☆it's me☆

Reader's pov

crimson blood pools beneath me , it's tangy , iron smell makes my inner gut wrench , twist in many different ways to point its painful. a pitful laugh leaves my lips - they did it -

they killed me .

i knew i wasn't father's prefered child , wasn't his first option or the child he would proudly brag about in those galas , thats dick , tim and damian's role.

another. bitter cough leaves my throat - leaving it hoarse and dry - and what of sweet jason ? innocent and pure sweet jason who died and came back broken ?

well - if you asked me ? he is just as pathetic as any one of them - he's just like the same damn people he swore he hates so damn much . i want to yell - no i want to claw their faces off -

i was perfect . i was the perfect daughter , i was the one who graduated with straight a's , i was the one who solved and provided so much help foe those so called cold cases , i was a good child , i was a talented child , i qas a child with so many friends , i was the child who would stay by your side no matter what.

yet here i am - bleeding my guts all alone on some lonesome forgotten rooftop - nothing but snow and a bleak night sky to watch me in my last moments of misery. i fucking hate how naive i was - naive of me to think if i sacrificed me - if i tored myself down to the bones and reframed myself back , pulled away the imperfect parts of me that i'd be worthy enough to be called bruce's daughter , that'd id be worth something in batman's eyes .

what a loveless lie , so fucking cold and empty - i was nothing , i am nothing to that man and his freak show of a family. i wasn't their type of broken , i wasn't their ideal , picture perfect rags to riches , wasn't from traumatized hell newly turned good for them.

i am nothing to them. i am just some stupid , naive girl who gave her all , gave it everything she had to be dumbed down to a laughing stalk of the family. i fucking hate stephanie - i hate her the damneat most because i thought we understood something - that we came from a life were men in our lives disappoint us time and time again yet she has the fucking audacity to call me a wannbe getup batgirl?

i want to tear her apart , want to scream at her . i hate cassandra equally - what dies she have that i don't ? what did she do to be called bruce's daughter and not me ? im so damned sorry my bloody mother wasn't some get up assassin and trained me till the bone to get sympathy ?

oh - but i'm the villian - i am the angry , tyrannical , narcisstic , ungratful child yeah alfred ? because a child who was just sa'd by her male teacher , seeking solace in you is wrong . it's innconvienent - it's a bother - another tiresome chore?

yet when damian feins a slight headache you are all over him ? i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate this fucking family you don't understand no body understands me , no one wants to - no one bloody cares too -

i am just a discarded toy in the corner collecting dust - i'm only useful when someone needs me - i'm just a nobody then fine -

i will become nothing , i will become that nobody - that fucking unwanted corpse bleeding to death - i will become something no longer human and they will feel it - they will feel my pain .

Reader's pov

do you hear it ? the sound of screaming echoing in the distance ? the sound of millions suffering in constant agony ? i look around for the first time since i felt myself succumbed to death on that lonely rooftop .

it's as dark as far as the eye can see but something draws me in closer to the darkest point . my body , subconciously moves towards it like a moth drawn to a flame.

shalllow , dark waves swallow my person til my neck but still - i thrash onwards . it feels so heavy , it feels so so heavy , like i'm moving through liquidized metal but still i run towards the moving abyss until-

my body is consumed rapidly by it's darkness , the screams of agony intensifies and it then dawns on me , i was in a blackhole. my first instict was to claw myself out but the waves - those traitors waves beat against me , drowning me further .

it's then my body is fully blanched in freezing water . i claw at the water desparatly trying to swim back to surface when suddenly , a strong force grabs me by the legs and drags me in further .

i screamed - watching all the air bubbles eacape back to the surface that seemed to get further and further away from me . my body is slammed hard against the sand bed and i can feel anxiety bubble within me when i frantically look around and realized there was nothing but me and this darkness.

i feel hopeless , i feel so lost - i feel so so helpless - so weak . i feel myself curl inwards as the hopelessness of my situation dawn upon me . i have little to no oxygen and to get to surface seems like miles away and then i freeze when i see a flutter of light appear before me.

it was a lone , red , spider lilly growing onto my right arm , its crimson petals were too eerily similar to my own blood. i gently inspected the red petal with my left gand , i was soft and warm to touch.

my eyes fixates on the way the flower dances in the dark waters .

' join me name , join me ' a soft voice calls out to me before i black out.

Batman's pov.

The greenish glow of the batcomputer reflects of my mask as my eyes focus on the multiple spread of cases laid out before me. While tonight - is undoubtedly one of gotham's quieter nights , I know better that any night in gotham is any better.

which is undoubtedly why i guess john constantine himself is standing behind me , snuffing out a cigarette on the newly polished floor that i can only assume would piss off alfred .

" Constantine " I greeted .

" Bats " he greeted as he stood next to me. That exacf moment my bpys enter in the cave , stopping in shocked when they saw both of us .

" Uhhh B whys John here ?" dick questions as he approaches me with the others behind him in tow.

" I'm here reguarding something serious " John finishes , voice curt - an alarming sign because if i know anything abput Constantine , this man always has something sarcastic to say so for him to be this uptight means the worse.

" Spill it " Damian ordered , arms crossed.

Constantine takes a deep breath before answering , " In our universe - we have aeons (gods) ruling , some present , some not - reguardless something - unusual happened " .

I lock eyes with him , " This supernatural thing is your getgo Constantine where does this involve us ?" .

Constantine rolls his eyes , " I'm getting at that you impatient shit - look nihility has an emenator " he finished.

The room goes silent , " uhm not to be that guy but nihility is the is belief that nothing matters right so what's so bad in that ?" Tim questions.

John groans annoyed , " Yes - if this was a pychology exam i'd give you ten points but nihility - the aeon - also represnts death - its an aeon that does not care about anything whatsoever because ultimately nothing matters , this aeon doesn't even interact with people to make shit even crazier so - basically it's a shut in but a very very powerful shut in and basically decided for god knows why to make itself known and get itself an emenator." John explains.

" Emenator ?" Jason questions .

" Someone who can access and utilize the aeon's powers " John explains.

Silence again . " I've yet to see what this made you come to see me Constantine " I enquired , hasty.

John sucks in another deep breatg , " because yesterday , zatanna and i felt the damn aeon cast it's gaze on gotham - it's presence was so damn strong we both collaspsed onto the ground because it was suffocating us " john fumbles.

i feel my eyes squint as the gravity of the situation dawns in " so someone with powers of literal death is in gotham and we have no idea who they are and what theyre motives are ?" dick asks but no one answers - maybe because answering it makes it worse.

" yes and they're gonna be a powerful emenator at that - plus , nihility is not an aeon to fuck around with since i dont know it's a damned blackhole that absorbs everything in its way- so if it wants , gotham can be reduced to waste in a second " .

The moment Constantine finished his sentence , I felt myself freeze - gotham is truly fucked.

thank you for reading !

For the twenty-five years, Bruce and Name have been married together - Alfred has never seen Name so withdrawn - so detached . He watches every morning how Name's frail body maneuvers around the kitchen making her own breakfast -

God knows how many times he's asked that stubborn woman to allow him to cook for him but she has always refused him with a quiet smile and a wave of hand. He watches her glide around the kitchen- a woman of once poise and grace reduced to her fumbling with simply holding a cereal box.

Alfred could never pin point where it had all went wrong in their marriage - they were both high-school sweethearts- their marriage was beautiful- he'd know because he had honored it himself. To see them so distant aches his heart.

