The curious incident of the Sasaki Setsuko on a random afternoon, I guess.
The average sorcerer would only ever be able to glean superficial details like the quantity, or quality of another sorcerer's or curse's cursed energy. Kiyotaka, as an example, could pick up traces in the aftermath of an encounter.
They could look up and see the twinkles against the background of the night never knowing which was a planet, or which was a distant star.
A more skilled—or talented—sorcerer could see the finer details.
Emotion. Intention, and intensity. Could pick out the direction it was coming from and even differentiate one source of cursed energy from another. Sorcerers of this calibre typically ranged from high-end Grade Twos all the way up to Special Grades.
Notable examples of this included Toge, Mei "Malaysia" Mei, Aoi and... Kento.
They had telescopes; could tell Venus from Mars. They could tell you exactly when Mercury was in retrograde if they looked hard enough.
But he? Gojo Satoru?
Each cursed energy signature unfolded itself like a whole universe before his eyes. He could pick out constellations or even focus on the most vanishing mote of dust as it floated along the cosmic sea. He could see cursed energy as a singular element or strip it down to its radiation.
And like radiation, cursed energy had the tendency to leave a mark. Especially so when its wielder had little voluntary control over it.
For example:
Everything Yuriko owned from her knitted jumper to her shoes were mired in years' worth of cursed energy contamination. She couldn't tell because it was her own, but he could see it lathered between covalent bonds and slipping between the Van der Waals forces of her shoes.
Any longer before she gained control, and at least some of her belongings may have become cursed objects.
The cold, rational part of him was relieved that had Yuriko grown up so lonely while surrounded by non-sorcerers. The risk of her cursing someone the way Yuta did Rika was... well. Yeah.
In comparison, Setsuko's glasses, an item she wore everyday were still the same, cheap, mundane lumps of convex lenses. She had either maintained a level cursed energy control that was precise enough to fool Yuriko's concerning sensitivity—unlikely—or she hadn't had enough cursed energy to begin with.
He was getting off topic. If he had to guess what had happened to Setsuko—
"Eat anything funny recently?"
"No?"
Darn.
The bespeckled girl flinched when he finally addressed her. He cast a shadow over her as his special eyes deconstructed her to finer, and finer layers existence.
Setsuko's eyes darted between his own and literally anywhere else in the room. A lamp; the roof; ooh, a doorbell, before they settled on the boring carpet at her feet. A subtle red dusted across her face, which he, of course, was unfortunately able to see.
"Satoru..." growled Yuriko to her right.
"Hm..."
Yuriko's elbow dug into his side.
"You're scaring her."
"I wish," he muttered.
The 'her' in question igniting like an LED.
Yuriko looked at him, then at her friend, then back at him again. He had never seen such befuddlement in her body language before. Not even when he was explaining the origins of cursed spirits—something about creating matter out of feelings didn't sit right with her.
"Ahem." Setsuko coughed after the twelfth glance Yuriko cast. "Wh—what's wrong with me?"
"Eh, 'wrong' isn't a very accurate way to put it."
Well, it was; Satoru just wasn't actually trying to scare the kid.
What he saw was a left handprint, like a bruise, spanning the cosmology of the girl's cursed energy. A wound that was swelling shut as it healed, but had widened the surrounding structure nonetheless.
He saw additional cursed energy leaking into her veins, into her lungs, into her eyes and drifting into her brain where her dormant technique lay. He saw it clicking into place, an increasing establishment of what would become her new normal.
All this led to but two conclusions.
"You've either touched something cursed, or something cursed touched you. Either way, you've been afflicted with a terminal uniqueness. Welcome to the club, kid."
And 'afflicted' was the key word. He watched Yuriko catch it in real time as her lips thinned. This was something that had been done to Setsuko, and recently.
"I'm... like you?" she asked.
Setsuko's shoulders were trembling. It was to be expected. He didn't have the right frame of reference, but logically this was a girl—by Yuriko's account— who went from being casually fascinated by occultism, and grizzly death, to a potential victim of both.
