Interlude: Obon Festival

Kyoto Prefecture
15th August, 08:45 PM JST

Zen'in Naoya had never truly gotten the point of Obon.

All the celebrations were oriented around the topic of remembrance. Remembering one’s departed family and remembering the long line of predecessors that had built the clan to what it now was.

A clan of borderline rejects.

Second place.

That was the word that had rang through Naoya’s mind for as long as he could remember. The Zen'in were second place to the Gojo clan. Second place was great to those even more pathetic than him and his clan, but second place still meant the first to lose.

As Naoya idly watched the parade of dancers, disgust welling up in the back of his mind, he remembered that not only were his clan the first to lose—they had also rejected their one saving grace, their one claim to true power, because he frightened them.

Zen'in Toji, now up in the wind. No one knew where he was. No one, save maybe for Naoya’s father, Naobito. Not that he ever enjoyed talking about Toji. Any facts that Naoya had been able to squeeze out of the old man had been a reward of sheer persistence.

Naoya didn’t understand why so many of his clan were so eager to put conditions to what power meant, and then run around doing silly things like relying on cursed tools to bolster their Jujutsu. If you couldn’t dominate with what the heavens had given you, could you truly call yourself strong? A lack of Jujutsu was a glaring fault, but if you were still powerful enough to slay any comer and leave the clan with impunity, what did that fault matter. Strength was strength.

Naoya’s father said some words to him as the parade passed. Naoya paid half a mind to his inane chatter—the doddering old man always had something or other to say about life and art and other frivolous nonsense. Most of Naoya’s attention was focused on making out certain figures in the crowds that penned in the empty road where the parade had passed. The Kamos, the Gojos.

And the Hibanas.

He spied a Zen'in schoolmate in his own crowd, all of them now venturing up the way that the parade had gone, up a more open area, towards a plaza built by Jujutsu Society to be a neutral ground for all clans, whether major or minor. Kyoto, as always, was a prefecture stuck in time. Dreadfully boring and, aside from the obvious technological advancements in the form of the big city’s skyline, a similar sight to the ones that his ancestors had seen.

There was supposed to be a virtue in that sameness, but he had a hard time focusing on tradition these days.

The Zen'in schoolmate was a third year in Kyoto Jujutsu High. He received private training from uncle Ogi, and carried around a sword-shaped cursed tool. Naoya didn’t really know anything about the boy, except for his name: Kazuya. Only then, because he was the only other Zen'in to lower himself to go to Jujutsu High. The tradition for people in their station was to receive their own world-class training with clan resources alone, and not have to subsist off of what few crumbs the big clans allowed Jujutsu High to have in terms of instruction.

Kazuya received adequate training from the clan, and was only in school to project Zen'in power to the unaffiliated. In his year, he was the strongest student. A Semi-Grade One.

The same grade that Naoya was currently stuck in. The grade that made him too pathetic to even decisively beat down that idiotic insect controller that lacked even a hint of common sense.

But Naoya was better. Better than Haruta, and certainly better than Kazuya, who relied heavily on his Special Grade cursed tool. Kamikiri was its name, although instead of cutting hair, it was supposed to cut gods. Shikigami, in other words. Cursed energy constructs. It worked moderately well on cursed spirits, but was excellent against shikigami.

As for the boy’s technique, Naoya hadn’t the faintest clue what it could be. Probably something subtle that allowed him to cheat his way towards his level of skill. Kazuya was older, but it still rankled Naoya’s pride that someone in his generation was so close to him in strength.

Whatever.

Naoya took his place besides his father, the strongest sorcerer in the clan, and together, they led the crowd towards the central plaza, where the objective of the day would turn into mingling with rivals, securing deals or arranging combat challenges to accrue glory.

During their march, Naoya emptied his mind of thoughts of Haruta, of Kazuya, and certainly of that prick Joichi. Instead, he thought of his technique.

He had already mastered the Second Chain, his ability to utilize his innate technique twice in quick succession, making the first use generate momentum for his third use. The sheer amount of speed he had been able to garner from this had boggled his mind at first. But if Haruta could still keep up, then it wasn’t enough.

Soon, and most certainly in time for the Exchange Event in one month, he would have the Third Chain as well.

He would use that power to not only destroy Haruta, but also Teira herself. Then, he would take his accursed second place only to Gojo Satoru.

It still rankled his pride, but Naoya could accept reality. Besides, he would rather be second to a God than a mere woman.

000

Summer had most certainly been Teira’s, fashion-wise. It was one of the few times of the year where her stifling traditional dress finally became more sensible to wear. Shoko had relished the opportunity to finally match with her.

