#golden visa requirements

[dinasparta]

[citizenshipprograms]

How Does Portugal's Investment Visa Work?          

The Portugal visa investment pathway, also known as the Golden Passport Portugal, allows individuals to gain residency through qualifying investments. Options include real estate acquisition, capital transfers, or creating jobs. This visa is renowned for its family benefits and access to EU countries.. Take the first step towards securing your Golden Passport with Citizenship Bay. Contact us today!

[dubaifuture]

Understanding the Implications of the UAE Golden Visa Salary Requirement

The UAE golden visa salary requirement varies depending on whether the applicant is an investor, special talent, or from any other eligible group. Public investors are required to provide proof showing payment of taxes no less than AED 250,000, while real estate investors need to own property summing up to at least AED 2 million. On the other hand, entrepreneurs are required to submit a technical or future-focused project worth at least AED 500,000 while executive directors must have a monthly salary of at least AED 30,000. Get adequate support, guidance, and expertise for your UAE Golden Visa from the experts of Shuraa.

[dubiz]

Golden Visa Dubai Guide 2024: Costs, Benefits and Rules

The Dubai golden visa’s popularity speaks for itself. From Bollywood start Rajinikanth to football champ Cristiano Ronaldo, even global icons hold this prestigious residency proudly. But it is not just for celebrities! The UAE government encourages individuals from around the world under various categories to obtain golden visa Dubai and start a prosperous life in the nation. 

The visa offers a stress-free way to live and work in Dubai for an extended period of time to all its holders, allowing them to explore the city’s abundant opportunities. Sounds interesting, right? Let us find out if you qualify for one. This guide will provide everything you need to know about the Dubai golden visa in 2024 and how to apply for it successfully. 

[shuraalondon]

How to Apply for a UAE Golden Visa?

Explore the benefits of the UAE Golden Visa with Shuraa Business Setup. Discover streamlined pathways to long-term residency, investor visas, and more. Stay updated with the latest requirements and application processes for the UAE Golden Visa through our expert guidance. Start your journey towards secure residency in the UAE today with Shuraa's comprehensive support.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (01)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.2k

Aliyah's Notes: this is my first series on here so go easy on me (#adele) pls + some things are not going to be obx canon ... at least some of yall are warned. anyw im so excited for this cause lord knows the amount of time ive wanted to make a fake dating fic!!!!!!! anyw i hope you all will enjoy this i had so much writing the first chapter

The clatter of high heels against the marble floor echoed in perfect sync with the ticking of your watch. Every step was deliberate, poised—just like your life had to be. Perfection, it seemed, was not a choice but a requirement for survival.

You adjusted your sunglasses, your gaze skimming over the glamorous expanse of the fashion agency's lobby. People buzzed around you like bees in a hive, their worlds spinning, fueled by the weight of names, status, and flawless images. You smiled politely at the receptionist, offering a nod, though your mind was miles away.

To the outside world, your life was golden. The covers of magazines, the invitations to high-society events, the million-dollar deals with luxury brands—it was a fantasy that others could only dream of. It was your dream some time ago, too. 

But today, your reality felt like walking on the edge of a tightrope, the safety net fraying below you.

Your phone vibrated in your purse, interrupting your thoughts. You fished it out, your pulse quickening when you saw the text from your lawyer. Three words that sent a chill through your carefully constructed façade.

"We need to talk."

Your heart sank. The issue of your visa had been hanging over your head like a storm cloud for months now, growing darker by the day. You’d known this was coming, but knowing and confronting it were two different beasts.

Fame didn’t shield you from the cold bureaucracy of citizenship laws, and your time was running out. One misstep, one delay, and your golden empire could crumble. In a matter of months, you could be deported, left behind by the very country that had built you up.

With a deep breath, you silenced your phone and slid it back into your purse. This wasn’t something you could dwell on right now, not in public. Your expression remained serene, even though your mind was anything but. You had a shoot in an hour, a charity gala that evening, and at some point, you had to meet with the lawyer to discuss "options"—a word that had started to feel more like a trap than a solution.

As you exited the building, the cool breeze caught your hair, the city unfolding before you like a glittering stage. New York City. You looked out at the streets, the people, the life you fought so hard to build. The car pulled up to the curb, and you climbed inside. On your way to your lawyer.

You stepped into the law office, the familiar scent of polished wood and stale coffee wrapping around you like a tight band.

"Ms. Y/L/N, good afternoon," Nicolas Ramirez, your lawyer, greeted you, standing behind his desk. His expression was composed, but you knew him well enough by now to spot the unease in his eyes.

"Hi," you softly smiled at him. Your heels clicked softly on the floor as you sat down, crossing your legs tightly, as if holding yourself together. "Let’s just get straight to it, okay? How bad is it?"

Nico sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Your visa expires in less than three months."

You felt your stomach twist, your worst fear inching closer to reality. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "And what about the appeals? The extensions?"

"We’ve exhausted every possible option—work visas, artist visas, even humanitarian grounds. Immigration laws are tightening, and without a permanent solution like citizenship or residency, you’ll be forced to leave the country."

"Leave?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the full weight of the nightmare you’d been living with. 

Leave? Go back there?

The country you had fought so hard to escape. The country where your childhood had been marked by suffocating poverty, where your parents had already planned your marriage before you even turned 15. Where your dreams had been a distant, impossible hope until that one person changed your life forever.

You felt your throat tighten. You couldn’t go back.

Nico’s gaze softened slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "I know what this means for you. I know how difficult—"

"You don’t know," you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended. "You… You don’t know—I can’t go back there, Nico. I just… I can’t."

He nodded, giving you a moment of silence to compose yourself, but the pressure in your chest only grew. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.

"So what now?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Is this it? Am I out of options?"

"Well… There’s one option we haven’t explored yet." his tone was cautious, like he knew what he was about to say would open a new can of worms.

You furrowed your brow. "What?"

"Marriage."

The word hung in the air, thick and heavy. You blinked, unable to comprehend at first. "Marriage?" you repeated, as if saying it aloud would make the absurdity of it clear.

"It’s one of the few legal paths left," he explained, leaning forward slightly. "Marriage to a U.S. citizen could secure your green card and, eventually, permanent residency. It’s a legitimate route—many people in similar situations have done it."

You sat back in your chair, the tension in your body coiling tighter. The thought of marriage, of attaching yourself to someone you barely knew for the sake of staying in the country, made your skin crawl. You had already sacrificed so much for your freedom, for your career. And now this?

"You’re telling me the only way to stay here is to marry someone I don’t even love? Just to avoid being sent back to a country I don’t belong in anymore?"

"Not necessarily," Nicolas said, his tone measured. "It wouldn’t have to be a traditional marriage. Think of it as a business arrangement. It’s a legal partnership—nothing more. And it could save your career, your life here."

You crossed your arms tightly, your mind racing. Marriage. It was a word that had haunted you ever since your parents had tried to force you into it as a teenager. Back then, it was their way of controlling you, of keeping you bound to a life you didn’t want. Now, it felt like the universe was throwing the same chains back at you, just in a different form.