Alfred knows Bruce has a mission - to save Gotham- a mission that seems ever lasting - a mission that had consumed him entirely to the point it took him over . It took away his relationship with his kids and his own wife .

Alfred would always shoot him disapproving looks when he sees Bruce being too flirty with Talia and Selina - he blesses Name's heart for loving Damian all the same like she has with all her other kids but Alfred notices since then she is virtual never in the same place with Bruce.

She no longer goes to galas anymore , no longer makes public appearances - maybe its because Bruce always had a different arm candy every other night. It's gotten so bad that even the kids started realizing this - Damian , upon realizing his birth had broken down in Name's arms one night - pleading with her to love him - that he's sorry for being born.

Alfred remembers Name cradling the young boy in her arms all night and assuring him he's the best thing Bruce ever made and that she would never blame him for Bruce's actions. Since then - the young boy has always stuck to Name - every morning, he'd affectionately hand her daily medicine and would always help her wrap a shawl over her shoulders.

Tim and Bruce began arguing - particularly because Bruce starting leaving the massive work of W.E for Tim to handle- it came to a head one night when Name and Bruce argued for two hours straight. He remembered how raw her voice was when she yelled at Bruce for overworked her poor son - that he's young and deserves to live and experience his teenage years.

Bruce had argued that Tim had wanted this - that this was what being Robin was about. Jason- god knows Jason and Bruce doesn't get along - ever since what happened to Joker but they argue even worse when it boils down to Name .

Jason was a child primarily raised by Name - she taught him to trust and showed him everything he knew - down to ironing his shirt to tying his shoelace - Name was the mother Jason never had and God could damn for all he cares but couldn't stand to watch Bruce treat her like she was an option because she wasn't - not to him or his brothers.

Jason always made it a point to call Bruce out for his own hypocrisy, himself and Damian always teamed up against him, especially when he was being too flirty with Selina or some random eye candy.

" I suggest you back off harlot , my mother might not kill you, but I will " - Damian when Bruce and Selina were flirting together on patrol.

" I don't give a fuck if ma begs me not to put a bullet in your head , the next damn time I see you talking about her like that I won't hesitate to skin you alive " - Jason when he caught some arm candy bragging to her friends how the 'Bruce Wayne' took her out on a date in front of Name.

God if anyone argues more with Bruce in this household was Dick - Dick was their first child and a child whom lost everything and yes Bruce may of made him robin but name made him dick grayson - bless that woman's heart for having to deal with his tantrums and outbursts when he was younger -

But that woman despite not birthing him was his mother - the woman who literally hugged him everynight to go to bed , the same woman who made his suit for prom by hand and also the same woman he goes to for advice and comfort - safe to say when he heard what Bruce was doing - they argued non stop-

" For god sake, Bruce, you're destroying us - you're destroying our family, and you don't even care." - Dick when Bruce had called you useless because you couldn't walk up a stairs anymore.

Someone from the outside might think they're dramatic, but ever since Bruce started distancing himself from Name and going out with God knows who , Name has fallen into a deep depression - a type of depression that ensnared them in their deep claws and deprive them of what little happiness and energy they have left.

Most days , Name sits on a swing outside and just exists- barely eats , barely talks anymore - how can they ? How can one fathom to be happy when their own spouse is out cheating on you with different people and to make matter worse the public condones it - even more so enables him.

Always publishing some new article of which new model or actress can become worthy of being Bruce's wife as if she doesn't exist. Alfred swallows as he watches her tonight - they're sat stiffly in a velvet love seat , a faint smile on her face, Damian is resting his head on their shoulder, showing them his latest art piece while quietly talking about his day.

Behind her, jason embraces her in a backhug , head resting on her head - his hands sometimes play with the loose strands. Tim quietly sits beside her , his hand holding her free hand - now and again he'd squeeze it . Dick is sat next to Damian on the love seats' arm rest as he prepares her nightly medicine.

Even if the public and her own husband loathes her, name still has the love of her kids and Alfred as always. Suddenly, the large oak doors of the living room are pushed open - the vibrant warmth interrupted as Bruce steps inside .

Damian quiets - everyone looking at Bruce except for Name - she has taken it to state at her hands. " It's time for patrol" Bruce says grufly . No one responds but reluctantly leaves Name side , Jason side hugs her one last time before leaving .

" Yeah, whatever you say, geaser," He says as he shoves Bruce out of his way to go to the cave . Damian glares at his father , " Hopefully, things are taken seriously on this patrol " he insinuated- knowing eyes glaring right at his father disapproving.

Bruce ignores them and stares at name, " Make dinner before we leave " he orders before promptly walking away. Name says nothing - too numbed out a long while to even react. Dick and Alfred himself curses him while Tim is glaring at the closing door harshly .

" Ma I'll order us something don't stress yourself " Tim assures her while ordering Uber eats for them on his phone . Name doesn't say anything but sends him a small smile. " I can't believe I raised that boy," Alfred murmurs as he shakes his head in disappointment .

Bruce may not realize it now but it's too late to fix anything - too late to pull his wife back in and live the happy life they once had - its too late to repair their broken family since the glue that's stuck them all together is fading away .

ty for reading, please like + comment + share !!!

You cleared your throat, looking away.

Right.

Perhaps sneaking kisses in empty hallways hadn't been your brightest idea.

Or leaving the office hand in hand.

Or sharing lunches.

Or arriving together every morning.

Or the fact that practically everyone had seen Aventurine waiting outside your office with coffee whenever you worked overtime.

You honestly thought people simply didn't care.

.... You were wrong, clearly.

"...And we're not being fired?" you asked cautiously.

"Quite the opposite." Opal chuckled. "Diamond believes employees perform better when they occasionally remember they're human."

"...That doesn't sound like something Diamond would say." you argued. 

"It doesn't."

"..."

"It was Jade."

That somehow made far more sense.

A few days later, you found yourself standing beneath warm sunlight on a nameless tropical planet.

The air smelled of salt and flowers. The waves glittered beneath a cloudless sky.

For the first time in what felt like forever, your communicator was silent.

No emergencies. No meetings. No urgent requests.

Just peace.

The hotel itself was absurdly luxurious.

The suite overlooked the ocean, sunlight spilling across polished floors while a gentle breeze carried the sound of distant waves through the open balcony doors.

Aventurine walked inside first. "...No way." He slowly turned in a circle. "The IPC actually spent money on us."

You shrugged as you dragged your suitcases in. "I was expecting one complimentary towel and a motivational pamphlet."

"Honestly, same."

You had just finished setting the suitcases neatly in the corner of your assigned room when the mattress creaked behind you.

Turning around, you found Aventurine standing proudly in the middle of the king-sized bed.

"...What are you doing?"

He spread his arms dramatically. "Claiming my kingdom, darling."

You laughed lightly, shaking your head before walking closer. "Come down before you hurt yourself."

"Nope!" he answered immediately. Instead, he bent at the waist and reached a hand toward you. "Come on, up you come~"

You stared at him for a long moment before sighing through an amused smile. "...You're impossible."

He simply wiggled his fingers in invitation. "Come oooon." 

You took a step forward, reluctantly interlocking your fingers with his. He grinned victoriously and with a sharp tug, he pulled you up on the bed. 

