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You have not known peace since you first met Itadori Yuji.
At first, it had been this casual, fun infatuation—like when you see a really hot idol for the first time and spend hours on YouTube looking up everything you can about them and their group. Yuji was like that for you, except you weren’t digitally stalking him and he was actually attainable as far as the objects of your affection go.
But then when he touched your hand, everything nosedived harder than the Titanic when it split in two.
You still can’t stop thinking about him—but you also can’t stop thinking about that thing that inhabits his body. The demon that dwells within his form, coexisting in tenuous peace before it snaps him like a twig and consumes and destroys him as Sukuna has always done with everything within his reach. You know far too well of heartbreak at Sukuna’s hands, and you’re not eager to experience it again. The four-armed monster obliterates everything it touches. You hate that he’s tainted any thoughts you have of Yuji, leaving the poor boy confused when you began rebuffing his advances and trying to put some distance between the two of you.
You had said, point-blank and straight to his face, that you wanted to ask him out, right? So why were you pushing him away?
It was an argument you’d had with yourself throughout the rest of your shift. It wasn’t a good look for either side; you were spouting quotes about martyrdom befitting Tom Holland’s Spider-Man, not a regular teenage girl—as if having to give up on dating a cute guy was remotely akin to persecution. The more rational part of you said that it was simply the smart and responsible thing to do, avoiding dangerous boys. This was your life, now that Sukuna (re-)entered it. But, eventually, you’d settled on a decision.
Unable to come up with a good reason—or perhaps, unwilling to allow Sukuna to control you even in this life—you steeled yourself and gave Itadori Yuji your number. What ensued was relatively harmless.
Gentle flirting over text, checking in on each other’s day, was all that it was. He’d ask you about the secret menu, which you insisted was not a thing that actually existed, and that the more people stuck Pinterest recipes under your nose, the more likely you were to spit in their drink. He tries his best to tread carefully around the sorcery stuff, but you know he must be studying it if he’s ever to contain Sukuna. You get to know his friends, in their whirlpool-buttoned uniforms, through his anecdotes.
To your equal dismay and relief, the trio has never shown up in your workplace since you and Yuji first touched. It’s most likely that they’re just swept up in their sorcerer business. Spirits, you are so happy that you’re not part of that world anymore. The constant politicking, persistent condescension, and overall disregard for anything other than power never sat right with you. Of course, centuries have passed since you were last an active sorcerer, so things may have changed.
…Oh, who are you kidding? It’s more likely that pigs would begin to fly.
In any case, you’re glad Yuji’s trying to keep you away from it all. It proves he’s got a good head on his shoulders. And he’s so sweet and funny and respectful and just… so unlike the boys that you know that it’s impossible not to fall hard and fast for Itadori Yuji. If only a fortnight’s worth of courtship is all that it takes for you to fall ass over tea kettle, you shudder to think of what an actual date would do to you.
One where you would hold hands and share food and (God willing) maybe even kiss at the end of it!
The smart thing to do would be to avoid Yuji at all costs. You know that he is Sukuna’s vessel. You know that Sukuna knows of you. You know that a sorcerer will always meet a gruesome end. And you know exactly the type of horror that Ryomen Sukuna is capable of.
Or, rather, you did. Once upon a time, a thousand or so years ago, some iteration of you knew Sukuna fairly intimately. For some strange reason, a cursed technique you have no recollection of possessing allowed you to reincarnate unencumbered by these memories until the present day. You had spent multiple lifetimes blissfully unaware of the trauma you endured at that monster’s hands. You had spent centuries out of Sukuna’s shadow.
You were a boy who grew up in Okinawa and became a homesteader, a young noblewoman who became a Buddhist nun after her husband was killed during the Warring States, a baby who died of…cholera, or whatever infants died of back in 1943. Some of them were sorcerers, and some of them weren’t.
But were any of them really you? You, as you know yourself now. A fifteen-year-old barista-slash-high school first year living in Tokyo. A perfectly normal teenager who developed a crush on a cute guy she saw on a few occasions, a budding young woman who just wanted to experience love for the first time.
You could have gone your entire life without remembering ‘your’ past, which if anything was merely a montage of images viewed through a first-person lens—comparable to VR or even just the average FPS. If someone had called you Toshinaga in the street, you wouldn’t have responded. That’s not your name. Neither is Masao. Nor Oeyo, nor Setsuko. Furthest removed is the source of it all, Lady Otagi herself.
