Chapter Text
Had there ever been a time where she didn't know the story?
It was present in even her earliest of memories, so intricately woven through her childhood that Utahime sometimes wondered if she had been born knowing it. As if by some stroke of magic, its words coursed through her veins, the threads of the legend as intrinsic to her being as her cursed technique.
Regardless of how she knew it, it was her grandfather who told it best, his hands casting shadows upon the walls of her bedroom, gamely reenacting the Night Parade of 100 Demons and the heroic last stand of the Six Eyes Sorcerer against the onslaught of evil. Utahime, all chubby cheeks and messy pigtails, wide eyed and eager, begged to hear the story each night. Gojo Satoru was a figure larger than life, the most powerful sorcerer in history, unparalleled by any other member of jujutsu society who came before or after, and purported to be so handsome and chivalrous that any who gazed upon him immediately fell under his spell.
Was it any wonder that he felt like a mythical hero or a dashing prince, like something out of a fairy tale? That Utahime would fall a little bit in love with someone who'd been dead for four centuries? She blamed her parents and the lessons they'd drilled into her from before she could walk—a deep respect for her elders, a sense of propriety, a love of tradition. Other small children wanted to go to theme parks for their birthdays; Utahime asked for the same thing every year. Her parents finally relented when she was ten, and she boarded the train to Tokyo exhausted but exhilarated, too energized to sleep in the days leading up to the journey.
It wasn't every day you met your hero and she felt it important to look her best, donning her kosode and hakama, fiddling with her hair until it was perfect—her best ribbons neatly tied, not a strand out of place. When they arrived at the school, the assistant supervisor on duty directed them to a small, walled garden far from the center of the school. It surprised Utahime that such a treasured legend as Gojo Satoru wasn't in a more distinguished location—surely a sorcerer as famous as he deserved a place of honor in the heart of jujutsu society?
The garden was in a state of disrepair and neglect; its walls weathered with pockmarks where stone had crumbled away, the archway marking its entrance showing a peek at the garden itself—all untamed grass and overgrown trees. As Utahime stepped through, she was struck by the most profound sense of loneliness. There was the statue—lovely and perfect—but its beauty was marred by the detritus surrounding it, decaying leaves peeking through the snow, half-burned candles strewn around its plinth.
Utahime was horrified that this was the state she found him in. Had nobody been taking care of Gojo Satoru? Had he been standing in neglect all these years? Standing there, gazing up at the statue, Utahime made her decision.
"He doesn't have to be lonely anymore," she told her parents solemnly, standing protectively in front of the statue, as though she could guard him with her life, her back straight, hands neatly clasped at her middle. "He has me now."
"I'm back, Gojo-sama," Utahime said quietly, her head bowed.
It was her first night as a student at Jujutsu High and while her fellow first-years were at a get-together in another student's room, Utahime was sneaking off to the other side of campus, dressed in her miko attire, her hair tied in the same two ribbons she had worn when she met him for the first time. She was older, taller, and she wanted to be sure he remembered her and the promise she had made him. With re-introductions made, she got to work tidying the garden. It gave Utahime purpose, made her feel like she was restoring some of Gojo Satoru's glory, even if she was the only one to witness it. Anyone else might think she was crazy but Utahime swore that as she worked, the lonely feeling surrounding the statue eased.
In her years at school, visiting the statue became habit for her, carving time out each week just as she did her studies and her missions. Utahime lavished attention on him, carefully brushing away the leaves and dust that accumulated on and around his plinth since her last visit, talking to the stone sorcerer about her day, her latest missions, unburdening herself of her worries that she would never amount to much of a sorcerer, forever languishing in the lower ranks due to her technique. His garden was no longer a place of dismal solitude; instead it became a safe haven, a place to practice her training and technique, and Gojo's statue became her silent comfort, a treasured friend who kept all her secrets.
And yes, now that she was older perhaps her fascination with Gojo was less about the sorcerer's feats and more about how beautiful the statue was—as though the man himself had become stone, rather than some artistic interpretation based on legend. The sculptor's name was lost to time but Utahime thought they must have been a singular talent, for the sculpture appeared to be just as perfect as it was the day it was made, time and weather having no effect on its beauty. It must have taken ages for the sculptor to carve each line of his handsome face so that it felt compellingly lifelike—the long, lovely eyelashes, the ridges of muscles defined against the folds of his traditional garb, open eyes that seemed to see all, even if they were made of stone, his hands raised as though he was caught mid-technique.
