Chapter Text
On the night of December the 7th of 1989, amidst a snowstorm, a very important birth took place.
The child’s arrival had been a much-anticipated affair, the birth of the future heir to the illustrious Gojo clan being, by merit of their title alone, a grand occasion. However, all of the eyes of the Jujutsu community were not fixated on the child because of his inherited position within their society. No, all sorcerers were on the lookout for the boy’s inherited techniques.
It had been centuries since the last member of the Gojo clan to inherit both the family’s Limitless innate technique and the Six Eyes died. Ever since, all births within the clan were regarded in high esteem. All members of the family would gather outside the birthing room lying in wait, and the children would be handled and cared for with the utmost respect. That is, until the newborns’ eyes failed to be the expected fractal blue. Once the disappointment was known they were soon forgotten about and promptly side-lined. This baby, however, was a special case.
His father, Gojo Masashi, was the clan head and a very powerful wielder of Limitless. Even without the benefits the Six Eyes would grant him if he’d had them, he held enough control of it to become one of the most powerful sorcerers of his time. He had risen to his position barely at the age of twenty-six, taking leadership of the clan after his father perished together with the Zenin clan’s former leader in an unfortunate clash with an atypical Special Grade. Ever since, the clan’s goal was to secure their position as the most powerful of the main three sorcerer families, taking advantage of the power vacuum left behind with the death of the Zenin head.
His mother, Gojo Noriko, was also incredibly strong, albeit in a different way. Practically from the cradle, she was raised by the strict ideals of the family. She was taught to complete her duties thoroughly, promptly, efficiently, and without complaint. She was molded into the perfect image of a clan leader’s wife until she grew into a woman full of contradictions, priding herself over her poise and elegance and yet being every bit the head-strong, hardened woman her heritage and standing demanded.
She ran the Gojo estate with an iron grip, issuing incessant commands to the quick-footed servants of the residence, demanding the same absolute perfection from them as was expected of her. As long as there was breath in her lungs, not a hair on her head would be out of place, and not a wrinkle on her kimono would ever be seen. Everything would be perfect.
Under both Masashi and Noriko’s authority, the ground for the much-awaited new grandeur of the Gojo clan was meticulously laid out. All that remained to be seen was the manifestation of the Six Eyes and Limitless into one.
Outside of the birthing room, while most members of the clan stood in complete silence, almost as if standing vigil, the elders prated incessantly. On the day of the pregnancy announcement ceremony, whispers of the child’s birth landing in the dark winter months had created quite a stir among many. The elders unashamedly expressed their dissatisfaction with the fact, whining and bemoaning over how the child would grow to be unruly and disobedient, and that a spring birth would have been much more suitable for shaping a capable clan heir. Others, mainly their agreeable wives, spoke of a winter child’s virtue in adversity and how the due date was an augury of glory. That their heir would be strong and persevering.
If the debate over the child’s birth was stirring even among their own ranks where the comments remained mostly positive, all that circulated through the other clans were ill wishes.
When the news of the Gojo matriarch’s gestation first reached the ears of the Kamo and Zenin clans, the commentary around the fact was kept at the usual level of hostility commonly exchanged between the families. However, a few months in, rumors savagely spread through the community after news of Noriko’s difficult pregnancy reached their ears.
At the Zenin estate, Naobito Zenin openly expressed his disdain for the child, proudly stating his hopes that it would either be stillborn or prove itself to be the downfall of the Gojo clan, jeering about how, when the day came, he would make sure to be present and watching their pretentious family fall apart.
The Kamo clan, equally as captious, wished the boy ruin, yearning for none of the hereditary techniques of the clan to be passed down to him. Some of the more malicious among them hoped that the difficult pregnancy meant the child would be defective, and unfit, leaving their rival clan to collapse in on itself without their precious, desired Six Eyes.
To these comments, Noriko turned her head and raised her chin, scoffing at every ill wish directed at her child. What the clans said did not matter, the omens the elders rambled about were irrelevant. This child was destined for greatness not only because it was the future leader of the clan, but because it was her child, and no child of hers would ever be anything less than perfect.
Seemingly, to challenge her statements further, a heavy snowstorm rolled in right on the day of her labor. Its ferocity brought down heaps of snow accompanied by wretched gales that rattled the hinges of the estate’s closed shutters. Snow wasn’t uncommon in early December; however, a storm of such strength was unusual for the time and its intensity toppled the simple predictions of moderate snow.
It was another omen for the elders to moan about.
This child will be trouble.
