.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Technically, the house was his.
The key was his. The title deed? Also his. So, yes, the house was his. But practically? Calling it a home might be pushing it; he'd bought it just for the kids and he hadn't been inside for almost three weeks, it was more like a donation to the future of Jujutsu Society.
He swung by now and then to drop off money, give ridiculous gifts, sometimes drag Megumi to training or some basic missions, verified the existence of the children with a headcount and a pat on the head, and then... vanished like some well-meaning but emotionally distant uncle. He was a busy man. Clan head, Six Eyes, the strongest sorcerer alive; no one expected him to be domestic.
Well. Except for one immortal archivist and her ever-disapproving sword-butler.
Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he'd left anything particularly flammable in the living room. He allowed himself one brief, solitary moment of hesitation.
Yesterday, declaring "we can stay at my place" had felt like a flex, but now, standing outside the unassuming two-story house in suburban Saitama, with two guests and a creeping sense of existential dread, he was beginning to question his own judgment.
Tsumiki was responsible; give her Post-its and she could probably run a small nation. Megumi was twelve, going on retired old man, with a pair of Divine Dogs the size of wolves and a healthy mistrust of adults. Things should be fine.
Parental presence: totally covered.
But Kaoru…
Kaoru had looked at him last night with that expression. Not pity, he could deal with pity, no, this had been worse: genuine concern. For the kids. Like handing them off to him had set off red flags. Why? He wasn't incompetent. But now he was thinking about it, really thinking about it, and—
God, were the kids alive?
He glanced back, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He wasn't nervous. Not nervous nervous. Just… disproportionately concerned with the opinion—on something as basic as childcare—of a centuries-old sorceress he barely knew. Which was dumb. Why the hell did he care so much about making a good impression? He didn't want her thinking he was the kind of person who let kids raise themselves in a cursed-dust pit.
Even if he technically did.
Behind him stood the newest additions to this very strange ensemble.
Hisanobu Kashimo, the human definition of professional. Not a single hair out of place in his high ponytail. Black shirt, black slacks, black gloves. Black everything as if he were an Armani advertisement. He carried a garment bag in one hand—formalwear, Satoru guessed—and absolutely nothing in the other because his damn nodachi was strapped to his hip like this was still the Bakumatsu. The Sailor Moon pin at his collar shimmered like a medal. His face said: I serve Ojousama with pride.
No visible injuries. Kaoru's work, if Satoru had to guess. Like her name, still sitting uneasily in his brain; he hadn't meant to guess right.
And then there was Kaoru herself.
She looked… exactly the same. Hoodie, black pants, same sneakers, as if she'd combed through four hundred years of fashion and decided, firmly, this was peak functional wear; a god of war compressed into a five-foot woman in sneakers. Her hair was tied back, that cursed wooden comb tucked in behind one ear—Mame. It hated him, he was sure of it; the damn thing pulsed every time he got too close or stared too long.
Which he did, of course.
Kaoru was… gods, she was curious. And Satoru liked curious.
Not just because she'd nearly turned into a human bomb under his arms, even if—rude. It wasn't even the eerie flatline in her cursed energy that got to him—if anything, it was oddly calming. Like snowfall. Calmer than Suguru's ever was, and that was a thought he didn't like unpacking.
Not even the Ten Shadows thing, though that, too, was a problem. She didn't just have it—she used it. Smoothly, efficiently, and beautifully, which, according to every record in the higher-up's or his clan's archives, was also impossible. But what really stuck with him was the way she looked at him sometimes. And—right on cue—she glanced over, her head tilted, just slightly. Their eyes met, and her cursed energy shifted like she was bracing for impact or recognition. And then, far too quickly to be natural, she looked away.
Satoru didn't laugh, but it was a close thing. What was that?
That flicker in her cursed energy when he caught her looking, he didn't recognize it. It wasn't the wary discomfort of Nanami or the anxious, open dread of someone like Haibara. This was different. A tightly wound protectiveness. She looked at him like he might see something she didn't want shown.
Infuriatingly curious. And she was a terrible liar.
He shifted his weight, slipped his hands into his pockets, and turned to the front door with the swagger of a man entirely sure of what he was doing. He was not entirely sure of what he was doing. "Alright," he declared brightly. "Moment of truth." His gaze flicked to Kaoru's shoulder. "Archivist, when you said you needed to pack, I imagined, dunno, half your shop? A few cursed scrolls? Maybe a portable altar or tactical tea set." He nodded toward the bag slung over her arm, plain canvas, small. As if that tote somehow contained everything she needed to track and neutralize a special-grade Vengeful Spirit on the run. "Not… that."
Kaoru blinked at him. Then at the bag. Then back at him. Without a word, she pulled out a rusted, oversized iron key.
Satoru frowned. "...That's not an arsenal."
