss to Shoko’s smooth, squishy stomach. It has none of the muscle definition of Utahime’s. She’s got no abs to speak of - not a 6-pack, a 2-pack, or even a single can. But Utahime looks at her like she’s made of the same true sorcerous stuff as the rest of them. Like she’s… special-grade.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime whispers, “I’ll be gentle.”

Shoko chokes. “I wasn’t talking about-”

Utahime slides even lower, pressing a kiss to Shoko’s hip. Shoko pushes down the mat, trembling as the cold air hits her chest. But heat spikes through her core as she watches Utahime gently push her briefs down, then spread her legs apart. She leans down to nip at the skin of Shoko’s inner thigh. A fluttery wind leaves Shoko’s lungs.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime says with a wink. Her lips drag upwards, between Shoko’s thighs. ”I won’t overexert myself.”

Shoko gasps as her tongue swipes along Shoko’s skin. She shifts, shuddering as Utahime’s lips brush over her clit. Her tongue flits out, and Shoko moans. Utahime’s eyes seem to glow as she glances up at Shoko. She can’t tell if it’s Utahime’s cursed energy, or if the air in the room somehow grows heavier on its own. She trembles against the mats as Utahime licks into her heat. Her tongue makes slow circles, and then her finger joins. It presses into her, slender and wet.

“-H-hime,” she stutters out. Her hands fly to Utahime’s shoulders. Blunt fingernails scrabble uselessly against her smooth skin. Shoko whimpers as Utahime adds another finger. It slides in so easily, slick with her arousal. Utahime pulls back, smiling.

“Does that feel good?” she asks softly. Shoko nods mutely as Utahime’s deft fingers brush against her inner walls. Her tongue feels far clumsier than Utahime’s - too clumsy to form words at all. “Good,” Utahime grins. “Just relax,” she leans down, kissing Shoko on the corner of her mouth. “Let me play nurse tonight,” she whispers.

She moves down again, but Shoko clutches her shoulder. “W-wait,” she pants, “Can I-” Shoko bites her lip, “...I want to touch you, too.”

“Sure,” Utahime says with a smile. She carefully rolls onto her side, careful to keep pressure off her battered leg. Shoko slips out of her underwear, then helps Utahime do the same.

“O-okay,” Shoko sucks in a breath. Utahime guides Shoko’s shaky hands to her sternum. She gently feels the smooth skin under her palm, the contours of Utahime’s chest. It’s soft, but she can feel all the toned muscle beneath it too - the strength in her shoulders and her core. She runs her fingers over Utahime’s pink nipples, feeling the buds harden under her fingertips. Utahime shivers. “Is this alright?” Shoko whispers.

“More would be even better,” Utahime giggles.

Shoko blushes. “Sorry-”

Utahime interrupts her with a kiss. Her lips are soft and wet, and warm as the fire. Behind them, though, Shoko still tastes the trace of coppery blood. But when she tries to break away - to check Utahime’s wounds - Utahime simply kisses her again. It’s a good distraction; or maybe Shoko is just a horrible, homosexual doctor. Utahime lets out a little sigh and drags Shoko’s hand to the curve of her hip. Her fingers press back inside of Shoko, and the heel of her hand rubs against Shoko’s clit.

“F-fuck-” she curses. Her hips jump forward, unbidden. Utahime smirks as she tangles a hand in Shoko’s hair and guides her mouth down to the curve of her neck. Shoko obediently follows, pressing wet, desperate kisses to her skin. She works her way down Utahime’s collar, winning a pleased hum out of Utahime.

“That’s good,” Utahime murmurs. Her heel grinds against Shoko’s heat, sending sparks skittering up into her stomach. “That feels so good, Shoko…”

If the kiss was a good distraction, the praise is excellent. Shoko eagerly drags her lips down Utahime’s chest, and Utahime sighs. When her lips brush against Utahime’s pert nipples, she lets out a musical moan. Shoko’s fingers slide down Utahime’s hips, sweeping over her thighs.

She finds the heat between her legs, soft and wet.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Utahime moans, shifting forward into Shoko’s touch. Her hand tightens in Shoko’s hair. Shoko’s fingertips slide easily into her, and she lets out a little gasp. But she doesn’t miss a beat. Her own hand keeps moving, tracing circles over Shoko’s clit. Utahime’s eyes flutter shut as they find a steady rhythm together - a melody of touch and taste. Even as their cursed energy drains away to nothing, something smolders in Shoko’s stomach. She breathes in Utahime’s scent, flowers and fire; she tastes the little beads of sweat and blood on her skin.

