the case of hojo

The days that she is around seem a little longer. He’s holding his breath or something. It’s ridiculous. He is much too reserved and calm for this. He is much too old for this. He’ll push his hair back irate with himself for feeling like a fourteen year old all over again. He’ll peer out the window and watch. She’s smiling with someone he can’t see. He pulls the blinds shut and sits down at his desk. Infatuation…he huffs.
—  The Case of Hojo: Infatuation 
The Case of Hojo: Goodnight

As he left he’d turn off his office light and lock it behind him. He’d take a good amout of work home with him. He’d go home and have a glass of scotch and sign reports until his hand went numb. Then he’d make attempt to straighten up, and go to bed. 

Normally, Megami would retire before he left for his home. As he made his way down the stairs and towards the piano normally she’d be sitting there or she’d be asleep on the couch. He never asked her why she waited for him. He just assumed it was part of the job. 

On the nights she was awake she would get up and walk him to the door. She’d open the door and let him out onto the porch. It was falling apart, however it wasn’t to the point of disrepair yet. 

Most days he would breeze right past her and head on home. However, as time progressed he took his time leaving the manor. He’d tell her what he needed done and then walk off. Some nights he would even bid her a good night.

She was just a turk. She was just a turk and she would be gone soon enough.

She was his turk

He was furious with himself. His face was stern as he approached her and the door. She infuriated him. She just smiled and signed a goodnight to her boss. A roll low of thunder in the background and he looked at the sky. “It’ll pass through quickly.” He didn’t even realize he said those words. He was not one to offer comfort.

It was going to storm, and it was going to pass, Nibelheimian storms were notorious for this. However, they were very violent. He sighed and shook his head. “Right…well…” She handed him an umbrella, signing he was going to need it. “Ah.”

 He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say to the woman. He ran his hand through his hair again, he was doing that a lot lately. “Goodnight, Megami.”

“Goodnight Professor." 

His face grew very stern as he turned away from her and headed down the stairs of the porch. He looked back, she was watching him with keen eyes. At that moment he almost wanted to drop his things, however, he didn’t. If he wanted to capture her heart there were several things he could have done. If he had less control, he would have.

However, he just bided her goodnight.  

The Case of Hojo: Dying

He laid there, it was just too painful to move. He swallowed, his mouth was dry and tasted of iron. 

He was bleeding out. 

He has enough time to set the computer to fragment the data. 

His neo-reunion is in place. He feels a sharp pain and then nothing. 

The world is bleek and unforgiving. 

This is for you Valentine. The computer begins the data processing. 

He hears the gears whirling. Come forth my 9th symphony…awake DeepGround

He smirks and the world, the dark world, with meteor crashing down simply fades away.

This body is dead…however I am alive. 

The Case of Hojo: Warnings

“Stop.” He laughed loudly, not caring, circling the man. “Professor.”  The sliver pistol pointed at the back of the man’s head. The circling continued. He laughed again, it growing louder and more mad with every passing second. His chest heaved, he didn’t know if it was from the cold of the lab or his mad laugher. 

“You crossed the line Valentine.” He sneered approaching the man. Valentine had more than several inches on him, but he was almost sure that the man had come down here unarmed. It wasn’t wise to wander into the devil’s lair. He pressed the gun into the chest of the man. “This is you last warning." 

"I wasn’t aware I had been warned before.” The man’s jeer was more than uneasy, he had faltered, which was wrong for a turk. He had to compose himself. “Professor.” The shorter man grabbed his tie and pulled him down to his height, the gun still digging into his chest.

“You are more thick than I thought.” The professor could feel the warm breath on his cheek. He sneered and pushed the man away forcefully, more than he knew he had. Valentine stumbled back, smirking.

“Have a good night professor. I’ll consider your warning."  

The Case of Hojo: His Turks

In his lifetime he has only had two turks. That is two more than any normal person. He was never a fan of turks, he found them obtrusive and over paid. They were not better that the common police to him, however they were apparently a select group. 

They were coveted almost. 

Valentine. He scoffs and turns the file over. There is much to say about a man that caused a such a slipt in his life.

They had a personal relationship. It was simply ‘The Professor’ and 'Valentine’. 

He was a strange man. He was outspoken, however he wasn’t overly so. “They are worried about you.” He remembers the man saying to him one night that he was pouring over some data that he cannot even recall.

“They are idiots,” was his response to the man. Valentine laughed, he laughed at the remark. They had a strange relationship until his wedding. Then everything became even more strained. Valentine was simply in love with his wife. 

