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A servant brings in a complimentary tea tray. No sugar is on it, however, so Gojo automatically starts making his way through the baked goods.
"We are sorry," one of the Zen'in messenger boys says blandly, eyeing the scone Gojo pops into his mouth whole. "We hope you understand."
”Yup.”
”If you change your mind about her enrollment, I’m sure we can entertain an appeal.”
"Yeah, yeah." Gojo picks up the stack of papers. Does a customary flip through, even though no one ever reads the fine print. Turns it back to the front. Selects another cookie. The representatives from the Zen'in clan curl their lips and narrow their eyes, not bothering to conceal their disgust. When they don't continue, he leans back and arches a brow, taking the effort to swallow before he speaks. "That all?"
The papers get tucked under his armpit, forgotten on the dashboard, retrieved by Ijichi, and handed off unceremoniously to Principal Yaga, who takes a look at the first line of the first form—"Notice to Terminate All Financial Contributions from the Zen'in Clan to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, Effective Immediately"—and sighs.
"Did you even try to fight them on this?" Yaga asks.
"Nah," Gojo says.
"Did you at least read the fine print?" Yaga presses.
"Are you supposed to?" Gojo asks back, genuinely curious.
Maybe he should've, because the entire campus wakes up to the sound of construction the next morning. By the time he changes out of his pajama set and brushes his teeth, one of the training centers is entirely gone. So is the basketball court. The row of tulips planted by the path up to the dormitories? Mowed over.
"This is just petty," Gojo complains to one of the construction men once his brain pieces together what's happening. "There's no way the Zen'in were behind those tulips."
They start plowing over the lilies anyway, casting cautious looks over their shoulders at the white-haired freak looming over their shoulders. Gojo stares down at them. When that doesn’t work, he flicks his fingers and sends a chainsaw flying into a wheelbarrow. They get the hint and start begrudgingly packing up.
"Gojo-Sensei!" Angry students emerge from the dorms in various states of disarray. Megumi's hair is so prickly, Gojo has to shove his hands into his pockets to stop himself from poking it.
"Hey kids!" Gojo calls sunnily. "Do you like eating breakfast?"
"Yes!" Yuuji shouts.
Gojo claps his hands. He points to a building that is still intact. "Well, your dear sensei managed to save your cafeteria!"
"Not the basketball court though," Panda mutters mournfully, glancing at the torn net poking out from a pile of rubble in the distance. Well, you can't have everything.
"What happened?" Megumi demands, because he's annoying and asks hard questions.
"Little renovations," Gojo says breezily. He shoos the kids away towards the dorms. "Go have breakfast or something."
As everyone's shuffling away, he frowns at the mess around him.
It'll cost to replace all the missing facilities, but there's that nice vacation villa in Milan he could liquidate if his bank account doesn't cover it. He could pay for faster service with his penthouse in New York City if the villa isn't enough. He might have to hire some money guy, or beg Nanami for help with all the transaction stuff, but the funds are all there. It's all just very inconvenient.
His gaze flickers over to Maki. She and Panda are playing a very dangerous game of catch with a chunk of a building.
The students Gojo's taken on have always been a point of contention, and the Zen'in have always been very vocal about their dissatisfaction with Gojo's position. Megumi's attendance managed to soothe tensions for a while, until the clan finally started acknowledging that he wouldn’t change his last name, legal guardian, or decision to stay the fuck away from them. It was nice while it lasted.
Maki's continued advancement as a sorcerer was just the last straw on the very, very, fragile camel's back of Jujutsu Tech and Zen’in relations since Gojo started teaching.
It may partially be his fault for trying to call their bluff on this one. Maybe he shouldn't have been so mean to that one suit, left the thinly veiled hostility out of monthly reports. Whatever. He kicks an upturned tulip away from the path, whistling. For some people, spite was the greatest motivator.
"Hey Maki," Gojo sings, warping down the path and slinging an arm around her shoulder. She scowls, ducking away. He grins. "What do you think about some one-on-one training later?"
——
31 minutes and 14 seconds. Gojo marks it down in his notes app and shouts the numbers upwards. Maki descends through an opening on the second floor a moment later, sword gleaming with blood. She flicks a piece of viscera off her elbow and tosses her hair out of her face.
"Not bad," she says, wiping her glasses on the hem of her shirt. "How many curses was that?"
