Chapter Text
1,000 years ago, a man by the name of Takeda was born.
He had been raised a normal child, though usually seen looking out towards the rice fields with a forlorn look, that and his weaker disposition - it wasn't seen as unfixable. He could be an heir; he could rise higher than any other son and live in the main estate with concubines and consorts as much as a man could dream! He could have all that, if only he hadn't seen that bulging and bulbous creature.
Because Takeda was–and really, not for lack of trying-not a normal boy. Normal boys do not see swelling creatures of goo in the middle of rice paddies. Normal boys do not see the embodiment of people's stresses on their shoulders (often literally). But he had. And he had also told his father.
19 was when he died.
A curse user who had taken the Hida province by storm, a man by the name of Ryoumen Sukuna was called The King of Curses.
Takeda had been one of the 20 men who had killed the man, Sukuna. He was also one of the 20 more (and more, and more, and more and more) who had been killed by Sukuna, the curse. As he laid on the ground bleeding out, sinew and flesh and writhing muscles, he had thought - incredibly dimly, that he sort of wanted to have kids.
He was a sorcerer. And that was enough of that thinking.
Though, a more stubborn thought crept, that he sort of wanted to pass his technique on. To have an heir, someone who could use his talents in more unique ways. Someone who could make his talents their own.
It would take another thousand years or so, in the year 1989 for Takeda's dream to have merit. It would take another 28 years to finally complete the man's wish.
A young girl by the name of Takeda, sort of knew her family’s history. Something something, curse dead, ahh boom, roar Sukuna! Dead. Was her artistic rendition of her ancestor’s death.
She didn’t care much for the semantics; all she knew was that the guy was dead and had a pretty neat technique. And now she has it! So really, you win some, you lose some.
She lost.
She clutched the dead body of the child tighter, the face smeared in blood and gore. She could see the child’s teeth in the midst of the wreckage and breakage of skin, not a single adult tooth in sight, molars haven’t even grown in.
She wanted to vomit. Her mouth dried up and her mind seemed to pour out of her ears.
She wanted to die.
“Please… Please don’t make me go…”
“Where’s mommy?”
“I hate school!!!!”
Right, her head snapped up to the curse above her. Couldn’t have been more than a grade 3, most likely gaining and gathering strength for the new school year.
Right, if she hadn’t come here, it would still be gaining and gathering strength.
The child in her arms became more dead somehow.
“Please!!! Please!!!! Don’t hurt me!”
She grimaced, No.
The curse was ugly. It had too many mouths, too many eyes, too many limbs and was way way way too chatty. It was also too articulate, not anything like the bumbling grade 4s she practiced on. It was a clear jump in skill level.
It was also still too weak. For her, of course.
She got up with a practiced grace, laying the child down (the child still had her cute ponytails in, only slightly less perky with the weight of blood) and faced the curse.
“Where’s mommy???”
She resented her technique. Raw, burning and alive in her veins she had no hesitation as she mustered up all her energy and fucking slapped it.
Briefly, between the milliseconds of post-slap and pre-slap, she wondered, have other people slapped a curse before? Silly question. Still, it seemed no matter how raw or how unrefined her energy or slap was (for that matter), it exploded in a haze of bloody mist.
If it was so weak, what was the fucking point of coming here?
She resented herself.
Her father had once told her that a technique should always be used instead of raw energy because blah blah blah efficiency or something. She didn’t really care about the semantics.
She looked back at the child, there was a little blue bucket hat on the child’s face (it was hardly a face anymore) in an attempt to conceal the damage (the hat was turning a dark blue, now soaked in blood). There was a week before the school year started. The child must’ve been practicing walking by herself to the bus.
She resented herself.
“I’m sorry.”
But it meant nothing. It meant nothing then at the aftermath of the child’s death and it meant nothing several days later sitting in a cold yukata in an even colder room.
Innocent, innocent blood was still spilled.
“The higher-ups will see you now, Takeda-san.” She got up, numbly. She hobbled out the door, her leg fell asleep during the long ass wait. A part of her said she deserved it.
She knew she did.
“You may come in.”
Walking in, she was greeted by the sight of some elders blocked behind the shoji. This was supposed to be more of an explanation type deal if she remembered correctly but it seemed to her this was just a trial.
If she was executed, she wouldn't complain. Maybe she’ll be executed just in time for the first day of school to come and go, that way she won’t have to go through the ordeal of high school. Not even that, Jujutsu high school! Even worse!
“We are here today for the trial of the Takeda Clans’ (____),” her breath quickened, blood pumping, shit shit shit I thought they wouldn’t say that name out loud? What the fuck happened??
She nearly threw up in relief when she realized she blocked out most of their fucking talking with her incessant expletives and actually did almost throw up (in relief!) when she saw Arata, her somewhat guardian and lawyer. She resisted the urge to wave.
She almost threw up (in not relief!!!) when Arata shot her the coldest stare a person could muster and shook his head. She could read the command, stay.
She met Arata when she was 10 after accidentally causing a very bad explosion in a pet store. No animals got hurt but dog food, cat food, fuck, everything animal related is super expensive! Lawyers even more so, so really maybe she was stepping out of the pan and into an open fire burning at 1,000 degrees.
That pet store was the one Arata shopped at to feed his dogs.
She didn’t feel too bad, though since she was not sued! Just in very, very bad debt.
“And what do you say, Takeda-san?”
What
“Takeda-san?”
Oh god
“Uh… I’m sorry?”
It meant nothing.
“You know, you really fucked yourself over this time.”
“Ugh, I get it.” She really did. Of course, she did. How could she not? In any world killing a child would not be good. It was her fault.
