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The grass is green, the sky is blue and Gojo Satoru is the strongest. These are irrefutable facts, facts of life. Satoru has always known this, the other jujutsu sorcerers know this, the curses know this.
But knowing and understanding are two concepts, anyone can know of his strength, his power, his influence but no one understands the burden of responsibilities that lie on his shoulders. The burdens he has been given, that ties him down, that bind him, that rope around him and sink and twist into his very bones. Like Atlas the Titan, who held the Heavens on his back, cursed and condemned for all of eternity, he carries the jujutsu world on his shoulders. Forever burdened with the responsibility he never asked for, for the exchange of power he was gifted with, for power he never wanted.
Satoru, of course, knows the common proverb, that with great power comes great responsibility. So he won't deny himself, he won't deny the duties, the obligations, the authority that has been thrust upon him. How could he, with the blood that runs through his veins, the power that thrums under his skin, etched and weaved like spider webs across his soul and deep into his very being, with his limitless techniques and otherworldly eyes. He never asked for this but he will take up and accept the burdens anyways. The mortal god is what they called him.
In some ways, Satoru has been lucky. Being born into the prestigious Gojo Clan as the son of the head has its benefits and coupled with his gifted (cursed, cursed, cursed) eyes he has been fed with a diamond spoon his whole life. Like his acclaimed family technique of limitless, the luxuries he has access to are everflowing. Anything and everything. Any material possession he ever desired was his. The lives of the servants and fellow sorcerers rested in his palms. His wishes were their commands. Even nature itself bent over backward solely for his existence. The mortal god.
But power and wealth would never grant Gojo Satoru family or friends. It could grant him conditional loyalty and servants and enemies and employees. It could grant him villas with lush hedge filled gardens with wooden bridges over lily covered ponds and foliage vined arches, historical and prominent pieces of art and paintings decorated with golden ornate and intricate frames that shone and archaic sculptures and statues, and glittering and gleaming jewels right from the private collections of the imperial families themselves. But in the end, it would never grant the warmth and trust of companionship.
Not that he needed or desired for one either. People wanted him for what he could offer them, of what he could provide them with, his connection, his wealth, and power. If they weren't after his power, they desired his body, for he was all pale smooth skin, lithe muscles, pink lips with azure eyes that shone like diamonds. Their lust-filled gazes followed his every move, his every action, looking at him hungrily as if he was a piece of meat. Not a shred of decency in their actions and yet they always complained of his lack of propriety. Hypocrites.
They wore hypocritical and superficial masks of geniality, but underneath those sickening smiles were vile self-serving agendas, their iron poisoned claws ready to sink and tear into him. To cut, to rip, to dig their fingers into the god called Gojo Satoru. To have a piece of him for themselves. Elders, clans, and fellow sorcerers were waiting for him to slip up, to take advantage of him and tie him down. To have him in their possession as if he were an object to be marveled at. But he was like a piece of art, crafted by God, only to be seen, not to be touched, not belonging to anyone but there for everyone to see.
But Satoru loved shattering expectations, loved seeing those faces droop with disappointment, the flashes of mortification across their faces, their regretful and terrified eyes. It filled him with sick satisfaction that left him humming for days. And so, Gojo Satoru learned how to destroy, exorcise and kill. Until he alone stood at the top, gazing down on them like the ants they all were. They realized too late, far too late when he stood above them all, uncaring for rules and traditions. He was born for destruction. The mortal god to the king of curses. Two sides to the same coin.
If you asked him if there was anyone he would consider a friend, a companion he’d throw out a teasing grin and obnoxiously say “Of course I have friends, who wouldn't want to be friends with me?.” But he wouldn’t say who they were. Would never attach a label to them, leave them wondering.
At one point he would have considered Suguru and Shoko as his closest friends (only, only, only) but Suguru was six feet under, and over time he and Shoko drifted apart, their specialities never really letting them interact. For she healed and he destroyed unscratched. Their team shattered like glass. What they could have had is now merely a what-if, a dream, something lost within the passage of life. But life goes on and Gojo Satoru doesn't have the luxury, the time to dwell on the past for he has the responsibility to protect the future.
He threw himself into every and all missions he could get, one after another until time passed like a blur, and days turned into weeks and months and years without pause. Seasons changed and the trees, plants, and animals withered and died and bloomed all the same, renewal and rebirth for all but him, he remained constant, unchanging. Like an evergreen tree, he remains fixed, iron locked, constant in this cycle of birth. The mortal god.