Of course when he saw the signs and Valentine had the audacity to come to him demanding that all of his research with Lucrecia stop. He lost it, maybe it was the anger that he was harboring towards the silent affair between Valentine and Lucrecia or maybe it was because of the fact that he wanted to continue his research. However, one thing is true: Hojo shot first.


Their relationship was different, unlike his first turk, she refused to leave him alone. She never said anything verbally. She couldn’t, however he knew that she would have been very snarky if she could. He could pick that much up from the daggers she sent across the room when he said something about being want to be left the hell alone. 

He was a possessive man. 

These were his Turks. 

He killed a man on a street of Kalm at the age of twenty two. He did it in self defense, so the police told him. However, he had to pry himself away from the carnage. He had to drop the knife and back away into a wall to stop. He was found feet from the body battered and bloody. He decided the next day that being a doctor of medicine was not for him.
—  The Case of Hojo: Killer
The Case of Hojo: Engagement

((I warn this will be very different that most of my head canons))

“Cris.” He was at the computer, working on something. She sighed, it was so typical of him. He heels making soft clicks on the hardwood floor she walked over, wrapping her arms around his shoulder, “Cristián.” He chuckled at how he said his first name, the pronunciation was a little off, but that was why she had gone to calling him Cris. “We are on vacation, at the beach.” She kept stressing her words, and it became more and more amusing to him. 

He felt her rest her head on his shoulder. They were not Doctor Crescent and Professor Hojo here. She was Lucrecia and he was Cristián. She was distracting him, her lips on his neck. He let out a heavy sigh ”Luc, this is important.” He pointed to the monitor. “Five minutes and then vacation begins.” Her face was in his shoulder, muffling her words. He shook his head and flipped the monitor off, shifting out of the chair, dragging her with him. She moved, releasing the man, smiling as he got out of the chair. He pushed his hair back. “Happy, woman?” He chided.

Lucrecia smacked his arm, “Yes, but you need to stop being snippy. These damn bar exams have really made you…weird.” That wasn’t the thing that was worrying him. Yes the ShinRa bar exams where in a few weeks, he had no doubts that he’d maintain his funding and certification. She was the thing that was bugging him. She was loud and cheeky towards him. However, he didn’t mind her, he was in love with this woman. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, it’s just—”

“I know, I know…it’s just that you have the bar exams, your new projects with Faremis, and everything else in the world. Cris,” She counted them all off on her fingers childishly. She smiled, “This is the last week I have off until I come back from my excavation with Doctor Valentine.” She inched closer to him, pulling at his arm. “Mh, I won’t be at the lab for two weeks, what will you do without me?” She teased as she fit into his arms. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, there they were in the middle of their hotel room, her curled into his arms.

He smirked, leaning down, kissing the crown of her head, “I’ll manage, I’ll drink way too much coffee, sleep in the lab…I’ll do all the things you hate like leaving my socks all over the floor at the house.” She laughed into his shirt. It felt right, it felt normal. She looked up at him a soft smile on her features and her chocolate hair falling in her face. He tucked the hair behind her ear. “How will you manage without me?”

She smiled, knowingly and smoothed out his tie for him. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll need a break from you after this week, I’m sure of it.” She snipped. The sarcasm was not missed, and he let out a low laugh. “Can we go to the beach now?” A beep from the computer. He had a response on the data. 

He clicked his tongue, ignoring the machine. He was on vacation. “Yes, let’s go before I’m tempted to leave you here and run off with the computer.” 

“Señor, señor! Una bella flor para su bella dama? Uno gil para una flor.” He hadn’t heard Del Solian in some time, and then it was angry and broken. His father never understood the finer points of structural grammar in a language.“Señor?” Lucrecia had been mystified by the cart-peddler that had approached them. This was not something you saw in Kalm or Nibelheim. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, fumbling for a gil note.

“Una rosa, hace usted tiene uno?” He said quickly, one does not fumble over Del Solian. It’s like a song. You have to be quick and instep with it. Lucrecia looked up at him, like he had gone mad, halfway amazed. “Rápidamente, por favor.” The man nodded, taking the gil and putting it away before digging for a flower. 

Lucrecia hissed lowly, “You didn’t tell me you spoke Del Solian fluently Cris.” He wrapped an arm around her. “How do you know Del Solian?” He had to laugh at that one. How did he know Del Solian? He must have picked it up from his screaming father and quiet mother. The man turned back to them and handed the flower to Lucrecia. She was hesitant, but took the flower cautiously. “Thank you.” She brought the flower to her nose.

The cartsmen just gave her a smile, showing off his lack of teeth and pushed the cart away from them. “Cris?” She asked, her nose still buried in the flower. They continued down the road, towards the beach. 

