LOOKING DOWN AT HIS CREATION

AND THINKING WE'VE THROWN IT AWAY

god must be doing cocaine,

An entire month passes. Not in the blink of an eye but slowly like wet cement under stormy weather. Your routine is perfected, ingrained into your mind and becoming a staple in your no longer mundane life.

Training, training and training. And then rest. And then repeat.

But today, it's unwisely different. The air is cold as you walk down the corridor with Gojo and Itadori. The morning was dry and dark and Gojo was explaining your latest mission.

"I won't be able to lead you this time. But don't worry, I've called in a friend you can trust," He explains, pushing open the large doors to the outside.

You gulp at his words, thinking about the juvenile detention center and Roppongi. Gojo-sensei's presence was ever so comforting. Knowing that he wasn't here when you needed someone to lean on... it gave you a feeling you didn't like.

In the courtyard, back facing the three of you, was a tall and well-built man. Under the daylight, his features were exhumed to reveal a calm and reserved expression.

Gojo immediately swings his arm around him, "This is Nanami Kento, the ex-salary jujutsu sorcerer." While he's wearing the biggest grin you've ever seen, the man has his shoulders folded and a stoic expression resting on his chiselled face.

Behind the cream-coloured blazer hanging from his frame, was a holster containing a sword - a blunt one if your eyes didn't deceive you.

Itadori looks baffled, probably because he, like you, had never seen this man before. Additionally, very few knew that Itadori was alive.

"Please don't call me that," Nanami tuts.

Gojo explains, "Plenty of jujutsu sorcerers are oddballs but since he worked for a company, he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's a first-grade sorcerer, too."

He didn't strike you as a sorcerer at all. Light-brown hair styled so neatly, shaded in a way that reminds you of hot chocolate in a mug. That was the first thing that threw you off, made you instinctively wonder if he was normal.

(Then again, what is normal now?)

His eyes were shielded by a pair of armless glasses, making you lift your chin in curiosity.

Nanami fixes his glasses which seem to have slipped a little down the ridge of his nose, "I'm sure no one would want to hear you saying that about them."

The two stand together, making you realise something. A lot of these people wear sunglasses and stuff to hide their eyes. Maybe I should buy a pair.

"Ex-salaryman?" You tilt your head in curiosity, "Why didn't you become a jujutsu sorcerer from that start?"

He ignores your question, shaking off Gojo's arm around his shoulder, "We should greet each other first."

He unfolds his arms, tension loosening itself like an untied knot. Arms by his side, he bows curtly, "Nice to meet you, [L/n]-kun, Itadori-kun."

You and Itadori do the same, "Oh, yes, nice to meet you, too!"

"I studied at Jujutsu Tech," Nanami says, "and the one thing I learned... is that jujutsu sorcerers are shit!"

You blink, mind empty, and speak dumbfoundedly in unison with Itadori, "Huh?"

He folds his arms, watching you and Itadori be drained of all colour, as white as sheets from his bold wolds. "Then I worked at your typical company and one thing I learned is that work is shit!"

"Really?!" Your jaw drops in fascination.

You've rarely heard adults be so profane and bold in expressing their opinion like this.

"If both are equally shit, I'll take the one I'm more suited to. That's the only reason I came back."

You, Itadori and Gojo gather together in a murmur, "That's dark..."

"Itadori-kun, [L/n]-san, please don't believe I'm of the same mindset at Gojo-san. I do trust and have faith in him," His words prompt Gojo to make a beaming smile that you and Itadori roll your eyes at, "but I do not respect him!"

Nanami Kento seemed to be growing on you, it seems, because you stifle a laugh at what he says.

He starts to walk off, remaining stiff, "I hate the way the higher ups do things, but I believe in rules and regulations." And then he sighs, "This conversation is dragging on."

Turning on his heel, Nanami's lips curl, "In short, I don't recognise you two as sorcerers, either."

The words feel like a blow to the chest except your frail body holds a dull ache rather than anything sharp.

"Even if you do carry the bomb we know as Sukuna, and you, [L/n] are a descendant of a clan, please make an effort to prove that you are useful."