"I detected...hm. Sixteen, maybe?"
"Nothing above a Grade Two though. I could've been quicker."
"Maki," he admonishes, pretending to be scandalized. "Are you fishing for compliments right now?"
"I would never," Maki sniffs, busying herself with cleaning the blood off her blade. "Not from you, at least."
Ouch. There's an awkward silence. Honestly, he was expecting her to take upwards of an hour—maybe he'd even pause the massacre for a quick tip, or a demonstration—but she had torn through everything with a vengeance. This building had been the only cursed site he's marked down. He didn't really think this through, so he rocks back and forth on his feet, waiting for her to finish polishing and honing. If he's being entirely truthful, he doesn't exactly know what to do with her.
"I'm waiting for you to take me to the next part of my training," Maki says finally, blunt. Her sword, on the other hand, is very sharp and shiny.
"I thought we could use a break," Gojo lies. He stretches demonstratively. His back cracks, which is mortifying, but at least it helps his case. "Wanna get some ice cream?"
"So you don't have anything else for me to do."
"...Wanna go back to campus?"
She huffs into the backseat. Ijichi gives him a wary look, but Gojo's pulled up his notes app again, staring at the numbers. 31 minutes and 14 seconds. She was right that there wasn't been anything more than a Grade Two in that abandoned building, but that number of exorcisms in that timeframe places her squarely above many older sorcerers in their area. Above many sorcerers in general, even. She has the right mindset too, the right balance between compassion and logic.
He smiles wryly. It's really a shame that he can't take credit for any of her progress.
The students are gathered at the remaining training center when he returns from a quick mission to Shanghai. Sometimes the second and first years want to practice separately, but now the latter group is subjected to bullying in the name of "warm-ups". This field is the one with a big hole in the middle—courtesy of a second-year Hakari on four Red Bulls—and that is where Megumi's body lands.
"Go Maki-senpai!" Nobara hollers from next to Gojo on the bleachers. She was another victim a few minutes earlier, but you'd never be able to tell based on her glee. "Beat his ass!"
Maki does a little wave that drives Nobara nuts before pulling her disgruntled junior out of the pit. Gojo hears bits of their conversation and learns that Megumi has a habit of squaring his shoulders ever-so-slightly when he's going in for a slash, letting her read him like a book. He's honestly never noticed.
They shake hands. Gojo eyes the two of them as Maki glances around for her next challenger.
Megumi might be Toji's flesh and blood, but he's reserved and mild-mannered enough for Gojo to look at him without seeing his asshole of a dad. Maki, however, is his very reincarnation. She walks around with the same chip on her shoulder, the same brutal skill set. He sees all of it when she and Yuuji take their places. He watches the flash of a blade in her hands and has to remind himself that it's made of wood.
"She's so cool," Nobara sighs to no one in particular. "Do you know how much she trains? Look at the size of her arms."
It is dangerous to answer any questions from Nobara about Maki, so Gojo just hums and watches the match. Yuuji's strong, but he's a brawler at heart; his movements with the training staff are clumsy. Maki knocks it clean out of his hand within seconds. She fixes his grip and stance—both too close together—and they go again. Yuuji lasts twice as long that time. That makes him the last in a long line of students trained by her.
As much as Gojo would like to think he's the result of his students' success, him trying to teach Maki how to swing a polearm would be the same thing as her trying to teach him how to manage his cursed energy. She had come to Jujutsu Tech with a burning need for comeuppance and a penchant for stabbing things already.
He can't blame her. When Gojo finally took a ten year old Megumi to visit the clan, they had an experience so bad it finally gave them something worth bonding over. Even Toji, a colossal deadbeat, bothered to try to stop his kid from being sold to them. That was the kind of environment Maki lived in until she could enroll. That was the environment that bred her and Toji's strength.
A third match ends; Yuuji picks his face up from the dirt. Maki offers a hand, baring her teeth in a grin.
It's really a shame they've held off on her promotion for so long.
——
The mission calls for at least a Grade Two sorcerer. When Gojo confirms that both Toge and Megumi are booked and busy, Yaga tests the weight of the clipboard in his hand as if he's wondering how far he could chuck it.
"Do they think Grade Two sorcerers grow on trees?" Yaga grumbles.
