Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

April 3rd, 2017. / 09:08 / Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan

Shibuya never stops rotting.

It hums and flashes and laughs at itself, neon bleeding into puddles from an earlier rain. The crosswalk swallows people whole and spits them out rearranged, strangers brushing shoulders like it means nothing. Suguru Geto likes it here. Cities make excellent alibis.

He sits in a café tucked between a vinyl shop and a nail salon, the kind with exposed brick and mismatched chairs that costs too much for burnt coffee. The windows are fogged from inside warmth, a deliberate blur against the street’s chaos. He chose the table with his back to the wall out of habit, not paranoia.

Across from him, Mimiko is stirring whipped cream into hot chocolate with single-minded intensity. Nanako sits beside her, feet tucked into the chair, phone angled just right to capture the foam art before it melts into nothing.

“Hold it still,” Nanako mutters.

Mimiko freezes. “You’re taking too long.”

“It’s composition,” Nanako says flatly. 

She taps the screen. The camera shutter clicks. 

Satisfied, she finally lowers the phone. “Okay. You can ruin it now.”

Mimiko grins and stirs harder, sloshing chocolate dangerously close to the rim. Geto watches, amused, chin resting against his knuckles.

“You’ll spill,” he says mildly.

“I won’t,” Mimiko replies, immediately sloshing chocolate onto the saucer.

Nanako sighs. “You spilled.”

Mimiko pauses. “It doesn’t count if it’s not on the table.”

Geto chuckles, soft and warm, the sound of a man enjoying a harmless afternoon. He reaches for a napkin and slides it toward Mimiko without looking away from her face. She beams up at him, triumphant, and dabs at the mess.

Outside, a curse slithers along the awning, drawn by the crowd density and the residue of a thousand small miseries. It pauses. It senses him.

It does not enter.

“You said this place was good,” Mimiko says, licking chocolate from her spoon. “But the chairs are ugly.”

“They’re authentic,” Geto answers. “Ugly on purpose.”

Nanako eyes the décor. “That’s stupid.”

“Most things are,” he agrees pleasantly.

The server approaches, nervous in the way civilians sometimes get around him without knowing why. She sets down his tea with a careful smile, fingers trembling just enough to notice.

“Anything else?” she asks.

Geto meets her gaze and smiles. It’s gentle. Considerate. The kind of smile teachers give when they’re proud.

“No,” he says. “Thank you for your patience.”

Her shoulders relax as if released from a weight she didn’t know she was carrying. She leaves quickly.

Nanako watches her go. “She was scared.”

“People usually are,” Geto replies. 

He lifts his cup, inhales the steam. Jasmine. Clean. 

Mimiko tilts her head. “Are they scared of us?”

Geto’s eyes flick to her, dark and attentive. 

“No,” he says. “They’re scared of the world. We just remind them of that.”

That almost satisfies her. She swings her legs under the table, humming tunelessly. Nanako returns to her phone, scrolling through news she pretends not to care about. Headlines blur past: accidents, disappearances, an article about increased incidents in suburban schools.

Geto reads over her shoulder without leaning in.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Nanako pauses. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just timing.”

He takes a sip of tea. The warmth settles pleasantly in his chest, grounding. Across the street, a pair of sorcerers pass by - students, judging by their posture. One of them glances toward the café and stiffens, instinct screaming. Geto doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to.

Mimiko notices anyway. She always does.

“Do we have to leave?” she asks quietly.

“No,” Geto says.

His tone is light. Absolute.

They stay.

Minutes pass. The café fills, empties, refills. Geto listens to fragments of conversation like white noise: complaints about work, a couple arguing in whispers, someone crying in the bathroom stall. Each emotion leaves a trace, thin and edible.

Nanako suddenly speaks. “Are we doing something today?”

Geto sets his cup down. “We are.”

Mimiko perks up. “What kind of something?”

“The necessary kind.”

They both smile at that. He reaches into his coat and places a small paper bag on the table between them. It’s unassuming. Brown. Folded neatly.

Nanako’s fingers brush it, then pull back. “Now?”

“After we finish,” he says. “Good habits matter.”

Mimiko groans but obeys, shoveling the last of her chocolate into her mouth. Nanako drains her coffee with a practiced grimace.

Geto stands, smooth and unhurried, slipping yen onto the table. As they gather their things, the curse outside finally loses its nerve and slinks away into the gutters.

They step back into Shibuya’s noise together, Geto’s hands resting lightly on their shoulders as they merge with the crowd; three shapes swallowed by movement, perfectly ordinary at a glance.

From above, the city keeps smiling.

Geto smiles with it.

///

April 4th, 2017. / 11:12 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Spring seeps into the Gojo estate through half-open shōji, through the cracks in old wood and the careless habits of servants who forget to close doors properly. Plum blossoms have already shed themselves; cherry buds hover on the edge of bloom, indecisive and irritatingly patient.

Liv notices all of it because there is nothing else to do.

She sits on the engawa with a cup of tea that has gone lukewarm, watching Nova kneel in the garden below. The child has arranged pebbles into neat little rows again; an improvement from last month, when symmetry was more of a suggestion than a rule. Nova hums softly to herself, a tuneless sound that repeats every few minutes like a mantra.

The fluctuations during sleep have lessened. Nightmares still come, but not every night. When they do, Nova no longer wakes screaming. Sometimes she only whimpers, confused, caught between dreaming and remembering.

Liv counts that as a victory.

She does not count the rest.

The mornings are too quiet. Gojo is at the school more often than not, wrapped up in lessons he pretends not to care about and meetings he loudly complains about while attending anyway. The Estate, without him, feels underpopulated. Too large for two people who are trying not to need each other.

Liv exhales and sets the tea aside.

“Nova,” she calls.

The child looks up immediately - progress, too, and conflicting for Liv.

“Yes?” Nova says, alert and careful.

Liv gestures toward the wooden veranda. “Come here.”

Nova rises, brushes dirt from her knees with unnecessary diligence, and pads over. She climbs onto the engawa and sits where Liv points, hands folded in her lap. 

Liv reaches out and takes Nova’s wrist, fingers warm against cool skin. She reads her pulse; the cursed energy’s pulse, coursing through the girl’s body.

It reverberates against Liv’s touch, dauntless against the layers of bindings. Despite the meticulous chanting and overlaying in the last three months, Nova’s cursed energy remains a caged beast with no signs of taming any time soon.

Nova watches her face instead of the process.

“You’re stronger,” Liv says.

It’s true.

Nova’s eyes brighten. “Really?”

Liv releases her wrist. “But you rely on the bindings too much.”

The smile falters, just a little. “They hurt less than before.”

“I know.”

Nova hesitates. “Is that bad?”

Liv considers lying. She decides not to.

“It means they’re doing their job,” she says. “One day, you won’t have them, or I might be indisposed. No one will help you, and you’ll need to stand on your own.”

Nova absorbs this in silence. Then she nods, solemn and far too serious for a child her age.

“I’ll try harder.”

Liv winces inwardly.

“That’s not what I said.”

Nova tilts her head. “It isn’t?”

Liv rubs the bridge of her nose. “Trying harder is not the same as doing better.”

“Oh.”

They sit together, watching the breeze stir fallen petals across the garden stones. A servant passes at a distance, pretending very hard not to notice them. 

Liv appreciates the effort, despite the resulting boredom.

Nova leans against her side now, head resting just close enough to count as accidental. Liv does not move away. She is contemplating whether it would be undignified to nap when her phone vibrates.

She startles. Nova startles too, reaching instinctively for Liv’s sleeve before remembering herself and pulling her hand back. 

Liv pretends not to notice.

She checks the screen. It’s Gojo. 

She answers without standing. “You’re interrupting a very intense staring contest with the garden.”

“Wow,” Gojo says. “And here I was worried you’d be having fun without me.”

Liv snorts. “Your childhood must’ve been a blast within these walls.”

Nova watches Liv’s face carefully, as if reading subtitles only she can see.

“I’ll be at the Estate for a few days,” Gojo continues, voice bright in that way that usually means trouble. “School’s giving me a break. Don’t know why and I’m pretty sure if I asked, they’d lie anyway.’”

