Chapter Text
Kiyotaka Ijichi boarded his bullet train convinced he was about to make a mistake he’d be sure to regret. There was a fleeting moment as he walked towards his reserved seat where he nearly talked himself into turning around, exiting the Shinkansen that would take him from Tokyo to Nagano, and dismissing this entire idea as one born out of poor judgement and misplaced guilt.
Somehow, he overcame this sudden and cowardly urge to flee and continued moving stiffly down the empty aisle, his duffel bag clutched tightly in his fist. He sat down in his seat with a deep sigh and placed his bag in front of him.
So this was it then. He was going and there was no getting out of it. Seeing as he’d been the one to suggest this visit to Nagano in the first place, cancelling now was out of the question.
Even if he really didn’t want to be doing this.
Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only going for one afternoon, Ijichi scolded himself sternly. He could get through one afternoon. He could.
But even if that was true his nerves simply wouldn’t settle. What if this visit didn’t go well? What if it went as badly as he feared it would? This was, after all, a very delicate situation and Ijichi knew he had to trend carefully. He didn’t want to make a bad situation even worse.
Just then Ijichi’s cellphone vibrated, buzzing loudly in his pocket and breaking him out of his nervous thoughts. His whole body tensed as he pulled out his phone to check the caller ID, his reaction a force of habit after months of being called in to help with countless emergencies. There’d been little time for rest or even a day off ever since…well, ever since the Shibuya Incident nearly a year ago.
Except there was no reason to panic. Ijichi relaxed when he saw who was on the other end of the line, accepting the call with a smile on his face.
“Good morning, Shoko. How are you?”
Shoko wasted no time in getting straight to the point, not one to entertain niceties when she had something important on her mind.
“So you’re really going then? He hasn’t cancelled?” she asked, saying it like she was prepared to be disappointed.
“I boarded the train a few minutes ago. I should arrive in Nagano just before lunch.”
There were a few beats of silence where Shoko didn’t say anything. As if she still didn’t quite believe this was all really happening.
It wasn’t surprising she felt that way. That was because Ijichi was on his way to visit Gojo Satoru, who no one – not his friends, his students or his former colleagues – had seen in person in over six months. Finally free after weeks spent sealed in the Prison Realm, and with Sukuna and Kenjaku defeated, Gojo had chosen to cut himself off from the jujutsu world once again, but this time on his own terms. One day he’d just vanished, walking away from everyone he knew without so much as a goodbye. No one knew where he’d gone or if he intended to come back. It had taken weeks to re-establish contact, only to learn he’d moved to a new prefecture with no plans to return to Tokyo.
And now Ijichi was going to visit him.
At last Shoko sighed and said, “I’m shocked, to be honest. He rarely answers my texts anymore. It’s been pretty much radio silence from him for days. Even his students can barely get a word out of him and he loves those kids.”
“I’m not quite sure why Gojo wants me to visit him either,” Ijichi admitted.
“I’m sure Satoru has his reasons. He always does.”
But what could those reasons possibly be? Ijichi had been equally if not more shocked than Shoko when Gojo had accepted his offer for an afternoon visit instead of outright rejecting him. That he was the one sitting on the Shinkansen right now and not Shoko or Fushiguro or literally anyone else from Jujutsu High boggled his mind. It just didn’t make any sense.
It wasn’t as if they’d ever been particularly close. Sure, Ijichi could honestly say he’d always respected and admired Gojo – that came part and parcel with being the world’s strongest sorcerer after all. That kind of status demanded respect and admiration. But Gojo had always been more of a superior to him, a colleague at best, than a friend. And for a long time Ijichi hadn’t believed Gojo thought very much of him at all. That he viewed Ijichi as nothing more than his driver and personal errand boy. Someone to push extra work onto because Ijichi wasn’t good for much else.
Or at least so Ijichi had thought until the Battle of Shinjuku. When Gojo had chosen him to cast a barrier to conceal his opening attack against Sukuna. Ijichi would admit he had some skill in constructing barriers – he had years of practice under his belt – but he certainly wasn’t the most talented candidate. Not by a long shot.
Except that hadn’t seemed to matter to Gojo.
You’re the man I trust the most.