“I’m Del Solian, I’m not fluent in the language. It’s my first language, Standard is my second.” His words were stern, concerning Lucrecia. She sighed and placed a kiss to his jaw, somewhat of an apology for distressing the man. He sighed, she knew he was a private man. She didn’t want to press, but she did want to know more. When they had first talked on his name he had made it sound like that he was born and raised in Kalm, his parents being refugees from an island off of the coast of Costa Del Sol.

There were a lot of things she didn’t know about him, and that upset her, however in due time he would tell her small things, like how his favorite food was spicy Southern Wutain noodles and that he absolutely hated television. 

She placed her head on his shoulder, “Thank you for the flower, Cris.” He smiled lightly. They’d be okay, he and she both knew that.


They had walked the beach, just talking about nothing. She got him talking, he normally didn’t like sharing what he was thinking, but he trusted her. As it got dark, he suggested to lay out and watch the stars appear one by one. She had agreed, still holding the rose protectively.

“Virgo.” She stated lazily. He was holding up her free hand to the sky, painting the stars for her. He led her hand to the stars and pointed them out, if he knew the names he’d say them while tracing the outlines. She was just lying on his chest, letting him show her the stars. “Cris…you know way too much for your own good.” He chuckled, she smiled at the vibration.

He was in love with this woman. She was always in his business, yet he couldn’t get her out. He was sharing things that he never wanted to talk about ever again. He had learned the stars from his father, and here he was using it with a woman that he cared for.



And he asked her, laying on the beach of his hometown, “Marry me.” 

The Case of Hojo: Volatile

He remembers someone telling him that Del Solians have an explosive temper. He laughs hoarsely as he pulls himself away from his work bench. He stumbles and looks up at the healing tube.

He has an extremely volatile reaction to the Mako injection. He smirks at the man inside. 

He presses his hand to the tube, laughing now. His eyes tracing the scars that wind around this man’s body. He knows everything about him. Every muscle, every bone, every organ. 

When that man was on the table, he pulled the man’s heart from his chest. Of course he went about this the correct way. He kept the man somewhat alive, somewhat pain free, and was correct with the incisions. He was precise. 

He ripped this man’s heart from his chest and laughed at him madly, telling him that he still had won in the end. With his hands soaked in blood he had proceeded to continue to improve him. 

He torn into flesh to teach this man to keep his hands to himself. He broke his bones and made them stronger. The pain he imagined was excruciating. This would teach him a lesson. The winding marks a reminder.  

He smirks, he hears her footsteps. His wife is here to visit the him again. 

He stumbles back to his desk and sits, waiting for the cries from her, the pleadings. 

Del Solians have volatile tempers, he knows.

His temper caused this. 

The Case of Hojo: Son

She knocks midday on his door. “Cris.” She calls to him. He looks up, removing his glasses and then rubbing his eye. She smiles widely and laughs at the way he looks. He’s been working so hard recently.

Her heels click across the hardwood floors as she walks over to his desk. She doesn’t stop at the foot however, she comes over besides him an kneels. “Cris…I have some good news for you.” He replaces his glasses and turns to her, taking up her hands.


She laughs again, “I’m pregnant.” She laughed again. “It’s a boy!” He stood and pulled her up and into his arms. “…we are going to have a son Cris…" 

He had never been more offended in his life then when Lucrecia had told him that she was retaining her last name. Her explanation was that it would be confusing to have a Doctor and Professor Hojo in the building. He understood this and agreed, he loved his wife, so he’d put up with it. However, that didn’t change the fact that it still cut deep. He should have urged her to take his name.
—  The Case of Hojo: Surnames

Failure. Failure. This whole project was riddled with failure and he could see the board of directors smirking sickly as they took his funding away. Damn them. Could they not see how brilliant this was? The president thought this was mad, but required. 

Failures, the project manager, his assistant was a failure. The whole project was falling out from underneath his feet and the man hated being labeled with a failing project. Of course his fingers, boney and callused had been on the pulse of this project. He would go down with it. Hollander would replace him. 

He couldn’t allow that to happen. The man would not allow that man with all of his terrible theories and incomplete data take over his department. The Professor had been ruling the department with an iron fist for years now, budgets were kept and the whole organization ran smoother under his reign then that of Professor G. Faremis or Professor G. Valentine.

Damn the board. 

Damn the ethics. 

This project needed to work. A file held all of the answers. 

He was brilliant. This idea was brilliant, he laughed. It was a positively mad idea. It would be another small blow to a once great man’s pride. The professor smirked. He had his donor. He knew how he was going to save the Deepground Project.


