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“Hurry up, Yuji, or we’ll start without you!”
Yuji blinked, startled. Had Sukuna taken control again? A wave of dread filled him, along with a strange feeling of horror in connection with Shibuya, but as much as he racked his brains, he couldn’t think why. Besides, he realized, looking around him, he wasn’t even in Tokyo. He was in the countryside somewhere, surrounded by trees and bird calls. The scent of wildflowers wafted through the air, along with the buzz of bees, laden with pollen, and the hum of summer cicadas. A stand of bamboo clacked dully from the light breeze, and the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. Outside this stand of trees, he supposed, rice paddies and farmland would stretch out all the way to the mountains, a bucolic paradise. Kugisaki would hate it.
Who was Kugisaki again? Try as he might, he couldn’t recall.
“Are you spacing out again? Yuji!” A burst of laughter accompanied the voice this time, as if this was a common occurrence. Yuji blinked again, then shrugged, brushing away the lingering sense of unease. It was too nice a day to worry about questions he couldn’t answer.
Instead, Yuji followed the voices, stepping through tall grass and ferny underbrush until he reached a clearing filled nearly to bursting with blooming flowers, more diverse than a city boy like him could name. It was a riot of color, rivaling the neon signs of Tokyo’s shopping districts. In the center of the flowers, a long table had been set out, groaning under the weight of a truly extravagant picnic spread. Towers of tiny sandwiches and fancy, European-style cakes were scattered along the table’s length, interspersed with sushi platters, traditional Japanese sweets, and several steaming teapots.
Seated around the table were three strange-looking men. On the left sat a robust, muscular and dressed for BDSM play; on the right, a creature with two overlapping faces. But it was the third man at the head of the table who spoke. “Welcome, brother,” he said, the band over his nose shifting as he spoke, the breeze ruffling his traditional garb and whispering through his wild pigtails. Choso lifted a hand and gestured to the empty seat by Kechizu, whose mouths greeted Yuji with a smile. “Please, take a seat.”
“Thanks for waiting,” Yuji said politely as he sat down. “Wow! This all looks amazing.” Already, his mouth was watering at the prospect of food.
“Most of it was Kechizu’s doing,” Choso said, “though Eso was in charge of the decor.” Kechizu and Eso grinned, delighted at the praise.
“This was all aniki’s idea though,” Eso added. “Seeing as it’s a special occasion and all.”
It is? Yuji wondered, but his mind was blank.
“It’s not every day that a long-lost relative appears,” Choso explained. “Especially in a family as unique as ours.” He smiled. “We brothers take care of each other, living and dying for one another for as long as we continue to exist in this world.” Eso and Kechizu nodded. “Welcome to the family, brother.”
“Welcome!” chorused the other two.
“Please, help yourself,” Choso said, gesturing to the food.
“Thanks!” Although a bit bewildered, Yuji wasn’t one to turn down free food, especially a spread as delicious as this. As everyone tucked in, passing around plates and taking turns serving each other tea, Yuji continued to wonder why this motley trio had prepared all this just for him. What was their relationship, exactly? They kept saying family, but he knew next to nothing about them. And yet—there was a tugging sensation within him as he observed them, a sense of sympathy, perhaps, maybe—almost—respect? Their obvious loyalty to each other reminded him of his grandfather, inciting a dull ache of grief that had faded over time, but never quite went away.
Die surrounded by people, his grandfather had said. Don’t be like me. Were these some of the people that he meant? Yuji observed them as he mused, munching his way through half a platter of chirashi. Kechizu, for all his grotesque appearance, was a surprisingly dainty eater, leaving his plate almost as clean as it had been when it was first set before him. Eso was boisterous, telling anecdote after anecdote of their adventures after being granted the freedom of bodies. Choso was quiet, but his contentment was clear as he watched the others with the benevolence of a beloved patriarch. Yuji didn’t have any siblings, or any other family besides his late grandpa, but, he mused, if he’d had other relatives, family gatherings might have felt a bit like this. Perhaps he should take their offer after all. At least then, he’d fulfill his grandfather’s last wishes.
Yuji nearly snorted tea from his nose as Eso told a particularly funny joke, and when Kechizu offered him a homemade onigiri shaped like a bedraggled cat with a pickled plum for a single, cyclops-esque eye, Yuji couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of the design.
“Kechizu, what the heck is this?” Eso demanded, waving around his own one-eyed cat.
“Gege,” Kechizu replied. He unwrapped his onigiri without spilling a single grain of rice.
“What?” Eso asked, confused, but Kechizu just shrugged and tossed his cat, whole, into his larger mouth.
“Brother, there’s a few more introductions I’d like to make,” Choso cut in, looking at Yuji. The other two quieted immediately, faces turning somber. Choso lifted his teacup, gesturing to the six large canisters set at the other end of the table. Each one held a dark blob, fleshy, like an undeveloped fetus. “Our other brothers. You’re the youngest, Yuji, but the six before you are still dormant Cursed Womb: Death Paintings. They haven’t yet been given adequate vessels.”
Cursed Womb: Death Paintings? The name made Yuji flinch. Vessels? What is he talking about? Yuji opened his mouth to ask, when suddenly, it all came flooding back to him—Shibuya, Nanamin’s death, Kugisaki’s near-death state, Sukuna’s devastation. Mahito’s cruelty, Gojo’s capture, Geto and his scarred forehead.
Didn’t your father have scars like that? Choso had asked him. But no, Choso hadn’t asked him at a picnic, he’d asked him in the ruins of Shibuya, calling him brother even though Yuji had killed his only surviving family.
Yuji blinked. Kechizu wasn’t smiling anymore—his faces leaked blood from all orifices. As Yuji stared, appalled, Kechizu slowly slumped forward, upper face smashing the sushi he’d just loaded onto his plate. Eso was crying, reaching out for him; his bloody wasp wings sprouted from his back and his chest burst as if he’d been impaled on an enormous spike. Only Choso remained alive, but his expression was torn between hate and surprise, as if he hadn’t decided whether to destroy Yuji where he sat or accept him as the family he’d implied they were.
Yuji blinked again, and the ruined paradise shattered. The bucolic picnic disappeared, the six fetuses vanished; instead, he was staring blankly at the flattened rubble of what used to be one of the most bustling areas of downtown Tokyo.
“Better hurry,” Choso said, looking down at him from where he stood amongst the wreckage. He looked rather worse for wear after the battle with Uraume, but still loads better than how Yuji felt. “More enemies will be coming soon.” He didn’t offer Yuji a hand up, but waited for him to haul himself to his feet, dully noting that Sukuna—likely by accident—had healed him again during his possession of Yuji’s body.
“Yeah,” Yuji agreed, taking off in a direction that seemed least inviting to enemies on their tail. Given what Sukuna had done and how many fingers had been consumed, Yuji wasn’t sure regrouping with the other jujutsu sorcerors was even an option anymore. Choso kept pace with him. “Why are you following me?” Yuji asked.
“You’re my younger brother,” Choso replied, as if it were obvious. “We brothers look out for each other.”
“I killed your brothers,” Yuji pointed out.
Choso shrugged. “They knew the pact. They’d understand.”
“I see…” Yuji said, even though he didn’t.
Choso just looked at him evenly, as if vengeance were the last thing on his mind. “Welcome to the family, Yuji Itadori.”
“Yeah.” Yuji looked away grimly, watching his executioner approach. “Thanks.” I won’t die alone, Gramps. I promise.
END