Liv hums. “A tragedy, indeed.”

“I know,” he says solemnly. “I’ll need emotional support.”

“Try the mirror.”

“Ouch. Anyway - ” there’s a pause, just long enough to be deliberate, “I’m bringing a guest.”

Liv straightens slightly. “Oh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She waits.

“It’s Megumi,” Gojo says. 

Liv glances at Nova, who is now openly listening, curiosity radiating off her in waves.

“How long?” Liv asks.

She hears him grumble something. “A few days. Maybe longer. Depends.”

“On?” she quirks a brow.

Gojo hums. “Things.”

Liv closes her eyes. “You’re infuriating.”

“You married me.”

She frowns even deeper. “That is not a defense.”

He laughs. “Sure it is.”

A short silence follows, courtesy of Liv rolling her eyes.

“I’ll be there by evening,” he says. “Think you could last that long?”

Liv smiles thinly. “I’ll manage, dear.”

She hangs up before he can say anything worse. For a while, she says nothing. However, someone’s thoughts are loud enough to break the silence. 

Liv glances at her niece, and Nova looks up at her. The child opens her mouth but appears reluctant to speak. The older woman smiles softly and nods.

Nova hesitates. “Is he always like this?”

"Like what?" Liv asks.

Nova looks down. "Absent."

Liv considers. “I suppose.”

Nova nods. 

Liv exhales a short laugh before she can stop herself. “He’s good enough for me, pup.”

The afternoon drifts by in tolerable quiet. Nova practices controlling her output under Liv’s watchful eye, and the garden endures their presence with stoic patience. 

Her eyes flick skyward. She wonders who Megumi resembles more.

Chapter Text

April 4th, 2017. / 19:12 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Gojo arrives after sunset. The Estate is silent as he strides through the long corridors. The staff bows in respect before resuming their duties.

Liv is standing near the engawa with Nova when the gate opens.

She does not turn immediately. That would be rude. Instead, she finishes pouring the tea she is not particularly interested in drinking, sets the kettle aside, and waits. Tap, tap, tap, tap. She counts the steps, focusing on their weight and rhythm.

“Well,” Gojo says brightly, stepping into view, “don’t you look domestic.”

Liv finally turns. She eyes the man, head to toe, before looking behind him.

A boy. Black hair, unevenly cut. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders squared. His gaze flicks across the courtyard once, twice, then settles somewhere past Liv’s shoulder as though he has already decided she is not the problem here.

Megumi Fushiguro looks nothing like the baby she remembers. That, she thinks to herself, is the point of time.

She inclines her head slightly. “Welcome back.”

“Missed me already?” Gojo asks.

“Desperately,” she replies without pause.

Nova peeks out from behind Liv’s sleeve. The boy notices immediately, and his eyes sharpen. Nova shrinks back. Liv places a hand on the child’s shoulder. 

“This is Liv Drakon,” Gojo says, gesturing vaguely in her direction, as if introducing furniture. “You’ve heard of her, right? Mistress of Shuuin, most wanted woman, blah blah blah - ”

Liv arches a brow. “I’m standing right here, dear.”

“And doing a great job, darling,” he adds cheerfully.

She turns her attention to the boy. “You must be Megumi.”

Megumi stiffens almost imperceptibly.

“Fushiguro,” he corrects her bluntly.

His voice is low for his age. He does not bow. 

Liv smiles - not unkindly. “I’m Liv Drakon. It’s a pleasure.”

Megumi’s gaze flicks to her face at that. “... Likewise.”

Gojo beams as if this exchange has gone exactly as he pictured it.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together softly, “Megumi will be staying with us for a bit.”

Liv looks at him. She does not speak. Gojo waits. She waits longer.

Eventually, he scratches his cheek. 

“Training,” he adds. “Change of scenery. You know. Growth.”

“I wasn’t aware your house is a boarding school,” Liv says mildly.

“It ain’t,” he replies. “This one’s exclusive.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens. Liv notices. She shifts her focus to her husband. Hazel eyes flicker red as she steadies her breath and clears her mind. Gojo meets her gaze over the boy’s head and smiles sweetly. 

Ah.

She mirrors his expression. Megumi glances at him, irritation flaring briefly before being crushed back down. Liv notes that too. 

She then gestures toward Nova. “This is Nova.”

The girl hesitates, then bows.

“Hello,” she says, voice small.

Megumi freezes. He offers a nod through great effort. The slight shimmer of the girl’s bindings catches his eye. He stares at them rather inquisitively. Nova fidgets, fingers curling into her sleeves. Liv steps subtly between them, breaking the line of sight without comment.

“I think rooms have been prepared,” she says to Gojo. “Why don’t you have someone show Megumi to his?”

“Good idea,” Gojo says. 

He ruffles Megumi’s hair as he passes. The boy flinches. Gojo does not notice, or pretends not to. Nova watches them leave like a startled animal until they disappear from the corridor.

Only then does she relax.

“That boy’s scary,” Nova whispers.

Liv hums. “He seems sad to me.”

Nova considers this. “That’s worse.”

Liv does not disagree.

///

April 7th, 2017. / 19:30 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

The snow has retreated into memory, leaving behind damp soil and the smell of rot sweetened by new growth. Moss creeps back over stones that once bit with frost.

Yet, the forest surrounding the Estate is still cold.

Tove crouches at the base of a cedar, knees drawn close, cloak pulled tight against the lingering cold. The ground beneath her is wet enough to seep through layers if she stays still too long. She ignores it. 

Above them, cherry branches stretch thin fingers toward the moon, blossoms half-spent. Petals drift down intermittently, pale against the dark, catching in Rune’s hair before sliding free. She swats one away with irritation.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters. “We’re not criminals.”

“We are not welcome either,” Tove replies quietly.

Rune shoots her a look. “You know what I mean.”

Tove does. She simply does not indulge it.

Instead, she keeps her eyes on the Estate beyond the trees. A prison that smiles.

“Liv would hate this,” Rune continues, voice pitched low but sharp. “Hiding. Waiting for permission. She is the Shuuin mistress - no, she’s Gojo’s wife for fuck’s sake!”

Liv would hate many things, Tove thinks. This would not even make the list.

“She told us to keep our distance,” Tove says. “For now.”

Rune rolls her eyes. “She told us not to get caught.” 

Tove blinks. “That too.”

Rune exhales, breath fogging faintly in the cool air. “She didn’t tell us to let them lock her up.”

Tove finally looks at her. Rune’s eyes are bright - not with fear, but with a simmering, uncontained anger that has nowhere to go. The natural redness in them is that much more vivid. That is the thing with the redhead spy: all edges, no patience for slow strategies or quiet suffering. Rune can endure much; Tove wonders if this is truly as far as she can go.

“This is leverage,” Tove says evenly. “The alternative of letting herself and Nova fall into the hands of the higher-ups.”

Rune’s mouth twists. “Leverage doesn’t usually come with servants acting as guards and a husband who decides who gets to see the sky.”

Tove does not correct her.

A movement near the inner perimeter draws her attention. Two figures pass briefly through a gap in the trees. One tall, unmistakable even through the distortion of layered barriers; the other smaller, rigid in posture.

A child.

Tove narrows her eyes.

“That’s new,” Rune whispers, following her gaze.

The spymaster nods.

“Great,” Rune mutters. “They’re collecting them now.”

Tove watches as the pair disappears into the Estate proper. 

“Huh,” Rune continues. “You feel that?”

Tove resists the urge to shudder. “I do.”

They lapse into silence. 

“I don’t like it,” Rune says at last. 

Tove’s fingers curl slightly in her cloak. Another petal lands on Rune’s sleeve. She flicks it away harder than necessary.

“So what are we doing?” she asks. “Because watching her fade behind paper walls is not a plan.”

Tove glances once more toward the Estate.

“She can’t fight her way out of this,” she says. “We wait.” 

“And then?”

Tove meets Rune’s gaze then, calm and unyielding.

“Then,” she says, “we’ll see.”