Itadori seems to gather strength from it while you lower your head. "Lately, I've been forced to realise how weak and useless I am. But I'll become strong. I have to be strong, or I won't be able to choose how I die."

His knuckles whiten when his hands ball in fists by his side, "I'll make you recognise me, even without that advice." With a wink and salute, he grins, "Just give me a bit more time."

Even though you and Gojo are smiling, Nanami just looks away, "Say that to the higher-ups, not me."

Itadori groans, "Oh, yeah..."

"Because, frankly, I don't care!"

"Yeah! Yeah! We get it!" You wave him off, watching with a thin-lipped scowl as Nanami leaves.

Gojo ruffles your hair, "Calm down, kiddo. I trust him a lot and besides, you need a mix of teachers if you're gonna get anywhere in the world."

"Sorry," You murmur, looking down at the courtyard floor. "I don't like change."

"I don't think anyone does," Gojo hums low enough for you to hear reassuringly. "See you around, kid."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You were expecting something, but not quite this. Blood slicking down the napes of disfigured bodies, skin stretched taut and eyeballs prodding out of swollen sockets. It was a sight you barely stomached, endurance at breaking point the more you looked. Stared. Examined.

Three high-school boys were found dead in a cinema. And now here you were, metres from their forcefully discombobulated bodies.

You inhale, eyes drifting along the cranial pressurised skulls and the decaying black matter oozing out with the thick blood. It was like someone had smashed their skulls, not broken them, but rather squeezed and stretched their skin and bones.

It was a curse who had made the skin their own, deconstructed the bones and wrestled to make them bloated and deformed.

Suddenly, you feel someone hold your hand and look down to see Itadori's palm gently grazing yours.

"You're shaking," He murmurs idly. His words seem stoic but layered beneath them are syllables edged with concern.

He's right; there is the faintest blur on the outline of your hands. A tremor that moves rapidly and violently, a twist of trauma tightening around your cranium.

Maybe it's because these bodies remind you of Mother and her body. God, no. You snap your jaw shut, gritting teeth to push back that memory. Now is really not the time to think about that.

Nanami lifts his hand, "Can you see it?"

He points seemingly to nothing, the space behind the row that the bodies were seats, "This is the residual taint of cursed energy."

You deadpan, "I can't see shit, Sensei."

As soon as that sentence escapes your lips, you clamp your mouth shut to prevent more. Maybe it was because you had grown used to the outspoken and easy-going nature of Gojo-sensei. To the point where you behaved differently in a calm environment.

Nanami, however, was a complete contrast. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to care too much. Or maybe he did and was doing well to hide it.

"That's because you're not trying to see it," He replies grimly. "We typically see curses as if it's perfectly natural to."

You inhale as you listen, eyes searching the area he was gesturing at. "When a cursed technique is used, it leaves traces behind. That's what residuals are. But residuals are much fainter than cursed spirits. So, focus your vision and look closely."

Heeding to his words, you lift your hand and shape your palms on the sides of your face, narrowing your peripheral vision. You have to gently let go of Itadori however, cheeks flushed in an embarassed manner when the two of you realise he was still holding your hand.

Another inhale. Air seeps into your lungs, cool and fresh, inflating them as your pupils dilate. A dull ache confounds your forehead as you squint but soon the residue reveals itself.

Footprints are lingering on the floor, growing clearer the more you steady your mind.

Itadori sees it too, a surprised laugh quickly leaving his pink lips.

Nanami places his hands in his pocket, a reserved expression is fixed on his paper face. "A proper sorcerer can sense them before seeing them."

His response makes you scowl a little and with a weary sigh, you follow him as he ducks beneath some yellow police tape encasing the door frame and into the corridor.

"Can't you give us a little more praise or something?" Itadori inquires; it's rather bold of him to.

Nanami stops in his tracks, still indifferent, "I don't praise or disparage anyone. I adhere to facts and judge on that basis. That's who I am."

His words leave a remarkable impression on you. He seems controlled by his own perception, a tough exterior guarding his past. Maybe he was truly just a man worn down by the mundane day to day practices of life.

"There was a time when I mistakenly believe society operated the same way, but enough of that," He silences himself, shifting the attention back to the footprints.