A vaguely horrible idea is taking root in Gojo's head. He wonders if it's against protocol, then decides to play it safe and just not ask. "I'll take care of it," he says cheerfully, plucking the report from Yaga's hands. He gives him a jaunty little wave and strides out before he could be stopped.
He sees Maki fishing a soda out from the vending machine, so he waits for her to pop the tab and take a sip before warping down the path. She spits cherry cola all over his Infinity.
"Whoops,” Gojo says. He tosses the clipboard at her. "Hope this makes up for it."
The point of interest is an old antique shop, abandoned after the old owner passed away from illness. Three teenagers tried to vandalize the place a while ago, and their bodies were found the next day, limbs bitten off. Other than the brutality of the deaths, there were no unusual details, no extra side effects. It's a small area too. A perfect open and shut case.
"I think this is against protocol," Maki says when she realizes what Gojo was suggesting. "I'm a whole two grades less than this thing. I've never even done a solo mission before."
"I'll be in the area," Gojo shrugs. He reaches for the clipboard. "But, if you really don't wanna, I guess—"
"Wait wait wait," Maki yelps, holding it to her chest. "I never said I wouldn't do it."
So he arranges a car. They set out early next morning, Maki armed with at least eight different weapons that jingle cheerfully with every step. Gojo waves goodbye like he's sending her off to school.
And she does do it. She does it in 18 minutes and 14 seconds, to be precise. Gojo started the timer just for kicks the moment the veil was put up, and he returns just in time, lemonade in hand, to see it disappear as the curse was exorcised. Maki saunters out, bloody but pleased.
Her grin stretches even farther when Gojo tells her the time. "Pretty decent," he whistles.
She eyes his lemonade. Whoops. He got it for himself, but how many sips has he had? Two? Three? Ten? He hands it off, and she only leaves him hanging for a few seconds before returning his high-five.
Their little escapade was technically classified as a training mission—he texted Maki "u ok?" during the twenty minute mark, which counts as supervising in his book—but Gojo makes sure to carefully note that he did not have to intervene at all. He even includes her time in the comments section for shits and giggles. He draws a little heart at the end of his signature, realizes that might've been a little much, but sends it off anyways.
Fortunately for Gojo, the response to the report was easy to intercept; Ijichi didn't even fight back this time as Gojo snatched the envelope out of his hands and ran away. Gojo dreads the day the elders find out about e-mail.
He opens it on the bleachers, swinging his legs happily. The Zen'in are predictably peeved. They threaten a few more things in the letter, such as removal of the duck pond on campus—which he didn't even know they had—and of Maki from the school grounds—which he'd like to see them try. Gojo has a good chuckle as he imagines wrinkly faces contorted in anger.
He shows it to Maki, expecting her to laugh with him. Maki stares at it, face blank.
"So the Zen'in withdrew their funding because of me," she says finally, voice flat.
Gojo's smile falters a bit. Shit. He could lie and blame it on Yaga, maybe? Or Megumi? Whose affections could he buy back easier? "Annoying old assholes," he deflects instead, chipper. "We'll get that stuff rebuilt in a heartbeat."
"I wish they'd leave me alone," she says, voice tight, ignoring his consolations. The heel of her boot goes tap tap tap angrily against the metal of the bleachers. An ugly clanging sound echoes through the training ground. "God, I hate them so much. They didn't have to bring everyone else into it at all."
"Nobody even liked the basketball court," Gojo tries.
"I liked the basketball court," Maki snaps. "And that's not the point, the point is that no matter what I do, I'll never be—" She cuts herself off, jaw clenched. "Whatever. You got the Gojo Clan the moment you were born, so I didn't expect you to get it anyways."
She shoves the letter back at him, standing up. He lets her go, grimacing as her boots thunder away.
——
In both an act of feminism and a bid for forgiveness—giving a teen girl a letter about how much her family hates her was not the student-teacher bonding experience he thought it would be, he realizes later—he pairs Nobara and Maki together for the next mission. Nobara is so happy she almost hugs him. Maki is happy too, but she is also petty, so she only shows her happiness when she thinks he's left.
They come back with wide, slightly sadistic grins on their faces. Ijichi processes the mission report. Everything is good.
——
The moment his shoe touches the floor of Shoko's office, she reaches for her lighter. He takes a seat on the exam table, kicking his legs as he waits for her to finish her cigarette.