The forest stirs, blossoms falling like quiet applause.

Somewhere inside the Estate, a light goes out.

///

April 7th, 2017. / 22:44 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Megumi lies awake longer than he means to.

His room smells faintly of cedar and clean linen. He stares at the ceiling until the patterns blur, thoughts looping without landing anywhere useful. When sleep finally takes him, it does so reluctantly, like a debt collected late.

Down another hall, Nova curls on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin, bindings humming softly as they adjust to the slow rhythm of her breath. Dreams pass her by tonight.

Gojo’s study is the only place still awake on purpose.

Light pools over the desk in a warm, contained circle, caught between shelves heavy with books that are mostly decorative and papers that are mostly lies. Gojo sits with one leg hooked over the arm of his chair, tablet balanced carelessly in one hand. Blue eyes flick across the screen, sharp, bored, unreadable.

He exhales through his nose. “Tch.”

Liv enters without a sound. She stops just inside the threshold, watching him for a beat longer than necessary. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to.

“You’re late,” he says.

“You’re distracted,” she replies.

He hums. “Occupational hazard.”

She steps closer. Still nothing. No shift in cursed energy, not even in warning. If she were anyone else, she’d be proud.

“Your footwork’s impressive,” he adds mildly. “I almost didn’t notice.”

“Almost,” she says.

He grins. “Careful. You’ll put my students to shame.”

“Which ones?” she asks, resting her hands lightly on the back of his chair.

“All of them,” he says, without hesitation.

Her thumbs press in, just below his shoulders. 

He stills.

“That’s unfair,” she murmurs. “They’re young.”

Her hands move with practiced ease, finding the familiar knots at the base of his neck. He sighs despite himself, chin tipping forward a fraction.

“Your friends in the shrubbery,” he continues, voice lazy, “need to work on their breathing.”

She doesn’t stop. “You sensed them.”

The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. “Mm-hmm. Hard not to.”

“And you’re not concerned.”

“I’m flattered, actually,” he says. “They’re very dedicated.”

Liv smiles faintly. “You could have them removed.”

“I could,” he agrees, “but then what would they do with themselves?”

“Freeze anyway,” she says.

He laughs. “April’s kinder than you think.”

Her fingers shift, kneading deeper now, coaxing tension loose rather than demanding it. He leans into it without comment, a tacit admission.

“You’re busy,” she says.

He hums. “Always am.”

She blinks. “Important things.”

“Define important,” he cocks his head to the side.

She presses her thumb just a little harder, and he hisses. “Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not,” he says fondly.

She isn’t.

They fall into a companionable silence broken only by the soft scratch of fabric. Outside, a breeze lifts the branches. Petals tap against the eaves and slide away.

“You brought a boy into a cesspool of politics,” she says eventually, tone mild enough to pass for idle observation.

He shrugs under her hands. “I bring children into danger all the time. This is nothing unusual.”

She frowns. “That’s not an answer.”

“Neither is that.”

She hums, thoughtful, and adjusts her angle. His shoulders drop another notch.

“You shut me out,” she says.

“I closed a door,” he corrects. “Temporarily, of course.”

“You don’t usually lock them.”

He tilts his head back slightly, looking up at her from beneath his lashes. “You don’t usually knock.”

“Touché.”

He watches her face for a moment - calm, composed, eyes giving nothing away. He smiles, softer this time.

“You’re being very patient,” he notes.

“I’ve been told that’s a spousal virtue,” she replies.

“Oh,” he says. “That explains the massage.”

“And the restraint.”

“Terrible, I’m sure,” he murmurs.

Her hands pause just for a breath. Then they resume.

“Is he safe here?” she asks, as if asking about the weather.

Gojo considers his tablet, taps the screen off, and sets it aside. He folds his hands over his stomach, gaze drifting to the ceiling.

“For tonight at least,” he says.

She accepts that. “And tomorrow?”

He smiles. She snorts. He flicks a glance toward the window. 

She leans closer, forearms resting lightly on his shoulders now, her voice near his ear. “You’re carrying more than usual.”

He leans in slightly. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Must be the tablet,” he says.

She pinches, and he yelps. “Ow!”

“Don’t insult me.”

He laughs, unguarded. “You’re scary.”

“That’s the point.”

Another silence. He exhales. Long. Slow. She presses her forehead briefly to the back of his head. Not quite an embrace. Not quite not. He touches her wrist lightly. 

Outside, the forest holds its breath. Tove counts the lights. Rune watches the study window and does not blink.

Inside, Gojo closes his eyes and lets her hands keep him anchored to the present.

Chapter Text

April 8th, 2017. / 02:31 / Avaraux Residency, New Orleans, Louisiana

The room is dark on purpose. 

Smoke clinging to the ceiling, shadows layered so thick they refuse to settle into corners. Candles burn low in uneven clusters, wax spilling over bone-white holders, dripping onto altars crowded with relics that have outlived their names. Veves are chalked into the floor, smudged by bare feet passing over them again and again, redrawn without ceremony. Chanting echoes old words, worn smooth by repetition, meaning eroded into rhythm.

Dorian Frye sits against a pillar near the back wall, cross-legged. 

When he first arrived, the noise used to crawl under his skin; it made it hard to sleep. Now it’s just weather, like cicadas in summer. You learn which sounds mean danger and which ones don’t - these don’t.

He’s here because Liv told him to be.

Reasoning for his station was never divulged, but he more or less pieced it together over time. He’s small enough to slip through places others can’t, sharp enough to survive when slipping goes wrong, and expendable enough that no one important would look too hard if he disappeared. Long ago, that made him useful to the wrong people.

This time around, he doesn’t mind being useful.

A woman traces salt along a threshold. Another murmurs prayers under her breath, voice hoarse but steady. The chanting stutters - just a fraction off rhythm - then corrects itself.

Yvrose Avaraux stands near the central altar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands stained with something dark and sticky that might be blood. 

Dorian looks toward the main entrance, then across the room. He feels a strange pull, yet familiar. He can’t quite recognize them.

“We have company,” Dorian says, voice flat, almost bored. “Two of them.”

Yvrose stills. Her mouth curves faintly. Humorless. 

“My, my,” she muses. “Took them long enough.”

Dorian tilts his head. “You know them?”

“You know them too, boy,” she wipes her hands on a cloth and nods once. “Go. Stand where you can see without being seen.”

He purses his lips slightly. “You expecting trouble?”

“I’m expecting conversation,” Yvrose replies. 

He gives a short huff - the closest he comes to a laugh - and slips back into the shadows. Moments later, a knock is heard, followed by the creak of the hinges.

Tatsuo Shuuin enters first.

He walks with a cane, posture straight despite his age, white hair pulled back neatly, robes immaculate. His cursed energy is folded so tightly around him it barely registers.

Akame Shuuin follows half a step behind. 

Red hair streaked with grey, expression stern. She walks broadly, her fists clenched at the sides. Her cursed energy is dense and invasive, making itself and her known to anyone around.

Where Tatsuo conceals, Akame presses. Where the fox plans, the wolf waits.

Yvrose turns to face them at last.

“Welcome to the bayou,” she says calmly. “You’re far from home.”

Tatsuo inclines his head, politeness down to the bone. “Well met.”

“It’s rather premature to call this reunion ‘well met’,” Yvrose replies. 

Akame’s lip curls. “We didn’t come to reminisce, Yvrose.”

“No,” Yvrose agrees. “You came to collect.”

The ancestral presence stirs. A subtle shift, like something leaning closer to listen. Yvrose’s shadow stretches under the candlelight.

"Glad we don't have to explain," a half smile appears on Tatsuo's lips. "We'd be grateful for your cooperation."

“I’m afraid you came for nothing,” she says, low and hollow.

“The Archives belong to the Shuuin,” Akame says. “It is not individual property.”

“The Archives are under the protection of the first among the Shuuin,” Yvrose counters. “That would be Liv Drakon.”

“That was Liv Drakon,” Tatsuo says mildly. “She’s imprisoned.”

Candles flicker. The air stagnates for a moment too long.

“Detained,” Yverose corrects.

