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Before My Very Eyes Chapter 6 (Cast)
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 01:32:25 +0000 UTCGojo was being Gojo.
“Look at you,” he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "My little larvae that was scared he was gonna get executed a while ago has bloomed into this beautiful butterfly."
He suddenly wrapped his arms around himself in an exaggerated, theatrical embrace. He tilted his head to the side, as if he were about to nuzzle into his own shoulder, all while making loud smooching sounds.
“Oh, Satoru-kun, you're just too good!” he cooed, pretending to shower himself with affection. “Such a talented, brilliant, and oh-so-handsome teacher. How did the world get so lucky?”
He squeezed himself tighter, swaying side to side as if he were caught up in a whirlwind romance with his own reflection. The scene was utterly ridiculous, but it was pure Gojo—entirely over-the-top, irreverent, and designed to provoke a reaction.
My psyche profile of the strongest sorcerer of modern turned was almost complete. In the few months I had spent in the Gojo compound, I had many things about Gojo Satoru. He was very playful. There was always an upbeat, comical air around him, like he found a lot of things funny. But then, when you have infinity between you and the world, everything seems a bit comical. It wasn’t just that nothing could touch him physically; it was like nothing could really reach him on an emotional level either. Everything seemed to lack weight, like it was all part of some cosmic joke that only he truly understood.
I sidestepped his antics, nudging the door to my quarters open before stepping through. The sparring was over, and my body craved a good wash to cleanse the grime of battle. But just as I was about to dismiss everything in the sanctuary of my quarters, my arm betrayed me, a sudden spasm rippling through the muscles.
Of course, he noticed. Those eyes of his, even blindfolded, rarely missed anything.
“What you did wasn’t smart,” Gojo’s voice cut through the room, a hint of reprimand layered in his usual nonchalance. “Touching the explosion... I mean, why would you even do that in the first place when you can use your knockoff Limitless?”
And there it was again. He kept calling my Deva Path a knockoff Limitless. It didn’t matter that I’d told him a hundred times it was different. To him, it was just another copycat technique that manages to touch infinity.
“I needed to touch it to absorb it with my Preta Path,” I explained, keeping my voice even, though I was getting weary of this conversation already. Gojo wasn’t one to let things go easily.
He reached out, grabbing my hand before I could pull it away. His touch was clinical, assessing, as if he could see right through my skin to the damage beneath.
“Well, now you have microfractures from your carpals to your radius,” he noted.
I pulled my hand back, shaking my head. “It’s nothing,” I replied, letting my cursed energy flow to my hand, making it glow with the soft light of healing. The fractures sealed themselves almost instantly, and the pain faded.
Gojo’s lips twitched into a grin. “You know, even I had trouble learning Reversed Cursed Technique. But you just breezed through it, straight to Cursed Technique Reversal.”
Was that pride I heard in his voice?
He paused, sounding…. almost serious in his tone, a rare moment of sincerity. “Your cursed energy control is your greatest strength, Nagato. Greater than even mine.”
“Never forget that.”
For a moment, the weight of his words hung between us, tangible in a way few things ever were with Gojo. Then, as quickly as it came, the seriousness vanished, replaced by that familiar, carefree smirk.
“But don’t let it go to your head,” he teased, leaning back with a laugh. “You still haven’t beat me.”
“Tch.” For a moment, he almost sounded normal. Like an actual teacher, not the airhead who’s slammed me into the dirt every single time we’ve sparred. Every. Single. Time.
Gojo loved to poke and prod at every facet of the Rinnegan, and honestly, I was grateful for it. The relentless pressure had pushed me to grow faster, to adapt in ways I never thought possible. But it was still fucking infuriating to lose to the same guy over and over. No matter how clever I got, no matter how many times I twisted the paths or bent the rules, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. He’d let me think I was on the verge of victory, that maybe this time I’d get the drop on him. And then, with a smirk, he’d shatter that illusion, leaving me in the dust—again. Afterward, he’d calmly explain what I could have done better.
While I hadn’t gotten a single win against him, it was a different story with the other members of the Gojo clan. Constantly sparring against the strongest sorcerer of modern times had put me far ahead of sorcerers older and more experienced than I was. I hadn’t tasted defeat since—except against Gojo Satoru.
