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Rustic, secluded retreat deep in the heart of nature , he said. Absolutely relaxing and stress-free , he said. Come on, it’ll be fun , he said.
Minato should’ve known something was fishy when Ogura suddenly reached out to invite him on a weekend mountain retreat. His childhood friend may be five years out of university and working a respectable job, but he hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to trade-in his hedonistic, partying lifestyle for one that included relaxing weekend hikes.
They hadn’t really been in touch for years, outside of occasionally leaving a ‘like’ on each others’ social media posts, so perhaps the chance to reconnect had been tempting. After some initial hesitation, he accepted the invite mainly out of a sense of nostalgia.
Minato had assumed they were going to be staying at one of the nice converted teahouses where most day hikers were based. However, Ogura’s coordinates took him far deeper into the woods than he’d ever been. It was basically dark by the time he reached the spot, a large, traditional wooden house at the end of an unlit road. The only sign of modern life was Ogura’s parked car and the man himself smoking moodily on the porch under a dim light. A faded old headboard proclaimed the place to be Akamorino Inn above his head.
“Where the hell did you find this place?” He asked at the first opportunity. “It looks like something out of a horror movie.”
Ogura laughed weakly. He looked tired, unwashed and not at all in the mood for a holiday. “I’m glad you came. I really needed your help, Natto-kun.”
Those words made Minato uneasy immediately, although the use of his childhood nickname soothed some of his anxiety. Ogura always had a penchant for getting into trouble when they were younger –- He was a rash guy with a quick temper, often getting into fights, but also fiercely loyal to his friends.
“What are you talking about? What happened?”
The other man just shook his head mutely and motioned him inside the house. The entrance lobby was also empty, but two pairs of slippers had been laid out for them, suggesting the presence of a host.
“I told the innkeeper to go home earlier,” Ogura explained shortly. “We’re the only guests tonight and she lives closer to the town, 10 minutes drive away.”
The unseen innkeeper had left them a nice bento dinner, still warm, which they ate mostly in silence. He tried to get more information out of Ogura, but the man, who now seemed distant and unfamiliar, offered little engagement. At one point, Ogura seemed like he wanted to make some kind of confession, but he swallowed the words back and shook his head, merely repeating: “I’m glad you came.”
Maybe he’ll find it easier to speak in the morning , Minato thought to himself, with some fresh air and sunlight .
To be fair, he was also exhausted from the long drive and quite thankful to be able to escape into separate rooms after Ogura called it a night, saying that they needed to be up early tomorrow. The inn was very clean for all that it was creaky and old, but he found the dim lighting and complete darkness outside to be oppressive and had little desire to explore. After a quick wash-up, he slipped into the futon that had been laid out and closed his eyes.
Some time later - he had no way to gauge, although everything was still dark so it couldn’t have been more than a few hours - Minato was woken up from his restless slumber by the faint, wet sounds of mastication. Like someone was painstakingly eating a very large, very undercooked steak.
It sounded sloppy and sickeningly slow, and like it was coming from the very next room. Ogura’s room.
The stress and unease that had been adding up since his arrival at this place prevented him from falling back into sleep. After a few moments of listening to that strange, unsettling sound, Minato crawled carefully out of his futon and peeked out into the corridor.
His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the deep darkness in the hallway, but he soon made out the pale outline of a human arm stretched across the hardwood floor...
Following the length of that arm, his gaze was met by the lifeless, unblinking eyes of Ogura, whose upper torso was flopped across the threshold, twitching slightly in time to the now much clearer sounds of chewing that emitted from within the other room. The parts below Ogura’s shoulders were hidden behind the door, as was whatever monster that was making those disgusting, godawful sounds.
Putting a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming, Minato slowly retreated back into his room.
He ended up hiding in the dusty futon closet which smelt of mildew and mothballs, with sweat soaking into his thin sleep shirt while his fingers slowly went numb from being so tightly clenched. The only remaining sound was the thumping of his own heartbeat, so loud he feared it might give him away, but still not loud enough to drown out the memory of that revolting crunching noise, the sound of raw flesh and bones being crushed between inhuman teeth…
Minato desperately regretted taking his watch off before going to sleep. It might be slightly less maddening if he had an actual sense of time, if he just knew how long he’d have to hold out before morning comes or this nightmare ends. He couldn’t even gauge how long he’d been in this closet, his heart jackhammering while he hardly dared to breathe.
