He stepped out of the forest with an unconscious man slumped over his shoulders and a woman under his arms, staring out into the far wilderness of the Japanese outback. For a split second, he regretted sending Ijichi off.
He looked up to the sky and nodded in confirmation at his hypothesis.
Like all veteran Anbu, he had grown and nurtured an internal clock. It helped them operate at optimal levels without the burdens of a timepiece, regardless of the particular country's time zone they were infiltrating. That particular skill set had somehow found a way to be useful in this world.
Bright, empty blue skies with slow-moving clouds strolled through the empty blue plane, gracing his vision. That solidified his assumptions then; it was a whole new day. In the deepest parts of the Aiokoghara forest, there was no true night and day, just the perpetual illusionary fog and twisted cursed energy that fed off the deaths and the curses present. It distorted the perception of time in a way that was nearly impossible to put into words.
It could be daytime for a minute and pitch darkness for the next eight hours, with no true reason, method, or rhyme to its bizarre changes.
Yet it was definitely some kind of effect; the question was its source. Was it natural, created by the reputation and deeds of the forest over the past multiple millennia, or was it more artificial? A specialized barrier and an effect of the great slabs of seal-etched stones he passed once more, no doubt another one of Tegen's masterpieces, he mused.
It was going to be a long walk, one that he started immediately. They were in an off-beaten part of the forest with little to no real method of transportation close by.
Luckily for him, even without using cursed energy to reinforce himself, he had rebuilt his body into something close to what he used to be.
Perfection born of multiple centuries of eugenics. That was the physique he was bred into, one he had owned up and crafted into something near superhuman.
So with no real effort, he moved at a fast pace, fearing the effects of high-speed sustained drag on the two unconscious mundane bodies.
Ten minutes into his walk and the man on his shoulders began to stir. It started with a hitched breath and soft mumblings; seconds later, the man was struggling to free himself, so Jiki dropped him unceremoniously.
The blonde-haired foreigner raised his head with wide terrified darting eyes, shedding light on the horror he must have witnessed, an anomaly in his worldview, and not for the first time Jiki mused about the separation between the world of sorcerers and regular humans.
It was a divide that wasn't present in his past life, a divide that honestly didn't make any sense to him. One that Geto seemed determined to destroy and render void by simply exterminating one part of the equation.
The easy option.
"W-where am I, wh-o are you?" The man stuttered out, faster than his mind could keep up. Jiki's eyes drifted to him once more, and the man scrambled back rapidly with horror written on his features.
The man was broken, and Jiki could see it as clear as day. Not in the same way as Geto was, but not far off. This was the kind of thing that changed a person. An insight into the world of malevolent curses and monstrous humans. What differentiated the two men now was how they were put back together.
The person who had attempted to help Geto originally did a horrible job of it, and staring down at the man, he realized he could do the same. Instead, he went with the easier option.
A simple flex of his cursed energy without any hand signs. All he needed was direct eye-to-eye contact with the recipient, and that was all it took for the genjutsu to take hold. A simple genjutsu that lured the waking mind away, into whatever fantasy it could make for itself as a self-repairing and defense mechanism.
The human mind was a surprisingly malleable thing, especially with one with insights into how it functioned.
Fixing the broken man's psyche was not up to him, neither was it a job he was interested in. His last attempt had ended up with a brother that he pushed to the tipping point of madness. That it was his goal and one he accomplished regardless of the endpoint was not something he was particularly proud of, simply one of his many sins.
"It's a good thing what you did. I don't think he's ready to face the world for what it is. Not right now at least."
He turned his attention to the woman he was cradling in his other hand, and she raised dull black eyes to stare at him before turning her attention back to the ground.
The information they got was not exactly accurate. The woman was Japanese, judging by her features. Although she definitely had some foreign blood judging from her rounder eyes. The man was supposedly a foreign diplomat, with little to no knowledge of their language or culture, the woman his translator and aid.