The bed bounced beneath your feet, forcing both of you to grab onto each other to keep your balance. His hand settled on your waist, while yours rested against his shoulder. 

"Hm, this is nice." he whispered softly near your ear, gently guiding you into a dance. 

It was terribly childish. And yet you were smiling anyway. 

"We don't even have music." you glanced up at him. 

"I can sing for you." 

"Please don't." 

Aventurine pouted at your immediate dismissal, muttering something about how it was your loss. 

You could see the waves rolling gently against the shore through the window. It was a calming sound, something that became your music now. 

The two of you shuffled back and forth across the mattress, every step sinking into the soft bed until whatever rhythm you were aiming for dissolved completely.

He attempted a clumsy twirl, all confidence and poor execution, only for you to immediately step on his foot.

"... Sorry." you barely held back your laugh. 

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he smiled like it was the most natural outcome in the world.

"It’s fine," he replied lightly. "I find even the pain you inflict on me quite endearing."

Your face immediately turned sour. "Ew." 

Aventurine blinked and then laughed so hard his shoulders shook, pulling you into another clumsy turn.

The mattress bounced beneath both of you.

Your balance disappeared almost instantly.

"Aventurine—"

"I've got you—"

"No, you don't!?"

His foot caught in the tangled sheets.

Your knees buckled.

For one glorious second, the two of you flailed in complete panic. Then almost instantly, you both collapsed onto the bed in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter.

The mattress bounced beneath you again.

You ended up sprawled across his chest while he lay flat on his back, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

"Oops," he squeezed your waist in an apology. "Guess I am not much of a dancer?"

You rolled your eyes. "I noticed."

Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the sound of distant waves and the occasional breathless chuckle.

You were about to get up, pushing against the silk sheets when Aventurine pulled you back down. "Running away so soon?" he mused.

His fingers traced a teasing motion down the curve of your back. "We are laying together in a ridiculously expensive hotel," his voice was soft, lips grazing the edge of your ear. "Are you seriously going to leave me all alone?"

You raised a brow. It was obvious what he was trying to do, and yet you played along anyway. 

"Was this your plan all along Mr. P46?"

He pretended to consider it, turning his head toward the balcony as if the answer might be written somewhere beyond it. Blond strands slipped over his eyes, hiding his expression just for a moment.

He looked breathtaking like this. Beneath you, gasping for air yet still peeking at you like you were everything he desired and more. 

"And if it is?" he questioned. 

"...Then I guess," you let out a slow breath, your eyes flickering down to his parted lips. "I have to indulge you a bit, hm?"

Your vision went dark as you closed the distance, your lips meeting his halfway. 

A content sigh escaped Aventurine's mouth. For a moment, he let the gentle sensation simmer, enjoying the warmth you bought.

.

But patience had never been his strength.

In a sudden, decisive movement, his hands caught your shoulders and guided you back onto the mattress.

Above you, it was as if a switch had been pressed. The kiss turned frantic, clumsy movements and wet sounds filling the space around you. 

Amid it all, his gaze never left you. Every flicker in your expression, every subtle shift in your breath, he took in greedily, as if your reactions alone were a feast he couldn’t afford to miss.

"You are so..." he pulled back, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips before it broke apart. He never finished the sentence, his words betraying him even before he had the chance to utter them. 

His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his vest, but he didn’t bother slowing down, too intent on you to care about the mess of it.

His mouth finally broke away from yours, only to drift lower, trailing along your jaw before settling at the curve of your neck.

Every time he hovered near a spot, he’d leave behind a small sting, a crimson bloom spreading across your skin. And the moment you flinch at the sharp edge of pleasure wrapped in pain, he would simply soothe it with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue—as if it were your reward.

The vest was finally tossed onto the floor and eventually so were your clothes.

The first night at the tropical beach ended with ruined sheets and late mornings.

Fin

But when Nanami came down here to see Tiana, the exchange was anything but.

Tiana’s palms began to sweat, so she placed them on her lap, rubbing her condensating palms on the fabric of her skirt.

“Yes, Mr. Kento?” She kept her face as neutral as possible, warmth creeping up her neck. Nanami kept the same stoicism he always displayed as he spoke.

“Can you come to my office for a quick briefing? We have three new interns.” He shuffled the items in his hands for a moment, peering at her through his glasses. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Y-Yes, of course.” Tiana stands abruptly, knocking over her cup of stationary items. Fretting, she picks them up, placing them back in their holder. Smoothening out her clothes, she clicks her way to the door, and out of her office. Nanami gives an airy chuckle behind her, following her to the elevator.

While Tiana worked on the 3rd floor, Nanami’s office was at the top; all the way at the 30th. Often, Tiana would be summoned there, mostly by Nanami, and most times the reason he called her was absolute bullshit.

Because Nanami, 9 times out of 10, just needed a reason to have his lips on hers.

Tiana wasn’t sure if Nanami got some sort of adrenaline rush because of the prospect of getting caught, or if he was flexing the fact that he could call her anytime he wanted to and it was her job to answer. Either way, it was very rare for Nanami to request her presence and actually have a task for her to complete, so she wasn’t sure if he was being serious this time or not.

So many times, Tiana had been pressed against the wall of the building's stairwell, soft giggles echoing in the dark. Nanami even invested in blinds for his office’s glass windows for more privacy, so no one walking by could question why he was making out with Tiana on his desk. Lunch dates on the roof would have a flurry of kisses waiting for dessert, Tiana mushing his face away before he could pounce on her. She was always fending herself off from his loving attacks, not just because she felt one peck away from combusting, but there were eyes everywhere. If the wrong person caught them, Tiana’s career would be in more danger than Nanami’s, and even then, she didn’t want to be a blemish on his track record. She tried to compromise after work, allowing Nanami to go to town on her lips, but it never seemed to satiate the poor man.

She’d be lying if she said she hated it, but there just had to be a limit.

She sighed as she pressed the button on the elevator to go up, the doors sliding closed. The metal room lurches as she stands on one side of the elevator, and Nanami on the other; a respectable distance between the two. She folds her arms, leaning on the wall, listening to the low hum of the light illuminating the box. 

Nanami’s arm moves in her peripheral vision as he steps extremely close, and she flinches, her eyes squeezed shut as she awaits the onslaught of smooches.

Instead, she feels something rake through her hair.

“Now, how did that get there?”

Tiana opens her eyes to see Nanami holding a silver paperclip, the man examining it as if it were the latest human discovery. Tiana flushed, averting her eyes as she leaned back on the wall, hoping to melt into it.

His actions had infected her brain.

“Ms. Baker?" Nanami called, and Tiana swore she could hear a slight laugh in his voice. The way he called her last name sent a tingle down her spine, so she rolled her shoulder to get the feeling off of her.

“Yes?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

For some reason, she was feeling disappointed.

“Peachy.” She said instead.

When the elevators opened on the 30th floor, Nanami walked out first, Tiana trying her best to shrink into his shadow. When they arrived at his office, to Tiana’s surprise, there were people actually waiting there. People who were all too familiar to her.

“Megumi?” Tiana voices her surprise, having not seen the teen since the award show. The spiky-haired boy rubs the back of his neck, almost bashfully as his two friends stand next to him shocked.

“What about me?” The pink-haired one pointing to himself with a tilted head. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course she doesn’t, you’re not memorable.” The brown haired girl says, flipping her bob with a smirk.

“Huh?!” the boy exclaims, clearly offended. Tiana just gives a nervous smile.

