Chapter Text
Midnight in Tokyo. The outward neighborhoods of the Japanese metropolis were quiet and dark, dotted with the faint lights of streetlamps lining the city blocks. Further inward to the city, skyscrapers towered above, scattered lights of office and apartment spaces illuminating like fractured constellations.
A youthful-looking woman was walking in these streets all by her lonesome. Her appearance was marked by side-swept black hair and a distinct scar running horizontally across her forehead. The hood of the sweatshirt she wore concealed this facial disfigurement. Her shoes were scuffed with dirt and grime, gradually worn out from a long trek from the forested hills on the outskirts of town to downtown Tokyo. Her expression seemed indifferent and absentminded, yet her eyes worked with cold, robotic precision, as if she were patiently and methodically planning for centuries in advance.
As she walked around the city, her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She answered, and a male voice on the other end greeted her.
“How did it go, Kaori?” the voice asked.
“Not great, but not terrible either,” the scarred woman, Kaori, answered. “Volcano-head didn’t listen—he really tried to take Gojo on his own. I swear, the part of his head where his brain should be is only filled with lava. Frankly, he ought to be lucky that I brought along Hanami, or we’d be short one idiot by now.”
Kaori could feel the man on the other side of the phone call shaking his head in equal frustration.
“Typical. Always been the stubborn and reckless one. If he’s that arrogant against Satoru Gojo, who knows how he would fare against Sukuna?” he remarked. “Anything else happened?”
Kaori paused before she could answer. A faint spark lit beneath her relaxed expression. “It’s rather appropriate that you bring his name up. I saw that Yuji was there. It seemed that Gojo teleported him into the middle of it.”
The man on the other end of the call felt Kaori’s grin at the news, and the feeling was mutual. She couldn’t see his expression, but the man put his phone to the side and let out a sigh of relief. He covered his face in solace, his eyes almost watery as he picked up his phone to resume his conversation.
“Just as we anticipated, he’s still alive. Sukuna would never let his new vessel die out that easily. I assume that he’s been under Gojo’s thumb this whole time while he’s been declared ‘dead’?”
“Of course. Bet he’s been training him these past few weeks for the Tokyo school's upcoming Exchange Event. Have you finalized the plans for that day?”
“Almost. Got a few capable curse users lined up. But we’ll need more if Shibuya is going to work the way we want.”
“Perfect. We’ll talk again soon.” Kaori hung up the phone as she continued her walk in the Tokyo streets.
“You’ve grown so much, Yuji,” she murmured to herself, “I can’t wait to see more from you, my son.” Her eyes softened at the thought, not with the affection of a caring mother, but with calculated anticipation.
Kaori’s long urban trek came to an end at a dark, run-down apartment complex. She climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to her unit. However, instead of entering a cramped apartment, Kaori was welcomed into paradise.
Inside was an expansive space that resembled a tranquil tropical beach. A grove of palm trees rustled softly on one side of the domain, and on the other stretched the endless expanse of the ocean, breathing in slow, rhythmic waves, all separated by a shore of pristine white sand. A red, octopus-like creature swam in the calm waters, moving with an infant-like grace.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud. Sand shifted beneath her sneakers as she took a few steps and pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt. The warm breeze tousled her hair, carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus, while revealing the scar on her head. She stood there for a moment, allowing herself to soak it all in.
“What bliss,” Kaori sighed.
A few yards away from where she stood, a beach umbrella and chair were set up in the sand. Beneath the umbrella lounged a man in a tattered black shawl and matching black pants, casually reading a book. As Kaori approached the lounging man of mystery, his more prominent features came into view. His skin was pale, paired with stitches all across his body and face that gave him a look reminiscent of a Frankenstein-like experiment. He had long, unkempt hair; its color was a grey-blue hybrid that complemented the heterochromia in his eyes.
He glanced up to welcome her.
“Ah, you’re back,” the man greeted. “Is Jogo fine, Kaori?”
“He’ll live,” Kaori answered, “Gojo nearly destroyed him. I sent Hanami in to intercept him before things got worse.”
“Seems reckless to let him take on Gojo alone. Did you encourage that?”
“Of course I didn’t. I tried to stop him, but he was too stubborn, as always.”
As the two were having their discussion, the apartment door swung open again.
“Speak of the devil,” Kaori grinned.
She and the patched-faced man turned to see a tan, branch-loaded humanoid creature entering the domain. This supernatural figure, Hanami, was cradling something that was out of view from a distance.
As Hanami stepped onto the beach and approached the two, what they were cradling became clearer. It was a disembodied head of a cycloptic monster, with a distinct volcano-like feature on the top of his head, still smoldering from the recent skirmish he had been defeated. The head, Jogo, glared with his lone eye.
The man under the umbrella greeted the two cursed spirits with a smile, “Hanami, Jogo. I’m glad that the two of you are okay.”
“You call this okay?!” Jogo angrily reacted. The volcanic peak of his head hissed, steam rising as his annoyance built.
“Be glad you made it out with your life, Jogo,” Kaori chimed in, “You’ll be a-head of the curve with walking again eventually.” The scarred woman smirked with her snide comment, which further irritated the bodiless Jogo. He was already impatiently counting the days until his body would fully reform.
With all her supernatural cohorts finally gathered, Kaori laid out a plan: “So you all know by now the deal with Satoru Gojo. Timing is everything—we’ll need to use every advantage we have to seal him with the Prison Realm. It all happens at Shibuya on Halloween Night. Jin and I will brief you on the details later.”
Kaori turned her back towards the patched-faced man under the umbrella. “Will that work with you, Mahito?”
Mahito’s lips curled into a smile. “No objections. Let’s all act cunningly.” His calm, enigmatic tone and placid smile masked something wicked, waiting to unfurl.
“Like a curse… and a human alike.” Mahito smiled, returning to his book as if nothing more needed saying.