(are you the strongest because you are satoru gojo or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)
Gojo Satoru was a teenager when he killed Toji Zenin. And once more, another responsibility, another burden, another unwanted task was given to him. Toji Zen’in’s son. Of course, he could have ignored it, could have left the kid to be sold back to that damned clan but Satoru was a petty and spiteful teen with anger simmering in his bones so he took the kid. Ha! He could have laughed for days, a Zen’in in the care of a Gojo. Their ancestors would be rolling in their graves cursing him to the high heavens for their betrayal.
After the disastrous fiasco, in the complete stillness of the night, when the sky was littered by a billion shining lights, a brief thought flashed through his mind. He wondered for the first time if there was anyone who would mourn him, ask of him, cry for him as Satoru and not Gojo Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. If he were to ever get captured, be put in a detrimental situation would anyone save him because they liked him, cared for him, and not because of the power thrumming through his veins, as the one sorcerer who kept the curses in check? A fleeting thought, gone as quickly as it arrived, no time given for it to linger and infest. Frankly, it was as clear as day that Gojo Satoru was an existence meant for everyone else, to take away, to seal his power would render him useless as his only worth lied in his power. Gojo Satoru was the mortal god.
How do you kill a god?
You can't, for gods are ageless and infinite, bound not by mortal constricts. Outworldly and omnipotent.
How do you kill a god?
You take away love and loyalty, leave them alone and in despair for eternity. An unending misery.
How do you kill a god?
You strip away their authority and power, leave them vulnerable. Let their confidence shatter, let them fall from the heavens onto the earthly soil.
How do you kill a god?
You destroy their minds, their beliefs, their faith, everything they stand for. Strip them of their reason and let them be forgotten and they will slowly fade from existence. After all, in the end, it is mortal faith that binds them to the earthly realm.
How do you kill a god?
With an equal exchange. A soul for a soul.
Fushiguro Megumi was the cutest, gloomiest kid he had ever met, with black hair the vaguely reminded Satoru of a sea urchin, and distrustful verdant eyes. He was a tiny, skinny little thing, completely unlike his monster of a father who was all muscles, power, and inhuman strength (and then the memories came rushing through, amplified in the forefront of his mind in constant loops of pain and betrayal and Satoru ached ).
Little Megumi-chan was all pessimism and bleakness bundled into a body of not even four feet. He had stared at Satoru like he was something disgusting. Satoru felt quite offended, kids never looked at him like that, they always thought he was cool and awesome (not that he met a lot of kids but that's beside the point) and he completely agreed so why was this urchin-looking kid looking at him like he was some worm?
On the other hand, Tsumiki was an utter delight! polite manners and sweet smiles. She was the opposite in terms of disposition. Adopted he learned then, he snorted, no way would the boorishness Zenin produce such a well-mannered kid, not with the filthy blood of Naobito running through them. Gross.
He never expected much to come from this relationship, for he had been alone his whole life, didn't expect it to turn out the way it did.
It was pretty easy taking care of the kids, far easier than he expected. He'd drop by once or twice a week to drop off an allowance and extra groceries. He’d knock on their apartment (it was rude to just barge in and contrary to the popular belief, Satoru did have some manners, however basic they may be) and would be greeted by little Megumi-chan at the door, all scowls and narrowed glares and impolite speech. He took it as a personal mission to tease Megumi of his girly name and short stature, watched him scowl ferociously with twitching fingers. How cute.
Regardless of all that, Satoru didn't expect much to come out of this relationship. He was their guardian in name, their relationship was sent in stone the day he killed Toji Zenin. He had been alone all his life, his only companion was himself and he didn't expect that to change anytime soon and he never held any expectations, any hope for something more .
(He had steeled his heart, reinforced with concrete and built an iron fortress, years and years ago, when he was younger and smaller, back when naivete and hope shone in his eyes, back when he longed for affection, and yet, in the end, he was all alone in a mansion, in a vast estate, surrounded by people. When people saw him as a means to an end, when they saw him for his abilities, his technique, his bloodline, and never just Satoru. No one ever saw Satoru.)
But the heart is a fickle thing.
He never thought he would ever get attached to this prickly cactus of a kid and his sister. But without realizing it, the time spent with the kids increased, from dropping by unannounced to their apartment 4-5 times a week regularly, the steady increase to their already ridiculously substantial allowance. His personal involvement increased, he began to attend Megumi and Tsumiki parent-teacher meetings as their guardian, treated Megumi and Tsumiki to brunches and dinner on weekends. He would drop by with the occasional souvenir from his mission. Although most of the time they were sweets and the kid never accepted any of those - said they were gross. He scoffed, what did Megumi-chan even know about the sophisticated palate of an adult anyways?
