HEART THIEF || JUJUTSU KAISEN

the six-eyes thief.

Gojo Satoru was itching for a fight.

He had to be, if he was seeking out Miyazaki.

Certified two-faced asshole, cat magnet, and an infamous bounty hunter, he was well-named for his reputation, and with strong ties in the underground curse trade, a semi-illegal network that intertwined cursed objects, sorcerers, and humans.

At least, that's what his sources said. It was hard to find accurate information about someone when he lived in a whirlwind of rumours. Gojo saw him once, briefly, about two years ago when he was nothing more than the runt of the Kyoto first years. They didn't speak, but a single glance at his face was all Gojo needed to sear the image into his brain.

Dark eyes. Dark hair. A slump in his posture. Nothing impressive. At least on the outside, because within a year of their first meeting, Miyazaki had taken on more names than Gojo ever did in a lifetime.

Dangerous. Rogue. A rival of Gojo Satoru, and the most popular of them all: Murderer.

Nasty people carried nastier rumours, that was just how things were, and it wasn't uncommon to hear that he was one of the higher-ups' underdogs, the executioner who handled much of the work that would otherwise dirty their dainty, weathered hands.

To seek him was to seek trouble, but lucky for Gojo, he embodied the word "trouble". It came to him regardless of whether he went looking for it or not.

Nobody rivalled him. He was the strongest for a reason, and it wasn't out of arrogance or narcissism, but by the will of the universe. The natural order of how things were meant to be with his spot being at the top of the food chain, and he'll be damned if he let anybody make him scoot over.

At first he'd been strolling through the night markets of Shinjuku, hot on the heels of a special grade curse. The dumb bastard didn't even try to hide himself. In an area crawling with sorcerers, he basked in the light of the evening heat like a lizard with bright green hair. He was striking to look at, though eerily so, with features that were too perfect to be real, but it wasn't his looks that sparked Gojo's curiosity.

Someone else was also tracking this curse.

He glimpsed his silhouette earlier, a shadow crouched atop a building that overlooked the market. Across his back was a beautiful recurve bow that gleamed with polished black metal. Miyazaki Naoko. He must've sensed Gojo's eyes on him because he paused mid-step, pinned down by the intensity of his gaze, but not before he vanished in a flash of black and red cursed energy.

Fast. Elusive. Gojo turned his attention back to the curse, his feet carrying him towards the less-crowded back alleys, unaware of shadow stalking him from afar. It wouldn't have been the first time Miyazaki stole a curse from him, Gojo recalled with a flash of irritation. He wasn't really the kind of guy who ran around punching others for no reason, but the number of times he'd gone back to school empty-handed and blue-balled from a fight was beginning to edge at his patience. No matter who Miyazaki was or where he came from, Tokyo was his turf.

"Only cowards hide!" He called out, hoping to tempt the curse somewhat. It would be a drag to go and root it out from all those humans.

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow shifted, he felt a breeze kiss his ear, and suddenly an arrow sank into his shoulder, right over his pounding heart. It pierced clean through his flesh, sinking so deep the fletching tickled his shoulder and the point protruded rudely from his chest. Gojo staggered, raring to fight, only to be toppled by a swift kick to his legs from behind. The world flipped upside down, and the back of his head slammed painfully against the cold, wet concrete.

Pinning him down was a young man of slight build, clothed head to toe save a wisp of hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He carelessly flicked Gojo's glasses off and studied his face critically.