Itadori sighs, standing still in a slouched manner while Nanami walks ahead. A coy smile plays on your face when you see your friend wear a tired frown, "Not clicking, I see?"

"I'm not getting anything from him," He admits sourly.

You give him a weak and pinched smile and move on, looking around, "There wasn't anything on the surveillance cameras, right?"

"Right. There was only one young man aside from the victims," Nanami replies smoothly, hands behind his back.

Itadori chews on his lip, "Then a cursed spirit was behind it?"

"Well, most likely," He says while pondering, as you trail him up some stairs.

The conversation continues in the rain and he hands you and Itadori two umbrellas as you walk along the outskirts of the patio.

"There's a small chance the young man could have done it, but identifying him is the police's-"

He stops speaking suddenly, almost like his mind was fixed on something else. His head turns to the side where some seats are laid under the roof. A shadow was cast over it but it was not dark enough to conceal the fleshy creature shaking on top of it.

"Stop," Nanami commands and he holds his arm out over you, who has already packed up your umbrella and initiated a fight stance. "I'll take care of this one."

"You two take the ones over there," He gestures to the wall behind you where two creatures leaned over to observe. "If you decide you can't beat them, please call me."

Itadori sighs, "Aren't you taking us a bit too lightly here?"

"It's not a matter of underestimating you or not," Nanani fixes his tie, shifting his dark blue collar in the process. "I am an adult and the two of you are children. I have a duty to prioritise your life over my own."

You purse your lips, murmuring beneath your breath, "I'd rather you underestimate us than treat us like kids."

While your eyes are fixed on the cursed spirit in front of you, you still heed to Nanami's reply. "I know that the two of you have been in several life-threatening situations. But that does not make you an adult."

"I know! I'm not saying we are adults but you certainly parent me more than my own parents ever did," You mumble with exasperation.

Nanami continues, unsheathing the blunt sword you had noticed earlier, "Finding more fallen-out hairs on your pillow, watching your favourite stuffed bread disappear from the convenience store. The accumulation of those little despairs is what makes a person an adult."

You sigh, letting him be. Besides, if you keep arguing then maybe your childish feelings will make you distracted and get you killed.

The rain becomes more vicious. You wonder if you should drop your umbrella like Nanami; his transparent accessory lays on the ground a dozen metres besides him. Under the rivulets of water, it becomes battered.

Even as you stand beneath yours, your fingers slowly lose their grip around the handle.

It then hits you that Nanami is babbling about something to do with Cursed Technique and you swivel your head to look over at him fighting.

"Did you get any of that, [L/n]-kun, Itadori-kun?"

Itadori blinks, surprise written on his face as he wrestles with his flexible Cursed Spirit, "Huh?! You were talking to us?"

The distraction in his attention proves fatal when you watch a limb of the spirit slam against Itadori and force him into the air and at one of the metal circles on the baseball field.

"[L/n]-kun, stop standing there and fight!" Nanami jolts you back into reality and you turn, realising the spirit clawing at the space between you and it.

Blinking, you stumble back, closing your umbrella and holding it in your arm. You had subconsciously created a shield with your Cursed Energy.

The blue aura blurs against the damp sky and dark clouds rolling in but it's still there - a shield that you could conjure.

The shield gives you enough time to study your enemy. The curve of it's skeleton, protruding bones and thick, rotting skin. Sharp teeth littered it's droopy mouth and the eyes grew sinister the longer they look at you.

It was no special-grade for sure, which was a relief. You find that you can be more lazy with your approach.

Even though you had spent weeks perfecting your determination and ability in fight, the difficulty never wavered above average.

This fight would be over soon enough, if you could find the right way to kill this spirit.

Because that's the thing, the way your cursed energy was imbued into your skin, like a tattoo, meant that it was more like an extension of your mind and body. It could be whatever you needed it to be. Energy directed with the jutting sharpness of a katana or an area attack with the horsepower of a cannonball.

The Cursed Spirit can't attack you until the moment you are oblivious, until the moment it can slip through the cracks. And at the same time, you can't attack it until you have the confidence and power to kill it.

