(The Echoes Beneath Us) Chapter 9 of Before My Very Eyes

Megumi Fushiguro had not been having a good couple of months. Or a good year, really, if he was being honest.

It started with the abrupt end of his holiday, cut short by an urgent call from his benefactor. The call had come late at night, Gojo-sensei's voice on the other end unusually heavy.

He was used to Gojo-sensei’s unpredictable nature by now, but this time, there was an unfamiliar weight in his voice.

Something serious.

He hadn’t refused, of course—he never did when it came to Gojo-sensei—but he quickly realized how deep the situation ran.

The files Gojo handed him painted a grim picture. They called it the Sendai Incident. By the time he closed the file, Megumi had the creeping sense that he was about to step off a cliff.

Curses had been popping up at a frequent and quite alarming rate. Their numbers alone were staggering, but it wasn’t just that—they were stronger, more aggressive. Grade 2 curses and even the occasional semi-first grade were spouting more and more frequently from wells of negativity around. Something was deeply wrong. It was like the gates of hell had creaked open.

Gojo had smiled that infuriating, lopsided grin when he handed Megumi the first file. "Good experience for you," he’d said, like he was giving him a simple errand. A favor, even.

And Megumi, as always, hadn’t hesitated to take the file. He’d understood, painfully well, that responsibility wasn’t optional when it came to Gojo’s whims. Or to the things waiting in the dark.

Besides right now, the balance between curses and jujutsu sorcerers was tipping dangerously. Still, he wished Gojo would stop trying to pass it off like it was a free lesson.

"You get to be away from the Gojo clan for awhile," Gojo had added with a wink. "I’m sure you would appreciate that."

At the time, Megumi had agreed. Even a constant barrage of curses was preferable to the Gojo clan compound. The endless sparring matches, the near-maniacal grins of bloodthirsty warriors pitting their strength against each other... It wasn’t exactly what he would call peaceful.

Still the assignments were never-ending. A nigh endless clean up of grade 2 after grade 2 curses swarming like flies to a corpse.

The work left him exhausted in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

But more than the workload, the hardest part was the victims.

Megumi had always known, on a technical level, what curses did to people. It was what made jujutsu sorcerers necessary. The protection of the living against the well of evil that were the accursed. But seeing the aftermath, day after day—the twisted, mangled bodies left behind, the hollow expressions of the survivors—was beginning to take its toll. Their faces vaguely haunted him, each one a reminder when he was too late, too slow, to save them.

So when he got the text from Gojo to stop missions and prepare for his first class, he was… relieved. The tension that had been coiling tight in his chest for weeks loosened, just a little.

Gojo’s message was brief, almost offhand, but for Megumi, it was like the weight of the world had been momentarily lifted. His dreams might have some respite, at least for now.

The never-ending stream of missions had drained him in ways he hadn't expected. The faces of the victims, twisted in pain or hollow in death, clung to the corners of his mind, refusing to fade even when he closed his eyes.

Just like Tsumiki.

The thought dug deep, a familiar sting that settled like lead in his stomach. He hadn’t been able to save her either. The feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything for her, had become a constant companion.

So yes, the idea of stepping back, even just for a class, was a welcome reprieve.

The morning of his first day back, he rose with dawn, light just cresting the trees outside the window. Jujutsu High was blanketed in a rare kind of silence, one that made him ache with its clarity. For the first time in weeks, the air didn’t feel tainted. The scent of rot and blood didn’t claw at him.

Megumi took his shower and got ready for school before at his usual seat in the empty classroom.

And so he waited, for Gojo, for whatever new hell he was supposed to endure as his teacher’s “gift” for survival. An “easy day,” Gojo had called it, Megumi had learned never to take those words at face value. Still, there was a strange sense of…anticipation in the air. Back to class, for the first time. In months. No curses, just...learning. It felt almost surreal.

The stillness was interrupted by a knock on the door. A quick, firm rap that startled Megumi out of his thoughts. He glanced toward the entrance, expecting to Gojo-sensei as the door slid open. But the figure in the doorway wasn’t him. Instead, it revealed a boy. Tall and red-haired, he spoke with a soft voice.

"Is this the first-year class?"

Megumi’s eyes widened immediately. Why would it not.

He recognized him.

Uzumaki Nagato.

It was the name written in the files—etched into his memory alongside the incident that had turned everything upside down. The Sendai Incident. The one that had caused the sudden spike in curses, the shikigami user whose summon that had led to his endless string of assignments. To the victims.