So, it was no wonder her head bowed low, and her lips quivered. Contrary to popular belief, Satoru was indeed capable of applying empathy to delicate situations. So even now, he understood why there was a timbre of excitement—wait, excitement?
"Does this mean I can fire a Galick Gun, or a Chidori or a Licht Regen?"
Satoru blinked.
Yuriko blinked. Then her hands, as if pre-programmed stuck together from the base of her palms. They sparked, but not much else. The red eyed girl stared at her hands in mute horror, then back at Setsuko who guffawed.
"You understand the references!" Setsuko beamed, as she moved her own hands to assume the stance of the prince of all five Saiyans. "So can I—"
"No."
A quick no was the educational equivalent of a coup de gras. He didn't like saying it, because he believed his students should try anyway. Experimentation was the lifeblood of sorcery. But he could tell that Setsuko's talents laid elsewhere.
"Aw," Setsuko dropped to all fours, defeated—not enough gras, noted. "I... can't do anything?"
"Bit dramatic," said Satoru, as he pondered the effectiveness of Limitless against the Galick gun. "And wrong. Your technique just looks like it would be better for forensics than combat."
"Hang on," said Yuriko, finally shaking free from the aftershocks of Shounen exposure. "Didn't you tell me that cursed techniques were decided at birth?"
"That they are." He confirmed. "Lots of people are born with cursed techniques, but only a fraction of a fraction actually have enough cursed energy to manifest them into the world."
"But if someone could solve that problem," Yuriko's eyes quickly flittered to her friend and back. "But how could she have known?"
"Eh, luck of the draw; maybe she did, but she probably didn't."
"Then it was just..."
She didn't need to say it, but he knew she knew from reading his face that he agreed. A message. Anytime, anyplace. Anyone.
"Are..." Satoru said, a little softer than he'd intended. "Are you sure you won't reconsider joining Jujutsu Tech?"
"I want a real job when I'm done with real school, thank you very much."
"Tell that to my government stipend." He smiled, though internally he was 'hollow purpling' his concern.
"Uh huh."
"Of course, the offer extends to you too, Setsuko-chan."
"What's Jujutsu Tech?"
Oh.
"Think Unseen University," he clarified. Inept old 'wizards' calling the shots? Yeah, it was a sound metaphor. "Aim lower but then sweeten the deal with me: Gojo Satoru; everyone's favourite teacher!"
Satoru struck a pose that would have immediately identified him as the enemy Stand user, and if Yuriko's face became any flatter in response, it would've mirrored Johnathan Joestar's character arc.
"We register, and train, young sorcerers such as yourself across two campuses. One in Tokyo, one in Kyoto. Both sites are definitively the safest places for inexperienced Jujutsushi to live until you can at least mask the presence of your cursed energy. You even get to go on fun missions—"
"Dangerous missions." Yuriko amended.
"Presence..." Setsuko let out an awkward peal of laughter, as she cast a sidelong glance in Yuriko's direction, then back at Satoru. Their cursed energies combined probably weighing heavily on her new senses.
From what he could tell, there didn't seem to be any shift in the way she treated Yuriko. Or if there was, the red-eyed girl hadn't noticed. Good kid. What a shame.
Satoru pouted. "No less dangerous than staying here."
"Satoru..." Yuriko warned.
"You know I'm right. I can help you set up a barrier around your house, but at best it'll give you a few extra seconds of warning."
"That's all I'd need."
"No, it's all she'd need."
"'Domain expansion?'"
"Domain expansion."
From the corner of his eyes, Satoru could see that Sasaki Setsuko—the little shit—was smiling despite the subject matter.
He couldn't help but wonder what she found so amusing.
***
When it comes to the case of young Suzushina Yuriko, Suzushina Mayuri is not the father.
Well, he was, just not a very responsible one. Satoru didn't mind completely steamrolling his parental rights with the backing of the government. One disgruntled abuser versus the benefit of recruiting a potential special grade? He was almost obligated to do so; like choosing the money over dinner with a celebrity. But until Yuriko was willing—if, if, if—it would come across as a flagrant breach of trust.