Was Ogura’s body fully consumed by now? Those eyes, that arm? Was the monster in his room going to come looking for fresh prey?
The sliding closet door, a flimsy wooden board, hardly offered much protection. After much internal debate, he decided to keep it open by just a sliver, so that he could still peek out into the room on the other side. Maybe, hopefully, he would eventually see sunlight instead of his own oncoming death.
Time crawled by like a slug along a sunbaked pavement, coating his consciousness with an unpleasant residue of ever-increasing paranoia. It was exhausting to remain on such high alert, staring unblinking out through the small gap in the closet door and listening carefully for any single sound that wasn’t his heart thundering in its ribcage.
After what felt like an eternity, he heard it –- The faint, animalistic sound of panting. Accompanied by the distinctive click-clacking of large, clawed feet padding against lacquered wooden floor.
His entire body stiffened, frozen like a rabbit realising that there was a fox sniffing right outside its burrow. Very slowly, he stretched out his trembling fingers to quietly close up the gap in the closet door, glimpsing, as the very last bit of light disappeared, the impression of a shadow falling across the tatami just beyond.
The darkness within the closet enclosed him like a tomb, or a womb. It felt quite fitting to die here. In fact, he’d rather die here, peacefully and silently, then be chewed up like meat as Ogura probably had been…Minato didn’t even have the heart to blame his childhood friend for any of this now. He merely lamented that he didn’t have a sharp blade with which he might end his own agony.
He shouldn’t have taken off his watch. He should’ve kept his pocket knife in his pocket. He shouldn’t have responded to Ogura’s invitation. He should’ve stayed home. So many shoulds and shouldn’ts, all useless at this point.
The sound of panting was closer now, followed by a low rumbling noise, a little like a growl but also akin a deep, contented purr. He closed his eyes and held his breath, hoping against all hope that whatever it was outside the door might simply lose interest and leave.
It didn’t.
But instead of sharp claws and sharper teeth, he was pulled back to reality by a young, unfamiliar voice saying: “I won’t hurt you. Will you come out?”
The unexpected question made Minato jerk up in surprise. He instinctively reached out to open the closet door, then stopped himself with his fingers still on the frame, waiting for another sign that there was something actually human on the other side. The voice sounded young, too young to be out here in the middle of the night.
“My name is Fushiguro,” the young voice continued, patient and steady, “I’m a Jujutsu-shi in training and I’m here to help you.”
Minato was so desperate for that offer of help that he finally pulled the closet door open by an inch. Through that tiny gap, he saw a pale-faced boy flanked by what looked like two large hounds, one entirely black and the other entirely white, each so big they came almost up to the kid’s chest. They made a surreal picture under the moonlight.
“Come with me,” the kid – Fushiguro – beseeched solemnly with an incompatibly serious look on his smooth young face. “I’ll escort you to safety.”
He couldn’t be much older than ten, clearly still a grade schooler and dressed like one too -- wearing a light autumn jacket over a simple white shirt that was printed with cartoon figures and, in large cheerful letters, the words “TOKYO DISNEYLAND”. It looked like he should be on his way home from school, not out here in the woods, promising to save grown men from man-eating monsters straight out of a horror movie.
“Can you walk?” Fushiguro asked, frowning with concern at his gape-mouthed silence. After a beat, he offered out a small, fragile-looking hand. “I’m not strong enough to carry you out,” he said apologetically, “And you don’t look injured. It’s best if you can walk by yourself.”
Minato took the proffered hand shakily, more out of a need to reassure himself that this boy was real than out of any need for physical support. He was quickly hauled upright by a surprisingly firm grip. His legs still felt weak and wobbly, but he had no problems keeping up when little Fushiguro started leading him out by the hand.
“T-thanks,” he finally stammered out, his first word to the boy.
Fushiguro nodded briefly, almost professional and business-like in his manner. He then turned to his hounds and ordered: “ Gyokuken , clear the way.”
