Chapter Text
"We found a cold case from 1998." Nobara announced, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. She dropped a thick, yellowing file onto Megumi's desk. Dust puffed into the air as the folder hit the surface. "Mass homicide and cannibalism." The bullpen noise seemed to fade into the background.
Megumi's brows furrowed. "Cannibalism?"
"Twenty victims." Maki crossed her arms. "All found inside their own houses. The crime scene was so bad half the responding officers transferred departments within the year. Apparently, he'd gone full Ramsay on them. cooked them in pots and pans, with seasoning before finishing them off"
Yuuji's face twisted. "Okay, that's horrifying."
"It gets worse," Nobara said.
Megumi reached for the file, flipping it open. The photographs inside were grainy and faded with age, but they were disturbing enough to make his stomach tighten. The house looked less like a crime scene and more like something out of a nightmare.
"They never found the guy," Maki continued. "No fingerprints. No DNA. No witnesses. Nothing."
"Except..." Nobara added.
"Except what?" Megumi asked, looking up from the file.
"Would you let me finish?"
Megumi gestured impatiently for her to continue.
Nobara grinned. "Except for the symbol."
She slid another photograph across the desk, the glossy paper whispering against the wood. Megumi immediately recognized it. Painted across an interior wall was the same strange symbol that had appeared at every single arson scene they had investigated over the past three months, its twisted lines burned into his memory after countless hours spent staring at evidence boards and crime scene reports. Only this one wasn't spray-painted. The dark markings streaking across the wall were uneven, jagged, and irregular, as though whoever had drawn them had done so in a hurry or with trembling hands. Crude. Almost dripping. For a moment, Megumi thought it was paint, some cheap black pigment smeared across cracked plaster. Then he noticed the note written beneath the photograph. His eyes lingered on the single line, and a cold sensation crawled slowly down his spine. The substance covering the wall had been tested by forensics less than an hour earlier. It wasn't paint. It wasn't ink. It wasn't any commercial pigment they could identify. Megumi stared at the symbol again, suddenly aware of details he had missed before—the way the streaks thickened at certain points, the way gravity had pulled them downward in thin, glossy trails, the way the edges had darkened as they dried. A chill crawled up his spine.
Blood.
"The same symbol the King of Curses leaves behind," Maki said quietly. "But back then it was drawn using the victims' blood."
The desk fell silent. Even Yuuji looked unsettled.
"He gave him self a name too. Ryomen Sukuna."
"Ryomen Sukuna?" he repeated. "The ancient god of calamity?"
Nobara blinked. "You read mythology?"
"Woahh, officer. Didn't know you were hot and smart."
Megumi ignored him, instead asking, "Do you think it's the same guy?"
"'Sukuna' was never caught," Maki continued. "According to witness statements and behavioral profiling from the original investigation, detectives believed he was a man in his early twenties." She tapped the old case file. "Assuming they were right, he'd be forty-seven or forty-eight now."
"So you're telling me we've got a serial killer who disappeared for almost thirty years and suddenly came back?" Yuuji frowned.
Megumi stared down at the symbol.
Twenty-eight years.
Twenty-eight years without a trace.
Then suddenly eleven arsons in eight months.
No warning.
No explanation.
No mistakes.
"The real question," Megumi said, "is why now?"
Nobody answered.
"Why wait nearly three decades to come back?" he continued. "And if this is the same Sukuna..."
His gaze drifted to the photographs of the burned buildings to the three standing in front of him. Yuuji caught his gaze. He must have knew what Megumi was going to say, because he beat him to it. "...why switch from mass homicide and cannibalism to arson?" Yuuji finished.
"Kugisaki and I are gonna go report back to Gojo, in his office. You two wait here."
"Gojo-san and the Geto-san are making out." Yuuji points out.
"WHAT?" They all snap their heads in the direction of the captains office. There sat, the police captain of 99th precinct, of the Tokyo police force, making out with a firefighter. What happened to the rivalry? It went up in flames. "Ewwwwwwwwww." Nobara exclaimed. "I did not want to see Geto-san making out with someone."
"Lets stop them before this fic becomes rated explicit." Maki said. (I broke the 4th wall hehe)
When the two women disappeared once again, Megumi and Yuuji were left alone. "So..." Yuuji began.
"So?"
"Wanna grab dinner after this?"
"No."
"Too bad."
"Mmhm."
"How long have you been a cop?"
"Ever since I was 18. So six years."
"That young? I stated training to be a firefighter at 19."
"Cool."
"Yeah.. my parents dies in a fire, so I didn't want anyone else to suffer that fate. My grandpa always told me to help people, so this is kinda my way of doing that."
Megumi was genuinely surprised by that. For a moment, he simply stared at Yuuji, caught off guard by the sincerity of his words. The usual guarded expression on his face eased, and his eyes softened slightly. A faint smile threatened to appear as he quietly replied, "That's really nice, Itadori."
"Thanks. What about you? Why become a cop?"
"My father was a criminal. Gojo's actually the one that brought him in, my father stabbed him, but Gojo survived, my father did not. As he was dying, he told my Gojo about me, so Gojo decided to take us in."
"Us?"
"My sister, Tsumiki, and I. A few years ago someone pushed her off a bridge, miraculously she survived, but wound up in a coma for 2 years, she's awake now, but I vowed I would find whoever pushed her. That was actually my first case as a detective. That guy's serving 80 years."