"I’ve compiled a list of potential candidates," Arjun continued, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward you. "People who might be open to an arrangement like this. Athletes, businesspeople—individuals who might benefit from a similar deal."

You glanced at the paper but didn’t pick it up. The names blurred in front of your eyes. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to go. You’d already lost your family, fought tooth and nail to get out of your country and build something for yourself in the U.S. And now you were at risk of losing everything—again.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Nico," you said quietly, shaking your head. "I’ve already sacrificed so much. My family… I gave up everything to be here. And now you’re telling me I have to give up even more?"

"I’m not telling you that you have to do anything," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "I’m saying this is an option. One that could keep you here, legally. But the decision is yours. I’m just laying out the possibilities."

You swallowed the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. 

"I can’t go back there," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "I’ve worked too hard to get here. I can’t lose everything."

He nodded slowly. "Then maybe it’s time to consider unconventional options."

You finally picked up the paper, scanning the names but not really seeing them. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. Marriage. It felt like a trap, just like it had back then. But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way to keep your future intact.

"I’ll think about it," you said, standing up and smoothing the front of your dress. "But I’m not making any promises."

"Of course," he said, standing as well. "Just let me know. We’re running out of time, but I’ll support whatever decision you make."

You nodded curtly, turning toward the door. As you stepped out into the cool city air, your chest tightened with the weight of everything you stood to lose. The lights of New York City flickered ahead of you, just out of reach, as though the life you’d built here could vanish at any moment.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly afraid.

Your phone buzzed, dragging you out of your spiraling thoughts. You fished it out of your purse, heart skipping a beat when you saw the name: Nina. Your agent.

With a shaky exhale, you answered. “Nina, hi.”

“Hey, babe!” Nina’s voice was all cheer, a stark contrast to the storm inside you. “So, I have amazing news! Guess who just got major campaign offers coming in? You! Chanel, Loewe, and oh my God, don’t even get me started on Louis Vuitton. The year starts beautifully for you!”

You should’ve felt ecstatic, but instead, the words passed over you like an echo. All you could think of was the countdown Nico had set in motion: three months. Three months before everything you’d built here would be taken away from you. 

“That’s… amazing, Nina,” you managed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Really amazing. Thank you so much.”

“Are you okay? You don’t sound like your sunshine-self.” Nina’s voice softened, concern creeping in. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause. Nina had been there through all your ups and downs, from your rookie days as a model to your rise in the industry. But the immigration issues, the fear of being sent back to a life you couldn’t return to—that was something neither of you could control. 

“Three months?” she repeated, her voice going higher. “Oh my God—what the fuck? I thought… I thought you had more time.”

“So did I.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Nina, I don’t know what to do. I’ve called Nico and he tried everything—extensions, appeals—but the laws are tightening, and he said there’s only one real option left.”

There was a brief silence before she asked, “What option?”

You bit your lip. “Marriage. Nico says I could marry someone for a green card.”

“Marriage?” Nina’s voice came out in a shocked squeak. “Like a fake marriage? Babe, are you serious?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, frustration and fear colliding. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t go back there. I can’t. My parents… My parents already wrote me off as dead, and if I go back, I’m stuck in a place I spent my entire life trying to escape.”

Her voice softened. “I know, honey, I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—God, I can’t imagine how scary this is for you.��

You took a shaky breath, grateful for her understanding. Nina wasn’t just your manager—she was one of the few people who you actually close to. She was a 34 years old American-Filipina woman. You trusted her with your life. 

“Okay,” Nina said, her voice more focused now. “Okay, now listen. We’ll figure this out. I know Nicolas wouldn’t suggest something like this unless it was a real option. Do you trust him?”

You sighed. “Yeah. I do. But the idea of marrying someone just to stay… it feels like another version of what my parents wanted for me. Like I’m back in that same time of my life.”

“I get it. But this isn’t like that. You’re in control this time,” Nina said. “If this is what you need to stay here, it’s not about love or being owned by someone.”

You nodded to yourself, trying to absorb her words. “Well, um, Nico gave me a list of potential candidates—people who might be willing to make an arrangement. You’ll never guess who’s on it, though.”

“Who? Shawn Mendes? Harry Styles? Tom Holland—”

“Rafe Cameron,” you said, cutting her off. “The basketball play—”

“Yeah, I know who that man is, Y/N. His reputation is a total mess right now. It’s not surprising for him to be on that list.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “It’s a perfect business arrangement for him, too. He needs a way to look respectable again, and I need to stay in the country.”

“So, you’re actually considering this?”

You leaned against a streetlamp, staring at the city around you. “I don’t know. Maybe? It just feels wrong. Like I’m giving up a part of myself.”

“As nicely as this can be said, you are being dramatic here, babe.” Nina sighed softly. “Look, I’m not going to push you either way, okay? But I do think you need to look at it from a different angle. You’re not giving up on yourself. You’re doing what you need to do to stay here, to keep fighting for your career and your future. And Rafe—or whoever you’ll end up marrying—is not your parents. He’s not going to control you or he’ll get slapped.”

You closed your eyes, trying to let her words sink in. She was right—you were in control now. This wasn’t the same as being forced into a marriage you didn’t want. This was about survival. About keeping your life in the U.S. intact.

"Yeah… I guess you’re right," you said softly, feeling some of the tension release from your shoulders. "I just need time to think."

TWO WEEKS LATER.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm light across your living room. After two relentless weeks of back-to-back fashion shoots, campaign meetings, and gala appearances, you had finally found a moment of peace. You curled up on the plush sofa, sinking into its embrace as the hum of the city outside became a distant murmur. The oversized, loose pajamas you wore were a far cry from the designer gowns and couture you’d been draped in recently, but they were yours—soft, comforting, and familiar. Your hair was twisted into a lazy bun under a satin bonnet.

You exhaled a sigh of relief, finally feeling the weight of exhaustion slip from your shoulders as you closed your eyes.

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table pulled you from the calm. You groaned softly, reaching for it with one hand, expecting to see another notification about a meeting or event. Instead, it was a message from Nicolas.

“Any thoughts on who you're going to marry? We need to move quickly if we want to ensure everything goes through in time.”

The familiar weight of the situation you’d been trying to avoid crept back into your chest. Two weeks had passed since your lawyer had first laid out the reality of your visa situation. In those weeks, you'd thrown yourself into work, hoping the constant flurry of activity would drown out the anxiety. But now, in the quiet of your home, the decision loomed large again.

You typed back, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

"I haven’t decided yet."

A few seconds later, the reply came through.

"We need to discuss this in person. Can you come to my office today?"

You frowned, your eyes darting around the cozy room, not quite ready to leave your home.

"How about you come here instead?" you typed. "It’s been a long week, and I’d rather talk in private."

There was a pause before the three dots appeared, and then the message followed.

"Sure. I’ll be there in about an hour."

You put your phone down and leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have, but it was necessary. Time was running out, and you knew you had to face it—whether you wanted to or not.

An hour passed in a blur, and soon enough, you heard the knock at your door. You padded across the room in your socks, your oversized pajama pants swishing softly as you walked. Opening the door, you found Nicolas standing there, looking as composed as ever in his tailored suit.