“S-shoko-”

Shoko swears she can taste the steel of Utahime’s blades too. Utahime pulls her into another kiss, soft and slow. And that’s enough. Shoko tips over the edge, her whole body locking up into a shiver. Utahime drags her through it, gentle and rough all at once. Shoko moans, grinding against Utahime’s heel until her body short circuits. Her nerves spark, and her vision defocuses as she tips into a dull, blissful haze.

Utahime isn’t far behind. She reaches down between her legs, laying her hand over Shoko’s. She jolts, shocking her inanimate fingers back to life. Shoko hooks her fingers inside Utahime and drags them deep along her inner walls. Utahime shivers, grinding against her wrist. Shoko bends down, nuzzling between Utahime’s delicate breasts. She licks down the curve of one, tasting Utahime’s feverish skin. Then, she closes her lips around her nipple. Utahime shudders and lets out a little gasp. Her hips buck forward.

“Careful,” Shoko breathes, steadying her bad leg. She kisses her gently - as gently as she can. Utahime seemingly has no interest in that - no interest in ‘gentle’, or ‘careful’, apparently. She grabs Shoko’s shoulders, dragging her into a deep, breathless kiss. Her nails dig into Shoko’s skin, leaving behind pinpricks of pressure.

Shoko raises her mouth and kisses her through it, careful not to put too much pressure on her body. But Utahime is not nearly as careful. She grabs for Shoko and finds her shoulders. She brings them together in a clash of fire and flowers. They kiss for a long moment, bodies brushing against each other hot and soft. She lets out a soft moan, curling into Shoko’s body as she clenches tight around her fingers.

When Utahime finally comes down, the steamy air between them slowly dies down to a simmer. She pulls the mat back over them and cuddles up close. Though the fire is shrinking down to coals, the heat trapped between them is enough to keep them plenty warm for now.

“Well…” Utahime whispers, teasing, “I feel much better. Thanks, doctor.”

Shoko lets out a laugh, breathless as it is. “I don’t think I’ll prescribe that treatment to anyone else.”

“I might need a follow-up, though,” Utahime hums. She looks up at Shoko, her eyes glittering bright.

Combat sorcerers…

Shoko snorts. “Once your leg is healed, I’ll book you another appointment.”

-:-

“The girl is strong.”

“Eh?”

Uraume lands in a puff of snowflakes, sending up a cloud of flurries. New snow quickly fills in their steps, leaving the blanket of snow undisturbed.

Kenjaku peeks over their shoulder, feigning surprise. It is a flimsy act, though Uraume attributes that to the performer’s lack of commitment, rather than their lack of skill. Kenjaku’s eyes glow with a dark fire, one that has burned for centuries longer than their new body reveals. Uraume can only meet their gaze in short bursts before it singes their cold skin.

“I dunno; she was pretty weak,” Kenjaku sighs, crossing their arms. They are dressed in the strange fleece robes of these times. The garment’s form is strange - a long dress of sorts, sewn together instead of wrapped. They had given it a name, once: スナギ (su-na-gi). Patterns swirl across the surface, tan and black, mimicking the spots of a leopard.

It is stained with coffee.

“I mean, did you see her katana technique?” they continue, “Terrible. Absolutely terrible! She’s all footwork and no follow-through. The knives were alright, though. Good trick with the ritual, too.”

“The-” Uraume cannot think of exactly what she is. “The healer. Not the miko.”

“Oh.” They hum. “That one. Eeeeeeeh, maybe.” Kenjaku turns to them fully this time, revealing the strange items in their grasp. Each of their hands clutches a vessel made of a strange modern material: プラスチック (purasuchikku). They dangle one of the vessels in Uraume’s direction. “Here, I got you a mocha frappe.”

“A what?”

“You’ll like it, trust me.” They suck this strange liquor through their flimsy white straw, rattling around chunks of ice in the vessel. “It doesn’t have any blood in it,” Kenjaku says, “but there’s chocolate - probably Nestle - so you might be able to taste the exploitation of laborers in the Global South if you close your eyes.”

“Right,” Uraume mutters, taking the drink. They sip it, then immediately cringe. “What on earth is in this?”