Akame scoffs. “You still trust that brat?”

“Yes,” Yvrose says simply. 

The ancestral spirit hums its approval.

Tatsuo’s smile thins. “Trust does not preserve a clan.”

“Neither does opportunism,” Yvrose replies.

Silence stretches. Outside, thunder rolls over the Mississippi.

“You’re stalling,” Tatsuo says at last.

“Learned that one from you, Tatsuo-sama,” Yvrose says.

Akame's cursed energy flares, a clear sign of dominance and aggression. "Show some respect to your elders, pup."

"That's quite alright, Sister," Tatsuo quips, his head stretched toward the redhead. "Perhaps, we should've brought a certain raven-head with us. His presence was welcome last time he visited, I'm told."

The older woman scoffs. "As if we need him to fight our battles for us."

Yvrose raises a brow. "You made friends? Shocking."

Tatsuo shakes his head. "I'd hardly call him a friend. More of an... insurance."

Yvrose turns away, already dismissing them. “Leave. And, do bear in mind, if you return with 'friends' - ”

Her shadow shifts again.

“ - you will die with them.”

Slight chill permeates the room. Akame hesitates but curtsies anyway, eerily aware of the shrunk heads and clinking bone chimes. Tatsuo bows as well - not politely.

They leave shortly.

Yvrose stands still for a long moment. Then she exhales, rolling her shoulders once.

Dorian steps into the light. 

“Well,” he says. “That went civil.”

“Send word,” Yvrose says. "Tell your boss to get Liv off that island." 

He nods.

A pause.

"Who is this insurance they spoke of?" Dorians asks.

Yvrose hesitates. "I'm not sure but I'll have to find out as quickly as possible. If it is who I think it is, it could be the nail in the coffin for all of us."

“Mama Yve,” Dorian whispers. "You sound distressed."

Yvrose looks toward the dark window, toward an ocean away.

“Don't worry, little one,” she replies softly. “We won't go down without landing a punch.”

Outside, the storm finally breaks.

And far away, in a quiet Estate in Japan, a light clicks on.

///

April 8th, 2017. / 10:21 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Light filters through the paper screens in pale, deliberate bands, catching on the lacquered table and the steam rising from untouched bowls. Breakfast has been laid out: rice, grilled fish, and pickles.

Liv sits alone at first. She eats slowly. The tea at her side cools faster than she drinks it. Gojo is long awake and already in his study. 

Footsteps approach.

Megumi enters without hesitation. He pauses just long enough to register Liv’s presence, then bows - shallow - before taking a seat across from her.

“Morning,” she says with a small smile.

“… Morning.”

He doesn’t reach for the food right away. His gaze drifts, measuring the room. He looks like someone bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet.

Liv watches him over the rim of her cup.

She hasn’t seen him since he was small enough to fit in one arm. Now he’s a child trying very hard not to be one. There’s grief in the way he holds himself.

Megumi’s mind isn’t loud. It’s orderly, rigid, like a room where everything has been stacked neatly against the walls, leaving the middle empty. There’s resentment there - toward jujutsu, toward expectation, toward being moved like a piece on a board. And beneath it - 

A name, half-formed. A hospital room. A sense of dread and waiting.

So that’s -

“Liv.”

Gojo’s voice slips into the room. She blinks and looks up to find him leaning in the doorway, sleeves rolled, hair still damp.

“You’re staring,” he says lightly.

She arches a brow. “You’re imagining things.”

He crosses the room in long, lazy strides and sets a hand on her shoulder, thumb pressing just enough to ground. Domestic. Casual. 

“Mm,” he hums, “or I’m protecting my trainee from invasive mind-reading spouses.”

Megumi stiffens. “You can read minds?”

Liv smiles. “I can hear minds. It’s passive.”

Gojo snorts. 

Before Megumi can respond, lighter footsteps announce Nova’s arrival. She enters the room tentatively, glancing between them before bowing quickly and taking the seat closest to Liv.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

“Morning,” Liv replies, softer now.

Nova eats in small bites, shoulders tight, eyes flicking toward Megumi and away again. He notices and pointedly looks back down at his bowl, jaw set.

The table settles into silence. Gojo watches them for a moment. 

“Alright,” he says, clapping once. “Enough brooding. We’ve got training.”

Megumi looks up sharply. “Now?”

“Now,” Gojo confirms. “Dojo. Let’s go.”

His gaze slides to Liv, challenging. “You too.”

Liv blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s gotta be boring all alone in this house with no entertainment,” he says smoothly. 

Nova’s head snaps up. “Can I come as well?”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says cheerfully. 

Liv studies him for a beat. She sets her chopsticks down.

“Fine,” she says. 

Megumi rises immediately. Nova follows after a second’s hesitation.

As they leave the dining room, the morning light shifts behind them as the doors slide shut.

The dojo smells of polished wood and old incense. Megumi steps onto the tatami without hesitation, posture straight, eyes already cataloguing the room. Nova lingers closer to the wall, hands folded into her sleeves, gaze flicking between Liv and Gojo.

Liv removes her shoes last. She expects instruction. A lecture, perhaps. Gojo has never been subtle about pedagogy.

Instead, he rolls his shoulders once and says, “Alright, Liv. You’re up.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Gojo turns to face her fully, hands in his pockets, grin easy. “Spar with me.”

Megumi stiffens. Nova’s eyes widen. Liv lets out a small, incredulous breath. 

“Shuuin do not fight,” she says evenly. “You know that.”

Gojo hums. “Yeah, no one buys that bullshit excuse these days.”

There’s something sharp behind the levity, a thread of intent he isn’t bothering to hide. Megumi’s eyes flick between them, brow knitting.

Liv folds her arms. “You’re mistaken if you think - ”

“Liv,” Nova interrupts softly, tugging at her sleeve. “What’s the harm? We’re already free of our bindings.”

Liv’s resistance falters.

She looks down at Nova - at the hope beaming from her face, the desire to understand.

Liv exhales and then looks at Gojo. He’s watching her closely now, amusement written all over his face - along with something more intense. Unfortunately, she can’t quite deduce what it is.

“Fine,” she says at last. 

Gojo’s smile widens. 

Megumi frowns. “Gojo-sensei - ”

“This is a demonstration,” Gojo cuts in lightly. “Educational purposes only.”

Liv turns her head slightly. “Educational for whom?”

“For Megumi,” Gojo says, “and maybe for me.”

Liv steps onto the mat and removes her outer robe, folding it neatly at the edge. She stands barefoot, posture straight but unassuming, hands relaxed at her sides.

Gojo mirrors her - loosely, lazily - like a cat stretching before deciding whether it wants to play.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

She doesn’t answer.

She moves.

Her foot slides instead of stepping. Her center stays low, balanced. Gojo’s grin sharpens as he pivots to meet her, movements exaggerated, almost mocking - 

Until her palm skims past his ribs with just enough force to make the threat tangible.

“Oh?” he murmurs. “There you are.”

He counters immediately, long limbs snapping into motion, forcing her back a half-step. Liv deflects rather than blocks, redirecting momentum, never meeting strength with strength.

They circle.

Megumi watches with narrowed eyes, absorbing everything. Nova clutches her sleeves, breath shallow.

Gojo closes the distance with lazy confidence, testing, hand reaching as if to grab her wrist. However, Liv is already gone. She pivots sideways, foot gliding over the tatami, redirecting his momentum with a light touch at the elbow. 

Gojo laughs. He comes again, faster this time. A faint flare of cursed energy - high, sharp, deliberately distracting.

Liv doesn’t bite.

She drops, slipping under his reach, fingers brushing the fabric at his side. Gojo adjusts immediately. Speed floods the room. To Megumi’s eyes, Gojo blurs - a flash of white hair and blue intent. To Nova, it looks like Liv is about to be overwhelmed.

She isn’t.

Every step she gives him is calculated, forcing Gojo to commit more than he intends. His cursed energy skims past her body - close enough to stir her hair, never close enough to land.

Gojo’s foot skids as she redirects him again, palm pressing lightly to his shoulder, turning his charge into empty space. He lands, balanced, but his eyes gleam now - alert, pleased.