Mei Mei had found her there once during her second year, eating lunch as usual with her back against the statue. Utahime had sprang up in embarrassment, halfway through an incensed recounting of a particularly hairy mission that had sent her straight to the elderly jujutsu medic who healed her injuries, lecturing her all the while on how reckless she had been and how she might be better suited to finding a clan to marry into.
“Oh Uta, still hung up on a legend?" Mei Mei's tone was always gently mocking when she spoke to Utahime. She didn't care for tradition or have a respect for jujutsu history in the way Utahime did, but Mei Mei did have a fond affection for Utahime, akin to what she probably had for her family pet. She'd taken Utahime under her wing since her first week at school, attempting to guide her through jujutsu society. Her senpai's attempts were misguided, her advice typically revolving around the acquisition of money through any means necessary, but Utahime appreciated Mei Mei's efforts all the same.
Mei Mei's hands waved lackadaiscally at the statue behind her, Gojo-sama's handsome face frozen in its look of righteous fury, his lip curled up on one side. "This is why you should let me set you up with someone. You’re never gonna find a rich boyfriend—or get that promotion you're angling for—if you’re mooning over a statue every chance you get."
The sentence had barely left Mei Mei's lips when an immense amount of cursed energy filled the air, the atmosphere crackling with terrifying might. It was brief but overpowering, Utahime's senses overwhelmed, panic rising in her throat at what surely must be a powerful curse in her midst, having somehow wriggled through Tengen's protective barriers. But just as quickly as it appeared, the cursed energy faded into the cool afternoon, leaving only the soft sounds of the wildlife and the unblemished perfection of the statue in its wake.
Utahime was shaking but Mei Mei seemed unfazed, leaving the garden with a toss of her hair, although her pace was considerably quicker than usual. The cursed energy may have departed but Utahime’s worry over Mei Mei’s words lingered. She didn't care about the boyfriend but she did care about getting the promotion. Utahime wasn't anything special as a sorcerer, her technique more useful as pre-battle support than anything else, any solo missions she did get sent on were against fourth-grade cursed spirits—little more than flyheads, if she was honest—unless she was accompanied by a stronger sorcerer. And even then, Utahime always found herself worrying she was a hindrance to the senior sorcerer. Someone to look out for and protect, rather than a trusted ally. Little Iori Utahime, who should have just let her parents arrange her an advantageous marriage, but who instead insisted on trying to exorcise curses, on having a career rather than staying home to raise a family. It wasn’t that she didn’t want those things—just not yet. Not until she proved herself and she had years to do that.
In the meantime, she'd tend to Gojo.
Utahime was the sole female in her class at Jujutsu High, and so on her final night in the Jujutsu student dormitories, it was left to her to continue the tradition that all female students carried out at graduation. The whole thing was ridiculous and more than a little disrespectful. But when she tried to wriggle out of it, asking Mei Mei if it was anything to worry about, her senpai had only rolled her eyes. "You only need to worry if you're a virgin."
Technically she was. She'd suffered through fumbling kisses and unsatisfying touches from several of the male students over the years, mostly alcohol-fueled after a stressful mission or to blow off steam after exams. Surely that counted for something? Or it didn't and in just a few short hours, Utahime's career prospects would evaporate into the warm summer air, all because she'd made it to 18 and high school graduation without fucking someone.
She cracked open another beer, the warm, slightly sour liquid tipping down her throat, the alcohol fizzing in her stomach. It was a ridiculous notion—the concept that if a female sorcerer left Jujutsu High as a virgin, the statue of Gojo Satoru would topple from its place of honor when they kissed his cheek. It felt a little unfair that her sense of propriety and desire for romantic love meant she was now cursed to destroy the statue of the most famous Jujutsu sorcerer in history, all based on a stupid rumor that had probably been made up by some horny teenage boy decades before.
The alcohol only deepened Utahime's frustrations. It couldn't be true, and she would prove it. So she set out gamely, scampering past her rowdy male classmates' rooms, their lights bright, their music loud, slightly tipsy as she made her way to the garden. The summer night was warm, the moon high and bright in the sky, the air still and humid, causing her hair neatly tied in its usual pigtails to frizz unbecomingly and her kosode to cling even more closely to her skin, making her wish she'd thought to change into something lighter before setting out on this misadventure.
