Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It isn't dramatic. I don't die, or anything. I fall asleep at home, tucked away under a pile of blankets. Then I wake up to the smack of a hand on a desk.

"Ahh, our kohai fell asleep again!" someone exclaims.

I startle, sitting... up? Wasn't I in bed? Nevertheless, I sit up, abashedly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Sorry," I respond reflexively. Then I pause. "Sorry," I repeat, this time in English. What? Since when did I speak Japanese?

"Oh, practicing your English?" the guy says. He has thick eyebrows and a square-ish face, and looks vaguely familiar. Iguchi, my mind supplies.

"Yeah, Iguchi-san," I hear myself say. "Yeah." Huh.

"Iguchi-kun," he corrects me. And then, "Yes! My name is Iguchi. Where is bathroom?" in horribly butchered English.

"Where is the bathroom," I interject, glancing around the room. Everything seems oddly familiar. Déja-vu in a dream?

"Shhhhh!" a girl hisses. "The mood, guys?" She's kind of skinny, round glasses on her nose as she squints. She's unwrapping something. A candy, maybe. The wrapping is made to look sort of like those protective rune things. Sugar paper, or something. "Oh!" she yells excitedly, fingernail managing to dig up an end.

You know what, this seems like an okay dream. Reminds me of that one manga I'm reading...

The paper unravels, an object hitting the table with a soft thunk.

"What the—" the girl—Sasaki—exclaims.

"A human finger?" Iguchi asks, looking at it carefully.

A wave of recognition slams into me. I have enough time to think oh shit and look up, then nothing.

Fucking bitch-ass curses.

--

I open my eyes time to see Itadori goddamn Yuji break through a window and drop-kick a curse in the face.

He really does have pink hair.

I'm grabbed unceremoniously from the arms of said curse, getting dumped right next to an unconscious Iguchi. Seems I'm the only one awake holy shit it's Megumi I love Megumi am I hyperventilating right now?

Yuji's currently cradling Sasaki in his arms; what am I, chopped liver? I frown morosely at Megumi’s shoes.

Their entire conversation passes over my head. I'm going to flat out shit my pants if I meet Nobara, aren't I?

The finger looks less gross than I thought it would be. Wait, is that blood caked under the fingernail? Ew, ew, I take it back.

"Ceiling!" I croak out abruptly, watching as it dips towards me. I shudder at the eyeballs protruding from whatever it is. Nope, nope, officially hate it. They both startle at my shout, Megumi calling out a panicked "Run!"

I'm grabbed by the scruff of my clothing by a demon dog, tossed beside Yuji. Really feeling the love.

Megumi is snatched by the curse, its tongue lolling out. "Megumi!" I yell out at the same time Yuji cries "Fushiguro!"

Wait. I'm not supposed to know his name. Plus, I just called him Megumi like we're friends; good ones, at that. I didn't even plaster on any honorifics. I'm screwed. Gojo's going to kill me for violating the jujutsu statute of secrecy.

Meg—no, Fushiguro slams into a wall, once, twice, and he's thrown out into the empty air, curse flying behind him.

Yuji—I mean Itadori, whoops—takes the time to look back at me and mouth a sorry before launching himself after them.

Right. Okay. They're fighting; I'll be safe for a bit.

Alright.

Okay.

Yeah.

I'm in a fucking anime, if you'll excuse the excessive swearing.

Where did my life go wrong?

I bet I’m the result of some stupidly overeager fanfiction writer.

I can only assume this isn’t a hyper-realistic dream. Until it’s confirmed, either way, there’s no way I’m going anywhere near Sukuna or Gojo or any one of those batshit insane people.

Um, okay. Planning. I've read all the way up to the big arc. I can't even remember the name of it. Shibya? Shibuya. I think.

I have no delusions about my mortality; hell, I'm just a side character who isn't supposed to exist. I'm not fixing any plot. Plus, they have a happy ending. Probably. I mean, maybe? Last I checked, the manga was still releasing.

If I was meant to fix the plot than oh boy was the plot screwed. They should've sent me earlier if they wanted that, maybe to befriend Gojo and his band of merry men to prevent some mass murder.

Alright. Plan is: tomorrow, take a plane to Canada and never look back.

It's a good plan. Solid plan. Simple, easy. Now I won't die.

Hopefully?

"—THE PEOPLE? THE WOMEN?" I hear from outside. I swallow, nearly choking on my own spit. Hooray, murder man is here! Probably shirtless, if my memory lines up right.

If I plan well, I could actually be out of the country by tomorrow morning...

Maybe I could sneak out while they’re distracted? I try to stand on wobbly legs, nearly face-planting. I’ll give it a few minutes, then sprint home and snag my visa, dattebayo!

Can’t believe I’m referencing Naruto, what has life come to…

Some undetermined amount of time later, (likely a minute at most but feels like hours) I attempt to stand again, this time only a little unsteady. Making my way through rubble is annoying and a lot less fast than I thought It would be.