The two hounds perked up at the command, but the black one whined slightly in doleful protest. Fushiguro rubbed its ear gently with his free hand while chastising it with a stern, adult-like tone. “You know the drill. Priority is to get the civilian to safety first. You’ll get to eat your fill later, I promise.”
The two dogs – were they really dogs? They seemed to be the size of wolves – circled their little master, rubbing against him like clingy kids before bolting out, presumably to clear the way for them as ordered.
Ogura’s lifeless torso was nowhere to be seen when they stepped out into the corridor after Fushiguro’s hounds. The door to Ogura’s room was now firmly shut and completely silent. Minato would happily accept that it was all just a hallucination if not for the strange, solemn child beside him.
“You can see them,” Fushiguro noted as he led them along the dark, empty hallway. The boy’s tone was neutral, just a statement of observation, neither hostile nor encouraging.
“Erm, your dogs? Yeah.” Minato acknowledged awkwardly, not understanding why that needed to be pointed out.
“And the other… things ,” Fushiguro prompted.
He meant the monster that had consumed Ogura, clearly.
“I only…heard it.” Minato answered in a tentative whisper.
It ought to feel wrong, following behind a child and relying on them for protection like this, but Fushiguro didn’t act much like a kid. There was an unusual composure about him, which made him seem a lot older than his age. However, up close like this, it was easy to see that Fushiguro was really just a slip of a boy, slender and little more than half his height, with a wrist so thin it felt like he could snap it like a twig.
“Alright,” Fushiguro noted, tone still neutral, but face turned away so his expression could not be seen.
“Is that a bad thing?” Minato asked carefully, still mindful to remain as silent as possible while they navigated the hallways in a mysterious pattern that only the boy seemed to know. The inn didn’t look so big from the outside, but it felt like a maze now.
Fushiguro merely shrugged, which wasn't very informative.
Soon, they rounded a corner and entered a long, narrow corridor lined on one side by a row of large windows. There was nothing but dark woods and a bright sickle moon outside. They’d made it almost halfway across when the light drip of a droplet on his cheek made Minato stop dead in his tracks.
Slowly and with dread, he lifted his head to see a patch of squirming darkness spreading across the ceiling. Little drooling mouths full of teeth were emerging from within, stretching wider and wider as the darkness writhed.
“RUN!” A sharp jerk from the little hand holding onto his pulled him out of his horrified reverie.
Minato needed no further warning to start sprinting for the end of the corridor like the very gates of hell were opening behind him, quickly overtaking the much smaller boy who’d been leading the way. Without thinking, he picked Fushiguro up, tucking the kid under his arm like a sack of rice as he continued running for his life.
“ Gyokuken !” He heard the boy gasp out between sharp pants, followed quickly by answering howls that might have sounded reassuring if they hadn’t also sounded so distant. The boy tsked, then made a complicated gesture with his hands. The howls stopped abruptly.
What are you doing? Call them here! Minato wanted to shout, but there wasn’t any air left in his lungs. He’d almost made it to the end of the corridor when he felt his feet catch on something, tripping him forwards. White hot pain shot up his left ankle and he barely managed to twist out of the way to avoid crushing the boy under him.
The shock and pain stunned him for a second but adrenaline kept him focused. He tried to scramble up again, but was brought down by another bolt of agony in his ankle. The wet, viscous sound of drooling mouths mixed with unintelligible cooing, like a hundred hungry infants, compelled him to turn around, only to be confronted by the sight of the monstrosity that had now fully materialised out from the ceiling behind them.
It was a nightmarish sight…and Minato couldn’t help but recall that final, vacant look in Ogura’s lifeless eyes as he stared transfixed up at it.
Small hands pulled at his collar, then his sleeves, trying to get him up on his feet again, but he shook his head in despair. “Leave me,” he told Fushiguro, shoving the kid away from him. “I can’t run anymore. Save yourself!”
The boy looked winded as well. He was breathing hard from exertion, with his collar askew and lips pressed into a tight grimace. However, there was somehow no panic in his eyes. His gaze was cold and calm as it turned towards the gruesome creature that was writhing towards them, something dangerous and determined glinting within its depths.
