Maki darted toward Sukuna once more. Her footsteps dodged by the rain that had slowly begun to fall, her body letting loose steam from the few drops of rain that touched her skin and when she swung her sword, for the first time, her blade cut through the air in a deadly arc, aimed directly at his neck.
Sukuna sidestepped, moving by the narrowest margin, a practiced smirk tugging at his lips. Maki pressed in, twisting her grip and sweeping her blade once more, but he evaded again with a fraction of an inch to spare. Another swift strike, and another effortless dodge. Her eyes narrowed as realization hit her: Sukuna was leaning on his experience, matching her raw power and speed with a mastery that read her moves before they even landed.
So she adjusted. She let off a swing in a wide arc, forcing him to jump back. Then she grinned, and Sukuna realized his mistake, mid-air with no leverage. The fastest way to get from point A (her sword) to point B (Sukuna's heart) was a straight line. She shifted her stance, coiled her muscles and lunged, a blur of speed too fast for even Sukuna to sense.
A split second later, the blade had sunk into his chest, but instead of celebrating, Maki frowned. Soul Splitter had plunged it's way past flesh, muscle and bone, but didn't reach his heart. He had reinforced that particular point with all his cursed energy at the moment of impact—the point just above his still beating heart.
Sukuna looked down at her. "Too obvious," he hissed, his eyes gleaming. "Your cold gaze gave you away."
Maki tried to pull back, but Sukuna seized her wrist, his fingers like iron. His free hand shot forward, palm open and aimed at her face. A huge surge in his cursed energy output forced Maki's eyes to widen in shock. Then she saw pure cursed energy manifest in his palm, raw condensed cursed energy coalescing in the middle of it, thick and potent with malice.
There was a sudden, thunderous crack, and Sukuna's head snapped back as two craters exploded where his eyes had been, blood and bone spraying in a vicious arc. In the crater that was left of his eyes, Maki saw metal shards—nails. Her gaze drifted to where Nobara had begun to run up to them.
She had struck with the nails, then also exploded them on impact, turning a simple penetration strike into an explosion with the shrapnel. Sukuna and Maki were still frozen in unexpected shock when Nobara shouted.
"Maki, move!"
She didn't hesitate. She tore her hand from Sukuna's loosening grip, backstepping with a snap of her arms, locking them before her as a shield. Nobara's blow had rattled Sukuna, but the bastard barely flinched, seeming more inconvenienced than hurt.
His extra pair of eyes still stared at her.
And then, cursed energy detonated in her face.
Her arms bore the brunt, but the blast still threw her backward, her body felt weightless once more as her mind faded, drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. But pure fear dragged her back even as she slammed into a wall and tumbled deeper into the building, she was jarred awake.
She had fought him, seen what he was capable off and that knowledge told her that she couldn't leave Nobara with Sukuna. Not even for a second.
She flipped and skidded to a stop with a grunt. Her body was burning up—not just from the gates; that was a pain she could manage and tolerate, thanks to her heavenly restriction. No, her body burned because she had taken on the partial brunt of a raw explosion of cursed energy. She had been fighting for minutes without healing or taking a break, but she couldn't stop now.
Ignoring the burns, the way she could hardly feel her forearms, and the ache deep in her bones, she let out a mad grin. She was the storm, and the storm didn't rest. She pushed off the ground, cratering it, and rocketing out of the hole she had made in the wall. A second later and the moment she got out of the building, she was greeted by the sight of Nobara's body flying back, her right hand swinging wildly and twisted into an uncomfortable position as she slammed into a car.
A second later, Sukuna was above the first-year student, eyes recovered and peering down at her with annoyance in his red-colored eyes. "That's enough from you, insect. Your distraction annoys me." He raised his foot, poised to crush Nobara beneath it.
In that instant, his extra pair of eyes shifted just enough to catch the flash of Maki racing toward him.
She hit him like a thunderbolt, driving her knee into his side, bone snapping under the force. Sukuna staggered, and went flying backward as Maki landed between him and Nobara, arms loose at her sides, each movement taut with controlled fury. Her eyes darted to her sword, lodged in a building wall nearby. Sukuna must have tossed it aside as soon as he'd pulled it from his body.