“I’m sorry,” She admits with embarrassment, “Your names have slipped my mind. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ms. Baker,” Nanami interrupts, gesturing to the children. “You’ve met Megumi. This is Nobara-”

“Hi!”

“-and Yuji.” Nanami concludes. Yuji grabs Tiana’s hand, bowing his head like a knight awaiting his queen’s commands.

“We meet again, pretty lady.” Yuji humbly says, catching Tiana off guard.

“O-Oh?” She says nervously, eyes darting to Nanami. Despite the same emotionless face, Nanami’s eyes held a devious squint.

Megumi smacks Yuji in the back of the head, giving Tiana an apologetic look. “Stop harassing her.”

“But she’s just my ty-!”

“Focus.” Nanami cuts in, arms folded as he glared down at the children. Like soldiers, they straighten up, standing at attention with looks of determination.

“Yes, sir!” Nobara and Yuji shout with passion, as Megumi stands with a grimace.

“I think you remember these three from the award show.” Nanami says, directing the conversion to Tiana while still keeping a keen eye on the children. “Well, they did so well that they were asked to return. But instead of speaking with Gojo-” Nanami turns to Tiana, his eyes soft.

“They requested to speak with you.”

Tiana doesn’t know why, but her heart scrunches slightly, her hands balling up her skirt. They wanted to speak with her of all people?

“They want to try something new.” Nanami explained. “And they wanted another perspective. Gojo can be…a lot sometimes.”

“I didn’t want to hear his mouth for another semester.” Megumi said through a clenched jaw. “And wherever I go, these fools are bound to follow.”

“Hey!” Nobara barks, their formation crumbling as Yuji looks at his friend.

“If you think you’re going to hang out with pretty office ladies all day-”

“Yuji.” Nanami warns, and Tiana swallows her laugh.

“Then you’ve got another thing coming.” Nobara finishes. Nanami just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well,” Tiana takes the reins, “Thank you, really. I am truly honored.” She gives a slight bow. “But I’m not sure how much help I can be. My position is quite…unique.” Tiana cuts her eyes at Nanami, who clears his throat. “I think it would be better to continue your tutelage under someone with more credentials, and a higher position so that I don’t waste your youth. But if you have any questions, feel free to stop by my office at any time.” Tiana smiles with a tilt of her head. The three children look at her with dewy eyes, irises shining.

“Wow.” Yuji sniffles, rubbing at his eyes. “Beautiful and humble.”

“So cool.” Nobara joins in, her eyes sparkling.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Megumi mutters, looking away.

Tiana chuckles, and Nanami gives another tired sigh. But underneath his quiet demeanor, Tiana saw an inkling of pride.

After chatting for a minute, and catching up, Tiana voiced her need to get back to work. Reluctantly, the kids left to roam the building, and Tiana and Nanami were back in the elevator, the metal doors sliding closed.

Tiana sighs through her nose, a small smile on her lips. Then, as gentle as a ray of sun warming her skin, she felt a soft peck on her temple.

“You did good.” Nanami hummed, one of his hands running through her curls. Tiana looked up at him, dimples prominent in her cheeks, and Nanami found himself kissing those too.

“Ken-” Tiana whispered, but her words were stolen by his soft lips, and Tiana allowed it.

Ding!

The two jump apart as the elevator lurches to a stop, Nanami sidestepping to the opposite side of the elevator as Tiana stood near the buttons. As the doors slide open, Tiana turns to the wall, her breath catching in her throat. She bites her cheek, worrying at her lip as the chatty workers who entered clicked their respective floors, the doors gliding closed. A few voiced their enthusiasm for finally getting to see Nanami “in the flesh”, pitching themselves like products and ideas for the few seconds they had with him. But when Tiana looked over from her corner, Nanami’s intense gaze was still on her, her cheeks growing ever warmer.

The elevator inches down slowly, almost painfully as Tiana becomes overly self-conscious. The voices blur, and ultimately quiet as people exit one by one, until it was just them again. Tiana looked at the digital board that indicated the floor number, watching it creep at a snail's pace.

22…21…20…19…

Nanami’s pointer finger curls under her chin, turning her head to his, completely engulfing Tiana’s mouth like a man starved. Surprised, Tiana backs into the wall, her back clacking against the elevator buttons, their beeps muffled by her clothes.

Nanami nips at her flesh, hands cupping her cheeks, thumbs resting under her eyes and stroking her face gently. Tiana mewls into his mouth as he presses his body closer, her head knocking against the wall. As if to prevent anymore needless thuds, one of Nanami’s hands cradles to back of her head, as the other-

“Nana-!”

His other hand devilishly trails down the length of her spine, rounding the curve of her ass. Her skirt rose up her thigh, her supporting foot threatening to wobble in its thin heel.

“Ken…”

Tiana’s soft protests are ignored as the kiss grows more aggressive, Nanami's pelvis pressing into hers, along with another visitor pressing against her lower abdomen.

“Stop…!”

Tiana feels the elevator slow, yet Nanami doesn’t abandon his pace. A strong hand hooks under her knee, pulling them closer together, while Tiana’s hands splay flat on his chest to push them farther apart.

“Enough!”

Ding!

Tiana tore Nanami from her lips like velcro. The two barely have time to move, Nanami trying his best to stand up straight as Tiana stays on the wall, trembling as they both stilled their breaths, failing to look inconspicuous.

“Ahem.”

Tiana cringes away, unable to look at whomever stepped on the elevator, instead finding solace in the palms of her hands as she pressed them into her face. She wanted to die. Just melt into the wall and die. Her future flashed before her eyes. If she could just die right now-

“You’re lucky it’s me and not someone else.” Geto murmurs, and Tiana feels her knees go weak with relief. She leans her head back, sending thanks to the heaven above, as Nanami leans his head on her shoulder, giving a shaky exhale.

“I’m sorry.” Nanami murmured.

“Well, don’t just suffocate the poor woman.” Geto said, waving at the two. He then points to the opposite side of the elevator. “Give her some space and bask in your shame.”

Like a child being reprimanded and put in time-out, Nanami begrudgingly walks to the other corner with his head down. His hair was tousled, his shirt and tie wrinkled, and his glasses had fogged. His lips were swollen, and cheeks as red as newly laid bricks. Tiana regained her composure, standing opposite of Nanami with her hands folded in front of her in a polite manner, but she couldn’t help but worry about how unkempt she looked at the moment. She fretted at her clothes, and brushed a few curls from her damp forehead.

This was so embarrassing.

Geto stood in the middle of the two, giving Nanami a once over, before giving a disappointed look.

“Going up?” Geto said to the blonde, his brow raised. Somehow the red in Nanami’s cheeks darkened to maroon as he folded his hands in front of his crotch. Tiana’s wide eyes darted to the side, unable to look at anyone, instead admiring the detailing on the wall.

“Is that condensation on the walls?”

Yep. Super embarrassing.

Later that night, Tiana put her foot down despite Nanami’s begging; no more office kisses on the clock, unless Nanami wanted to spend his time off the clock alone. And in hope of teaching Nanami some patience, she ultimately doomed herself to their time at home, never having a moment where they weren’t conjoined at the lip.

Satoru scoffs, dropping onto the couch like he owns the room.

“I’m never late. Everyone else is just early.” Suguru turns slightly, just enough to glance at him.

“You kept me waiting.”