The way out takes me past the hole… I’ll just go fast. Channel my inner Sonic. I hobble past the opening far slower then I’d like, and then end up tripping in my haste. I let out an aborted half-yelp, picking myself up awkwardly.

I glance outside and freeze, a perfect imitation of a deer in headlights. Gojo stares right at me. At least, I think he does. You can never be sure, with his blindfold and all. I refuse to wave.

Instead, I make my muscles go limp and topple over sideways, a rock nudging me in the back as I contemplate my fate. At least Gojo’s hot, I muse, staring at the sky. The hole goes right through the roof.

Death by hot guy. Wait, no, he’s twenty-eight ish and decidedly not a fictional character this time. No Gojo for me.

On that note, how old am I? Physically, I seem about Itadori’s age. Mentally?

How old was I… uhm, I was in my twenties, I think. Early twenties, twenty-four oldest.

I brush away my thoughts, risking a glance out and sitting up a bit. Gojo’s fighting Sukuna now, and I grab those precious seconds and crawl out of sight.

When I stand, my legs have regained most of their strength and I sprint down two flights of stairs and a few hallways, cursing every god I can think of.

My only solace is the fact I’m not in Attack on Titan.

Megu— Fushiguro and Gojo are probably having a heartfelt conversation right now, talking about how Itadori shouldn’t die and all that. Good. More time for me to escape.

This school is huge. I hate it. Who decided this was a good design?

I finally slam through the doors, panting like my life depends on it. Kind of does.

“Hey!” Gojo fucking Satoru says from a few steps in front of me. I look up at him, horrified. He's so fast, what the hell?

Then I black out. I bet he’ll just let me fall, the bastard.

--

“Alright, alright,” I mutter, checking myself out in the mirror. I look more or less the same as I did before waking up in a manga/anime; brown eyes, brown hair, dumb face. My hair is in the longer style I preferred in my early teens as opposed to the shorter, more convenient length of my twenties. I should fix that soon.

I wince as I twist my head an odd way, reaching up gingerly to touch the bandages there. The bastard did, in fact, let me fall.

Surprisingly, that's my worst injury.

I exit the hospital bathroom, crumpled school uniform on and papery hospital dress on my arm. I head to the reception desk, prepared to sign myself out. If I look the same as before, I’m just going to assume everything else is the same with a Japanese twist.

I wander outside, breathe in the fresh air, ready to hop on the closest bullet train and leave this place in the dust.

Unfortunately—it seems my bad luck followed me here—I see Itadori and Gojo talking on a bench on the way to my house. How do I know where my house is? Same way I know Japanese, I guess.

Spinning on my heel, I immediately turn around, cursing my stupid ability to get into situations like these, (see: the honest-to-god anime world I’m currently in) heading back in the direction of the hospital.

Gojo notices me, the asshole. He’s like a magnet for discomfort.

“Hey, you!” he shouts at me, and I walk faster. Out of sight, out of mind, the corner is so close—

“Yo, I was talking to you!” he complains, materializing right in my personal space. I shriek. I kick him in the balls. The kick doesn’t connect. I flee, cursing his dumb infinity thing.

"Fucking ass-muncher bitch-boy," I mumble, nearly stumbling over my feet in my attempt to run.

I hear Itadori and Fushiguro behind me, hopefully restraining Gojo.

Has he no idea of bubble space? They teach that stuff in kindergarten.

“Sorry, Seikatsu-kun!” Itadori calls after me, and I almost stop.

Seikatsu. The name settles into my bones, drifting over my soul.

Seikatsu Shin. Shin Seikatsu. New life.

My name means New Life. The gods really are a bunch of assholes, aren't they? Also shin my name is a bone. Shins are bones, right?

I keep running, tossing a cautious glance over my shoulder.

Fushiguro’s scolding Gojo as the older man ruffles his hair condescendingly. Itadori's waving.

I tentatively wave back.

--

I find an old light blue backpack sitting in a closet. Grimacing, I dump out the three granola bars, assorted tissues—both used and unused—and other, random garbage onto the floor.

Rummaging through my drawer of clothing, I pile some spares of everything into the backpack, and, after a moment, throw the old granola bars on top along with some fresher ones. Those things don’t ever expire, I’ll be fine.

I’ve changed out of my school uniform into some comfortable pair of loose grey pants and black sweatshirt, a sports windbreaker tied around my waist. My bra straps peek out from my collar. I have a basic first-aid kit—what, those lessons I took might come in handy—stuffed into a side pocket of my backpack, clean clothing, money. I’m ready to run.

I don my favorite toque, pulling it down far enough to cover my eyebrows, and step out the door.

--

Ah, shit. I don’t remember where the Jujutsu school is. But plane tickets to Canada aren’t available on such short notice, and I want to get away quickly.

I consider my options. I’ve been to Tokyo before on a school trip. My memory’s hazy on where in Tokyo, exactly, but it’s the most familiar place I remember. Let’s just hope to god there’s no wonky shit going down in there.

The ticket barely makes a dent in the ridiculously large amount of money in my bank account; a strange novelty, but one I wholeheartedly enjoy. I wasn’t exactly rich back home. A lower-middle class-ish place. Enough money to get by, but not enough to spend on frivolous things.

