*Finally got around to reading Jujutsu Kaisen Mange, would recommend*
Latest Update:August 18, 2023
Summary: "It's not the Six Eyes," they said. So then, the question is –what is it? [OC, Mystic Eyes of Death Perception!OC, AU]
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14096882/1/zenith-of-stars
Word Count:177k
Chapters:26
"01: paradigm shift"
.
Sequestered behind the high walls of a traditional compound, there is a clear pond in a quiet garden. A multitude of colorful carps swim aimlessly beneath the surface in a kaleidoscopic whirl. To the side, smooth pebbles line the winding pathway, framed by an artful arrangement of trees. Slender branches hang heavy, weighted down by cherry blossoms in full bloom. The garden encompasses the entire length of the courtyard for as far as the eye can see, blending perfectly against the refined aesthetic of the wooden walkways and sliding doors and all manner of other traditional structures in the compound.
Shiki listlessly stares out at the beautiful, unfamiliar garden. The little girl's legs are neatly folded in seiza, hands placed atop her knees.
… It's an uncomfortable position. Shiki has never sat so long in seiza before. She's also never stayed in a traditional building like this. She's not used to the soft texture of silk flowing gently over her skin, and she's not used to wearing kimonos. She's not used to being surrounded by strangers day in and day out.
(They say that they're family, and strictly speaking, they are. Probably. It still doesn't change the fact that Shiki doesn't know any of them–)
But all of these discomforts pale in comparison to the harsh, jagged red lines sprawling out before her eyes, fracturing the world she sees. Strange scarlet lines curl over the trees and flowers, over every rock and leaf and blade of grass no matter where she looks.
It's not supposed to be like this. The world isn't supposed to look like this–!
And Shiki isn't supposed to be here, either.
Because she's supposed to be dead.
… Except, somehow, she isn't. Somehow instead of being dead, Shiki is here, sitting on the fancy engawa of a sprawling compound she does not belong in, staring out at an elegant garden that's wholly unfamiliar, while around her the entire world is cracked and broken and bleeding lines of red.
Shiki leans forward and peers into the water. The koi pay her no mind, continuing to swim in a colorful, endless swirl. Looking past the formless mass of sharp red lines, the reflection of a subdued little girl gazes steadily back at her from the water's surface. There is a too-pale tinge to her skin, something almost sickly. She looks thin and frail. You've been bedridden for well over a year, Shiki-chan, the strangers of this too-fancy home had informed her.
She stares at the familiar-unfamiliar girl reflected in the water, and tries to reconcile it with herself. Snow-white hair falls over her shoulders and reaches down the length of her back, long and soft. It's much longer than it's supposed to be. But at least the color is right –unlike her eyes.
Shiki's eyes are brown. A warm, light hazel just like her mother's.
… Or at least, they used to be.
The girl staring back at her from the pond has dark blue eyes, which is… jarring, to say the least. And it's such a strange shade of blue, too, vivid in a way that's quite unnatural. The pupils are dark, pitch-black dark, but it also sort of looks like there's something else flickering inside there, too. Something else that gleams with a vaguely fractal, almost jewel-like quality in the light. Prismatic. Momentary and fleeting, in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of way.
A sharp ripple interrupts her observation; the thoughtless flick of a playful koi's tail. Shiki blinks as the image of the girl in the water is promptly shattered into a thousand pieces.
Footsteps sound behind her on the wooden flooring of the engawa. The little girl deliberately does not turn around. Instead, she continues staring blankly at the rippling waves.
"There you are, Shiki-chan." The smooth, cultured voice that calls her is warm in a way that's not warm at all. She still recalls how Ima-san had loomed beside her hospital bed, peering down at her with a satisfied light of triumph in those cold, cold eyes. I will take custody of her from here, Tachikawa-sensei. Thank you for your hard work. The Gojo Clan will make sure you are properly compensated.
In the rippling surface of the pond, the silhouette of a tall woman appears over the young girl. She, too, is wearing silken robes, but unlike Shiki who only feels weird and awkward in expensive silk, on her it looks perfectly natural instead.