"The key of Isoroku Yamamoto," she announced, holding it aloft
Satoru squinted. Then lifted his sunglasses and squinted harder. "Of course it's cursed," he muttered. "Why wouldn't it be?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, already bracing for the inevitable ten-minute historical dissertation he'd absolutely not asked for, complete with dates, references, and footnotes spoken aloud. She raised her chin. Innocent. Her cheeks betrayed her first, warming slightly, and a dangerous little smile he was already learning to dread started to bloom. The lecture smile he recognized from last night.
Ah. There it was. Doom.
Sure enough—
"Did you know—"
He shot a hand up like a traffic cop. "Don't. I know exactly where this is going. You're about to say 'During the final year of the Pacific War…'. Let's skip the national archives monologue and just go inside."
Behind them, Hisanobu cleared his throat with the solemnity of a man addressing the Emperor. "With all due respect," he interjected, perfectly formal, checking his watch like a salaryman, "Sailor Moon Crystal airs in thirty minutes."
There was zero irony in his tone. Satoru stared. Kaoru didn't even blink.
Right. This was his life now.
"Okay, ground rules," he said, already regretting every decision that had led him here. One hand pointed toward the door, the other ran through his hair, fluffing it needlessly. "The kids inside? They know the basics, cursed energy, sorcerers, sure. But Scarlet Mist? Tuberculosis-themed mass-killing cursed spirit? We are not doing that over dinner, or Tsumiki will never sleep again." He turned sharply toward Kaoru, wagging a very serious finger. "And don't give the kids cursed weapons."
She frowned, mildly offended. "I'm not an idiot. I wouldn't hand over weapons to—" She stopped. Reconsidered. Her gaze drifted into the middle distance, and the energy around her shifted, faint and crackling, like guilt trying to play it cool.
Satoru stared. Oh no. She definitely already had.
"…Right," he muttered, turning the handle. "Welcome home, I guess."
The door creaked open with suspicious ease. He stepped inside, hesitating with one foot still on the genkan. For the first time in a while, something about this felt… real. Like it was going to stick. For a few weeks, maybe longer, this plain little safehouse in Saitama would house two middle schoolers, a centuries-old archivist, her sword-butler, and the strongest sorcerer alive.
Which sounded like the setup to a horror sitcom.
There was, perhaps, one small thing he should have warned her about. A very small thing, barely worth mentioning. The boy. Megumi Fushiguro. Ten Shadows user. Zenin's bloodline. Just like her.
…Oops?
The moment of panic lasted approximately 0.2 seconds. He glanced sidelong at Kaoru, who looked calm, completely unaware. Nah. More fun this way. Satoru's smile turned absolutely radiant as he pushed the door open wider.
Nothing like a little Zenin family drama to kick off cohabitation.
The quiet hit first. Ominous quiet. The kind that made you wonder if the children had discovered fire or cryptocurrency. The hum of the fridge, the faint scent of rice; somewhere in the distance, a laundry cycle abandoned halfway through, and Megumi had left the hallway light on again.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, Satoru stepped aside automatically, letting Kaoru pass, and predictably, she didn't wait. She moved forward like a cat entering a new space: light on her feet, posture straight, but eyes cataloging every exit, every corner.
Satoru watched her, amused from behind his shades. So dramatic.
Hisanobu followed in near-silent formation. His eyes flicked over every vent, light fixture, and hallway junction like he was preparing for a siege. When his gaze landed on the flat-screen TV in the living room, Satoru felt the internal struggle not to power it on.
"So," he said, forcing brightness into his voice, "kids' rooms are downstairs, guest rooms upstairs. Kitchen's to the left. Should be enough space for everyone to—hey. What are you doing?"
Kaoru was no longer beside him but halfway down the hall, digging through her cursed tote like a raccoon with a mission. Her whole face lit up when her hand emerged gripping—
"Oh, no," Satoru muttered.
That damn cursed key again.
That same ancient, rusting WWII naval relic she'd introduced earlier with the proud affection most people reserved for their children. Now she turned toward a door—that door—smiling in a way that would've been charming if it weren't also deeply unhinged.
"Is this one important?" she asked, already raising the key.
Satoru, caught flat-footed by the earnest sparkle in her eye, blinked. "Yeah, that's Megumi's—"
Click.
Too late.
The key turned, not in a way that actually unlocked anything, but in a way that changed the air. His Six Eyes picked it up first; a ripple of cursed energy, fast and chaotic, latching onto the room. Kaoru cracked the door open, peeked inside for half a second, then shut it carefully and left the key in the lock like a satisfied gremlin.
Satoru stared at the door. Then at her. Then back at the door. He opened his mouth, then closed it again; no. Not asking. Whatever she'd done, he'd find out when Megumi inevitably started a house fire.
Kaoru, meanwhile, slid the bag off her shoulder without even glancing up and extended her arm outward. Like clockwork, Hisanobu stepped in, received it with a bow, and vanished upstairs without a sound. "I shall choose an appropriate chamber for Ojousama's belongings."
"Yeah, thanks," Satoru mumbled as the butler vanished up the stairs like a ghost.