He could already tell the scenario that brought them here, a bold, reckless, and overly curious foreigner with his demure aid that tried to steer him, helpless with the knowledge that she had no true control.
He suspected that she had always been awake, right from her time in the tender care of Geto's group. Yet she had been smart enough to fake obliviousness, and they were not bothered to confirm. Till now at least.
"Can you stand?" He asked her, and she raised dulled eyes to him again before wriggling out of his grip, so he let her down, more gently than he did the man.
A second later she was standing on her own power. She sent a glance to her unconscious partner on the ground before trailing off and looking to the side, empty and uncaring.
She was broken in her own way, cracked and torn at the seams between sanity and insanity, yet she had managed to stay whole in a way. Cracked, but not truly broken. When the abyss stared back, she held its gaze. She had the kind of psyche that Root searched for in the young, one that could be molded for decades into something inhuman.
Two different people turned out differently from undergoing a stressful situation; the human mind truly was a curious thing.
"Come with me." He said to her, before picking up her partner once more and walking off. A few seconds later, her footsteps trailed his, before her hand slipped into his, searching for comfort in familiarity, and he allowed the intimacy regardless of his feelings about it.
He could see the foliage clearing up ahead. Where Shurberry gave way to the tarred road, with any luck he would be able to stop a vehicle and find his way further into town.
Lightning traveled down his spine and set his nerves alight with fire the moment he felt the sudden manifestation of cursed energy. Had Geto reneged on his words? He refused to believe his one-time friend had sunk so low. An opportunistic attacker then?
Finally, the displacement of air in front of him, and the familiarity of the cursed energy signature eased whatever tension had wound up his body into a fight or flight response.
This solves the irksome transportation issue. Satoru appeared in front of him with a pop, eyes hidden behind his wrap and a large grin on his face.
"Good morning!"
"Morning, Satoru," He greeted his cousin with a curt nod. He could always feel Satoru's attention like a physical thing. A combination of his six eyes and enormous cursed energy. It gave him a perception that not even the Byakugan could match up to.
That was the reason he felt it drifting from him to the man slumped over his shoulder and finally to the woman who was still holding his hands, uncaring of the fact that another man had appeared in front of her out of thin air.
He could see the thought process that was going through Satoru's head form in real-time, the comment that was on the tip of his tongue as a wide grin spread on his face.
Yet those words died on Satoru's lips as he paid attention to the woman. Something about the dull look on her face gave him an idea of the mood, and he let his no-doubt trolling comment remain a neverborn.
"That bad, eh?" Satoru questioned with a seriousness that his older cousin rarely felt the need to employ. He gave a curt nod in reply which made Satoru's attention drift back to the man on his shoulders.
"The VVIP?" He questioned rhetorically before continuing, "I don't think I'll ever get used to your genjutsu." Satoru said, his hands on his chin as he inspected the man on his shoulders. "So intricately wound around his mind, and time it seems to be spread further the more he sinks into it."
"You've never shown much of an interest in it before now."
"That was before you made two curses rip themselves into each other with madness and savagery. You had Kusakabe running back to write his report jittery." Satoru said with a laugh.
So Kusakabe was worried about him then. An interesting tidbit, yet not one he particularly cared about.
"Now, I think it would be quite fun."
Jiki nodded in acknowledgment before giving pointed stares at the two utterly mundane people with them.
Satoru's response was a smile and a twist of his fingers. "Let's get you guys home then. I'm sure you have a story to tell."
....
He was here for the second time in as many years, and just like the first time, he was not amused. Few people could pull off nonchalant and annoyed at the same time; he did it effortlessly.
"He threatened us with a Night parade of a hundred demons. Bold of a child we all watched grow."
The first voice spoke up with little care. And if his judgment was right, the speaker found some amusement in the blossoming scenario.
Night parade of a hundred demons.
The first time he had heard those words was from the rambling jaws of the volcano-headed special-grade cursed spirit he met in what felt like ages ago, where it had come to recruit Jorogumo into its crusade against humanity.