Don’t speak such things, babes born during storms are said to be the most resilient.
Of course, if that storm doesn’t end up settling within them.
A child accompanied by adversity is sure to be a great one.
If anything, this storm is a sign of its strength.
Yes.
The strongest.
Satoru came into this world striking and unavoidable, his cries immediately silencing the murmurs through the other side of the door. With each breath he sent ripples throughout the Gojo residence, their force rivaling that of the storm raging outside. Those more attuned to the flowing of cursed energy were struck dumb by the magnitude of the supernova seemingly emanating from the sounds alone.
From where he stood diligently next to the door, Masashi was quick to walk into the room to greet his firstborn, not even allowing the handmaidens inside the courtesy of a warning. Inside, he found his wife lying propped up by the many pillows the midwives placed to support her back. She was perfectly put together almost as if she had only just finished getting ready, no signs of exertion except only a few droplets of sweat dotting her brow. During the long hours of her labor, there wasn’t a soul who heard even the slightest of winces. Where most women would have wailed in pain, Noriko remained unyielding, tackling labor as she would any other of her duties.
In her arms was a bundle of soft white linen and the clan leader rounded the bed in order to take his first look at the child. With her lithe fingers, Noriko pulled the fabric away to reveal Satoru’s bright red face.
“You have a son,” she supplied, pride overflowing. A proper heir.
Masashi kept looking, eyes scrutinizing the boy’s features as he kept on wailing, adamant about expressing his complaints about the world. Satoru’s hair was white, a Gojo’s distinct feature, one that also matched both of his parents. His eyebrows were so fine they almost disappeared within the pallor of his skin, and his wet eyelashes glistened much like the snow that pelted down onto the courtyards of the residence. He was full-term but still looked slightly small, although the midwife assured the boy’s health was exemplary.
Masashi was almost satisfied with the scene.
That was his son, the heir to his name and future leader of his glorious clan. Finally, after years of trying to conceive, and months of a grueling pregnancy, here was the child that would bring honor to them all. But there was still one thing to be done. The thing that would make or break his plans.
The man inched closer to the infant, and almost as if sensing his presence, Satoru ceased his cries, settling into quiet whining as he nuzzled against the linens seeking the warmth of his mother.
Then, Masashi opened his eyes.
The day Gojo Satoru was born, the balance of the world shifted.
The happiness that Satoru’s birth had brought was abruptly interrupted when not even two weeks into his little life someone tried to snuff him out.
It had been a relatively simple operation; the assassins would wait within the shadows for the moment when Satoru was left unattended and then they would sneak in and do a quick job out of him, making sure to take his eyes as proof of their “job well done”. Calling it simple was almost ridiculous, and between the three of them, it felt more closely to being easy. Killing the Six Eyes was notoriously hard to accomplish once the wielder had grasped Limitless, and sneaking up on them was nearly impossible. However, what could a baby do? All helpless and fragile.
Not even having the Six Eyes could save him.
It took the assassins three attempts to finally enact their plan.
During the first, they were almost caught by one of the clan’s sentinels approaching their hiding spot amidst the tall snow piles lying against the walls of the estate.
On the second try, just as they were about to jump into Satoru’s room through the window, the wet nurse strolled in and scooped the boy into her arms, waltzing out into the corridor right afterward. They could have easily killed her together with the boy, but their reconnaissance had highlighted that the maid took Satoru to feed him near his mother almost like clock-work, and that, with the tight hold the Gojo matriarch held on the staff, the absence of the maid would certainly be noticed and soon the sentinels would be alerted, diminishing their chances of a successful getaway significantly.
So, they had waited until the wet nurse returned the boy to his room where she was to lay him to rest. There would be a few minutes during which she would go fetch the materials for one of her many other tasks before returning to watch Satoru, and that would be the perfect window for the assassins to attack.
As soon as the maid slid the door closed, the three were on the move, slithering into the room completely silently. One of them took his place next to the door, the other kept watch through the window, and the third drew the cursed tool provided by their employer from their pouch.
She had promised a handsome sum of money, and he could practically feel his fingers tingling around the hilt at the thought of his recompense.
With the weapon raised, he inched to the cot where Satoru lay sleeping, completely oblivious to the danger prowling near him. As he stood above the child, the assassin inhaled sharply before making for a slash right into Satoru’s tiny frame, however, just as he began moving, the child’s eyes snapped open, and their piercing empyrean gaze landed right onto the assassin's covered face.
