children are reduced to being worth what technique they had the fortune of being born with, of how much cursed energy flowed through their veins. their innocence, empathy, and kindness were often times stripped away throughout the years, experiencing how cruel humanity and curses alike could be. they were left jaded—only the husk of what once was remaining in place.

it’s only then that they’re shaped into the perfect weapon, contributing to a system that treats them like a cog in a machine. irrelevant and replaceable. into savoring every last minute of youth, squeezing years worth of memories and relationships into small pockets of time before they’re gone. before they’re only left with a bitter feeling of regret upon their last breath.

suguru could never see his daughter as a weapon, as something to hone and train to fight against a useless, meritless cause.

loud wails shook the otherwise empty halls of the temple, tiny body covered in vernix caseosa, waxy underneath his fingertips. she trembled against his chest, eyes wide and alert as she looked up at him. suguru felt the weight of the universe in that little stare, felt.. complete in a way he hadn’t before.

“nothing short of perfection. just like her mother,” he murmured, walking over to your bedside. a few nurses stepped in through the doors, gazes stuck to the floor as they went over to clean you up. suguru placed your daughter in your tired arms, recognition immediately settling on her face. she didn’t cry, didn’t fuss. simply looked at you like you were her whole world.

you cleared your throat, voice hoarse as you spoke, “she’s beautiful.” as gently as he could, suguru slowly dragged a rag across your forehead. wiping away the sweat that dribbled down your face. the quiet shuffling of the nurses moving around quickly becomes background noise, your focus on the angel in your arms.

wide, violet eyes, much like the ones you’d fallen in love with oh so long ago, ones that you’d looked into while promising to be there in sickness and in health, stare back. you swear you fall in love all over again while staring at your daughter. she doesn’t latch onto her nipple easily, but when she does, she’s quite greedy.

tiny razor sharp nails dig into your skin as her eyes flutter shut, suckling as if she’d been starved. exhaustion settles deep within your bones, a good exhaustion upon seeing that your daughter was well, that she was healthy—but one that leaves you tired and worn out nonetheless.

suguru doesn’t hesitate in taking the baby in his arms, seeing just how close you were to falling asleep. how utterly exhausted you were, melting into the sheets below. “rest. you deserve it,” he whispered, pressing a small kiss on your forehead.

he’d take care of her—he hadn’t dealt with nearly as much as you had in these last few months. hadn’t been as sleep deprived. you deserved the world and more for bringing his world to light, and if all you needed was time to sleep? well, he’d gladly comply.

suguru geto untied his robes with nimble fingers, neatly folding them and placing them on a plastic chair next to the couch. he stripped away his shirt, revealing years’ worth of scars littered throughout his body. some new, the flesh still raised and puffy, and some old: faded into silver, flattened marks across his skin.

however, the one he was most self conscious about was the x on his chest. a cruel reminder of a time he’d been too vulnerable, too simple minded to understand true danger, too weak. suguru didn’t take his shirt off often, didn’t want to have to face the gruesome mark. but, he let his daughter settle against his chest, warmth wrapping around her small body like a blanket.

“you’re good with her,” you noted through your exhaustion, a fond expression taking place as you watched them. how comfortable your daughter seemed against him, her tiny fingers wrapping around one of his. her breaths slowly began to even out with each rock, a yawn bigger than her leaving her lips. it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, curled up against the scar on his chest.

what was once a cruel reminder was now a place of comfort for his newborn.

and while instinct had kicked in almost immediately, suguru was still afraid. afraid of not being there to protect his daughter when she needed, afraid of messing up and having her resent him. but somehow, just looking down at her, everything slowly started to make sense. “she makes it easy to want to be good.”

the words fell into a quiet room. you and your daughter had fallen asleep, peacefully resting after the eventful afternoon that you’d shared. from your strain to bringing her out into the world to her struggling to get out, needless to say—the two of you were exhausted. suguru didn’t fall asleep just yet, alert in case either of you needed anything.