Unnatural red lines shift across Ima-san's face as she opens her mouth and speaks again. "You should know better than to run off by yourself like this without informing the caretakers assigned to you, Shiki-chan. What if you set back your own recovery?"
Her words are of concern. The tone is pitched into something reprimanding, but not quite overbearing. But the look in her eyes… does not match her voice. There is absolutely no worry in Ima-san's eyes –and why would there be?
There's absolutely nowhere for Shiki to run. Shiki fell asleep in the hospital and when she woke up again, she found herself here, wherever 'here' is. No one has directly said anything to her about it, but Shiki isn't stupid: She's acutely aware that she's been locked inside an unfamiliar, traditional home –the sort of home that's the elaborate kind she's only ever glimpsed on TVs before. Ima-san wants something from her. Shiki won't be going anywhere before Ima-san gets what she wants.
… She should probably be a little more concerned about the fact that she's essentially been kidnapped straight out of a year-long coma by a relative she barely remembers. But somehow, Shiki can't really find it in herself to care about anything that's happening to her, because–
I'm supposed to be dead. Dead, just like Mom and Dad.
Why aren't I dead?
"Come along now, Shiki-chan," Ima-san finally says, after a quiet lull. "The delegation from the main family has arrived. We must make you presentable, for your introduction to them."
Red lines flicker sharply across Shiki's field of vision as she turns. Her fingers twitch upon her lap, driven by a ghostly impulse to reach out and touch, yet simultaneously repulsed by an instinctive fear to recoil and run.
… But there's nowhere to run.
"Yes, Ima-san," the white-haired girl says tonelessly, and slowly unfurls from her seated position on the engawa to rise to her feet. Her legs are numb from seiza. It means nothing, in the end.
Shiki wonders if this imminent meeting is the reason why Ima-san spirited her away from the hospital. She has only ever met Ima-san once before in the past, when Dad had invited her over to their home. Shiki remembers the way that Ima-san had looked at her then. Dark eyes had initially been appraising and speculative at first, before shadowing over with disappointment.
Your daughter has certainly inherited the Gojo looks, but none of the ability. What a pity. But I suppose it's my fault for thinking that I could ever expect anything of you, Arata.
The words Ima-san had directed towards her father that day had been cold, biting. But from the way her father turned and promptly hugged the young girl in relief afterwards, in wake of the woman's departure –perhaps it was not such a bad thing, Ima-san's scornful ire and easy dismissal. But ire and dismissal were nowhere in sight, when Shiki woke up in the hospital and found Ima-san standing by her bedside. Instead, there had been an underscore of something that was almost… satisfaction, in Ima-san's bearings as she looked at Shiki.
Nothing has changed about Shiki, though. Nothing, save for the fact that she's supposed to be dead –and her eyes.
… The world is different from what she remembers. It probably has something to do with why her eyes have suddenly changed color. Wherever Shiki turns and looks now, there are jagged red lines crawling across the surface of everything in sight. It's distracting, and wrong. Shiki knows that there's not supposed to be strange red lines everywhere in the world, knows that these lines aren't supposed to be there –except that's not exactly true, is it?
The white-haired girl looks upon these lines and instantly understands. At the core, they're only natural. Inevitable.
… It shouldn't make any sense to her, except it does, maddeningly enough.
Shiki hates it.
.
.
"It's not the Six Eyes."
Judging, calculative gazes weigh down on her oppressively in the fine room. There is a tasteful arrangement of flowers to the side, one that Shiki has neither the knowledge nor the inclination to appreciate. With Ima-san's hand heavy on her shoulder, the white-haired young girl can do nothing but sit quietly in her seat, still as a doll, as new strangers dressed in formal robes slowly circle around her.
… She feels like an object like this, not a person. It's very unpleasant. Shiki doesn't like it.
Distractedly, her eyes begin tracing the edge of the jagged red lines bifurcating the strangers surrounding her in her distraction. Beginning and end. Open and close. Inexorable, inevitable.
She swiftly forces her gaze to the ground, once she realizes what she's doing. There's a spiderweb of red lines sprawled across the wooden floorboards as well.
(Instinctively, Shiki knows better than to reach out and touch them. Her fingertips tingle, and she slowly curls her hands into fists inside her sleeves.)