Therefore, the paperwork for both emancipation (and or subsequent adoption into the Gojo clan) would remain on his desk back in Tokyo. He felt disappointment for a reason that had nothing to do with pragmatism, before swatting it aside.
Setsuko, however, was loved. As the strongest sorcerer available, the responsibility fell of delivering the pitch to her parents fell on his shoulders. It would also alleviate some suspicion on his recently frequent trips to Sendai; especially if he could convince her parents to at least give an induction day a shot. Setsuko's cursed technique could be just what they needed to get a break in the missing personnel case.
Satoru ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead, before equipping his Ultra Dark+ blindfold while he held the door open for Setsuko. Multi-talented.
Before he could follow the girl outside, he heard a voice.
"Hey... could you please do something for me?"
Oh?
"Do my ears deceive me?" said Satoru. "Or did the Suzushina Yuriko just politely ask for a favour?"
He turned around with a smirk adorning his lips.
"Can it."
"You didn't need to ask," he pre-empted. "Even if you weren't close, I'd have looked out for her anyway. If those old shits try anything, I swear I'll—"
"I know."
Satoru blinked.
"You're not the same kind of idiot as Itadori Yuji," she sighed, but shortly after she was smiling. "But you're still an idiot."
"Hey!"
"Hokaze Junko," said Yuriko. "I need to meet her."
"The non-sorcerer 'Kenjaku' named." Satoru paused. "How come?"
"She's... the granddaughter of an acquaintance," Yuriko muttered. "I need to meet her. For a few reasons I can't share..."
Satoru stared at her for just a beat. "Consider it done."
***
The hallway fills with trepidation as a teacher staples the last document onto the bulletin board.
Results day. At most, only a scant few students actually care about their grade; it's where they placed in relation to others that is of interest.
The visible 'I am above you's and 'you are beneath's. Ascending the ranks is its own subtle form of violence.
Number one surprises none.
'Cryptid's done it again?' they suppose. It was the monster they knew, thus nothing new.
It is the lower ranks that rankle sensibility. The bottom fifty and its usual suspects. The bottom defects. 'The at-least-I'm-not-them'. With the sole exception of Itadori Yuji.
***
POV: Yuriko (after school)
Vector manipulation was just as almighty as it was impotent.
As she had found out after weeks of interaction between the Sugisawa trio, despite having "pressure" as part of its name, the phenomenon known as "peer pressure" did not fall under any known vector space. Ergo, completely outside her control.
"Tch."
"Yeah?"
"Ignore me." Please.
Their exams had come and gone, and not only had Yuji crossed the 50% margin, but after joining their study sessions, Sasaki and Iguchi had also both scored slightly higher than they usually did thanks to their exceptional 𝗉̶𝖺̶𝗂̶𝗇̶ ̶𝗍̶𝗁̶𝗋̶𝖾̶𝗌̶𝗁̶𝗈̶𝗅̶𝖽̶𝗌̶ determination and grit. But to think... Had she known that they would 𝗉̶𝗎̶𝗇̶𝗂̶𝗌̶𝗁̶ thank her by inviting her out, she might have just made a show of agreeing with Kaori on principle.
Suzushina Yuriko? Agoraphobia? No.
She just preferred spending time outside when it was quieter, and there weren't as many numbers flittering about. Cars, people and the insidious miasma of negative emotion created a fog of overstimulation. Something she already suffered from in mundane-Sendai back when everything made sense. Night times—or dumb fuck o'clock— were the only hours of the day when she enjoyed city living.
Nothing beats the countryside.
A thought that rolled repeatedly in her head as the wheels of the crowded bus rolled over the road.
Accelerator kept an elbow at bay, and stopped the air quality from being intolerable, but she could still feel the Sisyphean levels of 'why are we here,' in the cursed energy of every grown-up. Worse was the way it acted as a fluid, accumulating in the tight space, rather than radiating through the windows. Yuriko could feel, more than she could see or hear: a baby cry as the pacifier slipped out of her mouth, a father reprimanding his son who had been using the overhead handgrips like monkey bars, a teenager—
When the death machine came to a stop, Yuriko grabbed Yuji, who grabbed Sasaki and so on, and not-so gently pulled the lot of them past the throng of people also fiending for the exit. Don't glare at me, she thought at an irritated upperclassman who had bounced off them in the attempt to be first. Glare at Newton.