He steps forward suddenly. Liv pivots again, but he’s already there, crowding her space, his arm braces beside her shoulder, her back a breath from the pillar. His cursed energy flares instinctively before he reins it in.

For a breath, they are far too close.

“Careful,” he says softly. 

Liv’s face heats instantly. “Get - ”

He leans in, voice dropping. “You smell nice.”

The teasing slipped out before he thought better of it. Megumi reacts on pure instinct. He reaches over, clamps a hand over Nova’s eyes, and shuts his own with a sharp turn of his head. 

“Don’t look.”

Nova squeaks. “What - ?”

“Just don’t.”

This time, Liv reacts sharply. Their forearms collide. The impact rattles through her bones.

For a split second, he has her.

Then her heel hooks behind his ankle, and she twists, using his own mass against him. They separate in a breath, feet sliding back into guard.

Silence follows. Megumi is staring. Not at Gojo - at Liv. She stands composed, breathing steady, sleeves barely disturbed. Gojo rolls his neck once, eyes bright, expression openly impressed.

She frowns. “Satoru.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Hmm?”

“That was inappropriate.”

“We’re married,” he says lightly, like that explains everything.

She looks away. “Demonstration over.”

He laughs, unguarded, genuinely pleased. “Alright.”

Megumi lowers his hand cautiously. “Are we done?”

“For now,” Gojo says, turning around. “What did we learn today?”

Megumi’s fists clench at his sides. Nova exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

The boy swallows. “You don’t need to dominate to control the situation.”

Gojo glances at Liv. She meets his gaze calmly.

“Exactly,” he says softly. 

Something unspoken passes between them. Her heartbeat skips.

“Techniques are all well and good.” He stands straight, a smile lingering on his lips. “However, creativity and profound understanding of the fundamentals will overpower even the strongest of opponents.”

Nova peeks up at Liv. 

“You were so cool,” she says earnestly.

Liv softens at once. 

Gojo claps his hands. “Alright, Megumi. Your turn.”

As they reset, Liv steps back to the edge of the mat, only to feel Gojo brush past her, voice low, playful, and close to her ear.

“We’ll continue later,” he murmurs.

She pointedly does not look at him.

Her pulse takes longer than she’d like to slow.

Chapter Text

April 8th, 2017. / 18:31 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Evening drapes itself over the Estate, softening the edges of the wooden verandas and the stone lanterns. The air smells faintly of moss and damp earth, and the breeze carries the last warmth of the sun mixed with a hint of spring chill. 

Liv sits on the stone bench, hands folded in her lap, eyes tracing the subtle ripples of the koi pond. The sparring earlier that day drifts through her mind. She shakes her head. No. The details, the closeness, the absurd intensity - all of it belongs to the past.

A shimmer catches her eye in the distance. A small, deliberate ripple, unnatural in its subtlety. A tell-tale signature of her glamor charm.

“Come out,” Liv mutters under her breath, rising from the bench. 

The shadows near the garden edge bend and shift; the air flickers. Tove steps into view, the faint outline of her form catching the last of the light, her expression tense, eyes sharp.

“I told you to keep your distance,” Liv says, voice calm but firm. “Gojo’s on the premises.”

Tove inclines her head slightly, her shoulders squared. 

“I know,” she says quickly. “I wouldn’t have come otherwise, but it’s urgent.”

Liv folds her arms, letting her gaze drift over the darkened Estate, thinking. 

"Well, out with it," she says, urging the spymaster with a flick of her wrist.

Tove hesitates, however.

“Were you compromised?” Liv asks. "Is there a mole? Was there an attack on our resources?" 

Tove shakes her head. “It's Lord Tatsuo and Akame. They’ve approached Mama Yve. They want the Archives, Liv.”

Liv’s eyes soften. She reaches for the spymaster's shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze.

“You worry much, Tove," she says with a calm tone. "The Archives are safe with Yvrose. No one would dare challenge her, not even the old She-Wolf.”

“The challenge might as well have been issued,” the spymaster argues.

"But it wasn't," Liv counters. "Don't cry wolf where there is none."

"Does the problem need to be at our doorstep for us to act?" Tove nearly cries out. “We have to get you and Nova out of here, out of Japan. You’re not safe here, imprisoned like this. Gojo can’t protect you.”

“I don’t need his protection,” Liv says slowly. “And I’m not imprisoned. This is a temporary solution until things quiet down. Fear not, dear Tove - we’ll be away from these people soon.”

She means it.

Tove exhales, almost a whisper. “If you say so, Mistress.” 

Her gaze lingers on Liv for a moment longer. Then, without another word, she fades into the dark, the shimmer of the galdr charm disappearing into the evening.

Liv sighs, shoulders relaxing, and turns back to the pond. The ripples are calm, steady. 

But her mind is not. She looks over her shoulder, her gaze set on the corridor leading into a study room. Does the problem need to be at our doorstep for us to act? Words echo in the back of her mind. She shakes her head, but it does little to unburden her thoughts.

"Damn it," she curses under her breath, playing with her fingers.

She looks at the corridor again, then at the garden. Her eyes search for the hint of the glamor charm. Albeit, there is none. Tove has already left the premises. 

Gojo can't protect you.

A solemn expression settles on her brow as she runs her hand over her face.

"Forgive me, Satoru," she mutters softly before walking toward the study.

///

April 8th, 2017. / 19:04 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

In the study, light pools over the desk in a tight, deliberate circle. Gojo sits within it, sleeves rolled, collar loose, fingers stained faintly with old dust. Books are stacked in uneven columns around him; some bound in cracked leather, others stitched with thread that has long since darkened with age. Talismans peek out between pages like pressed flowers. Margins bristle with notes written in multiple hands, eras arguing with one another across centuries.

He flips a page.

Nothing.

Another.

Worse than nothing.

Gojo exhales through his nose and leans back, chair creaking softly. For a moment, he lets his head tip against the shelf behind him, eyes closing. The faintest crease forms between his brows before he smooths it away, habitually, like a reflex.

Annoying, he thinks. He prefers enemies that push back.

He reaches for another book, thinner than the rest, its cover etched with symbols worn nearly smooth. Skims. Discards it to the side with more force than strictly necessary.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tone light, almost teasing. “You can’t tell me you’re this boring.”

The room does not answer.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. His gaze drifts instead, unbidden.

Tatami. Polished wood. Liv moving without wasted motion. How she never met strength head-on, only guided it, redirected it. The memory rises warm and vivid: the brush of proximity, the heat that had nothing to do with cursed energy. The way she’d looked at him - flustered, yes, but steady. Not afraid. 

Never afraid.

Gojo’s mouth curves, slow and genuine, the kind of smile that doesn’t ask for an audience.

“Tch,” he murmurs to no one, amused. “Dangerous woman.”

He straightens, rolling his shoulders once, the weight in his chest easing just enough to breathe around. For all the noise he makes, for all the spectacle, moments like that remind him why restraint matters. Why control isn’t always about force.

His fingers tap the desk, thoughtful.

Maybe the answer won’t be in these books. Maybe it won’t be old. Maybe it will require a kind of thinking that doesn’t exist on paper.

Gojo reaches for another volume anyway, because that’s what you do when someone you care about is sleeping under a curse, and the world expects you to already know how to fix it.

As he turns the page, the faint smile lingers.

Some problems take time.

And some reminders make that waiting bearable.

As he buries his nose in papers, the corridor outside his study is quiet. Not empty but hushed. Lantern light spills through the shoji in narrow bands, pale gold against the dark grain of the floor.

Liv stands just beyond it.

She exhales slowly. Her cursed energy pours out, blending into the ground, the ceiling, the cracks in the door frames. It is a delicate thing, this kind of restraint. 

She closes her eyes.

Gojo’s presence is unmistakable - vast, restless, irritatingly bright. His thoughts brush against her Inner Eye like static at first, unfocused and skimming: texts, diagrams, fragments of theory colliding and dissolving before they can take shape.

She listens carefully, sorting signal from noise.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. His thoughts tighten around a name. Liv’s brow furrows.

