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“Welcome! A party of one?”
“Yes,” Kugisaki Nobara smiles amongst three curses. “Only one.”
x
Itadori Yuuji hates hospitals.
He didn’t dislike them when his grandfather died- it was meant to happen, and he’s sure the old man had a peaceful passing.
No, Yuuji started hating hospitals seven years ago, when instead of his grandfather, it was Fushiguro fighting for his life after getting stabbed a dozen times by nails.
Now, it’s even worse. This time, a child was the one that got injured. One that was under his care. Put in critical condition fighting against a special-grade they shouldn’t have been sent to . They’re only lucky that Shoko was close by to heal the wound in Satoru’s gut. By then, he’d already passed out, pronounced dead by the doctor.
This is what Yuuji had to come back to, after a simple overseas mission that should have been routine.
Beside him, Ijichi is stiff, hands held together tightly. He should probably tone his anger down, but this time, he can’t help it.
“It was intentional, huh?” he snorts.
“W-what do you mean?”
“First year students. Sent into against a special-grade, to retrieve inmates that we couldn’t even confirm were alive. There’s no way in hell I would send in brand new kids to a mission like that. I had to pull some strings to give Geto his freedom as a normal student, without completely isolating him. No doubt, the crusty higher-ups were trying to kill a potential threat in my absence, as a reminder.”
“Imagine their surprise when their precious honored son was the casualty of the mission instead,” Yuuji laughs self-deprecatingly.
“But- when the mission was planned,” Ijichi stutters, “There was no indication of a special-grade at all.”
Yuuji nods. “A pain, finding the culprit. Instead, what if I just . . . kill all the higher ups?” he grits out.
“Don’t be silly.”
Ijichi startles when Megumi walks into the room. At a glance, he looks stoic and unbreakable, but Yuuji can tell he’s stressed. The bags under his eyes and the crease in between his eyebrows are evident of his worry.
“You’re being silly,” he repeats. “Keep a straight head. People worse than them will rise up, and you’ll be a mass murderer. What happened to the save everyone schtick?”
They both know where that mindset went. Down into the grave with their best friend’s body, and neither of them will ever acknowledge it.
“Fushiguro,” he greets with an empty smile.
Instead of responding, the man turns to Satoru, lying still in between the pale hospital sheets. Yuuji can see his hand gripping the cloth tightly, until his knuckles turn white to match. No matter Satoru’s lineage or birth, he knows that Megumi is the boy’s true guardian.
He doesn’t know the full story, only that near the end of their second year, a little kid had started to hang out with Megumi often. It was only later he’d found out the boy was actually Gojo Satoru, the famed honored child of the Gojo family.
“Any lasting effects?”
Ijichi shakes his head.
“Good,” Megumi mumbles to himself. “That’s- good news.”
His hand moves from the sheets to Satoru’s hand, holding it lightly. There’s barely any difference between the two, pale as the boy is now.
“When are you going to bring him back to the school?” Ijichi asks.
“About that,” Yuuji starts. “I was thinking, what if we just kept him dead for now? With Fushiguro’s permission.”
“What?” Megumi stares at him.
“I’m going to teach him some things. Even if he’s more powerful than the other two students, you and I both know the assassination attempts will only grow worse now that’s out of the Gojo’s supervision at all times. Better to train him up before throwing him to the wolves.” Yuuji shrugs.
Megumi still looks skeptical, but Yuuji knows he remembers all the time they’d thwarted bounties on Satoru’s head when he was still a kid and with Grade 1 sorcerers.
“It’s only ‘til the Goodwill Event, I promise.”
“Fine,” Megumi relents. “But I’ll warn you right now, he’ll go stir crazy in two days.”
“It’s alright,” Yuuji waves. “Worry on being a sorcerer, and I’ll worry about being a teacher, yeah?”
x
Suguru might actually take up Shoko on that cigarette offer.
If the rush really is as good as she describes, he could just have to take one.
Sitting on the cold steps of the school, he can’t get rid of the image of Gojo smiling his self-assured, playful smile, and pushing him away to the exit. Assuring Suguru that he’ll be fine.
What do you take me for? I’m the strongest. Fushiguro says it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak.
He drops his head into his hands. He shouldn’t have left the idiot to deal with a curse that neither of them could move against first. A special-grade, Ijichi said. Both he and Gojo were classified as Special-Grade Sorcerers, but that monster was nothing they could have beat. Not in a million years.
It’s not like he and the guy suddenly became friends in two weeks. His constant arrogance got on Suguru’s nerves, and his apparent uptightness was annoying, according to Gojo.
He’s just mad that someone died from their own stupidity. Both of them could have escaped at the same time, into different exits. It would have made it harder for the curse to follow both of them, and from there, they could have rejoined with Shoko and made it out safely.