I’ll relax for a bit in Tokyo, notify my family that I need a place to stay for an extended period of time, and then go to Canada if they say they can help. If not… well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

I twist the hem of my shirt and tug at my sweatshirt. I’ve already graduated back at home, but I haven’t yet here. My mother might just label me a delinquent and send me back instead of helping me out.

I’ll just have wait, because there’s no way I’m going anywhere near the Jujutsu school. Not even for… Inumaki… I could meet Inumaki…

No. No. Where's my self control?

The bullet train I take is mostly empty, only a couple handful of people drifting through the grey seats like ghosts. The two seats to my left are thankfully void of anything human-shaped, and I claim the window seat with a sigh. I tuck my bag between my legs, my plastic bag on the seat closest and tilt my head back.

I settle into the scratchy material and take out one of the red bean buns from my plastic bag that I bought on my way, nibbling to make it last as long as I can.

Should I be more devastated about losing my world? I wonder, chewing thoughtfully. Honestly, I didn't have many friends, my family kind of sucked. We had a huge falling out, and I haven’t seen them in a while. But this was… in the future? If I'm as old as I look, then I should be fine. Right.

I busy myself with eating my bun and wishing for my phone. Mine was crushed in the fight at the school, and the sim card was the only thing retrieved. At least those are supposed to be important.

The train glides to a halt almost without my notice, and I put away my plastic wrapper of the bun. Setting my bag on my knees, I occupy myself by spinning a hair tie on my finger idly. I’m not exactly in a rush. If I remember correctly, the big events happen in October. Halloween, I think.

I don’t even know the month, let alone the date. This is on par for a normal day, but now it actually matters.

“Excuse me,” I ask, looking up at a lady who's walking by my seat. “What’s the month?”

She gives me a strange look. “June,” she replies.

“And the date?” I prod before she can leave, offering my most innocent smile.

“The eighteenth,” she tells me, and then hurries out. I ignore the curious looks from the sparse passengers.

I slump in my chair. Fuck, I need a calender. How many months away is October 31st? I can’t do math.

May, June, July, April, August, September, October, November, December.

Narrowing my eyes at the back of the seat in front of me, I hug my bag to my chest. That… doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know enough months to dispute it.

That means I have like… five months? Five months and a bit, give or take one or two months, before everything goes to hell. I resolve to be out in under a month.

I watch people disembark, waiting until the aisle clears out. Finally—my patience can only hold so long—I get off the train, absently swatting at a fly.

I freeze, dread pooling in my stomach as I lock eyes with what is decidedly not a fly.

The curse burbles at me, wings humming. I do my best not to cry.

Why me?

I rush through the crowd, murmuring the occasional sorry and excuse me. The curse flits after me, intent on sucking my soul out or whatever it is that curses do.

Ducking into a store, I watch as the curse bobs merrily outside the window, eventually landing on the shoulder of some harried-looking businessman. I wince. Sorry. Sacrifices need to be made.

Shaking my head as if to clear my thoughts, I look away and give a once-over to the store I’m in. A grin tugs at my lips, and a few minutes later I exit the store with a pair of handy-dandy tinted sunglasses.

Now that I’m paying attention, I can see curses everywhere… a small, purple-like blob near a homeless man, an eyeball with red veins shooting through it hovering over a lady with glasses, a snakelike one around an old grandpa.

Even with the sunglasses, I get a shiver down my spine every time they so much as glance in my general direction. Just my luck that the curses in the school ‘awakened me’ or something.

I slip down the streets and eventually chance upon an acceptable hotel on a side road. I pay for one night, grabbing a shitty (but cheap) room on the first floor.

Hey, I know what you're thinking. But you're rich, now! Why spend money on a bad room? Yeah, no. Habits don't leave that easy, and I might need some money later, you know? Just in case.

I unlock my room door, toss my bag onto my bed, flop on the suspiciously lumpy mattress, and resolve to explore the city tomorrow, if nothing else.

Not bothering to change or use the blankets—it's summer and really hot outside—I trace patterns on the popcorn ceiling with my eyes until I fall asleep.

--

Morning comes with a vengeance, waking me at dawn. Light filters in through thin curtains, dust motes floating through the air. I lie in bed for an undetermined amount of time, contemplating my existence and my shitty life choices.

Rolling out of bed is easier than I expected, and I splash some water on my face to wake up. I stare at the counter blankly when I'm done. Ah, I forgot my toothbrush. I wave my worries away like they're something tangible, stick my sunglasses on and brush off my clothing. I smell my jacket. It's… okay. Passable. Not the same can be said for my breath, though.

After checking out, I wander out onto the streets, taking my time with poking around the shops. I end up with an outdated phone (to me, at least) a strawberry crepe, and a few token souvenirs I couldn't resist buying. One of them's just a little plastic cactus hanging on a chain, and I attach it lovingly to my new phone the first chance I get. A matching one goes onto my backpack.

