Chapter 7 – Into the Fold
It's quiet here.
Not peaceful. Not safe. Just quiet in the way a storm holds its breath.
I walk the halls of Jujutsu High with my fists buried in my jacket. The place looks like a monastery built by someone who's never prayed. Marble floors too clean, hallways too still. Light filters through narrow windows, slicing the corridors into patches of shadow.
I know this place.
Not because I've been here—but because I've *seen* it. Anime. Manga. Fiction. I watched it back home, like everyone else. Jujutsu Kaisen. But now I'm here. In it. Wearing it like borrowed skin.
And I don't know if I'm meant to survive it—or if I'm already dead and no one told me.
Whatever's inside me hasn't settled. It hums low in my chest like something coiled, waiting. The world around me shifts when I move. Pipes un-rust. Moss grows on smooth walls. A flower bloomed in a crack I stepped on two days ago. White petals. No root.
I haven't talked about that.
But they've noticed.
Whispers follow me. Not the strange, breath-on-your-neck kind—just kids too afraid to say it to my face. I catch the edges of words when I pass: "unstable," "Gojo's stray," "dangerous."
I keep my head down and keep moving.
Then someone steps into my path.
She's got pink streaks in her hair and a half-eaten rice ball in one hand. The other's resting on her hip.
"You're taller than I thought," she says, mouth half-full.
I blink. "Sorry?"
"And less glowy," she adds. "Thought you'd sparkle or hum or something."
"I left my halo in my other jacket."
She smirks. "Cute. You always this friendly, or just with girls who confront you in hallways?"
"Depends. You always this blunt, or am I just lucky?"
She sizes me up like she's checking for cracks. "People are freaked out, you know. The way you showed up, what happened out in the woods. Some say you're cursed. Others think you're… worse."
"I didn't ask to be here."
"Neither did any of us."
She shrugs, then walks off like that was all she came for. I watch her go, unsure if I've just been warned, insulted, or recruited.
Eventually, I make it outside.
The training field is mostly empty. Grass worn from sparring, the air sharp with the smell of distant sweat and new wood. I drop to the stone edge and let the shade cover me. My body aches like I've run a marathon in someone else's shoes.
"You sulking, or are you just dramatic by nature?"
I look up.
Keiko stands above me, hands on her knees like she's been there a while. Her black hair's tied back, face unreadable except for the faintest twitch of amusement.
"Didn't know this spot was reserved," I mutter.
"It's not. But if you're gonna mope here, you should at least pretend to stretch."
I give her a look. "You always this charming?"
"Only on Tuesdays. You're lucky."
She drops down beside me, cross-legged, elbows on her knees. She doesn't get too close, but she's there—solid, present. The silence between us feels less like an awkward pause and more like a shared breath.
"You're still trembling," she says.
"I'm not."
"You are."
I glance down. She's right. My hands are shaking again.
Keiko doesn't point it out further. She reaches out and brushes the sleeve over my tattooed arm. Her fingers pause there, resting lightly over the fabric like she's reading something beneath it.
"Still hurts?"
"Not physically."
She nods. "That kind of pain's the worst. Everyone assumes it'll pass eventually. Spoiler: it doesn't."
I look at her. "You always talk like this?"
"Only when I find someone more closed-off than me. It's rare. You're practically an endangered species."
Despite myself, I laugh. It's short, a breath more than a sound, but it surprises both of us.
"You remind me of someone," I say.
"Tall, dark, and broody?"
"Someone who didn't know how to ask for help, even when they needed it."
Keiko's face shifts. Just a flicker. Then she stands and dusts off her pants.
"Don't go full cryptic on me," she says. "You'll ruin my reputation by association."
"Too late," I murmur.
She turns back once. "You don't have to talk. But don't lie. That's worse."
Then she's gone.
I let the quiet return. The shade feels colder now.
I close my eyes.
Something changes.
The air thickens—not hot, just *dense*. I open my eyes and look across the field.
A student—a tall boy in a dark uniform—has stopped mid-step. His face goes pale. He drops to his knees without a sound.
I can't tell what's happening. It's like the world around him folded in on itself.
He whispers something.
"It felt like… something was watching. Not judging. Just… weighing me."
I stand slowly, my heart loud in my chest.
A moth flutters near my shoe.
It lands.
And dissolves.
Not broken. Not burned.
Gone.
I stare at my hands. They're still shaking.
---
On a rooftop above, half-hidden behind the boughs of ancient trees, Gojo watches.
For once, he isn't smiling.
"They're going to try to kill him before he understands what he is," he murmurs.
A breeze lifts his hair.
"So I'll have to teach him faster."