If only they’d done that. Suguru isn’t fooling anyone, much less himself with that half-assed excuse. He’s just shocked that his classmate died from protecting him. They weren’t friends, but in those short two weeks, trading insults became more banter than actually trying to offend each other.
Maybe they could have been friends, if only Gojo had survived.
Does Shoko feel the same? She doesn’t look any different, face smooth while smoke blows over her lips with an exhale.
“He said he was the strongest,” he says quietly. “That a special-grade is nothing to him.”
Shoko looks at him witheringly. “And you believed that? He’s the same age as us.”
“Was.”
“Huh?”
“Was,” Suguru repeats. “He was the same age as us.”
“So what?” she looks away. “Is this the first time one of your friends has died?”
“A classmate, yeah.”
“Really? You seem fine.”
“Look who’s talking,” he rebukes tiredly.
“Of course,” Shoko frowns. “I’ve seen plenty die. How else do you think I discovered my cursed technique?”
Suguru doesn’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry that happened? Sorry for bringing it up?
The cicadas grow louder in his silence, a cacophony of buzzing that rings in his ears.
“Whatever,” Shoko sighs. “When do you think we’ll get our summer uniforms?”
“I don’t know. It is pretty hot, though.”
“Sheesh . . . you guys look so moody. What is this, a funeral?”
Suguru looks up, surprised. A girl, with glasses and black hair glares down at him.
“Who . . . are you?”
“I’m-”
“Maki. Maki!” a- panda? whisper-shouts from behind a bush. “Someone really did die yesterday! The first year boy, Gojo Satoru!”
“Y-you could have told me that earlier,” Maki hisses. “Now I look like a heartless demon!”
“Well, you basically are one, though.”
“Tuna.”
“Um. Sorry, but who are you?”
“Eh?” the girl turns her sharp gaze back to them. “Oh, right. New kids.”
“Be nicer, Maki,” the panda chides. “I’m Panda. This is Inumaki Toge, cursed speech user. He only talks in rice-ball fillings. Zen’in Maki, out of all the students here, there’s no better cursed weapons user. Yuuta’s abroad at the moment, but with him, Maki’s a lot nicer. We’re the second years in Jujutsu Tech.”
“Hello . . . ?” Shoko looks bemused, and Suguru thinks he probably looks somewhat similar. Panda didn’t even explain what he wanted to know most.
“So! Sorry for interrupting this sad time, but we want you guys to participate in the Kyoto sister-school Goodwill Event.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an event with the other school in Kyoto,” Maki explains. “It’s usually only second and third years, but we’re short on people right now, so you guys are in.”
“Each principal from the schools chooses an event for the two days,” Panda butts in. “But everybody knows the first day will be a team event, and the second an individual.”
“Against other jujutsu sorcerers?” Suguru isn’t sure if he can manage. His technique relies on the stock of curses he has, which isn’t too impressive.
“Yup! It’s a battle where the only rule is don’t kill each other,” Maki grins. “We’ll train you both up so you won’t die.”
“So? You’re in, right?” Panda asks. “Do it for your fallen friend!”
Suguru considers the offer, stealing a glance at Shoko. Her expression is the same, disinterested, but there’s a spark of something behind her dark eyes. No point in drowning yourself in guilt, after all. The world is short of jujutsu sorcerers enough as it is.
“We’re in.”
He has to become stronger. Whatever it takes.
x
“So. Your boss wants to reverse the roles of humans cursed spirits?”
Nobara smiles, crossing her arms.
“Not quite. Humans are made of lies. There’s always a flipside to the positive emotions they show,” Jogo grunts. “Negative emotions, like hatred and killing intent, however, are truths. Curses born from such truths are . . . the Purest Form! We are true humans.
“The fake ones should be burned away!” Jogo seethes, air wavering over his head.
“Sure,” she shrugs. “But the reality is, you’ll be the ones who disappear.”
“That’s why we’re asking for your help.”
“There are two conditions in winning this war, against humans,” Nobara says. “First, seal Itadori Yuuji and take him out of the fight. Second, kill Gojo Satoru before half an year passes.”
Jogo’s head bubbles and pops. “Isn’t Gojo Satoru already dead?”
“Don’t be so sure . . . about that,” Nobara hums.
“And what about the other one? The Ten Shadows Sorcerer?” Jogo grunts. “He’s dangerous. Even more so than Sukuna’s vessel, I’d say.”
“No need to worry about that just yet,” Nobara smiles, dismissing it easily. “I have a plan for him too. I’d say he and Itadori are matched almost evenly in terms of pure power, but shikigami and domains will do nothing against what I have in mind. It’s Sukuna’s technique that is truly the only thing we must watch out for.”