“Come in,” you said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

Nicolas entered, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on you. "You look... relaxed."

You gave a soft chuckle, gesturing to your pajamas. “Don’t mock the pj’s until you’ve tried them.”

He smiled slightly, but there was a hint of emergency in his expression as he took a seat in the armchair across from you. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but we really need to make a decision.”

You nodded, sitting back down on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. “I know… I’ve just been avoiding it.”

“And I noticed,” he said, pulling out a folder from his briefcase. “But with the visa expiration approaching, we don’t have much time. We need to find someone—someone who understands the situation and won’t make things harder.”

You bit your lip, holding a smile, glancing at the folder in his hands. “You bought the list?”

He nodded, and handed it over, and you flipped through the names, recognizing some immediately. Athletes, businessmen, even a couple of actors/singers. And then there was Rafe Cameron, his name standing out like a bold headline.

“I’ve looked at these,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know who to choose. None of ‘em feel right.”

Nico leaned forward. “It's not about right or wrong. It’s about who can offer the least amount of personal complications and help you secure your residency. Rafe Cameron, for instance—he’s someone who could benefit from this arrangement as much as you. His reputation needs mending, and this could be a mutually beneficial situation.”

You stared at Rafe’s name, the memories of seeing his name in the news about how much of a womanizer he was… Could you really tie yourself to someone like him in a fake marriage?

“Alright, but I need you to help me decide,” you admitted, looking up at him.

He nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. Let’s break it down together and figure out who makes the most sense, not just legally but for your peace of mind.”

Nicolas opened his briefcase again, pulling out more detailed files on the potential candidates. He laid them out neatly on the coffee table, each name with a stack of information—financial records, personal histories, public perceptions. It was all very businesslike.

You leaned forward, looking at the pages in front of you. Each one represented a major decision, a shift in your life you weren’t entirely ready to accept, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Let’s start with the most practical options,” he said, sliding the file on Rafe Cameron toward you. “I know his name has come up before. He’s wealthy, influential, and… well, let’s be honest, he could use a boost to his public image right now. It’s a good match on paper.”

You stared at Rafe’s name again, tapping the edge of the file with your finger. “Yeah, but he’s also a bit of a mess, isn’t he? I mean, the media paints him as this… whore, and his personal life is always talked about. What if that blows back on me?”

Nicolas raised a brow. “That’s something to consider, but you also have to think of the benefits. His public image might not be very clean, but he’s powerful. Marrying him would put you in a stable position, and if it’s a business arrangement, his private affairs don’t have to concern you.”

You exhaled slowly, still feeling uneasy. Rafe Cameron was trouble, and you knew it. But at the same time, trouble might be exactly what could make this work—for both of you.

“What about the others?” you asked, flipping through the files. “There has to be someone who’s… less complicated.”

“Well,” he said, tapping another file. “there’s Owen Turner. He’s a succesful tech entrepeneur, keeps a low profile. No scandals, no messy reputation. He’s reliable, but you’ll have to approach this differently. He’s more private, less likely to want his personal life on display.”

“And boring—plus, he seems like the type of white guy to want a traditional wife. Like he would expect me to cook for him every night… and he has an ugly name.”

“Owen won’t be expecting home-cooked meals, Y/N. He’s a tech guy; he probably lives on energy drinks and instant ramen,” Nico pointed out, trying to steer you back to the serious topic. “But if we position it as a legal arrangement, he could see the value in it.”

You sighed, leaning back on the chair. “Okay, maybe Owen is the safer options. But can you imagine our wedding announcement? ‘Succesful Tech Entrepeneur Married Famous Model: They Share a Love for Cats and Instant Noodle.’”

Nico shook his head, trying not to smile. “Focus, please. This is a serious matter.”

“Right, right, sorry…” you said, wavering your hand dismissively. “But, what do you think about Rafe?”

“Rafe Cameron is the most straightforward option,” he said, his tone now more measured. “He’s already in the public eye, which means there won’t be as much of a shock if you’re suddenly married. Plus, his need for good press aligns with your need for stability.”

“And personally?”

He smiled softly, a rare gesture from him. “Personally, I think you should go with the person you think you can manage.”

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. Staring at the stack of papers in front of you, Rafe Cameron’s name glaring up at you from the top of the list. Every name on the list had its pros and cons, but something about Rafe’s file felt different. Maybe it was the intensity of his media coverage, the scandals, or the way he dominated the headlines for all the wrong reasons. But as much as you hesitated, his name kept pulling you back.

“I know his reputation isn't spotless,” Nico said, sensing your hesitation, “but in this situation, a clean reputation isn’t the priority. You need someone powerful, someone with enough influence to make this arrangement stick without getting tangled up in emotional complications.”

You nodded, again.”But I don’t know if I can handle all the baggage that comes with Rafe Cameron. His public image is a trainwreck. Wouldn’t that only complicate things more?”

Nico leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Possibly. But think of it this way: his personal life is already so chaotic that a stable, respectable marriage might be exactly what he needs to repair his image. And that’s where you come in. You’d be helping each other.”

Your eyes dropped back down to his file. "Do you think he'd even agree to something like this?"

Nico chuckled softly. “If there’s one thing I know about men like Rafe Cameron, it’s that they understand deals. His reputation is hanging by a thread, and a marriage to someone like you—someone with a pristine public image—could be the ticket to restoring his credibility. It’s a win-win, really.”

You considered Nico’s words. He was right. Rafe had everything to gain from a marriage of convenience, just like you. And while his scandals were messy, they didn’t define him entirely. He was still an elite athlete, one of the best in the game, and with the right PR strategy, you could both come out looking better.

But the thought of marrying someone like him—a notorious playboy with a history of messy breakups—made your stomach churn. 

“You know,” Nico continued, “if this were just about your visa, we’d be having a different conversation. But this is about your entire future. Your career, your freedom to stay here, everything you’ve built. I’m not saying it’s an easy choice, but it’s one worth considering.”

You sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "What happens if it falls apart? What if things with Rafe go wrong?"

"That’s why we’ll draft a contract," Nico reassured you. "This won’t be a traditional marriage, Y/N. You’ll both have clear boundaries, and legally, we’ll protect your interests. If things go south, you’ll be covered."

You stared at the file a little longer, then closed your eyes.Rafe Cameron. He was cocky, possessive, and reckless—everything you usually avoided. But maybe that was the key. You wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to control you or make this anything more than a business transaction.

It would be messy. It would be complicated. But it would also keep you here, in the country you’d fought so hard to call home. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the solution you both needed.

“Okay,” you said softly, your decision finally settling. “I’ll do it.”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up, a little surprised at how quickly you’d made up your mind. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted with a weak smile. “But I think this is the best option. I’ll marry Rafe Cameron.”

Nico nodded, closing the folder with a satisfied smile. “Good. I’ll set up a meeting with him. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

Oh God, you were going to marry Rafe Cameron…

chapter two

[amitkakkareasyvisa]

(via A Step-by-Step Guide to Obtaining a Portugal Golden Visa)

[businessseupdubai]

Best Business Setup Consultants For Completing UAE Golden Visa Requirements

The uae golden visa requirements are an important legal document that assists foreign citizens in acquiring long-term resident permits. A simple procedure may be used to get the UAE Golden Visa. Although it is quite easy, you must be ready with your supporting documents since you must also submit it.