These little inconsequential interactions and outings piled up and up. Until they became regular activities, part of his daily routine. To the point where they both cemented their spot in Satoru’s heart. The tiny seed of affection that had nestled itself within his heart had spread and bloomed and took root without him even realizing it.
There was a common saying, you're either unhinged enough to become a sorcerer or you become unhinged once you become a sorcerer. Nobara fell into the former category, quite obviously so with her headstrong, brash and unshakeable character.
Initially, he hadn't held any expectations for her, when she enrolled for the tech school, a poor countryside girl wanting to live in Tokyo, nothing out of the ordinary when it came to the dreams of young, impressionable teenage girls.
She proved him quite wrong in that aspect, her strength and mental fortitude were quite strong despite hailing from the countryside where there was a huge disparity in curses and their strength. He was proud of her, overcoming that barrier and staying strong in the face of danger where her life and the lives of others were at risk. Yuuji and Nobara were quite the exceptions and Satoru briefly wondered what they even fed those kids in the countryside.
She was quite amusing, she’d take his words to heart and be outraged to the point where she’d let out steams of anger and rage, red-faced and curses spewing from her mouth rapidly. She fell for his poor jokes and white little lies over and over again. It was cute how she had so much trust in him despite his known reputations as a less-than-stellar person with a cruel mean streak.
Satoru was no saint but he was no devil either, he liked keeping a friendly relationship with his current student, after all, they were the hope of the future, a future he hopes will be far better than his one, his generation. Irregardless of that, Satoru was used to being respected, so never in a hundred years did he expect the sheer audacity, sheer boldness of Nobara Kugisaki.
She dared to steal his card, go shopping , and then act as nothing had happened. She dared to hand it back to him, into his fucking hands and say thanks and then leave after his silence and loss for words like she was simply giving a casual greeting and did not just commit theft and fraud. Theft against Gojo Satoru. No one had ever dared to steal what was his right under his nose. With the blatant disrespect and sheer nerve that possessed her, he was completely blown away.
After that, the students were bombarded with missions after missions, leaving them worn and dead tired, falling and tripping over their feet like young fawns taking their first step. And gradually Satoru forgot about the incident, thinking it merely as an impulsive decision, fueled by some daring courage only dumb teenagers would possess until one free weekend after weeks of constant missions, he was scrawled on his bed, blanket thrown haphazardly over his freshly showered form, clearing up his emails when he came across the dozens upon dozens of confirmation receipts.
He stared.
He continued to stare at the numerous receipts for high-end shops, streetwear brands, and obscure souvenir shops, his finger unable to scroll past what he was seeing because seriously what the fuck.
He thought it was a one-off thing, spurred by rebellious ambitions and teenagers' natural tendency of their daring natures to fuck shit up and annoy their teachers. She took his initial shocked silence as an okay and continued to shop using his card, without a care in the world, no expense spared. Going here and there buying anything she took a fancy to.
Satoru didn't know whether to cry or laugh. He thought about it and shook his head, he was filthy rich, enough to live comfortably a hundred lifetimes over and then some. So what if she enjoyed shopping and going out? The money would go to waste anyways rotting away in his bank, so might as well let Nobara have her fun, let keep the past times and passions while she still had them, while she was still a kid, with light and innocence shining in her eyes.
A week later, after a long day of meetings, upon entering his office, to collect some documents and to drop off the recently marked assignments from the second years, laying innocently on his cluttered desk was a rectangular-shaped pink box of assorted mochi along with his credit card.
Looking at the gift and his card which shone with sleek light reflecting off its surface, Satoru let out a muffled chuckle which slowly bubbled into loud guffaws, his laugh now the only thing disturbing the quiet silence of the room and the hall. He squatted down to his knees in a futile attempt to regain composure, without any luck. No one had ever bought him a present using his money, the entire situation was too laughable, too unbelievable. Letting out one more quiet giggle, he left his office, feeling lighter than he had all day.
(From then on, if Satoru ever happened to purposely leave or drop his wallet in the reach of one Nobara Kugisaki - well that was just for him to know)
Satoru would be lying if he said he didn’t have favorites, As a teacher, the unspoken rule was to treat all students equally and no favoritism or partial treatment to others but Satoru was never a stickler for flimsy rules. He lived by his rules, his agendas, he liked breaking rules, seeing everything in chaos because of him, it was much more fun that way. Why should he bow to the rules of others, regardless of how facile or simple they may be? As the strongest shouldn't he have the privilege to do whatever he wants? To do as he pleases?
