OCTOBER 19TH, 1999 – TOKYO, JAPAN.
Rain fell from the skies of East Asia as if mimicking the loving embrace of a mother. The city streets were deserted, and those that did have to face nature alone held their splayed umbrellas for dear life.
Rough winds tore through the blocks of Japan. Thunderous streaks of lightning raced through the sky at record numbers. The news casters could do little to begin updating their citizens, for even just trying would risk their lives.
The people in the countryside of societies had it worse. More room for cloud formations and more space for winds to flow freely led to rapid formations of funnel clouds–More than a dozen touching down and ripping through the dull village towns of Japan.
More than a couple of dozen people have already died due to the raging weather overtaking the eastern continent. Even some Western continents are reporting some abnormal weather.
And the cause of it all lay sprawled in the cradle of his birth room within Tokyo's Central Hospital. The baby's mother passed out in her nursing bed while his father was nowhere to be found.
Thrumming black markings were fashioned across the newborn's body–His arms wrapped with dark clouds, overlapping and stopping just at the end of his forearms. The markings continued up his biceps, triceps, neck, and down the linings of his shoulder blades.
A center circle adorned his belly button; three eye-like markings, encased in red ink, sat beautifully. Golden eyes pierced the room, blood red circles holding his pupils hostage–Haisei stirred, his little groans sounding like whispers in the midst of the chaos raining from heaven outside.
So, Haisei and his mother sat in silence–His heart pounding inside his little chest as his mind worked overtime, driving all sorts of imaginative ideas and ploys to the front as he cooed with relief.
Being reborn, not transmigrated, is the best that could've happened… If I were just thrown into this world full-grown, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. The time now was a blessing in his eyes. Time to plan, plot, and execute later on.
It was a perfect start in his eyes.
...
After what felt like hours, two nurses raced into the room, a cart behind them full of medicine and narcotics of all fortitudes. Haisei lay asleep, his mind and body demanding it, and he was nowhere near in control enough to fight it.
"Crap! The disturbance kept us away from her for too long! I told you we needed someone with her!" A desperate voice shouted, female in tone and hurt above all else. Another nurse gasped, their collective heads held low as they worked as quickly as they could.
"I-It's okay! We just need to do what we can and pray she'll be fine… She's a tough mom, and I know she'll pull through for her son!" Another nurse charaded, eager to lift the moral divot that dragged her and her teammates from within.
"Right." They agreed, but that didn't help the results… It wasn't anything short of a miracle that thirty minutes later, the woman was resuscitated, gasping for shallow breaths of air and combating pains of all types.
She was all patched up, her golden eyes were fatigued and riddled with hurt and despair. "M-My son! W-Whe–" Her cries were cut short when her head whipped towards the only source of warmth she felt within the room.
To her left, a cradle held her son perfectly while he slept. His markings were on display for all to see. A nurse noticed the mother's gaze, unease creeping into her heart as experience in the medical field gave her horrible ideas.
"W-We don't know what those markings are, ma'am… Our guess is birthmarks, but it's rather intricate and strange. We're sure nobody came in this room, and despite that, I doubt a newborn would even survive a–" But the mother wasn't ready to hear all that.
She didn't care. A soft smile broke her lips, and she gestured towards her son, "L-let me see him." She said, her soft, tired, broken voice carrying more weight than any of them all expected.
Haisei was lifted towards his mother with care, and the two of them sat in each other's arms. Haisei fast asleep through it all while his mother watched over him with eyes full of warmth, promise, and love.
Oh, beautiful boy. She brought his head to hers, holding them together for a moment as tears fell from her face. "Haisei Yokuta… Finally, you're here." The nurses couldn't help but stare.
The love radiating from the mother-son duo was powerful enough to even enrapture their hearts–making them pledge silent decrees to protect them. No matter how unrealistic it was, it felt right.
...
Three Weeks Later…
Within the comfort of the Yokuta's apartment, Sarada Yotuka and her son lay cuddled up on the couch, the newborn breastfeeding eagerly, though a vein visibly bulged on his forehead. The child's emotions were unreadable to the new mom, but she had a feeling her son didn't really enjoy this part of his day…
Looking at him with an awkward, apologetic gaze, she sighed, patting his blonde head softly, "As odd as it is, I can only respect it…" She shook her head and swallowed her opinions on the matter. Picking up the TV remote, she quickly got comfy.
The two of them enjoyed their time, ignoring the storms that had been raging nonstop for three weeks straight. Sarada was lucky to marry a rich man; her and her sons' expenses are already paid for, but even she couldn't help but stare out the window, reminiscing about the times when she could just take a stroll in the nearby park.
I wonder when this will end…
. . .
Somewhere deep in the dark confines of Mother Nature's great forests. A group of seven Jujutsu Sorcerers sat eerily within the safety of a room whose door begins at the base of a mountain.
"And here I was, enjoying my rainy day for the umteenth time in a row. And then I get called for an emergency group therapy session. What the hell is this shit?" A snarky and arrogant voice cut through the group's silence. A woman's snort followed behind it.
No one replied to her taunt, and in her failed protest, she ended it with a sassy flop against a stone pillar. Her back to it and to the rest of the sorcerers in the room. Her black robe was tucked into her black combat pants, revealing a black katana handle, its bladeless tip jutting from the sheath.