It was a procession, a match, or more accurately a ritual. One where the strongest cursed spirits banded together into a horde. Chanting, warbling, and roaring out words so foul they tore at the mind and rendered the soul exposed to madness and corruption.
It has been recorded twice in history. The first was from a time immemorial when records were passed on by word of mouth and one that the gods supposedly had to interfere in and face themselves as humanity had proven too young, too weak to deal with the consequences of their own volatile emotions and hubris. Shortly after, Jujutsu sorcerers were rumored to come about. He believed it to be folklore with only sprinkles of truth in it.
"Bahh, Principal Yaga seems to be particularly incompetent and borderline malicious considering the children he has trained have proven to be nothing but trouble." Another voice rambled in the background, anger bolstered by fear.
The second was more recent. If a thousand years ago could be called as such. And was single-handedly led by someone the records only identified as the Disgraced one. The records claimed the clan heads of the major clans banded together and struck the curse down, but he could tell propaganda from a mile off.
No. Whatever halted the Disgraced one's match had little to nothing to do with the prowess of the major clans. With his disappearance, the horde had crumbled under the full pressure of the clans, taking some of the minor and less noteworthy clans with them.
"Principal Yaga shall face his reckoning soon enough, but he is not our focus, do not divert from the topic at hand."
Geto had chosen that name to inspire fear in them. Judging from the reactions he could observe from the council, it was working perfectly.
"Is he capable of going through with the threat?"
"Ha!" Another voice replied. "Don't be naive old friend. He is a special grade."
"The little bastard has some guts. This was why I refused to approve his special grade rank. We have raised them too high too fast."
The next voice was one he was unfortunately familiar with, considering how often they saw fit to speak. He knew the words were not directly aimed against him, yet he could almost sense the dagger-like stare digging into his back.
So he pivoted slowly to face the slide where the speaker was hidden behind and stared back.
The room was silent for a while before the discussion picked up once more, this time in more subtle tones.
As usual, the atmosphere of this room was meant to instill fear. Every aspect of it, from the concealed voices of judgment behind wooden panels to the observers sitting comfortably behind protective barriers, down to his own vulnerable position standing without weapons or armor under the bright lights, conveyed the feeling of being under scrutiny.
It was all a power play to make him feel small and weak. Unfortunately for them, Itachi was familiar with it. He had no real fear. Not after everything.
That he could wither their attention and judgment so easily was no doubt one of the reasons he had at least two people in the council who actively disliked him.
"In all this, where do your loyalties lie, Gojo Jiki?" That same voice called out once more. Bearing the age of multiple millennia behind it, so Jiki listened. He had a feeling this particular person wasn't in the room with them. His ears picked the words from everywhere and nowhere, an outsider in this meeting, yet one that the council allowed a voice.
"I'm here, am I not?"
"That is not enough reason for us to believe you do not follow this rogue sorcerer. He found it fit to inform you and only you and made you pass on this message, what does that make you, boy?" Another voice called out.
"You've saved his life once, our worries on your stand are fair." The next speakers spoke in a dead, clinical, and factual tone.
His silence was his only reply.
"Speak, child. Why should we trust you've not turned your back on us?"
He continued to stare at them with a face devoid of emotion, blank and uncaring. When he finally spoke, they were the ones to listen.
He had grown tired of this. "You seem to believe I care about what you think…" he trailed off, moving his eyes to pin his two most vocal opponents even hiding behind the slides, he could sense their sudden trepidation.
The increase in their heartbeat, the precipitation that formed as well as the scent that filled the air. Fear. The Sharingan was the perfect tool to impress dread upon others, and it was one he wielded better than any.
"I do not, neither do I care for whatever allegiance you believe I hold. I was given a message to pass on, and I've done my part. Whatever happens next is up to your judgment, however flawed it may be."