And now, here he was. Clad in the uniform of Jujutsu. Likely the only other first year in the school.

What were they thinking?

A pause lingered as Megumi wrestled with the flood of emotions brewing in him. He fought to gather himself, struggling to decide which feeling to anchor to, which reaction would let him keep his composure. At last, he managed one.

Disdain.

“...Yeah,” Megumi finally managed to get out, his voice a little strained. “Yes, yes it is.”

The boy blinked, taken aback perhaps at the venom Megumi had failed to keep from his voice before replying.

“I’m Uzumaki Nagato.”

____________________________________

I don’t think my classmate Megumi Fushiguro liked me very much. Apart from the brisk one worded greeting he had given me as I introduced myself

“Megumi.”

He hadn’t offered much else. He sat with his jaw tight, eyes narrowed. Looking like he had a ten foot pole lodged up his ass.

Fine by me. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to chat. My head throbbed with the ghost of the dream I still couldn’t remember. Shadows lingered in the corners of my mind refusing to clear no matter how hard I tried to shake them loose.

I slumped further into the chair, letting the silence stretch out, thick and heavy. Into the strange, uneasy quiet that had settled between us. Like an old married couple.

Till like some cosmic punchline, we both heard it—the unmistakable echo of footsteps from down the hall, in that same uneven, familiar rhythm, getting louder and closer with each thud.

It didn’t take long before the door was flung widely open, the impact loud enough to rattle the walls.

“Good morning!” came a too-bright voice, sing-song and unapologetic.

Gojo-sensei had arrived.

He strode in, beaming as if he’d just won the lottery. His sunglasses gleamed in the morning light, like he was at the centre of some cosmic joke. The man was peppy as hell so early this morning.

I was already rolling my eyes as he walked into the room before stopping dead center between us, one hand resting on Megumi’s shoulder, the other flaring out in a grand gesture like some kind of showman.

"Well, well, if it isn’t my precious little munchkins!" he crooned, voice dripping with a sugar-sweetness that made my skin crawl. His grin stretched wider—way past what should be physically possible—and I swear I saw a glint in his eye that screamed trouble. “Isn’t it just the finest morning?” he practically sang, ignoring the heavy silence hanging between us. His gaze shifted, laser-focused. “Oh! Megumi, I see you’ve already met your dear brother.”

My indignation coincided with Megumi’s as we both looked to him echoing, “Brother?!”

Gojo’s smile stretched even wider—if that was even possible. His eyes sparkled with barely contained glee, like he’d been waiting all morning just for this exact moment. “Yep!” he chirped, leaning in with that annoying, over-the-top enthusiasm that only he could pull off without shame. “Brothers.”

The word grated on me, and from the flicker of distaste on Megumi’s face, I could see that he felt the same.

This comedian sure was trying out some new jokes. In his usual unpredictable way, Gojo seemed to thrive on stirring up emotions and leaving us to sift through them ourselves.

Megumi and I were both pretty far from brothers.

I’m pretty sure the only similarity between the both of us was the fact that we were both wards of Gojo-sensei, both yoked to the same mercurial, grinning force of nature who was currently beaming at us as if we were his masterwork.

Gojo had taken both of us in.

….I could see how in some twisted, almost laughably unconventional way, that made Megumi and I...family.

My lips curled, mirroring Megumi’s.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that!” Gojo-sensei ruffled Megumi’s hair, ignoring the icy glare he got in response.

“Sensei!”

The word brother felt both foreign and dangerous even, as if it didn’t quite belong to me. Family was something I’d left behind, or maybe something I’d never had in the first place. I didn’t know which. It was a concept that belonged in some other life, a universe where I wasn’t Nagato. A life that was now crumpled up and thrown behind me.

And here was Gojo-sensei, dropping it into my lap with a smirk, expecting it to mean something.

I instead rolled my eyes, letting my own irritation bleed through. “If you’re done with the introductions, Gojo-sensei, we don’t need a bonding exercise.”

Gojo sighed theatrically, his eyes sparkling with something ridiculous, as if he were genuinely heartbroken. “Tragic,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What do they teach you kids these days? Brotherhood, camaraderie…” He trailed off, the words laced with a feigned nostalgia, a mock sentimentality that was almost convincing if you didn’t know him.

Neither of us replied, both our faces impassive, but Gojo merely chuckled, completely undeterred by our stone-cold silence.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, with a dramatic shrug, dropping the act just as suddenly as he’d donned it. “I’ll let you have your quiet ‘I’m-too-cool-for-family’ thing. But I’m sure you’ll warm up to each other soon enough.”