Satoru grins.

“Yeah?” he says lazily. “Did you miss me?” Suguru doesn’t smile.

But his gaze lingers.

“You’re irritating,” he replies.

“Mm,” Satoru hums, stretching his arms behind his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Silence settles, but it’s not empty. It never is with them. Suguru finally moves, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. He stops in front of Satoru,Too close for anyone else.

Exactly right for them. “Your control is slipping,” Suguru says quietly.

Satoru’s grin sharpens.

“Is it?”

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly toward the faint distortion in the air, the subtle warping of space where Infinity hums just a little louder than necessary. “You’re restless.”

Satoru tilts his head.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Suguru’s gaze drops to Satoru’s wrist, the ink there is dark.

Permanent.

Unmistakable.

Geto Suguru. His own wrist burns faintly in response.

Not pain.

Recognition.

“You don’t get bored,” Suguru says.

Satoru’s expression flickers, just slightly.

Enough for Suguru to notice. “Everything else does,” Satoru corrects.

Suguru reaches out.

His fingers wrap around Satoru’s wrist without hesitation.

Without permission.

He never needs it. The moment skin meets skin that same sharp, electric pulse.

Familiar.

Grounding.

Satoru exhales slowly.

“…There it is.” Suguru’s grip tightens just a fraction.

“You’re drifting again.” Satoru looks up at him through lowered lashes, something unreadable settling behind his usual arrogance.

“And you’re pulling me back?” he asks. Suguru doesn’t let go.

“Someone has to,” he says. Satoru laughs softly, but there’s no real humor in it.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Sounds like you need me.”

Suguru finally meets his gaze fully.

Steady.

Unwavering.

“I do.” The words land heavier than anything else in the room.

Satoru stills.

Just for a second. Then his grin returns, but slower this time. Sharper.

“Good,” he says. Suguru releases his wrist and  the absence lingers.

Like a missing weight. “They’ll start noticing,” Suguru says after a moment. Satoru leans forward slightly.

“Let them.”

“You’re not subtle.” 

“I’m not trying to be. Youn know troubles my middle name”

A pause. Suguru studies him.

Then—

“What did you do this time?”

Satoru’s smile widens.

Too pleased. “Nothing,” he says.

Suguru raises a brow.

“…Yet.”

Suguru exhales quietly, turning away again.

“You’re going to make a mess.” Satoru stands this time.

Steps closer. “I always do.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Satoru adds. “You’ll clean it up anyway.” Suguru glances back over his shoulder.

A small, knowing smile.

“Of course I will.”

Because that’s how it works.

Not balance.

Not equality.

A closed circuit.

One pulls.

One steadies.

Satoru and Suguru were a closed circuit. They had been since the day their skin first brushed in a crowded hallway during their first year the sharp, electric sting on their wrists followed by the black ink of each other's names blooming like a brand. Gojo Satoru on Suguru’s right wrist; Geto Suguru on Satoru’s left. It was a divine decree. They were the strongest, and they belonged to each other.

Until the Tuesday that tasted like copper and betrayal.

Suguru was mid-sentence, reaching for a porcelain teapot, when a sensation like a hot needle dragged across the underside of his left wrist. He hissed, the teapot shattering against the low table.

"Suguru?" Satoru was on his feet instantly, his blindfold pushed up, his Six Eyes scanning the room for a threat that wasn't there. "What happened? An attack?"

Suguru didn't answer. He was staring at his left wrist. Directly opposite the soulmate mark he shared with Satoru, a new line of script was rising through the skin. It wasn't the clean, bold ink of Satoru’s name. This was jagged, weeping a faint, translucent gold the sign of a Second Link. A rarity. A glitch in the universe.

Your name was etching itself into his marrow.

"I didn't touch anyone," Suguru whispered, his face going ghostly pale. "Satoru, I haven't left the room in four hours. I haven't... I don't even know who this is."

The cruelty of a Second Link was the "Passive Contact." Most soulmates required a touch to activate the mark, but for someone as powerful as the Twin Stars of Jujutsu, the universe sometimes skipped the formalities. Somewhere on campus, you had walked past a door he was behind or on a mission. You had breathed the same air. And the tether had snapped shut.

Satoru leaned over, his fingers gripping Suguru’s arm with a strength that would have crushed a normal man. He stared at your name. His jaw tightened, the air in the room beginning to vibrate with the sheer pressure of his Cursed Energy.

"A third," Satoru breathed, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. It was hollow, dark, and predatory. "Someone thinks they can wedge themselves between us, Suguru."

"I don't even remember seeing them," Suguru said, his thumb brushing over your name. As he touched it, a wave of your emotions flooded him—loneliness, a quiet hunger for coffee, the slight chill of the hallway. It was nauseatingly intimate. "But I can feel them now. They’re... soft."

The atmosphere in the High-Rise suite didn’t just change; it curdled.

Satoru had been watching the gold script etch itself into Suguru’s left wrist with a detached, clinical fascination, a predator watching a new rival enter the territory. But then, the air in the room didn't just vibrate; it shattered. 

Satoru let out a strangled, jagged sound, his right hand flying to his own left wrist, clutching it so hard the skin turned deathly white.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was sharp, his own pain forgotten as he reached out.

Satoru didn’t answer. He ripped his hand away, baring his skin. There, directly parallel to the heavy black ink of Geto Suguru, a new name was burning its way into his flesh. It wasn't gold. For Satoru, the "Limitless" sorcerer, the mark was a violent, electric violet. It thrummed with a frequency that bypassed his Infinity, sinking straight into his nervous system.

Your name. Identical to the one on Suguru but on his right wrist.

The silence that followed was louder than an explosion. They stood in the center of the room, two gods suddenly tethered to a ghost. The "Closed Circuit" had been breached. The perfect binary of their existence had been forced into a trinity, and the sheer need that flooded them was instantaneous and total.

"It’s the same," Satoru whispered, his voice cracking, his Six Eyes dilated until the blue was almost swallowed by black. "Suguru, it’s the same name. They’re ours."

He wasn't just talking about a soulmate. He was talking about a missing piece of a weapon. As the marks finalized, a psychic bridge snapped open. They felt your heartbeat. Something they never even knew was missing.

For Gojo and Geto, the strongest who lived in a world of their own making, the "hole" was the isolation of their own ascension. They had spent years viewing the world from a height where no one else could breathe, mistaking the cold of the summit for a natural state of being. They were two halves of a whole who believed their circle was closed, their stillness absolute.

Then, your name appeared—a third ink-stain on the skin of their wrists, a rhythmic, phantom pulse under their own.

For Gojo, it is the sudden, violent shattering of the "Infinity" he keeps between himself and the world. He has spent his life seeing everything with his Six Eyes but feeling very little. To suddenly feel a third heart beating against his own ribs, someone who isn't Geto, someone he hasn't even fully met, who he doesn’t remember is like the first time he ever felt the bite of a blade. It is a resonance that bypasses his technique entirely. He realizes that for all his godhood, he has been a ghost haunting his own life, waiting for a frequency he didn’t know he was tuned to.

For Geto, it is an even more terrifying revelation. He is a man who swallowed the rot of the world to protect it, thinking his burden was shared only by Satoru. To feel the steady, unknowing pulse of a soulmate is to realize that the room he thought was full of only duty and blood actually had a door he never tried to open. It is the "ancient desire" finally being named: the need not just to be understood by a peer, but to be anchored by a third point, turning their fragile line into a stable foundation.