It had been several weeks since she'd been able to visit the garden and she found her pace quickening, eager to get this all over with. She felt guilty for not visiting Gojo, for not tending to him in the way she usually did, but lately being in the garden made her feel uneasy. Lately her safe haven had taken on a flavor of danger, a strange pressure in the air around the statue, almost as if there was a barrier of cursed energy surrounding it, forcing her to push through in order to clean her statue. The barrier didn't feel like anything she'd encountered in the last four years of fighting curses—not the oily, oozing cursed energy of the curses themselves nor the innate techniques she'd become accustomed to when fighting alongside other sorcerers. This was somehow more powerful and graceful, more overwhelming—not unlike that single moment of crackling energy she and Mei Mai had experienced two years earlier. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the cursed energy was coming from the statue itself.
"Gojo-sama," she greeted the statue with her usual deferential bow. "I hope you've been well."
The statue stood proud and silent as it always did, Utahime chattering away with updates about what she'd been up to since they last saw each other. She procrastinated on what she'd come there to do, unable to help herself in tidying the plinth and the ground around him, humming as she worked, her feet unconsciously making the movements of her technique, little bits of cursed energy slipping out of her with each flourish of her hands, each stamp of her feet. A last gift for her treasured friend.
"I'll miss you," she told the statue earnestly, "but don't worry, I'll be back soon enough. You won't even notice I've been gone."
She didn't know if that was true. Utahime had finally scraped and clawed her way to grade two last year, but she was barely sent on missions. Her parents were no longer shy about their hopes for her—hinting at marriage negotiations and their desire to have her move closer to home. Now that she was graduating, there was only so long that she could put them off, confiding in Mei Mei all her worries with the hope that her senpai would put in a good word for her when it came time for promotion. But if she did end up back home, she only hoped that Gojo wouldn't be lonely for long. Perhaps there would be another student just as enamored with the legend of Gojo Satoru who would come to his garden and pick up her mantle, treating the statue with the same respect she'd given it over the years.
Though, what she was about to do was the opposite of respectful. Utahime's face warmed at the prospect of someone stumbling upon her in the next few minutes—everyone knew the tradition and she wouldn't be surprised if another sorcerer might sneak to the garden to see if she'd actually go through with it. But, Utahime wasn't a coward, so with a silent apology to the long-departed spirit of Gojo Satoru, she hoisted herself up onto the statue's plinth, clutching tightly onto his right leg as she found her footing and straightened. The statue was massive—she had always thought of it as tall, but now that she was standing beside it, she barely came to the statue's shoulder.
"How are we going to do this?" Utahime mused aloud, half to the statue, half to herself, peering around for some kind of handhold or niche in the statue that would allow her to pull herself up to his face. A single disrespectful act that she hoped wouldn't be held against her, were she to ever come face to face with the spirit of the sorcerer in the future. In the end, she found herself standing on tiptoe atop Gojo's right foot, hands balanced on his shoulder as her face tipped towards his. Just before her lips pressed against his stone cheek, she slipped, making contact with the corner of his mouth instead. The kiss, if she could really call it that, was cold, the stone rough against her lips, scratching her in the brief second she touched it. Utahime clutched at the statue's arm, catching herself on the elbow before she fell, her breath punching out of her as her stomach made contact with one of the legs. As she smacked the ground, pain bolted through her body, her nerve endings crackling with panic, the wind knocked out of her completely.
Or was that the flashing of the sky above her, that intense amount of cursed energy back and overwhelming her senses, the pressure hitting her with such force that she felt as though it were pushing her underground. With a cry of fright, Utahime shielded her head, curling her body into itself as the statue seemed to explode in a burst of light, stone shattering outward in a million little pieces. Even after she stopped feeling the bits of stone hitting her body, she stayed in the fetal position, terror pulsing through her, her heart beating so quickly she thought it might burst from her chest. Her face wet, tears coursing down her cheeks, sure that this would be her end. How stupid she had been to come here, to tempt fate like this.
