Chapter 7: Truce

Utahime lowered her gaze to the space between their feet. She shifted her weight from one leg to another, remembering that moments ago, she could’ve broken her ankle—or worse, her neck—had Usami not caught her arm in time.

Now they were standing at a respectable distance from one another, silent after the few necessary pleasantries their reunion demanded. She thought talking to him would exclude such lengthy, awkward pauses, but it only felt worse somehow.

Worse because she was no longer a kid peering up at the quiet, brooding sorcerer who reported to her father on a regular basis. At fifteen, she should have more to say to him, and he at her. She understood the nature of his work now and had acquired experiences of her own to speak of. He, in turn, should feel more comfortable, shouldn’t he? She was clearly a grown woman—a proper sorcerer operating under not just her family, but Jujutsu High itself.

Yet here they were, listening to the noises of the night while staring elsewhere, unsure how to get out of this situation.

Why did Takahiro Usami have to be so awkward?

The sound of him clearing his throat made her jump. He touched the collar of his white button-down—another nervous habit?—before saying: “Why are you so far away from your family?”

“Kyoto’s not that far. I mean, it’s only three hours away by Shinkansen.”

He glanced around them. The cello case slung over his shoulder moved like a second shadow to him. “Is Kazuo also in Tokyo?”

“What? No, of course not. He’s busy handling the Kyoto shrines while Father and Mother go around the country to train our other priests and shrine maidens,” she said.

Usami stared at the middle distance and squinted. In a lower voice, he asked, “You’re not being harassed here, are you?”

Utahime had to pause to let his question sink in. Suddenly, his line of questioning made sense. “N-no. Not really.” She motioned to his left leg to divert the attention from herself. “Is your injury healed? Yaga-Sensei said you’re doing missions again.”

He jiggled his leg as though to test its mobility. “It has its days, but I’m capable enough to be of service again. The higher-ups gave me directives. I am actually on my way to Kyoto to speak to your father. Do you happen to know his travelling schedule, and if he’s home?”

“Oh.” Utahime hesitated as she chose her next words carefully. “If you don’t mind…uhm, does that mean you’re still a warden of my clan?”

“Of course. I thought that was a given.”

“No, I mean, because you’re old now, and you’re a grade one sorcerer. Or aren’t you? Do people get demoted because of injuries?” Utahime giggled as she scratched the back of her head. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. She could not believe she had judged Usami so harshly when she was no less awkward, and possibly offensive too. “I really should’ve listened to Mother when she was teaching me these things.”

Usami’s lower lip curled a little, and he turned his gaze to the ground. “I’m not as old as I look.”

“Ah, no, I didn’t mean you look old! I only said that because—”

He waved his hand dismissively at her. “It doesn’t matter.” Sliding the cello case down his arm, he lowered it to the ground and sat on the staircase with a sigh. “Do you mind calling Kazuo for me? I accidentally destroyed my phone in my last mission. I can ask the managers, but I don’t like dealing with them. Too many questions.”

“Sure!” Utahime nearly dropped her phone in her hurry to get the job done. She ambled a little way off until Kazuo picked up his phone. The least she expected from her older brother was a bit of warmth and concern since they hadn’t seen each other in months; instead, he greeted her like she was a harbinger of bad news. Kazuo explained that he was heading home from an exorcism and would appreciate it if she refrained from bothering him at this hour.

Utahime only had to mention Usami’s name to change his mood. In an instant, his voice rose an octave, and he was asking so many questions about him that he started fumbling with his words.

Annoyed and impatient, Utahime returned to Usami’s side and handed him her phone. “It’s Kazuo.”

“Ah.” Usami took it with a feeble ‘thanks’. He spoke to Kazuo at length about his travel plans and how he needed to speak to Master Iori as soon as possible.

Utahime was left with nothing to do but sulk on the steps as she eavesdropped on their conversation. She almost rolled her eyes at Kazuo’s enthusiasm; at this point, he might as well declare his undying love for Usami.

She peered at Usami from the corner of her eye, taking this opportunity to study him. He seemed totally unbothered by Kazuo; on the contrary, he appeared interested in what her brother was droning on about. With his hair tousled in the light breeze and his facial features relaxed like that, Utahime thought he was actually quite handsome.

Certainly, someone with his build and jawline had a girlfriend. Not to mention his paycheck. Grade One sorcerers enjoyed such hefty compensation for their work that they could probably afford to retire in their mid-twenties. In Usami’s case, it would be practical for him to use his money to marry young and revive his clan.

Could that be why he was visiting her father? Utahime nodded to herself, satisfied with her deduction. That made sense, as Usami would need his permission for such things.

The sound of her phone snapping shut pulled her out of her thoughts. Usami held her phone out to her on his palm as though it were some kind of sacred object, and she took it with a slight bow of her head.

