The halls of Jujutsu High Tech carried the weight of tradition, each step echoing with whispered legacies. Shikumi and Fukazu walked with calm professionalism, exchanging formal greetings with the higher-ups. Their visit was brief—more out of obligation than anything else.
But the real reason for their return after nearly a decade was simple: to finally release the dead weight they'd been dragging for years. The guilt had worn them thin. They could no longer live like this.
As they descended the stone steps, voices floated up from below.
"—Shikumi? Fukazu?"
Gojo Satoru appeared, bounding up the steps with that usual grin. He'd recognized their cursed energy immediately. Unique, nearly undetectable—evidence of their mastery in suppression.
"Oh, good timing," Fukazu muttered under his breath.
"Gojo Satoru. You've grown," Shikumi said, her voice even, though a faint amusement lingered beneath it.
"You two haven't changed at all," Gojo grinned, stopping a few steps below. Hands in pockets, casual as ever. "When did you get back? It's been what…?"
"Eight years," Fukazu answered.
"Hehhh~ That long already?" Gojo tilted his head. "So, what brings you back?"
"To greet the higher-ups," Shikumi sighed.
"Those fossils?" Gojo scoffed. "You're wasting your breath."
Shikumi's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "You haven't changed either, huh?"
For a moment, the three stood in quiet familiarity. Time hadn't shifted their dynamic, not entirely. But behind the couple's calm expressions was something heavier—unspoken.
Shikumi and Fukazu exchanged a look. A silent agreement.
"Gojo," Shikumi said at last, "we were actually on our way to find you."
"That's a little strange," he drawled. "Since when did I become anyone's favorite?"
She exhaled. "You're one of the few logical people in this system. You understand it from the inside. You know it's broken. Corrupted. You understand where we're coming from."
Gojo blinked. "That sounds… serious."
"There's something we need your help with," she continued. "And it's personal."
"Depends on what it is," he said, raising an eyebrow. "But I don't mind having you two owe me one."
Fukazu cleared his throat. "We have a daughter."
Gojo's smirk faltered.
"Since when?"
"Her name is Riwaka Aimi," Shikumi said. "She was born twenty years ago. It's been eight years since we last saw her."
The name hit Gojo like a jolt.
That explains it. Everything made sense now.
"Well, well. I reallyyyy didn't see that one coming."
"No one did," Shikumi said calmly. "We kept her existence secret—as much as humanly possible."
Fukazu added, "Because we wanted her to have a normal life. The daughter of two of the strongest sorcerers wouldn't have been left alone. You know that best, don't you?"
Gojo's expression sobered. "So why tell me now?"
"Because we're planning to tell her," Shikumi said. "She deserves to know. But we won't be staying in Japan long. If she ever chooses to enter this world…"
"You want me to protect her?" Gojo clicked his tongue, nodding slowly.
"And if she doesn't?" he asked. "If she wants nothing to do with it?"
"Then you leave her alone," Fukazu said flatly. "No one else is to know. And you will not interfere."
"That's going to be hard."
"Don't challenge us, Gojo," Shikumi's tone dropped.
"If something happens to her—" Fukazu began.
"We will make sure Japan does not have a 'tomorrow,'" Shikumi finished, her voice like ice.
The threat hung in the air.
Gojo shrugged, unbothered. "What a threat. You're challenging the strongest sorcerer~"
"Tsk." Fukazu exhaled. "We owe you one. Let's leave it at that."
"Hmmm~" Gojo hummed, still smiling.
Shikumi's expression softened. "She's suffered enough."
Their meeting ended with a simple nod from Gojo—understanding, yet still surprised.
The couple turned and descended the steps, their figures soon lost in mist.
In the taxi, silence filled the space between them. The closer they got to "home"—to Aimi—the heavier it felt. Even in the face of special-grade curses, they'd never felt this kind of dread.
Aimi pushed open the door to her house, her body weighed down from another exhausting day.
Immediately, she sensed something was off.
Her golden eyes landed on the shoe rack. Two unfamiliar pairs of shoes sat beside hers: polished loafers and sleek black heels.
Not Gojo's. Not hers.
She didn't know anyone who would visit unannounced—let alone act like they belonged here.
Heart tightening, she stepped deeper into the house. The dining room lights were on. She was sure she had turned them off. Distant voices echoed.
Aimi froze in the doorway.
Two people sat at her dining table.
Her... parents?
Her brain struggled to register it.
Shikumi stood slowly. Fukazu remained seated, hands folded.
"Mi-chan," her mother whispered. "You're home."
"We've been waiting for you," her father said. "I'm glad you're safe."
Aimi didn't move. Her mind reeled. Eight years. Eight long, brutal years. No calls. No replies. Just... nothing. She had learned to survive alone.
And now they were here?
"Mi-chan, take a seat."
Her jaw clenched. "Excuse me. What are you two doing here?"
"Mi-chan, we—" Shikumi tried.
"Don't," Aimi cut her off. "Don't call me that. Don't act like you have the right."
Shikumi flinched.
Fukazu stepped forward. "Aimi, just listen."
"Listen? To what?"
"We—"
"No."
Silence.
"For eight years I waited," her voice shook. "Every single day I hoped you'd come back. Just to explain something. Anything. But you vanished. And now—now, when I've finally stopped waiting—you show up and ask me to listen?"
They said nothing.
"I had to rebuild everything. Piece by piece. Crying myself to sleep for years, wondering what I did wrong to make my own parents leave." Her eyes burned. "Don't act like nothing happened."
"We're not," Shikumi said quietly, her voice trembling. "We care more than anything. We didn't leave because something was wrong with you."
Aimi stepped back with a bitter laugh. "Of course not. I was twelve. What could a kid possibly do to deserve abandonment?"
She stared them down.
"I don't want parents. I don't need any. Leave."
Silence crushed the room.
Even Aimi was startled by her own words.
Shikumi's eyes filled with tears.
Fukazu cleared his throat. "We know nothing we say will undo the pain. But we're here because you deserve the truth."
Aimi didn't reply.
"We didn't want this," Shikumi said. "We came back because we owe you the truth, Aimi."
Aimi clenched her fists, forcing her tears back. Her throat burned.
"Please," Shikumi said softly. "Just listen."
She reached out.
"Don't." Aimi moved past her and sat down on her own.
The two followed suit, their movements heavy.
"There's a secret about the world you live in," Fukazu began, "one that most people never see."
"There's another side to reality. One that's been hidden for centuries. It's filled with curses—monsters born from negative emotions. They kill. Possess. Eat."
Aimi frowned. "What…?"
"It's real," Shikumi added. "Please, just let us finish."
Aimi exhaled through her nose. Her face unreadable.
"This world is kept hidden so society can function in peace. Most people can't even see curses."
Fukazu leaned forward. "But there are people trained to fight them. Exorcise them. They're called sorcerers."
"And we…"
"…are sorcerers."