“Coffee, chocolate, cream, sugar - oh, and some chili.” Kenkaju smiles. “It’s technically a Mexican Hot Chocolate Frappe, I just called it a mocha since you don’t know what ‘Mexico’ is yet.”

Uraume frowns. They wrap the strange kanji around their tongue: メキシコ (mekishiko).

“Mexicans, man, they’ve got all the good ideas,” Kenjaku continues, “Good sorcery, too. If I’d known what they were doing in the Heian era…” they chuckle, shaking their head. “Well, it would’ve saved me a lot of time. And a lot of women.”

Uraume squints at them.

“Well, I probably would’ve killed the women anyway.” They shrug. “Ah, well. Never enough time in the day.”

“She can heal others.”

Kenjaku cocks a brow.

“The healer girl,” Uraume clarifies. “That is uncommon in this era, is it not?”

“...Yes,” they say after a slow, pondering silence. “It is very uncommon. Most sorcerers in this era cannot even use reverse cursed techniques. Jujutsu is too thin in their blood. It does not come to them as it came to us.”

Uraume nods. The flow of cursed energy within them had never needed a name. Before Lord Sukuna found them, few things did. Sorcery had come as naturally to them as breathing. They had learned to control it just as they had learned to hunt in the dark woods. By instinct - by danger.

“Shouldn’t you kill her, then?” Uraume asks. “Her technique may be more useful than that one’s,” they gesture to Kenjaku’s current body, the suburban housewife.

Uraume could not fathom any use for the gravitational technique this body held. It would not counter the Six Eyes’ own gravitational manipulation; the sheer amount of cursed energy that boy held could likely overpower Kenjaku’s own jujutsu, in terms of raw potency. Unless Kenjaku somehow found themselves fighting a sorcerer with an extremely specific cursed technique - one reliant on mass, perhaps - the woman’s technique would be useless. But the odds of that were so low as to be laughable.

“No,” Kenjaku says abruptly. “That would be stupid. She hasn’t even unlocked her technique.”

Uraume’s lips flatten into a line. “An innate technique? She may not have one.” Kenjaku’s gaze clouds, swirling with dark plumes of ash. It chokes the air out of Uraume’s lungs. “You have said as much,” Uraume mutters, coughing as they avert their eyes. “The sorcerers of this era are thin-blooded and weak.”

“She has one. But she won’t unlock it.”

“Why not?” Uraume huffs. “Can you not force it? As you-”

“Aaaaahhhhh,” Kenkaju whines, “Her abilities would be more useful after your little king’s resurrection anyhow.”

Uraume stiffens, their hackles rising. “Lord Sukuna-”

“Besides,” Kenjaku cuts in, “I’m not in a rush. I’d have to leave Jin and little Yuuji.” Kenjaku sighs dramatically - overdramatically. “I mean, I’d have to get all new documents - open a new credit card. Waaaah - what a pain! Have you ever tried dealing with a credit card company? They’re worse than moneylenders. And she probably hasn’t built any credit at all - she’s way too young for a mortgage.”

Kenjaku’s gaze suddenly flicks down towards the clearing below their mountainside perch. A rush of motion makes its way through the trees in the surrounding forest, and they grin.

“Showtime,” Kenjaku lilts. “Watch.”

Two men fly through the clearing. Cursed energy cracks through the air behind them next, trailing them like an aftershock. Modern sorcerers... Uraume sniffs. Their cursed energy is potent for this era, but it is shallow and disgustingly unrefined. They are children. But all modern sorcerers are children to them. Kenjaku does not seem inclined to butt into their duel, so Uraume lays in wait as well. They take another sip of their strangely sweet and spicy coffee. They cringe.

“Who are they?” Uraume asks, using their teeth to scrape the foul taste off their tongue.

“Ahhhh, c’mon,” Kenjaku whines. “You had him, Y’had him right there.” Uraume squints down at the clearing just as one lunges. Blood sprays in a sloppy red arc across the snow. Then another, crossing over the first. “Yeaaaaah, that’s more like it!” Kenjaku cheers. “Whip it out, show ‘em your dirk.”

The one man - with longer, dark hair - stumbles back, clutching his chest. He leans against a tree. The other follows, stalking him like prey. The wounded man is weak, helpless. He shivers, and he falls against the bark, painting a crimson stripe behind himself. There is blood in the air, heavy and metallic. It whets Uraume’s thirst, just as it does the other man’s. He advances, a blade in his hand. He bares sharp teeth; a predator.