"So," she begins after several puffs, which means he's really fucked up this time, "tell me why Kugisaki-san came in here today, wondering why Maki-san is still limping from a mission a week ago."
"...I thought you fixed her injuries?"
She flicks him hard and fast on the forehead. His Infinity traitorously lets her through, even though he has tried many times to train it to see her as a threat. "Severe injuries," she drawls. "Require upkeep. And with the number of fragments her fibula was in, there is a likelihood that my RCT may have not sufficiently melded all of them together. Hence the cast. And the mandatory break period."
The mission wasn't anything out of the ordinary; Gojo wasn't even there when they returned that night. They had continued with lessons and sparring the next day. Physical training began at 9:00, and he made her run ten laps for showing up at 9:08.
"She didn't say anything about her leg," Gojo mumbles. He feels a massive headache coming on. "Shit. I didn't even know she had a cast."
Shoko studies him. Then she puts out her cigarette, crossing over to the file cabinet. She picks out a tan envelope from the top drawer. When it is opened in Gojo's lap, x-rays spill out. Shoko pulls a full body scan from the pile, pops the cap off of a red sharpie, and circles places on the arms, legs, ribs.
"These," she says, tapping each circle, "are old injuries that never got the chance to heal properly. See how the bones are misaligned? This scan's from her last physical, but she had just came from the Zen'in then and—well, you know how they are. If shes not taking care of herself, it could be worse now. She has her Heavenly Restriction, thank goodness, but you need to stop pushing her so hard."
"I'm not pushing her at all," Gojo says testily. His leg bounces against the cot in agitation. "That's all her."
"Well," Shoko continues, pulling out another cigarette. "These injuries are synonymous with sorcerers who are constantly fighting to get stronger. Remember when Megumi insisted on using his broken hand?" The lighter clicks. A flame bursts. She sighs, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Whatever the Zen'in programmed into her, you need to get it out. They're just kids, Satoru, and you're all they have."
Gojo shifts uncomfortably. It feels like he's freshly eighteen again, bringing two kids a dinner of McDonalds a week after he made them orphans. It feels wrong. He still doesn't feel good enough. It shouldn't be him, but it is, nonetheless.
"Bring her back for another checkup," Shoko orders. "I'm going on lunch break."
——
The students get a weekly stipend as a thank you for risking their lives, and most of that money is spent on food. Sorcerers eat a lot, but teenage sorcerers fucking devour everything in their path. Takeout boxes are always stacked high in the trash. The cupboards are always filled with instant noodles, protein bars, and sugary cereal. Calorie intake is taken very seriously.
That means dinner is when she's vulnerable. He's not stupid enough to try to pull Maki away before she finishes, so he idles about in the commons after his bowl of ramen and waits for the kids to finish mowing through their seconds. Maki's sneaky; she's the hardest for him to sense, so he's determined to not let her out of his grasp.
Eventually, everyone splits up. Maki and Nobara are chatting about some TV show as they wash their dishes, and Gojo finally unwinds from his place on the couch.
They turn to stare at him judgmentally.
"Maki!" He says cheerfully, trying to appear less creepy and self-conscious than he feels. These two are cruel together. It’s like when Utahime and Shoko have too many drinks and start making fun of every article of clothing on his body. "Come with me. You're in trouble!”
She stares at him. "No I'm not?"
"Yes you are!"
"No I'm not," she retorts, more confidently, and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something dumb or immature or both back. Children are so fickle and annoying.
"Nobara," he says, turning to the other girl. He'll play dirty if he has to. "Has Shoko showed you Maki's x-rays?"
Nobara looks over the bubbles in the sink. Her eyes narrow dangerously. "Is there something wrong?"
"This is so ridiculous," Maki complains, throwing a dish towel over her shoulder. The plate in her hands looks like a weapon. If she held it up to the ceiling light, maybe he'll go blind with how fucking shiny it is. "If you wanted me to go see Ieiri-san, you could've just asked me to go to the infirmary like a normal person."
"I did," Gojo insists. He thinks so. "Say goodbye to Nobara, come on now."
"Ridiculous," Maki repeats. "We'll watch Love Island later," she calls over her shoulder. "Don't start without me."
The infirmary is in another building, which means it's a bit of a walk. Decomposing tulips make sad disgusting sounds under their shoes as they walk over the grass, neither having much respect for lawn care. After a record eight seconds—he thought she'd do it much sooner, so maybe they've bonded after all—Maki finally turns and frowns.