“Master Iori will be back in two days,” he said. “Kazuo invited me to stay in your estate while waiting for him.”

“He’ll force you to train with him.”

“I expect that.”

She shrugged. “Alright.”

“Miss Utahime?”

“Hm?” She raised her eyebrows in question.

His pupils darted to her face, and then at her leg. “You have a bruise on your ankle.”

“Oh.” She tugged her sock upward to hide the deep purple imprint of Gojo’s hand. She had not felt the strength of his grip while he was holding her upside down in the gymnasium.

Only after the battle, while she was showering, did she notice the tenderness of her flesh and saw the beginning of a bruise. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not my place, but I happen to know there are two special grade sorcerers here.” Usami paused to clear his throat. “ Boys .”

Utahime opened and closed her mouth in numerous false starts but failed to come up with a believable lie. Frustrated, she looked away and mumbled, “I sparred with Gojo yesterday. I don’t think he meant to bruise me. To be fair, he could’ve done worse.”

“Just because one could, doesn’t mean one should. The Gojo boy sounds sensible in this respect.”

She giggled. Gojo boy . How accurate. “Usami, what if one day, you come back here and you hear from someone that I died in a mission? And it’s a really stupid death, too? Something I shouldn’t have taken because I’m not strong enough for it?”

He wrinkled his nose as he pondered this. “I will pray to my family in the afterlife to take care of you the same way your family took care of me.”

“Thanks, but that’s not really encouraging.”

“You’re not the type to let your ego cloud your judgement, so if ever you die on the battlefield that way, it’s likely because you were assigned to the wrong curse, or you ran out of luck.” He frowned at her. “Why are you coming to me for comfort? You know that’s never been my forte.”

“I’m just sick of being weak.”

“You’re only weak when you stop trying.” He stood and picked up his cello case. “Perhaps your strength lies elsewhere, and you’re not meant to destroy life, but to nurture it. Just something to think about.”

Gojo had only seen Takahiro Usami once before, and only from a distance, yet there was no mistaking his presence. It was similar to what he felt meeting Shoko for the first time. Unlike other sorcerers, Usami and Shoko produced positive energy that piqued his Six Eyes, and the difference in how they generated and released this energy contrasted with the monotonous current of cursed energy from others.

Their presence was like bursts of fireworks in the night sky—captivating but too loud. Usami’s, in particular, disrupted the current of cursed energy on campus with a sense of permanence. If Shoko’s redirected the flow, his stopped it entirely.

That was more than enough to make him grit his teeth and cover his flesh in goosebumps. He would never admit to his discomfort—after all, weren’t stories of the Usami clan just myths by now?—but it bothered him all the same that he even felt it.

Gojo shifted his gaze from Usami’s figure on the staircase to Utahime, who watched him from under the ttorii with a mixture of confusion and amazement. Based on what he saw, it was apparent that the two knew one another, but it was impossible to gauge the extent or nature of their relationship.

“Utahime!” Suguru called, waving his hand in the air to catch her attention.

Gojo would’ve elbowed him, but Utahime was quick to turn in their direction, and he didn’t want to make it look like he was scared of her.

Suguru stopped on the edge of the staircase to peer down at Usami’s departing figure. By now, he was almost at the bottom and nothing more than a moving silhouette. “Was he bothering you?”

“Usami?” She shook her head wildly. “Never.”

Gojo stopped behind Suguru and resisted the urge to make a face. It was annoying how her pigtails swung around like a costume. He wanted to snatch the laces that held her pigtails in place and tousle her hair until she resembled the mad woman she was inside.

“You know him?” Suguru asked.

“Jujutsu HQ gave my family custody of him after his clan…died. We saw each other here and there growing up, but we’re not particularly close.” Utahime glanced at Gojo and scowled.

Suguru checked his wristwatch. “You should get back inside, Utahime. Campus is generally safe, but a lot of sorcerers come and go without warning. Some of them can be pretty nasty, to say the least. Girls like you should steer clear of them.”

Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked Suguru’s shin lightly. “Let her stay here for as long as she wants. A gargoyle can be considered added security, you know?”

Suguru chuckled, more to quell the tension than anything. “Utahime’s too cute to be a gargoyle.” He waved his hand, shooing her in the direction of the girls’ dormitory. “I can’t believe you two tried to kill one another, and you’re still on bad terms.”

“I’m not the one with the poor social skills,” Utahime spat.

Gojo stepped forward to loom over her. “I don’t have poor social skills.”

Suguru winced.

Utahime smirked triumphantly. “Even Getou-Senpai can’t deny it.”

Gojo inhaled through his nose and held it in. He could feel his upper lip quiver as he stared down Utahime, whose own glowering face was so infuriatingly innocent despite her psychotic tendencies. It was easy to come up with a rebuttal, to put her in her place with another snide remark, but for some reason, Gojo couldn’t find it in him to do so.