The man hesitated, completely paralyzed by the sight of the almost other-worldly swirls of light glistening across those unwavering irises. He felt observed from every angle, completely helpless under the all-encompassing surveillance almost as if he were a deer in headlights, incapable of movement. Enwrapped in a trance.
He could tell, just by being caught in the sight of the Six Eyes that this child was different. That he was in a whole different league. The Gojo brat already exuded so much cursed energy at barely three weeks of life, that he would certainly grow to be the most powerful sorcerer of their time. Maybe even of all time.
And because of that potential, he was to be eliminated.
“What are you waiting for Hideo? Kill him!” the assassin next to the door hissed through gritted teeth, agitated by his partner’s hesitation.
The man’s grip around the weapon’s hilt tightened, and now the blade made its way down to Satoru once again, aiming directly for his chest.
A cry tore its way out of his throat and the force of the uninhibited cursed energy rushing off of him was enough to fling the assassin across the room, slamming his body through the wooden wall and into the corridor.
While the other two present did not traverse any walls, they were still crushed against the thick wood panels hard enough to fall unconscious.
Satoru only had to cry for a few more seconds before his mother burst into the room accompanied by two sentinels. Having already spotted the body staining her meticulously well-kept wooden floors, Noriko only scowled further at the sight of two more unconscious individuals sprawled across the nursery.
“Get them out of my sight,” she snarled with disgust, “Make sure to inform the clan head of this, and find me that useless wet nurse!” she ordered and even before she exhaled, the two sentinels were dragging the assassins out of the room.
Noriko walked to her son’s cot, and at this point, Satoru had already stopped his wailing, the presence of his mother calming him down. She picked him from out of the blankets and smiled proudly at him, looking into his eyes as he wiggled in her hold with a smile, hands reaching up to her face.
He hadn’t even lived a month on Earth and her son was already so strong. Satoru was already powerful enough to get three sorcerers out of commission with nothing but unchanneled cursed energy.
Her precious Six Eyes was perfect.
“My perfect boy.”
With increased security and surveillance, in addition to the whispers of Satoru’s already tremendous power, no more attempts on his life were carried out. His father, furious at the occurrence, personally deemed the assassination to be the work of the other clans and their wicked jealousy, and so, to further protect the Six Eyes, it was determined that Satoru’s development and education would be kept strictly confined to the boundaries of the Gojo estate, limiting outside access to him. And so, the years passed, and no further issues had to be addressed.
At first light on his fifth birthday, the servants were already rushing around the length of the house starting the preparations for the celebration. The kitchens were filled with heaps of deliciously smelling, lavish ingredients ready to be cooked into an opulent feast, the halls were being dusted, scrubbed, and polished to perfection, the gardens were receiving a meticulous touch-up, and the main hall was already being set up for receiving the numerous guests who would be attending.
There was such an event every year. On the surface, it was simply a commemoration of Satoru’s life like any other birthday celebration, however, to the attuned senses of the Jujutsu elite, it was a clear message. A reminder of the Gojo’s greatness. An opportunity to publicly brag and flaunt their status. A taunting gesture to crow on, year after year, that they were above them.
In his room, Satoru was still fast asleep when the maids made their way in. Led by Akumu, the head housemaid, they did quick work of getting him out of bed and ready for the day even before he could scratch the sleep out of his eyes.
While two of the maids folded away his futon and aired his room, Akumu pulled Satoru into the bathing room attached to his bedroom, having already prepared the bath. She would hoist him into the warm water and clean him. She’d lather him up and rinse him with such efficiency it was almost mechanical. It was fast and thorough.
Satoru didn’t like Akumu at all. Although she was skilled, she was also a brute, and much like his mother, she was incredibly authoritative. The baths she gave him were the worst, because while she masterfully got him pristinely clean, she did so by ruthlessly scrubbing every inch of his body, sometimes leaving his skin red and irritated.
Satoru wished she’d be gentler.
After, she would dry him off and the maids would be ready to wrap him with one of his yukatas. Their practiced movements would pull the clothing into place and meticulous eyes would ensure that his belt lay perfectly aligned and without creases. The boy would then be rushed off through the halls to the eating room where his parents sat waiting to have their first meal.
On the way, one of the nicer maids would hold his hand as they all scurried along the engawa, and help him put on his geta before they went down the cobblestone paths that led from the family’s sleeping quarters to the eating quarters. She’d walk a bit more slowly to allow him to keep up, and if no one was looking, she’d even carry him for part of the way. Satoru liked her.
If Akumu was the only one to lead him, he’d simply need to keep up with her broad steps as she pulled him along by the wrist not caring if he stumbled.