"Woah. You're amazing."
Megumi blushed, warmth creeping across his cheeks before he could stop it. Yuuji had said it with such deception-free eyes, his voice carrying not even the slightest trace of a lie. His tone was soft, gentle, and kind, wrapping around Megumi's heart in a way that felt almost unfair. There was no hesitation, no hidden motive lurking beneath the words. It sounded as though he truly meant every syllable. And somehow, that sincerity made Megumi's chest tighten far more than any flirty remark ever could. "Thanks." was all he was able to muster out.
Yuuji flashed him a smile, bright and warm enough to rival the afternoon sun. It was the kind of smile that should have been comforting, reassuring even. Instead, it only made the strange feeling in Megumi's chest grow stronger, his heart stumbling awkwardly against his ribs.
Yuuji Itadori, I am not going to fall for you.
They fell into a comfortable silence, neither quite sure what to say next. Despite themselves, both kept stealing quick glances at the other whenever they thought they wouldn't be noticed. The quiet stretched between them until Yuuji finally broke it. "Hey officer?"
"Yeah?" Megumi answered, a little wary, shifting his weight as he looked over.
Yuuji hesitated for a split second, then scratched the back of his neck with a faint grin. "Do you guys have any food here. Other than doughnuts, I mean."
"There a vending machine in the break room. And for the record, not all cops like donuts."
"Then what do you like? "
"Anything with ginger."
"Noted. I'm quite the cook you know? We could have a nice sit down dinner at my place, with wine, jazzy music playing in the background, I say something funny, you lau-"
“Itadori, Fushiguro.” Geto’s voice cut through the air behind them, calm but heavy in a way that immediately pulled both of them out of their thoughts. Megumi turned first, Itadori a half-second behind him, both of them instinctively straightening as they registered the tone rather than the words. “Come into Gojo’s cabin.”
No explanation followed. Just that.
They exchanged a brief look—Itadori’s usual easy expression dimmed slightly, Megumi’s already guarded one tightening further—before they moved. The corridor felt longer than it should have, the ship’s quiet creaking filling the gaps between their footsteps. Even the usual background noise of activity seemed muted, like the entire vessel had unconsciously decided to hold its breath.
By the time they reached the captain’s cabin, the atmosphere had already shifted—subtly at first, like a change in air pressure before a storm, and then all at once, unmistakable. Even the hallway outside felt different, quieter than it should have been, as if the ship itself had decided to hold its breath.
The door was open when they arrived.
That alone was wrong enough to slow their steps.
Inside, Gojo was already there, unusually still. He wasn’t slouched or playful the way he usually was, no careless grin or lazy tilt of the head to break the tension. Instead, he stood near the center of the room as if he had placed himself there deliberately and then forgotten how to move again. The light from the cabin windows cut across him in hard lines, emphasizing how motionless he had become, like someone waiting for a verdict he already knew.
Kugisaki stood near the desk with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture wasn’t defensive in the casual sense—it was locked down, controlled, the kind of stillness that came from refusing to let anything spill out. Her jaw was set so firmly it looked like it might ache. She wasn’t just irritated; she was bracing herself, holding something back with the kind of discipline that usually came right before frustration turned into something sharper.
Maki leaned against the far wall, but even that familiar stance felt different now. She wasn’t relaxed into it. Her shoulders were slightly angled forward, weight distributed like she was ready to push off at any second. Her eyes tracked the room in small, precise movements—Gojo, the desk, the open door—sharp but unsettled, as if she had already processed part of whatever news was coming and didn’t like the shape of it sitting in her mind. Her hand rested near her side, not quite on her weapon, but close enough to make the hesitation feel intentional.
No one spoke right away.
The silence wasn’t empty. It was crowded—filled with everything they were all trying not to say, thick enough that even the faint creak of the ship felt intrusive. The usual ease that followed Gojo wherever he went was gone, replaced by something heavier, something that made the room feel smaller than it should have been.
Megumi stepped inside first, Itadori close behind. “What’s wrong?” Megumi asked immediately, his voice controlled but alert.
For a moment, nobody answered. The silence stretched just long enough to feel intentional. Then Gojo spoke. “We just got news that the officer who worked the case in 1998—the one who’s now sixty-eight—died in a car crash.”
The words landed oddly. Not dramatic enough for the weight everyone was carrying, not clean enough to be accidental. Kugisaki’s eyes flicked away, as if she couldn’t stand to look at either of them while saying it.
Megumi felt Itadori stiffen beside him. “…What?” Itadori’s voice came out sharper than usual.
"When? What time? Any witnesses?"
"7AM, this morning. He was on his way to visit his wife's grave. He ended up visiting her instead." Gojo said.
"Only one witness. 38 year old, Himari Endo. The only problem is she didn't see who was driving the speeding car, they had a weird black-out windshield or something. We just got the call of the ex-detectives death. Kuboyasu is coming in later this afternoon." Maki explained.
"Maki, I want you to take the statements. Megumi, Itadori, Kugisaki, You three brief Okkotsu and Inumaki, and tell Kurusu and Panda, incase we need backup later. Right now, take your breaks. We're going to need everyone to be fit and fine for this case."
So now the only link to Sukuna is gone.