Chapter Text
The crumbling remains of a dubiously grade one curse— the barest application of red was more than enough to best it; sometimes he questions the higher-ups’ ability to gauge this sort of thing— are still lingering in the air when Satoru turns his attention to the strange twist of cursed energy that he’s been aware of for the last twenty minutes or so.
The swirling mass of energy had appeared while he was tracking the troublesome curse down, a task more tedious than difficult, as he’d been able to easily follow its location but had needed to get closer to avoid excess property damage.
The tree he’d cornered the curse against chooses that moment to splinter with a truly horrible sound and crashes to the ground, shedding branches and leaves across the footpath.
Whoops.
Eh, whatever, it's not like this park is particularly high traffic anyway, popular only for one of those kitschy tourist bridges where young lovers attach a lock to symbolise their devotion. He’s always found those to be more of an eyesore than anything.
(As if something as fragile as a lock could make someone stay.)
Come morning, the public will likely chalk the damage up to the tree getting old, or the weather, or something like that. The curtain that still lingers will prevent anyone from noticing until he’s gone anyway.
Well, anyone aside from the source of his curiosity.
Satoru senses the cursed energy flare when the tree falls. It’s not strong, not that much can be considered strong in comparison to himself, but the way it coils and curls around itself is odd.
It’s not a curse either, that much is obvious, nor is it a normal person— the flow is much more indicative of a sorcerer, as strange as it is.
He tilts his head, considering.
Dust and leaves stir when he finally allows his feet to touch the ground, scattering further as Infinity brushes the debris aside as he strolls down the footpath toward the touristy bridge.
A handful of other trees and the cluttered chain link of the bridge stand between him and his target, though they mean little to his Six Eyes. What he sees through them doesn’t make a lot of sense, however.
There are two children standing at the far side of the bridge.
And, see, cursed energy usually sits in a concentrated coil within a person’s body, pooling in their abdomen and either spilling out— in the case of non-sorcerers— or clinging tightly around them— in the case of sorcerers.
Neither of these things is happening to these children. Instead, the cursed energy of one flows from their center outward in an unbroken wave, twisting back toward the other where it turns within them for a moment before continuing the loop back to the first.
There is no discernable difference between the cursed energy of either child. It’s a continuous stream between them. A loop with a twist at the center where it bends past itself.
It makes an infinity symbol between their bodies.
(Something about the energy is almost familiar, though he’s never seen anything like this before.)
“What…” He starts to say, taking a step forward onto the bridge to ask these weird children what is going on with their cursed energy, if they even know.
The second his foot touches the metal floor of the bridge the cursed energy flares brighter in the child on the right, the nature of it changing in a way that makes his heart rabbit in his chest.
(It’s not–)
The air splits in a poor rendition of a mouth and something Satoru had been convinced he’d never see again drags itself into reality.
The iridescent hide of Rainbow Dragon curls around the children, pausing long enough for them to drag themselves onto it’s head before it whisks them away into the sky.
Left standing below, more than capable of either following or stopping the curse before it gets away with the enigma children on its back, Satoru does nothing. He merely watches, unblinking, as they spiral up into the air, further and further away until even his Six Eyes lose track of them.
Residuals permeate the air.
It’s unmistakable.
It’s impossible.
(And yet.)
On the ground at the far edge of the bridge is a small box containing a blister pack of cold and flu medication.
The weird children stay on Satoru’s mind for the entirety of the following week, the unnatural curl of their cursed energy running a loop in his mind while he absently goes through the motions of exorcising curses.
His students have been granted joint training with the second years, encouraging them to learn to adapt to working with sorcerers with different skills and techniques. They’ve been paired up for grade appropriate missions and Satoru finds himself with an annoying abundance of free time between exorcisms to stew in his thoughts.
He hasn’t told anyone about the encounter.
He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to explain why he let two children with what appeared to be a curse manipulation technique leave without doing anything to ascertain their identities. And while that is true, moreover, it’s because if it weren’t for the box of medicine the children had left behind, tainted slightly with cursed energy, he would believe he imagined the whole thing.
(The box is currently rattling around in his pocket, a reminder to himself that he has to do something about the situation.)
Furthering his hesitation to share his discovery is the children’s appearances. He’d like to pretend that he’d been mistaken in the low-light that evening but his eyesight is impeccable. White hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes.
They look unsettlingly like members of his family.
But, well, he’s well aware of the goings-on of the Gojo clan; he knows there aren’t any clan children the right age to be the ones he’d seen. There certainly aren’t any twins.
He definitely doesn’t have children. Or, well, biological children…
He’s not sure if Megumi and Tsumiki really count.
(He’d like to think they do, but that’s not really something he gets to decide on his own.)