And then it was just them. Alone, in the hallway, just outside Megumi's door, with a cursed key and a suspiciously smug archivist who was still admiring her handiwork.
Satoru rested his chin in his hand, watching her watch the door. That was new; he didn't usually observe people. Not like this. But something about the way she tilted her head, that little half-smile, a little dangerous, as she'd just gotten away with something mildly illegal and totally justified, rubbed him the wrong way (or the right way, he wasn't sure anymore). She was so damn pleased with herself in a way that made his instincts scream, weird in the way only an immortal could be weird, and for some terrible, irrational reason, he found it... hot? He scowled. Not hot. Concerning was the right term. Satoru Gojo, for the record, did not smile at cursed keys; so why the hell was she?
He stepped closer. Then a little closer, like a hunter not wanting to spook the prey. Not that Kaoru was prey—oh no—the moment you tried to pin her down, she'd probably curse your ancestors and set your bed on fire. Still, he wanted a reaction. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his uniform's collar, then leaned forward slightly over her shoulder, enough to breach her space and see what she'd do. "So," he said, voice light and just smug enough to be annoying, the way he knew drove people up the wall. "This 'Ojousama' thing. You secretly Zenin royalty or something?"
Kaoru didn't even blink. "Something like that," she murmured, still staring at Megumi's door, entirely absorbed in whatever cursed nonsense she'd just locked into place.
His brow twitched. Wait. Is she ignoring me? Rude.
Satoru leaned further, this time dipping low. "You're blushing at a cursed key," he whispered in her ear. "You know that, right?"
That got her.
She turned, slow and startled, like someone surfacing from a trance, and promptly found his face about two inches from hers; their noses nearly brushed. Black eyes blinked wide into his blue ones, and for a single beat, she didn't register the proximity.
Then she did. The flicker of horror in her expression was everything.
Gotcha.
He just grinned at her without moving, and just as he'd hoped, Kaoru detonated.
"Hell—" Kaoru cursed under her breath and jerked back in a full-body pivot, smacking her shoulder into the closed door with a soft, dignified thud.
Satoru straightened, hands in his pockets again, like the noble victor of some quiet, stupid war. "You okay there, grandma?" That was the second time he'd broken her composure. Two for two.
She scowled at him, brushing off the front of her hoodie with wounded pride. For a moment, he could've sworn she was about to cast some dangerous Shikigami just out of spite, as Mame pulsed in her hair like a tiny angry lantern, ready to bite someone.
Before she could throw something—possibly at him—a voice called out from further down the hallway.
"…Gojo-san?"
Kaoru froze, Satoru exhaled, a grin breaking over his face. "Tsumiki," he called out. Tension he hadn't noticed he'd been holding slipped from his shoulders. See? Nothing to worry about. He made a mental note to never doubt himself again.
Two figures emerged in matching middle school uniforms. Tsumiki, thirteen and trying her best to look composed, even though she was clearly confused. Megumi, twelve, looked like someone had just asked him to smile for a photo.
Still alive. Still vaguely presentable.
Kaoru straightened instantly. Shoulders back, head high, the embarrassment vanished behind perfect posture. From chaos goblin to imperial figure in 0.3 seconds. Her expression slid back into that maddening serenity, the kind cultivated through centuries of not being impressed.
She really was a Zenin.
Satoru bit back a snort. "Clumsy," he muttered under his breath.
"Gojo-san," Tsumiki greeted again, approaching fast with a bright smile, always the diplomat. "We weren't expecting you back so soon."
"Yeah," Megumi muttered, arms crossed. "Usually you drop cash and disappear for a month—"
"Okay, wow," Satoru cut in, shooting Kaoru a tight smile. "No need to get into specifics, Megumin."
That earned him a narrowed glare from the boy. Satoru brushed off the implication of neglect with a casual wave, ruffling Megumi's hair before the boy could dodge.
Time to pivot.
"Actually!" he clapped once, loud and dramatic. "Exciting news."
He pointed at each of them in turn, like calling players onstage.
"You." Tsumiki.
"You." Megumi, who visibly regretted existing.
"She." A nod toward Kaoru. "My little disaster archivist."
Then a hand upward. "Sword-butler, currently upstairs."
And finally, to himself. "And yours truly. Your strong, capable, emotionally available guardian."
Pause. Big grin.
"We're all gonna be living together for a little while!"
Silence.
They didn't look surprised; they all looked vaguely alarmed. Especially Kaoru, whose expression was so blank it was practically sarcastic.
Satoru cleared his throat, a little less grand now. "Y'know. Team bonding. Starting today, we're officially one big extremely powerful happy family."
Tsumiki, bless her, tried to defuse. She took a step toward Kaoru and offered a polite bow. "Ah—my name's Tsumiki. It's very nice to meet you, um… Miss…?" She hesitated, clearly expecting a surname.
Kaoru opened her mouth.