And so you had asked Yuji out on a date.
‘playing hot and cold huh :-p’ he had replied.
‘it got u interested tho right??’ You were smiling so wide that it had started to hurt your cheeks. Your friends teased you about it for ages, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Why would it be a bad thing, that you were happy? ‘how about we visit the aquarium @ skytree? i’ve always wanted to go :D’
‘that sounds awesome. r u free on sunday? apparently they open earlier on the weekends’
‘oh hell yeah! let’s do it!!’
So even though you had sent an excessive amount of exclamation points, you had a date.
A date that was supposed to occur two weeks ago.
He never showed up.
Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. It’s not like you were looking forward to seeing him or anything. That would be preposterous, LMAO. And you definitely weren’t annoyed that he never replied to any of your messages asking where he was. You even called, terrified something terrible had happened to him. Straight to voicemail. Three times. And when you texted him again, it turned out that he blocked your number. So that was cool. Just great.
So much for your dreams of romance.
Time marched forward, and the world kept spinning. You tried your hardest to put Itadori Yuji out of your mind after that. But it was hard. Of course you’re insecure—you’re a teenager. Had you done something wrong? Were you too clingy? Was he just messing with you? Did any of it mean anything? Oh, damn it, it was the nine thousand exclamation points, wasn’t it?
Fairly certain you were never going ot get the answers to any of these questions in your lifetime, you had settled into sullen acquiescence. So the guy you really liked ended up ghosting you. That happens to everyone, or there wouldn’t be a term for it. And there’s plenty of fish in the sea.
Ha. Fish. ‘Cause of the aquarium. Where he stood you up.
And true to form, you see Yuji’s friends before ever laying eyes upon him again. You’re working a closing shift with one of the biggest idiots you’ve ever known, so your mood is already rather poor to begin with. Her incompetence has rubbed your nerves raw over a period of months, and her constant prattling about her nightlife was making you contemplate jumping over the counter and out of the second-story window to finally be free of her.
You’re not a happy camper, and although you pride yourself on being at least moderately professional at all times, you can’t help but let the irritation peek through when Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara step up to the register.
“Well, well, look who it is.” They both look like they’ve eaten something sour (or perhaps drunk the kiwi refresher) as soon as you speak, sharing a glance out of their periphery. “Long time no see, guys! Did you get back from a field trip or something?”
Nobara makes a choked noise, her brows drawing together. “Something like that.”
“I’ll just have a medium cold brew,” Fushiguro says, in lieu of any sort of conversation. How typical of him, you think, although you’ve never spoken at length with him before.
“Uh-huh, and any sweetener or creamer for that?”
“Just black.”
You glance up at Nobara, who is pointedly examining the signage above your head as you scribble onto the clear plastic cup and set it behind you on the bar.
“Are those new cold foam refreshers any good?” she asks.
“No.”
“Oh.”
You shrug. “I don’t really like passion tea, though, so I guess it’s more or less up to your tastes.”
“I guess I’ll try that one, then. A grande sunrise, please.”
“Sunrise refresher, coming right up.” The customer service cheer rings hollow throughout the emptier-than-usual store, and you catch your manager curiously dipping his head out of the office in your periphery. You ignore him, instead sending the broadest, fakest smile you can manage at Yuji’s friends.
You read them their total and Fushiguro pays. It’s the first time you’ve seen his wallet, you realize. Plain and understated, just like the man himself. The people behind the pair are still browsing the pastry cabinet, talking amongst themselves as they stare at the buttermilk biscuits (which you are currently out of, so you’ll be glad to see the looks on their faces when you tell them that), but you rush the sorcerers along nonetheless. “Your drinks will be ready on the side.”
They hover by the hand-off area, conversing quietly with each other. When it becomes clear that your dunce of a coworker has no intention of doing her job, you hiss a curse under your breath and pick up a shaker and cold foam pitcher. As you work, you try your hardest not to eavesdrop on the sorcerers—which, if you’re being honest, isn’t very hard at all.
They’re talking about their classes and their teacher, Gojo Satoru. That was an important name, wasn’t it? Gojo? One of your past lives had been a member of the clan.