The case of Itadori Yuuji was supposed to be an easy one - kid accidentally sees jujutsu sorcerors in work and yet Murphy’s law had to strike and all and everything went to hell when the dumb, altruistic kid swallowed that finger, dooming himself to an execution and prolonged suffering for the rest of his now severely shortened life. All for the sake of his fellow foolish friends and a boy he had just met. Satoru pitied the kid.
Itadori Yuuji was the friendliest kid he had ever met. Not that Satoru had met many kids to make a comparison on, Megumi was all gloom and doom from a young age and students only enrolled into the tech college in their teens. At that age, they were already aware of his status and tended to be wary of him so it was refreshing when Yuuji threw himself at him without any reservations or lingering fear with cheerful smiles and loud banter. The kid even cooked food for everyone, dutifully leaving him a portion, and god when was the last time Satoru ate a home-cooked meal? He was always included even when it became a known fact that previously Satoru would get food from any high-end Michelin star restaurants.
At first, he thought it was mere hero worship. The excessive friendliness and warmth emitting from him, with sparkling amber eyes and warm hugs. The way his face would light up with loud affectionate greetings on the tip of his tongue whenever he would see Satoru. He wasn't used to, wasn't used to being greeted with such enthusiasm, such eagerness from someone, like Satoru actually meant something to him, like he was important to him, other than his role of executioner (and the thought made him sick sick sick ). He figured it was probably idolization, the affection one might hold for their savior, their idol, an image created out of expectations and hopes rather than the actual person behind that forged portrayal of a persona that didn't exist.
And once that constructed facade is shattered, the breathless adoration from Yuuji will disappear and everything will go back to normal. The thought made something deep in Satoru’s chest ache, he didn’t want it to end, he was a selfish, greedy man, wanted to horde the warmth and affection he received from his student, the way his touch soothed him, to keep the comfort emitting from his student forever, to keep receiving it thoroughly and unconditionally. He felt so warm, so much at peace. He was dreading the day until it will all end, the day where he would no longer feel the warmth emanating from his student, where he could feel the dullness of infinity coating him once again.
He kept dreading and dreading, the pit of uneasiness in his stomach reminding him he could lose this all any day when those rose-tinted lenses shattered and Yuuji realized that maybe Satoru wasn’t worth it. Until he realizes one day, after weeks spent in each other's company, enough time to wear off any hero-worship, that’s just how Yuuji was. All friendly smiles, bright eyes, warm hugs, and physical affection. All genuine care and appreciation for Satoru, that none of it was fake, and he wasn’t about to lose the care and something bloomed in his chest, suffocating him, leaving him breathless because it felt nice, it felt so so so nice, to know he was cared for, that he mattered to someone because he was simply Satoru.
Losing Yuuji the first time made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Not after Suguru. But even back then it wasn’t this strong, this all-consuming rage and pain that filled him made his whole body throb, made him ache, soaking into him, drowning him. He wanted to scream and shout and to destroy, wanted the whole world to feel his misery and agony. It wasn’t fair, why did he have to lose everyone he ever cared for, why did he have to lose one of the few people who cared for him, who could see him for him. Was this heavenly retribution? An exchange for his power? A way for nature to remind him, even he, the mortal god wasn’t above death?
He wanted to kill those elders, to destroy them, to rip them apart piece by piece, wanted to afflict all sorts of punishments, to leave them in unending agony for eternity. To make them hurt, to make them feel the same pain he was feeling because his precious student was dead, dead with his heart ripped and thrown away. All because of their greed and fear that they would be overtaken, that their power and influence would be diminished.
His student was dead, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
.
.
.
.
.
And then he came back, came back to them, came back to him and the four of them were reunited and everything felt whole again, aligned like a great conjunction, in balance and harmony.
And so it began with late-night movie sessions, huddled in blankets, surrounded by scattered DVDs, of overly processed snacks and drinks, watching dramatic action, cheap horror, and cheesy romance movies. It began with coming back after a long and tiring mission to see a bento of home-cooked food waiting for him. It began with him dropping by the dorms more often to just see them, to just talk to them, to just spend time with them. It began with inside jokes and teasing until rosy pinks dusted their cheeks until permanent smiles were etched on their faces with glittering curved eyes from tears of laughter. It began with planned day trips to cities like Yokohama and Fukuoka, from museums to parks, to zoos, to sightseeing tours. It began with late-night trips, karaoke, and midnight pizza.