Yes, he’d be the unwilling, unknown donor.

The dark knight that would end up saving the whole project. 

Fingers twitched slightly at the thought of going near that sleeping shell again. Nibelheim was so far off. He was here in Midgar with the rest of the board. However, they didn’t know that he was six floors below the earth. He would have to leave and retrive it. He needed that donor to fix this mangled mess of a project.

The swirling pillars of Mako gave off a faint glow. He stopped and looked up at it, smirking. To think that a project like this started out with stagnant mako research back in Nibelheim.

He laughed, and the man that embodied the gene was now unwillingly going to give him the key to the second part of the Stagnant Mako Project.

Project Sable. 

The Case of Hojo: Cat

“It’s a cat.” The woman stated, “A kitten, sir.” He took off his bifocals and looked at the thing. It was small and grey, purring in the woman’s arms. He knew what it was, and he did not need an animal in his life. An animal required care constantly, something that he did not have time for. 

“No, Miss Forester take it back.” He said harshly to his assistant. He looked back down at his files. She placed the thing on his desk, it started to wobble all over his files mewling. He picked up his glasses and his coffee cup, shooting a leering look at the woman on the other side of his desk. “Take it back, or I will take it downstairs.” He meant the lab. She grabbed the kitten up in her arms and huffed. She was juggling it and his Filofax.

It mewed again. “I’m leaving for Banora, and one of my cats just had kittens, I have homes for all of them, but this one.” She stated lightly, “I was going to ask someone in Midgar, but you have to register to own a pet. And…Alex doesn’t fair well with my own cats…so I thought while I was gone…maybe…”

He huffed and pinched his nose, he did not need a pet, but waved it off. It’d be one week, then the cat would be gone.

He was wrong. Irene had defected and left for Midgar when her professor asked her to go take her bar exam and then spend some time at HQ finishing up his end of quarter reports for him. So he was stuck with this cat for a few extra days. It had curled it up on his bed at night keeping the foot of the bed warm.

After an examination and some deworming he figured that the cat was about seven weeks old and was indeed a female kitten. She was standoffish and kept to herself in the corner of the lab. The grey and black flecked tabby was good company in the dank lab.

“Good afternoon, Professor.” Irene said as she placed her bag down on the lab station, he looked up and took the files from her hand, the director of solider wanted him to update the files on the Solider modification data, honestly he didn’t know who was in charge of solider and he didn’t care. He watched as she picked cat up out of the basket in the corner. “It seems you took care of it, Professor.” He watched as the woman petted the cat.

“She, and her name is Selenium.”  

((Marluxia, this is your fault.))

The Case of Hojo: Sephiroth

If the falling out with Vincent, Lucrecia and himself had not happened, Sephiroth would have grown up rather normally. His mother loved him dearly, and he loved his mother. He could have loved that boy.

Of course he would have still been under the Jenova project and would have received the cells, but somewhere he knows if his wife had stayed, if he had controlled his temper, and if his turk had been a little louder…

He could have had a son. 

The Case of Hojo: Hometowns

Twice a year he will return to his hometown, it is a few hours east of Nibelheim and the climate is much warmer. Of course he doesn’t look like a native, but he is. Years of working in a dark and damp environment has paled his skin, but the brown hue still remains.

He carries all the marks of a native: his long hair and kept back, the tannish hue to his skin, and the dark eyes. He’s also fluent in the native language. It’s odd to watch him speak it, because no one would think that he would know it. However, he is more than fluent, it was his first language. Then he learned Standard, he taught himself and is more proficient in it than some people who were raised to speak Standard. 

He is Del Solian, it’s a closely guarded secret due to the stigma that comes with being Del Solians. He is not an uncultured, uneducated, low class, drunkard. He knows of no Del Solians that are.

It is a well known fact that Del Solians like to throw a party, however, all are hard workers. 

He was born to a fisherman and was brought up to be a Del Solian citizen. However, he left for Kalm, trading in a lifetime of fishing for a degree in Medical Science and Research. He never regretted it. He wasn’t cut out for the hard life of manual labor, he thrived with learning. However, his bullheaded nature got him into a few scrapes in Kalm. He could hold his own. He was raised by a fisherman after all and Del Solians are known for their tempers. 

Some days he finds himself missing his hometown, the simple breeze and the simple people who farmed, fished, and made weapons for a living. However, he enjoys his visits and tells himself he will retire and return to his hometown eventually.

For now, Costa Del Sol will be a place that he vacations and talks of sparsly, with the postcard of the bay on his desk. He’ll praise the beaches and the food. However, he will give no more away.  

