Chapter Text
Ryoka Gojo drank deeply from a paper-wrapped bottle before grinding its base firmly into the sand. She turned her attention once more to her nearly completed canvas, eyeing it critically until the rush of liquor on an empty stomach quickly clouded her mind. Restraint faded, allowing creative freedom to guide her brush in not only capturing the mere look of the ocean's waves, but somehow the subtle kiss of wind upon her exposed sun-tanned skin and heavy humidity that made her paperwhite hair damp.
Only when the sun's rays were quenched beneath the sea did she finally pack her supplies and head to her hostel.
"Another one?" Jimena asked from a bed two over.
"It's nothing special." Ryoka slid the canvas under her own alongside the others before flopping onto a mess of sheets. The thatch ceiling suddenly seemed very interesting in her drunken state. "I think I'm going to die of heatstroke."
"You say that every day. It's because you're too white."
Ryoka glanced at her skin. "I don't know; I think I've tanned nicely since coming here."
"Your skin gets darker but your hair only gets whiter." Ryoka cracked open her eyes to look at Jimena with an exaggerated stare. The Guatemalan laughed and held up her hands to block her gaze. "And your eyes stay creepy."
Ryoka hummed in amusement. At least Satoru could cover his gaze with cloths and glasses and see just fine. She wished she could do the same to reduce the number of comments about her eyes from total strangers. Still, even lacking the limitless perception of her brother, she managed well enough on her own through these past five years of solo traveling across the world.
Satoru. What was he doing these days? At least a year passed since they'd spoken last, and it's been far longer since they saw one another. They were closer as children, not so much as adults. She had a decent enough supply of cursed energy, and if she wanted to she could be a half decent sorcerer, but nothing she could accomplish the Jujutsu world would ever compare to Satoru--so why bother?
What does one do when they are the family disappointment? They run away. All the way to Mexico in her case.
"Up for tacos, blanquita?"
"Maybe--are you buying? This bitch is broke." Ryoka could always call her parents for more money. Even though they didn't agree with her nomadic lifestyle, they were at least willing to support her in some capacity to ensure their only daughter wasn't homeless.
"Deal."
Ryoka didn't bother changing out of her swimsuit. It wasn't like she had any clean clothes anyway; she certainly looked the part of a starving artist/beach bum in a black bikini top and bottoms, crusty flip-flops and long wavy hair with a few mats that used to be braids years ago. Ryoka adjusted the purse belted to her waist that contained the only items she didn't dare to leave at the hostel: an ID and cell phone.
"You smell like booze," Jimena teased dryly down the orange tiled stairwell. Cobwebs clung to the plastered ceiling.
"I perhaps got a little too into my painting," Ryoka yawned. "Nothing a few tacos won't fix." Her eyelids felt heavy from drink—she definitely overdid it.
A purple van with heavy black window tint and open doors idled just past the double wrought iron doors. Two men leaned against the wall smoking a cigarette. Just as Ryoka was about to brush past one, he flicked it to the ground and grabbed her so quickly so had little time to react. A cloth shoved into her face made her instinctively gasp, but that gasp only drew the fumes into her system and caused her head to swim. The last thing Ryoka saw was Jimena blowing her a kiss as she was loaded into the van like a dead carcass.
Ryoka couldn't tell how much time passed when she awoke. Minutes? Hours? Glancing out the van's windows and judging by the lack of buildings passing by them, it was at least enough time to travel somewhat out of the city and into more rural territory. The two men from earlier, one younger with short cropped hair and a scar on his chin, and an older one with protruding bags under his eyes and yellow teeth rode in the back with her. The handle for the van's back double doors dug painfully into her back.
"Hi blanca," the younger one leered. "Aren't you a pretty one."
"You're going to make us nice and rich."
Ryoka struggled. Her hands, bound together at her front, were near useless. "My family has money. They'll pay you whatever you want.”
