INKBLOTS, gojou satoru

01. icarus, falling

     ICARUS fell. The truth had always been unrelenting and merciless, so what else was there to say? Call it a tale of childish wonder and glee, of innocence and optimism, but where did that get you? A descent from self-assured glory, a plummet from the heights of arrogance into the depths of darkness. If nothing else, was the tale of Icarus not a warning—that tragedy does not discriminate?

Man-made wings could only get you so far, after all. If you were not born with the right to pierce the skies, then you will never be blessed by the sun.

Confidence is a virtue, you must admit, but it is also a vice. Icarus was a boy intoxicated by the feeling of freedom, the swelling in his chest that told him he could conquer all. To overestimate oneself was to die, and it was there under the blazing sun and melting wax that Icarus committed that cardinal sin. He got what he deserved.

The same applies in all aspects of the world.

This earned you the reputation of cynical, though in your own eyes you found yourself simply a realist. The tale of Icarus is one of arrogance, not the joy of freedom. It was arrogance that made the boy think freedom meant the entire sky was his. It was the intoxication of being granted something he once lacked, an overestimation of oneself that made him disregard the warnings of his father and overlook logical analysis of the situation. Wax melts.

Yet Icarus believed that his would not. In the end, he still fell.

Confidence is a virtue, but it is also a vice. If the price was your life, what was there to be gained by believing in your ability to do something that you can't? You knew where you stood in comparison to others, and you humbly accepted it, even if it was a hard pill to swallow. Of course you still dreamt of greatness, still hoped that one day you will be graced with some kind of gift. But you did not chase it like a dog after a bone. You were not, are not, so depraved.

You don't like chasing false realities. Fantasies—that is all they are.

Perhaps that is why you don't like Gojou Satoru.

At the young, impressionable age of sixteen when you met him, you felt the universe shift beneath your feet as you gazed into his eyes. You could feel the presence of his cursed energy, so immense and overbearing you feared for your life. When a younger Principal Yaga, who was still a teacher at the time, led you to the classroom door and slid the door open, a heat wave washed over you.

The ruckus from inside the room quieted instantly when Yaga entered the room. You stayed outside. Even though you were techniqueless, you still managed to keep up with your peers, but the people inside that room were people who lived in a whole other world than you. Stepping foot into that room was the same as declaring yourself as equals. This was an impossibility.

Yaga scanned the room, noticing the third classmate was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Shouko?" he asked.

The two remaining made stupid faces and the same stupid pose.

"Who knows?" the one with the bun said.

"Maybe the bathroom?" the one with round black shades suggested.

"Doesn't matter," Yaga said, walking up to the podium. You leaned against one of the wooden beams in the hallway as you waited for Yaga to finish. "I'm having you two go together for this mission," he said, and both let their disappointment show on their faces. "What's with the faces?"

"Nothing," one quickly said. "But before that, who's the one in the hallway?"

You peeked into the room at the mention of your presence, figuring there was no reason to stay hidden any longer. You glanced at Yaga, he sighed and gave you a small nod.

"Excuse me," you said, taking a step into the room. Giving a small bow, you offered them your family name, which seemed to satisfy them, as they gave you looks of indifference.

So they see it too, you thought. The difference between us.

It almost made you laugh.

"Anyway," Yaga continued. "This mission is quite the responsibility, but it comes from Master Tengen." The name seemed to resonate with his students. "Two objectives," Yaga held up two fingers, "Master Tengen, the Star Plasma Vessel, has a perfect match. Escort the girl, and erase her."

The three discussed the mission while you stepped back into the hallway, taking the hint that this was not something for your ears, though you caught slivers of the conversation, including the white haired one's not-so-discreet Digimon reference. When Yaga stepped out, he beckoned you to follow, and you complied, sparing a glance back into the classroom only to find a shade of blue you've never seen before glaring right in your direction.

You looked away and quickened your pace to catch up to Yaga, who was already far down the hall.

"Those are your students?" you asked, redundant as it were.

"Gojou Satoru and Getou Suguru, if you're wondering," Yaga said.

You smiled, "As a matter of fact, I was."

     THE next time you heard of Gojou Satoru, it was 'The Strongest.' But the next time you saw Gojou Satoru, he was dead. Lying on the stone cold floor in front of the school, body without even a twitch, a knife wound in his neck gushing blood.

So there are people above you, too, you thought as you walked past him. You didn't check to see if he was still alive or not. Wounds like that drained all the life out of a person, and besides, you were no coroner. The body of someone like Gojou Satoru was a responsibility for someone far above your station. The best thing you could do was pretend as though you never saw him.

It made you happy, though, in its own way. Icarus met his end. So did Gojou Satoru. Perhaps the distaste you had for him would follow.

Then you saw him again, alive and well, and the foul taste in your mouth flooded back. Your eyes met for the second time when you stepped into a supposedly empty classroom to which Yaga had asked you to bring a box of cursed items. In it sat Gojou Satoru behind a desk, chin propped on his palm and a smirk on his lips, clearly anticipating your arrival. The box clattered to the floor, the silence broken by the rattling of glass jars within. Good thing nothing broke that day other than the skin of your palms, your fists tightening to the point of drawing blood.

How he could've possibly survived eluded you, and all you knew in that moment was that Gojou Satoru made you inexplicably angry.

He smiled at you, saying nothing.

"You should be dead," you bit out. "I saw you."

Gojou Satoru laughed. "You saw a dead body and walked right past it. Aren't you a cruel one?"

"How did you survive?" you asked, ignoring his words. "That wound would've killed anyone."

"Anyone but me," he said smugly, inspecting his nails. "Reverse technique, you know."

Gojou Satoru must've seen the way your expression darkened that day as you said a solemn "I see" through a clenched jaw. He must've seen the way your hands trembled slightly as you picked the box back up and placed it beside the podium at the front of the room. He must've seen the stiffness in your step as you took your leave, watching in amusement with that self-satisfied smirk of his. Gojou Satoru made the impossible possible. He made wax heatproof, touched the sun, and laughed.

Unlike Icarus, Gojou Satoru did not fall. Icarus met his end. Gojou Satoru did not. (Unfortunately, neither did your distaste.)

For a man as arrogant as they come, he was not smited for challenging the gods. He was not ruined the way Icarus was. His existence rejected everything you learned to believe, denied all that defined mortality. Meeting Gojou Satoru was surely the worst thing that ever happened to you, you think. He crumbles the walls of faiths you use to protect yourself, the assurance of ruin to arrogance that you use to justify your weakness. He alone takes hold of the rawest part of your soul, peers into your being with those piercing blue eyes, and sees it all—your weak, writhing, wretched self.

. . .

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