So that’s it.

The great secret becomes clearer. Not a mission. Certainly not some great, ancestral curiosity trip. No, a girl; a girl who hasn’t woken up. However, what confounds Liv isn’t the nature of his secret - it is the fact that he’s hiding it from her in the first place.

Liv opens her eyes slowly.

There is something almost tender about it, she thinks. About the lengths he’s willing to go without saying a word. About the way he pretends ease while carrying that kind of weight.

The air changes.

Liv turns.

Rei stands at the far end of the corridor, half-swallowed by shadow, posture loose, almost languid. Her eyes gleam with quiet amusement, lips curved in a knowing smile that has never once meant kindness.

Why are you here? Liv asks without sound, irritation threading the thought. This isn’t the Shuuin land.

Rei tilts her head, considering. I could ask you the same, she replies lightly. 

Liv’s jaw tightens. Circumstances changed.

Rei laughs. It is a soft sound, almost fond - and infinitely cruel.

Did they? Rei steps forward, her shadow stretching unnaturally long across the floor. Look at you, pup. You sit in a house that is not yours, and call it patience.

Liv straightens, anger flaring sharp and clean. I’m buying time.

For what? Rei asks, genuinely curious now. For whom?

Liv doesn’t hesitate. For the future to come. For those who matter.

Rei’s smile widens. I believed you greater than your kin. My, how the mighty have fallen.

Liv steps closer. Are you certain that I’ve fallen? she demands. Have I started a war on my kin? Have I burned an entire clan for no reason other than personal ambition? Have I become a monster in the end? 

For the first time, Rei remains silent.

She studies Liv in silence, expression unreadable. Her brow quirks before settling into a frown. Liv instinctively mirrors her. The Great Mother’s mind is hidden from her, so she can’t tell what exactly is going through her head. Then, slowly, Rei’s grin returns - wicked, delighted, full of secrets Liv does not want to know.

Ah, Rei murmurs. It seems there’s something in that head after all.

The shadows swallow her whole. The corridor is empty again. Liv stands there for a long moment, heart steady but heavy, Rei’s laughter echoing. Finally, she exhales and turns away from Gojo’s study without looking back.

Some questions are better left unanswered.

For now.

Chapter Text

April 10th, 2017. / 10:12 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Liv sits by the low table near the veranda, steam curling lazily from her teacup. The porcelain is thin and delicate. She notes it absently, the way one might note a poorly balanced blade. The tea itself is fragrant.

Across from her, Nova swings her legs beneath the bench, cupping her own cup with both hands. She watches the steam rise.

Behind them, the staff move quietly. Trays are lifted and lowered. Someone adjusts the angle of a plate by a fraction of an inch. Another waits, hands folded, eyes downcast, attentive.

Liv does not like it.

She keeps her expression neutral, eyes lowered to the tea, but her thoughts drift back to the study. To Gojo, seated amid towering stacks of books, irritation shrouded by a lazy posture. To the rhythm of his thoughts, sharp and restless beneath the veil of nonchalance. To the name that surfaced again and again, always followed by a wall of frustration.

Tsumiki.

Liv exhales softly through her nose and brings the teacup to her lips. The taste is excellent. That, too, bothers her. She has not been served like this before. Not in this way, where every movement feels measured, where hospitality carries the faint tension of a test. At Shuuin Manor, there are no servants. There are employees and kinsmen, all functional at certain times but not every day-to-day. Here, each attendant feels like a witness.

She sets the cup down.

Nova glances up at her, eyes bright. 

“It’s good,” she whispers, somewhat absent-minded.

After four months of doing nothing, there’s little else they can talk about.

“It is,” Liv agrees, just as quietly.

One of the attendants stiffens almost imperceptibly, then relaxes when Liv does not look his way. She notices anyway. 

Liv folds her hands in her lap. This careful observation, this watchfulness, is exactly why she cannot move openly. Even the walls have eyes and ears.

Liv’s fingers curl slightly.

She glances at Nova, then at the staff, her gaze lingering.

“Nova,” she says mildly, “what do you think of mice?”

Nova blinks. “Like, the animal?”

“Yes.”

“They’re small and cute, I suppose,” Nova says after a moment of thought. 

One of the attendants shifts her weight. 

Liv nods, as if this confirms something. “Yes, you’re quite right. However, mice are very resourceful and good at problem-solving.”

Nova’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Mm.”

Silence follows. Liv lifts her teacup again, allowing a faint, thoughtful smile to touch her lips. It is not directed at anyone in particular, which makes it more effective.

The thoughts brush against her like moth wings. Not one voice. Many. Fragmented, overlapping, restrained by habit rather than loyalty.

That gutteral language…

Why can’t she behave like a normal person?

The child is strange.

Gojo-sama didn’t say anything about this…

I bet the other clans don’t have to deal with foreign mistresses.

Liv’s lashes lower a fraction. The staff is not a monolith, nor are they merely extensions of the Gojo clan’s will. They are a web - small, human, adaptive. Bound by hierarchy on paper, but bound by proximity in practice. They talk. They share. They test the edges of what is safe to say and what must be swallowed.

Even the great clans, with all their traditions and iron rules, cannot stamp out the most ancient rebellion of all - conversation.

Liv stirs her tea slowly, watching the leaves settle. Her gaze drifts toward the garden path where the gardener had worked the day before, humming softly, eyes always down, ears undoubtedly open. A node. Not powerful but still part of the web.

Nova leans closer, lowering her voice. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Liv says, then reaches out and adjusts the girl’s sleeve, a grounding gesture.

Nova brightens, though uncertainty still lingers at the edges. “Oh, okay.”

Liv straightens, spine aligning. Tove’s voice surfaces, uninvited.

Does the problem need to be at our doorstep for us to act?

Liv exhales through her nose, almost amused. Information does not need permission to move. It only needs an opening. She does not need to infiltrate the Gojo clan, nor does she need their approval.

She only needs them to talk.

Her fingers still against the porcelain. She glances at Nova again. Liv’s faint smile sharpens, just slightly.

“Finish your tea,” she says gently. “Afterward, we’ll take a walk.”

Nova stares at her for a second longer than necessary. 

Then, she nods once. 

The days arrive quietly, one after another. Her routine remains unchanged on the surface; tea in the morning, walks along the garden paths, the occasional pause near the veranda when the sun is just warm enough to linger. Nova stays at her side, attentive, observant, absorbing far more than she speaks.

What does change is the language.

At first, it is incidental. A comment here, a response there.

“Thank you for the tea,” Liv says one morning, tone even.

The attendant freezes for half a heartbeat before bowing.

Nova follows suit, mimicking her cadence. “It’s very good.”

The staff exchange glances. It takes them a while to get used to it. By the third day, the Norwegian was barely spoken. Instances when they speak in their native language are only when Liv shares her thoughts with Nova.

One morning, Liv is standing in front of a mirror, putting on her clothes for the day. She is about to reach for her violet kimono. Her hand halts midair as the light colored kimono, perfectly displayed on the rack nearby, catches her eye.

That day, instead of slacks and blacks, both Liv and Nova sport lilacs and baby blue kimonos. Liv’s violet kimono is tucked away, the only reminder of her status. 

Whispers change.

They cleaned up rather nicely… 

The child is smarter than she looks.

Since when?

Liv hears none of it directly, and she doesn’t need to. 

Amidst it all, Nova makes efforts to befriend a certain ravenhead boy. It is a clumsy attempt at first, full of awkward stares and even more awkward questions. Megumi isn’t an approachable kid; neither is Nova. 

Eventually, they seem to find a common language, much to everyone’s surprise. Megumi becomes a go-to person for anything jujutsu-related. Nova takes an interest in his experience after realizing he can summon a pair of cuddly dogs.

“Do you see them even when you sleep?” Nova asks, petting the white dog.

Megumi stares at her long enough that she thinks she has said something wrong again.

“Don’t ask that,” he says, scratching the black dog behind its ears.

The next day, he brings her a talisman anyway.

