JJK: Hourglass - CH3

[Nanashi - POV]

I don’t know what to think, I have to be honest. 

One moment I am serving a customer, and the next, a frying pan is coming my way, knocking me out cold.

And now?

I found myself in a situation that was becoming uncomfortably familiar: groggy, disoriented, and, judging by the dull ache at the back of my head, recently acquainted with some form of blunt trauma. My last memory was of the bastard that knocked me out, his mischievous grin was etched into my memory.

The room I found myself in was small, but not in the quaint, cozy sense. More in the "I've been kidnapped and this is my new questionable living space" sense. The decor was minimalist, if you could call bare walls and a single, flickering light bulb minimalist. 

I guess my captor wasn't much for interior decorating.

I attempted to stand up, but my body had other plans, primarily involving a quick assessment of gravity as I stumbled and caught myself on what appeared to be the only piece of furniture in the room, a chair that looked like it had seen better days, much like my head at that moment. 

 "Well, this is a fine pickle," I muttered to myself, rubbing the back of my head. It hurt a lot. 

 "Ah, you're awake!" a familiar voice chirped from the doorway. I looked up to see the man that had kidnapped me, Gojo Sa… Gojo something, standing there, shades and everything, holding a frying pan, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to kidnap someone and then greet them like a host of a dubious bed and breakfast, while holding the weapon used to commit such crime. 

"What's with the frying pan?" I asked, trying to sound more annoyed than confused. Honestly, I was both, but I figured showing annoyance was more dignified. 

Gojo shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance. "It seemed like the most efficient way to get you here. Plus, it adds a touch of dramatic flair, don't you think?" 

I blinked at him, not sure if he was joking, his shit-eating grin made it hard to tell. "And where exactly is 'here'?" I inquired, looking around the room again, as if it might have magically transformed into somewhere less kidnappy in the last few seconds. 

"Ah, this place? Well, nothing much, just my kidnapping room, for my kidnapping needs," Gojo replied, with a gesture that encompassed the small room. "What do you think? Should I add more mold to the walls, or do you think more rust to the pipes would make it scarier?"  

As my brain tried to wrap around the fact my kidnapper was probably crazy, and my panic started to rise, I realized that sarcasm was going to be my weapon of choice, since, apparently, physical escape wasn't on the cards just yet.

"Oh, definitely more rust. Gives it that tetanus threat which is so in vogue for places like this. Really ramps up the ambiance of peril," I replied, with a big smile on my face, maybe out of nervousness. "On that note, tell me, what's the endgame here? A ransom, a convoluted plot of revenge, or just garden-variety madness?" 

Gojo threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing eerily off the damp walls. "Ah, you're a funny one! I like that. It makes this all the more entertaining," he said, placing the frying pan he had used to knock me out, which by the way I had just noticed had my face imprinted on it, on a crude wooden stool that seemed like it might collapse if you looked at it too hard. 

Wait a second… wooden stool? Where did that come from?

A moment ago, it wasn’t there…. you know what, never mind, its not the most pressing matter at the moment, not even TOP 10.

"Charmed," I replied in the most amicable tone I could muster, all while scanning the room for exits or anything that could be used as a weapon. "So, while I'm flattered by the attention, you haven't really answered my question. What's the plan, why am I here?"

Gojo strode over to the wooden stool, seemingly oblivious to my scan of the room, and sat down with a grace that seemed out of place for the surroundings. "Why are you here?" he mused, tapping a finger against his chin. "You're here because you're interesting enough to warrant my attention. I mean, I had to kill several curses on my way to you, each and everyone of them, attracted to you, on that note, you should’ve seen the old bastards panicking when they sent me for you, saying things like. Wahh Handsomest Coolest Sorcerer on the multiverse, please save us, this can’t happen twice, wahh wahh, we need our blankies, please fix it."

My initial fake smile faltered as he spoke, replaced with a puzzled frown. "Curses? Old bastards?" I already knew he was crazy, based on his behavior alone… but damn, the bastard exceeded my expectations of him, I never expected him to be this crazy. This was no ordinary delusion; this was the kind of crazy you read about in comic books, the kind that made you double-check the lock on your front door at night.

"Lovely," I smiled, realizing one thing. I had to act fast, before my skin became this psycho’s next jacket. 

Now, there were one of two ways to do this. The calm, and logical way, assessing my options before taking a course of action, or option b, violence.

I chose option B.

With a sudden burst of energy born of desperation, I grabbed the chair behind me, and hurled it towards the crazy bastard in front of me, with all the force I could muster, the chair aimed at his smug face, however, the chair never made contact. Instead, it stopped midair, just inches from Gojo’s nonchalant face. 

"What in the actual fuck?" I exclaimed, my heart pounding against my chest as I stared at the suspended chair, still hovering inches away from his face. 

Gojo's eyes flickered with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're quick to choose violence. I like that." 

Having said this, he snapped his fingers, and the chair disintegrated into splinters before my eyes, the pieces scattering around the room as if carried by an invisible wind.

Well… I’m fucked. 

I would say I had a good life, but that would be a life on the account I can’t remember shit.

"Just so you know, I have zero tolerance to pain, I will scream… a loooot, the moment I see a knife," I 

said with a shaky laugh, trying my best to maintain some semblance of composure. 

Gojo raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "Who said anything about knives?"

"Aren’t you going to kill me?" I asked.

"Oh, no," Gojo chuckled as if I had just told him a particularly good joke. "I won’t kill you, no no no. I have something far worse in store for you, something that will make you wish I had killed you."

A cold shiver ran down my spine as the gravity of his words sank in. His casual tone only intensified the dread pooling in my stomach. What could be worse than death? Torture? 

"You… are going…. to school!" Gojo declared, almost triumphantly.

My brain stuttered to a screeching halt. "Say what now?"

Gojo leaned in close, a big grin on his face. "Indeed my friend, you are going to the prestigious! Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College! Hurray!" At this, confetti seemed to materialize out of nowhere, showering down around us, as Gojo pulled some globes that spelled congarts, instead of congrats. "There, you will learn how use your curse energy, how to kill curses, and maybe, just maybe, how paid taxes."

As he continued to talk, I took the opportunity and I threw my shoe at him. It soared through the air, but just before it could hit his smug face, the shoe stopped mid-flight and gently fell to the ground. "I had to try again."

Gojo laughed heartily at my futile attempt. "You see? You have a spark in you, that's exactly why you can't go on living like any normal person. That, and the abnormal amount of curse energy you have, but mostly the first thing."