And Teira, bless her selectively benevolent soul, had spared no expenses with Shoko’s formalwear. Ordinarily, Shoko would have felt deeply indebted to the girl regarding her new sky-blue kimono with white cloud patterns on it. It was beautiful, after all.

But she had also seen Teira sink an irresponsible amount of money on an expensive bottle of whiskey which they had drank together, trying to spot the difference between that and the cheaper stuff. She had also seen Teira sink a bunch of money into buying a game system with enough controllers for everybody, and all of Gojo’s favorite video games without blinking.

She had done this to learn each game and eventually beat Gojo in every single one of them, because her name was Hibana Teira and she was a petty bitch unlike any other.

In any case, these frivolous expenditures had made it difficult for Shoko to even keep track in her head. She asked Teira for everything that came to mind, really. Most of the time, she even obliged. Her room was now stuffed with a whole bunch of possessions: collectibles, beauty products, DVDs of movies and shows, and definitely clothes.

Rather than stop and ask herself—or Teira—if any of this was okay, she simply estimated her own worth, and then multiplied that estimate by an order of magnitude, as Teira had advised her once before.

Ieiri Shoko was important. She was a big-shot that deserved everything under the sun as long as her best friend’s wallet refused to give out. She could heal others! And that was… important!

…The important thing was that others believed that she was amazing. That Teira believed it.

And Teira was unlikely to ever stop believing it, no matter how disappointing Shoko was in a fight. It was a bittersweet arrangement. Her body yearned for a break from all the rigor, yet her soul was more inclined to believe in Teira’s lies, that Shoko could one day become a Grade One or even better.

At least, for this Obon, there was no rigor, no intense training that brought her close to death. All she had to do was meet her family, and watch over as she brought herself to the brink of death to meet more family.

Allegedly.

The night was darkening, and the plaza was illuminated by paper lanterns as she, Gojo and Suguru followed Teira towards the one heading the Hibana clan procession. A man in a chair that was also a beetle Juchū.

Next to her stood another member of the Hibana clan that Shoko had only seen from a distance—and remembered on her first day of going to school. Haruta, possibly the guy in the chair’s daughter. Or maybe not. Still, they were all related.

Shoko locked eyes on the man’s chair. His robes covered his legs, but not once had she seen him walk. Instead, he used the chair to move about. Was it a matter of status in the Hibana clan?

The man in the chair’s eyes lit up as she looked at Teira. “It’s been a while, Teira-sama. I’m ecstatic to see you.”

“I figured,” she said. “You’ve made your attitude on me clear, confusing as it is.” In this particular area, cordoned off from all non-sorcerers, there were only other sorcerers present. That meant that Teira was in her base form, her skin pale and her eyes pitch black. She was also entirely expressionless.

The man in the chair laughed. Shoko tried not to be taken by his good cheer and kindly attitude. He was from Teira’s clan—that meant that he was scum as well. Tolerable scum but scum nonetheless.

“Is it wrong to express love for one’s niece?” the man asked. “If so, then I’d rather be wrong than right.”

“You might want to do some research on Stockholm Syndrome,” Teira said, her expression bent into slight concern. “Get to the bottom of your mental situation. Still, at any rate, your devotion has moved me. Slightly. Iemon, these are my friends,” she gestured to her side. “Ieiri Shoko, the user of the Reverse Cursed Technique. Geto Suguru, fellow Special Grade. Gojo Satoru.” He needed no introduction. Suguru’s kimono was black, while Gojo’s was white for the most part.

Iemon nodded, smiling at Shoko, Suguru and then Gojo. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances. I am Hibana Iemon, vice head of the one-hundred and third clan head, your friend Teira. This is Haruta, who goes to Kyoto Jujutsu High.”

Haruta’s eyes bore into Shoko’s. “It’s a pleasure, Ieiri-san,” she said tonelessly.

“Haruta is my favorite student,” Teira said. “She was quite surprised to learn that you unlocked the Reverse Cursed Technique before she did.”

Haruta looked Shoko up and down, withholding a sneer as she did. “You’re only a Grade Three. Perhaps your place isn’t in a battlefield, but instead a hospital?”

Shoko’s eyes lit up. “I would strongly prefer being in a hospital than a battlefield.”

At this point, Shoko felt that she had gotten all of her ducks in a row when it came to her inner motivations and the thing that had caused her to accept a place in Jujutsu High. She didn’t want to remain in the world of non-sorcerers if it meant living with her mother.

If she could not live with her mother and still be in the non-sorcerer world, then she strongly preferred something that wasn’t the high-school to salarywoman pipeline. She would rather heal than train to become some kind of employee for a big company, even if that would earn her a nice chunk of change.