He didn’t look like a child in that moment, but like a little god of death, clad in moonlight and shadows.
“ Orochi ,” Fushiguro gritted out, suddenly holding one hand up to the windows. His fingers were curved into an elegant and deliberate pattern, casting the shadow of a wide-jawed, hissing snake onto the floor.
Was this the time for hand puppetry and games? Minato wondered for an absurd moment, but his confusion quickly turned into stupefaction as the head of a giant serpent began rearing up from the shadows before them. It was so large it seemed to fill the entire corridor even though only a fraction of its bulk had emerged. He glanced quickly back towards Fushiguro, whose already pale face had gone almost bloodless and translucent in obvious strain.
Whatever the boy was doing to summon this snake, it was clearly taking a toll on his young body.
The monstrosity that had been stalking them down the corridor paused, a wriggling mess of black sludge and ravenous mouths, seemingly wary of this new and unexpected opponent.
“ Orochi , bite.” Fushiguro ordered hoarsely through clenched teeth.
The giant snake swayed its head for a moment, then lazily unhinged its jaws and lunged without warning, taking a large bite out of the monster with deadly and effortless grace. The monster’s many mouths simultaneously let out an ear-piercing scream, then it disintegrated quickly into tiny fragments of black sludge, splattering against the floor and walls, and slipping away before the enormous serpent could turn to take another bite out of it.
A second passed, then two. Fushiguro’s knees hit the ground at the third and his serpent melted away into a puddle of liquid shadows. The kid crumpled down to all fours, panting and soaked in sweat, looking very much like he was about to faint.
“Hey, are you okay?” Minato asked urgently, reaching out to steady the boy. However, his movement was stopped short by an abrupt and blinding flash of light. He yelped, squinting in surprise and horror as the flash was followed quickly by another, and another, and another in quick succession.
A whole series of flashes later, the onslaught finally stopped and revealed the very human form of a tall, white-haired man. The flashes had been coming from a camera phone in his hand.
This strange newcomer was dressed all in black and wearing a pair of sunglasses despite the nighttime darkness. His hair was white, but his face was young and what could only be described as…classically beautiful –- in the way a marble statue was beautiful. He looked about university-age, or maybe a bit older, and was carrying what looked to be a grade-schooler’s backpack over one shoulder.
“Wow, seems like you really overdid it, Megumi,” the man grinned as he bent down to peer at the curled up, exhausted form of Fushiguro. He held up his phone again, twisting and turning several times to find a better angle before taking a few more photographs –- this time all selfies of himself with Fushiguro in the background.
What the fuck , Minato thought, too bewildered by this bizarre new development to decide on an appropriate response. The newcomer was clearly familiar with Fushiguro; he’d finally tucked his phone away and was now squatting in front of the boy, idly brushing sweaty hair out of the boy's eyes.
“...I’m fine,” Fushiguro hissed out, weakly batting the man’s hand away as he pushed himself up to his knees. “I can handle this on my own.”
“I see someone’s being stubborn,” the man made a face as he jerked a thumb towards Minato. “How’re you planning to get this guy out of here hmm? You gonna drag him along by the hair?”
Minato’s scalp tightened involuntarily at that mental image and he looked to Fushiguro with apprehension. “Maybe you could find me a crutch?” He suggested timidly.
The boy’s lips twitched in what looked like annoyance. Instead of answering Minato, he confronted the white-haired man with a frown. “The mission brief said there’s only supposed to be a low grade 3 cursed spirit. It shouldn’t be attacking people directly and certainly shouldn’t be this strong.”
“So why didn’t you report the situation to me immediately when you noticed something wrong?” The man asked pointedly, his words sounding somehow acerbic despite the light-hearted tone. “You wanted to play the hero and test your own limits.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero!” Fushiguro snapped, breaking his unnatural calm for the first time that night and suddenly seeming more like his age. “I had things under control. I can’t turn to you for every little thing if I’m supposed to be on a solo mission.”
The man chuckled like he’d just heard a funny joke. “A solo mission, Megumi? How ambitious. But let’s set some attainable goals first –- like building up enough stamina for you to summon Orochi for more than 30 seconds at a go. I think what you need is more cardio, less missions.”
