A/N: UPDATE!! So uh, I kinda ran out of backlogged chapters lmao. My patreon is officially providing zero bonus chapters lol. I've been burning up my backlog to keep the uploads regular, but yea, that ship's ran it's course apparently. I should finish the next chapter before next week, but after that? idk. I'm gonna try to keep to schedule (despite starting this fic by saying that I wouldn't have an upload schedule in order to avoid burning out, funny how that works) but there's a solid chance that I'm gonna have to go on a hiatus soonish literally just because there's nothing left to post.
So yeah, just giving some forewarning to that so it doesn't come outta nowhere. If(/when) I do go on hiatus, it'll just last until I have 5 backlogged chapters again, but that's for future me to think about.
Without further adeu, your chapter, good sirs(+)
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"—and then he actually dropped the Fujiwara from the sky! Didn't even try to catch him!" Yasunori bursts out in laughter as he retells Sukuna the story. He swears he nearly died laughing when it happened, it was just so out of character for Narauko to do something like that. "That was just the other day, but kami! did I have a laugh. I can't remember the last time anyone acted so brazenly against any of the Higher Ups. That might actually have been a first!"
That just made it funnier really, that it was one of the Higher Ups that he dropped from the sky, and that it was Narauko who did it.
All because they told him he couldn't be friends with Sukuna anymore~. What a laugh.
Sukuna doesn't seem to find the story quite so funny. He gets that— well, not really— okay he doesn't actually get it all.
He just knows what Narauko would say, probably. Something something, you're laughing too much so obviously Sukuna's gonna sulk.
Something like that.
Yasunori tries to understand them, he really does. For the only two brats he has ever taught that he really considers as his students, he does try. Not that he would ever admit that, but it's true.
Narauko has tried to explain it; "Sukuna hates everything while I love everything," he'd say, as if that alone can explain it all.
Maybe it does, to them. But to Yasunori, he knows that his understanding only scratches at the surface. He can understand the idea that Sukuna will hate everything and Narauko will love everything, that isn't difficult to comprehend intellectually.
But there are little idiosyncrasies that come up every now and then, sometimes Sukuna does actually smile and laugh along with a joke and sometimes he starts throwing his Technique about with a scowl. Sometimes Narauko smiles and sometimes he cries at the same time.
The truth is that Sukuna Hates hearing that story because he knows that if he were in Narauko's position in it, he would have done the exact same thing—in his own way at least. He Hates that even more because he doesn't honestly know if he would do so of his own prerogative or if it is because of Narauko's Curse on him that he would act that way.
Yasunori however, can not see this. Sukuna is hardly expressive beyond the obvious bits in the first place. So he simply shrugs his student's scowl away and continues rambling like usual.
He never used to be so talkative you know? Tengen actually got him thinking about it, but he only started talking so much and acting so silly after picking Sukuna up.
He couldn't help it, honestly. It was just so amusing watching the moody little brat react. Even as a kid Sukuna didn't respond to, well, much of anything really. The only way to get the kid to interact with him at all was by pissing him off, so Yasunori got very good at pissing him off.
It's just strange to him how the attitude has somewhat stuck. He's fairly sure he won't keep acting like this forever, but... it's nice, while it lasts.
"You know, I actually got yelled at because of that?" Yasunori continues, putting his thoughts aside for now, "They act like I have any ability to control you two just because you're my students! How absurd is that?! Even if I tried, you'd just try and kill me while Narauko will at least listen, but he'll only do what I tell him if he already wanted to anyway. It's like those old brats aren't even Sorcerers! Seriously, if there's one thing about this Era that I'm really grateful for, it's that once the current leading generations all die off, the world of Jujutsu can finally get back to being run by competent brats, instead of the damn useless brats in charge now. I keep telling Tengen she should just take charge properly, but she might as well be a tree with how little the years change her and she always turns me down. Actually, maybe she is a tree, it'd explain why she never fucking does anything. And another thing—"
A movement of Cursed Energy distracts Yasunori from his ramblings, and as he turns to face the inky door opening up in his wall, he could swear he hears a quiet sigh of relief come from Sukuna.
That thought does amuse him, but he feels that letting that be known would be dangerous for his health, so he pretends he didn't hear anything.
Narauko enters the room to two teasing grins facing him and immediately he groans at the ceiling.
"Yeah yeah, go fuck yourselves," he says, though his smile contradicts the complaint.