“Ok, but just know that-that it isn’t your fault.” She looked at him. She didn’t believe him.
Arata met Takeda when she was 10 and he was 20, now almost 5 years later he was just finally starting to see the weight that she held onto so tightly.
She’s still just a child too.
“Look, kid-”
“15, in a month.”
“Ok? Just know, it could’ve happened anytime.”
She snorted indignantly. “No, it wouldn’t happen just any time.” She was waving her hands around more, that’s how he knew she was getting fired up.
“If I wasn’t there the curse absolutely wouldn’t have come out then!”
“But it would eventually, right?” Arata felt pity for the girl.
He didn’t know much. He entered her life with a contract and only saw the remnants of her clan (just a few weary and old servants, almost entirely just staying by loyalty alone). Arata didn’t know of any guardians besides him, but he wasn’t considered a true guardian. Only on paper and even then, it was iffy at best. When he had realized that, at the time, 12-year-old girl had almost no parental guidance whatsoever. He stood up, reluctantly, to watch out for her, of sorts.
He thought he was doing a horrible job. Takeda thought similarly but only because he just drove by the convenience store and she was really, really hungry.
“I’m hungry.”
“We have food at home.”
Takeda’s voice turned nasally. “We have food at home, that’s what you sound like.”
“Ok, Takeda-san.” He sighed, she pouted. She was let off with a slap on the wrist. She still had to go to school. She almost wanted to die. She felt like she deserved it too.
“Oh, did you get food for Ona?”
“Takeda-san,” uh oh, a lecture (she could tell by the breathiness of his voice, like an oncoming sigh), "Ona is your responsibility, that was the deal we made to keep her.”
“And you know what you also said? That Ona cannot eat human remains. And that’s all Ona wants to eat! So, I think she should be allowed to.”
“Have you tried giving Ona remains of any other type of species?”
“Yeah, but she threw it up.” Takeda really did try, though what she offered was more along lines of insect rather than mammal - she did try.
She looked up, bored of the conversation. Arata was still talking though, going on about beetles or something, she didn’t really care. She was tired, so tired. The yukata was itchy, she was hungry, and she wanted to lay on her futon more than anything else.
Her eyes fixed themselves on the small entrance to the estate, her estate. She was the head of the clan after all. Not that that meant much. The Takeda clan was never prominent. The only name that held any meaning was her ancestor with the same technique as hers who lived and died rather mediocrely (if you could call sorcery mediocre).
It didn’t mean much to her.
So, she got up and walked those few stairs to the main estate where only a few old servants still floundered about. Arata wasn’t really allowed inside the main estate, as he wasn’t even a part of the clan nor was he someone special. He was barely even a window.
She didn’t care much for rules or tradition though.
“Well, I’ll see you later. Remember, Ona should not eat beetles-”
“Whatever, I don’t really care.”
Arata sighed. Maybe he knew the girl too well. Her eyes softened at the edges and her typical frown was set in a sad grimace.
“Just go to bed, kid.”
So, she did.
Walking down those creaky stairs, she passed by rooms she never looked into. Passed by places no one would ever visit again. She walked down a hall only ever she walked down and even then, only twice a day. To enter and to exit.
Her eyes fixed themselves permanently on the last door, the door for the head of the estate.
Her.
Somehow, even as she laid on her way-too-soft futon and listened to the distant chirps of crickets, she felt more alone than ever before.
Like a deep, deep hole inside her chest. It was suffocating. Maybe, that’s what she was.
Somehow, she felt even more alone.
“Mreow.” Ona. She turned her head and saw her beastly creature. Ona was a cat. But not really.
Ona, of course in her delightful timing, started hacking in preparation to throw up.
“Augh, come on-” Takeda sat up already preparing for the smell.
Ona threw up.
It was a Flyhead.
Takeda plugged her nose. Flyheads smell like an interesting combination of sewage and week-old milk, it was disgusting. “Flyhead? Why’d you eat that, Ona?”
“Oeouh.”
“Ok, whatever. Just get it out of here. Or exorcise it, even better!”
Ona was a cat. But not really.
“Mrooow.”
“You freeloader!” Takeda started moving her hands, getting a nice whiff of the flyhead in the process. She gagged. “Augh, here I am allowing you to eat human cadavers! Our contract stated that, you can free roam as long as you don’t hurt anyone and in return,” another gag and another meow in protest, “you exorcise curses for me. You forget, dumb cat?”
“Meouuwww.”
“Sorry, dumb curse? Curse-cat? Whatever! Doesn’t matter, what matters is that the contract must be fulfilled.”
“Meow.”
“Fine, whatever.” Takeda laid back down and in one very uncomfortable gulp, the little and disgusting flyhead was swallowed by Ona, the curse-cat.
Ona, thankfully, didn’t throw up anymore and rather laid her body on half of Takeda’s pillow. Takeda’s pillow! Dumb cat, Takeda’s head was now laying on the very corner of the pillow.
“Mrow.” Ona, the curse-cat, responded.
Takeda didn’t like curses all that much, so it was rather unfortunate she had her technique (cursed, cursed, cursed in every sense of the word).
Contracts.
Arata didn’t need to explain shit to her when they first met, and she had him sign an NDA.
Arata is a lawyer, went to law school and graduated with a bachelors and went back (Takeda indignantly shouted at this when she first heard it) for a masters. He is graduated and now he is a private lawyer for small affairs or, more commonly, for sorcerers.
Sorcerers are tough clients, but Arata doesn’t hold a candle to what Takeda goes through with her contracts.
Her clients are the toughest of the bunch, so, naturally, some respect must be given to head of the Takeda clan, after all curses are her clients.