Satoru opened his faster. "She's a Zen—"
He didn't finish; Kaoru lunged, turned sharply, and smacked a palm toward his mouth. Too bad for her: Infinity. She remained a breath away, suspended in frozen mortification, hand hovering in front of his lips.
Kaoru's expression was a thundercloud, her eyes screaming Do. Not. Say. It.
Satoru raised an eyebrow, amused. Really? You wanna keep that secret going?
Her scowl deepened. Don't you dare.
He gave the faintest shrug. Fine. Have it your way.
Kaoru turned back toward Tsumiki, face smoothing over in an instant. "Just Kaoru is fine," she said, bowing lightly. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Tsumiki nodded, a little dazzled. "O-of course. Just Kaoru-san, then," she repeated gently, filing that away in her mind as one of those things you didn't ask about.
Satoru barely suppressed a snort. 'Just Kaoru,' she said. Sure. And he was just a low-grade sorcerer.
Megumi, meanwhile, was staring not in awe or suspicion, just the kind of staring one does when something's wrong, and you can't tell why yet. Smart kid. And Kaoru—Kaoru just turned and stared right back.
It was mutual. Resting Disappointment Face: activated. Pure Zenin core.
Satoru folded his arms, watching with mild horror and deep amusement as the two mirrored each other's frowns with uncanny symmetry. Same unimpressed expression. Same flat mouth. Same crossed arms. Megumi tilted his head ever so slightly to the left. Kaoru mirrored him to the right.
"Oh no," he whispered. "It's genetic." He clapped his hands together again, irrepressible. "Well! What a warm family moment." He leaned toward Kaoru, too cheerful, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Archivist, meet Megumi Fushiguro."
Kaoru's eyes flicked up to him, tilting her head just enough to signal she was listening.
Satoru smiled like a man throwing gasoline on a fire. "From the Zenin clan." He saw it hit; the slight falter in her posture, the freeze-frame of a woman realizing fate had just played a very old, very cruel joke. He leaned in for the kill. "And," he added, letting it land with just enough weight, "a Ten Shadows technique user."
Kaoru's lips parted, her eyes widening just enough to betray the shock. It was the exact same look she'd given him the first time they met. Recognition and horror. That are you kidding me that only truly ancient people mastered. She turned back toward Megumi, slowly now, as if seeing him for the first time.
The boy, as usual, didn't give a single damn.
Satoru tilted his head slightly, Six Eyes squinting past the obvious. Now that they were side by side… Their faces weren't identical, of course, but the shape of their brows, the dark hair and pale skin, the Zenin bone structure, and the posture, yeah, they kind of had the same. But it wasn't just the resemblance; it was the cursed energy. Kaoru's was old, vast, tempered, Megumi's was still rough, still growing—but the signature? The core? The alignment? Satoru had seen enough cursed energy in his life to recognize blood ties. But this wasn't just historical lineage.
Near... Identical. Too much to be just bloodline.
Satoru exhaled through his nose. "If I didn't know better," he said, voice musing, "I'd say I'm looking at twins."
It was a joke, but Kaoru didn't laugh. Her head whipped toward him in disbelief. Then… the gears turned behind her eyes and something clicked into place. Then—Kami above—a slow, dangerous smile rose to her lips, as if she'd just understood a joke four hundred years in the making. She looked back at Megumi and leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "What did you say your name was again?"
He looked at her, instantly suspicious. "…Megumi."
"Oh…" she murmured, voice deceptively light. "As in 'blessing'?"
"As in 'my name'," he said flatly.
She nodded slowly, a little unhinged, like someone who'd just found a shiny new weapon of mass destruction and was already drafting a training regimen. Satoru knew that meant: this is going to be a problem for someone else, and I am thrilled about it. He blinked, delighted. This? This was premium chaos. And Kaoru? She was clearly losing her mind in the most awesome way. That's a good expression, he thought. She's absolutely insane.
"Found something interesting, have we?" he asked with a grin, leaning back over her shoulder just to crowd her space again, eager to provoke another reaction.
Kaoru didn't flinch this time. She met his gaze, still smirking, and said without missing a beat, "I want a say in his education."
Satoru blinked. That… wasn't what he'd expected. But she meant it. He could hear it in her voice, serious under the grin. He stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or call the police, and then he gave a low whistle, impressed. "Huh. You're actually insane," he said, like a compliment.
They held each other's gaze, both grinning like devils, perfectly aligned in chaos.
Tsumiki, off to the side and very much aware she'd walked into something she didn't have the emotional energy to process, cleared her throat. Loudly. "I'll go… make tea," she muttered.
Kaoru blinked, startled out of whatever battle strategy she was forming. Satoru stepped back just slightly. They both turned away at the same time, just enough to pretend they hadn't been weird about it.
Megumi snorted. "You're two idiots," he muttered, brushing past them toward his room. He stopped short at the door. He opened it and paused, turning back around with a very slow, very deliberate expression, one that suggested betrayal and emotional damage. "…Why is my room full of cursed weapons?" he asked flatly.