[brilliancemigrationservices]

The Portugal Golden Residence Permit Program, which is also famous as the Portugal Golden Visa Program, is offered by the Portugal Government. It is a five-year residence and investment program that permits non-EU nationals to live, study, and work in the country.

[ddarker-dreams]

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005. 

8:02 a.m.

-

You don’t get it. 

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role. 

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport? 

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then. 

You go as still as a statue. 

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system. 

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?” 

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. 

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard. 

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh. 

“Just a bit.” 

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head. 

“Gonna come with?” 

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found. 

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?” 

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?” 

“It’s almost like a ghost town.” 

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point. 

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one… 

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says. 

You blink. 

“On… the first day…?” 

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.” 

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future. 

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious. 

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later. 

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image. 

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other. 

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth. 

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable. 

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience. 

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning. 

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away. 

The creature continued to sip. 

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way. 

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’ 

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel. 

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them. 

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’ 

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four. 

You hope you can befriend everyone. 

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book! 

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment. 

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines. 

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten. 

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself. 

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs. 

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground. 

Dodging isn’t an option. 

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone. 

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters? 

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can. 

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds. 

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest. 

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.  

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed. 

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares. 

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind. 

���Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.” 

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges. 

“Are you okay?!” 

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense. 

You inhale shakily. 

“Never better. You?” 

He sounds chipper. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over. 

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?” 

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.” 

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch. 

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells. 

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger. 

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. 

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan. 

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?” 

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely. 

How did he pull that off…? 

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go. 

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess. 

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?” 

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”  

You make a face. “Eh?” 

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?” 

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?” 

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes. 

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble. 

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.” 

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines. 

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.” 

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.” 

“That was the most egregious part!” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you. 

“By the way, how do you know my name—” 

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence. 

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison. 

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.” 

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up. 

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets. 

You introduce yourself as well. 

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?” 

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.” 

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.” 

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue. 

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color. 

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him. 

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Any spell you were under withers and dies. 

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say. 

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own. 

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him. 

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly. 

You wonder what everyone else is like. 

-

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class. 

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.” 

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.” 

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?” 

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly. 

“What’s up?” 

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.” 

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?” 

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.” 

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face. 

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun! 

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information. 

-

This has been the first proper school day. 

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking. 

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball. 

This guy really irks you. 

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up. 

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.” 

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha. 

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response. 

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite. 

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?” 

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.” 

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.” 

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums. 

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.” 

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.” 

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory. 

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back. 

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.” 

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually. 

-

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down. 

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high. 

“Need help?” 

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares. 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. 

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.” 

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out). 

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.” 

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon. 

You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?” 

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.” 

“...” 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known. 

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really really?” 

“Really really.” 

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow. 

“For you, madam.” 

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along. 

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.” 

Gojo gives a hearty salute. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

-

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.” 

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space. 

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.” 

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway. 

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose. 

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.” 

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?” 

Gojo furrows his eyebrows. 

Geto blinks. 

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?” 

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist. 

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.” 

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce. 

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?” 

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?” 

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate. 

He doesn’t. 

“Geto-kun, care to translate?” 

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…” 

Geto trails off and clears his throat. 

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him. 

You nod. 

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?” 

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.” 

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw. 

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask. 

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? 

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever. 

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.” 

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?” 

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor. 

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.” 

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear: 

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?” 

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes. 

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally. 

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.” 

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest. 

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance. 

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?” 

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach. 

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?” 

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal. 

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.” 

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.” 

“You do?” Geto hums. 

“He does?” You ask. 

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?” 

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment? 

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.” 

Geto and Gojo exchange looks. 

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.” 

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that. 

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.” 

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?” 

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—” 

You clap to redirect their attention. 

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.” 

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses. 

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.” 

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off. 

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon. 

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied. 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I get it now.” 

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.” 

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.” 

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?” 

“Are you?” 

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it. 

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that. 

-

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.” 

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on. 

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums. 

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.” 

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.” 

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say. 

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said, 

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.” 

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right. 

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed. 

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex. 

What could be better than learning from the best? 

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors. 

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children. 

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration. 

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment. 

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident. 

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time. 

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read. 

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight. 

Painfully so. 

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested. 

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life. 

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines. 

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location. 

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.” 

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?” 

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival. 

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak. 

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions. 

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?” 

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.” 

You shiver. 

“... Oh.” 

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.” 

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.” 

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out. 

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different. 

This cuts and it cuts deep. 

Are you that incompetent to him…? 

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building. 

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument. 

Leaving no room for you. 

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day. 

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” 

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru. 

This is destruction in its raw, purest form. 

This is what it means to be the strongest. 

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant. 

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description. 

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed. 

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage. 

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace. 

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—” 

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack. 

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else. 

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating. 

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him. 

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.” 

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby. 

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown. 

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…” 

You hear a sniffle. 

Then a whimper. 

And a gurgle. 

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—” 

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources. 

All is still. 

All is silent. 

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain. 

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon. 

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions. 

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.” 

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise. 

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them. 

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit. 

The appendage plummets down. 

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name. 

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe. 

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable. 

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge. 

You dismiss your cursed technique. 

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run. 

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in. 

Is that really the only way? 

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up. 

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing. 

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?” 

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—” 

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.” 

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back. 

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.” 

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—” 

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.” 

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession. 

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?” 

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.” 

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures. 

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks. 

“Just a few sprains.” 

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.” 

You exhale shakily. 

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?” 

How does he know that? 

You’ll worry about this oddity later. 

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?” 

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you. 

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse. 

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.” 

Seventeen sources? 

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says. 

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?” 

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.” 

“Seriously?” 

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?” 

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all. 

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant. 

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind. 

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage. 

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well. 

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is. 

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers. 

“Cursed Technique: Null.” 

Your ability is versatile if not simple. 

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth. 

There’s an additional application beyond this. 

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within. 

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds. 

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer. 

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood. 

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast. 

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them. 

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you. 

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down. 

Time to leap across. 

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you. 

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two. 

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too). 

Three. 

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops. 

…

So does your breathing. 

-

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse  ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

-

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design. 

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping. 

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud. 

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh. 

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?” 

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp. 

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups. 

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking. 

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his. 

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”  

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.” 

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter. 

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.” 

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.  

“What kind of suggestions?” 

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.” 

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?” 

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.” 

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed? 

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?” 

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation? 

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children. 

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.” 

The tips of his ears turn red. 

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.” 

“I’m getting this over with.” 

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.” 

“... Oh.” 

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat. 

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.  

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward. 

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?” 

He nods without hesitation.  

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?” 

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self. 

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down. 

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain. 

It stops you from shattering. 

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.” 

… Is that what you meant? 

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace. 

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back. 

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage. 

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace. 

-

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day. 

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.  

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak? 

