I woke up to the gentle sound of water flowing over rocks and the scent of morning dew. For a blissful, half-conscious moment, I was just a four-year-old girl in a ridiculously comfortable futon. Then, the memories of the previous day crashed down on me like a tsunami of pure chaos. Satoru. The main compound. The shattered teacup. The maniacal laughter. My masterpiece.
I sat up, pushing the heavy silk duvet away. The morning sun streamed through the shoji screens, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of my palatial room. It was all real. I looked at my tiny hands. Still small. Still female. Still Gojo Aki.
A horrifying thought, a critical piece of lore I had somehow overlooked in my panic, slammed into my brain. I knew my new birthdate: May 15th, 2001. Yuta Okkotsu's was March 7th, 2001. We were the same age. If I was four years old, that meant the current year was 2005.
And if the year was 2005...
My blood ran cold. Gojo Satoru was born on December 7th, 1989. In the year 2005, he wouldn't be a 28-year-old, all-powerful teacher. He would be a sixteen-year-old high school student.
The man who had "adopted" me, the one who called me his masterpiece, wasn't the seasoned, confident, yet mature mentor who would guide Yuji Itadori. He was the arrogant, volatile, "Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am the Honored One" version of Satoru. He was a teenager who had just recently confirmed he and his best friend were, quite literally, the strongest. He was a kid. A super-powered, borderline-sociopathic kid.
Oh, no. Oh, nonononono. My internal Bob-monologue was having a full-blown meltdown. This is infinitely worse! An adult Satoru was a chaotic neutral force of nature. A teenage Satoru is a chaotic stupid meteor aimed directly at my life!
The shoji screen to my room slammed open with a deafening bang, confirming my worst fears. Satoru stood there, already dressed in the dark, high-collared uniform of Jujutsu High. His white hair was still a bit messy from sleep, and he was holding a half-eaten melonpan. He have the usual today, a pair of dark, circular sunglasses.
"Yo, Aki-chan! Up and at 'em!" he chirped, his voice lacking the faint traces of maturity I'd imagined yesterday. This was the voice of a teenager who had probably stayed up too late playing video games. "No time to lounge around. We're gonna be late."
"Late?" I asked, my voice small. "Late for what?"
"For school, obviously," he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He took a massive bite of his melonpan. "My school. You didn't think I was gonna leave you here with those dusty old fossils, did you? They'd try to seal you in a scroll by lunchtime. Nah, you're coming with me."
Before I could protest, he zipped into the room, grabbed a frilly, ridiculously expensive-looking dress from the pile of new clothes the servants had brought yesterday, and tossed it at me. "Get dressed. Five minutes."
This was not a negotiation. I fumbled with the dress, my mind reeling. The Gojo elders would never allow this. It was insane. A four-year-old child had no place at Jujutsu High, the foremost training facility for sorcerers.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the wrinkled face of Elder Jiro appeared in the doorway, his expression thunderous. "Satoru-sama! What is the meaning of this? You cannot take the child to the school! It is a place of learning and danger, not a nursery!"
Satoru didn't even turn around. He just waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Jiro-san. I got permission."
"Permission? From whom?!" the elder sputtered.
"From me," Satoru said, turning his head slightly to grin at the old man over his shoulder. "And since I'm the clan heir and the strongest, my permission is the only one that matters. See? Simple."
The elder's face went from red to purple. He looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. The sheer, unadulterated arrogance of Satoru was a weapon in itself, and he wielded it with surgical precision. He knew they were powerless to stop him.
A moment later, I was dressed, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I was subjected to Satoru's stomach-churning teleportation. The world twisted into a nauseating kaleidoscope, and when it solidified, we were standing at the foot of a ridiculously long stone staircase, shaded by towering trees. A series of imposing torii gates marked the path upward.
Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. It looked exactly like it did in the anime, but the air here was different. It was heavy, ancient, and humming with power. I could feel the layered barriers, the countless talismans, the sheer weight of Cursed Energy that saturated the grounds. It was both oppressive and invigorating.
My System pinged.
[Cursed Energy Reserves are increasing at an accelerated rate due to the ambient energy of the Jujutsu High barrier.]
"C'mon, slowpoke," Satoru called, already halfway up the first flight of stairs.
I scurried to catch up, my little legs pumping. When we finally reached the top, he didn't lead me to an office or a waiting room. He strode down a wooden hallway, the floorboards groaning under his feet, and slid open the door to a classroom.
"Yo!" he announced to the room's occupants.
Two other teenagers were inside. One was a girl with short, brown hair, her chin resting in her hand as she stared out the window, looking bored. A faint smell of disinfectant clung to her. The other was a boy with long black hair tied back in a bun, a single, distinctive strand of bangs framing his face. He was sitting calmly, reading a book. He looked up as we entered, his expression immediately shifting to one of weary resignation.
Ieiri Shoko. And Geto Suguru.
My breath hitched. My inner fanboy was screaming, crying, and throwing up all at once. This was them. The legendary trio. Young, vibrant, and whole. A painful pang went through my chest as I looked at Geto. He was so calm, so composed. There was no trace of the genocidal maniac he would become. There was only a thoughtful, intelligent young man who looked like he was burdened with the world's most annoying best friend.
"Did you actually do it?" Shoko asked, not even bothering to turn her head. Her voice was flat, laced with a cynical sort of amusement. "Did you kidnap a child, Gojo?"