hands that once massacred a village in cold blood for the sake of protecting two little girls, that unleashed cursed spirit after cursed spirit to wreak havoc amongst the townsfolk were nothing short of gentle in the way that he treated his little family.

jujutsu society spread the news quickly four years ago: painting him as the worst curse user in existence upon the village’s extermination. demanding that he be killed if he were ever to be encountered. he was cold and precise in the way that he handled meetings—in the way that he treated his members. giving them just enough hope and enough of a glimpse of salvation that they were begging at his feet with bills in hand for the following scraps.

he was a different man when he came back home.

overbearing, perhaps. but nothing short of devoted—making sure that you and your daughter were satisfied at the cost of draining his members’ pockets. you mentioned something was bothering you? he’d have it fixed before you would have to deal with that issue again. your daughter wanted a new bike? she got it by the end of the day.

it wasn’t just the material stuff, either. you weren’t useless, much less after child birth of all things—immediately pushing yourself into working after you’d been cleared by the nurses. while suguru knew he couldn’t stop you, that didn’t mean he was there to see you overexert yourself. “take a rest, my love,” he’d say, hands gently rubbing against your shoulder blades. he wouldn’t stop until you finally relented, taking a what he believed was a well deserved break.

and with your daughter, great things were welcomed and encouraged, but they were never expected. there was never the expectation that she’d become a sorcerer when the age hit, that she’d have to fight against spirits she didn’t want to. suguru still took the time to train with her whenever a meeting didn’t run too long, teaching her how to defend herself—how to throw a punch without injuring her fist, how to throw someone to the ground.

“how’d i do?” she’d come up to him with a toothy grin, sweat dripping down her forehead. suguru would pass her a bottle of ice cold water, easing her into taking small sips of it before responding, “you did great. you’re gonna beat your old man in no time.” that got a little giggle in response, his daughter shaking her head.

“my dad’s the strongest there is,” she’d say with a grin, self assured that alone was fact.

the first time that suguru geto’s daughter had absorbed a cursed spirit, she was six. barely aware of her own technique, but slowly starting to become conscious of it. techniques were often as simple as breathing, simply being able to do the act, but she quite hadn’t gotten the hand of how to manage it just yet.

it’d been a simple walk, the little girl curiously strolling through temple grounds, autumn leaves crushing beneath her feet. a wind blew past, rattling trees in its wake. it wasn’t the first time she’d felt a malevolent spirit anchored towards her body, but it was the first time that she’d been alone to deal with it. they usually never dared to approach when suguru was around.

the orb landed like acid against her tastebuds, warm tears streaking her cheeks. it burned upon going down her throat, tasted wretched and disgusting. her body wretched and curled, wanting to reject the foreign object and spit it back out. still, no matter how much her body didn’t want to, her mind wouldn’t let go—forcing her to swallow it down.

he wished he could tell her that it got better as time went on. it didn’t. the taste of shit and vomit never eased, no matter how many curses were absorbed. no matter how many times he tried desperately to scrape his tongue clean, how many times he’s tried to mask the taste with a bag of overly salted chips. the rancid taste remains long after, the sense of dread clinging on just as stubbornly.

so instead, suguru geto knelt down and gently placed a hand on her cheek. “look at me,” his voice was nothing but a lulling whisper, soothing your daughter’s distraught and wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “you are not a weapon and i am not expecting you to act like one. there’s nothing you have to do that you don’t want to do.”

she nodded her head once, leaning into his touch. her tiny hands wrapped around his stomach, head pressed against his chest. “then why do you do it?” she whispered through choked tears. a simple, innocent question. suguru’s hand rubbed against her back, thinking of his answer. it’d never been much of a decision at first. wanting to help humankind in whatever way he could, saving those who couldn’t save themselves.

then, it became an obligation to destroy the very thing he’d once sworn to protect. stocking up his arsenal with special grades, grade ones, grade twos when the time came for his attack against jujutsu high. to ensure that this burden, the disgust that he had to stomach, would be his and his alone.