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side. 

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway? 

-

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed. 

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still. 

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down, 

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.” 

“Eek!” 

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure… 

“Satoru? You’re back?” 

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic. 

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning. 

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!” 

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything. 

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable. 

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though. 

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility. 

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.  

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs. 

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless. 

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp, 

“Welcome home, Satoru!” 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out. 

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.” 

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that.  “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

(He holds up two). 

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“Funny girl.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath. 

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru���s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being. 

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier. 

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch. 

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off. 

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.” 

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?” 

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.  

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—” 

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.” 

You blink. 

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow. 

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?” 

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane. 

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught. 

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric. 

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since. 

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.” 

That sounds like your mentor alright. 

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?” 

You point to yourself and he nods. 

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation. 

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.” 

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now. 

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?” 

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.” 

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.” 

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.” 

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection. 

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done. 

“It’s—” 

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.” 

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?” 

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.” 

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!” 

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight. 

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—” 

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—” 

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication. 

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.” 

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in. 

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.” 

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you. 

“And that happy medium is…?” 

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it. 

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.” 

What is he, a member of the mob?! 

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe. 

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff. 

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.” 

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?” 

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.” 

Wait, what? 

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish. 

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!” 

“But I did.” 

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.” 

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning. 

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.” 

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you… 

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere? 

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.” 

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum. 

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs. 

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out. 

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder. 

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?” 

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight. 

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”  

-

December 23rd, 2017. 

8:02 p.m. 

-

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him. 

Or so you thought. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.” 

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!” 

“I’m not laughing, am I?” 

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take. 

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching. 

“Is that genuinely what you think?” 

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record. 

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future. 

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate. 

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends. 

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?  

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not. 

“... It isn’t.” 

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.” 

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo. 

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell. 

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion. 

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.” 

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. 

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?” 

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t. 

“I know.” 

“... Could you?” 

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through. 

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile. 

He quickly abandons the farce. 

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out. 

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.” 

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition. 

He whispers your name. 

“You trust me, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then do this for me, baby.” 

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?” 

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.” 

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice. 

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you. 

“And this is all based on a hunch?” 

“Mhm.” 

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you. 

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth. 

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available. 

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school. 

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up. 

His explanation upon answering the phone? 

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!” 

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm. 

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.” 

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile. 

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

[sotomato06]

Leaving the US?

Following the events of last night, its likely a lot of you want to leave the United States. I don't blame you and can't say I haven't entertained the same thoughts. So I complied this list of the easiest countries to move to from the United States, and the pros and cons of each nation

Mexico

Mexico is close to the United States, not requiring a flight to get there (though it is recommended if within your price range) The nation allows residency of US citizens for up to 180 days without a visa or permit, allowing plenty of time to apply for the temporary residency visa which is normally valid for 4-5 years. After 5 years of residency, you can apply for permanent citizenship. https://consulmex.sre.gob.mx/leamington/index.php/non-mexicans/visas/115-temporary-resident-visa

Mexico has a much lower cost of living than the USA, with the average Mexican spending around $1000 usd or MEX$20151.55 mxn. Jobs do pay lower, but the cost of living still works out lower than in the United States and the work environment in Mexico is known to be more healthy. Along with the great weather (and food) Mexico is a good choice for Americans trying to escape the country.

 Claudia Sheinbaum, the current president of Mexico was recently sworn in and is a strong advocate for women's rights. She has fought for Abortion rights in Mexico, along with other reproductive rights. She is also a Champion of LGBTQ+ rights and has been fighting to help queer people in Mexico for the majority of her career. She is expanding Mexican welfare and is an environmental advocate. Same-Sex Marriage has been fully legal in Mexico since 2021 and Abortion is not criminalized and preformed in almost all Mexican states. For more information, I suggest the Wikipedia article on Abortion in Mexico, as it is a complicated subject. Although currently, it is ranked around the same as the USA on access across the whole country, Mexican Abortion legislation is moving in the opposite direction to the United State's, as according to the Center for Reproductive Rights, once all of the Mexican states properly reform their laws to comply with the 2023 court ruling, Mexico will be a rank one on Abortion laws, or Abortion available everywhere on request which is expected to be soon. Changing one's legal name and gender is protected under Mexican laws, and the majority of states have anti discrimination laws in place. One state even allows one to change their gender to something other than male or female, recognizing non-binary identities legally.

Portugal

Portugal is a good option for those who have funds to put into leaving. Portugal offers a program for a Golden Visa which can be obtained through owning a certain amount of real estate although there are other ways. This Visa offers the chance at citizenship after holding for only 5 years. https://getgoldenvisa.com/portugal-golden-visa-program

Portugal offers a lot of benefits for retirees as well, so if your grandma also wants to flee the country, Portugal may be the country for her. The weather is good and it is known to be incredibly peaceful and pretty.

Portugal is also in the European Union, meaning citizenship here also means EU citizenship and access to the whole Schengen Zone, allowing a lot of opportunity for education and location, as you don't have to obtain another citizenship to move to another EU nation. Abortion is legal in Portugal as is Same-Sex Marriage and both are protected under the laws of the EU. Trans rights are also protected and a trans person is allowed to change their legal gender without a medical diagnosis.

Ecuador

Ecuador is another option that is good if you aren't looking to leave the Americas. Ecuador allows visa free residency for up to 90 days and grant Permanent resident visas after only 21 months of living with a temporary visa. There are many temporary visa options including an investment one similar to Portugal's and a retiree option. Another option would be the Professional Visa, although that one is more likely to be granted if you have a job lined up and a university degree, it is the only one that does not require a lot of money. Get in touch with an Ecuador embassy here https://travel.state.gov/content/travel/en/consularnotification/ConsularNotificationandAccess/Ecuador.html

Ecuador also has a lower cost of living compared to the United States and the English language and dollar are often used in the country. The weather in Ecuador is an incredibly good feature of the nation as well.

Ecuador does not allow abortion upon request, but they do allow it to save the life of the mother or for other extreme cases involving rape. There are multiple organizations working to change this however and extend these rights to be more like those of Mexico or Argentina. Same-Sex marriage is protected in Ecuador as of 2019 and transgender people are able to change their legal gender without needing to go through gender affirming surgery.

Spain

Spain has an education based program where citizens of Canada and the United States are granted temporary visa's to come and teach English in the nation. You are compensated and only expected to work for 12-16 hours a week. Under this visa, you can find other work and apply for a more permanent professional Visa, which only have to be renewed every few years and leads you on the path to permanent residency. https://www.educacionfpydeportes.gob.es/eeuu/convocatorias-programas/convocatorias-eeuu/nalcap.html

Spain is also a member of the EU and residency here allows access to the Schengen zone of Europe as well. Spain has abortion on request up to 14 weeks and allows emergency abortions when the mother's life could be at risk even after that. Spain also allows same-sex marriage and has trans protection laws in place, with somebody over 16 allowed to change their legal gender, no parent, judge or doctor involved. Spain also has a very relaxed work culture with the maximum allowed work hours a week being 40 and the average worked being 36.