They look at their wrists, then at each other, and the realization is starving: they have been the strongest duo in history, yet they were both dying of a thirst they only just recognized.

The pain wasn't a pinch. For you, it was an absolute, white-hot evisceration of your senses.

You were tucked away in the back of the library, the quietest corner of Jujutsu High, when your right wrist suddenly felt like it had been dipped in molten lead. A scream died in your throat, stifled by the sudden, overwhelming pressure of two distinct, warring energies slamming into your soul. You clutched your arm, gasping for air as the skin bubbled and wept, the ink forcing its way up from the bone.

When the smoke cleared from your vision, you stared down at your skin in pure, unadulterated horror.

Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru.

The names were etched in a shimmering, violent violet and a deep, pulsing gold. They sat side-by-side, occupying your skin with a terrifying arrogance. You weren't just a soulmate; you were a bridge. A third point in a triangle that was never meant to have one.

The Instinct to Hide was immediate. 

You didn't feel chosen. You felt scared.

Everyone knew what they were. The Twin Stars. The pinnacle of the sorcery world. They were gods walking among mortals, and you? You were a Grade 4 anomaly, a "Shield" whose only talent was making yourself small and invisible. Your technique, Iron seclusion, allowed you to wrap a force field around your physical form so dense that even Cursed Energy struggled to permeate it. Coupled with your abnormal regenerative healing, you were the perfect survivor, but you were never meant to be a prize.

"No," you whispered, the word trembling in the stagnant library air. "Not them. Anyone but them."

You knew their reputations. Satoru was a void that consumed everything he touched; Suguru was a shadow that swallowed the world whole. To be tied to them wasn't a romance, it was an invitation to be erased.

The memory of your mother’s voice usually feels like a silk ribbon smooth, cooling, and easy to hold. But now, with the names Satoru and Suguru searing into your pulse, her words feel like a cruel irony, a fairy tale told to a child who was never meant to see the monster under the bed.

"A soulmate isn't just a partner, sweetheart," she had said, her fingers tracing the blank, expectant skin of your wrist while you were small. "They are the anchor to your storm. The world is loud and frightening for people like us, but when that name appears, the noise stops. It’s like finally finding the North Star after being lost at sea."

You remember the way she looked at your father a quiet, Grade 3 sorcerer with a softness that made the harshness of their profession disappear.

"It’s unconditional," she whispered, her eyes bright with a certainty you now find terrifying. "They won't just see your strength; they will cherish your shadows. They are the only ones who will truly let you thrive because they are the only ones who will truly know you. It is the greatest blessing the heavens can grant a sorcerer: to never truly be alone again."

In the suffocating silence of the library, you look at the violet and gold script. Her "North Star" was a gentle light; yours are two supernovas that threaten to incinerate everything you are. To your mother, a soulmate was a sanctuary. To you, looking at the names of the two most powerful, volatile men in existence, it feels like a sentence.

The First Pulse

Suddenly, a jolt of pure, manic need surged through your wrist. It wasn't your own. It was a projection a jagged, starving hunger that felt like a cold hand reaching through your chest.

They knew.

The psychic bridge had snapped open the moment the ink dried. They were feeling your heartbeat, your fear, the very scent of the old paper surrounding you. You could feel them, too two massive, celestial bodies suddenly pivoting in your direction, their intent so heavy it felt like the gravity in the library had doubled.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You had to go. You had to bury yourself so deep in your own technique that even the Six Eyes couldn't find the shimmer of your soul.

You wrap your fingers around your wrist, activating Iron Seclusion. The barrier snaps into place, a cold, dense weight that mimics the "stillness" you've lived in for years. You try to drown out the sudden, rhythmic double-thrum of their hearts against your own, desperate to believe that if you hide well enough, even the "blessing" of heaven won't be able to find you.

You pushed your Cursed Energy to its limit, pulling the invisible veil of your shield tight against your skin. Usually, your shield was a defensive bubble, but now you collapsed it inward, using it to mask your heat, your scent, and your energy signature. You became a black hole in the sensory world, a static-filled void.

You sprinted for the back exit, avoiding the main halls where the high-ranking students loitered. You didn't have classes with them, you were beneath their notice, a support-track student who spent her days healing minor bruises and reinforcing training barriers. You belonged in the background. You needed to stay in the background.

The library didn't just go quiet, it went dead.

For Satoru and Suguru, the sensation was like being plunged into an abyss. One second, the psychic bridge was a roaring torrent of your fear, your heat, and the frantic rhythm of your heart. It was the most intoxicating thing they had ever felt, a divine frequency that harmonized their own clashing powers.

And then, it was gone.

No heartbeat. No scent. No emotional residue. Even the violet and gold marks on their wrists, which had been glowing with a feverish light, suddenly turned a dull, matte grey. They didn't disappear, the ink was still there, but the life was gone.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was a ragged whisper. He was clutching his left wrist, his breath coming in shallow, panicked hitches. "I can't... I can't feel them."

Satoru was standing in the middle of the hallway, his Six Eyes darting frantically, scanning every atom of the air. 

His Infinity was flickering, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his blood pressure. "They didn't die," he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "People don't just die and leave no soul residue. They vanished. They’re still here, Suguru. Somewhere in this building... but they’re gone."

In the basement levels, you were curled into a ball behind a stack of rusted training equipment, your hands clamped over your mouth.

Your ability wasn't just a shield anymore; it was a sarcophagus. You had collapsed the force field so tightly against your skin that it was effectively acting as a second dermis, a layer of "non-existence" that blocked every signal your body produced. No heat signatures for Gojo’s Six Eyes. No cursed energy leaks for Geto’s spirits to track.

But the cost was agonizing.

To keep the Shell up 24/7 meant your Cursed Energy was constantly recycling, a closed loop that left you feeling cold, lightheaded, and perpetually exhausted. Your abnormal healing was the only thing keeping your organs from failing under the pressure of the constant reinforcement.

You just had to make it to graduation.

The campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High had become a graveyard of nerves. Without the stabilizing influence of their soulmate bond, Gojo and Geto hadn't just become restless—they had become volatile. 

The training grounds felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. The air was thick with Satoru’s unrefined Cursed Energy, snapping like static electricity against the stone. You pressed your back against the cold wood of the pagoda, your iron seclusion vibrating so hard it made your collarbone ache. You were a ghost, a glitch, a nothingness—but seeing them like this, seeing the "protectors" of the school unravel into something so fundamentally cruel, made the papers in your hand feel like a death warrant.

Satoru didn’t look like the untouchable god of Jujutsu High anymore. He looked like a man starving in a room full of plastic fruit. He grabbed the younger student by the collar, hoisting him up until the boy’s toes barely grazed the dirt.

"Think harder," Satoru hissed, his voice low and jagged. "The library. That Tuesday. Who ran? Who left in a hurry? I don't care if they were a Grade 1 or a window washer—who moved like they were terrified of being seen?"

"N-nobody, Gojo-senpai!" the boy stammered, tears tracking through the dust on his cheeks. "It was just the usual crowd... I didn't see anyone run. It was quiet. It was just quiet!"

Satoru’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Impossible. Someone walked past us. Someone took the air out of the room and then just... vanished." He dropped the boy, spinning around to face Geto, his movements twitchy and erratic. "Suguru, he’s useless. They're all useless. How can someone be so close I can feel their pulse under my skin one second, and then be absolutely invisible the next?"

