Dear Hamlet | YANDERE!GOJO SATORU/READER

THREE: A GLIMPSE INTO A CLANDESTINE WORLD.

After he pays for the bill, he takes you outside and says,

"Give me your hand."

"What?"

"Give me your hand," He waves from side to side, tantalisingly, teasingly. "Come on. Come on~"

You begrudgingly give him your hand, to which your surroundings are instantly changed: from the busy, chattering streets of Tokyo to a serene, tranquil forest. You have to rub your eyes and pinch your arm to make sure you were seeing what you were seeing. He pushes up his sunglasses and walks in front of you.

"Huh? How'd you do that?"

"You said you wanted proof, princess. Here's your proof," Gojo says. "I can compress space and 'teleport', as you people might call it. Regardless, follow me."

You look around. The lacquer green leaves rustle all around you, giving the impression that someone was watching slyly behind them, insidious and sinister. Birds and cicadas alike chirp their songs, waiting for a mate, waiting for companionship. Your shoes crunch the dead leaves and cicada shells underneath, digging them into the packed soil.

"You're crazy," You say.

"I told you, I'm the strongest jujustu sorcerer~" He boasts, to which you slowly process. "Do you buy it now?"

You don't answer but follow him. You walk past a pile of discarded apples, espaliered against a wall; though only a few, browning where the wasps had eaten into them and beginning to rot. The wall, you find out, is the flank of a traditional establishment. The gates open, and Gojo turns his head over his shoulder.

"On the surface, this school is registered as a private religious school. But it's Jujustsu Tech, a base and training school for sorcerers alike."

"Did my dad train here?"

"I watched him train here," Gojo says. "He was quite talented, your father."

A surge of pride rushes through your veins, though it's quietly extinguished by reality: his talent hadn't been enough to save him from death. Your silence is quickly disrupted by a boy's voice.

"Teach!" A boy cries out. He has pink hair and–

"Face tattoos?" You say, incredulously. You walk towards him and thrust your face closer to his, inspecting the lines below his eyes. "How old are you? Why'd you get face tattoos? Are you out of your mind?"

"They're not tattoos," He says, taken aback by your sudden interest. "They're–"

"Gojo, who's this?" Another boy pops up from behind. You take a step back from the pink-haired boy and inspect this new one: he had spiky black hair, with prominent long lashes. "Did you find another sorcerer?"

"Not at all. This one can't even see cursed spirits." Gojo replies teasingly, to which you suppress an irritated smile and close your eyes. 

"Yes, it's true, I can't see cursed spirits."

"Then why are you here?" The spiky-haired one asks, almost in annoyance.

"She's here to visit (father's name)."

"Oh? Him?" The pink-haired one punches his fist against his palm. "I just saw him in Ms Shouko's lab."

"Is he being dissected already?"

"No, I think she's writing the reports up."

"Well, we better hurry up, (first name)."

"Don't call me by my first name, Gojo." Your smile breaks off your lips as he chuckles, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "Would you like it if I called you Satoru? I think not."

"I don't mind."

You glare at him. "That's not what you're supposed to say."

"Are you guys dating or something?" A girl, this time, shows up, with her light brown hair tucked behind one ear. You gawk at her assumption before shaking your head furiously.

"Me? Dating? We literally just met," You say, stepping away from him and pointing a shaking finger towards him. "You think I would date someone as insufferable as him?"

"Now you're being unnecessarily mean to me, (first name)," He whines. "Besides, don't you want me to guide you to the doctor's office?"

You pause. Your finger slowly drops to your side and you sigh.

"Yeah. I do," You say. He takes your defeat with pride, tilting his head back and letting out a light, airy chuckle. And that chuckle brought chills down your spine. A breeze over a moonlit lake. It was a lightly disguised contemptuous mirth, as if he was joyous of being stronger than you. You had a cold feeling, a feeling that reminded you of the day your father went missing: the same sense of the forbidden, of a door swinging open that ought to be kept locked, or a stream of secret lives, running underground, in darkness just beneath your feet. And maybe it was true. Maybe he did have all of that going, and was living a second life with you and your mother. A clandestine world in which he lived vicariously through by tricking you.

"Follow me."

–

You make it to the doctor's lab and you're instantly hit with the smell of disinfectants and chemicals. You can hear the clicking noise of metal tools hitting each other, and a woman snapping blue gloves on her hands. She had a mole underneath her eye and dark eye bags, and long brown hair.

"Gojo? Do you need something?" She asks. "And who're you?"

"I'm (father's name)'s daughter," You answer. Your eyes flick to her to the corpse on the embalming table, and your eyes widen at the state of his body. The doctor lets out a sigh as Gojo takes a seat on one of the benches.

"You're just in time. I was about to dissect him."

"W...What happened to him?"

It was as if you were staring at a complete monstrosity: his face was morphed to an uncanny degree, with his eyes now tenth their normal size bulging out and staring into the ceiling. His arms were cut off, and the bottom half of his body was missing, leaving behind a half-cut spine dangling on the side of the table.

"Mahito got his hands on him," The doctor says. You turn to her, unable to face what had happened.

"Mahito?"

"A special grade cursed spirit," Gojo answers for you, and you find that you're shaking violently. He puts his hand on your shoulder to quell the shaking, but you find that it's too late–tears are bursting out of their water lines and streaming down your cheeks, and you raise a sleeve to wipe them away but they won't stop. You crumble underneath, shaking and your shoulders quivering, sobbing violently into your hands at the sight of your deceased father. You had your answer, now what? What next? The next step made you feel light-headed, precariously balanced, as if you were standing on a cliff-edge above a rock-filled gorge, and it would be dangerous for you to look down.