The inside of the eating room was much like the rest of the house, bustling with servants who hurried to place the food on the table and serve the tea. The nice maid let go of his hand and gently shooed him into the room with a kind but frantic smile, quickly sliding the door closed behind him.
Before sitting, Satoru bowed to his parents just as he was taught by his etiquette instructor. His father gave him no acknowledgement, while his mother moved her hand into his hair, pulling aside an unruly strand that had moved over his eye.
Breakfasts were a silent affair, and while Satoru just simply couldn’t sit still for too long before fidgeting, ideally, the only words exchanged would be between his parents, sparing him of any scoldings and uncomfortable conversations so he could quickly finish his food and be dismissed.
He didn’t enjoy breakfast with his parents, or any meals for that matter. They always felt scripted to him, too rehearsed and planned out, constricted by the rules of etiquette so tightly that even his breaths were expected to come at a specific rate. Everything was so proper, so overly meticulous from the placement of the fine porcelain dishes to the temperature of the tea that Satoru felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb with all his agitation.
How did the adults remember the right way to pick up every different food item on the table? How did they know the order in which they should eat? Did they enjoy following these rules? Because Satoru couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about following all the correct steps. Why couldn’t he simply eat the entire piece of fruit on his plate instead of cutting it into pieces? He’d chew it anyway, so what was the difference?
His etiquette instructor had answered his question with a simple “because it is the proper way” but Satoru wasn’t satisfied with it. Who determined that to be “proper”? He thought it was very proper to just put the whole piece in his mouth and get it over with instead of letting it sit on the dish forever while he ate it nibble by nibble. He didn’t like it, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to go against what was expected of him. So, he followed the rules, trying to ease the buzzing under his skin by tapping his chopsticks on the table.
On the other side of the table, his father skimmed over the day’s mail rather unamused. Not that he ever seemed much amused by anything, in Satoru’s opinion.
Differently from other clans in their society who had already implemented more modern means of communication, Satoru’s father still preferred to receive his information in written form, and would only use the telephone in his office if strictly necessary. So, each and every morning during their breakfast together, Masashi would pour over the written reports, letters, and newspapers in order to be updated on the ins and outs of the Jujutsu world.
As he finished with one letter, he placed it back down on the table indifferently while reaching for another. This one bore the Zenin clan seal, and from her seat, Noriko eyed her husband curiously.
“Would I be right to guess that we will not be seeing any of the Zenin here tonight?” she asked as Masashi kept reading.
“‘I regret to inform that other prior engagements will render the representatives of the Zenin clan unable to attend this most fortunate celebration.’” He read in a mocking tone, “Honestly, Naobito only grows more impertinent as time goes on,” he says with disdain, eyebrow twitching.
“Indeed, as if they did not know what day this is,” Noriko sneers behind her teacup, her lips pursing with resentment. How anyone would ever have the gall to miss such an important celebration for sorcerer society is truly beyond her ability to understand, “The Kamo clan at least has the decency to make an appearance.”
“The Kamo clan is no better, they are simply here to stir the pot,” Masashi adds.
From his seat, Satoru isn’t listening. All this talk about the three main clans’ animosity towards each other is incredibly dull to him, and much like any child, he’d much rather be anywhere else. The clinking of his chopsticks on the porcelain dish serves as distraction enough for now though. Soon he is to head for his writing classes, which aren’t much more fun since due to his Six Eyes, Satoru can remember every kanji shown to him after only seeing it once, but at least the class allows Satoru to do something with his hands.
“Satoru, stop that incessant noise!” his father bellows, slightly surprising him.
Ah, there goes his only source of entertainment…
He visibly sighs, deflating while putting the utensil down on its rest.
“Satoru, stop slouching,” his mother instructs poking her bony fingers into his back, forcing him to sit up into a proper position, “You should know better,” she reminds him before picking up her teacup once again.
It takes a lot out of him to not start pouting at the table, it would most certainly garner him another scolding from his mother, and he knew not to already start the day by displeasing her, much less while his father was around. That would certainly end up with him being yelled at again, or worse.
“Much better,” she huffs satisfied when his back remains straight, “Now, how are your lessons, Satoru?” she asks sweetly, her previously annoyed tone gone without a trace.
“Good, mother,” he replies, a little uneasy as to why she asked. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know, his parents knew everything he did, and Satoru knew they had frequent check-ins with his tutors. To him, it seemed silly that she’d ask him, but maybe she’d only done so to hear if he’d say what she already knew.