"I'm not a baby," she tells him. "I can find the infirmary on my own."
"Of course you can," Gojo says cheerfully.
"Stop following me."
"Nah."
"I'm not going if you're stalking me there," Maki says, folding her arms, but she recoils when Gojo wriggles his fingers, threatening to warp her there himself. "Ew. Don't do that, that's so creepy."
"Where's your cast?" Gojo asks instead, trying to slip back into his sensei persona and start being productive. It's not his fault that the Zen'in all have some sort of gene that makes them particularly fun to annoy. "A little birdie told me you've been training on a limp."
"...Was it Nobara?"
Gojo considers covering for her, but she threw him under the bus when he accidentally drank Megumi's boba a few weeks ago. "Yeah." She lets out a sound that was half snort and half sigh. There's a particularly rotten tulip near his foot, so he takes a careful sidestep before he continues. "You hid it pretty well though, I'm impressed."
"I've had way worse," Maki scoffs flippantly, and Gojo's smile gets a dangerous edge. "This wasn’t bad at all."
"I'll be the one to decide whether it's serious or not."
They're at the infirmary now. She glances over her shoulder, one foot through the open doorway, squinting at him like they're at opposite ends of a bridge and she can't see his face or what the fuck his point is. "No offense, but since when did you care about the way I did things?"
He senses Shoko's cursed energy shifting from inside the room before she even sticks her head out. "What did you say to her?" she asks tiredly. There's a cigarette idling between her fingers, and their conversation would decide whether it ends up in her mouth or not.
"I don't even know," Maki grumbles.
"I was telling her that she needs to take better care of her injuries," Gojo defends.
"You literally did not say that."
"It was implied."
Maki rubs her temples. "Okay, but why. You're being all weird and friendly. Is it to get back at the Zen'in or something after they stole our training center, because—"
"Maki-san, you're very talented," Shoko interrupts. "You don't need to push yourself so hard. Did he tell you that?"
"No?"
"Satoru."
"It was implied!"
"No it wasn't," Maki sighs. She pauses. "But really?"
"I thought you didn't want to fish compliments from me.”
"I don't," she insists, but she suddenly starts studying the doorway instead of meeting his blindfold.
Gojo looks at her and suddenly, finally, gets it, because this is like when Tsumiki told him that she could just wear more layers so he didn't have to spend money on a coat, or when Megumi told him to not bother going to the fifth grade graduation because they didn’t have cake. He nearly laughs at how obvious it was. Maybe he should write a guide to shaman parenting at this point. He throws an arm around her shoulders and ruffles her hair.
"Aww," he coos over her squawking. "Okay, fine! Yes, yes, you're very talented, way more than what your shit family gives you credit for. So lighten up! Train less, live more! If I had to rank you myself...hm. Maybe Grade One?"
Maki stops trying to kill him. “That's a big jump from four," she mumbles finally from under his arm.
He flaps his hand dismissively. "Leave it to your excellent teacher to figure out the logistics. We might have to pay a higher-up off, but lucky for you I'm loaded!"
"…Mfamks," Maki’s voice says after a moment. She half-heartedly taps his arm three times. When she wrangles herself out of his grasp, she makes a big show of gasping for air and straightening her glasses. Her face is pink. “But that was so unnecessary.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo dismisses. “You’re strong, I know, but it’s still good to hear it, ya know? Just don’t get a big head about it now.”
“Says you.” She frowns at him, but it’s half-hearted. And it’s hard to take her seriously when her ponytail is smushed to the side. “Also, I was talking about the headlock.”
“Can I have Maki-san for her appointment now?” Shoko complains, but her lips are quirked up at the edges. The cigarette sits between them, unlit.
——
A bead of sweat gathers on Ijichi’s forehead. “Gojo-san,” he says, staring at the Excel sheet. His eyes burn into the little cells holding very large amounts of yen. “The numbers aren’t adding up. I don’t think you are only 1,670% over your monthly budget, it simply doesn’t make sense.”
That’s news. Gojo sits up, raising an eyebrow. “Really? It’s not like Megumi to mess up his math homework.”
“No,” Ijichi says, suffering. “No, his math is correct. You just forgot to account for the replacement of the basketball court.”