It continued with little gifts left in offices, in classrooms, in student dorms, gifts of small trinkets and keychains, and sweets in cute little boxes after missions. It continued with picnics under cherry blossom trees with sticky fruit, overstuffed sandwiches, and cold drinks, and soft sunlight beaming down on them through the viridescent leaves and blooming blush-coloured flowers of the sakura trees. It continued with trips to the beach with the waves of illuminating blue, sparkling and shimmering, lapping at their feet, soft golden sand sinking them, to see the bright sun shine down upon them, enveloping them with halos of light setting them aglow.
And it began and continued with his students trusting him wholeheartedly and completely because in their eyes he was their teacher, their mentor, and they trusted him because he said so, because they believed in him, believed in his words and promises of protection.
(And Satoru wanted nothing more than to prove that it wasn’t misplaced faith and trust, so please, please please, just let them stay by his side.)
It was Winter again which meant cold days and tired mornings. The windows were frosted with swirly icy patterns and outside a thick layer of snow coated the grass and paths, the sun shining high in the sky did little against the decorated wonderland. A picturesque winter morning.
Satoru awoke in his room at the dorms, the sun glaring through the small slit in the curtains. He had decided last night to crash Yuuji’s bi-weekly movie night session (which was just an excuse for Yuuji to rewatch The Hunger Games for the nth time). He checked his phone and let out an annoyed groan at the illuminated two p.m that shone brightly. He laid in bed, absorbing the warmth and comfort he was provided. His eyes blinking tiredly, drifting in and out of sleep. When was the last time he felt so content and relaxed?
Just as he was drifting off again he heard noises outside his door and hushed loud whispers of his students. They weren’t as quiet as they believed they were. Then the noises completely dissipated until loud knocks broke the silence once more.
“Not so hard you idiot, you’re supposed to knock on the door, not punch a hole through it,” Nobara reprimanded, scoffing at Yuuji and his inhuman strength.
“I’m not stupid, I know how to knock, I’m just nervous.”
Oh? Yuuji was nervous? That was surprising, he smiled mischievously against his pillow, rolled out from the comfort of his bed, stretched out his limbs, and cracked and popped his fingers, the sound oddly satisfying. He slowly shuffled to his door, if his students were knocking nervously on his door as indicated by Nobara, they must have gotten themselves into some sort of mess. He snickered lightly to himself, he hoped it was something funny that happened, maybe they lost a dare. Either way, as their benevolent teacher, he will take care and clean up their mess.
Satoru was always one for theatrics, ready to greet his cute students as obnoxiously loud and high pitched as possible, opened his door, words on the tip of his tongue died down and he promptly froze
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SENSEI,” the trio cheered excitedly, looking up at him with wide eyes and smiles.
Oh.
Oh.
He looked at Nobara who was grinning with a bouquet of red roses, Megumi with lips tilted, holding three wrapped terribly presents decorated with tiny reindeers and Christmas trees, and Yuuji beaming at him with a homemade cake in his hands. A ‘Happy Birthday Gojo-Sensei’ was written in red icing along with a tiny chibi drawing of him in the corner, with misshapen blue blobs for eyes.
He let out a breath he wasn't aware of holding, they remembered his birthday when even he had forgotten it. They surprised him with presents and cake when no one had done so in years. He could feel the love he held for them flooding his entire body, blanketing him in warmth.
When he failed to speak up, Yuuji took it as a sign that there was some sort of misunderstanding. “Sorry Sensei! We wanted to buy you a cake from your favourite bakery but we didn't realize it was closed on Sundays. We baked this cake together instead.” The other two nodded with his explanation.
God, these adorable idiots thought his silence was due to the lack of a bakery-bought cake.
He stared at them, their youthful faces, their bright eyes that have already seen and experienced so much in such a short time. And despite all that, they continued to stand strong, full of determination and hope for a better future, a better life. Satoru’s mind was filled with sudden clarity and ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘So this is what family is.’
The trio stared at their Sensei, unsure of what else they could say, as silence filled space between them, their Sensei now acting unusually quiet. They watched as his frozen expression slowly morphed and changed, his lips took the form of a gentle smile with curved lips, and his unmasked eyes which were like ocean, the skies, and sparkled like blue liquidized sapphires and diamonds were gentle and warm. He looked at them with such softness and tenderness that the trio froze. The fondness in his gaze was overwhelming and the only perceptible sound was their quiet breaths of anticipation.
“Come in and let’s eat in my room for today,” Satoru said, stepping aside and motioning to the round mahogany table in the middle of his room, delight and emotion dripping off his voice like honey. The joy he felt right now was immeasurable, boundless, limitless.
This family of his, might not be the conventional sort but it was his. As long as he had them, he had a home, a place to turn to, a place to just be Satoru.
At 29 years old Gojo Satoru finally had a family to call his own.
And he’d never let them go.