The dying song

Chapter VII: Of love and other drugs

2016.

Satoru. Utahime.

Gojo grabbed his phone as soon as he noticed Utahime's absence.

He should have woken up first. He should have blocked every door, every window, and stopped her from leaving. He should have... There was only one way to fix this. He was willing to do anything to bring her back.

"Ijichi." He roared, as soon as his former kohai answered his call. "I need you to do something."

"Y—Yes, Gojo-san! How can I help you?" Ijichi answered nervously, lending an ear to Gojo's request. His order was for him to find Utahime, giving Ijichi strict descriptions about what she was last wearing and detailed information about where he had found her the night before, almost panting furiously.

"Use all the resources you need and find her. No matter how much it takes. And don't tell anyone about this." That was Gojo's last command before he hung up the call, throwing his phone angrily at the bed, pacing like a hungry lion, wondering why he didn't do this same thing the first time he lost her.

Thing was, he never meant to interfere with her life before. Now it was different, though. Now, he needed answers.

"Like hell I'll let her leave again," he mumbled to himself, grabbing his clothing to get dressed, as soon as he got the text from his informer. In a few short hours, Ijichi had gathered all the info—money could move mountains. Reading the text in his phone screen, Gojo grimaced, looking at the shitty part of the town she was living in, teleporting without a second thought to the nearest spot in that awful district before finding the right address.

He was pissed beyond a doubt.

When he knocked on the door of the shady, hidden apartment in the stipulated neighborhood as curious, distrusting eyes looked at him, he wasn't expecting to hear a thud coming from inside and muffled voices, having to bust the door down as soon as he recognized her tone from the other side.

There was a rowdy-looking man in front of her, his hand raised, aiming for Utahime, the scene making Gojo's blood boil. His eyes met hers, ripping a gasp out of her throat as she noticed him, eyes wide staring at him. The intruder turned around, prowling towards the newcomer while smirking, taking a knife out of his pocket.

"Hey you, pretty boy, did you lose something? I can help you with that."

There was no need to use any of his cursed techniques: Gojo Satoru wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands. A single punch in his guts was enough to send him flying against Utahime's small kitchen, shredding half of it to smithereens in the process as the intruder screamed in pain. He howled, blood trickling out of his mouth. Gojo walked over him, a swift kick to the guts, one after another, sickening crunches heard as the man kept screaming.

The stranger's back was surely injured, but he couldn't care less when his foot stepped on his cheek, crushing his horrid face until he almost turned purple, the full extent of his rage raining down on the intruder's head.

"What's going on with you and this bastard, Utahime?" A thunder slipped out of his throat, pressing on the bastard's cheek when he saw him trying to speak.

"She..." He coughed. It must have been blood. "She owes me more than fifty thousand yen."

Gojo could see her chest sinking at the man's words. She hesitated, millions of questions wandering inside her head as well as his, shame filling her veins with the knowledge that Gojo had just discovered her living place. Or rather, the shithole she was spending her days at.