Sanguine Serenity (Bleach/JJK)

“How long can this go on? We grow tired of being the least regarded among the Big Three families,” an aged voice rasped from within the room.

Noritoshi stood motionless outside the sliding wooden door, hands folded behind his back. His eyes were shut as he listened, the elders' complaints cutting through the thin barrier of the door.

“More and more, we fall behind. With the Monster of the Zenin gone, I had hoped we’d at least be on equal footing. Together, we could’ve found a way to put an end to that arrogant Gojo’s reign,” another voice added, wearier, steeped in frustration. “But somehow, another one has emerged.”

Noritoshi’s frown deepened. He already knew who they spoke of—the “Monster” was undoubtedly Toji Fushiguro. The sorcerer killer.

“Who would have thought the one born without cursed energy would sire the child rumored to have a technique rivaling Six Eyes and Limitless combined?” another elder muttered.

Megumi-san, Noritoshi realized. Megumi was Fushiguro's son? The reveal stunned him, yet he remained silent and instead focused back on the conversation.

“It doesn’t matter,” a sharper voice cut in. “Our own prodigy has yet to meet expectations. Still a grade two sorcerer, despite all the resources we’ve poured into him. And with the Night Parade of a Thousand Demons drawing closer, we cannot afford to fall further behind. If we do, whatever standing we have left among the higher-ups will crumble.”

Noritoshi clenched his fists, the anger and shame familiar but no less bitter. He’d trained relentlessly, and sacrificed endlessly, and yet the goalposts always seemed out of reach. How was he supposed to measure up to Gojo Satoru?

A hesitant cough broke the mounting tension in the room. The murmurs stilled, and Noritoshi leaned closer, straining to hear the nervous voice.

“P-perhaps… it is time to bring her back from her wanderings.”

A suffocating silence fell over the hall. The air grew heavy, even for Noritoshi, standing just beyond the door.

“You can’t mean—”

“Yes. Her exile has lasted long enough. She has made a name for herself out there. They call her Yachiru now. Perhaps it is time we—”

“Silence!”

The bellow reverberated through the room, laced with venom. Noritoshi froze at the voice, a chill running through him and he had to force down the instinctive desire to bolt. It was his father–Kaito Kamo, the clan head.

“I will not have further discussions about someone who dared to strike her own clan head.”

“But—”

“I said no!” Kaito barked. The finality of his words hung in the air, smothering further protest. Yet beneath the oppressive silence, Noritoshi could hear the elders’ muttered dissatisfaction.

His father’s injury flashed in Noritoshi’s mind—a long, jagged scar that stretched from his blinded eye down to his groin. He had seen it in full as a child once, during a shared bath. That was before his father hated the very sight of him.

The clan had hushed the incident, threatening severe punishment for anyone who dared to speak of its origins. But now, the truth was becoming clearer.

A woman had caused it.

The memory struck him suddenly, foggy, fragmented, but unmistakable. Long black hair and a smile. She’d been older than him, but not by much. After his mother’s exile, she had been the one to comfort him, to wipe his tears and tend to his wounds. For a time, she had been his sanctuary. But it hadn’t lasted.

He remembered her last moments in the clan: blood trailing her steps, a curved katana in her hand. He had called out to her as she walked away, and she had paused. She tilted her head back, her features were streaked by blood splash, and her half-lidded black eyes were empty and devoid of warmth.

“Stay inside,” she had whispered.

The coldness in her gaze had rooted him in place, fear overtaking his instinct to follow. That was the last he saw of her. He had buried the memory deep, unable to endure the loss of another mother figure.

And now, they spoke of her again, in the same breath as Gojo Satoru. As though she were more than just a memory. As though she were a threat.

Noritoshi’s hands trembled at his sides. He couldn’t even remember her name.

“If that is all, this meeting is adjourned. The Night Parade is still weeks away,” someone announced, jolting Noritoshi back to the present. The elders were finishing their discussion, their voices already growing distant.

He had to leave before he was discovered. His father wouldn’t tolerate eavesdropping, especially not from him, the mixed-blood heir denied his rightful place at such meetings.

Steeling himself, Noritoshi stepped forward and jumped, catching the edge of the roof. His body moved with practiced precision, hoisting himself up with core strength alone. He swung his legs, landing softly atop the structure. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, listening for any sign he’d been detected. The murmurs from the hall continued, uninterrupted.

Satisfied, he began to move, plotting the quickest route back to his quarters. But as he walked, his thoughts remained fixed on her—the woman called Yachiru. A woman who had nearly killed the clan head and walked away unchallenged. A woman who had cared for him, however briefly. A woman whose presence now loomed like a shadow over the Kamo clan.

And still, her name eluded him.

…

Kaito Kamo sat alone in the meeting room after the elders had gone, their shuffling footsteps fading into the distance. The tension they left behind hung in the air like smoke, heavy and suffocating. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as he traced the rim of his teacup with a single finger, his expression set in stone. They always talked too much, always grumbled about the past, as if lamenting long enough would turn back time and restore their glory.