By the time Gojo pauses mid-stride in a corridor, distracted by a half-finished sentence drifting from an open door - 

“… it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“They are adapting too quickly,” someone whispers.

“Or we are simply noticing them now,” another replies.

Neither sounds convinced.

- Liv’s agenda has already taken shape.

She sips her tea that evening, watching Nova animatedly recount something Megumi showed her that day.

Now he’ll start to wonder.

///

April 30th, 2017. / 17:03 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Weeks pass.

The staff has settled into a new rhythm.

They greet Liv first now. Not with the stiff politeness, but with the easier cadence of familiarity. Tea arrives unprompted. Paths are cleared without being asked. Someone remembers how Nova takes her sweets and adjusts accordingly.

Nothing excessive.

Nothing improper.

Which is precisely what makes it noticeable.

Gojo returns from his latest mission, jacket loose over his shoulders, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. A quick trip to the city this time around. He steps through the gates with his usual careless grace - and then slows. Not because anyone bows too deeply.

But because they don’t.

“Welcome back, Gojo-sama,” one of the attendants says, warm, unforced.

The greeting is followed immediately by another voice.

“Liv-sama and the young miss are in the garden. Shall I bring tea there as usual?”

As usual.

Gojo’s smile lingers, unchanged.

“Sure,” he says lightly. 

He does not.

Instead, he pauses near the corridor that overlooks the inner courtyard. The garden lies just beyond, voices drifting easily in the open air.

“She’s very patient,” someone murmurs.

“Patient and observant.”

“I heard the Zen’in child has been spending more time with them these days.”

“And Liv-sama encourages it. Says curiosity should be rewarded.”

Gojo leans against the pillar, listening. None of it is wrong. 

That’s the problem.

These aren’t rumors spun from boredom. They’re observations.

Liv-sama.

He rolls the title around in his head, amusement fading into steel realization.

Oh, she’s good.

Gojo exhales, slow and measured. His smile returns, brighter now.

Later that afternoon, he finds them in one of the side rooms that opens onto the inner garden. Shoji drawn back. Light spilling in. Peaceful enough to look accidental.

Liv sits with her back straight, sleeves folded neatly over her lap. Nova is beside her, knees tucked in properly, hands busy smoothing imaginary creases from her kimono. Megumi sits across from them, posture unchanged - still slouched.

Liv’s kimono is unmistakably Gojo blue, threaded with white so pale it almost vanishes in the light. Not ostentatious. Nova’s mirrors it in softer tones, the pattern simpler but clearly chosen to match. Their hair is arranged with care - nothing elaborate, nothing foreign. Proper. Familiar.

They look like they belong.

They behave like they belong.

Nova bows when she notices him first - too quickly, slightly crooked, but earnest. Liv inclines her head just enough to acknowledge him without diminishing herself.

“Satoru-san,” she says, in flawless Japanese.

Gojo’s smile widens. She wasn’t this talkative before.

“Well, don’t you all look cozy,” he says lightly, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him.

Megumi glances up. “You’re back.”

“Mm. Miss me?”

Megumi does not answer.

Gojo’s attention drifts back to Liv. She meets his gaze without hesitation, eyes calm, observant. Nova watches him too, curious but no longer wary.

He sits across from Liv, long legs folding easily. He waves Megumi off with a flick of his fingers.

“Go to the dojo, see if I’m there,” he says. 

Megumi hesitates, then stands. Nova looks torn.

“Keep him company,” Liv says gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

Megumi leaves. Nova follows after him. The door slides shut.

Silence settles between the spouses.

Gojo reaches for the teapot, pouring himself a cup.

“Y’know,” he says casually, “if someone had told me four months ago you’d tame my household with such ease, I never would’ve believed them.”

Liv’s lips curve. “I wouldn’t presume.”

“Mm.” He takes a sip. “Funny thing, though. Everyone seems almost fond of you.”

“That tends to happen,” she replies mildly.

He leans back, one arm braced behind him. For the first time since they moved to the Estate, the familiar veil he keeps between his thoughts and the world thins.

Liv feels it immediately.

You wanted my attention, his voice slides into her mind, unguarded, direct. Here it is.

Liv does not react outwardly.

She lifts her cup, takes a measured sip, and lets the tea linger on her tongue. Her shoulders are tight, and her legs are numb. The sleeves are getting on her nerves. Her gaze meets his over the rim of the cup.

Then, she smiles.

Chapter Text

April 30th, 2017. / 20:13 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Liv lifts the delicate porcelain cup to her lips again, letting the steam curl along her cheek. She doesn’t rush. Across from her, Gojo sits casually, one ankle resting on the other knee, fingers drumming lightly against the lacquered table. 

“Tea’s perfect,” she says, voice neutral, though the corners of her mouth tilt just so. “Almost as perfect as this gilded cage.”

Gojo smirks, leaning back. “It's a big cage.”

Liv stirs her tea slowly, enjoying the minor ripple across the surface. “Indeed. Fitting for your ego.”

Her tone is light, teasing. Every gesture is deliberate.

He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “But not for you?”

“I was a bohemian before marriage,” she says calmly, lifting her teacup again. “The glitz and glamor are certainly an acquired taste for someone like me. I could stay forever if the conditions suit me, or I could go tomorrow if they don’t.”

Gojo chuckles softly. “Given you've charmed my entire household, I'd say you're suited just well.”

“Barely,” she corrects, tilting her head, “but not hopelessly. I like my options visible but not obvious. You, of all people, should appreciate subtlety.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “That’s one thing I’ve never accused you of lacking. I’ll admit, I’m curious about the plot you have in mind.”

Liv sets the cup down deliberately, letting her fingers linger around the rim. “I am not a hostage. I've been on my best behavior, as you've clearly noticed.”

She pauses, letting the weight of the words hang between them.

“And?” he prompts, leaning forward just a little more. 

“And,” she continues, eyes unwavering, “I want assurance that I can act without unnecessary interference.”

Her smile is faint but deliberate, almost a whisper of humor. 

Gojo’s lips twitch, amused. “I could say yes, but I get the feeling that wouldn’t be enough for you. You're not a couch potato.”

“Mm,” she murmurs, nodding slightly. “It’s a start.”

Her eyes flick briefly to the veranda, to the staff who pretend not to listen but inevitably do. 

He leans back, laughter hiding behind a careful mask. “As much as I enjoy seeing you strut about, I'm rather worried for your well-being. You see, the old farts are yet to forget the incident at the Manor.”

“That’s inconvenient, I agree,” she says, sipping her tea. “Then again, did we truly expect a different outcome?”

For a moment, silence stretches, broken only by the distant clink of porcelain. 

"Not really," he admits, then he adds, "but it did give me a perfect opportunity for some damage control."

Ah. Liv quietly applauds her opponent.

"All of which you noticed already, I'm sure," he makes some distance between them, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Liv hums. "Four months of no progress was a solid indication. I hoped we had a better rapport than that."

"We did," he nods his head. "Now we don't."

Liv inclines her head, accepting the strike.

“That is unfortunate,” she says mildly. “Trust is such a fragile currency.”

Gojo is quiet for a moment. “You’ve been spending a lot of it lately.”

“Have I?” she smooths an imaginary crease along her sleeve. 

A beat. Gojo tilts his head. Liv sets her cup down with deliberate care. 

"Your secrets are starting to become my problem," he counters, leaning forward slightly. “They’re getting out of hand.”

A pause.

“One secret,” he says with infuriating brightness. “One outing.”

Liv blinks once. “Excuse me?”

“You want freedom?” he spreads his hands. “We’ll make it fair. You tell me one secret, and I take you out.”

He smiles like it’s a joke - except it isn’t. Liv studies him in silence. He doesn't hide his thoughts, as if he wants to back up his proposal further.

How very Gojo.

“You’re extorting me,” she says softly.

He grins. “I prefer the word incentivizing.”

She lets out a quiet breath through her nose. A secret is not merely information. Secrets are anchors. Once shared, they alter the equilibrium. She has survived by withholding, by deciding who is allowed proximity.

And now he wants access.

Strategically, it makes sense to comply.

Emotionally - 

“Very well,” she says after a measured silence. “One secret. One outing.”