I moved around my quarters, trying to shake off the lingering frustration. I grabbed a towel, slinging it over my shoulder as I rifled through my closet for a fresh shirt. Gojo watched me from the doorway, leaning against the frame with that familiar smirk playing on his lips. His eyes—those damned eyes, hidden behind that blindfold—followed my every move, like he was reading my mind, unraveling my thoughts with the ease of someone who knew too much
“However, the elders think you’re ready, and I agree with them,” he said, his voice deceptively light, as if he were commenting on something trivial.
The elders. That was a whole other layer to Gojo I hadn’t expected. He actually listened to them. He didn’t always do what they wanted, but he valued their counsel. It was a far cry from the reckless image I’d built of him. When I’d asked why, he’d simply said, “The jujutsu world is bigger than you think, Nagato.”
Whatever that meant—
I paused, my hand still in the air, shirt half-hanging as I slowly turned to face him. The weight of his words was starting to sink in.
“You mean—” I began, but he cut me off, his grin widening as he tossed a bundle at me.
“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice a mix of playfulness and something deeper. “Starting tomorrow, you’re officially a student of the Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High.”
I caught the bundle, feeling the fabric slip through my fingers as I unfolded it. A uniform. Blue and immediately recognizable. My uniform.
“Finally,” I breathed, the word escaping before I could think better of it.
It was official now. All the endless hours of training, the bruises, the broken bones, the moments when I thought I might actually die—they had led to this.
But it wasn’t the uniform or the title that had me grinning like an idiot. It wasn’t even the idea of finally stepping into the role of a student at the Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High. No, it was what this meant.
Missions.
The thought made my pulse quicken, what made my blood hum with a newfound intensity
“You look like you just won the lottery,” Gojo remarked, his tone laced with amusement.
I glanced up at him, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “I know what this means,” I said, barely able to keep the grin off my face.
“Do you now?” He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. “And what’s that?”
“Missions,” I replied, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I said the word out loud. “Real ones. Not just sparring or training. Actual missions.”
Gojo’s smirk widened, a glint of approval in his eyes, though it was buried under layers of his usual playful demeanor. “Ah, so that’s what you’re excited about,” he said, almost as if he’d expected something else. But then his expression shifted, becoming just a touch more serious.
“Good. Because missions are where you’ll learn the most. Where you’ll see what being a jujutsu sorcerer really means. And I hope that after your first mission, you’ll be able to answer this question for me,” he said, his voice steady, eyes locked on mine despite the blindfold. “What is your motivation behind becoming a jujutsu sorcerer?”
____________________________________
Steel clashed against steel in the early morning light, the sound echoing through the empty courtyard like the crack of a whip.
Toge Inumaki gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing to the woman in front of him, the one who was currently making him regret ever picking up a pair of daggers.
Maki moved with the fluidity of a predator, her naginata a blur of silver and wood as she pressed the attack. He parried her strikes as best he could, but each blow sent a shockwave up his arms, the bruises already forming under his sleeves.
He was fast, but Maki was faster. And stronger. Her blows had the weight of a sledgehammer behind them, cratering the ground where they missed. Toge could only dart and weave, his daggers flashing out in desperate retaliation. But they were like toothpicks against a battering ram. He had to get in close, inside her guard, but every time he tried, she was ready, her naginata sweeping out in a wide arc that forced him back on the defensive.
Why had he chosen daggers? A weapon with such short reach against Maki was practically suicide. But he was stubborn, and he liked a challenge. The problem was, this challenge had quickly turned into a nightmare. Every step was calculated, every breath timed to the rhythm of her strikes. And still, she was overwhelming him. Of course, they weren’t serious. Maki was holding back, controlling her blows, while he kept his cursed speech silent, but even so, her raw physicality was unmatched. This was her arena, and she dominated it.
Toge’s feet skidded on the ground as he narrowly avoided another swing, the wind of the blow whipping past his face. He countered with a rapid series of slashes, trying to find an opening, but Maki deflected each one with infuriating ease, her eyes sharp, her movements precise. His arms ached, the impact of her strikes reverberating through his bones. He needed to find a way in, to turn the tide, but she gave him no quarter, her naginata a constant, relentless force.
Then, without warning, a voice broke through the steady rhythm of their spar.
“Hello.”