Satoru laughed until he nearly collapsed. Of course that was what the cursed key had done. The goddamn cursed basement was translocated straight into the boy's bedroom. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, breathless. "Honestly?" he said to no one in particular. "This was a great idea."
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Coexistence had begun flawlessly, if by "flawlessly" one meant Kaoru immediately using a cursed key once belonging to Isoroku-freaking-Yamamoto to overwrite Megumi's bedroom into nonexistence and replace it with her own cursed weapons vault. "It's conceptually overwritten," she'd said, and frankly, Satoru wasn't even mad. If anything, he admired the commitment to chaos.
The boy had taken it badly, understandably, so now he was bunking with the human incarnation of silent judgment in a three-piece suit: Hisanobu. The alternative—sharing a room with his sister—had been deemed worse.
Kaoru, for her part, had retreated into her new room without so much as a gloat or a goodnight.
Satoru had waited; he expected her to break out within minutes. She struck him as the type, the kind of sorcerer who kept escape plans under her sleeves, and he'd even taken bets with himself on how long it would take her to vault out the window the way she had at the shop.
But… nothing.
Thirteen hours of silence. No footsteps, no cursed energy spikes, no escape attempts. Flatline. He'd monitored her signature with his Six Eyes out of pure paranoia; it didn't fluctuate, not even a flicker. The stillness of it was unnatural, most sorcerers—even the high-level ones—trembled subtly in their sleep; subconscious flares, emotional echoes, kinetic static. Kaoru? Nothing. Not even his grandmother slept that hard, and she was cremated. If he hadn't seen the faint thread of her cursed energy breathing, he would've thought she was dead. Then he remembered: right. Immortal.
Which brought him back to the part that bugged him more than he wanted to admit. He'd spent most of the night wide awake, perks of Reverse Cursed Technique continuously refreshing his brain cells, not that he slept much anyway, but tonight, instead of annoying Megumi from the hallway, he'd gone full conspiracy theorist: cataloging every historical scrap he could dig up on the Zenin clan, every dossier, bloodline chart, historical clan ledger he could remotely justify requesting without triggering a Council complaint. If she were from the Zenin family, she had to come from somewhere. And what did he find? One historical user of the Ten Shadows technique who'd matched Kaoru's potential and possible age.
Just one.
A Ten Shadows User from the Keichō era, a man, Head of the Zenin clan for a brief window before being branded a traitor after the Toyotomi-Tokugawa conflict. His name had been scrubbed from the records, his legacy erased; two years of leadership that nearly doomed the entire Zenin line, and then poof, gone.
A man. Not Kaoru.
Which was just weird. The Zenin kept records of everything: births, marriages, cursed techniques, even low-grade sorcerers had records and footnotes. Kaoru was not footnotes. Kaoru could probably flatten half the current clan with a hairpin. Kaoru was...
Kaoru was weird, and it was driving him nuts.
Now, scrubbing a hand through his unbrushed hair and fresh in his joggers in the kitchen doorway, Satoru blinked blearily into what he assumed would be chaos: he had expected a knife hovering midair, maybe, Kaoru climbing out the window again, or Megumi stabbing a toaster. Instead, he found...
...a peaceful breakfast scene?
Kaoru was at the table, or rather, something vaguely Kaoru-shaped was slouched at the table, swimming in a t-shirt three sizes too big, one shoulder bared, head tilted at a dangerous angle. If she tipped any further, she'd faceplant in the jam. Her hair a tangle of obsidian spilling down her back and her lashes trembled like her eyes were too heavy to lift. Behind her, Hisanobu stood calmly, brushing her hair like it was just another Tuesday, and maybe it was, for them. At the end of the table, Tsumiki sipped tea with serene grace, while Megumi was halfway through a slice of toast, looking like he wanted to disappear.
It looked like something out of a slice-of-life anime.One of those weird domestic filler episodes with ominous foreshadowing.
Satoru didn't know whether to laugh or walk away and pretend to have seen nothing. He blinked slowly. "This can't be real."
Kaoru didn't even open her eyes when Tsumiki slid a mug of coffee and a perfectly buttered toast in front of her. "Angel," she mumbled with the kind of reverence people usually reserved for saints or divine intervention. Her head tilted farther. Hisanobu caught her gently and nudged her upright.
"Five more years," she whispered.
Satoru stared. Hard. This wasn't a deathless sage or an immortal archivist, this was… a deeply sleep-deprived high schooler who'd fallen asleep during finals and never recovered.
"Seriously?" he muttered, moving closer.
He dropped into a chair beside her, backward, arms folded over the top, chin resting lazily on his forearm, watching as Kaoru sluggishly lifted the toast toward her mouth with all the coordination of a baby panda.
"Kaoru~," he sing-songed, half-teasing. "You're drooling, y'know." Ignored; the toast entered her mouth. Success by luck. "Wow," Satoru murmured. "Genuinely impressed."