He watches her carefully. “You’re too calm.”

“I am always calm,” she retorts.

"Yeah," he nods slowly. “That’s what worries me.”

Liv folds her hands in her lap. She thinks of Tove’s last report. She needs access beyond the Estate.

“Tomorrow evening,” she says lightly. “We'll take a walk.”

He is quiet for a moment. “And the secret?”

She smiles.

“Tomorrow evening.”

///

May 1st, 2017. / 11:37 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

Tomorrow comes.

Light spills across the bedroom in pale, deliberate bands. Liv stands barefoot at the edge of the room, hands loosely clasped before her, and studies the space around her. The room is immaculate.  Every surface reflects quiet wealth - polished wood, folded silk, lacquered boxes arranged with unconscious precision. Nothing is misplaced. Nothing is accidental.

Nothing is hers.

Her gaze drifts to the wardrobe. The garments inside have been reorganized since she arrived. Color-coordinated. Seasonally aligned. Efficient. Constricting. She opens the sliding panel halfway and lets it rest there. A small rebellion. A crooked line in an otherwise straight room. Her reflection catches in the mirror. Composed. She studies her own expression. 

Footsteps outside her door pause for a fraction too long before continuing. Liv’s eyelids lower slightly. Surveillance disguised as courtesy.

She crosses to the veranda and slides the panel open. Cool air brushes her skin. The garden below is symmetrical - pruned, intentional, curated into serenity. Even the trees behave.

Her fingers curl around the wooden frame. A barely perceptible flex of knuckles. She releases it a moment later. This is temporary, she reminds herself. Temporary arrangements require patience.

Her lips curve faintly, but her eyes remain sharp.

She notices Nova sitting beneath a maple tree, a book resting against her knees. The girl’s posture is straight but not rigid, shoulders relaxed, legs folded neatly beneath her. Sunlight catches in the pale strands of her hair, turning them almost translucent.

Liv watches her for a moment before descending the steps. What strikes her first is the quiet. Not the absence of sound - birds shift in branches, distant wind brushes leaves - but the quality of it.

Nova’s cursed energy hums low and even - balanced. She turns a page without looking up.

Liv approaches without announcing herself. Gravel barely crunches beneath her steps. She stops a short distance away.

“Good book?” Liv observes.

Nova glances up then, slow and deliberate. Her eyes soften a fraction at the edges - recognition without surprise.

“Yes,” she replies. 

Liv’s gaze sweeps the perimeter. Clean lines. Measured spacing between stones. No overgrowth. No shadow deep enough to conceal anything unsupervised.

“Talk about maintenance,” Liv repeats, faintly.

A small crease appears between Nova's brows. 

“You didn’t sleep much,” she says.

Liv’s shakes her head. “I slept sufficiently.”

Nova does not look convinced. She marks her place in the book with a ribbon and closes it carefully. 

“You’re up to something,” she states, not accusatory.

Liv lowers herself onto the stone bench opposite her. The marble is cool through the thin fabric of her robe.

“I am always up to something, pup,” the older woman says, stuffing her hands inside her sleeves.

Nova’s gaze sharpens. “This is different.”

A pause. Liv tilts her head slightly. Nova’s composure is impressive, but there is tension in the way her fingers press faintly against the book’s cover.

Liv softens her expression by a degree. “Remain calm and play along.”

Nova’s jaw tightens - a fleeting flash of resistance - then smooths.

“Can I at least know something?” she asks.

A breeze lifts a strand of Liv’s hair. She does not brush it away.

“I made an agreement,” she continues. “A trade. I give him what he wants and he gives me what I want.”

Nova’s eyes flicker. “And you intend to give him something substantial.”

“I intend to give him something useful,” Liv clarifies.

A faint, almost imperceptible exhale escapes Nova’s nose. Approval? Concern? Liv figures both. The garden remains orderly around them. Liv lets her gaze drift to the far wall, where climbing vines have been trimmed into tight arcs. Her lips press together, just briefly.

Nova notices. 

“What do you need me to do?” the girl asks.

“Nothing,” Liv’s tone is gentle but firm. “Your role is to be unremarkable.”

Nova’s expression cools. “I am rarely remarkable.”

“That,” Liv says softly, “can be strength.”

A silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable. Nova opens her book once more, but her eyes linger on Liv’s face a second longer than necessary.

“You’re not a hostage,” Nova says suddenly.

Liv’s smile is small.

“No,” she agrees. “I am not. And neither are you.”

The statement hangs in the air.

///

May 1st, 2017. / 23:03 / Gojo Estate, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan

The wisteria tree stands near the edge of the inner grounds, its cascading blossoms pale under the lantern light, petals stirring in the faintest breeze. Shadows gather thick beneath its canopy, pooling at the base of the trunk like ink.

Gojo waits there, hands tucked into the pockets of a black hoodie, the fabric soft and unadorned. His eyes, unobstructed, reflect the lantern glow in fractured silver. He tilts his head back slightly, studying the wisteria strands as they sway. A faint crease forms between his brows.

There was a time when this tree felt larger.

He remembers climbing it as a child, despite reprimands. Remembering the way purple petals stuck to his hair. Remembering a girl sitting on a lower branch, legs swinging idly, unimpressed by his theatrics.

He scoffs, an almost-smile lingering on his lips. Back then, everything felt inevitable. 

Footsteps approach.

His posture shifts before he consciously registers it; shoulders straightening, chin lowering slightly.

She steps into the lantern light. Gone are the soft pastel blues she wore within the Estate. In their place: a tailored violet suit, sharp lines defining her frame. The fabric catches light subtly, almost metallic in its precision. Over her right breast, embroidered in crimson thread, a red spider lily blooms.

Gojo’s gaze flicks downward briefly, then returns to her face. His expression remains relaxed, but something tightens at the edges of his eyes.

“You’re overdressed for a walk,” he says lightly.

Liv stops a few paces from him.

“I disagree,” she replies.

Her voice is calm, but there is a new density to it. No velvet softness tonight. She closes the remaining distance and extends a folded sheet of paper toward him. It rests between her fingers without tremor.

“What’s this?” he asks, though he already suspects.

“What I promised,” she says. 

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Then he reaches out and takes the paper. Their fingers brush and he notices the subtle tension beneath her skin. 

He unfolds it. The paper is crisp. The handwriting precise. His eyes scan the lines quickly at first. Then slower. His expression doesn’t change, not overtly. But his pupils sharpen. A muscle ticks once along his jaw. The faintest widening of his eyes, barely perceptible.

The night air seems to cool.

He reads it again. A soft exhale escapes him - not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. When he folds the paper back along its original crease, the motion is deliberate. 

“You’ve been busy,” he murmurs.

Liv watches him carefully, assessing. His gaze lifts to hers.

“And this,” he says slowly, tapping the folded sheet against his palm, “is your leverage.”

“It is information,” she corrects gently.

A faint smile touches his mouth; humorless, almost impressed. “You’re unbelievable.”

She shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

A pause. The wisteria petals drift between them, one landing briefly on his shoulder before sliding off. He steps closer; close enough that lantern light sharpens the angles of his face. He studies her for another second - the violet suit, the red spider lily, the absence of borrowed colors.

He nods once. “Alright.”

He slips the folded paper into his pocket. Then, without flourish, he gestures toward the outer gate.

“After you.”

She moves past him, composed, spine straight. He falls into step beside her.

As they near the perimeter, two shadows detach from the darker edge of the estate grounds. Tove, precise in her movements, keeps to the hedges. Rune follows a few paces behind, lighter on her feet, her presence almost blending with the wind.

Gojo’s gaze shifts slightly - a flick to the right, then forward again. He says nothing and the gates slide open. One step, two, three. He glances at her, noticing her posture and forward-set eyes. A beat later, he rests a hand lightly at the small of her back as they step beyond the threshold. Under the wisteria, a few petals continue to fall, drifting to the ground where childhood once felt simple and futures felt inevitable. Tonight feels neither - and yet, he walks beside her anyway.

The estate gates close behind them with a soft, final sound.