So Ijichi knew better now. He knew Gojo trusted him. Had faith in him. Because in the moment when it had mattered most, Gojo had shown he had nothing but the highest confidence in him. As though asking someone who ranked among the weakest in Jujutsu society to be responsible for such a monumental task was the most obvious choice in the world.
Though, none of this explained why Gojo wanted to see him now.
Really, Ijichi thought as a fresh wave of guilt stirred to life in his chest once more, Gojo should want nothing to do with me. Not after the way I treated him. Even six months later, the memory of their last conversation, just days after Sukuna’s defeat, still brought a sharp pang of shame. Instead of thanking Gojo for trusting him, he had failed him as a friend.
But he couldn’t easily explain any of this to Shoko.
“I’ll make sure he’s taking care of himself,” Ijichi said instead, settling on trying to reassure his friend.
Shoko laughed, though there was no real humour behind it. “Of course he isn’t taking care of himself – you and I both know that. He hasn’t been himself since… well you know.”
Ijichi sighed. “I suppose that was obvious when he left so suddenly.”
“No,” Shoko snapped, “it was obvious when we unsealed him from that fucking box.”
Ijichi fell silent, letting her momentary burst of anger linger in the air. His silence gave Shoko time to centre herself, and after a moment she sighed and apologized.
“I’m sorry, Kiyotaka,” she said. “I know none of this is your fault. Gojo is just being Gojo. He’s always been a bit of an idiot. I should be used to it by now.”
Ijichi shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “There’s no need to apologize. I understand. You’re concerned about your friend.”
Shoko scoffed. “Sure, I’m concerned, but I’m also getting pretty tired of the silent treatment. It got old after a week. Between you and me, I wish I was on the train with you so I could go tell him he’s being an idiot to his face. He deserves it.”
Ijichi’s lips quirked up into a smile. He didn’t doubt for a second that Shoko would happily take the tough love approach if their positions were reversed. Though that did make Ijichi wonder why she hadn’t made more of an effort to join him.
“I don’t mean to offend, but why didn’t you let me ask Gojo if you could join me?” Ijichi asked, curious. “He might’ve agreed to it.”
“Because I’ve asked him if I could visit him before and he didn’t want me to,” Shoko replied evenly. “And I’ll respect his decision even if I think it’s a stupid one. Besides, I don’t want him getting cold feet about you going to see him.” She was quiet again, and then an anxious note of worry crept into her voice. “I just never thought he’d be gone for this long. He’s always been around people, and six months…that’s a long time to be all on your own. It’s about time he realizes it’s time to come home.”
“I’ll let him know he’s missed,” Ijichi said softly despite anticipating Shoko’s disdainful “hmph” in reply. Though she would never admit it, she probably missed him more than anyone.
“Did you tell his students you were going to visit him?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.
“No. I didn’t want to get their hopes up.”
Shoko let out another sigh, like she’d seen his answer coming but couldn’t disagree with it. “That’s probably for the best.”
Even if it was the right call, Ijichi couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about keeping his visit a secret, especially from the students. But odds were that Itadori and Okkotsu would be far too hopeful that he could convince Gojo to return to Tokyo, and Ijichi didn’t want to crush their hopes after everything they’d already been through. The same went for Fushiguro and Kugisaki, though they likely wouldn’t be nearly as optimistic about Ijichi’s chances. The news would only upset them.
Because it was hard not to feel like Gojo had abandoned them. While almost nothing had changed in their day-to-day work – there were still missions to complete and curses to be exorcised – the jujutsu social order had been almost entirely upended in the aftermath of the Shibuya incident. Stability had been nowhere to be found in those first few weeks after Sukuna’s defeat, not with the higher-ups dead and replaced, and the Three Big Families in disarray: the Kamo clan’s name tarnished, the Zen’in clan wiped out, and the head of the Gojo clan absconded. To make matters worse, there was now more political scrutiny than ever from the civilian government after the Japanese population had been terrorized during the Culling Games.
It was only now, months later, that they had some semblance of a functioning jujutsu assembly again, and that had taken Principal Gakuganji a long time to get up and running. But these higher-ups were still new. Untested. No one knew how tightly they might cling to the old way of doing things. And that was something Ijichi didn’t want to think about right now. He was already nervous enough.
“Kiyotaka…can I ask you for one favour?” Shoko said, sounding almost hesitant.