He bit his cheek to hide the grin, watching her, this half-mess of history and madness, hair still unbrushed on one side, jam on her cheekbone, and the poise of a clan leader who could order your execution between bites of rice. Still weirdly adorable in the pathetic kind of way.
Across the table, Tsumiki smiled at him like someone used to babysitting gods and lunatics. She slid him a plate with toast and a glass of milk. "We made breakfast already, Gojo-san. There's jam, eggs, and a little rice left."
"Bless you," he replied dramatically.
Megumi stood with a sigh heavy enough to carry the weight of generational trauma. "I'm going to school," he muttered, as if escape was noble. "It's better than this circus."
Tsumiki followed, grabbing her bag. "We'll be back around six," she added cheerfully. Then, pointedly: "Please don't hex the fridge."
It was unclear who she was addressing. Probably both of them.
Hisanobu straightened, bowing with textbook precision. "Tsumiki-sama," he said like they were in the middle of a Meiji-era court drama. Satoru nearly choked on air. Then, as if summoned by instinct, they launched into a full discussion about dinner prep and laundry logistics as if this was a normal household, and not a fortress full of sorcerers and cursed freaks. Clearly, they had already decided neither he nor Kaoru was to be trusted with domestic responsibility.
Satoru watched, vaguely baffled, before turning back to the half-melted figure beside him, Kaoru, whose cursed energy still hadn't flickered above the background hum. She looked fried. Okay, so maybe she really had slept thirteen hours. Still, was this the immortal woman who was supposed to help him hunt a mass-murdering, cursed spirit?
He slouched a little closer in his chair. "Kaoru," he said, a touch more serious now, "you do remember we're supposed to start tracking Scarlet Mist before I hit forty, right? No offense, but right now you don't exactly scream reliable. Any Edo-period sermon incoming to inspire confidence, or should I just start scanning the country inch-by-inch with my fancy eyes?"
One eye cracked open with effort. "This," she croaked, lifting a finger to tap her temple, "is what happens when your cerebral cortex has four hundred years of storage in it." She reached and downed her coffee in one long, committed gulp.
Satoru frowned, studying her. "Your Reverse Cursed Technique looked top-notch. You were healing in seconds the other night."
Kaoru sighed, absently poking at the wooden comb still tucked in her hair. "Mame's good. But even its RCT can't… clean memory. Just restore tissue."
"Mame," Satoru echoed, staring at the comb. "So it's Mame doing your RCT for you?"
A pause. Then, very quietly: "…Yes. It takes care of a lot of things for me."
That pause said a lot. So did the tone. So did the fact that she wasn't explaining further. Satoru filed that away in the ever-growing pile labeled "Weird Shit About Kaoru."
"Anyway—" he started.
"Anyway—" she said at the same time.
They both froze and looked at each other. Satoru smirked, gesturing for her to go first. "Ladies first."
Kaoru rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Anyway," she muttered again, slightly more coherent, "I needed that rest. It won't happen again. From today onward, I'll need all my focus. Tracking Scarlet Mist will take time, and I probably won't sleep again for a while."
She stretched then, slow and languid, something in her cursed energy shifting, spiking, and settling into place. She was centering herself, grounding, becoming that version of herself again, the one he'd met at the shop. Satoru's eyes narrowed, smile stretching. There she is. He sat up straighter, letting his grin widen. "Knew I could count on you, Gandalf." He raised his toast in mock salute. "O sage archivist of cursed things!" he continued, reverently. "Forgive my doubts! Guide me with your ancient wisdom, take my hand and lead me to Scarlet Mist."
Kaoru didn't even blink. She put her hands on her hips and matched his deadpan. "It's very simple," she intoned, with mock solemnity. "We'll need patience, and—"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "And?"
She gave him a side glance. "NHK."
Pause. "…NHK?"
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Satoru was not watching her.
He was watching the TV, or the empty cookie plate, or maybe the ceiling. Definitely not her.
And yet, somehow, he could not stop seeing her in his peripheral vision, Kaoru, slouched like a discarded scroll, her cheek nearly pressed to the floor, hair disheveled from static and god knew how many hours of sitting in the same spot.
She was still in that oversized shirt, glued to the NHK rerun of Shinsengumi!. For the third time in a row.
Satoru Gojo, the undefeated strongest sorcerer of his age, wearing pajama pants with tiny pandas, was beginning to lose a very stupid war against historical television. "…I needed that rest," he muttered under his breath, mocking her. "It won't happen again. From today onward, I'll need all my focus. Tracking Scarlet Mist will take time, and—blah, blah, blah." His voice dropped an octave for dramatic effect. He kicked a stray slipper out of his path and grumbled, "Yeah. Sure."