South Korea

South Korea has a very similar program to Spain, where you can live there for up to a year and teach English, although the South Korean program often requires a bachelors degree. Following the stay with the temporary teaching visa, you could apply for a more permanent option. A "resident visa" in South Korea is typically referred to as an "F-5 visa", which signifies a permanent residency permit, allowing foreigners to live and work in the country indefinitely; to qualify, you must meet certain criteria like significant investment in a Korean business, marriage to a Korean citizen, or a long-term stay with exceptional skills in a specific field.  https://www.internations.org/south-korea-expats/guide/visas-work-permits

As of 2021, Abortion is fully legal in the nation and is available upon request, although due to the nature in which it was legalized it is a bit iffy. I would recommend reading further into it. However, although Homosexuality is not criminalized in the country, South Korea has no official recognition of any sort of Marriage or civil unions between same-sex couples and they often face discrimination. So if you are in a same sex relationship, South Korea may not be the place for you.

Australia

Australia is one of the easiest nations for Americans to live in under a temporary Visa, as they have a program called the working holiday program and you can live there up to 3 years under it. However, this program does not lead to permanent residency and you would have to apply for another visa, either a work or family, to move there permanently. https://immi.homeaffairs.gov.au/visas/permanent-resident

Australia allows abortion up to 23 weeks upon request, although specifics do vary between states. Queer rights in Australia rank among the highest in the world, as marriage has been fully legalized since 2017 and they are also a world leader in trans rights. All Australian states allow the changing of one's gender legally and support gender affirming care. Non-discriminations laws are also present in all the states.

Canada

Canada allows American citizens to stay in their country for up to 6 months visa free, although they are not allowed to work without any sort of visa. The easiest way to gain Canadian residency is though the express visa system. This immigration program targets skilled workers than can contribute to three economic fields in Canada. Canadian citizenship is available after five years of residency. https://www.canada.ca/en/immigration-refugees-citizenship/services/immigrate-canada/express-entry/works.html

Cost of living in Canada is slightly higher than in the US, but the benefits are greater with more affordable education and universal healthcare.

Canada is known as one of the best nations for LGBTQ+ people. It was the third nation in the world to legalize same sex marriage. Since June 2017, all places within Canada explicitly within the Canadian Human Rights Act, equal opportunity and/or anti-discrimination legislation prohibit discrimination against gender identity or gender identity or expression. This includes trans rights, who are protected under Canadian law. Abortion is publicly funded and available throughout the entire nation in Canada.

If you live in a red state and aren't interested in leaving the country, but don't want to stay where you are, here's some stats that may help make your decision on where to move to;

States with no abolition ban:

Washington DC, New Jersey, Maryland, Oregon, Vermont, Michigan, Minnesota, Colorado, New Mexico, Alaska

Best states for LGBTQ+ individuals:

New York, Oregon, Minnesota, California, Colorado, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Maine, Washington DC

Hope this helps whoever may need it.

[crionn]

⚔︎ : aurevia concept + lore guide !! ( by mono )

visual concept : a city of white, gold and baby blue. lots of intricate details and clouds in the architecture and a bit of a glowy atmosphere. city above the clouds with residents that seem otherworldly with their big white wings. takes inspiration from ancient greece, the floating mountains and the palace of versailles.

portal : the temple of artemis in ephesus. located in modern day turkey. has been kept relatively hidden away from any humans. besides the portal, accessing aurevia requires a bit of hidden (and forbidden) knowledge that is very hard for outsiders to access.

ruling house : house of (name reserved for jude to decide here). (monarch status here) (monarch name here).

heir : (name reserved for jude to decide here).

sigil : a sword and wings on a golden crest (this kinda vibe.)

motto : wings banded together.

the city of aurevia : aurevia is a medium-sized realm that resides on floating mountains in the clouds. every mountain is connected by long bridges, but it is not exactly needed due to its citizens. although aurevia is a realm full of different beings, the main population that resides in aurevia is the native population: vinge. they are a population of rather humanoid creatures, however taller in stature and their most notable physical difference .. their large white wings. however, you can find many other species in aurevia!

locations : the temple of the old gods, the house of orion, the white keep (knight's quarters & training center), an array of shops and restaurants, the castle, the philosophical temple of clouds (closed for maesters/philosphers only), numerous taverns, the whispering woods, the floating waterfalls of aurevia, the sacred watchtowers. heavily inspired by mondstat (layout wise!!)

how to reach aurevia : due to it’s extremely high altitude and almost impossibility of reaching the city without wings, the native population of aurevia created a pulley system that mimics modern day elevators. there is a ground floor of aurevia which functions as a visitor’s centre. in this centre, non-natives will get visas to access the city, as well as other permits and things. then, they may purchase a ticket to board the golden pulleys of aurevia, which can fit 100 individuals at a time, and work from 5am-5pm. after this time, outsiders may not access aurevia without the help of a native.

jobs : bard, maester, philosopher, knight, forest watcher, tower keeper, seamstress, royal courts, travelling merchant, master of whispers, town shouter, interpreter, master of coin, court jester, circus ring leader.

mythology : 'old god' mythology - typically only followed by the common folk, though the royal family does follow and promote the religion.

the old gods : the sacred 5, said to have created the realm of aurevia and any other realm that may exist. this religion has slowly began to fizzle out in the times due to the slow progress of technology, but the majority of the common folk and the royal family still follow it.

nelros : the queen of gods, mother of creation. life started with her, and she created her siblings. takes the form of a golden dove.

sotlir : the god of death, the ruler of the other side. life ends with him. takes the form of a black raven.

lilyan : the god of time, the son of eternity. life goes on with him. takes the form of a white deer.

iesis : the god(dess) of love. life is loved through them. is also the god(dess) of food and harvest, in charge of controlling the elements. takes the form of a swan. has no confirmed gender, and is seen taking both male and female forms.

miona : the goddess of justice. the all seeing eye of life. takes the form of a male lion.

the white keep : the home of the rosen knights, which are the sacred knights of aurevia. incredibly skilled fighters, both agile in the sky and on the ground.

the oath : (almost completely stolen from the night’s watch oath….) clouds gather, and now my life begins. it shall not end until my fated death. i shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. i shall wear no crowns and win no glory. i shall live and die a rosen knight. i am the shimmering sword in the light. i am the angel that rises in the ashes. i am the shield that guards aurevia. i pledge my life and honour to the rosen knight’s, for this day and all days to come.

armour : typically dripped in gold and silver to show off stature, has open slits for their wings and extra armour available for them as well. their headpiece has wings on the sides, mimicking the greek god hermes. their main chest plate has a red rose ethched into it, along with other red rose symbolism engraved throughout their armour, symbolising their status of being rosen knights.

weaponry : all rosen knights are extremely skilled in both ground and aerial combat. all knights typically have two swords at their disposal, a longsword made for intense warfare that hands from their sheath, and a smaller sword for any everyday usage. a longsword is not permitted to be used in any other combat outside from war, and is hand crafted to be held by none other than the knight it belongs to. (a lot like thor's hammer), it is almost impossible to lift a rosen knight's longsword unless magic has been gifted to you. however, besides their swords and rigorous sword training, they are also taught to hold numerous other weapons: the longspear, the bow and arrow, and from the witches, occasional magic to help summon creatures for their aid - but only if absolutely necessary. all knights have the option to choose which other weapons they may like to use, but are trained in all of them until they can perfect it.