But the past didn’t matter. What mattered was the present—this moment, the Night Parade looming just weeks away—and they were still scrambling for solutions. Weak. That’s what they were. Spineless fools who saw no path forward except to cling to the coattails of the strong. That was the only reason they sought to bring that monster back into the fold and if that was discarded then they would simply roll over for the other clans. Kaito would die before bowing his head to Gojo Satoru or the remnants of the Zenin.

The scar on his face itched, a phantom sensation he hadn’t felt in years. His fingers twitched against the cup as if to reach for it, but he stopped himself, curling his hand into a fist instead. He didn’t need to touch it to feel its presence, didn’t need to look in a mirror to remember. The pain had been seared into his memory, into his body, a constant reminder of his greatest failure. Of her.

He hadn’t spoken her name in ten years. Even now, he wouldn’t allow himself to say it, not aloud, not even in his thoughts. She was gone. Banished and Exiled of her own free will. It was better that way. The elders didn’t understand. They never did. They only saw her power, the potential she carried. What they failed to grasp was the monster that lurked beneath those kind black eyes.

The gentle facade of a child had blinded them, just as it had blinded him, till she had decided to slip out of it, with the ease of a snake shedding its skin.  

Kaito’s jaw clenched as the memory surfaced, unbidden, like a wound reopening. She had been young then, just barely more than a child, but her strength had been undeniable. A prodigy, they had called her. A gift from the heavens, one that would elevate the Kamo name to new heights. He had believed it too. He had wanted to believe it.

And for a time, she had been everything they hoped for. Brilliant. She wielded the Kamo inherited cursed technique with more skill, precision, and efficiency than even the first Kamo, they had whispered.

He remembered when she had healed a bird she had found with broken wings at the age of four. A seamless blend of the reverse cursed technique and the Kamo blood manipulation. He had been there and had stared alongside others in bewilderment at the girl of barely four.

Kaito’s hand drifted to his side, brushing against the edge of his kimono where the scar disappeared beneath the fabric. The gash had been clean, and surgical, as if she had meant to leave a mark but not kill him. He didn’t know if that was mercy or arrogance. Maybe both.

“She could have been the strongest,” he murmured to himself, his voice low, almost a growl.

But she had refused to bend. Refused to obey. He had sought to marry her. He was the future clan head and she was his younger sister from another wife of his father.

With his prestige and her talent, their children would have been prodigious. When he had tried to rein her in, to remind her of her place, she had turned on him without hesitation. That fight had been the beginning of the end.

He had underestimated her and thought her attachment to the clan would stay her hand. Instead, she had carved her defiance into his flesh and walked away without looking back.

Kaito’s fingers tightened around the teacup, the porcelain threatening to crack under the pressure. He forced himself to let go, to exhale slowly and regain his composure. The past was done. She was gone. Whatever the elders thought, whatever plans they whispered about in the dark, he wouldn’t allow her back. Not after what she had done.

Still, their words lingered, crawling under his skin. Yachiru. It wasn’t her real name, but it was the one they used now. The name she had earned in exile, a name that carried weight even beyond the walls of the Kamo estate. Whispers of her deeds had reached his ears over the years, despite his efforts to ignore them. They spoke of a woman who moved like a shadow, who left devastation in her wake and disappeared before anyone could stop her.

A woman that healed as much as she killed.

He didn’t want to believe it, but the rumors were too consistent to dismiss entirely. If she had grown stronger in her absence, if she truly was a threat now…

Kaito shook his head sharply, banishing the thought. It didn’t matter. Whatever strength she had gained, whatever name she had made for herself, it was irrelevant. She wasn’t part of the clan anymore. She wasn’t his responsibility.

And yet…

The door slid open, breaking his train of thought. A servant entered, bowing low before speaking. “The elders have retired for the evening, Kaito-sama. Shall I prepare your quarters?”

He waved the servant off with a curt nod, waiting for the door to close again before rising to his feet. His movements were slow, and deliberate, as if the weight of his thoughts had settled into his bones. He walked to the window, sliding it open to let in the cool night air. The compound stretched out before him, silent.

She had spurned him, and out of spite and had ensured he would never be able to make any more children. No doubt a twisted attempt at making sure his mixed-blooded bastard remained his heir.

A bastard that could not match up to her. Kaito Kamo looked out the window and allowed himself to wonder for the first time. Where was she and what manner of havoc was she causing now?

AN: Blame this on Unohana edits on YouTube that caught my attention a few weeks ago.

This would probably be a oneshot, but i was filled with the overwhelming desire to write, Domain expansion: Minazuki!! Considering how well her bankai fits into Bleach so IDK.

Also, this means I’ve completed the holy trinity. I’ve written a character in each of the big three Jujutsu Families.

Pride as a ZENIN

Itachi as a GOJO

Retsu as a KAMO

Anyway, AOMR in like an Hour. Just need to get back to editing that.