"Nobara," she called out without looking at the girl. She prayed with everything in hr that she was not too late.
"Why isn't the fucker dead yet?"
Maki's mad grin grew a touch lighter at the girl's response. She could already hear the first-year student struggling to her feet. So she focused her attention on Sukuna once more as he stepped out of the dust that he had created. He had a frown on his face as he smoothed his hair back with the aid of the rain that was slowly dripping. Maki's grin spread as she realized the reason for his frown. His cursed energy had dipped. Dipped so much that he must have felt it.
Just as she had hoped, all those healings he had done could not have been easy. This was still only three-finger Sukuna. She was stronger, faster, and more durable now. If he'd been a four-finger or even a five, she would still have good odds if not for that cursed regeneration. But he was here, and so was she, and he could be beaten. That realization electrified her, a fire igniting in her muscles as she raised her arms again, ignoring the throbbing ache.
Sukuna's mouth twisted, speaking almost as if he were half-amused, half-resigned. "You've pushed me, Maki. Farther than I expected any juvenile sorcerer would in this age and time, but it ends here." There was a subtle shift in his tone. A hint of reluctance, like a performer ready to end the show. As he flung his hand to the side, his cheek split into a twisted smile, a deep voice echoing from it, calling out, "Duck!"
Maki went low before the words were fully out and dragged a slower Nobara behind her. The act slowed her down, and she felt her hair part as something invisible—a blade of nothing—cleaved at where she stood a few seconds ago.
What was left of her hair scattered and drifted down. She looked up at Sukuna, and his grin had returned in full force. He'd regained his technique. They'd been too slow.
Her initial shock hardened into a focused anger as she rose, sparing Nobara a warning glance. "Stay back," she growled. This had gone past whatever she could contribute.
With that final word, she surged forward, a blur of speed and raw intent. Sukuna swung his hand, the lethal arc of his strike tearing through the space she'd just been in. But she was gone. She'd leaped with an explosive force that shattered the ground, vaulting clean over him, her form twisting mid-air toward the building where her weapon waited. Dust and splinters erupted beneath her feet as she collided with the wall, her hand already reaching for her sword, her body crouched with feline precision as she turned, every muscle taut, weapon in hand holding her up.
Sukuna was there. He'd spun to face her the instant she'd hit the wall, his eyes alight with anticipation, a vicious smile twisting his features as he readied himself.
But instead of attacking head-on, she ran down the side of the building, her form a blur as she picked up speed, weaving in sharp zigzags as she sprinted down, faster than he could fire his technique, yet each invisible slash that followed came closer, carving deadly arcs into the walls around her, chipping away at her evasions.
She continued sprinting towards him, the moment her feet touched the ground, jerking and zigzagging as she ran towards him, but Sukuna didn't move from the spot. Instead, he raised his hand up and waited.
When the command to "Block!" rang out, Maki didn't hesitate. she positioned Soul Splitter diagonally before her, catching something on its flat edge. A wave of pain ripped through her as she was forced back, her feet gouging tracks in the ground. Blood trickled from thin, fresh cuts in the places her sword hadn't covered. Yet, he hadn't swung his hand this time.
As she steadied herself, a realization clicked in her amber eyes. The hand motions, either he didn't need them at all, meaning they were mere rituals, gestures to reinforce the power of his technique, but never required, or he had created a binding vow on the spot, a weaker slash that didn't require any gesture or handigns.
"Huh, the blade survived," Sukuna observed, taking slow steps toward her. "And you're still breathing. Even a weaker dismantle should've been enough to kill… What kind of body do you have?" His gaze roamed over her, intrigued. "Noticeable regeneration, but it is not fast enough to matter in this fight. All of this is just raw endurance and that… technique." He stopped a few meters away, giving her an intrigued look. "Fascinating, yet you fall short, and this is the limit of your power."