Throwing my crepe wrapper away after finishing it, I take a seat on a nearby bench and power on my phone. Fuck. How do I put my number in?

I bring out my salvaged sim card and turn it over in my hand.

Uh…

Another visit to the store and ten dollars later, I have a working phone! Hooray!

Ten… dollars? Dollars? Not yen?

I narrow my eyes at where I imagine a camera could be, striding down the street purposefully. What's up with these mistakes? Stupid writers and their inability to do proper research. I imagine breaking down the fourth wall and beating the person who wrote me—or drew me, although I'm not pretty enough to be a well-thought out character.

Wait, wait, oh no…

Hey, if you're a mind reader, come talk to me, I promise I'm not that weird, I think as forcefully as possible, glancing around suspiciously. Nobody answers, as expected. A child coos at me as they toddle past, clutching a lady's arm. I breathe out a sigh of relief, tracing the path of a bright pink motorcycle with my eyes.

Then I imagine all my stray thoughts on a canvas and paint imaginary white over it, silencing anything unruly. It only works for as long as I believe it works, or if I don't think too hard about it. Naturally, my invasive thoughts come back almost as soon as I paint them away.

Rude.

I hurry a little faster down the streets like I can escape my thoughts. I'm really aching for a nice, calm hike right now… just me, my expired granola bars, and the trees.

I slow down, adjusting my sunglasses on my face. What's stopping me?

--

Alright, I'm so lost. So terribly lost. I circle a tree blackened by lightning that I definitely passed already. Night is starting to set in. I'd pulled my windbreaker on, tugged my toque lower over my ears, and put my sunglasses away, but it doesn't do much. Why couldn't it be hot like last night?

Goosebumps rising on my skin, I start to scale a tree. Maybe I'll be able to see from up there? I was going to try earlier, but it slipped my mind.

I reach the top with relative ease—the trees here are nice and sturdy, and I've never weighed much—and scour the area. Nothing. Except… I squint, eyes straining. There! As I look, it comes into focus, and I nearly jump for joy.

I descend quickly, skipping the last few branches in favour of a jump. I almost catch a branch on my pants' leg on the way down.

Landing fairly safely, I set out into the woods, again, and hope for the best.

By the time I find it I almost mistake it for a mirage. Mirage in the forest. Good one, me. It's a packed dirt road leading up to a structure, seems almost temple-like, maybe a church or someplace to pray. I'd spotted their rooftops from my perch.

Although the gates are closed. I trudge up to the front entrance and squint. Ah, I don't really want to trouble them… Shaking my head briefly at myself, I grasp a bar and shake it gently. I don't see any knockers or doorbells, and so the metal rattles sadly, the night swallowing the sound up.

I sigh. Consider the fact that sunrise is soon.

I move along the wall to find a place to rest. Fucking social norms engraved in my skull.

I find a nice place, slip off my sweatshirt, leaving me only in a grey sports bra, and rummage through my bag, shivering. I pull on most of my extra shirts, my sweatshirt on top. Thank god I like baggy clothing. I debate taking off my pants to layer on the shorts I packed. Dismissing the idea—I'll only go so far in a place that might have cameras—I put my back to the wall, sink down, and use my bag to pillow my head on my knees.

My sleep is shitty and broken as I startle awake every so often. Every noise seems amplified a hundred times, every creak of wood a bear's roar. Eventually, morning descends. With it brings a damp, aching ass plus bones that creak like my grandma's. And she's dead.

I wake to concrete, stretch awkwardly, and shuffle my way to the gates, bag slung over one shoulder. I spot someone there already, leaning against a wall, back to me, just inside the now-open gates. They turn around at the noise I make. I freeze. It only takes a moment to place them-- him.

"Kelp?" goddamn Inumaki Toge questions, presumably smiling and also confused. My mouth gapes like a fish and I close it quickly, reminded of the fact I haven't brushed my teeth in a while.

I look at the place I thought was a temple in a new light.

It's the jujutsu school. Of course it is.

"Hey," I tell Inumaki weakly, eyes flicking to the road. Maybe if I run…?

He strings out a line of onigri ingredients. I nod.

"Alright," I say, although I have no clue what he means. A lightbulb splutters alive in my head, flickering faintly. "Uh, I'm lost. Think you could help me get back to the city?" I wait with bated breath.

"Salmon." He nods seriously. That's a yes, I'm fairly sure.

My exhale of relief is audible. Yes, thank god, he can take me back and nobody else will see me. I start forward, rubbing the back of my neck as I approach him. "Thank you so much. My name is…" fuck, can't have Itadori recognizing me, "...Katie, and yours?" Great fucking job, not suspicious at all.

Katie? You chose Katie in the middle of Japan? You absolute idiot, Katie's such a white name and you're very obviously not white what is coming out of your mouth right now? I berate myself, tugging the strap of my bag anxiously. Just take it, take it, come on, I project, aiming my thoughts at him. Here's to hoping I don't look unhinged.

Inumaki responds with another onigri ingredient. Still don't know what he's saying. I want to slap myself; how is he supposed to answer me?