“And you need to stop changing the goalposts. Last week you said I needed more field experience.”
“You do,” the man scoffed as he stood up swiftly, “Being lacking in one thing doesn’t mean you don’t lack in others. Slow down, Megumi, why are you in such a hurry to grow up?”
“...You’re the one who told me not to get left behind,” the kid remarked softly, after a beat.
Minato wanted to remind them that they were still stuck in an inn with a deadly monster, but just couldn’t find the right moment to interrupt. He could see that they’d pretty much forgotten about him, caught up in some on-going argument that was entirely none of his business. It was like walking in mid-way through a movie and not being able to understand much of the dialogue.
Fortunately, Fushiguro’s last words seemed to have unlocked something between the pair, perhaps stirring an old memory or tickling an old scar. Whatever it was, it made the white-haired man sigh dramatically and throw up his hands in a motion of surrender.
“Fine! You can continue. But this dude here still can’t walk right? What do you plan to do about that?”
“Please fix him,” Fushiguro requested matter-of-factly, without even pausing to think.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man accepted almost as quickly, which was somewhat surprising given his earlier attitude. He then turned to look properly at Minato for the first time since he showed up.
Minato suddenly felt an intense, assessing gaze on him even though he couldn’t see the others’ eyes behind those dark, opaque lenses. It made him flinch away instinctively when the man dropped down to one knee in front of him, notwithstanding the vaguely friendly grin on his perfectly symmetrical face.
“Try not to move,” the man ordered, all casual like a dentist telling his patient to relax, “This should only hurt a little.”
Without any further warning, he reached out with a finger and tapped the area just above Minato’s sprained ankle lightly. There was a distinct popping sound and another agonising stab of pain as the ankle joint suddenly snapped back into place. It felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut, and it was only when the pain started fading that Minato realised that he hadn’t even been able to scream.
“Right, come on,” the man said, dusting off his pants as he stood back up, “You should be able to get up now.”
“Are you okay, mister?” Fushiguro asked from beside him. The boy had edged over and was once again holding out a hand to him.
Minato reached out gratefully for the helping hand, but the man with white hair intercepted and grabbed his wrist instead, smoothly pulling him up and slinging his arm around the other’s shoulder, jostling the school bag which was already there. He was really tall, so tall that Minato felt his heels being lifted straight off the ground before the man tilted to adjust their position. At least that gave him an opportunity to gingerly test his ankle and be assured that the pain had dulled to a manageable level.
“I’ve got you,” The man said, giving him a jackal-like smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here to save all our asses if Megumi screws up.”
“Erm, thank you?” Minato replied awkwardly. “Who are you guys exactly?”
“We’re Jujutsu-shi,” Fushiguro answered at the same time as the man said “You can think of us as Batman and Robin.”
The word ‘Jujutsu-shi’ explained nothing, but Batman and Robin he understood. Minato raised an eyebrow as Fushiguro scowled at the description.
“This is Gojo. He’s my…supervisor,” the boy introduced reluctantly. “You’ll be safe with him.”
“So what’s going to happen now?” Minato asked.
“That depends on Megumi,” Gojo shrugged. “He wants to be in charge.”
Ignoring them, Fushiguro clasped his hands together, fingers folding easily into another shadowplay configuration. “ Gyokuken !” He summoned.
Two familiar hounds rose out of the shadows around him, growling and snuffling in agitation. They immediately rushed to their little master, who hugged them close by the neck and stroked over their fur with comforting pats, all the while muttering softly: “I’m sorry I made you worry…”
“He’s never this nice to me,” Gojo joked to Minato, who merely stared back, not knowing what to say.
When their little moment of reunion was over, Fushiguro directed the white hound to lead the way while keeping the black one by his side. “They’ll find us a way out. Let’s hurry before the cursed spirit tries to attack again.”
They were still stuck in Akamorino Inn, its hallways still dead and empty, the night was still deep and dark, but the atmosphere had entirely changed.