"It's not the Six Eyes," the elderly man in long silken robes repeats, thoughtful. A gnarled hand comes up to rub thoughtfully at the bottom of his chin. "I can see why that hospital director thought to report to us immediately, though. There are certain similarities, looking at it like this. And the girl does happen to be born of our bloodline, despite only being the daughter of a lower branch family."
Ima-san's hand tightens on Shiki's shoulder, just for a moment.
"Indeed, Daisaku-sama," another man chimes in from the side with a nod. He, too, is dressed in long, flowing robes, stately and austere. "Moreover, the Six Eyes only ever appears once in a generation, and only presents itself in one member of the clan at any given time. Right now, Satoru-kun bears both the Six Eyes and Limitless. So it's currently impossible for another to possess the Six Eyes as well."
"And therein lies the crux of this issue," the wizened elder muses. "We've established that it's certainly not the Six Eyes, but there's no doubt that it's something."
"Then, what is it?"
A contemplative silence falls over the room.
"Ima," the elder suddenly demands. "This child is of your family, is she not?"
"Yes, Daisaku-sama," Ima-san dips her head subserviently, and releases Shiki's shoulder. Her hands fold across her front as she bows respectfully, demure and obedient to the aged man before her. "Shiki-chan is the daughter of my late brother, Arata. He married a half-foreign wife, who was a regular civilian. She did not possess any technique, nor the ability to see curses. However, her younger brother is training to become a sorcerer; the boy currently attends the school in Tokyo."
… Kento-ojichan? Shiki stirs, her attention drawn by the mention of her family. Kento-ojichan is still alive…?
"Ima-san–" she starts, but is cut off immediately when the woman shakes her shoulder with a warning look. Something cold and heavy coalesces inside Shiki's chest at this.
"So, it's possible that she's inherited something from her mother's side as well, then," Daisaku-sama remarks, overlooking the small interlude entirely. "Arata… I confess, that name is unfamiliar to me. What technique did he possess?"
"My brother was not fortunate enough to be born with any cursed technique, Daisaku-sama," Ima-san responds. "However, he did possess the sight. He was also capable of some degree of minor barrier work."
"… Hold on. Gojo Arata?" another man suddenly breaks in. "I remember him. Isn't he the one who was barely able to see low-level curses? Promptly moved out after he got married, or something like that?"
Scattered murmurings break out through the room at this revelation. Beside her, Ima-san tenses. But she doesn't say anything to correct them, and that's wrong. It's not supposed to be Gojo–
"My dad is Nanami Arata," Shiki says. But nobody is listening to her. There is a light twinge of pain in her shoulder; Ima-san's nails digging deep through the silken cloth.
"Tch, someone who can barely see the most elementary of curses is an embarrassment to the Gojo name," someone else snorts rudely. The speaker is a tall man with light brown hair, long red tassels hanging from the decorative sword at his side.
"Isao-san," another man chides sharply, lips pulled into a tight frown. "It is unbecoming to speak ill of the dead. And in front of the man's daughter, no less!"
'Isao-san' waves a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know I only speak the truth. Besides, didn't Ima just admit that the girl's mother is basically useless, too? … I bet we're all just overreacting over her eyes. With parents like that, can you really expect the daughter to inherit any sort of powerful technique?"
The words are scornful, dismissive. Shiki doesn't follow the conversation entirely, but she understands that these words are meant to be unkind.
"You overstep yourself, Isao," the other man rears back with a vaguely offended air. "Even if Arata was… lacking, in terms of potential, he still possessed the blood. The Gojo Clan traces its proud lineage back to Sugawara no Michizane; how can you arbitrarily just–"
"Come now, Kansuke-san," Isao-san interrupts with a lazy drawl. "You are aware that Ima's branch of the family here has produced precisely zero sorcerers of any note in the last five generations, yes?"
Shiki notes the way that Ima-san quietly tucks her hands into the voluminous sleeves of her kimono beside her, fingers trembling. The woman stares at the ground in front of her and does not look up, even as the men continue bickering above her.
