Evening – Greenbelt Conversation,
The night was quiet, the kind of silence where even the hum of the cicadas had died down, replaced only by the occasional sound of wind moving through the trees.
The faint glow of Tokyo's street lamps filtered through the branches, illuminating the greenbelt where two figures stood in the shadows.
Gojo Satoru, with his ever-present blindfold and laid-back posture, leaned lazily against the railing, flicking his fingernails idly as if nothing in the world could trouble him. His voice drifted out, casual and unbothered, though the tone carried a strange sort of baiting mischief.
"Oh… I haven't had thin-sliced lamb soup from Kyoto in a while. You know, the sweet kind. I've been craving it lately… but Kyoto's such a pain to get to. So far away, such a hassle." He paused, letting the words hang in the air like an afterthought. "It would be nice if someone could help me out…"
His words sounded like idle musings, but the sly tilt of his lips betrayed the intent.
"I'll buy it for you!"
The response came sharp and immediate.
Tsuchimikado Arima, with his signature red-framed glasses glinting under the pale glow of the lamps, looked up at Gojo with unwavering determination. His tone was absolute, as if he were declaring a vow.
"I'll get you half a month's worth—directly!"
Gojo tilted his head, pretending to look surprised. "Huh? Half a month? That seems… a little excessive, don't you think?"
"…Fine," Arima shot back instantly, voice tightening, "a month's worth. No—two months!"
Gojo blinked slowly, and then, with a snap, his demeanor shifted. His expression melted into one of amused reproach, his lips curling into a grin.
"Arima, why are you like this? We're buddies—you don't need to go overboard with grand gestures." He reached out, feigning earnestness as he said.
The sudden, dramatic change in tone—the classic Gojo whiplash—made Arima's face twitch with irritation.
But he'd known Gojo long enough not to be fazed. He adjusted his coat, straightened his back, and allowed his tone to turn serious again.
"Alright, Gojo… enough jokes. Let's get down to business."
The weight in his voice was unmistakable.
Gojo gave an exaggerated sigh but leaned forward slightly, as though humoring him.
"Fine, fine. What's so urgent that Kyoto had to spit you out into my backyard?"
Arima adjusted his glasses, the red frames catching the faint moonlight. His gaze sharpened, heavy with intent.
"The orphan from the Adashino family… Benio Adashino. Do you know her?"
Gojo tilted his head as if searching his memory. Then, a faint chuckle.
"Benio Adashino? That girl who cries half the day, screaming about purging filth from the world? Yeah, I know her. What about her?"
"She intends to leave Kyoto," Arima explained, his tone even but stern. "She plans to come to Tokyo. Given your… current lifestyle here, I assumed she'd end up under your care. Either she's taken in by you—your school, your home—or she'll be forced to wander into the Wilderness on her own."
The words dropped like stones into the silence between them.
Gojo didn't answer immediately.
He leaned back against the railing again, folding his arms as though the topic hardly interested him.
The silence stretched—
Finally, Gojo spoke, his tone deceptively light. "Arima… you're making it sound like I'm running some kind of adoption home. What's next, you want me to play babysitter too?"
Arima didn't flinch.
His voice, firm and clipped, cut through the humor like a blade. "No. You misunderstand me. I don't need you to raise her. I just need you to make sure she doesn't die."
The sharpness in his words, paired with the cold glint in his eyes, left no room for doubt.
Tsuchimikado Arima wasn't joking.
He had carried the weight of countless decisions, sacrificing personal attachments for the sake of the Onmyoji. To end the centuries-long war against the Kegare, he would cast aside even the innocent if he had to. But… he wasn't willing to cast aside Kano Kohane.
Gojo tilted his head, studying him. "Explain yourself."
Arima inhaled, steadying himself.
"A year ago, before you appeared in the Yin-Yang Realm, I noticed something about Benio… a hidden thread of fate around her. It wasn't clear, but it was there. After your appearance, however, the sky itself turned hazy—I couldn't see anything anymore. Still, I believe she holds a role we cannot ignore. That's why… now that she's coming to Tokyo, I want you to watch her. Keep her alive."
Gojo went quiet, narrowing his eyes beneath the blindfold.
Of course, he knew what Arima was alluding to. The prophecy of the Twin Star Exorcists—the destined pair to end all filth, to destroy the very root of Kegare. He had already connected the pieces, even if Arima didn't say it outright.
Arima's silence matched his own, waiting for the verdict. If Gojo refused, Arima would be forced to send Kohane into Tokyo alone, exposed to dangers neither of them wanted her to face.
Finally, Gojo smirked.
"Fine. But I want Kikufuku from Kyoto."
Arima blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"You heard me. Kikufuku. The best kind. From Kyoto. Bring me that, and we have a deal."
A pause—then, the corner of Arima's lips tugged upward in exasperation.
"…Two months' worth. The best quality."
Gojo scratched the back of his head and sighed dramatically.
"Man… I just want to live a peaceful salted-fish teacher life. Why does it always feel like the world keeps dragging me back into Onmyoji business?"
"Then I'll leave first, Gojo-kun," Arima said, pulling a small leather talisman from his sleeve. "She'll likely arrive in Tokyo within one or two weeks. I'll let you know when it's confirmed. Until then, it's in your hands."
He pressed the talisman, and with a flash of white light, his figure dissolved into nothingness. The greenbelt grew quiet once more, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze.
Gojo's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out lazily, eyes scanning the incoming data that had just been sended—
Benio Adashino's entire file. Family background, age, movements, spell techniques, records of ability—it was all there.
"Hm," he hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Alright… I'll handle her the same way I did with Megumi back then. A little guidance, a little push, and the rest… full-on free-service." His lips curled in amusement. "Stock-raising, Gojo style."
He stretched, arms overhead, letting the night air brush over him. Just as he was about to leave, his phone rang again. The screen lit up: 'Little Umaru.'
Gojo answered immediately, his voice softening with warmth. "Hey, my lovely sister! What's up?"
"Brother, can you bring home a few bottles of Coke? We're out." Umaru's voice carried the familiar mix of casualness and comfort.
Gojo clutched his chest dramatically, staggering as if struck. "Woohoo! Umaru, you don't even care what time I come home anymore? Your poor big brother… it hurts! It hurts so much!"
"…Brother. Not this again, please."
Gojo chuckled.
"Okay, okay. I get it. I'll be back soon."
"Uh-huh. I'll wait for you. Hurry, alright?"
The line clicked off.
Gojo slipped the phone back into his pocket, then tilted his head toward the moon above, its silver light reflecting faintly across the blindfold covering his eyes.
"Family, duty, fate…" he muttered under his breath, half amused, half resigned. "Guess I'll never get that salted-fish life after all."
Adjusting his blindfold, he stepped off the greenbelt, the quiet rhythm of his footsteps echoing beneath the night sky.
A calm silhouette against the moonlight—
...
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