Geto didn't offer a comforting word. He didn't even look at Satoru. He was staring at the palm of his left hand, tracing the grey, lifeless name of yours that sat like a scar on his wrist. The refined elegance he usually carried replaced by a cold, predatory stillness.

"Maybe they didn't run," Geto murmured, his voice sounding like a blade sliding over silk. He stepped toward the trembling student, his shadow stretching out like a many-limbed monster. "Maybe they're still here. Watching us. Hiding in plain sight while we rot."

He knelt beside the boy, his hand reaching out to brush a stray tear from the kid's face with a tenderness that was far more terrifying than Satoru’s rage. "Tell me, Kohai... have you noticed anyone lately who seems a bit too quiet? Someone who doesn't talk, doesn't eat, just... exists in the corners?"

"I... I don't know everyone's names, Geto-san," the boy whispered, trembling. "Please, I just want to go to my dorm."

Geto’s expression didn't change, but the air around him darkened. "Go then. But if you remember a face even a blur in the hallway you come to us first. Because if Satoru loses his patience before I find them... there won't be a dorm left for you to return to."

You didn't wait to see the boy scramble away. You turned and moved, a silent shadow within the shadows. Every step felt like walking through deep water; iron seclusion was draining you, pulling from your very life force to keep your presence at zero.

"They're looking for a ghost," you breathed, your lips barely moving behind the veil of your technique. You looked down at your wrist, where the names burned like brands under the heavy bandages. "They can't find what isn't there."

The encounter happens in the open air, where there is nowhere to hide and the sky feels too wide. You are crossing the training grounds, sticking to the shadows of the eaves, when the 

resonance hits so hard it physically staggers you. It’s like a tether snapping taut, pulling your chest toward the center of the courtyard.

They are standing there, the "Twin Stars," looking uncharacteristically frayed. Gojo has his blindfold shoved up, his Six Eyes scanning the air with a frantic, electrified energy. Geto has his hand clamped over his right wrist, his knuckles white, his usual composure replaced by a raw, searching hunger.

You keep your head down, clutching your books to your chest, and try to scuttle past like a ghost. You wrap Iron Seclusion around yourself so tightly it feels like wearing a lead suit, desperate to dampen the "scream" of your soul.

"Hey. You."

Gojo’s voice isn't breezy this time. It’s a command. He’s in front of you in a blink, the space between you warping as he forces the world to bring you closer.

You jump, dropping a notebook. "G-Gojo-senpai! Geto-senpai! I’m so sorry, was I in the way?" You scramble to pick up your things, keeping your marked wrist pressed firmly against your stomach.

"Did you see anyone else come through here?" Geto asks, his voice tight. He’s looking right at you, but he’s looking through you, searching for a "strong" sorcerer, someone who could possibly match the violent power he feels thrumming in his own veins. "Someone... significant?"

"Significant?" You blink, widening your eyes in a mask of dull, Grade 4 confusion. "I—I didn't see anyone. Just the usual cursed spirits near the gate. Is everything okay? You both look... a bit pale."

Gojo leans down, his face inches from yours. He’s trying to read your flow of Cursed Energy, but Iron Seclusion makes you look like a flat, grey stone in a river of light. "My head is ringing," he mutters, more to Geto than to you. "The frequency is right here, Suguru. It’s deafening."

"Maybe it's the heat?" you suggest, your voice small and trembling with perfectly faked intimidation. "The sun is really bright today. I get migraines sometimes too. Should I go get Shoko-san for you?"

Geto sighs, a sound of pure frustration, and rubs his temples. To him, you are just a flickering candle, and he is looking for a second sun. "No. Just go back to class."

"Yes, senpai! Sorry to bother you!"

You bow low and practically bolt, your heart hammering a frantic SOS that you know they can feel, even if they haven't realized yet that the "insignificant" girl is the one holding the other end of the chain.

The Department Head’s office is stifling, smelling of old paper and incense, but to you, it feels like an interrogation room. You keep your right hand buried in the pocket of your blazer, your thumb obsessively rubbing the spot where Satoru and Suguru are etched into your skin.

The Department Head a gray-haired, bureaucratic sorcerer who cared more for quotas than souls—had looked at your transfer papers with a bored flick of his wrist. 

"A transfer?" The official doesn't even look up from the papers. He sounds bored, which is exactly what you want. "To the Kyoto branch? "

“yes," you say, your voice a practiced, dull monotone. "My technique, Iron Seclusion... it’s not suited for the front lines. I’m just a Grade 4. I think I’d be more useful with the logistics team there."

The man sighs, finally marking a thick red line through a document. "The higher-ups don't like moving pieces mid-semester. If you want out of the active rotation, you have to fulfill the minimum requirement for the quarter. Three more missions. Complete them, and I’ll sign the papers."

A surge of pure, unadulterated relief washes over you. You almost want to thank him. 

Three missions. That was it. That was the price of your life.

As you walk out into the hallway, your heart is light for the first time since the names appeared. You’ve done the math. The school is a machine of logic and hierarchy. They would never pair a Grade 4 anomaly with the Special Grade duo. It would be a waste of their time and a death sentence for yours. To the school, you are a pebble; to them, they are the mountain. There is no reason for your orbits to ever cross again.

You check your phone. The notification for your first mission has already arrived.

Location: An abandoned textile factory in the outskirts of Saitama.

Grade: 4 (Low-level fly-heads and lingering shadows).

Assigned Sorcerer: [Name].

You are alone.

A small, giddy laugh bubbles up in your chest. No Gojo. No Geto. Just you, your "useless" shield, and a few weak curses. You can do this. You’ll be invisible, just like you’ve always been. You’ll finish these three jobs, get your transfer, and disappear into a cubicle in Kyoto where the violet and gold on your wrist can stay buried under long sleeves forever.

As you walked back to your dorm to pack your tactical gear for the first solo mission, you looked at the grey, silent marks on your wrist. For the first time, they didn't look like shackles; they looked like a bad dream you were finally waking up from.

"Just three," you whispered, your thumb tracing the edge of the bandage. "They won't even notice I'm gone until the bus crosses the prefectural line."

The mission was a joke. Three minor curses, a few sweeps of your Iron Seclusion to crush them against the concrete, and you were done in thirty minutes flat. You practically floated back to the dorms. One down. Two more, and you’d be a ghost in Kyoto, safe from the two suns that threatened to burn your world down.

The "best feeling ever" was a dangerous drug. You were so buzzed on your own relief that you didn't notice the resonance in your chest smoothing out into a low, contented huma purr that wasn't yours, but theirs.

You stepped into the common room, intent on grabbing a soda and vanishing, when you saw him.

Suguru Geto was draped over a sofa, a book open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. He was people-watching, his dark eyes tracking every student that walked by with a clinical, almost desperate intensity. He looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

You stiffened, your "Shield" snapping into place instinctively. You kept your head down, your gait deliberate and heavy, trying to look as "Grade 4" as possible. You steered a wide, awkward arc around the couch, heading for the vending machine.

Don’t look. Don’t breathe. Just stay invisible.

"You're back early."

The voice was like silk sliding over a blade. You froze, your hand halfway to the coin slot. You didn't turn around. Maybe he was talking to someone else.