The word was calm, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through Toge. Maki reacted instantly, spinning on her heel, her naginata already in motion. Toge’s heart leaped into his throat as he caught sight of the figure—a red-haired boy standing at the edge of the courtyard. There was no time to think. Maki’s weapon hurtled toward the intruder with deadly precision, and Toge was already planning how to get the boy to Shoko, his mind racing with the consequences of a fatal mistake.
But the impact never came.
Instead, the naginata stopped short, as if it had struck an invisible wall. The wooden shaft splintered with a sharp crack, the force of the collision reverberating through the air. Toge’s eyes widened in shock, his thoughts grinding to a halt as he tried to process what had just happened. The weapon hadn’t hit the boy; it had hit something in front of him, something unseen. An invisible barrier, perhaps, or something else entirely.
The boy stood unharmed, calm, as if this was all perfectly normal. Toge’s grip tightened on his daggers, his mind racing to understand what he was seeing. Maki’s stance had shifted, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene,
The broken ends of Maki’s naginata clattered to the ground, the sound unnervingly loud in the sudden silence. Toge’s eyes darted to the boy standing before them, taking in every detail. The red-haired kid had the nerve to look calm, almost nonchalant, despite the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.
Then his strangely metallic purple eyes gleamed with a menacing light, while he reached behind him. Toge tensed, his muscles coiling like springs, prepared for the inevitable counterattack. Maki shifted as well, her stance solidifying, ready to strike.
But then, instead of drawing a weapon or preparing a curse, the boy did something completely unexpected. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder, a simple, almost lazy movement that caught Toge off guard. How had he missed that? The bag was plain, nondescript, and the boxes at the boy’s feet seemed just as ordinary. But the situation was anything but.
“Sorry for startling you,” the boy said casually, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. Like he hadn’t just deflected a lethal weapon with nothing more than an invisible force. Like he hadn’t just turned their world upside down in a matter of seconds.
Maki wasn’t just strong—she was a beast. Toge knew her stats. He had seen the file, the one that labeled her physical abilities as firmly A+. Strength, speed, perception—it was all there. On missions, she was always the first to notice a curse, her senses dialed up to an absurd degree. Maki Zenin was no ordinary sorcerer. The only person who had ever gotten the drop on her like this was Gojo-sensei himself.
And yet, here was this boy, this first-year, who had done it effortlessly.
“I was just wondering where Dorm B was. I’m kinda lost, you see,” the boy continued, his tone so casual it was almost insulting. Toge’s mind raced, trying to reconcile the dangerous presence in front of him with the boy’s harmless words.
He hesitated for a moment before pointing at the building behind the courtyard. The boy followed the direction with his eyes, then nodded in thanks. “Thank you.”
Without another word, he bent down, picked up the boxes at his feet, and began to walk around them, heading toward the edge of the courtyard. Toge watched him go, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding, but not completely. This kid was something else.
“Hey, kid,” Maki finally spoke up, her voice carrying an edge that made Toge glance at her. “What’s your name?”
The boy paused, turning slightly to look over his shoulder. “Nagato. Nagato Uzumaki. First-year student. Pleased to meet you.”
Maki’s response was almost a grin, but there was nothing friendly about it. Her fangs were bared, an aggressive display that spoke volumes. She wasn’t just irritated—she was furious. And Toge knew why. This first-year had gotten the drop on her, and Maki Zenin did not take kindly to being outclassed.
“Maki, second year,” she replied, her voice carrying that dangerous edge. Toge could feel the air crackling with unspoken tension between them.
Then, just as suddenly as the tension had built, the boy’s eyes widened in what seemed like genuine surprise. He spun on his heel, bowing repeatedly at the waist, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Ano, I’m so sorry! I had no idea you were my senpais!” he blurted out, still bowing furiously.
Toge sweatdropped, the shift in the boy’s demeanor so jarring that it left him momentarily stunned. Was this really the same person who had just casually deflected Maki’s weapon? The same one who had stood there with those cold, gleaming eyes?
Maki’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring in her gaze. But she didn’t move, didn’t press the issue, as the boy straightened up, his face a mixture of bashfulness and respect.
The boy only smiled, his previous menace completely vanished.
“Thank you again,” Nagato said with a final bow before continuing on his way, the tension following him like a shadow as he disappeared from view.
Toge watched him go, a million thoughts racing through his mind. Whoever this boy was, he wasn’t just another student. He was dangerous—potentially even more dangerous than he let on. And Toge wondered that would mean for the future.