"Everyone knows the Gojo family has money. You're going to call your parents, now, and have them transfer us a lump sum. Try anything funny," the older man pulled out a revolver, "and I'll shoot you in your pretty fucking face."
He shoved her phone into her hands She hesitated before dialing; it would not be her parents she called. No. If these people knew of her family but not what her brother was capable of, then they were low-level idiots in the Jujutsu world or just plain idiots. Whatever happened from the moment she called Satoru was going to turn out badly—probably for them more so than her.
It rang long enough she broke out in a thin sheen of sweat, nearly ready to give up hope of him answering, but on the second to last ring his chipper voice finally came across the other line. She nearly cried in relief at his stupid blindfolded face. "Ryoka-poka! Long time no chat! I have a student with me, say hi Yuji—"
"I'm in trouble," She cut him off. The waiver in her voice alone spoke for itself. Before she could speak again, the younger man snatched the phone from her hand while the older one placed the barrel of the gun against her temple.
"Listen carefully," the younger man seethed. He moved the phone so Satoru could see Ryoka's desperate situation. Her brother tore the blindfold off his face just as her captor moved the phone in front of his own.
Satoru's perception was limited with the use of a mask. But when his eyes viewed the world unobstructed, they saw everything, everywhere, all at the same time. Including...
"By tomorrow evening, you're going to transfer ten mill—"
"What is that?" The driver shouted. The vehicle abruptly braked and swerved. Ryoka caught a glimpse of Satoru alongside a stranger standing in the middle of the road just ahead right before everyone inside was tossed, violently, as little more than ragdolls. Ryoka flew forward, her head encountering the windshield with a sickening crack, before her body abruptly changed course again as the van rolled over and over. Amidst the chaos and crunching metal, a gunshot caused Ryoka's ears to ring terribly and stomach to burn like fire.
Ryoka was halfway ejected from a window during the course of the rolling. Time and spaced slowed down to a crawl. In only a second, two tons of metal would slam down and crush her entire lower half, likely severing it.
She braced from the death that never came. A young man with strawberry blond hair seemingly appeared from nowhere and bore the entire weight of the car, halting it. With a grunt and massive heave, he righted it upon its wheels and slid Ryoka's trapped lower half out of the window.
"I got her Gojo!" He shouted as he laid her on the ground. Ryoka didn't feel a significant amount of pain, but she could tell she sustained serious injuries from head to toe. Her savior realized this too. "Uh, Gojo?"
Strange wetness trickled down her sides and pooled behind her back. Ryoka wanted to lift a hand to touch it, but her arm felt useless to her. She was able to turn her head just enough to see it bent at a contorted angle.
Satoru appeared at her side and pressed his palm firmly into her stomach. The pain was excruciating. Ryoka's ragged breathing could only groan. "Yuji, stay here, I'm going to take her to a hospital."
"What about Sukuna?" Yuji replied. Ryoka's dull eyes starred up at his face. She must be hallucinating, she thought, as a single eye and smiling mouth appeared on the young man’s cheek.
"Sukuna's a curse, Yuji," Satoru said sharply. "He won't lift a finger. Now help me lift her."
"I'll help," the mouth spoke. "I'll help if you beg."
Satoru stared at Yuji. Ryoka's vision swam and she felt significantly more lightheaded. She slipped further into darkness and held onto her brother's hand for comfort. "Satoru..." A tear rolled down her cheek. There was so much she suddenly needed to say to him. So many apologies for being the unruly younger sister. The trouble maker. The failure.
Satoru's jaw clenched. "Then do it."
"I don't hear any begging."
"Please, Sukuna. I beg of you. Save her, now!"
"It feels good seeing Satoru Gojo beg. I could get used to this."
"Damnit!" Satoru exploded. "Heal her! Please!"
Ryoka could hold on for no longer. And yet, in the moment before darkness won entirely, she could have sworn she looked into eyes of blood red.