He'd gone to the kitchen for a single goddamn reason: cookies. Chocolate chip. He deserved this; what he did not deserve was to return in the thick silence of 3:47 a.m. and find her still planted there like a forgotten rug, elbow perched just so, hand lazily trailing toward the now-empty plate beside her. She didn't notice; her hand kept searching like a broken Roomba. She wasn't even looking at the screen, just sort of absorbing it by osmosis, like an ancient tree absorbing rainwater. The opening theme blared again with triumphant NHK energy, the familiar taiko and shamisen crescendo bathing the room in holy blue light. Kaoru hummed along, not consciously.
Satoru sighed, exasperated, and considered just turning around and going back to his room, where dignity still lived, to let her rot in her NHK delusion. But instead, he stepped inside, raising the cookie box over her head like a peace offering, or maybe a warning.
Two weeks. He had survived two whole weeks of this.
He had come to the sobering realization that, if it weren't for Tsumiki and Hisanobu, the house would have burned down twice and Megumi would be in hiding.
Kaoru? She barely slept, barely moved. Just ate toast, drank terrifying amounts of black coffee, and kept marathoning the same damn Taiga drama over and over again. At least twice a week, she muttered aggressive rants about NHK's portrayal of Hijikata Toshizō being "egregiously neutered." Her cursed energy was usually smooth, but now hummed at a frequency somewhere between mildly brainrotted and historically obsessed.
At first, he thought it was a plan, one so good that even he could not understand it. That somehow, watching Shinsengumi! unlocked historical patterns to track Scarlet Mist. Then he realized… no, Kaoru was just like this.
"Oh, wow." He stomped forward, footsteps intentionally heavy. "The brilliant plan to locate Scarlet Mist was to binge Shinsengumi! until your brain liquefied. Genius peak sorcery. I can't imagine why this hasn't worked yet." He stepped dramatically into her line of vision. "Made any progress? Maybe Hijikata-san's going to whisper the coordinates to you in a dream?"
Kaoru, maddeningly, didn't look away from the screen as though his sarcasm hadn't landed. "Almost ready," she mumbled and reached again for cookies that weren't there.
Satoru stared at the empty dish. Then at her. To do what, he wanted to scream, reincarnate into Edo and cosplay with historical accuracy?
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He rarely experienced that particular brand of tension, the kind that crept up the side of his face and made him want to frisbee the entire cookie box at her skull, but here it was. That was it; he wasn't doing this, he was not letting his future rest in the hands of an immortal shut-in with a drama addiction.
"Fine," he snapped. "It was my mistake. I'll just scan the entire country centimeter by centimeter with the Six Eyes until I find Scarlet Mist myself—"
Pat pat.
Kaoru's hand tapped the floor beside her again, lazy, like she was summoning a particularly difficult stray cat. No words, just the universal summoning gesture of people too tired to argue.
He squinted at her. "Seriously?" he muttered. "I'm not going to sit—"
Pat. Pat pat.
"I'm serious—"
Pat-pat.
He stared at her hand, personally offended. Satoru, for the record, did not get manipulated by little gestures and lazy summons. Still, he dropped onto the floor with a dramatic grunt, mimicking her ridiculous sprawl elbow-to-elbow, head cradled lazily in one hand, and flung the cookie plate between them with passive-aggressive flair.
"There," he huffed. "I'm horizontal, annoyed, and watching the sacred Shinsengumi with you. Behold, I'm even taking off my sunglasses. This is commitment," he gestured grandly. "Happy now?"
Kaoru didn't look at him, but her lips curled, just a little. "Happy enough," she murmured. "Told you. Patience."
They shared the next few minutes in mutual silence, broken only by the steady munch of cookies and occasional snort at poorly choreographed swordplay on screen.
Satoru rolled his eyes, but a chuckle escaped when one character dramatically threw himself off a balcony in the rain for the sixth time. He didn't remember when, but at some point, he started enjoying it.
"Did you know?" she asked, far too calmly, " One of your clan's heads once waited thirty years before exacting revenge. When he struck, he wiped out an entire fortress."
Satoru cocked a brow. "So?"
"So," she said, twisting just enough to flash him a smirk. "Looking at you now, it's obvious his genetic line went extinct—"
A pillow flew toward her face; she caught it one-handed without blinking, spun it lazily, then lobbed it back. It bounced off Infinity an inch from his nose.
"Yeah, well, some of us have shit to do," Satoru snorted and shoved another cookie into his mouth. "I don't have thirty years to waste. Clan head, the strongest sorcerer of the era, national treasure. Blah blah. Time's ticking for me."
Kaoru didn't laugh, but her smile curved, just slightly, as her fingers landed triumphantly on the last chocolate chip cookie. "That's what they all say," she murmured. "Right before they waste it anyway."
He rolled his eyes, but the words stuck. And then—
"…Why is it so important to you?" she asked, voice soft but unwavering. "Finding Scarlet Mist, I mean."
A loaded question; he didn't like those. Satoru kept his eyes on the TV, on Kondo Isami giving some grand speech about dying with honor, which somehow made it worse.
"Because it's my job," he replied too fast.