Utahime didn't know if she passed out from the fright or if she'd lost sense of time but it felt like an eternity before she came back to herself, the garden peaceful once more, the crickets chirping in the grass. The sense of cursed energy was even stronger, but the pressure against her skin—save for her wrist—had lessened, as though she were inside its circle of protection rather than being pushed outside of it. She wriggled her hand but it held fast; someone was holding onto her, their fingers pressed against her skin in a way she suspected would bruise. She lifted her head, blinking to clear her blurry vision, but she couldn't make out who her rescuer was through the tears, beyond someone vaguely male-shaped. Whoever it was seemed to be speaking to her but she didn't catch what they said. She swallowed, her throat felt painfully raspy, as though she'd been screaming for hours. "What?"
"Are you crying?" The man sounded young and curious, his tone polite and Japanese oddly formal, even though his question was not. She couldn't immediately place him—perhaps another student she didn't know as well or a visiting sorcerer.
"No," she sniffled wetly, "I'm not crying." She attempted to tug away from him once more and they wrestled for control for a few seconds before the man reluctantly let go. Utahime surreptitiously wiped at her face with her sleeve, hoping the sorcerer was too polite to call her out on the obvious lie. At least now she could make him out more clearly as he crouched above her; a man clad in traditional garb, his hair bright white from the moonlight.
"You are," the man said flatly, two fingers brushing against her tear-stained cheek. He held up his damp fingers for her blurry inspection. "Your face is wet."
"Be more polite!" Utahime snapped, annoyance warring with the fear she still felt, the panic at having destroyed a treasure of jujutsu society. Who did this man think he was? Didn't he see that she was in the middle of a crisis?
"So angry," the man mused, leaning in closer to her, his face blotting out the moon so that all she could see was him, his blue eyes—otherworldly, like nothing she'd ever seen before—were intensely focused on her, as though he was attempting to see into the deepest parts of her. The sorcerer couldn't be more than a few years older than her, but he didn't look like anyone she had met through the exchange events with Kyoto or one of the graduates who still milled about the Tokyo campus. She couldn't say where she knew him from, only that there was something intensely familiar about him. If she was being honest with herself, he looked a little bit like how she thought Gojo-sama might have looked when he was alive, the same long lashes and perfect bone structure. But that was impossible, a notion she dismissed summarily. She must have hit her head harder than she thought when she fell.
Clearly this man knew her, his gaze fond and intimate as it raked over her. Utahime felt lost in his eyes until his fingers brushed against her cheekbone. The touch was overly familiar but when she tried to smack his hand away, he deftly evaded her, long elegant fingers fully wrapping around her wrists and bringing them behind her head, keeping her hands trapped there.
"Let me go." She tugged experimentally but his grip held fast, an amused smile on his face as she struggled. Utahime tried lifting her hips off the ground to gain enough traction to push away from him but she wasn't strong enough. Why hadn't she tried harder in the close combat classes? She decided on a different approach, adopting a lofty tone and trying to look down her nose at him—difficult when she was on her back, her hands trapped above her head. "You need to let me go before the others come looking for me."
"You're a terrible liar, Utahime. Nobody knows you're here. You told me so yourself."
"How do you know my—"
There was a crash somewhere close to the garden, the sounds of multiple loud voices overlapping. Utahime took a shaky breath, intense relief flooding her. Help was on the way.
"Hmmm," the sorcerer said, pulling away from her and cocking his head to listen, but otherwise he seemed unfazed by the noise. "I thought we'd have more time. They're better organized than I presumed." He scooped Utahime up, encircling her in his arms; his muscles flexed as he did something behind her back. She felt more than heard a pop as the world tilted on its axis, the world blinking out of existence for a moment before it reappeared. If he hadn't been still holding her, his grip like a vise, pinning her arms to her sides, Utahime might have collapsed on the ground. The world spinning wildly, as if she'd just gone six rounds on a thrill ride, her stomach churning like she was going to be sick, her breath coming out in short, shallow pants.
"Let me go," she managed to wheeze out, pushing ineffectually at his chest, but that only made it harder for her to catch her breath, black dots scattering at the corners of her vision. The man held onto her but relaxed his grip enough that she could take one deep, guttering breath and then another. Once she could breathe again, she took stock of her situation. It was still night but they were now in an open courtyard, long elegant buildings flanking the empty space.