“I’ve heard from your instructor that you are doing well with your writing,” she continues, “We should begin introducing him to the basics of Jujutsu soon.” She speaks towards his father who had now put all the mail aside in favor of eating his meal.
“We will, after his technique manifests today, his training is to commence at once.”
For all that this training is put out to be, Satoru has no idea what it really entails. He knows a little of what Limitless is about, and he often gets bits and pieces of information about his Six Eyes when the elders shower him with praise, but he is still unsure how he will learn about his abilities, or if there is even anything to learn. Using the Six Eyes comes easy to him, even if using them for too long makes him feel dizzy and overwhelmed. Taking in all of that information is almost like breathing to him, he doesn’t even really think about it.
He wonders if Limitless will be like that.
The ringing of a bell pulls him out of his thoughts, and almost immediately the servants are already back in the room, removing the empty dishes from the table.
“Take Satoru to his writing lessons,” his mother orders, and Akumu respectfully bows before gesturing Satoru towards the door. The way she moves in the presence of his parents is so different from how she normally drags him up and down the estate that it almost feels funny. But again in a way he understands. He’d never act in the same way he does when he is alone while around his parents.
His writing lessons happen across the estate in one of the buildings reserved for receiving people from outside of the clan, which means that he is once again left to keep up with Akumu as she dashes through the walkways in a hurry, her geta clacking against the stone floors. Couldn’t she slow down a little?
As they go on their way, Satoru can see some of his relatives outside playing in the courtyard. He isn’t sure exactly how they are related, maybe they are his third cousins? Or perhaps fifth? He doesn’t talk to them enough to know. In fact, he doesn’t talk to them at all. But how they are related is not what peeves Satoru, instead, it is the fact that they are together, laughing and having fun, while he is dragged along to another boring class.
They must be playing tag given the way they are chasing each other around the trees, and Satoru can’t help but yearn to be a part of it. He’d probably be the best player ever if only he was allowed to play…
He remembers asking his mother once before when she walked him to class.
“Mother, why can’t I go play with them?”, he asked pointing at the group of kids enjoying themselves across the patio from where they stood. He hoped she would hear the wanting in his voice and concede.
“Satoru, you are to be the leader of this house, you are not like them,” his mother said, “You are above such trivial distractions.”
At the time he’d wanted to insist, but they had already arrived at the room for his classes, so the subject was dropped. But today was a new day, Mother wasn’t there to stop him, and it was also his birthday, so maybe now he could go play with the others.
He’d wait for after his class to ask the other children, and then he’d show them how good he was. They’d definitely want to play with him again.
Akumu dropped him off and after a short bow, she was gone, leaving Satoru to deal with his boredom for the next two hours.
The maid who came to pick him up wasn’t Akumu, which was great news for Satoru and his plans. Had it been the head house-maid, Satoru would have never managed to even approach the others amidst all the running they’d be doing to reach his quarters, but the other maids were much easier to slip away from, being too reluctant to deny the young master of the house anything.
So, when he saw that his cousins were still out in the courtyard, playing another game this time, he quickly sneaked away from the maid and skipped over towards them excitedly. She immediately began to fuss.
“Young Master, I must take you to your quarters now, please follow me,” she said timidly, anxiously grabbing her apron, hoping that Satoru would listen, but as he kept on walking her nervousness kept on rising, “Young Master, we really mustn’t delay,” she insists.
“It’ll only take a little bit,” he tells her, dismissing her requests. This is his chance to finally play with other children his age, he doesn’t want to let it go.
“I’m sure it won’t, Young Master, but I’m not so sure your mother would approve,” she tries, but even if that made Satoru stop for a second, he just keeps going.
“Mother isn’t here,” he supplies. The maid looks close to having a nervous collapse.
As they approach and the others spot Satoru the laughing goes quiet and they stop in their tracks, huddling together and bowing nervously. Satoru is a bit put off by the reaction, but he isn’t exactly very good at interacting with people his age so maybe they are also just anxious.
“What were you playing?” he asks them.
It is quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. The children stole quick glances at him before keeping their eyes turned towards the ground, staying completely still almost like prey caught by a predator’s gaze. Maybe they were hoping he would give up given their silence, but when Satoru showed no indication of leaving, the tallest among them, a boy probably only slightly older than Satoru, showed him the Temari ball he was holding, still averting his eyes.
“Can I play with you?” Satoru asks hopefully, an awkward smile on his face. The children look at each other apprehensively, unsure of what to say. Unlike before, none of them try to respond, they all just stand there in silence.