I reach him, smiling shakily. "Thank you so much," I say, close enough to the gate that I could touch it. "I really appreciate it." Inumaki's eyes narrow, and I step into jujutsu territory. He stiffens, and my smile drops a little. "In— uh, are you alright?" Whew. Almost slipped up, there.

Inumaki opens his mouth and a vibrating voice seeps into my bones, filling me up as it urges me to sleep, you're safe now. My mouth shuts, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. That was his cursed speech, right? Did something go wrong?

His eyes widen at my non-reaction, and I crack my knuckles nervously, stepping back. "Sorry?" I offer, and then, "Nice voice?"

Inumaki moves towards me, just a little motion but it's so fast I can barely track it. My world goes black.

What a cliché ending.

Chapter Text

Toge paces back at forth worriedly. How could someone--a non-sorcerer, no less--find them and bypass his cursed speech? Is she actually a sorcerer, a strong enough one to hide her cursed energy and use it at the same time?

Toge glances back at the limp girl on the grass. Katie, she'd said her name was. Maybe he'd gone overboard? He'd panicked. Knocked her straight out. He nudges her with his foot, gently, checking for a reaction. Nothing.

He kneels down and carefully scoops her up, turning in and heading to The Room. Gojo will probably be assigned to deal with her, and he winces in sympathy, speeding up into a sedate jog. The curse he was meant to deal with can wait a couple minutes.

--

I don’t open my eyes when I wake up. I just bask there, for a moment, trying to get back to sleep. This teenage body is good for something, I guess— I could never sleep so easy as an adult. This teenage body also needs braces oh shit I really don’t want to do that.

“Fucking braces,” I murmur, and then open my eyes to another uncomfortably familiar room in an uncomfortably familiar position. Papers with little symbols—runes?—decorate the walls. Ropes chafe against my wrists. My ass aches on the stiff wooden chair. I'm still wearing three shirts and a sweater, but my hat's gone.

Sitting across from me is the man, the myth, the legend—

Gojo Satoru.

"Hey!" he greets, spinning his chair so he sits on it backwards, facing me. His legs sprawl out from the sides as he hugs the backing. (Shit, he’s tall.) I wonder how long he was waiting for me to wake up just to do that.

"Hi," I return dryly. Well. I'm going to die. Might as well be confident on the way out. Fuck, that's a lie, I'm shaking in my Costco sneakers, but a girl can pretend, okay?

Gojo tips forward on his chair and I bite back the instinctive reaction to scold him. "Have we met?" he wonders out loud, tipping even closer.

I try to scoot my chair back and almost fall over. "I don't know," I mutter. Does he really not remember me? I hope he doesn't.

"We have!" Gojo crows, and I sink further into my chair. He tips his chair back onto four feet, landing with a thud onto the floor.

"Okay," I say, staring somewhere over Gojo's left ear.

"What did Itadori-kun say your name was, again?" He taps his chin in thought. Please don't remember.

"Katie," I provide, trying to interrupt his thought process. He twists his lips at me— wait, the fuck, is he pouting?

Gojo shrugs, looking put-out. "I guess so," he muses, sitting back. "Do you know why you're here, anyways?"

My mouth dries, and I try to swallow. "No?" I try, making it sound like a question. "Ah— where is here, anyways?"

"Somewhere secure," he says vaguely. Right. Okay. Real helpful. "You're here because…" he pauses. I nearly stop breathing. "You got past the barrier! Now, I'm going to need you to tell me how you found us."

I shift as much as I can in my bonds. Barrier? What? "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," I say, moving my gaze to the walls.

"Hey," Gojo says, right in my personal space again holy shit he moves so fast. "That wasn't a question. Answer."

I flatten myself onto my chair, trying to get away. "I don't know!"

There's bloodlust in the air, all my senses screaming danger danger danger at me and it's overwhelming. Killing Intent? Wrong fandom, buddy, I think, semi-hysterical.

"Well, I'll have to kill you!" He beams brightly, and I am reminded of that one meme where he dances among flowers and threatens murder.

"Okay." Better make it quick, bastard. I hold myself very, very, still. Tears prick my eyes. Maybe I’ll be reborn?

After a long moment where I don’t die, I squint an eye open. Gojo has his head tilted to the side as he studies me.

“Okay, but seriously,” he says, “how did you get here?”

“I just got lost,” I respond, feeling small. If you’re going to kill me, then hurry up.

“You got lost! Oh, that’s hilarious! All this fuss over a lost little girl,” he wheezes, shaking his head. "Well, now you know too much. Huh. Want to enroll?"

I stare him dead in his eyes. "No."

"You know," he starts, ignoring me completely, "there aren't that many people who can wield cursed energy. This is a great opportunity!"

"Hey, I'm not getting involved in your cult shit."

"You get room and board, free meals…" he ticks off his fingers one by one.

I refuse to give in. "Can't you guys just wipe my memory or something?"

"Oh! What an idea!" Wait. I don't want my memory wiped. What if I forget the plot? Stupid me, suggesting things I most definitely don't want.