Maki straightened up, ignoring her new set of injuries, knowing it didn't hurt enough to matter. "It's not over." Limit? Hah, she was barely halfway into the Gates.
If she had changed her tactics from the beginning when she was still fresh, she could have killed Sukuna, but that was not her goal at first. Even now, she still instinctively held back, but she could not anymore, now she had to risk it and go farther than she ever did before. To do that, all she needed was a single second, and she hoped Satoru and Jiki would forgive her.
Fourth Gate-
Sukuna must've sensed it because he grinned at her in response. "Wonderful! This is what I want. Fight me, Maki. Push yourself, come at me with all you have, and let me crush you and feast on—"
The words died in his throat as his body jerked violently, his eyes widening. "That's enough from you," that voice called out again, the same voice that had called out when the invisible strikes were about to be unleashed.
"Itadori?" Maki questioned as the tattoos began to fade off.
Sukuna's twisted grin faltered, his eyes going wide as his body continued to convulse, fighting an invisible force that wrested control from him. "No!" he roared, his voice ragged and layered with fury, but his body betrayed him with each jerky, erratic movement. Maki watched in shock, her stance shifting as Sukuna's fingers dug into his own chest, one final desperate gambit.
"Not again, you stubborn bastard," Sukuna hissed, his tone venomous, his muscles trembling as he fought the takeover. "You won't deny me my pleasure again!"
But before Sukuna could do whatever he planned his arms froze, fingers deep into his chest. "That is enough from you," Itadori whispered with a sense of finality before he raised his head up.
The boy looked at her, confirming her suspicion as he smiled at her, a flash of regret glinting in his eyes. His smile was a small thing, a sad thing like he had disappointed himself somehow.
"I'm sorry, Maki-senpai."
Maki gave him another look, forcing him to fidget before she relaxed her stance and walked up to him. Faster than he could react, she buried her fist into his stomach, forcing him to bend over as he coughed. She stared down at his form dispassionately for a long second before she released her hold on the third gate. Then she ignored the aches, the burns, and the cuts as she grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him to stand up once more.
He stared at her with surprised and betrayed eyes, but the betrayal faded as he tilted his head down, trying to hide from her gaze. She jerked him up to face her. "Now we're even."
He stared at her in surprise before smiling. "That hurt a lot."
She shrugged in response as she began to walk, leading them to Nobara, who remained where they left her. "I had to make sure, plus I already know you're a tough cookie."
She slotted Soul Splitter into her scabbard and slipped her hand into her pocket, bringing out her phone that had somehow miraculously survived everything she had been through. Then she called Ijichi. She needed to make sure the news didn't spread. She had read about Yuji's execution in the dossier Satoru-sensei sent. If word got to the higher-ups that Itadori somehow lost control, they wouldn't care about the how or the why or the details that led to that occurrence.
"You blockhead, look at what you did to my hand, you potato-headed bastard!" Nobara roared at her classmate the moment they got into range, and Maki ignored them as Itadori rambled and tried to beg for forgiveness.
"Begging for forgiveness while on your feet! You almost killed me and ruined my future modeling prospects, you bastard! On your knees!" Nobara roared again. Maki pitied the boy. Nobara was already dominating enough, and that was without the debt Itadori now owed her. But it was a good thing she took the change in stride.
She walked further away as Ijichi picked up. "Ijichi-san, it's settled."
Maki didn't know enough about Yuji to be the most concerned, but Jiki and Satoru vouched for him, and they were ready to be the umbrella that he could find shelter under while he grew. She would be remiss if she didn't afford him the same courtesy.
"Make sure it doesn't spread that Sukuna got out, and come pick us up." Then she glanced back at the duo ribbing each other. Itadori was unhurt, other than the bruise from the blow she buried into his diaphragm. Nobara, on the other hand, was hurt. She still managed to make jokes and act unconcerned, but Maki saw the way she cradled the broken limb. "We also need Leiri, so that's where we'll be going first."
As she waited, Maki noticed Ijichi sprinting toward them, with the boy's guardian, a woman with disheveled hair and worry etched deep into her face close behind him. A man in a suit, distinguished by a hooked nose and a hint of grim determination, jogged just a step back, his wide eyes scanning the scene as they closed in.