"According to the reports that were compiled, this girl–" Isao-san jabs a finger at Shiki carelessly "–was born exactly the same as her parents. No cursed technique whatsoever. Unable to even see curses. You honestly expect me to believe that a child like this really awakened some heretofore unseen variant of the Six Eyes after being comatose for a year?"
A few strands of light chestnut hair slips across Kansuke-san's face, and the man hastily reaches up to brush it aside, readjusting his glasses as he does so. "… Perhaps it may be unlikely, but you do realize that there are documented cases of even regular civilians awakening the ability to see curses after near-death encounters."
"Awakening the sight, yes," the other man admits freely, splaying his hands wide. "But awakening a cursed technique? Impossible. Cursed techniques are something that a person is born with, engraved upon their flesh and embedded in their blood. No one just spontaneously develops a technique out of nowhere, that's not how it works."
Murmurs of assent ripple throughout the room. Kansuke-san falters, but does not look entirely convinced by his peer's argument.
"Then, how do you explain this?" he gestures at Shiki, frustrated. "Look at her, Isao. Look at those eyes, and tell me that's not an ocular curse."
"… Could be an illusion," Isao-san says after a slight pause. "Might be the branch family's last-ditch effort to worm their way back into the clan's graces."
"It is not! I swear!" Finally, Ima-san can no longer keep her silence. She falls to her knees beside Shiki, pressing her forehead to the ground before the room at large. "I… we would not dare to deceive the clan, not when it comes to such a matter of great import as this. I implore you, our family has never–"
"Raise your head, Ima," another voice cuts across the room. A wizened old man coughs into his hand for a brief moment, eyes flickering to rest upon the outspoken young man who has his head held high. "Isao, you make a heavy accusation. Do you truly believe that this is an illusion, of all things?"
"Yes," the man responds promptly. To the side, Ima-san trembles, face pale. "The only other plausible explanation is that the girl truly developed a new ocular curse from the Six Eyes, something that's absolutely unprecedented in the clan's history. I believe I've made my feelings on that clear."
"… I suppose you have." The elder turns away, and lets his gaze rest upon Shiki. Heavy, judging. "Child. Tell me, what do you see with those eyes?"
Lines. Red lines, everywhere and wherever she looks. But Shiki chooses to say nothing of this, instead remaining silent.
"Answer Hirofumi-sama, Shiki-chan," Ima-san urges. The woman reaches out with a desperate hand once more, seizing Shiki by the wrist and forcing her to look upwards. A long red gash splits Ima-san's face in two, and the girl does her best not to stare at the twist of phantom lines that only she can see. "Answer him!"
"That's enough, Ima," Kansuke-san takes an abortive step forward, as if to pull the increasingly-distressed woman off of the little girl, yet hesitating. "You're hurting her. Release the child!"
"Answer him!"
"That's quite enough, Ima," Isao-san drawls. Unlike Kansuke-san, he clearly has no compunctions about striding over and bodily dragging Ima-san off of Shiki. The woman stumbles back, a wild light in her eyes. Shiki watches her impassively. "… Well, I guess that's that, then. Seems like we've all been worked up over nothing, huh?"
"It's too soon to draw that conclusion, Isao–"
"Geez, still harping on about it, Kansuke-san?" Isao rolls his eyes, then turns back towards Shiki. One hand comes up to grasp at the gilded hilt of the ceremonial sword at his hip. "Let me prove to you that it's fake once and for all, then."
In a sharp hiss of steel, the man draws his blade and levels it directly at Shiki, sword-point resting at her forehead.
"I am Gojo Isao, twenty-seventh inheritor of the Mirror Blade. By my command, let impurities be cleansed, and all truths be revealed," he declares. There is an underscore of something other echoing in his intonation, reverberating with a certain weight in the air.
Regardless, nothing happens. Isao-san frowns.
"Let impurities be cleansed, and all truths be revealed!" he repeats.
… Still nothing.
Shiki's world remains covered in strange red lines, except there's also a scowl stretched over Isao-san's face now. Quiet whispers start up among the others gathered in the room at this complete lack of any reaction whatsoever. A gleam of hope has returned to Ima-san's eyes, who stares at Shiki unblinkingly in anticipation.