Yasunori, naturally, does not listen.
"A Kitsune, huh~?" He wiggles both of his brows like the waves of the sea. "Poor Sukuna and I have been waiting for hours~, what ever has been taking you~?"
"Drown in a well."
"If anyone has been drowning," Yasunori begins, conspicuously looking down at Narauko's hands, "It would be the one with pruney fingers~."
Narauko's cheeks rapidly gain a dusting of red as he stuffs his arms back into his sleeves and glares back at him. The glare doesn't last long before a burst of laughter escapes him, Yasunori joining a moment later. Even Sukuna chuckles as if just to assure him that he cannot predict these two.
Seriously though, a Yōkai? A Daiyōkai at that, from what Sukuna had to say. He didn't give a name, but Yasunori assumes it's Tamamo-no-Mae; the Yōkai Narauko introduced him to not long ago. There are only so many Daiyōkai out there.
Even moving past just how in Yomi that relationship came to pass, because he still hasn't heard the story, Yasunori can't help but find himself immensely interested and deeply amused.
It's one thing for a human to get fucked by a Daiyōkai, it's something else for a human to seduce one. It's both hilarious and absurd, very fitting for Narauko really.
Between the two of them, what would such a child look like?
Needless to say, Yasunori is in full support of the relationship. It is evidently a healthy relationship anyway.
"I do hope you two haven't just been gossiping about me behind my back, right?" Narauko asks once his laughter dies down, moving to take a seat at the low table with them, helping himself to some saké.
"Sorry to say, that's exactly what we were doing~," Yasunori lies as easily as he breathes, leading Narauko to turn to Sukuna.
"Is he lying to me right now?"
Sukuna shrugs. "The idiot hasn't stopped talking; I was tuning him out."
Narauko pouts briefly before simply shrugging. "Well, either way," he says before bringing a hand up and pointing it in Yasunori's direction, closed into a fist except for his middle finger being extended.
"...Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Yes!" He proudly declares, looking righteous. "There are not enough vulgar gestures, so I am introducing a new one! This is called flipping the bird and it means fuck you, bastard!"
Yasunori gasps and brings a hand over his heard. "How could you say that~!"
Narauko's hand falls to the table with a wet plap. Both of them stare at it for a moment before turning to inspect the stump at his wrist dripping red.
"You're both idiots," Sukuna comments, drawing both of their eyes to him.
A moment of inspiration strikes, and Yasunori briefly glances back just in time for Narauko to do the same, their eyes meeting.
With a grin matching his own, Narauko turns his stump to be facing Sukuna as it regenerates back into a full hand already flipping the bird. At the same time, Yasunori pulls up one of his own hands and matches the action, both of them aggressively flipping Sukuna the bird as he stares back with the blank expression of a man who is tired of dealing with this shit.
"I Hate you both."
"I know~."
Yasunori looks between the two of his students, once more feeling like he is missing something about them.
But he easily shakes that feeling off; that's enough playing around for now, his curiosity is returning full force and he doesn't want to wait any longer!
"Enough teasing!" Yasunori abruptly yells, slamming both hands on the table. "You've both recently hit a Black Flash! Let's talk Jujutsu!!"
He is, after all, just oh so curious what these two little monsters could possibly have left to learn. He's also quite curious about Tamamo-no-Mae and whatever the fuck is going on there, but he knows his priorities.
It is much more important to him to know what secrets the black sparks have shown them. What heights can a human even reach beyond where they already stood?
Yasunori needs to know.
He must.
///
Fujiwara no Motozane
///
The sound of heavy breathing—panting really. Exhaustion; it fills the air. Deep breaths in rapid staccato that never manage to bring in enough air no matter how deeply they draw on the atmosphere.
Motozane's vision clouds with exhaustion. His head rings with this... dissonance that leaves him unbalanced; swaying as if about to fall only to catch himself and realise that he hadn't tripped at all.
Every breath hurts twice over, a deep ache around his chest and a much sharper pain an in below his left ribcage. The back of his throat feels dry and cold, making the air he desperately sucks in sting like fire.
His only consolation is that the pain from each drawn breath distracts him from the pain that he knows should be wrecking every other inch of his body.
Kami he is tired. So, so tired.
The world never stops turning, no matter how a moment might feel as if it should last a lifetime.