In an instant, a void splits open the air. Out from it flies a giant, iridescent dragon. Prismatic flames flare out from the dragon’s mouth, and Uraume holds their breath. The man dodges lithely, avoiding its wrathful breath. He is quick - unnaturally quick - but he is soon outnumbered. More voids open, spitting out curses of every kind. They crawl, they fly, and they lunge at the other man. He cuts them down with his blade. One at a time, too slow. He is no match for the deluge. Curses continue to pour out of the aether. The dragon curls around the bleeding man, snarling sparks.

“This is the curse manipulator?” Uraume asks. Kenkaju stares down at the clearing, giving no indication they’ve heard the question. Or, as they certainly have, they give no indication that they care to answer.

The man backs away, retreating into the treeline. The dragon is certainly a fearsome curse; Uraume cannot rightly blame him. The curse manipulator’s wounds will kill him soon enough anyway. But it is a retreat - a loss by withdrawal. Uraume scrunches their nose. Kenjaku sighs, clucking their tongue.

“Ah,” Kenjaku huffs. “This is why you never send a Zen’in to do a Kamo’s job.”

-:-

Morning light breaks over the mountains, and with it, the world stirs awake. It’s a little brisk, but not cold. The snow has fully melted away, leaving not even a puddle in its wake. The grass in the clearing is dewy, but not drenched. It’s almost like the snow vanished rather than melted. It’s just gone without a trace. Like the bitch-ass ice sorcerer. Except they left a whole lot of bruises.

Utahime yawns and stretches as she wakes. She grabs her (mostly) dry kosode and pulls it on. She hugs her arms to her chest, shivering, and clears her throat. She asks Shoko: “How do you feel?”

“...Me?” Shoko asks slowly, stupidly, swallowing down a scream. “I’m fine.” Shoko gingerly shifts the mats off of them to get a better look at Utahime’s leg. It’s still swollen, and the bruises have darkened into a nasty blue. But at least it’s straight. Dried blood coats her skin, but Shoko doesn’t see anything bleeding brightly. “What about you?”

“A little sore,” Utahime shrugs. She leans up to kiss Shoko. Shoko’s stupid lesbian side accepts it, leaning back into her with a satisfied sigh. And then her competent lesbian side kicks in, and Shoko pulls back.

“Easy,” Shoko scolds her, detangling her loose limbs from Utahime’s embrace, “Easy - would you?”

She takes it back. Heavens - or whatever’s up there dealing with Binding Vows - she takes it back, for the record. Shoko takes back everything she said about Utahime being better, or fundamentally different, from her two male clusterfucks. She’s as crazy as the rest of them, just a thousand times hotter and a hundred times more emotionally stable.

Still crazy, though.

Utahime pouts and lets her escape. They both dress slowly, taking care not to aggravate their wounds. Shoko checks the signal on her phone - still nothing. They’re high enough up on the mountain, and that the snowstorm has passed. It’s warm enough that her phone works - so she can check for a weak signal. But the signal isn’t weak, it’s gone. She can’t get anything up here except her offline map.

So that’s going to have to be enough.

“Okay, I’m healing your leg,” Shoko decides.

“...That’ll take most of your RCE, won’t it?”

“Yeah, but we need to get back to town. And I can’t call Suguru for a taxi.” She shows Utahime her phone - or the useless glass brick that passes for one. Utahime sighs and nods.

“Okay. You’re right,” she concedes.

Shoko infuses RCE into Utahime’s leg - enough to heal the broken bone and then some - which is almost everything she’s got. It set well overnight, so the bone snaps back together obediently. It’s already gotten used to being in the right position, now it just needs to sit there a little longer. It’ll take time, and Utahime won’t be able to do any fancy footwork, but it’s healed enough that she can walk on it, as long as they take it slow. She burns a little extra to numb Utahime’s pain, because she needs Utahime in good shape - not just stable - if they’re going to make it down the mountain alive.

“Good to go?” Shoko asks. Utahime nods.

Shoko packs her tool chest back up while Utahime resets the shrine. Utahime takes care to hang the tapestries back where they found them. She sweeps the fire pit away. She even dusts the wood beams in the main shrine. It’s important - the ritual of it all. Shoko understood that, like, on paper. But as she watches Utahime perform each sacred step with intention, it’s like the blurry, dense paragraphs stored in the back of her mind sharpen into something clear.