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
Shoko’s voice was tight, which would have been unusual for her if they weren’t talking about the wellbeing of her oldest friend. “I know this isn’t fair of me to ask… but do you think you could try and convince Satoru to come back? Even if it’s a long-shot just… just try.”
“I’ll do my best,” Ijichi answered softly, though he was certain the request was one doomed to fail and he was sure she knew that too. “I doubt Gojo will listen to anything I have to say though. He never has before.”
“He still agreed to see you, which is more than the rest of us could get out of him. That has to count for something...or at least I hope it does.”
For the first time Shoko sounded somewhat hopeful when hope had been entirely absent whenever they’d spoken about Gojo before.
But Ijichi, unconvinced that this was the promising sign of progress that Shoko took it to be, kept his reply short. “Perhaps.”
Shoko chuckled. “Do you really always have to be so pessimistic about everything, Kiyotaka? You sound like you’ve already given up. Try and relax. This is a step in the right direction.” Shoko’s tone brightened even further. “And besides, you can always punch him if he gives you too much attitude. It’s not like he can stop you from trying.”
Ijichi’s eyes widened. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “I, uh, I don’t think that will help convince him to come back, but I’ll keep it in mind as an option.”
“You should. Sometimes it works when he’s being especially annoying.” She paused and then asked, “So when can I expect you back, anyways? Are you staying in Nagano for long?”
“No, I’m only visiting Gojo-san for a few hours. I’ll be back in Tokyo later this evening.”
“Let’s meet for drinks at our usual spot after work tomorrow then if you’re feeling up for it. I’ll have lots of questions for you, and something tells me I’ll need a few beers in me when I hear the answers.”
Ijichi smiled. He always looked forward to their chats and this was no exception.
“I’ll be there. Just tell me where to meet you and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
And hopefully with good news to share.
They finished their goodbyes and Ijichi ended their call.
By now the train had filled up with passengers, though thankfully it wasn’t overly crowded for the early morning trip. The final boarding call was announced as Ijichi slipped his phone into his pocket, and he felt another flare of uneasiness deep in his chest. Not for the first time, he pushed back on the feeling. Suppressed it. Smothered it.
There was no going back now.
Ijichi took another deep breath to calm his racing heart. Everything was going to be fine. This was, as Shoko had said, a step in the right direction.
Which was exactly why he was so nervous! Why did it have to be him? Of all people! Gojo wasn’t going to listen to anything he had to say. He never did, so why would he suddenly start now? Anxious, Ijichi’s hand went to his watch to fiddle idly with the cold metal band around his wrist, a new nervous tic,
‘Are you sure you want me to come?’ he’d gone so far as to text Gojo the previous evening.
And Gojo had simply answered: ‘Yes.’
The train began to pull away from the station, gaining speed as it moved out of the urban sprawl of the city and into the countryside. Ijichi gazed out the window, watching as rice fields and small towns zipped by.
It would be another few hours until he arrived in Nagano, giving him the perfect opportunity to try and catch up on some sleep. Even now, months after Shibuya, he wasn’t sleeping very well at night. The result of chronic stress, Shoko had said like she couldn’t believe she had to keep reminding him to rest whenever Ijichi complained about feeling run down and exhausted.
You still need regular meals and breaks even if you’re not on the frontlines. Take a break now and again. There’s no point in running yourself into the ground for no reason.
And Ijichi would always nod and say he would but truthfully he hadn’t taken a real break in months. So many assistants had been killed in Shibuya that Ijichi couldn’t justify taking the time off while they were still so short-handed. His workload had easily tripled since last October. He took on as much extra duties as he could – research, mission escorts, inventory, clean-up duty, reports – and volunteered for more. Anything and everything he could to keep himself useful.
Ijichi thought back to the last time he’d been on the verge of burning out, how Gojo had noticed and bullied him into taking a much-needed day off. Like he understood that what Ijichi had really needed then was permission to rest. Remembering Gojo’s kindness, so long as he overlooked the painful forehead flick that had come along with it, brought a faint smile to his face.
But Gojo wasn’t around anymore to look out for him anymore. That had been almost a year ago.
Ijichi took out his phone and pulled up Gojo’s number. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, debating, before he typed up a short message and sent it before he could stop himself.
>> I’ll arrive in Nagano just before lunch.
His message was left on read for the rest of his journey.