She could endure medical school after Jujutsu High as well. It was probably for the best that she received this training. She didn’t doubt her mental prowess, either. Without her mother’s constant nattering, and with Teira’s constant encouragement, she had learned that she wasn’t a slouch brain-wise.

Ultimately, her destiny would lead her back to Jujutsu Society where she could flex her healing abilities and make a difference on a scale that very few other sorcerers could.

She had next to no interest in becoming Grade One, however. Not that Teira would listen. And it was far easier to go with her whims than to try and resist her training. Teira had… a frightening amount of sway with Shoko. She didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t picture disappointing her. Rather, she wanted nothing else than to not do that.

What a pain.

Haruta smirked. “You’re remarkably unambitious, aren’t you? I’m surprised even with the Reverse Cursed Technique, Teira-sama dotes on you so.”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “If you could take her off my hands, I’d appreciate it.”

“Watch your mouth,” Haruta bit out. “You’re talking about my clan head.”

“Now, now,” Iemon chuckled. “We are all friends. No need to devolve into in-fighting. Ieiri Shoko, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your abilities will do the world of Jujutsu much good, I am sure. Geto Suguru,” Iemon nodded deeply. “I am in awe of your cursed technique. I am sure that you will do much good as well. Gojo Satoru,” Iemon nodded even deeper. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you.”

“What happened to your legs?” Gojo asked flippantly.

“He got stabbed in the back,” Teira smiled. “Literally and metaphorically.” Then her smile fell. “Only because he was very slightly, and not very meaningfully, in support of me. And only then, because I was strong. Not because I was due any special consideration as a human being. I avenged him, of course, because I am quite kind.”

Shoko’s eyes widened. He was injured, then?

“Am I supposed to heal him?” Shoko asked.

Iemon’s eyes widened in surprise, and not a small amount of hope either.

“No, not particularly,” Teira said. “His life isn’t in any danger, so I wouldn’t say that you’re ‘supposed’ to do anything. And his injury is an old one. You’d have to push yourself to your limits for it.”

Which was probably why Teira hadn’t put Shoko up to it; because there was no guarantee of success, and trying and failing would put Shoko in the unenviable position of having failed this man’s hopes.

“Do you… like him?” Shoko asked. It was the only relevant question that came to mind. Shoko would try if Teira liked him. But only then.

And that… didn’t really seem to be the case right now. Shoko wondered if she had spoken out of turn earlier, when she had offered her services unasked. If only she could take that offer back.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t, Teira-sama,” Iemon spoke, grinning mildly as he did, his eyes downcast. “But it is fine either way. I am loyal and do not require your warmth to do my duty to the fullest.”

“Trying to talk your way out of the suspended death sentence, aren’t you?”

Iemon chuckled. “I would never dream of getting in the way of a blood bath for your amusement, dear niece. My life is yours. Just allow me to prepare a replacement.”

Teira hissed. “Couldn’t you have done that already? Now you’ve gotten in the way of a blood bath for my amusement. Your death will be much slower now.”

Iemon laughed, clearly not believing her.

“My answer to you, Shoko,” Teira said, “is: do whatever you want. If you need help, I will help.”

Iemon calmed down from his laughing fit and raised a hand placatingly. “Do not exert yourself, Shoko-chan. I’m hardly worth healing.”

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“Flip a coin,” Gojo suggested, chuckling as he did. “Will the old geezer get to walk again? Heads or tails, old man?”

“You should do it,” Suguru said to Shoko. “I like him. He was wounded because he supported Teira.”

“Marginally,” Teira said. “The other guy was simply insane and blew his support out of proportion.”

“Yet you’ve kept him around,” Suguru pointed out.

“I am difficult to replace,” Iemon explained. “Most of my age mates in the clan are… no longer with us. Those who are, are not sorcerers worthy of taking on a leadership position. This is why, as you can see, most of our fighters are below the age of twenty.”

Gojo grinned widely and clapped Teira on her shoulder. “No old geezers in your clan except just the one that listens to everything you say? I should be taking notes, Teira!”

Iemon’s grin stiffened. “I’m sure your situation does not remotely resemble Teira’s.” By now, his grin had fallen. “I’d appreciate you not making light of our clan’s changes, Gojo-san.”

An ice-cold reminder of Teira’s horrid past. It cut cleanly through all the banter that Teira’s twisted sense of humor had come up with.

In the end, people had died in the hundreds before Teira had risen to the status that she now occupied.

As for Teira’s disposition towards her uncle, Shoko was beginning to grasp the situation. She clearly didn’t mind Iemon. Probably liked him, in fact.

The history, however… that made things too complicated to put things in a binary as simplistic as ‘like’ and ‘doesn’t like’.

Perhaps Iemon was, in fact, the closest relative Teira had in her clan—an older relative, that was, of the same generation as her parents?