There’s tradeoffs in jujutsu. Binding Vows, Heavenly Restrictions, innate techniques too. You get out what you put in. And what Utahime puts in is… divinity. A subtle current of tradition, a certainty that only comes from the way things are - the way things should be. Utahime’s cursed energy thickens as she tends the shrine. The sun has risen past the trees by the time they’re finished, and the air is warm.

As they leave, Utahime pauses by the torii gate, looking back to the shrine.

“Where do you think that sorcerer went?” she asks.

It’s an unsolved mystery. One of several. Where they went - where they came from in the first place. Why they attacked, why they didn’t kill. None of it makes any sense. But none of this - jujutsu bullshit - has ever made that much sense to Shoko.

“Back to the North Pole?” Shoko says hollowly. It feels cold on her tongue, colder than the snow. “...I guess they’re Satoru’s problem now.”

Utahime giggles, but it’s a nervous one. As they step past the torii gate, descending into the woods, Shoko feels her stomach sink back into the ground too. Utahime bites her lip, and her fingers twist together at her sides.

“...Do you think he’s okay?”

Satoru or Suguru? Shoko sighs. At least the answer’s the same for both - no, definitely not. But Satoru is a whole world away, MIA for months. Comparatively, Suguru’s only been AWOL for like twelve hours.

“Suguru? He’s special-grade,” Shoko mumbles. It doesn’t feel as safe now, saying that. It doesn’t feel like ‘special-grade’ means invincible anymore. But it hasn’t felt that way for months. “He’s strong,” she says. “I know that he’s strong. But… That sorcerer was insane.”

“Yeah…” Utahime nods. “So, um, you probably don’t know much about this…” Utahime says, sucking in a breath. “But I’m not so sure that was a sorcerer, actually.”

“What?” Shoko’s eyes widen. “You don’t think it was a curse, do you? I mean… They looked human, right? Like, old I guess. But human old. Wait, do you think it was, like, a ghost?”

“No, no,” Utahime says quickly. “I don’t think it was a ghost. Or a curse, actually. Not exactly. Their powers were a lot closer to a natural spirit.”

“A natural spirit?”

“Yeah. They’re a little different from the regular cursed spirits you’d find in the city. Their power doesn’t come from negative cursed energy, exactly. It’s more… primal.” She gestures to the trees. “There’s energy all around us. Negative - that’s cursed energy. Positive - that’s reverse cursed energy. Real curses are made from negative cursed energy, that’s why they can use it to heal.”

Shoko nods. “But sorcerers have to use RCE, because we’re not made of cursed energy.”

“Right. And that ice sorcerer was using both RCE and CE, so they’re definitely a sorcerer - or, they were one.”

“‘Were’?”

“Sometimes, when a sorcerer gets strong enough, they become more like a curse,” she explains. “You’ve heard of Ryomen Sukuna, right? They at least teach you that much in Tokyo?”

“I know about Sukuna!” Shoko insists. Utahime laughs, tossing up her hands.

“Hey, I had to ask.”

Shoko gulps. “You’re saying that guy was like, Ryomen Sukuna-level strong?”

“Oh, gosh, no,” Utahime waves her hands frantically. “We’d be dead if they were. Like, super dead.” She shakes her head. “No, I just think… They were acting half like a sorcerer, and half like a curse. When a sorcerer has fundamental mastery of jujutsu, they understand it like curses do - CE and RCE can flow together. The way that sorcerer was fighting…” She sighs. “I knew I couldn’t win if I just fought them like a sorcerer.”

Shoko frowns. “...Is it different? When you fight a curse?”

“Natural spirits - kami - are a little tricky.” Utahime explains, “They’re bound by different rules. That’s why it couldn’t hurt the shrine. The best way to take them down is through rituals. Barrier techniques and binding vows, that kind of thing. So that’s why I thought - if I set everything up - a cursed technique reversal might work.”

“...You noticed all of that in battle?”

Utahime blushes. “I mean, yeah. It was that or die.”

“Are kami, like… peaceful or something? Is that why it didn’t kill us?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “The shrine would’ve given us some protection, sure. It could have dragged us out of the shrine, though. But it blocked us in, so…”

“Yeah. It’s weird. They were like, playing with their food.” Shoko shudders. “What was their deal?”

“Hopefully Suguru figures it out.”

“Yeah.” Shoko swallows and nods. “Speaking of…” She checks her phone again.

