[ 00 ] Retune.
[ re·tune / rē'tōōn /: “tune (something) again or differently.” ]
< 𝄞 >
[ January 2017, Past ]
“Hey kid.”
Amidst the white snow, in the thousands of people passing by, blue of crystal heavens meets one that drowns in abysmal seas. A remembrance of the past, still ebony waters simmer of volcanic wrath.
“Why don't you come with me to Jujutsu High?”
The man of heavenly grace asks, a hand extended to the one that veers at the edge of oceanic hell. Waiting patiently, as snowflakes drop around both, silence ticking in every second and every step around them. That child gazes at the man in front of him, unmoving and a statue amidst bitter blank white canvas.
“What do I get in return?”
He asks, quiet as a winter mouse that skids on the landscape, in a world of bloody survival numbed of humanity's belittled fragments, but still striving in the love of evolution by the churns of primitive cogs.
Ironic, is it? Like the metal forged and mined from this very mountain, they clash and clang to be harvested and surfaced to gleam in polished weaponry, fueled by negativity brought by mortal minds. The older chuckles as air seeps out of his lips, fogging the very sunglasses he wore and feeding the cold around. and once more, did blue of limitless skies gaze at the blue surrounded by unfathomable seas.
“Purpose. how ‘bout it?”
< 𝄞 >
[ April 2017, Past ]
“Well, it seems we have a colorful set of characters this year!”
A booming voice of hilarity echoes faintly in hallways, sourced in a classroom not far from entrances. Four seats arranged, three occupied, the one in the front and far edge near windows remaining the sole blank. Comically, a white-haired man whooshes and whizzes too, unappealing to the three present.
“Someone is still not here.”
The only female student commented, fierce honey orbs clashed with darkened forest green hair tied up to a ponytail. A clink of the glasses she wore resonated as she moved her head in boredom.
“Salmon.”
The other human in that classroom of the current says, violet eyes peering at their teacher, a hand pushing back spiky ash gray strands away as the other adjusted the collar-like scarf that hid symbols of his bloodline from public eyes.
“Are they running late, sensei?”
The final student, an entity in the furs of a panda, raises a paw, void onyx reminiscent of marbles stares at their teacher, who returns the glance with a gaze tightly wrapped in bandages.
And that teacher simply smirks, as he feels faint streams of cursed energy flowing around. Like sound, an omnipresent force, the older thinks, as the sliding door slowly opens in a motion that never spells hurry.
“right on time! this–”
The first step starts . Zen'in Maki blinks, the hairs on her arms raising. A child was once she, born with never of cursed energy that graced the disgusting brood she has to call relatives. And still the presence she felt at the figure that walked in front. thousands of machinations slotted in her mind, fingers twitching to reach the case hanging at the edge of her chair, yet what lingers is a quiet no.
“–is your final classmate. he's–”
A second step resounds . Inumaki Toge's breath hitches, the Snake Eyes and Fangs simmering with energy in his cheeks. The reason he never knows, yet rooted deep in soul, is an echo of long-lost connection. He doesn't understand, nor does he comprehend this warmth that envelops him quickly. But his body stays seated,unable to move or to speak a sound.
“–kinda an oddball, but you'll get along great! now–”
A third step knocks . Panda hiccups (can something like them hiccup? Panda has just discovered now) hidden in the air, the creature feels the fur in its form flattening of sheer pressure. He's not created with the purpose to question, to answer, to think, and so forth, but he's getting there. the mutated corpse wonders, and it did wonder, but he didn't know what to wonder. so, it doesn't divulge further at this moment.
“–introduce yourself!”
A fourth step paves . Gojo Satoru beams, Six Eyes ever-gazing and all-knowing of their complicated feelings. Just like him, when he met this child who stands a living mirror of what it means to be strong. A funny thing, Satoru is sure he wouldn't have thought of this before, picking up a stray from that mountain. but things change. and that stray he chose reeks of that change.
And the fifth step stops at the very center of it all, as that child of change faces his classmates. Lips opening to utter a greeting to neither ease nor intimidate the ones he calls peers.
“a pleasure to meet you all, my name is..”
< 𝄞 >
[ September 2017, Past ]
“Kurokawa-san is brave.”
The cursed human admits, gripping the blade given to him by the person in front. dampened blue streams met the storm's quell sealed in soul, a ripple of determination in the whispers planted by the mind's deceitful seeds.
“I'm really not, Okkotsu.”
A blank chuckle, meant to distance. Yet, a stream may be faint but given enough source and force shall it become a gushing river meant to break dams built since young.
“you are. I don't think I'd exorcise Rika the way you did with… her.”
Sealed lips render the mention of that name void to hear, but the implication hung like wet rags in a rack. He could only hum, staring at the sky, blue as blossoms of her loved birdseye speedwells, blue as the infinity here and beyond, blue as the color of the gaze he also owns.
Blue, simply blue. Like sadness, like peace. like the sea inside them, stormy and abysmal as it’ll ever be. Like the sky above them, an eternal distant companion amongst the blizzards of the past
“you'll be a great sorcerer, your big sister knows it!”
“you're… a great sorcerer now… your big sister… always knew…”
He chuckles, less blankly this time.
“I don't think you want to follow what I did, Yuta. it'd be better if you don't.”
He's glad he didn't.
< 𝄞 >
[ June 2018, Present ]
The echoes of crickets snapped the individual out of lonesome thoughts, dragged away from the remembrance of past meetings he called first of many. His lips remain tightlipped, eyes flutter open faintly, to return sight to shadow in this nocturnal hunt.
But around is the many heartbeats he hears, from creatures born of humanity’s broken mirror gilded of negativity, beating and alive . Alive as the adrenaline of a rage and beating as the crushing descendance of despair.
“Alive, Alive, Alive .” Many sounds resonate to an orchestra to them. “Alive till we are exorcised,.” That undertone whispers a hidden truth. Alive till death arrives, that inevitable immortal implication.
Yet, now is not the time to drive deep into philosophical wonders, as the young adult picks up the phone, That pitiful orchestra drowned with the trumpet and thunder of a king rejuvenated from coffins of seals engraved, transferred to a moving one formed of flesh and muscle.
And as that trumpet screamed loud and clear to everything around its vicinity, Kurokawa Shinji simply could reply in a sentence, directed to the caller.
“you heard that right, sensei. the king of curses got incarnated.”
< 𝄞 >