"I didn't kidnap her," Satoru huffed, offended. He nudged me forward. "I liberated her. This is Aki. My new sister. I found her in a dusty corner of the clan grounds. She's awesome."
Geto placed a bookmark in his book and closed it with a soft thud. He sighed, a deep, long-suffering sound that seemed to contain years of dealing with Satoru's antics. He looked at me, his dark eyes softening slightly.
"Satoru, you cannot be serious," he said, his voice a calm baritone that was a stark contrast to Satoru's loud cheer. "She's a toddler. You can't just bring her to Jujutsu High. Yaga-sensei will expel you."
"Nah, he won't. He needs me," Satoru said with a wave of his hand. He crouched down beside me, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Show 'em, Aki! Show 'em your cool eye thing."
I froze. In front of them? Geto and Shoko? My social anxiety, a lingering remnant of Bob's pathetic psyche, flared up. But a look from Satoru, a slight narrowing of his eyes behind the sunglasses, told me this wasn't optional. This was show-and-tell. And I was the show.
Hesitantly, I focused on a cheap wooden pencil lying on a nearby desk. I activated my Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. The familiar, terrifying web of black lines overlaid the world. I reached out a trembling finger and traced a line on the pencil. As before, it fell into two perfectly clean pieces without a sound.
Shoko finally turned her head, her interest piqued. She slid out of her chair and knelt down in front of me, her eyes examining me with a clinical curiosity. "An Innate Technique that affects her ocular nerves? Or a trait independent of her Cursed Energy output? Fascinating. Can I get a blood sample?"
"Hands off the merchandise, Shoko," Satoru said, pulling me back slightly. "She's not one of your lab experiments."
Geto was watching me with a much more concerned expression. "To sever an object without touching it physically or applying Cursed Energy... that's no simple technique. It's a conceptual ability. Satoru, what have you gotten yourself into?"
"Something fun!" Satoru declared. "And that's not even her main trick!"
"GOJO!"
A voice like a thunderclap roared from the hallway. A moment later, the doorway was filled by the imposing figure of Yaga Masamichi. He was younger than the version I knew, but no less intimidating. His signature sunglasses were firmly in place, and his arms were crossed over his powerful chest. He was radiating pure, undiluted fury. Behind him, a collection of his little cursed doll puppets seemed to vibrate with his anger.
"What, in all the cursed realms," Yaga growled, his voice dangerously low, "is a four-year-old child doing in my school?"
Satoru, completely unfazed, stood up and slung an arm over Geto's shoulder. "Yaga-sensei! Perfect timing. This is Aki, my new sister. She's enrolling."
"She is not enrolling," Yaga snapped. "This is a school, not a daycare for your whims! Take her back to the clan compound this instant!"
"Can't," Satoru said simply. "The elders are stuffy and boring. They'll ruin her potential. Here, she can learn from the best. Namely, me."
"Your arrogance is astounding," Yaga said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are sixteen years old, Satoru. You are not equipped to raise a child."
"I have Geto," Satoru said, patting his friend's chest. "He's the responsible one. And Shoko can handle all the medical stuff. We're a team! It'll be a great bonding experience."
Geto shot Satoru a look that could curdle milk. "Do not drag me into this."
Yaga looked from Satoru's unwavering, arrogant smirk to Geto's exasperated face, to Shoko's morbid curiosity, and finally to me, a tiny girl in a frilly dress standing in the middle of a room full of teenage prodigies. He let out a sigh that seemed to deflate him by several inches. He knew it was a losing battle. Satoru was the clan heir, the possessor of the Six Eyes and the Limitless. Denying him was, for all intents and purposes, impossible.
"Fine," Yaga relented, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Fine! She can stay. For now. But she is your responsibility, Satoru. Her well-being, her safety, her education. It is all on you. Geto, Shoko, I am officially deputizing you to make sure he doesn't get her killed. If I find so much as a scratch on her that isn't from controlled training, I will personally craft a Cursed Corpse that will hunt you for the rest of your short lives. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, sensei!" Satoru chirped, giving a mock salute.
Yaga gave us all one last glare before turning and stomping away, muttering about problem children and premature grey hairs.
The tension in the room broke. Satoru pumped a fist in the air. "Victory!"
Geto just shook his head, a small, wry smile touching his lips despite himself. "You are unbelievable."
And so my new life began. I was officially a ward of Jujutsu High, under the "care" of three legendary teenagers. Later that day, Satoru cleared a corner of his messy dorm room for me, creating a small space with a new futon amidst piles of manga, video games, and empty snack wrappers.
As I sat on my new bed, watching Satoru and Geto argue about the offensive capabilities of a Cursed Spirit while Shoko tried to explain human anatomy using a dismembered frog, my System pinged one last time.
[New Story Quest Initiated: The Delinquent's Daycare]
[Objective: Survive the guardianship of Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, and Shoko Ieiri until the age of six.]
[Rewards: Significant increase in all stats, new skills, a sliver of sanity (maybe).]
I pulled my knees to my chest, my head filled with the impossible reality of my situation. My guardians were the future strongest sorcerer, a future mass-murdering cult leader, and a chain-smoking, cynical doctor.
My pathetic weeb brain had one last, coherent thought before dissolving into static.
This is the best and worst fanfiction I've ever lived in.