The reception isn’t great, but it’s there, at least. One bar, two every so often. It’s good enough to try, so Shoko dials his number and waits. It rings - one time, then three times, then five.

He doesn’t pick up.

“He could be busy.” Utahime bites her lip. “Maybe he also has bad signal.”

“Right.” Shoko swallows and nods again.

They walk through the trees for another minute or so. It’s too quiet, in that minute. The forest isn’t making any sounds, and neither is her phone. Shoko tries again, but it’s the same as before. The phone just rings and rings, unanswered.

“Utahime…”

“I know.”

Shoko swallows again, but there’s nothing left to choke down. Her mouth is dry, and her teeth start to ache from how hard she’s been clenching them shut. Utahime’s hand finds her shoulder, warm through the ruined cloth. She calls Suguru again, and again, and there’s nothing, and there’s nothing.

Nothing but ringing, in Shoko’s phone, in her ears.

Nothing until Utahime’s head snaps to the side, and she gasps.

“Shoko,” she shouts-

“What?”

It’s just empty trees and dead air. Empty hands and a dead signal.

“There,” Utahime rushes forward, grabbing her shoulder. “Follow me.”

She starts to feel it once they run off the path. It’s thick in the air - cursed energy like rotting leaves. The decay drenches their feet, wet and slimy. The signs are subtle at first: a snapped branch here, an upturned rock there. And then she sees it, a vicious slash gnawing through the bark of a wide, ancient tree.

Shoko stumbles in front of the tree, skidding to a stop.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it him?” Shoko asks, her voice a little manic. “Are those Suguru’s residuals?”

“It’s cursed, that’s for sure.” She frowns, biting her lip. “But… I can’t tell if it’s his. I’m not… Only Satoru can do that.”

“No, yeah-” Shoko stiffens. “Right,” she mumbles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I can feel something,” Utahime says. “Something close. She looks around the woods, staring out at a path of trampled grass and broken twigs. A path of ruin… Utahime squeezes Shoko’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Suguru’s fine.”

Shoko tries to believe her.

She doesn’t really succeed, but she tries.

Suguru is a special-grade sorcerer, sure. One of only three in Japan. And sure, there are some powerful curse users out there. They don’t neatly register in the grade system like sorcerers from Jujutsu Tech. But even the powerful ones aren’t, like, special-grade. That’s what Satoru says, anyway. But the ice sorcerer definitely was. Maybe not Ryomen Sukuna-level strong, but still, like, ‘impaled Satoru’ strong, and ‘gave Tsukumo a concussion’ strong, and maybe ‘put Suguru in the fucking ground’ strong.

“Hang on, is that-” Utahime turns suddenly. She points into the woods, squinting. There’s movement in the trees - a blur of pink. It’s something winged. Something bigger than a breadbox, but smaller than Superman. It cuts through the canopy, whizzing towards them. “Is that…”

“Shelly!” Shoko gasps, catching the little curse as it smacks into her chest.

The impact knocks her off balance, but doesn’t quite knock the wind out of her lungs. She’s… she’s small. Smaller than Shoko ever remembers seeing her. She’s only the size of an slightly-fucked-up-looking cat. And… There’s something odd about her cursed energy, too. Shoko feels it in her fingertips. Shelly’s cursed energy doesn’t waver around her touch like it usually does, shifting and slipping like silk. It feels solid, unlike…

“...Where’s Suguru?” Shoko whispers.

Shelly lets out a frantic burble, flipping around in the air. She flies back into the woods. “Wait!” Shoko yells. But Shelly bolts, so Shoko runs after her. Utahime is only a beat behind, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle. “Shit,” Shoko pants.

She follows as fast as she can, which isn’t that fast at all. Shelly hovers for a second every so often, lingering in the air so as not to lose them. Shoko sucks in as much air as she can, trying desperately to fill her weak, underworked lungs. But there’s no time to waste, no time to breathe, let alone complain. Shelly whizzes through the woods, ducking and dodging around fallen trees and scorched ferns. Shoko doesn’t need a body to know it’s a crime scene. The ashy blasts scattered through the woods are Suguru’s handiwork, no doubt. And any one of his larger curses could’ve taken out a few trees. But the slashes… Suguru’s never been one for blades.

“Woah,” Utahime whispers. She stops short as the woods open out into a small clearing.

