A hundred lives for the life of one (is this the end?) | JJK

CHAPTER SIX | STENCH OF DEATH

Onimaru Kaori, when she was Onimaru Kaori, was an odd woman. There were many observations Nukumi had about her mother. From the way she saw others as below her or her ease and lack of guilt manipulating people to do what she wants. She was uncaring about life, going about it how she pleased and taking people out of it if they crossed her. Many would call her a monster. Evil, even. As her daughter, she had a hard time comprehending that fact. She understood her needlessly killing people was bad and using Jin for a "perfect child" was worse. Yet, she couldn't fault her. Despite how she was treated, she would always love her mother.

Rarely, if ever, did Kaori mention her father. Even when Nukumi outright asked. The man was meant to be used as a way to blow off steam. From her own words, she had "intended for a quick release and would leave while he slept." But the man was ruthless, hungry, and selfish. While this was far from a topic to mention to your five-year-old daughter, it didn't stop her from detailing the night's event with a distinctive lust slipping into her gaze. She had enjoyed it too much, she said, and was the one left alone in the hotel room, bill paid and aching for more.

She mooned over his body but always said her favorite part was his eyes. The spine-chilling, uncaring quality to them. The deep blue Nukumi had inherited from him, swimming with deep-seated hunger. Kaori told her she inherited his naturally narrowed eyes and her strong jaw structure. Off-handedly, she joked that it wouldn't be surprising if she surpassed her in height when she grew up due to the man towering over her. One of the things she preferred Nukumi take was the texture of his hair, much less stringy than her own. To Kaori's satisfaction, she did. Though, she boasted about her beauty coming only from her, stating that, while her father was a looker, she was far superior.

Even if Nukumi had known her father, she probably would have agreed. The porcelain quality of her mother was alluring. She wondered if she would grow to be as beautiful.

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Just as Nukumi exited the school gates, her phone rang. She had been occupied observing a group of girls fawning over a new haircut their friend got. It was sweet, really, but a bitter taste clung to her tongue. To push past that feeling, Nukumi fished the phone from her pocket and answered without looking at the caller ID. It was likely Geto anyway.

"Yo! Onimaru!"

She wanted to smash her head against the nearest wall. Of course, it was Gojo Satoru of all people. Why would her luck give her a chance and allow her some peace? The cheery, grating voice of Mr. Milkhead himself enticed a deep sigh from her mouth. If she weren't in public, she would likely be more dramatic about it.

Steeling herself for what would have to be an exhausting conversation, she spoke. "What is it, Milk-san?"

Gojo grumbled at the nickname, and there was the sound of laughter on the other end of the line. Was he with others? "If you aren't busy for the rest of the day, I wanted to introduce you to some people!"

The way he easily bounced back from reacting to insults was annoying. No, his whole personality was annoying. That haughtiness of a privileged person shoved into pretty packaging. Continuing to walk, she ignored the curses she sensed in her vicinity, still on the "no expelling curses" promise. "Are they as insufferable as you?"

"No, no! -" At least he admitted he was insufferable. "-but are you free or not? Wouldn't want you to abandon your brother if you had to take care of him today." Now that was odd. Gojo being considerate? Was she transported to an alternate reality?

Nukumi wished she had obligations if only to avoid dealing with the eccentric, "all-mighty" Gojo. "No, bu-"

She cut herself off, stiffening. A feeling in her gut told her to stop moving, to take another path. In the back of her mind, she noted that Gojo was rambling at her, some nonsense about a pick-up. The sound of her heartbeat in her ears drowned it out. Ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump. It beat like a drum, the staccato pattern increasing with the unease coiling in her gut. Irregular and panicked, she glanced around for the unseen threat.