Perhaps, the lack of other viable grownups in the clan had simply forced Teira to like Iemon, out of necessity?

To get to the bottom of this required more than a simple conversation, and even then, Shoko would be running the risk of meddling where she wasn’t wanted.

“Pardon me,” Gojo said, grinning awkwardly. “I just thought we were making light conversation.”

Iemon nodded. “Of course. Let us make the subject a more cheerful one. I would like to say to you, and all you others: from the depths of my heart, I thank you all for being friends with Teira-sama.”

Hibana Haruta bowed her head, her expression conflicted, as she heard him say this.

Of course. Friendly as Haruta was with Teira, the fact remained that Teira was her clan head. There could be no true friendship in this instance. Only subordination.

Shoko was not similarly obliged to work for Teira. Despite her lacking strength, she was more of a partner to Teira than an underling. Deserved or not, that was her situation. In any case, she had an option to disobey that Haruta simply lacked—at least, for as long as she identified as a member of the Hibana clan’s fighting force.

“I am glad that she gets to experience this thing called friendship with people her own age,” Iemon continued. “People that she has no authority over. I’m happy that she succeeded.”

“On paper, she shouldn’t have,” Gojo said. “But somehow, she did. Strange how these things turn out.”

“We’re grateful for her as well,” Suguru said, bowing his head. “I owe much to Teira.”

“She buys me free things,” Shoko said. “That’s the only reason I’m still with her.”

Iemon chuckled politely, having caught the joke.

Haruta was mostly seething. But quietly.

Suguru said to her, “it’s nice to make your acquaintance as well. My name is—“

“I know who you are, Geto Suguru,” Haruta said. “You have Cursed Spirit Manipulation, the deciding factor of your Special Grade designation. Of course, you are likely more deserving of it than Joichi. Far less so than Daimonji-senpai. You are lucky that as a fourth year, he will not participate in the Exchange Event.”

Geto Suguru’s expression twisted awkwardly before he settled for a charming smile. “I assume he is powerful, then.”

“Lucky for you, his power will never concern you,” Haruta continued, grinning. “He does not battle humans. He refuses to, out of principle. But I will be more than enough for you, Geto-kun. Of that, you can be certain.” She then cast Shoko a glance. “The less said about our match-up, the better.”

Shoko felt a chill run up her spine at the threat. Now she was on this crazy girl’s bad side, not that she could have done anything to change this in the first place.

“I notice you didn’t threaten me,” Gojo said.

“Teira-sama has you well in hand,” Haruta giggled, causing Gojo to sputter in disbelief. He then turned to Teira with a hangdog expression.

“Teira, your disinformation campaign has done irreparable damage to my reputation. Even random ants are starting to talk.”

They had been talking for quite a while now. Including many of the school’s younger students, in elementary and middle school.

“I tried to be charming,” Suguru sighed. Then, he grinned, his cursed energy spiking. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s really only one Hibana worth noting. You are not her, Haruta-san.”

Haruta grinned widely, her eyes twin lances as she stared at Suguru. Her own cursed energy spiked as well. “I will make you eat those words, Suguru.”

Teira hummed. “Try not to destroy my classmates too badly. They haven’t had nearly enough time to train.”

“I won’t kill them,” Haruta said, still glaring at Suguru. “So rest assured, Geto-kun. You will see another day after you suffer your defeat in my hands.”

Shoko was beginning to see what Teira was angling for. She wanted to stress-test the rest of the class, excluding Gojo. She wanted to do this using one of her own pupils.

Meaning that Shoko would not be exempt from an assbeating most foul.

In that case, it paid to curry favor.

“I’ll heal you,” Shoko then said, after giving it another moment of thought. In the end, it didn’t matter, and good karma was good karma. And Iemon had been charming enough during their conversation. She definitely appreciated that he hadn’t done something pathetic like beg or offer money. “Of course, in exchange for money.”

“Done,” Iemon said instantly. “Name the price.”

Shoko gaped. “Ah…”

Teira nudged Shoko gently. “You should ask for favor, not money. In this world, military prowess is the purest form of wealth there is. And if you have pull with Iemon in the event that I’m dead, he’ll take perfectly good care of you.”

Shoko didn’t like planning in case Teira somehow died.

“Fine,” Shoko said. “Where can we continue our discussion?”

Hopefully, she could fit it into her schedule at some point before Teira decided to drink poison and hallucinate a reunion with her four deceased quintuplets.

What the hell has my life become?

A/N: I think I'll start doing a date and time subheader, like they do in Young Justice (and its many fics). There'll be hella time skips after the Exchange Event arc, so it only makes sense in order to not disorient you guys too much.