"???" Aimi's brow furrowed, confusion momentarily overriding her anger. "O...kay?"
"We know this sounds unbelievable," Shikumi said gently, "because you can't see the world we live in. But your father and I… we're sorcerers."
Aimi stared at them. It sounded ridiculous. Like something out of a manga.
"We've fought curses our whole lives," Shikumi continued. "And when we had you… we kept you hidden from the Jujutsu Sorcerer Association. It wasn't our original plan. But after you were born, we noticed something… strange about you."
"What strange?"
"You're not like us. Or anyone, really," Fukazu said. "You don't have cursed energy. Not even a trace. Which is… impossible. Every living thing exerts some, even if they can't manipulate it."
Aimi's head tilted slightly. "What's cursed energy?"
"It's… negative emotion," Shikumi explained slowly. "Fear, anger, sadness — all of that leaks out of people constantly. You can't see it, but it's there. Like heat off a kettle."
Fukazu added, "Sorcerers learn to see it, control it, weaponise it. That's how we fight curses—monsters born from those same emotions."
"And I don't have any of that."
"No. What you have is… something else." Shikumi looked at her carefully. "Your soul must be what sorcerers would call 'pure.' You don't just lack cursed energy—you're immune to it. Cursed energy, cursed spirits, even cursed tools—none of it can touch you. You nullify it completely. And because of that, you can't see curses, either."
"There are people who don't have enough cursed energy to become sorcerers," her mother continued. "But someone who nullifies it just by existing… that's something only mentioned a few times in history. Your existence is an anomaly."
"We don't know how it happened either," Fukazu admitted. "As far as we know, neither of us come from bloodlines with that kind of ability. But…" he hesitated, "we're both orphans. So there's no way to be sure."
That tugged at Aimi's heart. Just a little.
"So we know what it's like to grow up without family," Shikumi said quietly. "We didn't want that for you. But we had to make a choice."
"What does that even mean?" Aimi exhaled, overwhelmed. "What choice?"
Fukazu lowered his gaze. "If anyone found out what you were… sorcerers, curses, the higher-ups—they'd all come after you. You'd be hunted. Used. Your very existence could shake the balance of the jujutsu world."
"So your solution was to leave me alone?"
"We didn't want to," Fukazu said. "But bringing you with us would've been worse. You were too young. You couldn't defend yourself. It was safer to let you live an ordinary life… out of sight."
"Unlike who?" Aimi's voice was sharp.
"The strongest sorcerer in history—Gojo Satoru."
Her heart stuttered.
"He's like you," Fukazu said. "An anomaly. But unlike you, he had the Gojo clan to protect him. And even as a child, he was strong enough to survive."
Aimi's throat tightened. "Gojo… Satoru." So that's who he really was.
Shikumi sighed. "We were ordered to leave Japan. Assigned to the United States to support diplomatic sorcerer ties."
Fukazu continued, "After Gojo's birth, the higher-ups got arrogant. They thought one man could protect all of Japan. So they sent people like us overseas to protect others. It was political. Strategic. We did our duty."
"Duty," Aimi repeated, laughing hollowly. She covered her face. "If you two had so much duty, you shouldn't have had a child. I'd have been happier not being born."
"Please don't say that, Mi-chan," Shikumi choked, her voice breaking. "We're sorry. We truly are."
"None of this feels justified." Aimi shook her head. "You left a twelve-year-old kid. Alone. How was that safer?"
"There are things you won't understand unless you've stood where we stood," Fukazu said quietly. "You're right to hate us. We're not here to ask for forgiveness. Just to tell you the truth."
"Sure," she said dryly.
Shikumi reached into her bag and slid a document across the table.
Aimi glanced down.
A registration form for the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.
Fukazu: "You can become a sorcerer… or you can live your life as you are. It's your choice. We'll accept whatever you decide."
"We just think it's time," Shikumi said. "You're old enough. Strong enough. You've trained for years—we can see that. You deserve to know."
Aimi stared at the paper, then laughed softly. Bitter. "The audacity. You leave for eight years and return with… this?"
No one spoke.
She stood.
"Please go back to wherever you came from."
"Mi-chan—"
"No. Leave me alone. I need time."
She turned and walked out.
"Aimi—"
"Go home. Your home."
Aimi climbed the stairs, her legs heavy. Her head throbbed.
She opened the door to her bedroom, desperate to escape, only to freeze.
Gojo Satoru was sprawled casually on her bed, one leg crossed, leaning back on his hands like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Yo," he grinned. "Rough night?"