“it’s something i need to do. to ensure you don’t have to, or that your mother doesn’t need to put herself in danger.” the memory of you—attacked by a special grade cursed spirit still plagued his nightmares. blood dripped from a gash on your stomach, pooling around the ground around you. it was a simple mission—nothing more than a third grade yaga had said.

he never wanted to see you again in that condition—desperately clinging on to stay alive, your breathing ragged, your hands cold to the touch. he knew you were capable—knew that even though the special grade put up a good fight, you managed to put it down. still, he didn’t want to see you planning on the end of your life in your mid twenties again.

“and sometimes you get cool stuff like this.” a large portal stretches out behind his back, white scales gleaming against sunlight as rainbow dragon’s summoned upon command. it stretches out behind him, long (maybe 20 feet) and majestic. she approaches him slowly, holding her hand out the way she would a stray dog.

rainbow dragon tentatively sniffs at her hand, leaning his head up against her touch. the rancid taste of the curse is quickly forgotten, soft giggles leaving her lips as she runs her fingers through the glimmering scales. “you can ride him, if you wish.” suguru hoists her up against the dragon’s back, long wings spanning across before taking flight.

loud laughter echoes throughout the skies as rainbow dragon takes her higher and higher, its body languid as it follows her commands. it glides between trees seamlessly, moving against the wind as if it were a delicate dance. whatever fear she’d had quickly dwindled down—handling the dragon as if she’d had years of experience.

“thank you, mr. dragon.” she places a small kiss on top of its head upon being put on the ground, running back up to her father. “did you see me? i was like wayyyy up there!” she pointed up to the sun before continuing to ramble, “it was so much fun, my heart was like racing!” it reminded him of the times you’d ramble about something you’d enjoyed—how animated you’d get.

suguru took her out to get crepes from takeshita street before the shops closed for the day in an attempt to cheer her up even further, navigating through the alleyways with ease. a golden bell dings overhead, announcing their presence to the employee at the front. “what would you guys like today?”

he lets her order the sweetest item on the menu without complaint. something to ease whatever taste lingered on her tongue. suguru took something simple, taking a seat across from her on a table. it was a quiet for a minute, peaceful. the few stragglers that were around the shop left as closing time quickly approached.

then she broke the silence. “who’s the white haired guy with the blindfold?” she questioned between bites, powdered sugar sticking to the corners of his mouth with each word. “i saw him in some of the pictures you stored away.”

“he is—” suguru awkwardly cleared his throat, “—was my best friend. the one and only friend i’ve really had. he’s the strongest.”

“ooo, can i meet him someday?” she chimes with a smile, taking a large bite out a juicy strawberry. suguru takes a napkin, lightly wiping away at the juice dribbling down her chin before uttering, “we don’t talk much anymore.”

—

war’s declared against jujutsu high in the following days—set for december 24th. the night parade of a hundred demons. there’s no way to keep track of how many cursed spirits roam the streets of shinjuku, each one more threatening than the last. everyone had a job to do, someone to deal with and defeat.

except.. it doesn’t work out. you feel the shift in the air as soon as it happens, as soon as you can’t feel suguru’s energy. the plan had been crazy at best, a suicide mission at worst. but you, in spite of yourself, you believed that your husband’s conviction was enough to pull this off. spirits are exorcised, members that once vowed their lives to the cause quickly run away, and you can’t bring yourself to move.

can’t bring yourself to accept the fact that your husband’s dead—that all the plans you’d made about welcoming another baby into the family were now ruined. that you’d have to continue living without him, that the smell of the incense he liked to burn and the smell of his cologne would fade away from your bedsheets sooner rather than later. even when satoru gojo confirms the news, you still can’t bring yourself to accept it.

the second time that suguru geto’s daughter absorbed a cursed spirit? he wasn’t there to protect her, to tell her that the duty of the world didn’t fall onto her shoulders.

the cold december wind was relentless, brutal as it hit through the sleeves of your sweater. your husband’s lifeless body was slowly put down into the ground, your grip around your daughter’s hand tightening. suguru geto had failed in his mission and it was up to her to take the mantle despite how hard he’d tried otherwise.