Chapter Text
Satoru was twenty-three years old when he received the proposal to serve and study under Ryomen Sukuna’s wing.
It came as an honor, but not really as a surprise. Satoru was, without a doubt, the most promising student of his generation: he possessed both the Six Eyes and Limitless, was skilled in martial arts and owned, what he liked to call, a good head on his shoulders, both in the strategic sense and knowledge-wise.
(Suguru and Shoko tended to disagree about the last one but anyway.)
So, once Satoru received the invitation from the King of Curses himself to train and assist him on his quests, there was little to no hesitation that he would go and make the Gojo clan proud.
He packed lightly, knowing he would receive whatever he needed at the Ryomen Estate, and headed North.
The journey took him three weeks. He had indulged himself a little, along the way, and visited places he should have not visited: brothels, caves, temples, bars, bazaars, antique shops… he bought himself all sorts of pleasures, both material and physical, since he figured he could make the most of the freedom he had before he had to succumb to his role as a soldier and, hopefully, future advisor and minister.
Once Satoru got to the estate, he could barely believe his eyes: it was splayed around acres and acres of land, ornate and luxurious to the point of gluttony, and, most importantly, so packed with cursed energy he felt his head throb from oversensitivity.
Satoru was welcomed by a group of servants—betas, except for one omega boy—and led to his quarters shortly after.
“Lord Ryomen and his wife will host you for supper, Gojo-sama,” one of the betas said and left Satoru to unpack.
Lord Ryomen and his wife. Huh. Satoru heard about it—it was some poor, young thing from the Zen’in clan that the curse took a liking to and decided to keep.
And so Satoru unpacked his meager belongings, wrote a letter to Suguru in order to inform him of his safe arrival to the estate, and, seeing as nobody forbade him from doing so, decided to take a stroll around the property that would be his home for the unforeseeable future.
The estate was as breathtaking inside as it was on the outside. He quickly explored the main rooms, kitchens, guestrooms, dining area, playrooms, libraries (plural!), and then, finally, the training field.
It was huge, divided into smaller areas that kept plenty of soldiers—both sorcerers and non-sorcerers—busy. On the edge of every field stood a set of wooden racks that held various types of equipment, from classic swords and bows to tools brimming with cursed energy.
Just as he stepped and leaned against the fence to watch some of the fights, he noticed a new figure emerge from what he assumed were changing rooms. The man had long-ish black hair and wore a sleeveless, body-tight shirt that looked expensive, as well as a pair of black, wide-legged pants that were tied around his waist.
Satoru could not sense whether the man was a sorcerer or a curse-user or a normal soldier. In fact, he could not sense him at all—he was drenched in Ryomen Sukuna’s cursed energy, but then again, so was everything in this place.
He observed as the man walked towards one of the medium-sized fields. He was followed by two servants, so Satoru assumed he must be someone important.
Maybe another protege, he thought, or some noble guest.
The man was soon joined by another man, this time a blonde one that was dressed in a uniform. A soldier, probably, one that had a decent amount of cursed energy around himself.
They greeted each other and took a fighting stance. The black-haired man attacked first, and he did not hesitate at all. In fact, he attacked with a viciousness that reminded Satoru of a rabid dog.
The man was incredibly fast—so fast that it looked unnatural. Wrong. Dangerous. His blows must’ve been strong, too, since the blonde guy could barely keep up despite having a decent amount of cursed energy.
He blocked one punch, though, and landed another. The black-haired man jumped away only to return with double the force of his previous punch. The blonde guy fell and rolled away because of the impact, to which his opponent roared, “Come on!”
They continued for perhaps fifteen more minutes before Satoru finally decided to hop over the fence and get closer. The blonde man was pretty much out of it by that point, so he raised his hand and waved, “Hey,” he greeted with enthusiasm, “Wanna try your luck with me, tough guy?”
The men seized him from head to toe and then smiled, confidence oozing from his person, “Who are you?”
“Gojo Satoru,” he bowed in a mocking manner, “As of today, Lord Ryomen’s protege.”
One of the man’s servants turned to him and bowed, “Toji-sama—”
He just raised a hand and gave Satoru another chilling smile, “Let the young man show off,” he said, “How else will he learn?”
Satoru stepped back, annoyed, “What,” he huffed, “Not gonna introduce yourself?”
The man just shrugged his shoulders, “You will know soon enough,” he paused, “Sa-to-ru.”
The way in which the man said his name made Satoru’s nostrils flare, but he managed to bite his tongue.
Instead, he walked towards the bench on which the blonde guy was sitting, took off his outer robe so he was dressed only in his undershirt and pants, and went back to the man. Toji-sama, as one of the servants addressed him.