The woman's voice cracked with desperation as she called out, "Where is he? Where is my nephew!" She lunged forward, her hands grabbing at Maki's shirt, clutching with an urgency Maki could have easily sidestepped. But she didn't. Maki let her vent, grounding herself as the woman's voice trembled, her grip tightening. "Please, where is—"
"Aunty!" a familiar voice called from behind. Maki tilted her head, watching as Itadori emerged, half-carrying the boy and supporting a slightly dazed Nobara. Relief flooded the woman's face, and she rushed past Maki, enveloping her nephew in a tight embrace, her words dissolving into a mix of joy and relief.
Ijichi arrived next to Maki, breathing heavily, with the hooked-nose man trailing just behind. Maki gave the man a once-over, taking in the sleek suit, the prim look at odds with his unsteady expression.
"Who's the suit?" she asked, brow furrowing. The hooked nose was distinguishing enough that she would have know if he was one of theirs.
"A lawyer," Ijichi replied, sparing him a glance. The man stared at Maki and Ijichi with an intensity that went beyond surprise, an almost wary recognition in his eyes. "The guardian called him; he was the boy's defendant."
Maki raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening. There was something there—a knowing. An understanding beyond the standard professional concern. But that wasn't her business. She'd done her job as Satoru had asked. No one had died, and that was enough.
...
The past few minutes had blurred together, ever since Utahime had revealed yet another piece of the mystery surrounding his mother. Why hadn't Granny Kugisaki mentioned it? Had she truly been as oblivious as he had been? Jiki doubted it, Granny Kugisaki seemed to keep ties to Jujutsu society's most elusive channels, despite her retirement.
When someone informed them that the Grand Miko was ready and had summoned him, Utahime responded, but her words barely reached him through the static in his mind. He had drifted in and out, barely registering the senior shrine maiden's bidding to follow. His body moved automatically, while his mind reeled.
His mother was of the Japanese royal bloodline. He had assumed she had been a fellow Gojo, in fact, that was what he had been told. Then he remembered that even in his past life, it was not uncommon for females of royal blood to marry out, though it definitely came with consequences.
A loud gong rang out, forcing him to pay attention and pulling him out of the train of thought leading nowhere. For all he might've been moving on autopilot, he had never truly let down his guard.
He raised his eyes, realizing he had stopped moving. His senses sharpened to the unfamiliar atmosphere, instinctively assessing threats and his surroundings.
His eyes swept over the room, it wasn't what he expected.
Heavy incense clouded the air, rising in coiling wisps to the intricately painted ceiling above. The room was big, littered with statues of forgotten gods and revered spirits. It was an imposing space designed to awe and unsettle in equal measure. Dark, polished wood lined the walls, glowing under the light of paper lanterns strategically placed to both illuminate and cast shadows that danced along the edges.
At the center was a low, gleaming table, surrounded by shrine maidens. They sat in perfect silence, their backs straight despite their years, hands resting with practiced calm on their knees. Their gaze followed him like hawks, each pair of thin eyes narrowed, barely visible beneath lined brows and weathered skin. He noted an ancient scroll hanging above them, inscribed with a mantra he recognized as a ward against malevolent spirits.
Jiki exhaled slowly, steeling himself against the weight of their scrutiny. They looked at him with carefully curated masks of nothing but their silence and he returned it with an equally placid stare.
"Senior Miko Utahime Iori brings a supplicant," Utahime started.
"Who does she bring?" asked an aged voice from the maiden seated in the middle of the group. She was older, her skin more wrinkled, her voice hoarser, her eyes clouded with white. Yet from the moment Jiki had entered the room, her attention had never wavered from him.
"Gojo Jiki, scion of she that illuminates the heavens."
The air stirred with hushed murmurs from the women around the table, their voices low and inquisitive. A rap on the table silenced them in a heartbeat. The even older woman, whom Jiki assumed to be the head miko, gestured at the space in front of them. "Then let him be seated."