"Liar," she said, calm as ever, biting into the cookie like punctuation.
He winced, caught. She didn't say anything more, didn't press, just waited patiently.
Eventually, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because I wanted to teach," he said. "And the higher-ups won't let me, not until I fix their problems first. So—I fix."
Kaoru blinked. Her head tilted again, curious now and maybe alarmed. "Teach? You?"
"Yeah," he said. "I want to raise kids who'll tear it all down, who'll build something better than me. Better than this—" he waved vaguely at the world beyond the living room walls "—rotting, cursed-up, broken mess we were handed. I'm sick of watching it chew up people who don't even know they're in the jaws yet."
There was a moment where neither of them looked away from the screen, then, slowly, he turned and found her already watching him. Her black eyes were on him, not with pity but with a searching presence, as if she were trying to memorize something in him, or maybe recognize it.
"I want to watch their old empire burn," a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, "and I want to be the one who lights the match."
Kaoru smiled fondly and lopsidedly, as if the answer was exactly what she expected. "There it is," she said, almost to herself. "You always did have a soft spot for children."
"What?"
"Nothing." Her eyes drifted to the screen, where Hijikata's silhouette stood framed in rain, but she was still smiling. "And you think they'll let you?"
"They won't have a choice after this mess."
She hummed far too softly for what followed. "Then just exterminate them."
Satoru blinked.
"The higher-ups," she clarified, dead serious. "The ones who decided this was how things should be. They've ruled for centuries and learned nothing, the same mistakes, the same suffering. Burn it down and be done with it. You wouldn't even need help." Then she turned toward him fully, and her gaze leveled with his. "…But I'd help you."
There was something teasing and uncomfortably accurate about the way she said it. She didn't look like she was joking; she looked… resolved. Like if he'd said "let's do it," she would've stood up right then, barefoot and exhausted, and gone to level the jujutsu system without a second thought.
For one terrifying, electric second, he believed her. His mouth went dry, but he covered it with a crooked grin. "...Should I?"
Kaoru tilted her head, amused. "Of course not," she said at last. Then grinned. "But it was worth asking."
Satoru stared. A test. Maddening woman, it was a damn test. He gave a quiet huff of laughter, but it sounded breathless even to him. "I want to do it right, even if it's the long way."
That earned him a long look, then, with slow sincerity, Kaoru nodded. "Then you'll need backup." She reached for the cookie, found it empty, but didn't complain.
Satoru blinked, a little startled by the sincerity. "You're insane," he muttered.
"So are you," she replied evenly. "But I'll help. "We'll find Scarlet Mist," she offered a small, tired smile. "You'll get to teach. Just be patient and trust me with this."
Satoru blinked. Trust. That word wasn't supposed to apply to him. He didn't do trust, he was trust for everyone else, but the way she said it, sure, unforced, like an old lullaby only one person remembered, landed differently, and for once, the voice in his head that usually said don't stayed silent. "Thanks," he said, more sincerely than he meant to. Then, leaning back toward her with a grin: "Just promise me you won't kill the higher-ups without inviting me first."
Kaoru's smile widened only a little, enough to make his chest do a stupid little thing he'd definitely never admit, when—
CRASH.
A mug exploded somewhere behind them, across the hardwood. In unison, both turned, still on their elbows, still half-reclined. Standing in the doorway was Hisanobu, frozen mid-step, one hand outstretched, the other conspicuously empty. At his feet: porcelain wreckage.
Kaoru and Satoru blinked at him. Hisanobu blinked back, as if he'd walked in on a murder or worse, emotional proximity. His eyes darted: Kaoru, sprawled much too close to Gojo Satoru; Satoru, grinning like a cat who'd stolen the fish. Shinsengumi! played on in the background with emotional violins and noble bloodshed.
Satoru broke first. "You good, 'Nobu?"
Hisanobu didn't answer right away. His stare ping-ponged between the two of them, face rapidly cycling through disbelief, dread, and existential crisis, as if trying to process exactly what was happening here.
"That's the second time you've dropped something just from looking at me," Satoru said, lips twitching. "Starting to feel like you're into me."
The man made a strangled noise and dropped to his knees, muttering as he began collecting the shards. "I was not looking at you," he said through gritted teeth. "I was looking through you."
Kaoru sighed, rubbing her temple. "Stop tormenting my retainers."
Satoru grinned, fully intending to ignore that.
But then Kaoru straightened with a snap, her hand shot up, and pointed at the screen. "Oh, there. Look. Scarlet Mist."
Satoru turned to the TV. Shinsengumi! was still playing—soft focus and over-saturated color—but Kaoru's eyes were locked on a single figure. Onscreen, a pale, sweating swordsman collapsed in a blood-drenched field under dying light.
"…Tatsuya Fujiwara?" his brain helpfully supplied.
Kaoru made a disgusted sound. "No," she muttered, eyes now clear as if slapped awake. "Not the actor. Him. Okita Sōji."