Satoru’s smile begins to fade a little, but he tries again, “It will be just for a little bit,” he says, but once again is greeted with silence. No one will even look at him, all of their eyes glued to the gravel floor.
It wasn’t that the children wanted to upset Satoru, far from it, surely many of them would prefer to please the young master. Their avoidant behavior didn’t stem from a fear of him either. Even though Satoru was quite an elusive sight for those in the ranks below him, he was not seen as being unkind or churlish. What the children were scared of was that the matriarch would catch wind of them socializing with her son, which would surely result in harsh discipline not only from her but from their own parents. They didn’t want to embarrass their families, so to maintain their records clean, they kept on ignoring Satoru and his requests.
When he is about to ask again, the maid speaks, “Young Master, we really ought to be on our way or you’ll be late for your next engagement,” she says bowing, her tone shiveringly supplicant. Satoru turns to look at her and sees the beads of sweat running down her face. He really shouldn’t be putting her in such a position, but he just wanted to play…
It didn’t seem like the others wanted the same though.
“Ok,” he agrees, once again deflating, this time even pouting as he turns around to follow the maid back to the main house.
When he looks back, the other children are quickly running out of the courtyard.
Satoru feels like crying.
They were late for their next engagement, much like the poor maid had feared. His mother had been furious, not even letting the young woman give an explanation before dismissing her and reminding her what the consequences for another such slip-up would be. Satoru felt guilt tug at his heartstrings at the sight of the maid’s down-turned head as she bowed her way out of the room. He saw the way her whole body shook in fear and through the few strands of hair that had fallen off of her updo while she rushed Satoru to his room, he caught the glimmer of tears in the corners of her eyes. He caused this. It was his fault she was reprimanded, and he regretted it so much. He knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of his mother’s dissatisfaction, and yet he’d still put the maid in that position…
But now it was just Satoru and his mother in the room. His room.
She sat gracefully on the tatami floor in front of him, her stern stare fixated on him, already admonishing him even before she had the chance to hear him tell her the reason for his tardiness. Tardiness which now confused Satoru since they were simply sitting around in his room wasting the time his mother seemed so concerned with using properly.
“Satoru,” she called for his attention, and he stiffened up a bit, locking eyes with her. Going off of her tone, Satoru knew not to avoid looking at her, she didn’t like it when he avoided her, “Why were you late?”
For a moment, the nerves rushing through him compelled him to blame the maid and let her take the brunt of his mother’s fury, but a second later he winced internally. It wouldn’t be fair to do so, he had already caused her to get yelled at. Besides, if anyone in the estate could get off relatively easy from one of his mother’s scoldings it was him, and, at the end of the day, it ultimately was his fault.
“I…” as he made to speak he suddenly felt conflicted once again. His mother had already reprimanded him for wanting to play with other kids before. She’d been dismissive of his desires then, but how would she react this time? Would she be understanding? Would she see that Satoru only wanted to have some fun on his birthday? Would she be angry? No, she was already angry at him for being late, if she knew the reason for it she would definitely be furious. But lying would only bother her more, she so hated it when he lied…
“Well?” she pressed, her tone strict and her face harsh.
“I was playing with my cousins,” he said, well I was trying to.
“I see,” she huffed, and Satoru didn’t miss the disappointment in it, “What did I say about you wanting to play with others?” she demanded.
“That I was not to,” he replied, this time failing to hold his mother's gaze, letting his eyes fall to where her hands lay on her lap. His own hands tugged at the hem of his yukata where it sat hidden from her view by his knees.
“Precisely, and so why was it that you were playing with them?” she asked, this time he didn’t answer, “Look at me Satoru.”
He didn’t want to, but he felt that he needed to if he wanted to keep his mother from getting more annoyed. He looked into her eyes, and it felt as if they had switched places, and she was the one who held the Six Eyes. Whenever she was angry at him, looking into her eyes felt like being peeled apart, like every inch of him was being scrutinized and judged. He felt vulnerable. He felt ashamed. He felt cornered.
“Why were you playing with people who are beneath you?” she asked again, rephrasing the question to point out to him his misdeeds.
“I wanted to have some fun,” he replied, trying his best to not look away from his mother’s face, even though her disapproving expression made him want to cower away.
“Satoru, you are the Six Eyes, the future head of this clan,” she began, “You are to be the most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived. You do not need fun, you need to be perfect, and mingling with those lesser than you will stray you away from your purpose.”
Much like before, Satoru felt like crying. But he couldn’t now, not with his mother watching.