After the two Strongest Sorcerers made such a scene, there's been a slight uptick in Curses around the Realm. Their two fights were spaced apart enough that nearly half the Realm felt one while the other felt the opposite. Most of the new Curses are appearing between the two locations.
Motozane is not a powerful Sorcerer, he doesn't even have an Inherited Technique—a fact that he has been repeatedly reminded of—so he didn't get sent to the middle where the worst of it is.
He got sent south instead, one of many sent off to chip away at the swathe of Grade Two and below Curses being born.
Motozane's attention is pulled to the sounds of cracks and crunches, and he beholds as a Curse twice his height and half his width with thrice his arms uproots an entire tree with one leg and crushes its root underfoot.
This thing is not Grade Two.
His silent complaint reaches no one, and so Motozane does the only thing that he can do.
He draws his sword.
He can barely hold it, the weight of his arms alone nearly too much for him to bear and even when he succeeds, his arms tremble just as much as the leaves surrounding him in the wind.
I'm so tired, he finds himself losing to thought again, watching the lanky Curse saunter closer but failing to remember what that means as his vision blurs. What am I doing?
The Curse stops a step away from him, and even as detached and half-asleep as his mind is, he still feels disquiet as he watches the foul creature contort itself unnaturally as it lowers itself to his height and further still.
It only stops when it's face is below his own, staring up at him with the face of a human stretched and thinned and dead to pox, twisted around in so much curiosity that he hears its neck snap two separate times.
Oh yeah, Motozane thinks with an exhausted sigh. I remember.
Both hands holding his blade, Motozane struggles to bring them up, slowly forcing the blade to rise above this Curse's head so that he may do his duty.
The Curse watches, it's smile curving so high that it tears at the skin, ripping through it's face from jaw to temple and then further still, carving the flesh over its head and down its bony neck, peeling open, wider and wider until little skin can even be seen at all.
Motozane feels the sadistic glee in it's eyes, the cruel joy it feels as it watches him.
His blade swings down.
There is an impact.
Motozane dreams.
Cherry blossoms dance across his vision, framed only by the bright blue of the cloudless sky.
There are many things that Motozane remembers.
It always came back to cherry blossoms though.
He likes to complain during spring, where the nights are shorter.
He complains because spring nights wake him far too soon. It is something that he despises, for it is only when he dreams that he may see the cherry blossoms from his memory.
That thought spurs him forward from his half-dead malaise, clearing the mind like a splash of ice-cold water and with it, he rises to sit.
Away from the grass on his back, he can see the garden around him, though none of it is clear to him. Vague, muddy shapes wrought in monochrome and haze. The grass underneath him shines brightly with the sun, a vivid green. But five feet away from him? The world turns a million shades of grey.
With only one exception.
He turns to his left and beholds a shining sakura, beautiful under a light that shines from nothing.
Groaning in tired agony, Motozane pushes himself onto his hands and knees, blindly patting the grass around him in search of his blade, catching the handle late enough to be relieved when he does.
Planting the sword into the earth, he steadies himself against it as he pushes himself back to his feet, his head on a swivel in search of his foe.
It isn't difficult to find, the damn thing isn't hiding. Just standing behind a tree, concealed if not for the foulness of its own existence.
Motozane feels a welling of something in his mouth and spits it out to the side, not looking away from the Curse even as he paints the grass the colour of his life.
He's tired. So tired. He wants nothing more than to stop. To just lie down and give up. To return to the dreams that he has always wished would never end.
That just isn't an option for him though. Unfortunately.
So he readies his blade and he stands firm, even as the Curse leans into its tree hard enough that it begins to bend, its head lost amongst the tree's branches.
Its movements are slow, not to be methodical, but to evoke fear. Motozane knows this, yet it scares him still. He doesn't let that fear control him however, he is far too stubborn for that.
The tree cracks and suddenly it is falling forward much faster, the Curse not far behind.
Motozane hops backwards, away from the tree's branches, and nearly falls as he stumbles. The Curse doesn't wait for him to gather himself, shooting forward like a coiled snake just before the tree can fully hit the ground.
Motozane barely survives, his blade catching the Curse's open maw just in time to top it from tearing out his throat.
The impact is still loud. A clang that echoes and reverberates through his sword and his arms and into his bones. He's thrown away again, tumbling across the grass until he abruptly slams to a stop. He hit another tree with his back, and he lacks the strength to do anything but slide down to its roots, his back to the bark.