With those words, he spun on his feet and started heading towards the entrance. He was not surprised at how this had turned out; he had anticipated it even. This was part of Geto's plan. To put his allegiance under scrutiny by the higher-ups. What he had not figured out was why Geto put it into motion and what exactly did he seek to benefit from this.
He walked away at a slow pace, distracted with thoughts of Geto, the Night parade, and his place in the quickly deteriorating scenario. That was the reason he almost missed the person approaching him from a side room. She had been waiting for him, it seemed.
"Sometimes I wonder how you Gojo's manage to stop yourself from turning that room into a bloodbath."
He looked up at Shoko, and the edges of his lips came up in the closest approximation of a smile.
"Maximum composure, Ieri-san."
The brown-haired woman stared down at him with a stick of cigarette on her lips. Her eye bags seemed to have grown even more since he last saw her, coupled with the blood splatters on her white coat, it didn't take a genius intellect to know she had been run ragged recently.
It made him almost regret being the bearer of what they would be facing in a few days. There would be no rest for the world's greatest healer anytime soon, unfortunately.
"So it's true then." She continued, staring him in the eye like few could, or would even dare to.
He nodded in reply; Satoru must've told her then.
"Fuck." She said with the same amount of emotion a person would put into saying Good morning to a stranger. Yet he could tell the news weighed on her in a way, lighter than it certainly did on Satoru, for Shoko didn't seem to care about much anything or anybody, but heavy in its own way. If only because of the amount of effort she would be putting into reducing the lives lost in the upcoming slaughter.
"Where is Satoru?" He asked. He had yet to see his cousin ever since he told him the news, especially with how quickly he was bundled into meeting the council.
"Coordinating a response to Geto's threat, along with the rest of the school body."
She responded before giving out a sigh and tilting her head to him, unlit cigarette in her hands, he got the memo and raised a palm to the butt of the cigarette.
With a quick manipulation of cursed energy and a quick snap of his fingers to create friction and heat, he channeled his power into a small flame that burst forth from his fingertips, igniting her cigarette.
She straightened and took a long drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke.
"How are your eyes?" She asked with a short hooded glance at him.
"I've not had the need to strain it." He admitted.
"I'm not surprised. There are not a lot of special-grade threats that can force you to use those particular abilities." She agreed. "But you still have to attend the mandatory checkups."
He nodded in agreement. He had admittedly lost track of his appointment with her, especially over the last few days. But with a battle this close, he needed to be at his best if he wanted to mitigate the incoming bloodshed.
"When should I come in then?" He asked her as they stopped under a cherry blossom tree while staring across the pond that lay directly beyond the tree.
"Tomor-"
"Excuse me."
His eyes widened in shock at the intrusion. Yet that was the only sign of surprise he allowed his body to show, and only because he was backing the intruder.
He had grown too distracted by the heavy conversation and missed the man walking up to them, yet he refused to believe that was all.
Shoko was the first to turn, uncaring about how they'd been sneaked on. Instead, she gave a more traditional bow in response before speaking. "Goro-San."
"Shoko Ieri. How are things at the medical station?" Hearing the voice for a second time, he found it familiar. A strong tone that brokered no argument yet still found a way to be soft and gentle.
It took him a split second to place it as the major sympathetic voice in the council of higher-ups. One that was also supportive of his ascension to special grade.
He spun to face the man with passive features and stared at a plain face with squinted eyes and an uncanny smile; the man was younger than he expected, and that was the first thing that truly struck him.
He was clad as much as he a man befitting of his station. An aged black and red striped kimono with black hakama and a pair of waraji sandals. Over the more traditional attire was a black overcoat placed on top of everything that worked to cover his hands.
Yet that was not the most curious thing about the man. No, that was left to the scar on his forehead. One that was stitched together delicately. An old wound perhaps? Yet he could not imagine one of the stuffy higher-ups deeming it fit to stoop so low as to fight curses.
The man's attention drifted to him the moment he spun, forgetting Shoko to the side and focusing his full attention on him.
"We finally meet face to face for the first time, Jiki-kun."