“I’m sorry, mother,” he replied and bowed as to hide his watering eyes from her.
“Mmh, yes,” she accepted, “And this won’t happen again will it?” she goaded, and although the idea of never being able to play with anyone at all terribly frightened Satoru, he also knew that she wasn’t truly concerned about what he believed. There was only one response to give.
“No, mother.” He replied, eyes fixed on the woven patterns of the tatami, eyelashes slowly saturating with tears.
“Perfect ”, she smiled proudly, and just like that it was almost as if it was all forgotten when she called for the maid stationed outside to bring in the options of garments for him to wear that night.
As he picked his head up, Satoru once again wondered why his mother had been so peeved about his tardiness. If it was all because of an outfit selection, then she shouldn’t have even bothered with fetching him. She wouldn’t let him choose what to wear anyway.
If earlier Satoru felt like crying, now he felt like screaming.
It was his birthday and all he was expected to do was to sit perfectly still on his adorned seat facing the entire hall as it filled with more and more people who wouldn’t stop staring at him.
His mother and father sat next to him one on each side, almost like attendants would with the emperor. Groups of the clan’s elders would approach him and give him congratulations, but to Satoru, their words felt hollow, he was sure that they didn’t really mean it since they would never use his name, only referring to him as “Six Eyes”.
And that was the crux of it. This day wasn’t Satoru’s birthday, it was the Six Eyes’ birthday. Its fifth birthday. The birthday that would finally cement their clan heir as the most powerful sorcerer to ever live. One could feel it in the room, the anticipation to see Limitless manifest before their very eyes, to witness the blooming of his abilities. An event that had gone unseen for centuries and that would surely only happen again centuries after Satoru was dead. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
The attention made him feel cornered, like when his mother scolded him. He wanted to do something, anything, he wanted to get up and run around with the other kids, to snatch the food from the catering trays and sneak under the tables, where he could hide away beneath the silk tablecloths. He wanted to rip out the uncomfortable kimono his mother selected for him that seemed to poke at and make him itch everywhere. He wanted to explore the gardens outside, in the complete darkness of night, and look at the stars shining about rather than sit inside the too-bright hall where the glare of the lamps and candles made his eyes twinge. He wanted to lock himself in his room where there were no sounds of snobbish conversation or hurried steps or ill-meaning sneers.
It was his birthday celebration and Satoru would rather be anywhere but there.
But he couldn’t leave, he was the main attraction after all, so he had to keep on greeting the numerous people who approached his seat and bowed to him as if he were a god. He needed to play along for now, and maybe later he could have some fun. By himself.
However, keeping up appearances was proving to be a hard task for Satoru as the night went on. Not only were his eyes bothering him quite a lot, but his father would constantly ask if Limitless had already manifested.
Satoru didn’t really know what to say, he didn’t feel any different than usual apart from the ache in his eyes, which he wasn’t unfamiliar with. He did not feel the so-called “shroud of infinity” around him, whatever that meant, and after he’d say so to his father each time he would ask, the man got more and more agitated.
At some point, they were all to move from the reception hall into the dining hall where the banquet was to be hosted. As the guests began to be ushered along, Satoru and his parents lingered, waiting to be the last out of the room. The moment the final guests were out, and the doors were closed, his father turned to him and asked again.
“I don’t feel anything different, Father,” Satoru said trying to placate the man who angrily huffed in annoyance. Deep inside Satoru felt as if he should be allowed to feel annoyed too, after all, how could his answer have changed since the last time his father asked him only a minute prior?
His mother looked at him and then at his father.
“He will have Infinity,” she assured, her confident tone betrayed by her worried expression.
“He better.” Was all his father said before leading their way out.
Throughout the dinner, Satoru still remained quiet, but at least now his father had seemingly chosen to stop grilling him every other minute, too aware that in the smaller room, many could overhear and draw their conclusions. No one was to know that Satoru hadn’t manifested Limitless yet, especially not the Kamo clan representatives sitting near them.
But even without discussing the topic, it seemed that the Kamos were already onto them, and their snide comments were not missed by Noriko who masterfully, if not slightly exasperatedly swerved around the topic. Masashi remained quiet, his eyes trained on his son as more and more people asked about Satoru’s Limitless, and even though Satoru was too busy looking down at the food on his plate, he could feel his father’s anger.
At the end of the dinner, when the guests were once again being ushered out, each of them was to provide their goodbyes to the Gojo heir. Most of the guests did their duty quickly and without a fuss, which only left the Kamo representatives last.