Where were they? Was this his domain? It didn't feel like any that she'd been in before, though she still felt that overwhelming sense of cursed energy all around her. Like what she'd felt occasionally in Gojo-sama's garden, but amplified and refined. An endless well of power that thrummed, permeating the air around her. And it was all coming from him. Was he a curse user? Had he been watching her all this time, waiting for a moment to strike?
"This isn't Jujutsu High," she said accusingly, craning her neck to look up at him. "Where are we? Is this your domain?"
"Kyoto. And, I suppose it is, in some manner of speaking."
Kyoto? She shook her head. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" He looked so smug and something in Utahime flared with annoyance, her hands itching to claw the self-satisfied smile off his face.
"You're lying. Take me back, right now." She stamped her foot, a move that hardly helped her cause and made her feel more like a petulant child demanding sweets.
"Utahime, why would I take you back? I saved you." He tilted his head in confusion, his tone so terribly patient and a little amused, as though this was all just a big misunderstanding.
Her name again. She hated how he said it, his tone possessive, each syllable drwn out in a way that made her skin prickle. "Saved me? I don't even know who you are."
"Don't you?" He relaxed his grip on her, pulling back to smile winningly at her, raising an eyebrow in expectation. There it was again, that sense of familiarity. Like she should know who he was.
She ignored the question, seeing an opening in the small gap he'd put between them. This was her chance. Utahime balled her hands into fists and pushed as hard as she could to try to throw him off balance, opening just enough space that she could twist and move away as quickly as possible. But she only got a half-step before the man reappeared in front of her, blocking her path. She whirled back around but there he was again, calmly standing in front of her. Once more in another direction, only to smack into his chest.
How was he doing this? Why was he doing this? If he had been hoping for someone powerful that he might ransom or leverage against the higher-ups, he would soon discover that Utahime was nothing in jujutsu society. Though she'd try to delay him finding that out for as long as possible, lest he get frustrated and kill her for it. Powerful as he was, she was sure that he would discover her own ineptitude sooner rather than later.
The situation felt hopeless as Utahime sank to her knees, tears of frustration and fear starting to drip down her face once more. The man knelt beside her, tilting her face up to face him, his fingers once more wiping at her cheeks, in a way that almost felt tender, sending her into an even greater state of confusion. This time, he stuck his damp fingers in his mouth, tasting her tears.
"So fierce," he crooned, "and yet so sweet. I wonder… are you this sweet in other places as well?"
Oh. Horror bloomed in her, stiffening her body as its tendrils spread across her body, her heart rate accelerating as she reconsidered what this man might want from her. Forget the career as a sorcerer, now even her backup plan of arranged marriage and a house full of children was evaporating before her very eyes. She wouldn't be able to fight him off, he'd shown her that.
"Please…" Utahime's voice was tentative, her eyes lowered. Maybe she could appeal to some softer side of him, something that might take pity on her. "I—I've never… I can't… you shouldn't…"
"Oh?" The man's smile widened at her uncertainty, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He leaned down, his breath hot against her cheek, sending an involuntary frisson down her spine. "Tell me, Utahime, have you been saving yourself for me?"
Something bloomed in her stomach when he said her name this time. His voice soft and low, tone intimate. Like he understood them to be something far beyond strangers.
"Stop saying my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you know me, like I know you." Utahime's tears coming faster now, her frustration at her helplessness and the situation building. "Like we're… lovers!" A bond she had once thought sacred, made tawdry by this man and the way he made her feel when he said her name.
"Aren't we?" He slid her closer to him, gathering her to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of her head. His heat was oddly comforting to her, the feel of his heartbeat slow and steady doing wonders to soothe her frazzled nerves. After a moment, he tilted her chin towards him, blue eyes studying her. "Didn't you promise yourself to me?"
Utahime had promised herself to one person only; not even a person, a legend, a platonic concept of what she thought was good and heroic in the world. Ten years old and staring up at the statue of a long-dead sorcerer, her heart breaking at the loneliness and abject solitude emanating from solid stone, her innate empathy crying for her to do something about it. Now she could only blink up at this man, her mind backtracking through the evening with fresh eyes as his fingers traced the lines of her face, his thumb coming to rest possessively on her bottom lip.
"My little shrine maiden, did you think I wouldn't come back to claim what was mine?"