“Especially since you’ll be having your first test today Nagato.”

"Test?" I echoed, curious.

Gojo ignored the tone entirely, his smile somehow brightening. "Oh, nothing too intense," he said, waving one hand dismissively. “I have a good assessment of your abilities Nagato.”

Did you, now?

“Mmmhmmm” The motherfucker nodded like he could hear exactly what I was thinking.

“However, I want to see how you really fare against Curses. We’ve had talented jujutsu sorcerers before—good ones—who walked away the moment they had to face them. Fear and disgust…those things are hard to shake off when faced with beings that defy the very nature of life,” he said, his voice a low hum that slid into my bones. “Creatures born from darkness, things twisted and misshapen in ways that would put the fear of God in anyone. Horrors that should never meant to see the light, and yet…” His smile turned sharper. “they walk among us, mirrors of everything vile and grotesque in this world.”

He paused, watching us—me closely. “Basically what I’m saying is that I want to see if you’re truly crazy enough to be a jujutsu sorcerer.”

Silence fell, heavy and thick, as his words sunk in. That I was really gonna be facing curses soon. The thought wasn’t….unpleasant, a certain thrill rushing down my back at the thought.

I had clearly spent too much time in the Gojo clan. I certainly welcomed the challenge.

Megumi’s voice broke it, his tone flat, yet tinged with an edge of irritation that was impossible to miss. “And how does this involve me?”

Gojo spared him only a brief, almost dismissive glance, as if the answer was obvious, simple. “Oh, not for any particular reason.” He waved a hand airily, as if the answer hardly mattered. “Think of it as… team bonding.”

Megumi’s expression hardened, his jaw set in a line that could cut glass. “You just want me to babysit him, don’t you?”

What exactly was this asshole’s problem?

Gojo only chuckled, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating amusement. “Come on, you two,” he said, beckoning us forward with a careless wave of his hand, gesturing for us to follow.

“We’re going to Sendai city.”

____________________________________

In the back seat of the car, Megumi and I were sat listening as Gojo leaned forward in the passenger seat, gesturing dramatically with his hands as he launched into his usual banter. Ijichi sat ramrod straight behind the wheel, eyes focused on the road with a white-knuckled grip, a tense frown creasing his face.

The moment they’d arrived, Ijichi had greeted them with a deep bow, his expression somewhere between panic and embarrassment, his voice pitched low with apology. "Forgive me for the delay, Gojo-sensei, Fushiguro-san, First year-san… I was a full twenty seconds late."

Gojo waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "Don’t sweat it, Ijichi. Twenty seconds is nothing; my munchkins are not going to hold it against you." Then he’d ushered them all into the car, calling shotgun without hesitation, and Ijichi, ever the dutiful subordinate, had taken the driver’s seat and peeled off without another word.

Now, as we sped down the road, Gojo looked over his shoulder, flashing a smile at the back. "By the way, Nagato, meet Ijichi. He's what we call a ‘Window.’”

My brow’s furrowed slightly, and Gojo caught it, chuckling as he elaborated, enjoying the chance to explain.

"See, most people can’t see cursed spirits, not even the small fry. But then there’s a rare few, like our dear Ijichi here, who can see spirits without actually being sorcerers. We call them ‘Windows,’" Gojo said with a sweeping gesture toward the front seat.

Ijichi glanced at them briefly through the rearview mirror, nodding in silent affirmation, though his expression remained tense.

"A Window’s job is simple but crucial," Gojo continued. "They’re our eyes where we can’t be, spotting curses and passing on intel. A Window can give us that early warning—especially when they’re as sharp as Ijichi." Gojo’s grin widened. "So, if you see him looking nervous, chances are we’re in for an interesting day."

Ijichi sighed, muttering under his breath, “Gojo-sensei, please…”

He continued driving through the city until we left the bustling cityscape behind, entering the outskirts of Sendai. Buildings thinned out, giving way to fields and stretches of untamed forest that seemed to reach out to the narrow, winding road like dark tendrils. The atmosphere thickened with an eerie quiet, broken only by the hum of the engine, the occasional hiss of leaves brushing against the car and of course, Gojo-sensei humming a soft tune that felt jarringly out of place against the gathering gloom.

The road grew darker as they pressed on, shadows stretching long and heavy beneath the thickening canopy. Even the light felt different here—muted, overcast despite the morning sun.

At last, we rounded a bend, and the compound loomed into view.

Big and intimidating.