"The girl with the barrier technique," Geto continued, his voice tilting upward with a hint of genuine curiosity. "I don't think I caught your name the other day."

You slowly turned, your face a mask of wide-eyed, stuttering surprise. "O-Oh! Me? I’m... nobody, really. Just finishing a low-level sweep. I didn't think a Special Grade like you would notice someone like me, Geto-senpai."

Geto closed his book, leaning forward. His right hand—the one with your name—was resting on his knee, his fingers twitching in time with your frantic pulse. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a second, the "ancient desire" flared in his eyes.

"You're very... contained," he mused, his gaze drifting to your covered wrist. "Most sorcerers leak cursed energy like a sieve. But you? You're like a vault. It’s quiet around you. Almost too quiet."

He stood up, the height difference immediately making the room feel smaller. He took a step toward you, his expression softening into something dangerously observant. "Tell me—did you feel anything strange out there? A change in rhythm? A... pulling sensation?"

You forced a self-deprecating, nervous laugh, the kind that made you look small and slightly pathetic. "Oh, Geto-senpai, I’m actually really embarrassed about it. My Iron Seclusion is... well, it’s a bit of a defect. It’s so thick it basically smothers my own senses. I couldn't feel a 'pull' if it hit me with a truck. I’m basically sensory-deprived whenever I use it."

Geto’s expression flickered—a flash of pity, perhaps, or just the disappointment of another dead end. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "I see. A defensive trade-off. That must be frustrating."

"It’s why I’m better suited for paperwork," you chirped, bowing quickly and scurrying away before he could ask anything else. You didn't stop running until you were behind your locked dorm door, clutching your wrist as if the names might leap off your skin.

The next week was blissfully quiet. You stayed under the radar, wore oversized hoodies, and successfully avoided the 'Twin Stars' by memorizing their training schedules. You were a ghost. A phantom. You were winning.

Then, the ping of a new mission notification hit your phone.

Location: Subterranean transit tunnels, Shinjuku.

Grade: 2 (Multiple sightings of high-output territorial curses).

Assigned Sorcerers: [You] & Kento Nanami.

Your heart did a strange little flip. Nanami. He was a Grade 1, stoic, professional, and most importantly not a soulmate. He wasn't one of the 'strongest' who moved like a whirlwind; he was a man who clocked in, did his job with surgical precision, and went home.

"Two out of three," you whispered to the empty room, a giddy smile breaking across your face.

Being paired with Nanami was the ultimate safety net. He was too disciplined to care about your personal life or your 'flow' of energy. He would expect you to put up your shield, stay out of the way, and let him handle the heavy lifting. To him, you would just be a tool, a 'Shield' to protect the perimeter while he worked the (7:3) ratio.

As you packed your gear, you felt a surge of triumphant joy. You were so close to the exit. You were almost to Kyoto. You were almost free.

You didn't realize that your sudden burst of happiness sent a sharp, intoxicating thrum through the bond. Somewhere in the school, Satoru Gojo tilted his head, a blindfolded grin spreading across his face as he felt a wave of "victory" that wasn't his own.

(Let me just say this while your ability blocks most things, a soulmate's bond is strong so without meaning some strong emotions can still filter through to your partners.)

The subterranean transit tunnels were a labyrinth of damp concrete and oppressive shadows. Nanami moved with his usual mechanical efficiency, his blunt blade finding the 7:3 ratio with every strike. You stayed back, your Iron Seclusion acting as a silent, invisible perimeter that kept the smaller, crawling curses from flanking him.

But the report was wrong. This wasn't a Grade 2 nest; it was a breeding ground for a Special Grade fetus that had begun to distort the very space of the tunnels.

A massive, multi-limbed curse surged from the ceiling, its sheer weight slamming into your barrier with the force of a falling skyscraper. The impact vibrated through your bones, the pressure so intense that for one flickering, agonizing second, your concentration snapped.

Iron Seclusion dropped.

It was only for a minute—maybe even less—as you scrambled back, gasping, and forced the barrier to knit itself back together. You felt exposed, naked, like a nerve ending stripped of its skin. You quickly reinforced the shield, the dense, cold energy snapping back into place, burying your presence once more.

It’s fine, you told yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. I was only "visible" for a second. We’re deep underground. They’re miles away at the school.

You didn't realize that to a Six Eyes user, a second of your unfiltered soul is like a flare gun going off in a pitch-black room.

Up on the surface, in the middle of a bustling Shinjuku street, Satoru stopped mid-sentence. His blindfold didn't hide the way his head snapped toward the subway entrance, his breath hitching as if he’d just been punched. The "ghost" frequency he’d been chasing had finally, violently, become a signal.

Across town, in the quiet of a temple, Suguru dropped his tea. The phantom pulse on his wrist hadn't just thrummed; it had screamed. For that one minute, the hollow space in his chest had been filled with a terrifying, beautiful warmth—and then, just as quickly, it vanished back into the "stillness."

They both moved instantly, driven by a starving instinct they still didn't understand.

Down in the tunnels, Nanami finished off the curse and adjusted his tie, his expression unreadable behind his goggles. "That was a significant lapse," he said, his voice a calm, dry reprimand. "Are you injured?"

"No," you lied, your voice trembling as you clutched your wrist. "Just... lost my footing. I'm fine, Nanami-san. Let's just finish this. Please."

The subway air was thick with the smell of blood and damp concrete as you emerged, ducking your head and letting Nanami lead the way. You kept your jacket sleeves pulled low, your fingers white-knuckled around your wrists. You felt like a radio tower that had briefly broadcasted a signal to the entire world, and now you were desperately trying to cut the power.

Across the city, in a secluded corner of the Tokyo Jujutsu High courtyard, the two strongest sorcerers met. The air around them was electrified, distorted by the sheer output of their frustration.

Satoru was pacing, his blindfold discarded, his Six Eyes glowing with a manic, crystalline light. He looked like a live wire, sparking at the slightest touch. "It was right there, Suguru. For sixty seconds, it wasn't just a hum. It was a scream. It was loud."

Geto was leaning against a stone pillar, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his knuckles bruised from where he’d punched a training dummy into splinters. He wasn't smiling. The "gentle" philosopher was gone, replaced by a man who looked starved.

"I felt it too," Geto said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "It wasn't a curse, and it wasn't a mistake. It was a soul. Our soul." He looked down at the gold-etched name on his wrist, his thumb tracing the letters with a possessive, aching intensity. "And then it just… went dark. Like someone slammed a door in our faces."

Satoru stopped pacing, turning to face his best friend. The realization hit them both at the same time, a cold, sharp clarity.

"They’re hiding," Satoru breathed, a dark, incredulous laugh bubbling in his throat. "Someone out there belongs to us—the two strongest people on the planet and their first instinct is to bury their presence so deep even I can't track it."

"They don't want to be found," Geto added, his eyes narrowing. The thought didn't just hurt; it offended him. He had spent his life protecting the weak, swallowing rot for a world that didn't love him back, and now the one person meant to be his "anchor" was treating him like a threat. "They’re using a barrier. A dense one. That flicker in the tunnels… they slipped. They lost control for a minute, and now they’ve bolted the door again."

Satoru’s grin turned into something predatory, something ancient. "Let them hide. They can't keep a seal like that up forever. Every time their heart jumps, I feel it. Every time they're scared, I know. We’re going to find our 'Shield,' Suguru. And when we do, I’m going to make sure they never feel the need to close that door again."