Motozane knows that he is neither strong nor particularly talented. He doesn't have a Technique or a special body or anything at all to put him above the masses. Even his Cursed Energy is on the lower side of average.
His entire life he has been reminded of these facts, and as he sits there, he remembers this.
And as he remembers this, Motozane pushes himself back to his feet.
There are many things that Motozane remembers.
Cold eyes. "A failure."
He's not really trying to succeed anymore though. He just doesn't want to give up. To stop.
The Curse seems delighted to see him stand; a sound leaves it akin to the laughter of steel grinding against steel. It's horrible, but Motozane isn't even sure if it is real or if he is living a dream.
If the dream is more pleasant than the waking, can one really be certain which is the dream at all?
Motozane draws his sword.
Sharp knuckles. "A stain on my name."
The Curse throws itself forward like an arrow, and Motozane feels as if he can understand it.
He is the same as this Curse, in a way. It feels familiar to him as the distance closes and time seems to slow.
The Curse sees that he is alive, and so it seeks his death, because it hates to see that which it wishes that it could be.
Sword's edge. "A disappointment."
Motozane half-stumbles to the side; he doesn't even bring up his sword. The Curse misses him by a hair and crashes through the tree Motozane sat against, reducing it to splinters that do not touch him, as if water parting around a rock in a stream.
Motozane doesn't think he can win. He knows that he is outclassed, he knows that he is weak, he knows that he is so lacking in strength that he cannot even hold his sword without resting its tip on the grass.
...Cherry blossoms. "Despite it all, I still love you."
He wants to give up, to rest, but he can't. The moment that he stops trying, there will be nothing left for him. It's all he really has anymore—all that matters anyway.
Just effort and memories longing to be forgotten.
The Curse comes again, faster this time, and Motozane does not even move at all until the impact on his chest throws him away once again.
There are many things that Motozane remembers.
Sitting in this liminal space, where the sky shines blue and the grass shines green while everything else remains absent of light, Motozane stands. He brushes off his robe and he turns to the one landmark he can see.
That beautiful sakura. The only dream that he can never escape; the memory that haunts his every moment.
He starts to walk—there is nothing else to do—and as he gets closer, he notices a figure sitting under the sakura. The figure is blurry and indistinct, he can't see what it is doing or what it should look like.
But he knows that it is making a chain of daisies. He just knows it.
He doesn't know how long the walk is, but eventually he finds himself standing over her. She doesn't seem to notice him. He doesn't know what to say.
The silence stretches, but he doesn't mind it. Every spring he despairs that the nights are shorter, he won't complain now, when his dream stretches endlessly.
But no moment ever lasts quite as long as anyone might want it to, and eventually, the figure turns to him. It remains indistinct, but he sees her smile regardless; that warm crinkle to her eyes.
"Silly boy, dreams like these are for the dead. You should not dream while awake."
Finally, Motozane knows what to say.
"Do you truly look at me and think I am still alive?"
"Are you?"
The Curse hovers over Motozane and he stares at it blankly as it sniffs across his still body; an animal confirming its kill.
Motozane curses the spring because it deprives him of the dream that he so desires, so he thinks that he can understand this Curse. It kills because it is already dead and life itself deprives it of the end it so desires.
"Am I not?" Motozane asks, startling the Curse enough that it recoils before immediately lashing out again, all six arms spearing down to crush him into a pulp.
He rolls to the side, expecting an impact to clip him anyway. However, it is only as he is rolling back to his feet that he sees the Curse's arms crash against the grass behind him.
What?
He isn't that fast, that should have been his death.
The Curse doesn't give him time to think, rising from its missed attack and lunging straight at him once more as an arrow, only with six arms spread in every direction like barbs.
Motozane knows that he is not fast enough to dodge, so he instead moves low and left, hoping that the force of one or two arms might be lesser than taking the hit head on.
The Curse lunges at him like an arrow, arms spread in every direction like barbs and Motozane can only feel a moment of confusion before another impact sends him tumbling away.
"You used to complain about wasting time under this tree, you know?"
Motozane follows her eyes up to the blooming of the sakura.
"Time with you was never a waste."
"Flatterer." They both watch in silence as the sakura sheds its colour, a gentle breeze pulling every petal away into a delicate dance through the sky. "I had always hoped that you might learn something from the falling leaves."
"I know. I used to hope they would never fall, so that those moments would never end."
"I am glad you have learned now, even if I do wish I could have seen it myself."
"Have I?"