"… What is this?" Isao-san breathes incredulously. The young girl looks up at him placidly, doing her level best to ignore the sword pointed between her eyes.
"I told you it was too soon to be jumping to conclusions, Isao-san," Kansuke-san's voice sounds from the side, just a touch smug. Isao-san tosses a quick glance over his shoulder in annoyance, then refocuses his attention on Shiki again. His scowl deepens.
"We'll see about that," he says, as he lifts the blade from the little girl's forehead. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he proceeds to drive it into the ground before her.
Almost immediately, Shiki can feel a distinct pressure settle upon her shoulders, heavy and smothering. Suffocating. The crushing weight builds and builds, heavier and heavier and heavier still. Shiki sways a little from where she's sitting on folded knees. Falters, and very nearly collapses to the ground just like Ima-san beside her.
"Isao! What are you doing?!"
"Stay out of this, Kansuke. The Mirror Blade never fails to unravel deception," the man's eyes narrow. "Thrice I command you: Let all truths be revealed!"
"Isao you–"
The pressure upon her increases again. Shiki can't breathe anymore, as all the air is choked from her lungs. To her right, Ima-san has gone still and unmoving, but… she's still alive. For now.
Shiki eyes the flickering red lines crisscrossing Ima-san's body. The gleaming lines continue growing and multiplying with every passing second, and she idly wonders how long that will last, before fading entirely. While Shiki certainly holds no fondness for Ima-san, who'd basically kidnapped her from the hospital… that doesn't mean she wants to see the woman die, either.
So.
Shiki slowly looks up and glances around the room. Aside from the token protests that Kansuke-san had offered at the start, no one seems even remotely inclined to step forward and do anything about this situation.
Shiki sighs.
Then, resigned, she reaches out towards the cracked red lines on Isao-san's sword.
… It's not so hard. Thin, childish fingers fumble clumsily against the cool surface of the blade for a moment, but her nails sink in easily to the scarlet lines. Almost as if it were cotton, and not metal beneath her fingertips. But that makes sense, because in this moment Shiki isn't interacting with mundane steel at all, as she traces the red lines.
There. Done.
Immediately, the strange pressure disappears from her body. Shiki relaxes as she can breathe properly again, and sucks in a sweet lungful of fresh air. Ima-san stirs lightly beside her, but remains insensate, for the most part. The writhing mass of red lines on the woman's body begins receding to a normal level again.
And in front of them, the ceremonial blade shatters.
Startled exclamations sweep across the room. Kansuke-san's jaw drops wide open, and Isao-san stares numbly at her with wide eyes.
"You… you broke the Mirror Blade." He stares at Shiki, like he's seeing her for the first time. Which might be true. "… What the hell was that, girl? How dare you?!"
Shiki does not respond. From the other side of the room, elderly Hirofumi-sama begins chuckling.
"How fortuitous," the old man rasps delightedly. "Breaking a cursed heirloom so easily, just like that? … It seems that the clan has truly gained an interesting pair of cursed eyes. Congratulations, Ima."
Unconscious as she is, it's obvious that Ima-san cannot hear him, nor can she respond. But that does not affect his mood at all, and the old man rises from his seat sedately.
"Gojo Shiki will remain with Ima for now," he announces to the room at large. "We will report and discuss matters with Hisayasu-sama, regarding her future lessons and training."
… That's not her name. That's not her name! She's not 'Gojo,' she's–
Shiki doesn't want to be here. She wants her parents! She wants to go home. She wants to get out of this stifling place with too many strangers, all of whom want something from her, but–
But her parents are dead.
Her home is gone.
… Ima-san and the others will not let her go. Shiki might not entirely understand everything that's going on, but she knows that it's because of her eyes. They want her because of her eyes. Because of these cursed eyes that see red lines everywhere, everywhere, everywhere–
If that's the case, then if she just doesn't have these eyes…
The young girl slowly raises her hands to her face and–
.
.
"So you're my new little cousin who's got all the elders worked up, huh?"