fighting skills : it is a known fact that it is extremely difficult to defeat a rosen knight in any sort of combat, however, it is not impossible. they are extremely skilled fighters in both aerial and ground combat, and typically train from the moment they are able to stand to the moment they are sworn in, and even so, they are still trained throughout their service when there is time to do so. however, they do not believe in senseless violence. it is extremely frowned upon for a rosen knight to use violence unless absolutely necessary, and only one knight has ever been dismissed from service for using excessive force when it was not needed (which was rumoured to be suggested by the philosophers).

origin : many common folk have wondered where the rosen knights even originated from, as their history is not well known by many outside of the knights themselves or the philosophers. however, it is said that nelros created the first rosen knight after a particularly gruelling war. there was ash everywhere due to raging fires, and yet, a single red rose had survived, and it stayed planted on the ground, almost shining. from that single rose, nelros created the knight from its petals. she created his sword from it’s stem and the blade from it’s thorns. from then on, a godly and prestigious knighthood was created to protect aurevia from any harm.

symbolism : the rosen knights are a tight-knit brotherhood rumoured to be created by the sacred rose of aurevia themselves. they are knights that embody beauty in every sense of the word, and although are skilled fighters, value fairness and gentleness above violence. although they are appointed by the gods, the philosophers are the ones that they directly report to. however, the rosen knights seemingly have their own government and way of selecting their commanders and officers. all rosen knights are said to be a beauty that is otherworldly, however, they rarely ever show their face unless they are in the presence of their sworn brothers.

current commander : hugh (41) the strong, of house ravenwood. there are currently 32 rosen knights in aurevia.

familiars : as soon as you are sworn to be a rosen knight, you are visited by the rosen witch. this witch is a woman who is appointed by the philosophers, and gives the knights their familiar (imagine megumi's dogs). a familiar is chosen typically at random, but follows the heart of what the knight is truly capable of. all familiars are different despite them sharing a species sometimes, and each familiar comes with their own unique abilities.

familiar symbolism : the pegasus - a horse typically larger than average horses, with a large wingspan, typically around 8.5 meters (27 feet). every pegasus has a different coat colouring and unique special ability, but represents aerial grace and freedom. is typically rode with knights that choose the bow as their main weapon.

familiar symbolism : the cat - (imagine a bob cat/maine coon type) typically larger than house cats. every cat has a different coat colouring and unique special abilities that typically deal with close combat (ex. stunlocking the enemies). they represent strength and force. they are typically beside knights that choose the sword as their main weapon.

familiar symbolism : the phoenix - a rare, but rather interesting familiar to have. they are larger than most birds of prey, and are all a normal shade of brown, only lighting itself on fire during combat. they represent sacrifice and honour. they are typically with knights that choose the bow as their main weapon.

familiar symbolism : the wolf - extremely larger than normal wolves (cough.. cough… twilight wolves….), and come in a range of coat colours and special abilities. these familiars deal with long ranged ground combat. they represent bravery and duty. they are typically beside the knights that choose the longspear as their main weapon.

familiar symbolism : the banshee - a unique familiar that resembles a woman. are also known as sirens. appears from the elements of nature (ex. comes from tree bark), and uses their voices to lure in their enemies. they represent deception and dishonesty. they are more difficult to claim as a familiar, as they choose who they become tied with. however, they have been known to be with knights that choose the sword as their main weapon.

familiar symbolism : the demon - the most dangerous type of familiar to get, as the knights must go through a trial in the underworld and become possessed by a demon and survive it (imagine seraph of the end - attaining a cursed weapon). there has been very few cases where it has been successful, so not many try for this familiar. however, if successful, the demon takes home in their chosen weapon, and once released during combat, become almost a shadow of their knight and act as a second, more stronger version of them, while also giving the original knight enhanced strength, speed, and agility. however, it is a constant battle to control their demon, and if a wrong move is made, or a weakness is shown, the demon will most likely devour their soul. there is no pattern for the knights they choose besides whoever was brave enough to try.

note : if you have an idea for a familiar, feel free to tell me or add it and i’ll format it!! :D

the protector of aurevia : hand picked from the gods themselves, this person is a protector of the realm in all sense of the word.

origin : the protectors of the realms of orion are a sacred force as old as the gods. they are the sole protectors of the realm and the first one to be used as sacrifice in order to conserve the realm. they are typically individuals of high standing that have proven themselves to the gods with their deeds done as mortals. once chosen as a protector of the realm, there is infinite knowledge, power, and help at their disposal. for the protector of aurevia, they are ranked above the rosen knights, the royal family, and even the philosophers. they are regarded as gods to the common folk.

current protector : as of today, aurevia is currently unprotected with no named protector due to the unusual and mysterious death of the previous protector of the realm (it is rumoured that the philosophers got rid of them due to being threatened in power). as of now, the gods are trying to come to terms with who should be the new protector of the realm, however, the philosophers are attempting to overrule the gods by nominating their own protector of the realm.

acting protector of the realm : as for now, the commander of the rosen knights, hugh ravenwood, is the acting protector of the realm until the gods can decide on a new one.

the philosophers : the knowledgeable philosophers of aurevia, and the corrupt secret society that pulls the strings of the realm behind the god’s eye.

origin : once again, a system set up by the gods. however, this time, it was the goddess miona, the goddess of justice, who came together and selected a chosen one of each of the 6 realms to ultimately watch over orion as a whole, and make sure that each of the realms stayed safe. she placed them in a golden sept in aurevia, the capital realm, and named them the philosophers. she granted them the ability to see into the future and look into the past, and gave them the ultimate test of fairness. throughout history, numerous philosophers have come and go, changing from holy maesters to highly ranked philosophers, but their previous love of fairness and honesty has long gone. now in the modern times, it is easier to find one of the gods than it is to find a philosopher who isn't corrupt.

current philosophers : the philosopher of elyria, (name reserved for jude here) of house (name reserved for jude here). the philosopher of lyriel, (name reserved for jude here) of house (name reserved for jude here). the philosopher of aurevia, rob of house black. the philosopher of myrithen, (name reserved for kaz here), of house (name reserved for kaz here). the philosopher of altus, (name reserved for rain here), of house (name reserved for rain here). the philosopher of nymbralis, (name reserved for jude here), of house (name reserved for jude here).

their corruption : it all started when a philosopher of aurevia had secretly murdered all of the other philosopher's and replaced them with a tainted 5. due to the philosophers being anonymous at the time, no one had known that they were feeding the other realms complete deception. because of this, the philosophers are no longer a just force feigning for fairness and equality (imagine the betrayal of the academia in sumeru).

the species of aurevia : aurevia was once a closed off realm, only open to their native population and the 5 other philosophers. however, as time progressed, the capital realm has become extremely open and a central hub for all sorts of different species.