The Case of Hojo: Birthday

On November 6th, 1946 at 11:47 am in the old wing of Oriental Costa Hospital de Docente and very uneventfully Cristián David Hojo comes into the world. When he thinks about it, he realizes that everyone entered the world in this mundane fashion. 

Of course it’s the story behind the conception that is different, like how he knows that he was conceived from one to many bottles of Banora wine and the rich food of Costa. His son, was conceived on the beach, after loud and violent attack to his person by his wife. 

He walks down the hallway of Nibelheim Teaching Hospital and University, thinking about this as he looks at the newborns. He’s not here to gawk at the screaming lump of cells swaddled in cloth and kept warm under artificial lights. He’s here to take the name of some of his best Graduate students and place them in the capable hands of Doctor Reinhard Zelter. 

His office is on the same wing as the newborn/NICU ward and he’s stopped looking at one of the children under the light. It’s a boy, and he’s jaundiced. It is either neonatal or his liver is shutting down at the tender age of one day old.

“Hojo.” He looks up from the window, its Zelter and a gaggle of his own graduate students. He scoffs at some of them. Research Science is the harder route, medical science is something he decided early on that he wanted to experiment, not save. “Glad you could make it, old friend.” He’s known Zelter for years, he nods and hands the file to the man. However, it ends up in the hands of one of his students. 

“It’s been too long, Zelter.” He says lightly turning his gaze back to the small infant. Zelter steps forward, trying to at the same thing, “Jaundice, have you tested the liver function yet?” The man shakes his head. Zelter is still an idiot. 

The man laughs and points his finger to the different light on the small boy, “He’s getting phototheapy, he should be fine by tomorrow. He was premature this morning, the mother and father agree that phototheapy is the best route. His veins are too shallow at the moment for a functional test." 

Hojo closes his eyes and shakes his head, the man is ignoring him. Just because the professor doesn't believe in the Hippocratic Oath nor ever took it, doesn’t mean he likes watching a medical mystery being ignored. "Right well, I am not a medical doctor anymore.” The group of students laugh, he hates all of them immediately, they are trying to suck up. He nods a goodbye to the good doctor and take one last look at the listless dying infant, primum non nocere indeed.

Liver failure kills newborn, New policies needed for Nibelheim Teaching Hospital?  

He reads this online, several hours later. The story had blown up right after he had left. The baby had started bleeding out and slipped into a coma. He gathers that the baby’s brain shut down after a few hours due to lack of oxygen. Zelter might be looking for a job and a lawyer. 

“Good afternoon, Professor…” His assistant said as she pulled her lab coat off and hung it next to his own. She digs through her bag, pulling out a small wrapped box for him. She doesn’t stop at the end of his desk, she comes over beside him and hands it to him personally. Normally the woman ignores him, stands at the desk and barks his schedule to him. “Happy birthday, Professor.” He takes the silver box, opening it up for her. 

A watch and card. He thinks on the small baby, he will never have a birthday. He doesn’t care for the child, but he knows how fragile the balance between life and death is. He’s made it sixty five years because of being fit and dumb luck. That child never had a chance to make a choice. 

“Thank you.” It is the first time he is sure that he’s offered her praise in years. He thanks her because he has manners, and this is a thoughtful gift. He removes watch from the box and puts it on his wrist. It’s engraved in Del Solian, a line stating the greatness of man, he smirks it’s a good gift for him. 

There are two parallels between him and that child, they share the same birthday…

And they die alone. 

It wasn’t the fact that he was trying to escape his work, it was more of the fact that he couldn’t continue to look at numbers or run tests on blood work. He found himself in front of the piano because it didn’t have a deadline or an urgency. It was mind numbing and some days he needed it.
—  The Case of Hojo: Piano
The Case of Hojo: Experiment

The monster screams out his name. The sound it’s making from the metal table is inhuman. It thrashes against the cold, screeching for release. It’s in pain.

It’s dying. He smirks as he gauges the amount of mako into the syringe. The monster thrashes again calling for help.

Screaming, pleading.

He moves towards it, needle drawn. It cannot move too much, and all movement will cease for some time after this. He grabs an arm and jabs the needle into the vein. It’s painful if it’s done this way. 

A howl of pain and then silence. 

Time to go to work.

Scalpel cuts into flesh, he’s ripping the flesh from the bone, placing it on ice to be sewed back on later. He’s blood splashed and splattered, he doesn’t care. Blood pools on the floor, sliding to the drain. His mad laugh echoing in the room as the lab assistants and the turk who knows better wait for him to finish…

Something else is on the table and it’s not them. For that they are thankful. 

This is his job…his thankless job.