Yet for all their prattle, there was no mention of the missing member of their trifecta. Was it because they knew you were listening?
You pop the lids on with more force than is necessary, causing some of the drink to dribble out of the strawless slits, and the three of you stare uncomfortably at each other as you slide both cups over. They catch on the lip of the counter, and there’s a heartstopping moment when you think they both might spill and you’ll have to both remake the drinks and clean up the mess.
Fushiguro catches the cups before they topple over and hands Nobara’s refresher to her.
“Thanks,” she says, half to him and half to you. She hesitates while Fushiguro turns to leave before moving to follow.
“Can you—” You hadn’t meant to speak. In the relative quiet of the store, your voice echoes far too loudly, your tone more aggressive than you’d intended. Boht students stop and turn to look at you, discomfort lining their postures. “Can you tell Yuji that he’s being an idiot, if he’s avoiding me? So he stood me up. Big deal. It’s not like I’d refuse him service because of that. I’m not that much of an asshole. That’s his job.”
Nobara flinches, and Fushiguro purses his lips.
“He’s…” He seems to think better of speaking, but then a resolve settles in the slope of his shoulders. The lines around his mouth deepen. “Yuji hasn’t been around because he’s… gone. He’s gone.”
“What, like… away?” you ask, a tremor coloring your voice. It’s wishful thinking, knowing what you know. “Like, he moved away?”
“He’s gone,” repeats Fushiguro helpfully.
It feels like your heart has plummeted out of your chest and into the earth’s core, where it’s been charred beyond repair. It looks like you had been right to worry about Yuji’s well-being after all, instead of jumping to the seemingly obvious conclusion that he’d decided to ghost you. It really shouldn’t be a surprise.
Sorceres die all the time, and age is meaningless to curses. Whichever monsters that dispatched him wouldn’t care that he was just a boy. And if your suspicions about who had done the deed were correct, his murderer likely relished in taking Yuji’s life.
You probably shouldn’t ask. It isn’t a good idea to reveal your hand to random kids. But it’s not like they’re complete strangers. You speak quietly, though anyone who might have overheard wouldn’t have understood the gravity of your question. “Was it… was it Sukuna?”
The pair stills then, eyes wide with alarm.
“He told you?” Fushiguro hisses.
You glance at the clock. You’re about due for a break, and your coworker should have started doing something—anything productive—by now. You take off your apron, muttering to her that you’ll be back, and step out from behind the bar. Guiding Yuji’s friends to a table in the far corner, you clasp your hands and squeeze them between your knees as you sit down.
“He didn’t have to say anything,” you tell them eventually. You watch as they share puzzled glances of suspicion. “I know all about Ryomen Sukuna.”
“How?” demands Nobara. The passion tea foam has been slowly melting into her drink. It probably tastes even more disgusting now.
You sigh. If you tell them and they report it to their superiors—to this Gojo person, or any of the other school faculty, to the higher-ups—there’s no going back. You’ll never be a normal high schooler again. They’ll bring you in for questioning. Maybe even experiment on you, to figure out how your reincarnation works. Master Tengen would greatly benefit from the dissection of your—Lady Otagi’s, whoever’s—technique. You won’t be you anymore, an ordinary human being. Could you give up the fragile respite you’ve earned?
If you had never met Yuji, you wouldn’t have appreciated the peace anyway.
Oh, Yuji. Your heart aches at the thought of him.
You barely knew him, a part of you scoffs.
True. But as it turns out, Lady Otagi had barely known that fisherman’s son, and he was the love of her life.
Who knows? Maybe given time, a few kisses, and some longing glances, Itadori Yuji might have become the love of your life—of this life—too. He had such a lovely smile.
“A thousand years ago,” you begin slowly, causing the two students to lean forward, “I lived in the body of a Heian noblewoman.”
Fushiguro and Nobara share another look. They aren’t sure whether to believe you.
You steel yourself for your next words. Your hands are clammy as you clench them into fists.
“I was once the lover of the sorcerer who would become Ryomen Sukuna. And after he transformed into the Two-Faced Specter, I was, unbeknownst to him, the mother of his only child.”
Their mouths fall open with shock in perfect unison.
You wish you could find the situation funny.
“I think you had better start from the beginning,” says Fushiguro quietly. And so you do.