“What a lovely celebration, hopefully the Six Eyes would be willing to give us a demonstration of his powers before we go?” one of the women in the group spoke, she sounded sly and venomous, and Satoru felt like hiding behind his mother when she looked at him with her predacious eyes, “It would surely be a sight to see.”
“You will be able to see them at our next congregation, like everyone else,” his mother said defiantly but still collectedly, a smile on her lips, “Satoru is to retreat to his chambers and prepare for his training in the morning.”
The woman in front of them grinned, “Of course, I’m sure the Young Master has a lot to deal with now,” she said condescendingly, giving the boy a bow before exiting the room with the rest of her entourage. This time when the doors closed Satoru could see from the corner of his eye how his father’s frame shook, fists gripped as he seethed quietly next to him.
“Father,” Satoru attempted to call for his attention but was ignored.
When his mother called to him he interrupted her.
“Leave us,” he ordered her, “All of you, leave us.” He snapped at the workers who cleaned up the plates and platters on the large table.
Dread settled into Satoru’s bones. If he didn’t like when his mother was angry, he hated it when his father lost composure, because while his mother would scold him when she was displeased, his father would teach him a lesson in harsher ways.
Satoru looked at his mother walking out of the dining room calmly, seemingly unbothered by the situation that was about to unfold after she left along with the servants. Even after the door closed, Satoru hoped that his mother would stay and wait outside, but his eyes showed him her presence moving further and further away.
Satoru wasn’t even able to plead with his father before the first slap hit him square across the face, throwing him off balance toward the floor. The robes he wore only dug and dragged over his skin as he hit the wooden boards beneath him, the long sleeves itching his face as he raised his hands to cover the burning area on his cheek.
His father towered over him, and Satoru looked at him with eyes full of fear.
“How dare you?” his father said bitterly, scowling down at his trembling son, “After everything we did for you, after all of the work put into this… How dare you?!” he pulled Satoru’s hands away from his face and dragged him to his feet by the front of his collar, “You slouch, you whine, you’re unfocused,” he shakes Satoru with each word, “You disobey, trying to waste our time by making friends with underlings whose only rightful place is at your feet!”
Satoru’s eyes widen at the mention of his daring attempt earlier in the day, and he can see that his father noticed his shock.
“You thought I wouldn’t know right?! Nothing happens in this family without me knowing, especially when it comes to you. I turn a blind eye to your behavior when it doesn’t interfere with your prospects, but now I see I’ve been too soft on you, Satoru,” he lets go of his collar with a harsh push, almost sending the boy to the floor again, “You are not to have any friends. They are an unnecessary distraction. You will focus completely on your training and studies to perfect the use of the Six Eyes. Even without Limitless, there might be hope for you yet.”
He couldn’t have any friends? It wasn’t like he even had any, but the idea that he would never be allowed to even try to make any…
Satoru would be alone for the rest of his life.
The tears welled up in his eyes and he wasn’t quick enough to prevent the sob that sent them rolling down his face.
“Stop crying Satoru!” his father bellows and he can’t help but flinch, biting his wobbling lip and diverting his eyes away from the imposing figure in front of him, “You are disgracing yourself. Isn’t it enough that you are a failure, do you also have to be weak?! ” he reprimanded.
Even against his best efforts, Satoru couldn’t stop the hiccup that tore its way out of him. Immediately he covered his mouth with his hand and looked up at his father whose expression seemed more livider than before.
“Didn’t I say to stop crying?!” he yelled and took a step towards Satoru, who, in a panic, stumbled over his feet when he saw the hand raised ready to strike him again. But when he collided with the floor he didn’t feel the impact, and when he opened his eyes to look at his father, he saw his hand completely still, knuckles hovering an inch in front of Satoru’s face. It was almost as if there was a cloud surrounding him, or a blanket. It was awfully buzzy, like the feeling he got when he was restless, but it felt natural and safe, and it had stopped his father from hitting him.
When he looked away from his father’s hand and to his face, he did not see the expected anger in his expression. No, on his father’s face was a smile, a smile that to Satoru did not bring any sense of comfort. It was a twisted smile, a layered one, where more of its parts rang of conceit and relief rather than pride and happiness.
Limitless had manifested and now Satoru was no longer a failure. Limitless had manifested and now the Gojo clan was the most powerful of all sorcerer families. Limitless had manifested and now Satoru could stop his father from hitting him and his mother from fussing over his clothes.
Infinity had granted him protection against threats towards him. Infinity would keep him safe.
But Infinity would also condemn him.