And so, they were outside.
"Finally," she gasped, nearly doubling over.
"Is it really that bad?" Iguchi asked.
Sasaki, her reverse anger translator, responded in her stead. "I mean, I kind of get it? But I have to really focus on it."
"Gojo-san says it's because she's 'sensitive.'" said Yuji.
"Oi, Suzushina, you know you can say no if you really don't want to go out, right?"
That was Iguchi. She looked up to find a hand on her shoulder and saw three faces all staring down at her with expressions of what she had come to learn was concern. She could say no, huh? How?
"It's fine. I got to choose where we went."
"Wow, I thought we'd be going to the Takada concert, but you must really like this 'Gekota' thing, huh?"
Yuriko's expression soured halfway through his sentence.
It was a necessary sacrifice.
There was nothing damning in the intel Satoru provided. Nothing that spoke to Yuriko's own circumstances. 'Junko' had already been investigated in connection to the incident with her grandfather, then dismissed because she had nothing to do with Jujutsu.
What Satoru provided was an additional summary of the girl's hobbies, acquaintances, personality and academic performance.
She was similar enough to the 'real' Junko—wait, what does 'real' even mean in this context—that it made her predictable. A quick search online revealed that a certain frog-themed brand had opened a new store and was giving away free merchandise. Except, Iguchi got the name wrong.
"It's 'Gahkota' here."
"Here?"
"Let's go," she said, rising to her full height. All five-foot-two of herself and started walking.
***
It didn't take long to find her, or her naturally lavender ringlets, standing against a backdrop of darker hair tones. It helped that she was taller than the little kids who were lining up for the chance to get the finger puppet.
Yuriko slid into the queue as seamlessly as the crocheted jumper she was wearing. She hadn't had much time to prepare for the interaction, very much doubting that she looked the part of a 'Gahkoer,' but she didn't come to win. She came for a conversation.
"Congratulations!" Suddenly, a high energy, and highly juvenile leitmotif flared from a speaker. "You're our 1000th visitor!"
What?
The voice came from behind her and drew the eyes of everyone ahead of her. A frog mascot hippity hopped their way over to her slinging a handful of confetti as they did. None of it touched her, but it was still a violation. Yuriko's mouth hung open as paper strips danced around her, before flopping to the ground—she briefly considered their potency as weapons.
"Here's your commemorative limited edition Gahkota phone strap! Enjoy!"
In the background, she swore she heard Sasaki chuckling, but it was impossible to be sure over the cacophony of children suddenly rushing toward her.
"Labubu, labubu!" they cried.
The fuck?
Accelerator—her cursed technique— nullified their voices, as she looked over their heads and paid them no further mind.
As for 'Junko...' The last time she had seen a facial expression that even came close to the crestfallen look on her face, it had been on Itadori Yuji. The day he was covered in toilet water.
"Oi. Ringlets." she said, and 'Junko' jumped as Yuriko's power carried the voice to her ears. "Let's talk."
***
POV: Text message exchange.
You: Yo, Kiyotaka
Wage Slave: ...What now?
You: Have you had time to investigate the thing I asked you?
Wage Slave: With all due respect Gojo-san... Have you the slightest idea how little that narrows it down?
You: LMAO, I meant about the curse
Wage Slave: Oh, Hatsuko?
You: That's the one!
Wage Slave: *Sigh*
You: What do I even pay you for? Did you learn anything?
Wage Slave: 1. You don't. 2. Not much. The Zenin clan wouldn't let me get far.
You: ???
Wage Slave: They had jurisdiction over her case because she was a Kyoto student. I even got threatened with suspension just for asking!
You: 😂
Wage Slave: "😂"? Their representative berated me for five minutes straight! He told me to go die on a beach, whatever that means.
You: Jajajaja, what else did he say?
Wage Slave: Nothing important.
Oh! He did mention a name.
A 'Damn Kugisaki,' I think...
Pardon my language.