He recalled the last time he visited his mother, how she sat with him on the grass and fed the cats from her palm, reminding him just before he left for Jujutsu High that power was not found in isolation. He may see things clearly with his Six Eyes, but there was more to the people he’d meet than their cursed energy. In fact, she added with a smile, if she wasn’t his mother, he’d probably think nothing of her, as she couldn’t even detect curses.

Without thinking, Gojo marched up to Utahime and grabbed her wrist. She squeaked in surprise, but before she could react further, he dragged her in the opposite direction. “That’s it. We’re having dinner together.”

“Eh?” She dug her heels into the ground to resist him. “What’s wrong with you? Let me go! Getou-Senpai, help!”

Gojo thought he must’ve stunned Suguru as much as he stunned himself, because no aid came for Utahime.

Utahime had no idea how she ended up in a ramen shop with Gojo. The trip from Jujutsu High to Shinjuku happened in a blur, as if her brain had short-circuited in an attempt to comprehend this unexpected turn of events.

People in suits and high school uniforms streamed past them. Children squirmed on their parents’ laps and threw tantrums on the floor. Twice, a waiter had almost spilled an entire tray on her while traversing the narrow aisles.

Utahime stared at Gojo the entire time. He was too preoccupied by the food in front of him to notice the chaos that surrounded them.

This was the last place she expected him to go, given his wealth and heritage. He looked too big, too stunning and daunting to be in such a place. Her vision of him prior to their meeting was of a young man too arrogant to even be served normal food, and yet here he was, eating his ramen with gusto as if he’d never tasted one before.

Gojo slurped his noodles and peered up at her from above his sunglasses. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Utahime frowned at her untouched bowl of ramen. Her stomach ached from hunger, but she couldn’t find it in her to pick up her chopsticks. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“We’re having dinner.” “Why?”

“Because you’re dense.”

She stood up so quickly that her chair nearly tipped over. “If you’re just going to insult me again—

“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” he said in a tone and volume that attracted the attention of nearby customers.

Utahime scanned the room, bowed her head in embarrassment, and resumed her seat. “Well, that was a pretty crappy way to boost my ego.”

“Don’t you see?” He popped a piece of meat into his mouth and spoke while chewing. “I agreed to spar, and you went all out trying to prove yourself to me. Frame it anyway you want so you can stroke your ego—I don’t care—but I’m not exactly giddy for you to die in your idiotic quest to be stronger than you truly are.”

“What other choice do I have?”

“Just know your place and do what you can there.”

“As if that keeps me safe.” Utahime cussed under her breath. She brushed her hair back and clutched her skirt, gathering the fabric in her fist until she could feel her nails digging into her skin. Tears blurred her vision, and now the only way to preserve her pride was to refrain from blinking. “As if being weak gets me respect and recognition and a high salary and all the things I need so that men like you won’t think you have the right to treat me however you want.”

“Hey, stop crying.”

Utahime didn’t blink, but the tears fell anyway. She grabbed a piece of table napkin and dabbed it over her eyes. Soon, however, she was sobbing, and she couldn’t stop herself from quivering from all the pent-up frustration bubbling in her chest.

She didn’t want to be in this stupid restaurant. She didn’t want to be with him. She wished she could close her eyes and transport herself back to her room, where she could draw a stick figure of Gojo and stab it as many times with a pencil as possible.

“Move.”

Utahime looked up. Gojo forced himself into her seat, and she had no choice but to transfer to the next one nearer to the display window. He grabbed his ramen bowl from across the table and rearranged the food in front of them.

The nearby customers diverted their gazes and fell back on their respective conversations.

Utahime wiped her eyes dry with the damp tissue paper. He must’ve transferred to her side partly to shield her from onlookers and partly to discourage their attention.

Gojo nudged her ramen bowl closer to her. “Suguru and I will take care of the stronger curses. Just do what you can.”

She hesitated, but she eventually picked up her chopsticks and ate. His words swam in her mind like fish struggling in turbulent waters. It made sense, but it didn’t. Of course the special grades would take care of the stronger curses because no one else could. Of course, she would do what she could as a sorcerer.

As Utahime watched him eat from the corner of her eye, she wondered if it meant something else. A part of her doubted it because the idea was so outrageous, but she couldn’t let it go.

Could he mean it was okay for her to stop competing with everybody? No one had told her this before. The bar was always set higher just as she levelled up. Ever since she was young, her life had been an endless pursuit of mastery and strength.

For the Six Eyes to come waltzing into her life with this alternative was not only jarring. It was completely and genuinely outrageous.