“Your plan better be good, sorcerer,” Jogo spits.
“It will work. I’m sure of it.”
x
“Ijichi. Do you know why I became a teacher?”
“Er. No.”
“It’s simple,” Itadori scowls. “My only purpose in living is to collect all of Sukuna’s fingers, then die. Only, my usefulness has transcended that simple task.”
“Transcended?”
“Yup. I’m one of the only two special-grades active, besides the students. Nothing is a challenge to me anymore, after unlocking Sukuna’s technique. At this point, if I die, it will only hurt them, especially with my limited number of incidents since graduating. It’s illogical to do so, hence my status as an active sorcerer.
“They’re just bitter, at this point. I like to go against their rules often, save people that they think should be executed. I have a privilege few have, but with the price of a death sentence hanging over my head. The higher-ups are all just bloodline obsessed, arrogant, selfish bastards.”
“Are they really that bad?” Ijichi questions. It’s rare to see him like this, carefree mask on almost all the time. He barely lets it slip, ever since his friend’s death.
“Yeah,” Itadori says angrily. “The corruption’s gotten so deep, the whole system needs a reset. Even if I did kill everyone in charge, the same people would only rise up to take power, and it’s not like people approve of mass murder. That’s why I’m turning to education.”
“I thought teaching was one of the conditions of your free status,” Ijichi frowns. He’s certainly heard the man complaining about it often enough.
“That’s bullshit,” he waves off. “I could have easily skimped off that duty if I wanted to, but I don’t need more missions. I need strong, intelligent allies. I need to foster them in the exact way the higher-ups hate, so I need to be there teaching them those beliefs.
“They’re all great,” Itadori sighs. “Especially the third year, Hakari, and the second year, Okkotsu. They’ll be as good as me, someday.”
He turns his gaze back to Gojo, lying in his bed, and Ijichi can see his fists tighten.
“Satoru’s no different. He’ll surpass me soon, as well as the other first years. This year’s students really are exceptional, you know?”
Ijichi really hasn’t seen much of them yet, but the fact that all three of them made it out of a battle against a special-grade with an innate domain is a feat in itself that he wouldn’t have managed. And of course, he’s heard of Gojo Satoru, the boy with Six Eyes and Limitless. It probably isn’t a stretch to believe that the three prodigal students enrolled this year will be strong.
The bed creaks.
Itadori sits up, smile sliding back on.
Gojo sits up almost instantly, mouth open in a surprised ‘O’.
“Didn’t I die?”
Itadori gives him a thumbs up, saying, “Nah, you didn’t. Shoko fixed you up just before you bit it. It was a pretty close call, though.”
“Uh. I’m glad, I guess.”
“You should be,” Itadori says lightly. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Satoru.”
“Yup,” Gojo huffs sarcastically as he drags himself up. “I’m so thrilled.”
x
“Itadori Yuuji. Even if we all worked together, we wouldn’t be able to kill him?”
“You might be able to run away. Worst case, he’ll exorcise all of you,” Nobara leans back. “Instead of killing, focus your efforts on sealing him.”
“Sealing? How?”
“Use a special-grade cursed item, like Prison Realm,” she smiles, pulling out a small object, somehow imperceptible even close up.
“You have it?” Jogo exclaims, a stream of lava spurting up from his head. “That taboo object?”
“Calm down, Jogo,” Nobara frowns, fanning herself. “It’s getting hot.”
One of the waiters, a man with a curly mustache walks up to their table.
“Ma’am, are you ready to or-”
Jogo flicks his fingers, and he goes up in flames. As he screams, Nobara crosses her arms, eyebrows bunching together.
“I’d rather you not cause a commotion.”
“Then how about this?” Jogo grins, before the rest of the people burst on fire as well. Ashes fall and swirl through the air, bones burnt to a crisp in a matter of seconds.
“Good thing I didn’t choose an expensive restaurant,” Nobara coughs, waving at the smoke. “You’ll ruin my new jacket.”
Jogo ignores the comment, instead leaning forward, asking, “Kugisaki. How strong am I in terms of Sukuna’s fingers?”
“Being generous, I’d say . . . about eight or nine?”
“That’s plenty! Give me the Prison Realm. I’ll add it to my collection, in exchange for killing Itadori Yuuji!”
x
“You’re late, Geto. Where were you?”
“Does it matter?”
Suguru rubs the back of his head, the woman’s voice echoing in his ears. It was uncomfortable, to stand there and watch the woman cry for her dead son, but what other choice did he have? She deserved closure.
“Please don’t apologize. I’m the only person . . . who will grieve for him.”
Shoko is lying on the ground, ankle still in the grasp of Panda. She looks absolutely miserable.