Dozens and dozens of curses - maybe even a hundred - all swarm around a huge, thick tree near the far edge. There’s all kinds - flying, crawling, slithering curses. Curses without eyes, curses with more eyes than Shoko can count. They all cluster together in a huge, throbbing mass. And their energy is vile. It’s strong enough that even Shoko can feel it burning her eyes, and it’s overwhelming enough that she instinctively covers her nose and mouth.

Atop the horrible, pulsing cocoon of curses sits Suguru’s rainbow dragon. It spirals around the tree. Its head snaps towards the two of them as they jog forward out of the treeline. The second she gets within a few meters of the cursed mound, the dragon rears its head. Its scales gleam, catching the sunlight and throwing it back in a blinding flare. It bares its teeth, roaring. The cursed energy emanating from its mouth is so potent that she tastes it - bitter ash and burning flesh.

“Woah-” Shoko holds up her hands. “It’s just me, big guy…” Shelly makes a distorted, wobbling sound, and she headbutts the mass of curses. The dragon stares down at the two sorcerers, its tongue sliding viciously along its teeth.

“I…” Shoko looks towards Utahime, “What do we do?”

“Um,” she sucks in a breath. “I’m not sure. Suguru’s curses aren’t dangerous… Right?”

“No.” Shoko cringes. “...Well… Not if he’s piloting them.”

“Shoko…”

“I know.” Shoko gulps, turning back to the dragon. “Um. Hi,” she says timidly. “I, uh…” She pulses her own cursed energy, infusing her hands with as much of the stuff as she can manage. For a normal combat sorcerer, maybe that’d be like drawing a sword - or worse, whipping out a gun. But Shoko’s cursed energy is weak enough that the dragon doesn’t even seem to register it as a threat.

“I’m a friend,” she whispers.

The dragon watches her closely, tasting her faint, bitter residuals. It curls back around the tree, wrapping its tail around the trunk. The curses begin to part. Layer after layer of curseflesh peels away. Little monsters squelch and throb as they scuttle back into the treeline - not gone, not dismissed - just lying in wait. Shoko feels a hundred pairs of eyes bore into her as she steps closer. Finally, when the last, slimy-skinned curses slither away, she sees what’s hiding inside their core. A cold, motionless stone in the center of a rotting peach.

She hears the dragon roar, then tastes it.

“Oh my god.”

She hears Utahime throw up, then smells it.

“Oh my god.”

She hears herself drop to her knees, then feels it.

It’s hard to look at all of him - it’s hard to look at any of him at all.

Her body moves before her brain, crawling towards him on muscle memory. His skin is pale, cold and still. His stomach is a mess, his chest torn open - not moving, not lifting, not breathing. Dark blood, bright blood; pink tissue and yellow bile. His guts spill out from two crossed slashes in his chest. She sees them twitch - she sees-

Flies.

There are flies landing on his body - jumping around on the raw, swollen tissue. His intestines, to be specific. Those are his intestines, outside of his skin. Because Shoko knows what intestines look like - how to identify them even on a nameless, mangled corpse. There are flies in his stomach, and ants crawling up his legs, and dragonflies flitting over his grey, cracked lips.

“Suguru-”

A sob wrenches its way out of Shoko’s chest, burning just as hot as the dragon’s breath.

“You can save him,” Utahime’s voice finds her calming, grounding. But it’s not enough, this time. There’s no peaceful eye in the middle of this storm, no ground beneath her feet that’s steady enough to stand on. She sinks into the blood-stained mud.

“I-” Shoko’s voice shatters. “I don’t have enough RCE.”

Utahime’s hands slide over Shoko’s, distantly warm. She’s too numb to feel much more than that. A burst of cursed energy surges through her body - wilting flowers.

“Take mine.”

It’s still not enough.

No amount of CE is enough. Because he’s not dying, he’s-

“Utahime…”

Only the echoes of his soul are left in his body, and even those shy away as soon as Shoko feels around for them. She can’t fight, but she can heal. She can only heal. All she can do is fix them when they come back broken. And that was never going to be enough.

“You can.” Utahime whispers. Shoko crumbles into herself, letting Utahime hold up her trembling weight. The world around her goes dark, and the air in the clearing thickens until it’s as heavy as the mud beneath her knees. “You have to.”

Shoko reaches out, grabbing blindly for the very last wisps of his thinning soul. RCE courses through her fingertips, spreading into Suguru’s hollow, decaying body. “I h-have to-”

Please. Even if I can’t do anything else, please just let me do this.

Suguru’s heart twitches.