vinge : the native population of aurevia, known for their extravagant and rather large (and super fluffy!!) white wings. if a vinge allows you to touch their wings, the tips of your fingertips will tingle in the slightest euphoria, and being gifted a feather off of their wings is known to be a lucky charm. however, if a feather is taken without their consent or knowledge, extreme bad luck is known to befall those who make that mistake. for the majority of vinges, they spend their lives in the sky, as their wings are far too big and drag on the ground when they walk. befriending a vinge means that you'll never have to walk anywhere again (a sign of companionship is to carry their partners while they fly!).

centaur : another large majority in aurevia due to the floating mountains that are actually rather expansive. a majority of the centaurs have a horse form along with their human half of their body, and are matching in size with the pegasus that fly around in the skies. typically, centaurs are in charge of breeding pegasus (and unicorns if they're lucky).

nymphs : a product of the forest in aurevia, these are creatures of the forest, also known as forest watchers of aurevia. they take the forms of nature, and create a humanoid form when they would like to be seen. the nymphs may come from the tree bark, the petals of flowers, a running creek, a thorny bush, or even the dirt. they are known to have a gender non-confirming form, with their anatomy shared between men and women. however, due to being such an isolated population in the forest, not a lot is known about them except for the fact that they protect the forest.

misc : besides the natives of aurevia, there are numerous other types of species in the realm from different realms!

[citizenshipprograms]

Everything About Portugal's Golden Visa Program          

The Portugal Golden Visa program is a flagship initiative aimed at attracting global investors. Officially known as Portugal's Golden Visa program, it offers residency in exchange for investments in real estate, business, or research. Benefits include family inclusion and a path to EU citizenship.

Explore how the program can benefit you by visiting Citizenship Bay today!

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Article Richard Eden: About the Golden Visa of Portugal (about the purchase of the Harkles house) by u/Human-Economics6894

Article Richard Eden: About the Golden Visa of Portugal (about the purchase of the Harkles house) Pay attention to thisPortugal's Golden Visa program was one of the most popular residency by investment programs in Europe and the world. The program began in October 2012. Until 2023 it was enough to qualify for residency by contributing a minimum of €250,000, which is one of the lowest investment thresholds in Europe. And it was not necessary to move to Portugal to keep the residence permit. It was enough to stay in the country an average of seven days a year.But 2023 underwent changes.No, it is no longer useful to buy a property to obtain a Golden Visa.To access this benefit, you need to make the following investments:Subscription to funds:Make a contribution to a qualified investment fund for a minimum value of €500,000Artistic production or reconstruction of national heritage:Make an investment of at least €250,000Scientific research activities:Contribution to scientific research or/and maintenance of ten jobs during the required periodSocial capital and job creation:Constitution of a company or reinforcement of the share capital of a company, in both cases with an investment of €500,000, combined with the creation of five or the maintenance of ten jobs (five of them indefinite)https://portugalbuyersagent.com/portugal-golden-visa-ending/https://www.globalcitizensolutions.com/portugal-golden-visa-ending/#:\~:text=The%20Portugal%20Golden%20Visa%20program%20is%20not%20coming%20to%20an,to%20qualify%20for%20the%20program.So we will have to wait for Eden to tell the gossip properly and find out what the Harkles really did. But if it is because of the Golden Visa, it is no longer useful for them to buy a house. post link: https://ift.tt/rLdImBe author: Human-Economics6894 submitted: October 16, 2024 at 08:56PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[thistransient]

obligatory retrospection 2023

I was holding off on it for a while, but now perhaps it's time for the annual retrospection. (It did occur to me that there is some overlap with the birthday introspection, although that one doesn't usually come with goals or anything). Apparently my main aspiration was to finish reading 天官賜福, with some general wistfulness in the direction of having more physical contact, getting a job, and the cessation of some unproductive infatuation I was suffering. Well, 3 out of 4 ain't bad, although the job was kind of the most important one...well, can't win 'em all. (Very amusing in hindsight that I thought the human touch part would involve "massage class or something" and not "exploring the rope bondage scene").

This year was not quite as eventful as the last one. I did travel a bit more on account of the visa runs and people I showed around. Going to Korea again for the first time in ten years definitely had some sort of closure effect on me, and I felt surprisingly changed (for the better) by the experience. I finished Chinese class (mainly on the basis that there was none left to take at my language school and I was too tired to transfer to another one), finally ended things with my tutor (long overdue), experienced the rise and fall of a friendship (which I'm still processing), survived a visit from my father and enjoyed a visit from an old friend. I think I can say I've biked all the Taipei and New Taipei City riverside bike paths (Google maps is not the most reliable for these things, however.) I started going to counseling in a proactive way, not a rock-bottom way, which has been interesting. I had a brief go at the dating app thing, which mainly served to put me off the dating app thing (gonna go back to leaving it up to 緣分). I bought a silly shirt at the night market, and also went to KTV in Taiwan for the first time. I slowly trained myself to go to unfamiliar events and the bdsm bar alone (inspiring confusion in extroverts and envy in fellow anxious people). I got my instant noodle habit down to twice a week at max. I propagated too many plant clippings from the park. It didn't feel like like I was doing much from day to day, but looking back, I think I was getting myself back in order (my persistent headaches and migraines I had for so much of the previous year went away!).

This year my main goal is to finish reading the Chinese translation of 黃金神威 / Golden Kamuy. I'm at 9 of 30 volumes right now, which I get from the library because 1) I have to put them on order (the thrill of anticipation) 2) I have to take a walk to the library to retrieve them (getting out of the house) and 3) there's a due date to force me to finish them in a timely manner (unlike all the other books I own which sit unread in various drawers and corners).

I came to the conclusion that my best chance at employment in Taiwan that doesn't involve teaching children requires getting a graduate degree (which would also serve to get me residency, and perhaps convince my family I'm not going to be a ne'er-do-well forever). I have actually applied for a program- the only one I was interested in that was also manageable to apply for this admission cycle, since I came to said conclusion about a month out from the deadline. Given that it's at one of the most prestigious unis in Taiwan and I think my research proposal is only tenuously related to the department, I'm having very realistic expectations here and steeling myself to take the TOCFL and apply again this summer to programs taught in Mandarin. But at least I have a direction to go in.

I had taken an intro rope class some time during the summer, but honestly I don't see myself pursuing a career as a rigger any time soon. In the name of short-term continuing education, I have entertained the thought of looking for uni classes to audit to make sure I can actually understand them, and I also want to check out taking Japanese classes taught in Chinese. By coincidence I became acquainted with a Frenchman at the bar last night who spoke impressively fluent Japanese as a result of his job in the adult video business (initially I misunderstood this to mean he was an actor, he quickly clarified that he was in the import/export side of things), which felt like a sign (or the final sign of many). I have resisted learning it for many many years, but my trip to Tokyo this fall was just too embarrassing when it came to basic communication (or a lack thereof), and if I ever want to go explore kinbaku at the site of origin I should start working on this sooner or later.

Unrelated to all of these, I also want to consume more protein, have a look for B vitamins the surgeon's office recommended, and learn how to do multi-colour lino printing.

Thus one could say I'm cautiously optimistic about this year, fingers crossed for minimal missile warnings and no more 曖昧的關係s. 加油everybody, 加油.