“Geto,” she wheezes. “Get over here and take my place. Or better yet, tell them I don’t need this. I’m going to be a fucking doctor, not a sorcerer!”
“What are those two doing?” Nothing Suguru wants to participate in, that’s for sure.
“Practicing falling,” Maki responds. “You guys are both pretty weak in close combat. Ieiri doesn’t want to be in the field, but a jujutsu sorcerer always needs a fallback plan, especially for you two.”
“Your technique is powerful and you have a very large amount of cursed energy at your disposal,” Panda tells Shoko. “For now, you should focus on using cursed weapons or imbuing others with your energy.”
“First, try to land a blow on me,” Maki spins her polearm around with a dexterity Suguru could only imagine having. “Then we’ll talk.”
x
“Satoru, you’re pretty much good in both the technique and physical combat portions, compared to your classmates.”
It’s a sunny day, buzzing with life. Satoru is going out of his mind with boredom.
He’s spent the past week cooped up in a tiny basement, practicing drills Itadori assigned him while the man went out to actually exorcise curses. They’re all the basic ones Fushiguro first had him do back when he was still a kid, and he knows them better than the back of his hand. It’s overwhelmingly repetitive, to the point that he tried them while watching TV. Of course, that ended in him destroying a floorboard in an intense moment. But he digresses!
“I know you’re already finished with the basic drills for a while, but I was thinking of what else you could do to improve, besides field missions,” Itadori hums. “So, I want you to demonstrate all the techniques you can use from the Limitless, right now.”
“Wait, what?” Limitless requires an incredible amount of cursed energy, resulting in immense destruction. “Is it really okay to use that here?”
“It’s fine,” he waves off. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and if it gets too out of hand, I can always dispel it.”
He breathes in deep, summons his cursed energy, bracing himself for the inevitable pounding headache. Honestly, most curses don’t need Limitless, and it’s certainly not worth the sizeable drain it has on both his body and cursed energy. Well, whatever. He’s going to be stuck inside for the foreseeable future, anyways.
The point of conversion grows on his hand, drawing matter towards it. Using Azure Glow isn’t particularly draining, at first. It’s just the matter of letting the cursed energy form into something that can effectively exorcise curses.
Satoru keeps it up, concentrating on shaping the mass into something actually functional. Normally during battle, he can form it much faster, but the effect it has on himself is too much to ignore. Even now, drawing out the energy slowly takes its toll. The pounding in his skull is growing too loud to ignore, and he sniffs something wet in his nose before Itadori tells him to stop.
“Right,” he claps. “I know what the problem is.”
“Huh?” Satoru dispels the technique before it can get any further, creating a deep indent in the ground in front of him.
“You know how people, while fighting, make wasted movements?” Itadori asks, sweeping a mock kick in front of himself. “It’s the same as that. You’re expending so much of yourself in pouring cursed energy into the techniques already carved for yourself, that you’re not being as efficient as you could be.”
That makes sense in theory, but Satoru’s confused on what Itadori means in the technique already carved for himself. Limitless is a technique passed down in blood, and it is now his. It’s not foreign by any means, humming in the back of his consciousness, always.
“Limitless isn’t a technique I came up with myself,” Satoru says blankly. “And it’s the only one I can use.”
Itadori presses his lips together, considering him, before running back into the basement in a flash. When he comes back, it’s with a small toy with a marble rolling inside.
“It’s like this,” he holds out for Satoru to see, not even broken a sweat. “This puzzle can only end one way.”
With couple turns of his wrist, the tiny marble slips through the obstacles and into his hand.
“But if you take another path, then you may find it easier to find the solution,” Itadori tilts it to the left this time. “You’re still achieving the exact same result, but with a different pathway to it. There are six possible routes in this puzzle, but in jujutsu sorcery, there is an infinite amount.
“And if you have enough power,” he continues, holding up a finger and flicking the plastic, causing the marble to slip through a tiny gap from the force, “it’s even possible to create a new opening, both in the six original, and the infinite possibilities.”
“Okay,” Satoru frowns, staring at the puzzle. “How do I create an opening?”
“There’s probably a better way to go about this, but I learned to use my technique through dozens of near death situations and from pure necessity,” Itadori hums. “How about for now, you focus on keeping Limitless active through five hours a day? Keep the flow as steady and low as possible. Let me now if you break through something or die.”
This is probably the worst thing he could have assigned Satoru. Limitless for just half an hour gives him a headache, and it’s not made any better by the brightness of everything in the world. Of course, he always expends more energy to protect himself during battle, so it’s easier if it’s on the lowest setting, but still.
Satoru wishes he’d never gotten himself almost killed. Is this how Itadori is all the time?