Satoru briefly imagines telling Shoko that he’d found two children that look like tiny versions of himself that used curse manipulation— used Suguru’s technique. He can already hear her laughing at him.
It really does seem impossible.
And yet.
Oddly enough, the exorcism he’s been called to— a grade one that turned out to be much closer to special grade than the sorcerer assigned was able to handle— is close to where he’d encountered the children only a handful of days prior.
A flick of his fingers is more than enough to vaporise the curse in question and he’s treated to relieved praise from the sorcerer and the auxiliary manager present. Satoru accepts their gratitude with grace.
He lingers long enough to watch the curtain come down and to turn down an invitation from the sorcerer he’d assisted to go for drinks. As thanks. It’s barely four in the afternoon. Also he doesn’t drink.
It’s a nice gesture, anyway.
“Nah, it’s a nice day,” Satoru grins, ignoring the way the woman glances at the overcast sky, “I might go for a walk.”
“Of course,” She says, “Thank you again for your help, I was definitely in over my head; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been able to come.”
“Sure.” Satoru agrees, still smiling, “You definitely need to put some more work in, small fry like that shouldn’t be that much of a challenge to a grade one sorcerer, right?”
(It’s not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru. A voice echoes quietly in his head.)
“Right. Thanks again.” Her smile tightens into something less friendly.
Well, whatever.
Satoru casts his senses wide, getting his bearings.
“I’m off.” He says, giving one last cocky grin before making a gesture that warps reality around him until his shoes are resting on bare soil rather than the dust and crumbled concrete of the site of the exorcism.
Trees filter the muted light overhead, casting deeper shadows across the patchy grass of the hill he’s dropped himself on. The park from earlier in the week lies below him, in all its sprawling footpaths and poorly maintained flower beds. The tree he’d knocked down is still there, rolled out of the way and taped off with bright yellow ribbon and Caution signs. The bridge rests at the far end of the park, barely visible through the trees from this distance, but crisp in detail to his Six Eyes.
He starts down the hill toward it, thinking he might sniff around for residuals to figure out where the children had come from, if not where they were going.
Before he takes more than a couple steps, however, his attention is drawn to a familiar sight.
Further to his right, at a small playground nestled close to the fence dividing the greenery of the park from the road, is a winding coil of cursed energy looping and looping and looping.
What fortune! Forget following faded trails, they’re here again.
Maybe this time he can talk to them before they run away.
“I don’t know,” One of them is saying as he gets within earshot. She’s standing on the top of the jungle gym, peering into the faded yellow plastic of a curling tube-slide, “It’s not very strong, do you think he’ll even like it?”
They’re at that age where they still have the androgyny of youth, and he’s not immediately certain if they’re little girls, or little boys. He makes a guess that they're girls based on little more than the length of their hair and the fact that one of them is wearing a pink sweater.
(He’s aware neither of those things are exclusively indicative of gender, but that’s the conclusion he draws, regardless.)
“He liked it when we brought him the little one from the corner store,” The other girl replies, looking up into the slide from the bottom, “I’m sure he’ll think this one is cool too.”
Their cursed energy stretches between them, the constant flow unhindered by the distance.
“Maybe he’ll be so happy he feels better?”
“Who feels better?” Satoru echoes, taking his chance to interrupt, “Is someone not feeling well?”
The girl at the bottom of the slide spins to face him when he casually approaches. Her sister stares at him through the railings, a frown in her face.
“Tou-san said we aren’t supposed to talk to you.” The girl in front of him says, smiling up at him. She’s very small. He remembers when Megumi was this small.
“Is that who isn’t feeling well? Your dad?” Satoru pries, crouching so he's on her level. He’d read somewhere at some point that it makes children more comfortable if you don't loom over them. His height makes him very good at looming.
The crunch of pea gravel underfoot signals the arrival of the other twin, not that he’d taken his attention off her for a moment. Her sister holds a hand out without taking her eyes off Satoru, seeming to relax slightly once their hands are clasped.
They really do look like Gojo clan children up close, not that he’s been up close with many. Most of his family don’t see him as a good role model for children. Which is stupid. He’s great. Look how well Megumi turned out!
“We’re not supposed to talk to you.” The new arrival repeats, quieter than her sister, still frowning.
“Ah, that’s not very nice,” Satoru playfully scolds, “I’m just trying to be nice and helpful if someone is feeling sick, no need to be so standoffish.”
Neither child says anything.
Damn, alright then.
“Y’know, that thing you did the other night was pretty cool.”
Still no response. They present a united, silent, tense opposition to his attempts at conversation.
“Riding on Rainbow Dragon?” He continues, “That’s a pretty strong curse…”
He sees recognition in their eyes, familiarity with the name he and Suguru had given the curse a decade ago.