"Ow..." Itadori groans, getting to his feet. He rubs the side of his face, "Is it even okay to reveal your Cursed Technique?"

Nanami remains on high alert, having dodged every incoming attack from the four-limbed creature in front of him, "It's no problem to reveal that technique to that opponent. Also, all the better if revealing it misleads them."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, I feel like I should be listening but I wanna deal with the curse, as well.

"There is merit to it," Nanami continues and it is a wonder you can manage to pay attention while also slowly letting the Cursed Spirit claw at your own energy. ""Revealing one's hand" is a pact that increases the effectiveness of one's technique."

And then, he readies himself, enrapturing you, "Like so."

It happens so fast that you have to rub your eyes to make sure it was real. The speed, the agility, the unwavering focus...

He was on another level. The precision in his eyes was unlike anything you had ever seen. A blue aura had swirled around him and it was as if he had deciphered the right angle.

In a blur, he moves and the creature doesn't even see it coming. It slumps and falls to the ground, decaying matter oozing from it's freshly cut limbs, all of which are amputated.

Crimson drips down the blunt edge of the sword and it cuts through the air, eventually falling to the ground alongside the rain. The stream of water removes its presence, washing away the remnants of glory.

"That's all from me," Nanami concludes in a cool and calm manner.

Your eyes widen, "Sugoi..."

Not only is the blade he used all wrapped up, but he used the back of it to slice right through that thing.

"[L/n]-san, behind you. I don't like you looking away."

"Who's the one distracting me?!" You yell out, rolling your eyes. And then, you point over to where you saw the creature last, eyes still fixed in wonder on Nanami, "Oh sensei, it can't penetrate my shield."

Nanami remains unperturbed, "You do realise that it will eat away at your shield if it is clever enough to pinpoint all of it's power into one strike spot?"

You gulp; he has a point. He was far more astute than you initially thought.

When you turn back, the space you are pointing at is empty. The Cursed Spirit's rattling tongue spits and hisses next to your ear, making your skin scrawl with shivers.

"Oh my god," You recoil, staggering back.

In that moment, you let all your thoughts consume you, as if you are inside an untouchable bubble. Your own voice reverberates, echoing across the endless space alongside the convoluted and distant voices of others.

Maki's words of advice suddenly pierce the web of panic. Fighting with your fists is cool and all but a weapon is so much better. You can imbue cursed energy into items on the fly. It all depends on how much you can control and whether you're powerful enough to handle it.

You hold up your umbrella and the tremor in your hand suddenly disappears from your mental fortitude. Your hand is as steady as the tabletop spinning for eternity. The umbrella is shrouded in a thick veil of midnight blue, the material swallowed up by such a powerful aura. It feels like the impact of whatever attack you were planning would be amplified by your sheer wit and emotion.

The creature lunges forward, lacking the sentience needed to think through it's primal attacks. You anticipate it easily. Training with Gojo has heightened all of your senses more than you previously imagined.

It unfolds in your head in slow motion but in reality, you are almost as fast as Nanami. The umbrella may be blunt but you direct your cursed energy to form a sharp line, deep enough to cut into the jugular vein. And you raise your arms and make a stroke in the air, the space around you evaporating and folding in from the explosive power.

Maybe you were channeling too much because the umbrella slams against the neck of the Cursed Spirit and the head is torn off violently. Burgundy hurries into the air like an active volcano and you hear the skull land on the ground a few metres away.

But you can't bring yourself to look at the knotted mesh of hair tangled with the flesh and blood. There was an inferno inside you, flames licking at the walls of your charred guts. An immortalised power that burnt through yourself and others.

When you turn on your heel, gasping for breath and all the energy you used, Itadori stands over the twitching corpse of the Cursed Spirit he fatally injured. A fire burns on his fist, the colour of sulphur lakes in hell, singing with painful passion. A bloodlust for power, overwhelmingly demonic.

He was channelling his Cursed Energy and it evoked a perennial war waging between his mind and body. Skin stitched together at the premise of power but supernatural aura detaching at the moment of impact.

"Itadori-kun, [L/n]-kun, don't kill the curses just yet," Nanami warns.