It was so outrageous, in fact, that Utahime felt her heart skip a beat. She flipped his words over and over in her head, and the more she dissected them, the more it sounded to her like he was offering to shoulder the burden of exorcising curses to preserve her life.

Perhaps—and the thought of it sent a pleasant tingling sensation down her spine—this was his way of saying he cared about her.

The mere suggestion sent blood rushing to her cheeks.

Suddenly, all of Utahime’s grievances about him disappeared. She became aware again of his proximity and the fact that they were eating out—a boy and a girl in a small booth, having dinner while discussing serious life matters.

She had noticed the pointed glares from other girls in the store, but now she was honing in on them. Prettier girls her age, eyeing Gojo and then her, assuming…what?

Utahime cupped her face and crossed her legs. She skimmed the scenery outside the restaurant to distract herself, but it was no use.

Did they really think she’d go out with a doofus like him? He may be absurdly stunning, but he was also a massive jerk. A jerk who thought that buying her dinner and telling her noble stuff to brandish his strength would make her change her mind about him.

“Excuse me?”

Utahime straightened up. She saw a high school girl in tidy braids standing in the cramped aisle, hands clasped in front of her and eyes cast down. Utahime couldn’t tell whether the girl was blushing naturally or if the pinkness of her cheeks was make-up. She could tell her lashes were fake, though, and so were her eyeglasses. Lenses those thin did nothing but make dumb people look smart.

“What?” Gojo asked, his chopsticks poised in front of his mouth with a swirl of noodles. The girl looked at Utahime and then at him. “Are the two of you together?”

Utahime’s eyebrow twitched.

Anyone who saw a guy and a girl seated this closely together would assume they were a couple. It wasn’t as though she could be mistaken as his relative, as they had nothing in common. Utahime was used to being called pretty growing up, but any noteworthy feature she possessed faded next to Gojo, who may as well have been a video game protagonist engineered to appeal to the female gaze.

A small voice in Utahime’s head argued that it didn’t matter, because she didn’t like him. How could she change her mind just because he said a nice thing?

But then didn’t this girl’s question indicate that someone like Utahime couldn’t possibly be with a guy like Gojo? Wasn’t this a direct attack on her looks and sex appeal?

Gojo motioned to him and Utahime. “Us? Yeah, I guess.”

Utahime nearly choked on her saliva. She smacked the back of Gojo’s head. “No, we’re not!”

His sunglasses clattered on the table, missing his ramen bowl by a mere inch. He froze, stunned by the assault, before slowly turning his head to scowl at her. “Why the hell would I sit in a restaurant with a stranger, ya think?”

“That’s not what she’s asking, you stupid moron!”

Gojo flattened his hands on the table to keep himself in check. “Just because you got away with biting me last night, doesn’t mean—”

“Gojo!” Utahime struck the back of his head again, and this time, his face dunked straight into his ramen bowl. Broth spilled. Noodles flew in the air. The girl gasped as chopped scallions splattered on her clothes.

There was an awkward pause as the restaurant stilled, and Utahime realized what she had done. Even the pop song that had been blaring in the background screeched to a halt.

Without so much as a warning, Gojo grabbed Utahime’s head and forced it down into her ramen bowl.

“I’m Gojo-Senpai to you!” He snatched a bottle of soy sauce and poured all of the contents on her hair. “ SENPAI! ”

Utahime burst from her seat and flipped her bangs back to get most of the broth out of her face. With noodles sliding down her cheeks and scallions clinging to her collar, she said: “Satoru Gojo, you are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met!”

They would’ve trashed the place had the manager and waiters not worked together to kick them out. At the mention of police intervention, the two of them voluntarily walked out while clinging to a fistful of each other’s hair. It wasn’t the police they feared, but the image of Yaga scolding them to death.

They tugged and kicked in the sidewalks, barking insults at one another that made even strangers gasp and gawk.

Exhausted but unwilling to surrender, the two of them had one final stare-down while cars cruised past them and passersby eyed them from head to toe. Behind Gojo, lights from billboards and stores floated like orbs in her vision, threatening to ruin her focus, but she remained firm. She kept her gaze fixed solely on his blue eyes.

Gojo pursed his lips. A muscle beneath his eye twitched. And then, just like that, he laughed.

The sound caught Utahime off guard. He paused, his cheeks reddening as he pondered her face, and then he burst into another fit of laughter.

Utahime surprised herself by chuckling. She considered his stained clothes and winced at the state of hers. Neither of them looked like they came from respectable sorcery clans. If anything, she was like an ordinary high school student—the kind who wouldn’t be out at this hour with a boy, bickering like ill-mannered children, yet there she was.

She stared up at Gojo with a soft smile.

Maybe that was all they were at the end of the day. Just a boy and a girl nearing the height of their youth, trying to figure out their responsibilities and relationships in the dumbest ways they knew how.

And that was okay.