A metal, enormous compound bow clanked against the stone behind her, its length nearly her own stature.
"Hmph. And the lone wolf shows her face after all, isn't that something?" A gruff, manly voice cut through the stiff silence, challenging the woman's complaint. "As lonely as you seem, maybe I should make you a friend to take along the way, give you something to pour that rotten attitude you carry into."
Raising her brow, the woman snorted in return. "Masamichi Yaga, if it wasn't for your weird streak with women, I might've taken you up on that offer. Who knows what you would've stuffed into that thing?" She shrugged like she was at a loss for words.
Snickers stifled about, and the well-groomed chiseled-jawed sorcerer found himself burning at the ears and cheeks. He nearly leapt across the room to pound her face in, but then he only thought he would be proving her right.
"Tch, smartass." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, grumbling to himself as he plopped into his seat. Chuckles invaded his left ear, and a strong hand patting him on the back soon after.
Looking over his shoulder, Yaga nearly groaned. This old bastard… What could you possibly want? A bald man with a greying, black-patched beard struggled to catch his breath at the apparent hilarious joke.
Masamichi nearly lost his shit, but he took a deep breath and decided otherwise. "Gakuganji! Spit it out, you greying idiot, what do you want!?" The middle-aged man snapped, nearly spitting on the fifty-year-old next to him.
"Nothing, that Kaori got you good!" The guitar next to him, wrapped around his shoulder, bounced with its owner, taunting him all the same. Yaga snapped his head back forward and focused on the announcement that pulled them all here together in the first place.
I haven't felt a sense of peace in a couple of weeks… It started around the same time the storms began. Maybe it's tied to that? That idea brought to mind images of a young, white-haired prodigy. But if another Satoru had been born, then that means it might really be time for him to retire.
Yaga sighed, running a hand through his thick hair. Nope, all there. Whew.
A door creaked open, and any murmuring he hadn't been aware of had been brought to a close instantly. Slow footsteps ascended in front of them, where a darkened area remained unlit, despite the already dark nature of the cavern hideout they met in.
A giant screen hung from the middle of the ceiling, though, and that's how most of the sorcerers in the room gauged their leveling in their seating.
Metal legs screeched against solid stone, ringing Masamichi's ears. He stilled his focus, though, and nothing broke through that solid barrier, nothing, until the one they came to meet spoke.
Hell-Boy… Or Akiba Yoshimitsu, the Sorcererbordering on special-grade but chooses to remain a dog for the higher-ups… I've always been curious about him. Yaga pressed his fists against his mouth, his heart tightening in his chest, his eyes eager to get a glimpse.
"Ahem." Situating a stack of papers on the small desk in front of him. His sword was dangling at the back of his hip, slipping from underneath the cover of his black trenchcoat.
The all-black suit he wore matched the shadows he stood in, only his pale face and greying, bluish eyes glowed in the dead of the darkness.
"I assume most of you know why you're here–At least an idea." His voice was smooth, soothing to the ear, and a hint of wispiness riding right behind his every word. His dark hair was tied up in a ponytail, keeping it out of his face while it all fell behind him.
His gaze ran across the small group in front of him, most of the sorcerers forced to look away, losing in the battle of wits.
Masamichi gulped while Kaori and Gakuganji sat up a little straighter. There was no humorous tune to the old man anymore; that was something Masamichi hadn't noticed until he got a good glimpse of him.
"The recent disturbance in… nature and the activity of the curses in the reaches of Japan have been proven to be linked. As you can imagine, many children were expected to be born around the time the storms began.
The heads have tasked us with interviewing these children's parents and utilizing our best senses to reign in the potential causes." Akiba paused, sweeping across the sorcerers once more.
Glancing back down at his papers, he cleared his throat and continued. His eyes felt drawn by something in the distance, a head of short, messy blonde hair attached to a head with a face as pristine as a full moon.
His breath caught momentarily as Kaori locked eyes with him. It was but a moment, but it lasted longer than the two expected. Clearing his throat again, Akiba tapped his papers and spoke.
"Obviously, we will not be going in with any form of hostility. Assume this event is akin to the birth of the Gojo clan's heir–A monster might be shifting the tides of our world as we know it, so it should be imperative that you focus on your tasks." His cold gaze found Gakuganji's.
Masamichi's.
And even a member of the esteemed Zenin clan–Naobito. Akiba clicked his tongue quietly and sent a silent glance Kaori's way.
"No one?" He called out once more, packing his papers up nice and neatly, intending to move quickly.
A disturbance caught his peripheral, a hitched breath stopped a sigh before he nodded instead. "Go ahead." Akiba directed towards a sorcerer cloaked in darkness. The sound of a chair scraping against stone resounded before a voice filled in after it– "And what if we find this mystical baby? We dispose of it?" Murmurs shifted about the room like a wave of bad news.
Akiba narrowed his eyes. "And who are you? Stand up." The man shuffled, and moments later, a face came into view. Akiba groaned, and the man spoke regardless, "The names Komuro Eishi, Hell-Boy. Is this some kind of rite of passage or somethin`?"
The sorcerer's stark remark went unnoted as Akiba turned his back, sighing loudly as he turned the corner towards his exit, "...Bring the child to Kyoto or Tokyo Jujutsu Highs. Either will work. I'll be there to collect."
"Dismissed."