This was mainly thanks to the presence of Gojo, who walked with an assured, leisurely gait, completely unaffected by the fact that he was supporting more than half of Minato’s body weight. He sniggered when Fushiguro’s black hound paused at a junction, unsure of where to turn, causing it to whip around with a dirty look and half-hearted growl. He even started heckling Fushiguro when they appeared to pass the same stairway twice.
“Your puppies are lost, aren’t they? I’m pretty sure we’ve been here before.”
“You’re not helping,” Fushiguro glared.
“I need to be back in Tokyo by 10am, Megumi,” Gojo continued needling, in a tone that sounded close to a pouty whine, “I have a reservation for brunch in Roppongi. I’ll let you tag along if you wrap this up within the next 15 minutes.”
“Please be quiet. Something’s coming.”
“Oh finally! About time.” Gojo yawned and stretched his neck as he retreated by a few steps to back lean against the wall. He then fished his phone out from his pocket and switched it to camera mode, holding it up to film Fushiguro. The boy had crouched down with a frown, listening intently for something with his hound curled protectively by his side.
“Shouldn’t we…help?” Minato whispered to Gojo while hanging uselessly off his shoulder, nervous about whatever impending threat the boy had sensed.
“Do you want any help, Megumi?” Gojo asked Fushiguro loudly instead of answering him.
The boy ignored them, looking out at the stairway as he folded his fingers into another complex shape, probably in preparation to summon something else. His white hound had returned and both hounds had started approaching the stairwell cautiously.
Minato watched on with apprehension as the two hounds disappeared down the stairs, then - very suddenly - the floor beneath them exploded into a sea of slobbering mouths and snapping teeth. He startled and grabbed desperately onto Gojo, only to realise that they weren’t affected at all by the unexpected ambush. Instead, they appeared to be suspended a few inches off the floor, although it still felt exactly like he was stepping on solid ground.
Fushiguro seemed to have disappeared. Minato looked around wildly in panic, then finally spotted him –- hanging off the ceiling, held securely there by what looked to be the tongues of several large toads.
“Did you think I would fall for that distraction?” he asked the writhing monster beneath him coldly. “Gyokuken. Time to feast.”
His hounds burst out from the shadows just beneath the stairwell, causing the monster to let out a horrific screech as they ripped viciously into it with razor-sharp teeth and claws. What happened next made for a gruesome and terrifying scene, but -- between the confident levity of Gojo and the stoic determination of Fushiguro -- Minato did not, for even a second, feel unsafe.
The strange duo brought Minato to the innkeepers’ house after Fushiguro’s hounds had fully consumed the monster, enabling them to finally locate the exit. The innkeeper, a diminutive elderly woman, seemed to have been expecting them as she had stayed up with the lights on. However, she went pale when told that Minato was one of the guests.
“She’s never tried to attack the guests before,” she said faintly, as if she was trying to convince herself. “She'd never put anyone in danger.”
It ate my fucking friend , Minato wanted to shout, but he was too exhausted to start a fight with a little old lady who was apparently senile enough to refer to the monster in her inn by the feminine pronoun.
“We believe you, ma’am. But we suspect the curse evolved last night,” Gojo had explained, acting for once like the adult in the room. “We’ve called in the police. They’ll probably be here in the morning.”
“What do I tell them about what happened tonight?” Minato asked dryly just before they departed.
“Tell them you were saved by Batman and Robin,” Gojo said, giving him a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin.
Fushiguro elbowed his ‘supervisor’ and offered, only slightly more helpfully: “Just tell the police the truth. But don’t bother spreading word about all this. No one will believe you.”
The two of them were picked up by a nondescript black sedan with tinted windows and Minato saw Fushiguro leaning tiredly into Gojo’s side as they walked out. The older man had placed a gentle guiding hand around his shoulder. “You can sleep in the car,” Gojo’s fading voice was saying, “We’ll be back in Tokyo just in time to freshen up and head out for brunch…”
The police found the body of a dead, dismembered woman in Ogura’s car boot. Forensics indicated that she was in the early stages of pregnancy and killed no more than three days ago, which was about the time he'd received Ogura's invitation to this mountain retreat.
They never found Ogura’s body.
Minato tried his best to erase what happened that night from his memories. However, he bought a framed poster of Batman and Robin from a novelty store and hung it up in his bedroom.
.