"Wait, I—"

"We do have someone who can do that! Unfortunately, they're away. So your choices are: die, or get enrolled." Gojo smiles at me.

My mouth turns down. "I don't want a skirt in my uniform," I grumble. "Don't you dare get me a skirt."

--

I'm brought to my new room by a strangely chipper Gojo. Straight ahead is a big window, to the right of that a bed, to the left a desk and closet. He tells me that I will get my uniform and will meet my classmates tomorrow, and to rest up, Katie-chan! You have a big day ahead of you!

Classmates implies I have classes. Do they even have them? Real classes, I mean, long division and algebra and whatnot. Or did they just fight all day? How did Nanami ever make a living in the real world if all he did in highschool was fight curses?

I don't want to experience school again, yet at the same time I'll be mad if these kids don't have school.

As for food, I get a monthly stipend. Where do they get all this money?

I sigh, flopping down onto my surprisingly comfortable bed. The ceiling is a smooth, pale beige. It reminds me of my gran's place. I hated her.

I'm not tired at all.

Groaning, I lever myself off the bed. What do people always do in self-inserts? Develop friendships with the main characters, be super cool and overpowered, use future knowledge… Oh! I scour the room and my gaze lands on one of those typical school notebooks, lined paper held together with a spiral coil. It sits innocently on my desk. Huh. How convenient.

I grab it and settle down, snagging a pen from one of the drawers. Time to document all that I know about the timeline.

...shit, I've already forgotten the date. I reach for my phone, only to realize they still haven't given me back my bag. I sigh, letting my head thud against the table. Off to a great start. I need my phone to book a flight, too— being in the very jujutsu school I hoped to stay away from won’t change my desire to move. It just means I’m closer to the action then I’d have hoped, that’s all.

I open the notebook, putting Today at the top in big, bold letters, leaving a space to the side for the date, then pause. Should I be coding this?

Uh… I half-remember french and bits of spanish and I'm (thankfully) fluent in english. Maybe if I mash it all together and reference life events, memes that haven't been made yet, inside jokes, I can code them. That's my best bet. I'm going to make… too many spelling errors. That’ll help, I guess.

I cross out the Today, realizing I wrote it in Japanese (Japanese!!!) and beginning again below it.

I'll show you the beginning and not much else. God knows I can barely decipher it myself.

Aujourd'hui! c'est the _________.

arc un: le esquela, curzes attack! intro! fingee get comer-ed by mr strong moniseur, rose cheveux

arc dos: attack? casse les bras de les dos ecoles, yes, fight, (eng. assignment, 7th grade that u didnt hand in)

I squint at the mess of semi-remembered mash of three languages and nod, slowly. Plus all my spelling errors and grammar mistakes and weird-ass slang and abbreviations? There's no way someone could figure this out, not at a first glance.

(The english assignment I didn't hand in was about baseball. You know how much trouble I got in? Too much for something that didn’t show up on my report card.)

I continue, occasionally scribbling out words and drawing arrows around events that I wrote in the wrong order.

Eventually, I get a rough timeline (and I mean very rough) spanning events from the start of canon to Halloween. I won't bore you with the details. Just know that this is hardly reliable.

I also make profiles for all the main and side characters I can remember, ranging from that money-loving crow girl and her obsessed brother to Gojo himself. I attempt to spell their names differently every time, too, as to confuse others, so Gojo is spelled four ways— Gojo, Gojou, Gojō, and a bastardized version, Gogoje. That last one I made up (if you couldn't tell).

Stretching and looking out the window, I realize hours have passed me by. Absently cracking my knuckles, I lean back in my chair. Nobody's come to give me my bag, yet. Fucking rude.

Flipping the notebook closed, I crouch down and wedge it in the space between the wall and the back of the desk. Maybe not the best spot, but who cares?

I put the pen on the desk, then immediately pick it back up. Doesn't Megu--Fushiguro have a sister? Isn't she important? I groan, then click the pen and ink it onto my arm. I'll write it into his profile later.

Sliding the curtains closed, I take off most of my layers. No way I'm sleeping in all that. I strip until I'm wearing just a shirt and underwear, then burrow under the covers. My discarded clothes are tossed somewhere on the floor, carelessly.

My eyes drift closed.

--

My uniform is delivered with a knock on the door and a Gojo. “Come out soon!” he calls, and I take the box and shut the door in his face. Whoops, I should’ve put some pants on first. My shirt is long, though. I’m fine.

Yawning, I pick up the paper box and toss it onto my unmade bed. It lands weirdly and the uniform spills out onto the rumpled covers.

I pad over to it and sit down tiredly, beginning to sort through it all.

Grey undershirt, cropped jacket, belt, shoes, tights—

I pick at the seams on my fucking skirt, clutching the material angrily. That bitch.

At least it's high quality. The fabric is smooth but feels sturdy enough, the entire thing a nice deep blue with the swirly buttons on the top. It's almost an exact replica of Kugisaki's uniform, except mine has—you guessed it—a hood. Wow, how original.