“Where’d you get something like that?”
“We…” One of the girls says, the frowny one, “We’re– Tou-san said we’re not supposed to talk to you.”
“Now that's interesting,” Satoru muses, “Not don’t talk to strangers, you're not supposed to talk to me. I wonder, who’s Tou-san that he doesn’t want you talking to me? I think maybe I want to talk to him.”
The girls look nervous, and possibly a bit angry. Finally getting somewhere.
“Excuse me,” A polite, if stern, voice interrupts their mostly one-sided conversation.
Satoru stands, facing a squat, pretty woman with dark hair and darker eyes.
“It’s all well and good to colour your own hair like that, it’s very pretty,” She says. He allows himself to smile at the compliment, “And I don’t want to tell you how to raise your children, but it's very irresponsible to do the same with your children. Their scalps are much more delicate than an adult's.”
“Woah, excuse me,” Satoru affects mock-offence, “This is all natural, thanks!”
“He’s not our dad.” The smiley twin says, “We don’t know who he is.”
Ah.
“Oh?” The woman says, her expression shifting from scolding to suspicious, “Is that true?”
Lie, lie, lie.
“See, the thing is—”
“So they aren’t your children?” She cuts him off, “Well, what are you doing speaking to them then?”
“He was asking us about Tou-san.” Frowny interjects, unhelpfully.
“And what business do you have with their father?” The lady asks.
Before he’s able to make up something about being a friend of the family, one of the kids says, “He doesn’t even know who Tou-san is, that's why he was asking.”
Shit.
“So you’re a grown man bothering children at a playground about their father despite knowing neither?”
“Uh, see, my… son is about their age and he has trouble making friends so I wanted to see if—”
“Your son? And where is he?”
“... He’s with his mother today?”
“Mhm.” She makes a sceptical sound. While they’ve been speaking, she’s moved herself between him and the kids; if this weren’t such an awkward situation he’d be amused that she thinks she’s capable of preventing him from doing anything. Honestly, props to her for standing up to him; even discounting the fact that he’s a sorcerer, to her he’s still a very large man that she doesn’t know who could pose a very real threat.
“So you’re here at a playground, alone, trying to make friends for your son. Is that right?”
“Yes?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Look, miss,” Satoru says, tired of this and desperate to be freed from this conversation, “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s really nothing like that—”
“And what am I thinking?”
Ugh.
“I’m really not—”
“I’m not above calling the police.” She brandishes a cellphone threateningly, “You’re very suspicious and I don’t trust your story about your son.”
Yeah, no way is Satoru going to deal with regular human cops. Even with the sway his family name holds and the Windows that make up a small but vital portion of the police force it would be a serious pain in the ass to deal with the bureaucracy of it all. Plus then he’d have to explain what he’s really doing here and he doesn’t want to risk the kids or their unknown father catching wind and leaving before he's solved this puzzle.
“Okay, okay!” Satoru puts his hands up in a non-threatening manner, “I’m really not up to anything nefarious, promise, but I get that you’re just being cautious so I’ll leave.” He can always snoop around another time, either for cursed energy residue or for the twins themselves.
“I’ll be telling the other parents about you.” The woman says, resolute, “If anyone sees you back here the police will be contacted; you can explain yourself to them.”
Man, what a pain in the ass. There goes that. He’s going to have to get someone else to help him out here. Maybe Shoko? Women don’t tend to be looked at with this kind of scrutiny. Ah, but then he’d have to explain. Also she’s pretty intimidating in her own right.
What to do, what to do.
“Alright, message received.” He rocks back on his heels, eyes cutting over to the twins for a brief moment. They’re watching him with their wide, pale-blue eyes. The woman steps further between them, blocking his view.
(Except not really, it’s hard to hide anything from the Six Eyes.)
Satoru does leave then, heading back the way he came. The woman’s stare on his back as he retreats is piercing, such that he’s sure he’d feel it even without the Six Eyes. He hears her ask the children if they need help getting home.
He needs to figure out another way to talk to them again, without any overly concerned witnesses.
Satoru makes a face; even knowing he’s just curious about their technique, that thought felt gross to think.
He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, sending off a text to request a car to come get him. He can’t be bothered to do the math to teleport himself back to the school. It’ll take longer, sure, but it’ll give him time to find a cafe to pick up a snack. Actually, hm, maybe his students would like a treat?
His phone buzzes. He checks it, drooping slightly when he reads the message received.
A car is being sent for him, but he won’t be able to head right back to the school: his presence has been requested at the scene of yet another curse attack. At least he has enough time to stop at a cafe, though maybe picking up treats for his students will have to wait. Who knows how long the rest of his afternoon is going to take.