Jiki adjusted his stance, relaxing the tension in his shoulders as he stepped forward, lowering himself into a precise seiza opposite them. Their expressions were questioning; he met each gaze with a steady, unbothered apathy. He was no stranger to formality—in his past life, he had attended formal gatherings from a young age as heir apparent, seated among the most influential figures in his clan. If anything, patience and decorum were second nature to him. But this wasn't a ceremony he intended to passively sit through.
He had the patience of a saint and the grace of a shinobi. Ordinarily, he would have been content to let them go through their rites and rituals, but not now. He wouldn't show his desperation. Unlike his encounter with Sukuna, he had been summoned this time; he wasn't merely a supplicant.
"You requested my presence." His voice was calm and clear as he looked directly at the head miko, ignoring the rustling discomfort his abruptness caused among the others. "I am here."
Utahime, standing silently to his side, shifted uneasily. There was another rap on the table as the Head Miko's knuckle met the polished wood, stifling further murmurs.
"You're just like her," the Head Miko said with a toothless smile. "Your aloofness, your bearing, your posture, and your grace. I don't think the upstarts at the Gojo clan could have instilled that in you. But that character—that, right there, is a Gojo trait."
Jiki felt his heartbeat stutter, a sudden tension coiling in his chest at the mention of his mother. "You're referring to her," he clarified with measured calm, but the old woman merely nodded.
"Gojo Mikoto, formerly known as Her Imperial Highness Princess Mikoto, daughter of the former Emperor Akihito, and sister to the current Emperor Naruhito."
He kept his expression carefully neutral, a stark contrast to the surprise that had seized him upon hearing this for the first time earlier. Now, he met their appraising eyes with a controlled, half-lidded stare, but the Head Miko's shrewd gaze saw through him, her faint smile widening.
"You didn't know, did you?"
He knew better than to admit ignorance a second time, so he shrugged it off, focusing instead on his purpose here.
"Forgive my boldness, honored Miko," he began, his voice cool but courteous. "But you haven't answered my question. Why am I here?"
"Impatience is unbecoming of one of your storied bloodlines, Gojo Jiki," the old woman continued, unfazed by his question but obliging nonetheless. "But I will indulge you."
Jiki gave a respectful half-bow in response.
"You're here to see if there is any significance to your actions, to see if you realize what you're doing."
"My techniques?"
"Yes," she continued, her eyes sharp. "At first, we thought your invocations of gods to be mere ritual, powerful, yes, but ultimately symbolic. Yet over time, it became clear that these weren't empty gestures. With each call, something answered."
"Is that truly possible?" His voice betrayed a flicker of genuine curiosity. In his past life, he had used the exact same techniques, but they had always been... silent. Only now, in this life, did something seem to answer his call. He sensed it was tied to the mechanics behind cursed energy and chakra.
Where chakra was personal, only shaped and shared by practiced users of Ninshu, cursed energy was more volatile, mutable, and not solely the province of sorcerers, for the beliefs, thoughts, and feelings of humans shaped and influenced it, regardless of their status as mundane humanity or sorcerer.
"Perhaps if you were anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation. It would have been dismissed as a hoax, with any effects attributed to something else, and you would no doubt have an execution order waiting, the higher-ups in the Jujutsu society have already clamored for it enough."
Jiki remained unperturbed. The implied threat and the knowledge that the higher-ups wanted him dead came as no surprise.
"So, what changed?"
"Your lineage made all the difference," the old woman began, gesturing at him. "Your mother's final gift to you, her legacy in your blood. Unlike others, you are a sorcerer of imperial lineage, a lineage started by Amaterasu herself." She ended her statement by leaning across the table, staring deep into his pinwheel eyes, and in her clouded gaze, Jiki saw hesitation, curiosity, madness, and devotion. "Through you, flows an unbroken chain to the divine."
A/N: If sukuna tried the heartless gimmick with Maki, she would have folded him up with a hand behind her back and one eyes closed. So no Enchain. Anyway, Late chapter but Happy new year!