My hood's a dark purple and not red. I suppose it’s meant to match the skirt, as it fades into the same purple colour at the hem. It would be a pretty nice outfit if I intended to wear it.

“Hurry up…” Gojo bemoans from outside.

I pause in my anger. I still don’t know Gojo’s name. I mean, he hasn’t told me his name yet, so I’m not supposed to know it. The only person I should know is Itadori.

“Hey, what's your name?” I ask, before I forget because I will forget, I know it.

I sling the uniform over the back of the desk chair and take off my sleeping top, pulling on the undershirt that came with it. Wow, this feels nice.

"I'm Gojo Satoru! The one and only."

I scour the room, finding my loose pants under a t-shirt, and wear them instead of the tights-skirt combo. "Okay," I grunt, dismissive.

The belt isn’t really needed, but it’s so pretty… I shake my head at myself, leaving it on the back of the chair.

I study myself in the mirror. Everything clashes, but not as badly as I thought. Maybe that’s just my shit fashion sense speaking, but I don’t really mind. Oh well.

I shove my feet into the shoes, thankful that they're a size too big. If they knew my shoe size, that would be terrifying. What are they looking at my feet for?

Time to meet my classmates, if I have to.

“Aw, don’t you like your uniform?”

“Go away.”

--

Gojo guides me down endless hallways, finally stopping at a door. "I'll go in first, and then you can make your grand entrance!" he whisper-shouts, nudging me to the side—presumably so they can't see me from the inside—and then sauntering in.

For a moment, everything is blissfully silent. Then the shouting starts, muffled by the door but still there.

I feel like Yuuta. The main character in the prequel. I remember the introduction scene started like this; him, standing outside, Gojo and the three hooligans inside.

Except I don't have a loving curse hanging ominously over my shoulder. Right? I glance suspiciously at the empty corridor behind me. No curse. Right.

Right.

Okay.

Right.

I really don't want to go inside. Would they notice if I left now?

I edge away from the door, slowly, shuffling backwards to freedom. After thirty seconds of quiet—ie. nobody slamming open the door and dragging me inside—I break into a full on sprint, skidding down the halls.

Before I even turn the second corner, Gojo appears in front of me. I stop abruptly so as to not crash, then remember he has his forcefield thing, and try to get past. He flicks me in the forehead, catching me by my arm.

"Now, Shin-chan, we wouldn't want our precious student's greetings to be delayed!" I cringe at the mention of my name. Itadori must've told him. Gross.

He starts to drag me back to the classroom by my arm. I make it as hard as possible, going limp and turning to dead weight. He doesn't seem deterred at all; this just makes my shoulder ache.

We reach the door, and I try to shake him off like an insistent burr, giving him A Look when he doesn’t let go.

“Look who it is!” Gojo cries, crashing into the classroom and ignoring my gaze. “Another classmate!”

Itadori’s eyes practically bug out. “Seikatsu-kun?” he yells. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a jujutsu sorcerer, too!” Wait. If he’s startled to see me, then did Gojo know my name all along? Bastard-boy bitch man.

“I’m not,” I grumble. Not if I can help it.

“Yes she is!” Gojo contradicts, barreling right over my words. He finally lets go of my arm.

The room seems like one of those stereotypical classrooms, except there’s only three desks. I swing my gaze back to Gojo. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

He shrugs, unhelpfully.

I shuffle over to the middle of the room, ignoring Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s inquiring gazes, and plop myself right down on the floor, criss-cross applesauce.

“I’m Kugisaki Nobara. Nice to see another girl.”

“Fushiguro.”

“Itadori Yuji, but you already know that!”

I look around at the pregnant pause. “Oh, um, my name is Seikatsu Shin. Please take care of me?” I say, awkwardly. That’s a thing new students say, I’m pretty sure.

“What’s your cursed technique?” Kugisaki prods, curious.

Why do they seem to think I have any cursed energy? It’s a minimum for seeing curses, but as far as I know I don’t have any cursed techniques. “I can…” Desperately, I scour my mind for something that I can claim to do but not have to prove. “...do things,” I finish lamely. Great answer, me.

“Hey, I want to know too,” Gojo says, leaning back against the blackboard. “She bypassed Toge’s cursed speech, too, so we know she can control it, but to what extent?”

Fushiguro remains silent, studying me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Idiots,” a new voice growls. “She doesn’t have any cursed energy at all. Stop wasting your time on a weakling.” I turn to see a mouth on Itadori’s cheek. It looks so strange in real life, kind of gross too.

“If he eats something, where would it go?” I ask, staring at Sukuna’s mouth in mild horror overwhelmed by curiosity. “How does he have vocal cords?”

“Brats—” he starts, then Itadori slams his hand over the mouth.

“Sorry, he does that sometimes,” Itadori apologizes. “I think it’s getting better though.” True to his word, another mouth doesn’t appear, and I relax.

“I wonder what he meant.” Gojo stares at me—at least, I think he does—strangely. “Hey, copy this.”

He holds up a finger. At first, I see nothing. Then, I try to focus, and the faint image of what seems to be a flickering flame on his finger flares into existence, except it’s a very pale almost-white blue. Cursed energy?