They stood opposite each other and Satoru, remembering the man’s previous attack, lunged first. His blow, unsurprisingly, was dodged so easily that it was almost embarrassing. The alpha turned, but the man was faster and kicked him in the chest.
Satoru growled and from the corner of his eye saw that a bunch of people settled around to observe. Well, he thought, nothing more shameful than losing to some nobody on his first day on the job.
Toji-sama did not give him any recovery time and attacked again and again and again. Even though Satoru was not attacking back, he was at least blocking him. The alpha felt his own cursed energy, bothered both from the ever-present aura of Ryomen Sukuna and the duel, hum deep inside his veins, ready to be unlocked.
They did not settle whether it was supposed to be hand-to-hand combat or if other tricks were allowed, but the man was not using or emitting any, so Satoru decided to keep it down.
“What,” Toji-sama called, “Not going to use all that cursed energy that you have, pretty boy?”
Satoru’s insides burnt at the nickname and so he sent out a wave of energy that was bound to knock out anyone—well, except for Toji-sama, apparently. He didn't know whether it was because of the man’s skills or the fact that he stank of Ryomen Sukuna’s energy—maybe it acted as a sort of a barrier? Maybe the lack of Toji’s cursed energy could be explained as a technique that kept cursed energy out or made his body immune to it?
He roared and let out another wave. Toji didn’t budge and walked towards Satoru, “This is all you got? Sukuna is going to be very disappointed.”
The lack of formality didn’t escape Satoru, but he had no time to mull over it. Instead, he stepped closer to Toji and focused his own cursed energy on his person. That finally wiped the smile off his face and, instead, he gave Satoru an amused look, “Good.”
Toji walked towards the rack full of cursed tools and picked up a sword. He broke it in two and divided the handle in a way that allowed him to have two shorter knives instead of one. Satoru could feel the cursed energy radiating off the tool and wondered why the man wouldn’t just use his own since he clearly knew the drill.
Without saying another word, the man started running in Satoru’s direction. He shouted as he lunged, and Satoru had to activate Limitless in order to block the hit. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep it up constantly, and five hits in he had to jump away.
Toji was relentless. He jumped right after Satoru and kicked him in the face hard enough that he lost balance and fell. Satoru released a ball of blue centered on Toji, but the man easily blocked it with his swords.
He kicked Satoru again, and just as he was about to do it again Satoru grabbed his ankle and used all of his strength to pull him down. Toji lost his balance and straddled Satoru’s chest, though that didn’t stop him much, “There is some potential,” he said as he pointed one of the knives to Satoru’s face. The alpha could see the little droplets of sweat on the man’s forehead and neck, and could trace the way Toji’s hair stuck to his temples and nape. Ryomen Sukuna’s cursed scent lessened, and Satoru was almost able to sense… “—weak.”
“Huh?”
Toji rolled his eyes and slowly took the knife away from Satoru’s face, “You are weak.”
Satoru was many things. Impulsive. Annoying. Brash. Quick to anger. Gluttonous. Overconfident. Jealous… yes, many, many things but definitely not— “I’m not weak.”
“You are,” Toji shrugged, but did not elaborate further. He just stepped away from Satoru and started walking towards the bench where his two servants waited as if Satoru was nothing more than a speck of dust, nothing more than a training puppet.
Satoru couldn’t bear it. This—who. This nobody with no cursed energy, no power except for muscle and cursed tools, would not call him—Satoru Gojo—weak.
He stood up and raised both of his palms up to create two equal bullets of blue. Toji slowly turned around and gave him a mocking smile, “Is blue all you got, doll?”
The alpha roared and felt his arms and palms get hotter and hotter. His blue turned into a darker, deeper shade, something that was close to—to red. Satoru threw both bullets towards Toji. Everything in their part of the training field evaporated: the weapons, benches, furniture, servants.
Yet, Toji stood still. Unmoved.
Satoru stepped back, heaving, “What the fuck?” he called, about a billion words on tongue yet nothing worthy of coming out, “What are you?”
Toji started walking towards him, a wild, menacing grin on his face, “Didn’t I tell you that you’ll find out later?”
He as if teleported towards Satoru, and then the alpha felt a knife lodge deep inside of his shoulder, “What the fuck,” Satoru hissed and grabbed Toji’s hand on the handle, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—”
“Heal yourself,” Toji cooed, lips plastered to Satoru’s ears, “C’mon, doll, heal yourself.”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” Toji twisted the knife deeper, and Satoru choked, “Don’t you have Limitless? Sukuna said you do.”
He swallowed as Toji lowered him to the ground, ”I do, I do—but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
Toji made a tsk-sound and called forward a new set of servants, “Take him to Uraume. Make him presentable enough for dinner,” he paused, “And prepare me a bath, I need to wash before Sukuna comes ba—”
Satoru closed his eyes, unhearing.