"Have you not?"
The creaking of old wood pulls at his attention and another agonised groan leaves Motozane's lips as he forces himself to his knees.
The Curse is in the treeline again. Watching. Waiting. Prowling in circles around him with every bent limb howling like the wind through a valley.
His limbs are all still attached, but by kami does everything hurt.
A leaf floats past his eyes, carried along by the breeze, and Motozane finds it taking up his entire attention. Watching the way it swirls, the way it falls and climbs and curls in circles.
Slowly, painfully, Motozane lifts an arm into the air. Without really thinking about it or even understanding what he is doing, Motozane holds his hand out, fingers curled but for his thumb and fore, and he pinches at the air.
A huff leaves him, too tired and too pained to be called a laugh as he stares at the leaf held betwixt his fingers.
"I see."
Dropping the leaf, Motozane forces himself to stand, barely managing that much, and turns again to face the Curse hunting him.
His hands come together on his sword, and he knows that he no longer has the strength to life it. He barely has the strength to stand, and though he knows not how much he has bled, he knows enough that he has lost too much.
The Curse sees this just as clearly as he does, he can see that in the way it shivers with satisfaction, watching and waiting for him to keel over.
He probably should. It'd be for the best.
He is so so tired.
"I have always admired how stubborn you can be."
The Curse loses its patience first.
Motozane can barely see anything at this point, his vision has been blackening from the edges for a while, and he doesn't think his ears are still working.
But he still sees the Curse. If there is one thing that he will not lose focus of right now, it is this Curse.
He watches as it coils itself up once more, he watches as it lunges at him once more, he watches as it's horrific maw stretches wide once more, desperate to bring an end to the life that it sees.
Motozane cannot move, he lacks the strength for it, his body is dying.
But if there is one positive thing to be said about being thrashed around by a Curse so much stronger and faster than him, it is that he still has plenty of Cursed Energy left.
"New Shadow Style: Simple Domain."
Guided by his Cursed Energy more than his muscles, Motozane's body moves as if a puppet on strings. His legs bend, his arms rise and fall, and a Curse splits itself in half across his blade.
Motozane's knees hit the earth again not a moment later. He doesn't even look back to confirm the kill. He's just... too tired.
"Rest now, you have done well. Wake again only when my voice is once more too distant for you to hear."
That sounds... like a... good idea...
Motozane's eyes droop, tiredness and blood loss both filling him equally with lethargy. In no time at all, his body finishes its fall, collapsing against the grass in a slumber so close to death that his dreams might just reach beyond the veil.
"Despite it all, I still love you."
///
A/N: He~llo! Dear readers!
Question. Am I retarded?
Cuz someone explain to me why I spent so much time finding Motozane's poems (most of the sorcerers in this fic are irl poets from the heian period btw) which only seem to exist in the original Japanese, translating them(through 3 methods to make sure I got it right) and then writing his portion of the chapter so that I can fit them in?
Like who tf does that?
When he says "I see" at the end there, I legit I almost put in "浅緑みだれてなびく青柳のいろにぞ春の風も見えける" instead, despite the fact that it'd be stupid as hell to just randomly be putting japanese in the fic now.
But that's a poem by the real life motozane, it translates roughly to "In the pale green tangle of the willow streaming in the breeze, I see it now — even the spring wind has become visible." which would have been out of place and immersion breaking to write lol.
Another of his poems is "桜を夢に見る歌" which translates roughly to "Thinking of them, I saw the cherry blossoms in my dreams. If only spring nights did not wake one too soon…"
Another is "桜散るを見て" which translates to "If only the cherry blossoms would never fall — I would gaze on them for a thousand years, and still wonder whether my heart would ever have its fill."
the last is "恋・天徳四年内裏歌合" which is "I burn with longing for you, yet hide it, fading in and out like a dying flame. Do you truly look at me and think I am still alive?"
These are all real poems that I, for some fucking reason, decided to base his portion of the chapter around. You can probably find where each poem is used as inspiration, it's not subtle.
Why do I do this shit? fuck's wrong with me? :/
Also, the first part probably would have been longer if inkstone didn't decide to yeet away 500 words of dialogue (that I recall saving last night btw). that shit is unmotivating as hell and I don't think that what I managed to remember of the dialogue was as good as what I wrote the first time :/
So next chap should be half jujutsu theory and half some other pov taking life a lot more seriously than our favourite terrible trio