“Okay,” I say, and then hold up a finger to humor him. Nothing happens, as expected.

“Are you trying?”

“No,” I admit. What’s the point?

He starts to say something, but then someone enters. Gojo switches tracks last-minute, ending with “—that’s all!”

A lady enters, hair coiled into a bun and wire-frame glasses perched on her nose, looking like that librarian who tells you your books are overdue. She reaches up to adjust the glasses, looking down at Gojo sternly, even though she’s shorter. “Out,” she says coldly, and Gojo— Gojo listens?

“Bye, students! I’ll see you later!” he calls, and slips out the door.

“Are you a new student?” she asks after he leaves, tone softening, and it takes a moment to compute that she’s talking to me.

“Yeah,” I reply belatedly, looking up at her. She doesn’t look familiar. A side character?

“Making kids sit on the ground, what’s up with people these days,” she mutters, sweeping back out the door.

Quiet. I can’t resist. “So, who’s that?” I ask, almost dreading the answer.

“That’s our teacher,” Fushiguro answers.

My eyes widen. Shit. They get taught things, great, but what about me? Do I have to suffer all over again?

The teacher comes back into the room, lugging a desk behind her. Itadori jumps up to help, and it’s wedged in at the end of the row. I reluctantly go to sit.

“Let’s do introductions, as we have a new student,” she says.

"We already did them," Kugisaki pipes up.

"It's alright. We can do them again. My name is Suzume Haneko. You may call me Suzume-sensei." She shuffles a few papers around on her desk. "I am a tutor hired by the school, and will adjust your education levels on a student-to-student basis. You all go on frequent field trips, and I do my best to accommodate that. My favorite colour is blue.”

“You all know my name already, and I like…”

I tune out everyone and gaze into the distance, doing my best to brood and angst. Fuck school.

“Seikatsu-san?” Suzume prompts, and I startle.

“Oh, yeah, my name is Seikatsu Shin, I like... um… sweet things and writing,” I say, having visceral flashbacks to the fanfiction I wrote in my teens. “My pronouns are she-they and I don’t like… people who repost things, for example art, and don’t give credit to the creator.” Then I tack on, “I also don’t like people with blindfolds.”

Fushiguro gives an approving grunt.

“Great! Now that we all know each other, let’s get started. I trust you all brought your notebooks?” Suzume claps her hands, and I can nearly feel the sweat rolling down my back.

“Notebooks?” I repeat.

“There should’ve been one in your dorm,” Fushiguro informs me.

Oh shit. I used it for timeline planning, didn’t I?

“There wasn’t one,” I say, lying through my teeth.

My new sensei sighs. “I suppose you don’t have a pencil either? This school, I swear,” she mumbles. “I’m not irritated at you,” she adds, shaking her head. “Here.”

A new notebook plus a pencil is dropped onto my desk, and she turns to the blackboard.

“So, Seikatsu-san, we left off here…”

--

Sparring. We're supposed to be sparring. I stare blankly at the floor. First school, now this?

I barely have any muscle. The only reason I did decent in physical education is because my parents forced me into a lot of sports.

Great. Just peachy.

I let Kugisaki hook my elbow into her arm and drag me to the field as I contemplate my demise.

"My precious students~" Gojo sing-songs from across the grass. "Today we're going to work on our cursed techniques!"

I jerk up at the words, scowling at him. Fuck. I don't have a cursed technique. He already knows this from earlier. He's tormenting me. I can see it in his stupid smirk.

"Yay," I say, deadpan, but it's overwhelmed by the nods and assent of the others.

"You guys are going to be working in a team, most of the time, so let's take this time to familiarize yourselves with your classmates' cursed techniques and fighting styles." Gojo takes a step back. "No maiming, tap out, or if your opponent is immobilized. Get started! I have to go run some errands."

I glare at the space Gojo was in and sigh. He's just going to up and leave, huh. Fuck, he still hasn't given me back my bag!

"One on one on one on one on… one?" Itadori tries, counting on his fingers.

"One too many," Kugisaki corrects.

"Teams or solo?" Itadori asks instead.

"Solo," Fushiguro and Kugisaki say in unison.

"Shouldn't we stretch first?" I interject, worried. Were they just going to start attacking? I don't know if my heart could handle it.

"Go!" Itadori cries. I need to start talking louder.

A rubber mallet comes flying at my face. I duck, scrambling back, trying to evade Kugisaki's vicious swings. They seem pretty slow, but one slams into my leg and damn if it doesn't hurt like hell.

The rubber mallet brushes dangerously close to my face and I panic, nearly falling on my ass. Focus.

Dodging is harder than it should be, and then it gets harder when a dog suddenly jumps onto my chest, bowling me over. It gets me away from the latest swing, though, but I hit the ground with a grunt and a thud.

I'm a sitting duck. The next thing I see is the rubber mallet coming straight for my face, the dog disappearing from where it lies on my lap.

I'm out. Again. Is blacking out going to be a trend?