Shiki tilts her head towards the unfamiliar voice, even though she cannot see who it is. The world is dark. That's because there's currently a layer of thick gauze bandaged over her head like a blindfold –the direct result of her failed attempt to put out her own eyes.
… In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to try and gouge out her own eyes in a room full of people who wanted her precisely because of her eyes. Shiki is back in a hospital bed again, except now there's always someone watching her. Probably making sure there wouldn't be a repeat of the incident that had brought her back here in the first place.
"Hmm, not very talkative, are we?" the unfamiliar voice continues, light and airy. "Or are you just outright ignoring me? Hellooo?"
"Please excuse my niece's behavior, Satoru-sama," Ima-san's voice sounds from another corner of the hospital room. "She's still recovering from her surgery, and has yet to learn anything of proper etiquette."
"Right, I honestly couldn't care less about that."
"Ah," Ima-san makes a startled noise. Flustered, almost. "T-That's… that's far too kind of you, Satoru-sama."
For someone addressed as '-sama,' the young man seems to be surprisingly… casual. Easygoing. Flippant, almost? No, that's a bit rude to think of someone that she's just met. "Mhm. And as riveting as this is, you're not the one I'm here for, Ima-san."
"I understand," the woman says. Shiki can already imagine the bow that would accompany those words. "But my niece has been advised by Tachikawa-sensei to rest. She's still weak from her coma, and the surgery–"
"I'll be quick," the boy cuts Ima-san off. There's the sound of a few shuffling steps, and when he speaks again, he sounds much, much closer. Judging by the sound, it's clear that he's standing right by her bedside. "… So. Just making sure I have this right, you are Nanami Shiki, yeah?"
Shiki is so startled that she nearly falls out of her bed.
In all this time –ever since she'd woken up in the hospital, ever since she'd been whisked away to that gilded cage by Ima-san– this is the first time that anyone has gotten her name right!
Luckily, a pair of warm hands easily catch her before she can truly fall. Ima-san's shout of alarm is still ringing in her ears.
"Great! So it is you, after all," her unfamiliar visitor cheers. "Long story short: Nanami-kun just recently got the news at school that you woke up, except, well, obviously you were nowhere to be found. Turns out that my clan was involved in it, so ta-da! Here I am."
… Nanami-kun?
Oh.
"You know Kento-ojichan?" Shiki tentatively brightens, for perhaps the first time ever since she'd woken up in the hospital knowing that her parents were dead and she was not. The boy laughs.
"Yup! I'm his upperclassman," he confirms breezily. "Gotta say, I didn't expect the bit about your eyes. I'm pretty sure Nanami said you were like your parents? … Well, I guess it makes sense, though. The clan wouldn't have tried to snatch you away like this otherwise."
Ima-san makes a sound not unlike a dying teapot. "Satoru-sama! I–"
"Be quiet," he says, perfectly pleasant, and Ima-san falls silent in a heartbeat. Shiki instantly understands. 'Satoru-sama' is like Daisaku-sama and Hirofumi-sama in the hierarchy of the Gojo Clan, even though he's a lot nicer than them. "So, Shiki-chan. How do you feel about sneaking out to visit Nanami-kun?"
"Yes!" Shiki straightens blindly, belatedly becoming aware that he's already half-carrying her in his arms, from when she'd almost fallen off the bed earlier. Well. Shiki certainly isn't going to fight him, especially not if he's taking her to see Kento-ojichan! There's something in Shiki that aches for her family. The only family she has left, and has been barred from seeing by Ima-san and the others. "Please, Satoru-sama."
"Knock off the '-sama,'" the boy clicks his tongue. "Technically we're cousins, so… hm. You can call me onii-chan!"
"Satoru-oniichan," Shiki parrots back obediently. She gets a headpat and slight hair-ruffle for it.
"Satoru-sama, the clan has ordered that–"
"I don't care what Old Hirofumi and the other elders decided on," he says carelessly. "If you're just worried about her eyes, don't be. I'll take her to see Shoko while I'm at school. That should be enough for him and whoever else also keeping tabs on the hospital."
"… As you wish, Satoru-sama," Ima-san responds helplessly.
"Great! We'll be off, then."
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14096882/1/zenith-of-stars